#a city of bells: chapter 5

[teabooksandsweets]

A City of Bells

Chapter V — Part V

It grew dark and the world was still. Outside the silent rain muffled every sound and in Jocelyn’s room the flames had ceased whispering and lay dead, still glowing rose-pink and in their winding-sheets of grey ash. It was so quiet that surely peace should have sat enthroned with Jocelyn, yet he had no sense of peace. Frustration, regret and sadness seemed to be written in the house. Although there was no sound and no movement anywhere Jocelyn felt that the stillness was that of impotence rather than of quiescence … If the house could have spoken aloud it would have done so.

He got up and moved about the room, putting things away. He did not want to stay in this lonely room by himself and yet neither did he want to go upstairs to bed in the room above, where it would be horribly cold and even lonelier. Unused to loneliness as he was he felt decidedly queer. He was ashamed of himself, but he did … He almost wished he had not come to live here … It was a creepy place.

Then he resolutely lit his candle with his last match. He had told Felicity he would regret nothing. He might go through bad times here, but they should not drive him either to turn back or to regret the step that he had taken.

Carrying his candle he went out into the passage. The flame guttered in the draught and the chill damp was overpowering. “Spirit of beauty, where art thou gone?” The words said themselves over in his mind so insistently that he felt the question had been asked before in this house. “Spirit of beauty, where art thou?” As if in answer there was another knock at the front door. Jocelyn, stumbling up the stairs, started and dropped the candlestick, plunging himself in darkness. “Fool!” he said to himself, deeply ashamed of his own jarred nerves.

He groped his way to the door and opened it. The street lamp outside The Green Dragon faintly illumined a slim figure in a mackintosh with a dripping hat jammed down on golden hair.

“Felicity!” gasped Jocelyn. “You’re beauty! You ought to have come knocking at this door when poor Ferranti lived here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Felicity. “I’m looking a perfect sight … But I’ve brought you this.”

She dumped something soft and nondescript into Jocelyn’s arms and stretched her own in relief. “What a weight!” she groaned. “I’ve carried him all the way from the station. He wouldn’t walk.”

A cold, wet nose suddenly shot up into Jocelyn’s face and a warm tongue was passed interrogatively over his chin. “Great scot!” said Jocelyn. “A dog!”

“Black,” said Felicity. “Front elevation collie, rear elevation pomeranian. The man I bought him from said he was a spaniel, but I think myself that there’s a dash of dachshund about the legs. If I were you I should call him Mixed Biscuits.”

“Come in, Felicity,” implored Jocelyn.

“I should think not, at this time of night. As it is it’ll be all over Torminster by nine o’clock to-morrow that I carried a dead body to your house under cover of the darkness … I’ve been thinking about you all day and wondering if you’d be lonely here, and then I saw him sitting in a cage in a shop window, all by himself, crying, and my course seemed clear. He bit the guard. Good night.”

“You’re an angel, Felicity,” cried Jocelyn into the darkness, but she was gone, the rain and the night taking her. He stumbled along to the kitchen, found some matches, lit the lamp and looked at Mixed Biscuits. The creature had lived only a few months in this world and was apprehensive as to what it might do to him. Fearing the worst he rolled over on his back on the kitchen floor, holding up four bandy legs to heaven and exposing all his tenderest parts, thinking perhaps that an attitude of utter defencelessness was his best policy. He thudded his tail on the floor with a pathetically propitiatory action, rolled pleading dewy eyes and panted, exposing all his baby teeth and hanging out his tongue like a yard of pink ribbon.

“Good fellow!” said Jocelyn encouragingly, and placed the remains of the cold ham on a plate on the floor, with the blancmange on top as a relish.

There was a wild confusion of flying legs as Mixed Biscuits leapt right way up and attacked his food. With feet planted far apart, tail extended and quivering with ecstasy, body taut, jaws champing and tongue whirling round the plate with a circular motion that made the onlooker dizzy, he was an example of concentration to all … But he was not a tidy eater … Bits of blancmange flew into the air and portions of ham skidded along the floor in all directions. Jocelyn, in the intervals of pursuing them with a kitchen fork, gazed at Mixed Biscuits in astonishment.

He was, as Felicity had said, black. He was also woolly. His nose was long and his mouth large, but Jocelyn thought that viewed from the side he was more like a crocodile than a collie. His ears were immense, and flapped, and his tail was like a housemaid’s brush. His poor body was weak and thin, as though good food had not come his way too often, and his legs were a great deal too large for the rest of him.

“Good lord!” said Jocelyn.

Mixed Biscuits polished up his empty plate with sweeping movements of his long pink tongue, sighed, panted, had a drink, sat down and looked at Jocelyn. His limpid eyes were exquisite and a character of unusual loveliness had already set its mark upon his countenance. Jocelyn fondled his silky ears with growing enthusiasm and Mixed Biscuits again flung himself on his back and erected his legs. But this time there was nothing cringing in his attitude. With a slight motion of his right forepaw he invited Jocelyn to scratch his chest. Jocelyn scratched, while Mixed Biscuits closed his eyes and simpered, and mutual affection grew every moment stronger.

“What about bed, old man?” asked Jocelyn at last. Mixed Biscuits had no objection and they went upstairs together. It was cold, and the candle sent queer shadows leaping over the walls, but Jocelyn was too absorbed in Mixed Biscuits to notice and climbed into bed with a sense of companionship warm about his heart and grateful thoughts of Felicity flocking like birds in his mind, ready to turn into dreams of beauty as soon as sleep gave them wings.

[codenamesazanka]

The park flashback/scene where Tenko plays with Mikkun and Tomo-chan in Chapter 418 first takes place in early afternoon, as evidenced by the clock reading almost 2:00 PM.

The art in the scene confirms this: clear bright skies, and the shadows under the children are short.

However, the time in the scene changes after Mikkun and Tomo-chan tells Tenko he should be All Might (the moment Tenko decides he wants to be a Hero, as he tells his mom in Chapter 235). Suddenly it's evening: the clock shows 6:13 PM, and the sky darkening because it's nearing sunset.

When Shigaraki/Tenko thinks of the League, he and the League (and Deku) all have long shadows, the kind you see when the sun is low in the sky.

＊

The context:

Sunset is the time to go home. Children who have been playing outside, in playgrounds, at the park, are supposed to go home, to get back in time for dinner, back to their families.

In Japan, many cities and towns have a bell/chime/song that plays from public loudspeakers at around 5:00 PM. It's a daily test of an emergency broadcast system, but it has also come to be seen as the evening bell, a 'go home' signal, especially for children, telling them to go home before it gets dark.

In manga and anime, all these elements have become common imagery and symbolism, associated with each other: red-orangey colors, sunset, long shadows, the chime, children saying goodbye to their playmates for the day, the idea of home and return.

(from Mushishi)

＊

Putting it all together:

When the park scene first shows up, it's Tenko memory of playing with Mikkun and Tomo-chan, likely exactly how it had occurred in real life: it's early afternoon, the sun is shining bright, their shadows are short, they're at the park, they're playing Heroes, and when the kids tell Tenko that he should be All Might, Tenko is overjoyed.

But this isn't the scene 15-16 years ago; this is a memory. Tenko is also Shigaraki here. He has just had his core pried open by Deku, and given relief. The Crying Child has been symbolically saved, but the past, the massacre, the Walk still all happened.

So it's suddenly 6:13 PM, it's sunset now, because it's way past proper time (5:00 PM) to go home - because Shigaraki/Tenko can't go home to the Shimura house. It's too late. It's been long over.

Shigaraki/Tenko then looks away from Mikkun and Tomo-chan, to the side, and say, 'Nah' to their suggestion, because besides it being late, he also no longer wants to be All Might. He's deciding he's a Villain, he still holds malice and he still destroys.

So, the scene changes again to contains the League now, all six of them (plus Deku). They exist in this sunset time, hence their long shadows. They exist with current Shigaraki/Tenko, they exist in the now - and arguably, the League would be the home he would return to at sunset.

-

Up to interpretation, of course, but the sunset/going home context is real.

Japanese tweets about it (translated):

[When Tenko got the words he wanted, his eyes lit up, but it was past time to go home so I'm guessing that means "it's too late."]

[It is just heartening that the League members are the place where Tomura would return to when it was "time to go home." I'm sobbing]

[In the scene where Tenko is at the park, the clock is already past 6:00 PM, the time when good kids go home, so if he had met Deku a little earlier, Deku might have been able to stop him, but this seems to show that they're past that stage now, which is good.]

[anki-of-beleriand]

A Heart Made Of Glass ch.15

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision - CarolxF!Reader

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

Reader has some decisions to make, Wanda is just confused, and things are finally looking up for the both of them.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 15

From Kamar-Taj

Time didn't stop after Wanda left.

Days and nights came by without any significant changes, the different agencies that had come to help during the dome incident had long gone and you were left alone once more. 

Tony had stayed behind long enough to ensure you and the others would be fine. And Monica had stayed to keep Carol company before going back to her normal duties; life in general went back to what it was.

Like the waters of the ocean surrounding Ulsteinvik, there was only calmness and the people in the city had forgotten and forgiven the small disruption in their lives. You were still as welcome, as the first time you got into the city to help those in need. 

The holidays had been welcomed by the inhabitants of the city with fireworks and a party that lasted a full weekend. You had enjoyed the admiration and sheer happiness on America's face whenever she went from one stand of food to the other, when she got in contact with teens her age and soon found herself living a life she hadn't enjoyed so far.

A bell sounded to your left, the door of the restaurant opened with a twirl of cold wind sneaking inside the place. You shifted on the chair leaning against the wall, your eyes following with amusement the discussion America started with Yelena. 

“She is unbelievable, you would think she is the same age as America.” Natasha snorted when Yelena slapped the table pointing to the street, soon the both of them left to prove a point missed by you and Natasha.

“I think they like to mess with one another far too much.” You shrugged, grabbing the glass of wine you had been drinking and taking another ling sip. 

It wasn't until then you noticed you had been left alone with Natasha. The Widow smirked, quivering a brow at you, her hands placing themselves on the table with her eyes never leaving yours, you knew what was about to come. For more than two weeks everyone had been trying to get a hold of you and the letter and know exactly what the young witch had said to you.

So far, you had been successful in pretending that letter never happened, making sure you were never alone with Natasha or Yelena.

“Well, are you going to tell me?” Natasha asked, leaning back on the chair, her clear eyes studying you. “Whatever it was, it really had an effect on you. Should I be worried?”

You exhaled placing your closed hands on the table, the steam coming from your mug covering your chin. Natasha scrutinised your posture and your facial expressions, it was something she had been doing in the last couple of weeks knowing that whatever had happened with Wanda was still affecting you in ways you didn't want to. You had been standing on the outlines, trying to disappear behind your shadows while zoning out whenever everyone was sharing light conversation at the dinner table or a mission was being shared. 

“Wanda told me what she did after the funeral,” you started the story, your head tilting to the side while your hand made a gesture to the waitress for the woman to bring another round of coffee.

“It is a rather long story, Tasha.” You smiled when the other woman raised a single eyebrow at you.

“So I see, I'm going to finally get the full story? The real one?”

You chuckled, shrugging while taking a long sip from the cup.

“She went back to the compound, went through my room until she came across the small trunk I kept in the wardrobe.”

You could see as realisation hit Natasha in a second, her eyes went wide with a slack jaw marked by the disbelief of what Wanda found inside that place. You nodded smiling bitterly at her 

“Yeah, she found everything and then, she just wanted to see Westview and the area where the place was supposed to be.”

From there you told Natasha everything you heard from Wanda and whatever blank spaces you filled in with some digging. You knew Tony had helped Wanda at some point, then she was contacted by Strange to help with the case of America which led her to your doorstep. Even after that, it was obvious something had happened, and that was the moment in which Agatha entered the story.

Agatha had worked in the shadows lurking Wanda to the spot she had been looking for I'm Westview. She had made it possible for Wanda to break down, with the enchantment she had placed before Wanda's arrival, she had worked her way into the fantasy guaranteeing that she could control some aspects of the fantasy.

Pietro and Vision had been some of them.

“Do you believe them?” Natasha finally asked, she squinted her eyes reading your reaction at her question. “It sounds convenient that Agatha could only bring dead people, so Visions being there was a coincidence meant to manipulate you. Convenient.”

The door of the café opened and closed again, the conversation around your table was suddenly louder than it had been moments ago. You scolded thinking over what Natasha was just saying, it was something you had thought but it was far too elaborate for Wanda to just make it up.

Right?

Besides, Agatha did admit to the manipulation. Your eyes hardened, you clenched your jaw tilting your head until your eyes focused on the world outside. Whatever doubts growing in your mind stopped when you remember childish laughter and then non-stop babbling from the twins.

“They look like me.” You mumbled turning to Natasha. “You should have seen them, Tasha. Billy and Tommy have some resemblance to me and Wanda, their eyes, the colour of the hair, the smile, some mannerisms…”

“Is this why you have been acting weird since you came back?” Natasha leaned over the table, she didn't miss your behaviour in the last couple of weeks her concern for you had been latent at all times but she had always respected your space allowing you to just come to her to talk.

You purse your lips grabbing a napkin, the frown deepened with your eyes flickering between confusion and nostalgia.

“Partially.” 

It was so easy to pretend you were still angry at hurt by what happened ten years ago, to just turn your back on the young woman you had met on a mission angry and scared that ended up becoming your life. Never before or after her did you feel the same for anyone, not even Carol. And when Wanda came back, hurt, scared, tired and asking for help your heart trembled with the same love you thought you had buried in the past. 

But love was not enough.

“She is still in love with you.” It was a statement, Natasha drank her tea glancing out of the window. “I don't think she never stopped loving you.”

“Love is for children.” You smirked amused by the roll of Natasha's eyes.

“True, but sometimes love should be enough.”

“It's never enough.” You leaned back scratching the back of your neck. “I could experience first hand what it would be like to be with her.”

Natasha softened at your words, she heard as you narrated every single detail of what you lived in the other universe. How you became a parent to the children that seemed to love you even though you were a different mom to them. How your other self would glance at Wanda and how that Wanda would look at you.

For the first time ever since everything happened you opened up about your fears, your hopes, and your wishes. It hadn't been easy to come to the conclusion of what you really desired, of what you really needed. But, here you were, pouring your heart out to Natasha, the only woman apart from Yelena that could beat some sense into you.

“What did the letter say?” Natasha finally asked, you hesitated before putting the letter from your pocket and handing it to the other woman.

“That love should be enough to start again.” You replied, focusing your attention on the people walking down the street. Natasha concentrated,reading the letter left by Wanda on the day she went away. 

Dear Y/N,

I’m not good with words, and I don't even know how to say everything I wish to tell you. My words had been trapped inside my head for over a decade, and I wasn't sure if approaching you with them was a wise thing to do. I knew of your anger towards me, and I knew you were probably feeling a hatred I didn't want to see in your eyes. I just couldn't deal with you not looking at me with love and happiness, the way it used to be.

I made many mistakes. But the biggest one was to let you go.

I asked for forgiveness once, but I wanted to say it once more.

Please, my love, forgive my weakness and my indecision. I should have never acceded to what was easy, to what my parents would have wanted, to what everyone was expecting of me. I know this doesn't make it any less stupid or hurtful, and that I should have never hurt you in such a way.

You are my world, and ever since you’ve been gone I have been so lost.

But I push myself to continue because I cannot give up, I have to discover my worth to be able to reach out to you once more.

I don't want to keep going knowing you are out there and that I am not with you, and I don't want to live with the past above my shoulders afraid of at least tried to be with you. After what we lived in these last week's I realized, I don't want to.

I understand if you are no longer interested, and that you already have someone else in your life. If that's the case, I would step aside but be there for you as a friend.

If not, then…I won't give up on you. I love you, I am still so much in love with you that sometimes it is hard to breathe and my chest twisted painfully knowing you and I could be…in another time, in another universe.

I will leave, not because I want to, but because I need to.

But I will wait for you, if this is what you want.

Love should be enough for now, right? This time around I promise you I won't let you go without a fight, my heart is already yours, Y/N, it has been for more than a decade. Please, just…give us a chance.

With love,

Wanda M.

Silence followed Natasha just as she placed the letter on the table. The only sounds breaking into their shared space were those of cutlery and low conversation in other tables, everyone was oblivious to what the two women had been sharing and even the weight of the circumstances leading them to the situation they were in at the moment.

You rested your chin on the back of your hand, your eyes dancing around the streets following patterns with your mind going back to the letter. You had learnt it's contents a long time ago, ever since Yelena gave you the letter. 

“The only one that can do something about this is you, you know that, right?”

“I know.” You faced Natasha, your lips curving upwards. 

“I've been with you all this time, Y/N.” Natasha chose her words with care, never once letting go of your stare. “I've seen the good and the bad, I've seen you fighting against your own pain and becoming the woman you are right now…and I have seen Wanda as well, she wasn't as lucky as you were.”

“I know.” You whispered, Natasha offered a tender smile placing a hand on top of yours. 

“I want you to be happy.” Natasha squeezed your hand winking. “I think it will take time but, perhaps, a friendship is not a bad idea.”

You opened your eyes at those words, your heart leaping inside your chest.

“You think…it is possible?”

“It's what you want, isn't it?”

You didn't answer, but if you were honest with yourself, it was what you wanted and what you had already decided to do. You were still afraid, going back to Wanda would it mean to face a past that was not completely erased and buried, and it was also a chance of falling harder than ever and not being able to go back from these emotions anymore. But, now that you knew what could happen, you couldn't say no to just give her and yourself a chance.

Before anything else could be done or said a tap on the window called your attention, Yelena and America were grinning through the window pointing to some bags they had on their hands. You snorted turning to Natasha who was still looking at you with tenderness.

“I guess we should go.”

“Let's go, the .”

Natasha didn't ask, and you didn't elaborate, but the both of you had come to the same conclusion and now it was a matter of time for you to step into the road leading to Wanda Maximoff.

________

She could hear the shower running, the sound of your voice singing a random song from your playlist. Carol smiled, closing the door of the room behind her, her footsteps taking her to the bed where she saw your clothes scattered around the bed. The blond-haired woman went to pick them up, thinking about the domesticity of her life in recent weeks.

The whole fiasco with Wanda had made her feel insecure, Carol had seen the conflict in your eyes but as soon as the other woman had been out of the picture it was easier for you to go back to Carol. It had not been easy, and Carol had been patient enough to know that it was time for her to make the proposal.

It was something the both of you had talked about before, Carol still had a duty to the Galaxy and she would be more than happy to share her travels with you.

Carol grabbed your jacket, her eyes flickering around until they fell on the white envelope inside your pocket. Without thinking too much about it, she grabbed the envelope looking at its contests before sitting down to read the letter.

The warm water rolling down your back felt heavenly, you lifted your face to the shower while letting the notes of the song overwhelmed your senses. It had been a long day, America was about to start school once more and Yelena was supposed to leave for New York the following week 

Your conversation with Natasha left your soul lighter, while your heart trembled with anticipation of what you would do. A part of you knew what should be your next action, while another part dread the conversation you needed to have with Carol Danvers.

When the both of you started the relationship, you never left space for romance. It was physical more than emotional, yet Carol had become a close friend and someone you could trust with your life, it was only fair for you to be honest with Carol. You didn't know what would happen with Wanda, but Carol was too emotionally involved with you for you to just leave things the way they were.

You excited the bathroom with a towel covering your body, your hands stopped midair just as your eyes fell on the woman sitting on your bed. 

“Carol! Hey, I didn't expect you here so soon, I thought you were with Monica.”

Carol winced, lowering her gaze, she pressed her lips together before facing you. You cocked your head, blinking slowly at the seriousness from the other woman.

“She had an important meeting, it didn't make sense for me to stay behind.” Carol stood up, her hand holding a familiar envelope.

Your eyes opened slightly, your eyebrows shooting upwards while the other woman stretched her hand in your direction.

“I never have a chance with you,” she stated, you opened your mouth ready to say something but the other woman shook her head. Tears welling up in her eyes.

“No, don't say anything, I know.” Carol shook her head looking away, “you told me, hell even Natasha told me, but I just thought she had hurt you enough for you to stop feeling anything for her.”

The conversation was turning out to be something uncomfortable with you dressed only on a towel. You tried to hold onto it, while trying to be as serious and as clear as possible.

“Carol, this has nothing to do with Wanda.” You started almost wincing when Carol narrowed her eyes at you nodding to the letter.

“I think it has everything to do with her.”

Silence followed such declaration, you stood there undecided as to what to do or how to proceed. The hand holding the letter was heavy, while the one holding the towel had been shaking all this time. You could see the hurt in Carol's eyes, how lost and really brokenhearted she was feeling at the moment.

It was something you had lived once that you wouldn't want anyone experiencing the same situation as you did. 

“Yes and no.” You stated trying to look for the right words. “I have been running from my emotions for a very long time, from my past and this mission…I never thought I would be facing everything I thought I didn't need or even want.”

“So now you're going back to her?” Carol couldn't help but press the subject, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m not sure as to what do I want to do or what it is exactly that I am looking for,” this time around you stepped forward, your hand left the towel to grab Carol's hand. “I just know that I have to do something about it and…see what will happen.”

Carol wanted to add something else, she wanted to say something but whatever she might say would sound hurtful and resentful. You stepped closer waiting to see if she rejected your proximity but if anything Carol seemed to give in. 

“I'm sorry.” Your voice was above a whisper, her hands soon wrapped around your waist and you could feel her warm breath on your neck.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Carol.”

“I know, I just wish I was enough for you.”

Without thinking too much, or actually planning on doing something different your cupped her face leaning in to share a goodbye kiss. Carol sighed, kissing you harder, pressing you against the closest wall trying to imprint in her mind the last memory she would have of you.

______________

Three months later

The rain was falling on the roof with constant tapping breaking the silence in the room.

The heavy aroma of incense and myrrh impregnated the air in the room, the placed was decorated with earthly colours and there was a single chair that had been occupied by a strange man wearing a dark orange Kasaya. The man had been there ever since you arrived at the temple, his eyes dancing around a book he was reading with attention.

Your feet took you to the closest window, the world right outside was a full range forest that was being clouded by the falling rain and the darkening sky. Thunder broke into the valley, and you winced hearing the rumbling sky right above your head echoing its rage with nothing to quiet down the sound. Your eyes flickered to the sky, and for that moment, your mind drifted to the last couple of weeks in which your life had change so drastically.

After Carol found Wanda’s letter in your pocket, she decided to leave for good.

It was a tough decision, and a part of you regrated the way she had to leave and how things ended up between the both of you. It hadn’t been fair with the other woman, but you never made any promises that you couldn’t keep. In the end, Carol understood this and after one last goodbye, she left to comply with her mission to the Galaxy.

You always thought you would go looking for Wanda after that, but you didn’t.

Instead of just going where your heart was telling you to go, you stayed behind to fix and organise your life the best way you could. Natasha and Yelena kept up with their mission, the brought former Widows and some hurt powered individuals that you helped to go back on their feet while teaching America about her powers while giving her a taste of a normal life.

It had been working just fine, America had been getting used to her life with you and she was getting into the whole high-school adventure the best way she could. Life in Norway had always been a quiet experience, and something that you had fallen in loved with ever since you got there; that was the reason you never left. But in the midst of all of this, and life going back to what it was you found yourself going back to the letter and to Wanda.

It became quite the habit for you to just sit outside or go to the lighthouse to think and overthink about Wanda, the letter, and what you should do next.

“Why do you keep pretending to think about what you’re going to do when you already know?”

Yelena had been the first one to question you, and you didn’t have a complete answer to that. You just gave a vague answer dismissing the young woman before going back to ignore the tug at your heart, and the memory of Wanda inside your head.

“I talk to Wanda yesterday, she wants me to tell you that she really is grateful for the book you send over, help with the boredom.” That time it had been America, and the teen had come at you with a frown and narrowed eyes. “Did you really send her a book? Why didn’t you go to her? Or wrote to her? Or even call her?”

You didn’t have an answer for those questions, so you just shrugged and proceed to ask America about the girl you saw her talking to the other day. America had blushed and soon had forgotten her questioning of your actions, you merely smirked keeping the words Wanda had sent to you closed to your heart.

“Everyone is tired of you being an idiot, so Tony sent his jet that it is waiting for you. You’ll leave at midnight, go pack your stuff.”

Natasha had not been as subtle as the others, and she had gone on full commanding mode before setting everything up for your departure. That was how you ended up at the other side of the world, with just a single backpack and waiting in the lobby with a storm happening right outside the window.

Ever since you went into the plane your heart had been leaping inside your chest, shivering while awakening a hoard of butterflies in your lower abdomen. You had been trying to control your nervousness, and your thoughts had been protected by a dark cloud ever since you arrived at Nepal. You didn’t know what you were going to say, but you did know that the time to fix everything had arrived.

“Y/N, this is really a surprised.”

You turned around to see a smirking Strange standing by the door, you returned the smirk walking towards him with your hand stretched out.

“Strange, I have to say I was forced to make up my bag and come here.” You shrugged making a face, “didn’t have much of a choice.”

“And yet, this is the place you want to be, right?” Strange chuckled tilting his head, “took you long enough.”

“Is there everyone talking about me behind my back?” You grumbled shaking your head, Strange shrugged stepping aside to show a long hallway.

“We were merely speculating and hoping.”

“Hoping?”

Strange walked beside you, his face a mask of complete peace. The man had not age that much, and yet he seemed to carry with him the weight of the world and a duty that came to him when he needed it the most.

“We were hoping for you to make the right decision.” Strange stopped at another door, this time around those eyes of his hardened while they pinned you to the spot. “Wanda has made great progress here, you know? I know things between the both of you were not easy when you were younger but things are different now.”

“I know that.” You scowled lifting your chin, “that’s the reason I’m here, things are different now and I think it is time for me to just…”

You waved your hands around, the gesture trying to replace the words you didn’t dare to say to this man. Whatever you had come to Kathmandu for, it was something you would discuss with Wanda alone. For a moment, Strange gave you an odd quizzical stare before his face relaxed again and he opened the door.

You opened your eyes impressed by the sight, right in front of you there was a huge yard filled with training grounds that were completely empty under the rain. In each corner of the squared Yard there was a fountain decorated with mythological animals pouring water with a melodic fall. Your eyes went from the yard to the ceilings and the sky, then they finally focused on a young man standing by the closest column waiting patiently for something.

Strange cleared his throat presenting the young man to you.

“I have set up a room for you, Carlos will take you there.” Strange dedicated you along stare before speaking again. “Everything had been set up, and when you’re ready you will know where to go.”

“Thank you for having me here, Strange.”

“Don’t mention it, as I said, I think this is necessary and I think it would be beneficial for you and her.” Strange waved at you, turning around. “Just…don’t break her heart.”

Those words shoot a cold, sharp pain through your heart, your eyes opened and your mouth was already formulating a retort to such words. However, you stopped yourself when the sky ignited into a bluish-silvery light and thunder growled through the valley.

You jumped startle turning your eyes to the sky.

“Sometimes silence is better than no silence at all.” Carlos smiled gently at you; he bowed showing the opposite side of the hall to you. “Shall we, Mrs. Y/L/N?”

The young man led you a room in the far corner of the compound, it was under the shadow of a mountain while facing the forest and the far-away city of Kathmandu. The room was quite simple, with a single bed, a bedside table, a desk, a bathroom and a wardrobe it was something that reminded you of your younger days.

“I hope this is of your liking, Mrs. Y/L/N, dinner usually is served at 7pm, and breakfast at 6am, after those hours you are very welcome to use the kitchen at your own discretion.” Carlos explained while allowing you to se the room. “If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. I am in charge of you for as long as you stay here.”

“Thank you, Carlos, you are very kind.” You offered a single smile; Carlos bowed his head but before he could go you called out to him. “Carlos, wait.”

The young man turned around tilting his head with a frown on his face.

“Do you know…where can I find Wanda Maximoff?”

Carlos frown deepened and it looked to you as if he didn’t know for certain where the woman was or who you were asking for. Then, his eyes opened slightly with a glint of understanding in them.

“She usually spends her time in the Meditation Chamber, it is located it on the left wing of the compound. Near the pass to the mountain range.” Carlos hesitated before bowing again. “No one likes to go there when she is using the small chamber, Y/L/N, so please be advised of this.”

“Thank you, Carlos, I will be careful.”

The young man nodded and finally left.

You stood in the middle of the room for a while before dropping your backpack to the ground and falling to the bed. You closed your eyes, your heart beating a tad bit faster while your hands got all sweaty; there was a tingling void in the pit of your stomach making you tensed around the shoulders.

What the hell am I doing? Why am I even here? What if…what if this doesn’t work?

These thoughts danced around your head, your body regulating your breathing until you finally fall asleep. The last thought that crossed your mind was that Wanda would be in for a great surprised, and you just hoped that love really was enough.

You woke up with a start.

The room was submerged in darkness, not a single sound could be heard inside or outside your room. You sat down noticing the clothes you had arrived on, and the unmade backpack on the floor. You had fallen asleep, tired for the trip and the emotional rollercoaster you had been as of late.

You were also running from what was to come.

With a quick glance to the watch on your wrist, it was past four in the morning. You stood up and made your way to the bathroom, your mind going over the dream that had woken you up abruptly. The memories mixed with the dream of what could be, the anxiousness of a meeting you were not sure how it would turn out to be.

You took a deep breath enjoying the morning breeze that caressed your skin. The rays of light sneaking through the heavy clouds gliding above your head, it was a cold morning with little light following your stroll down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. All around you the morning routine for the inhabitants of the temple had started, with one single thought in mind, you went straight to the kitchens for a coffee before meeting with the woman you had come to see. Your lower abdomen was already filling up with butterflies, and your body tingled in anticipation.

*****

There was a small cabin located at the outskirts of the compound.

Wanda had chosen this place because it was the only place in which she could hide from the judging stare of the rest of the inhabitants in Kamar-Taj. In the last couple of months, she had been focusing on learning more about her powers and about herself, she had tried to reach out for some sort of peace while getting her powers under control.

It had worked, to some degree.

What she really found difficult to overcome, or to actually face with a cold heart was her past. And more exactly, her feelings for you. The memories mixed inside her head, the possibilities along with her desires and her hopes brought a new kind of longing to her heart. The letter she left behind had been her fighting effort to be a part of your live, she was conscious of your anger but also of your willingness to forgive. 

Wanda had hoped that perhaps…

The sun raised on the horizon, this time around the yellowish light broke into the sky bathing that ground with light. Wanda rested her elbows on her knees, her eyes lost on the mountain chains spreading through the valley. She had found peace in Kamar-Taj, and after three months of uncertainty, she had given up seeking to heal her broken heart.

“You surely know how to pick these places.” Your voice broke any silence spreading through the house, Wanda jerked awake turning sharply to the source.

You stood rather awkwardly at the door leading to the yard, your hand scratching the back of your head but your eyes completely set on Wanda.

“Y/N?” Wanda whispered in disbelief; with heavy limbs she turned completely standing up. “You…what…”

The words went missing in her mind, she was dumbfounded never thinking it was possible to see you once more. To actually have you there, standing casually in front of her. You raised a brow, lips curling in amusement, you stepped closer observing as all defenses broke and Wanda stood vulnerable in front of you. Why didn't you see it before that day?

There was some hesitation on your part but, after a brief moment, you stepped closer hugging Wanda, holding her closer to your chest. 

“Hey there, little witch.” The nickname rolled out of your lips with a  familiarity you hadn’t lost and Wanda wrapped her arms around you tightly hiding her face in the crook of your neck.

This moment crossed your mind several times, each scenario had been different every time and sometimes the outcome had not been pleasant. But at that moment, it was everything you were looking for and Wanda was needing.

The sunny morning had changed rapidly into a snowy one, the sky darkened with cold breezes breaking into the temple forcing its inhabitants to seek refuge inside the quarters of the temple.. 

Wanda had been talking non-stop, it was unusual of her to just make small conversation but she had been nervous enough to have you there to just stay quiet and not say anything at all. Her hand grabbed the teapot, pouring the warm water into the small mugs she had fixed on a tray.

“Strange thought this could be good for me, he told me the offer had been on the table by the time Thanos was defeated but…” Wanda lifted the tray making her way to makeshift living room.

“But America and Westview happened.” You finished helping her out, Wanda smiled nervisouly shrugging while locking her eyes to yours. “You never have a rest, haven't you? I mean, as far as I know, you have been facing difficulties from day one and…”

“Losing you left me lost.” She mumbled sitting down, conscious that your eyes were on her. 

This was the first time she referred to that moment, Wanda grabbed the mug with both hands frowning lightly.

“I was afraid of everything I was feeling, everything I was experiencing with you.” She whispered only for you to hear. “You were everything I wanted and I was…I wasn't no one, Y/N, why would you want to be with me?”

You pierced together every single moment surrounding the break up, the treason before and after, the happiness and the heartbreak. At that time, Wanda had been completely alone, having lost Pietro had been difficult and then she was trusted into a life she hardly understood, and people that were more afraid of her than anything. It was not an excuse, but you understood what Wanda was saying.

“You broke my heart so bad, Wanda.” You spoke, noticing the hardening of your voice, Wanda winced but you didn't stop there. “I was in love with you, ready to give you the world, ready to help you with the weight you were carrying…but I never saw how hard it was for you.” Wanda broke into a bitter smile, “did I ever tell you about the beginning of the war?”

The question caught you by surprise, the change of topic was so sudden you were tempted to press further into questions about the cheating and the reasoning behind it. It was the shadows crossing Wanda's face that made you rethink your options, and the fact this was the first time she spoke about Sokovia.

“You never spoke about Sokovia, or your family. Not really.” You replied, earning a simple nod.

“My family was complicated, mom lost dad when we were children and she married soon after.” Wanda spoke with the weight of memory in her voice, her eyes drifting away until the found yours once more. “My stepfather was a religious man, and mom was a school teacher that had never forced her beliefs on us until then.”

You fixed your position on the sofa, your eyes never leaving Wanda. It was the first time Wanda really opened up to you, a story and a background you didn't know and that was showing a side of Wanda that had been unknown to you.How many times did you really talk to her? How many stories had she told you about herself?

Why did you fall in love with her?

Why were you still in love with her?

“He was really tough on me, Pietro would get away with almost anything until the first bombs were heard in the outskirts of the city.” This time around she softened the corner of her eyes, her lips twitching upwards, “he was so mad he wasn't allow to go to the soccer match, that he dragged me out of the house and we both tried to get to the field. We almost died that day.”

You straightened up leaning in with eyes wide open.

“You did?”

“Yes, one of the first conflicts broke out in the neighbourhood where the field was located.” Wanda made a face, “I had never been so afraid as I was at that moment.”

“What do you miss the most about Sokovia?”

The question caught Wanda by surprise, whatever shadow of war and memory dropped for a moment giving way to a different expression. 

“I loved the libraries.” 

“You did?” You chuckled watching as Wanda leaned forward all giddy telling you about the public library near her home, how the books were organised on different shelves and the sight of so many books she could get her hands on had always been so tempting she found peace and happiness in these places.

“After my parents died, I was so busy trying to survive and to make my way through the world with Pietro I just forgot about it.” Wanda lowered her face, her eyes on the floor. “I was angry, lost and afraid…then, Hydra came and I didn't want to be a victim anymore.”

You purse your lips remembering those first days in which you met Wanda. An angry and dark teenager that was angry at the world for everything that had happened to her.

“I guess it must have been hard to see Pietro again.” You said all of a sudden, Wanda nodded curtly tears forming in her eyes.

“It was hard seeing everyone, everything I could have but…”

“We don't know if we could have.” You finished placing the mug on the table, tilting your head, your eyes focused on the window, glancing at the world outside. “I guess things could have been different, perhaps worse…”

“Or better.” Wanda followed your eyes to the window, it was raining with some snowflakes swirling around.

You shrugged, lowering your eyes to the watch on your wrist. It was past midday, lunch was already being served back in the main temple and your stomach was protesting from the lack of food. 

“You could stay.” Wanda proposed following your stare to the outside, you teared your eyes from the window glancing at Wanda that was blushing lightly. “I mean, it is raining and the main temple must be full, and it is so far and…”

Wanda gasped tensing when your hand fell upon yours, your lips broke into an easy smile. 

“I was thinking the same, but perhaps you have something to eat? I'm starving.”

The change Wanda had was almost surprising, her whole face lit up and she stood right away stretching her hand towards you. You glanced at her hand, then at the grin adorning her face before taking her hand in yours standing up and letting her guide you through the small cabin.

“Oh, you're in for a huge surprise, I've been dying to show these new recipes to someone but…” Wanda trailed off, her enthusiasm almost diminishing until you squeezed her hand smiling encouragingly at her.

“I've been on my own in this place ever since I came here. Not many are very open to share a conversation with me.”

“Why's that?” You inquired frowning lightly, Wanda shrugged looking away from you.

“They are afraid of my powers and…how powerful I am.”

Silence followed her words, but soon there was no more conversation needed it as you two reached a small kitchenette located at the back of the cabin. Wanda pointed to a dinning chair near the island counter, her happy smile was back on making sure you were seated before she started working around.

“You really are excited about this.” You commented chuckling lightly, your cheeks burning when the other woman winked at you, carefree and grinning.

“I just…” she bit her lower lip, her eyes glancing everywhere but at you, “I'm just happy I'm not alone, that I have someone to cook for.”

Wanda turned quickly busying herself with the past and the knives putting the food from a cupboard and a fridge.

“When did you learn to cook?” You asked resting your elbows on the counter, your eyes never left the form of Wanda observing the tension on her shoulders, or listening to the trembling on her voice.

“When we have to go on the run…after Lagos.” 

“Those were difficult times,” you recalled the conflict and the drama, Natasha trying to balance her public life with her life as a spy, then Steve and Tony arguing like children while the world divided itself without any reason.

“You signed the treaty, though.” 

“I did but it didn't matter.” You cocked your head, smiling as the other woman scowled openly at your words. “They needed the idea of control, and that's what we did. But they never got a chance to actually controlled us, our abilities and the danger that has always lurked in the dark wouldn't allow them to actually have any control. Or power.”

Wanda opened her mouth ready to argue your position, she had been at the other end of the conflict being accused of horrible crimes while being called names that had broken her at some point.

You softened your stance, sympathy showing in your eyes.

“It was different for you, wasn't it?”

“Everyone thinks I'm a monster.” She replied flatly, “I'm starting to think they are right.”

It was not only Lagos, it was Edinburgh and Sokovia, it was her working for Hydra and then coming back from the snap with anger and sadness in her heart. It wasn't easy for her, and you were just taking noticed of the external factors that had pushed Wanda over the edge on more than one occasion.

“You're not a monster.” Your replied was supposed to be encouraging but your voice hardened this statement, you winced noticing the hurt flash crossing her green eyes.

“I guess it doesn't matter anymore.” Wanda turned around busying herself with the food. “I'm here now, away from everyone I could ever hurt, trying to just control myself and learn more about my powers.

Alone.

She didn't say it, but for you the word resounded perfectly after her statement. Soon after all conversation died and the only sounds were those of Wanda moving around the kitchen preparing the lunch she had been so eager to show you moments ago.

A little restlessly, you stood up walking around the kitchenette taking noticed of the appliances as well as the actual construction of the cabin. The place was at the outskirts of a temple that had exist before any civilization had a chance to flourish. Your sight lifted to the mountain chains hovering above the valley, the dark clouds of a storm along with the drops of water covered the plain making the resto of the world invisible to prying eyes. The cabin was on the perfect spot for anyone to disappear for a while.

You turned around observing the furniture and the few things that were Wanda's. You took notice of the books, and the notebooks, her clothes and her blankets, the shoes on the floor and the pictures on the coffee table. With some trepidation, you approached the table, your eyes going wide open as they fell on the picture right on the top.

It was a picture of you and her.

You two were younger, the smiles and the closeness were evidence of what was starting to happen between the both of you. It had been a happy moment, right before the both of you escaped the watchful eye of Tony, Steve and Natasha and went out of your way to have fun and find so much needed love.

“I love that picture.” Wanda appeared out of nowhere, you jerked around finding her standing by a cabinet, her eyes far away submerged in memories. “That day you went out of your way to make me laugh, to try and make me happy…it was…”

“After your birthday.” You mumbled, smiling softly while approaching her. “I remembered.”

You stood right in front of her, the heat from her body comforting the cold ess in yours. Her eyes filled with uncertainty and hopefulness, your heart shrank at the scene wanting nothing more than to give in. Wanda wrapped her left hand around her right forearm, tension growing around you two…waiting…

“Lunch is ready.” Wanda was the first one to break the silence, the tension broke with a splash of cold water and soon there was only awkwardness.

“Good, I'm starving.” You declared touching your abdomen, Wanda smiled nodding to the kitchen.

“I…I hope you like it.” She stated stepping back an dreading you back, whatever was happening, whatever was about to happen put to a rest while you and Wanda tricked yourselves into denial.

—-----------------------

The rest of the afternoon went by without any major incident, Wanda was afraid to ask about your life but you didn't need any questions since the silence was becoming unbearable. With some select stories, you told Wanda what you had done ever since you left the Avengers, you told her about the many adventures and those tragic events that had surrounded your life. She had filled in the spaces with her own stories, but the strained that had been growing since lunch was still there lurking and waiting to explode.

You stretched out tilting your head to see the rain had stopped and the night was filled with stars and a bright, silver moon. 

“I think I should go.” You mumbled but did not make any attempt to move from your spot.

Wanda followed your eyes, biting her lower lip.

“It's late.” She stated with some hesitation, “you could…you could stay the night. I mean, the walk to the main temple is long and in this darkness could be dangerous, and it was raining so …”

“You do know that I can moved through the shadows once I know where I am going, right?” You replied amusedly, Wanda blushed opening and closing her mouth.

“Yes, yes of course I know, I…” Wanda trailed off, lowering her gaze.

I don't want you to go.

You nodded briefly standing up and completing your stretching routine. Your eyes never once leaving the form of Wanda.

“Then, I'll leave. We can continue this tomorrow, if you're up to it.”

“Yes!” Wanda stood up rather fast almost falling on you, she couldn't stop blushing cursing her own inadequacy and cowardice. “I mean, that would be nice.”

“We could train and you can show me what you have learnt in here so far “

“Sure, that would be…nice.” Wanda bounced lightly wanting to say something else but unable to do so.

You turned around but, right before you were consumed by your shadows you leaned in placing a single kiss on Wanda's cheeks.

“Have a good night, Little Witch.”

You left and Wanda was left frozen on the spot, her face warm with a single hand brushing against the spot you had just kissed. With some hesitation, she wrapped her arms around herself and went to bed, thoughts of you dancing inside her head. There was just a single thought tormenting her, and it was the question that kept her most of the night awake.

What was going on with you and that sudden visit?

_____________

What Wanda thought would be a couple of days turned into a couple of weeks.

The questions tormenting her mind never stopped, but she didn't dare to voice any of them for fear of breaking the status quo of her relationship with you. Idhe was happy with what she could get, even if that meant she would think about it at night unable to sleep wondering just what the hell was happening or why you were there. She would remember your smile, your words, the conversations that made her laughed or know the Y/N she had missed all those years; and then she would turn around put her knees to her chest and let herself feel the twist of her heart thinking of the cruel torture that was seeing you and not being able to be with you.

It was difficult, but Wanda was just happy with what she could get from you. 

“You have to lift your arm…yes, just like that.” 

Your voice and the soft touch of your arms broke Wanda's thoughts, she felt her cheeks colouring red at the closeness of your body, the sweet torment of your warm breath on her ear.

“There you go, let's do it slowly. First learn this form before channelling the energy.”

You smiled satisfied when the young woman followed your instructions, Wanda had been distracted in the last couple of days and her frustration had grown to the point she was always tense when trying to follow up your instructions. You stepped back watching before joining her with your own exercises, taking a deep breath while enjoying the silence that echoed through the valley.

“When did you learn all of this?” Wanda huffed tiredly, she turned around to see the teasing smirk dancing on your lips. “This is…difficult.”

You shrugged, finishing the final movement before scratching the back of your head, you step closer to Wanda standing right in front of her. It was easy to see when her breath caught in her throat, how her eyes dilated and the muscles of her body tense completely. Your heart shivered lightly, your arms stretching with the palms of your hands turned to her, Wanda furrowed her brows watching as you joined her hands with yours.

“I was angry at the world, violent and a little confused when Natasha first took me in,” you explained, never looking away from Wanda while your hands alongside hers lifted and started a new form of Tai Chi. 

“This technique gave me peace, but it wasn't until I left the Avengers that I realised I need to really learn about my powers.” You furrowed your brows, the memories breaking inside your mind, Wanda couldn't look away her heart leaping intensely while her body submitted herself to you.

“This helps me understand the shadows and the darkness inside my heart, besides…” your smirk grew, your eyes gleaming mischievously, “it is giving me an opportunity to be close to you, right?”

Wanda couldn't help the blush growing on her face, nor the smile that showed on her lips. You chuckled, leading her for at least fifteen more minutes before the training session was over. 

The morning had been cold, and the rain had become a constant occurrence in the time you had been in Nepal. That morning had been not an exception, and by the time the training had been over your clothes were completely drenched; you made a face grabbing your jacket and the boots while looking around for your backpack. The downside of coming all the wat to where Wanda was staying was precisely that your stuff was all in the room up in the main building.

Wanda could see your hesitation and annoyance, your eyes going from one piece of clothing to the other while your hand massaged the back of your neck. The young witch chewed on her lower lip, thinking on how to proceed before stepping closer her hand placing tenderly on your shoulder.

You turned around tilting your head while furrowing your eyes, Wanda offered a tentative smile nodding to the cabin.

“I have hot water and some spare clothes, it you don’t mind.” She said tentatively, “that way you don’t have to go all the way to the temple and…well, you…you can finally take my offer of staying here.”

You pressed your lips together thinking over the offer, you hadn’t dared to tell Wanda that night would be the last one you would stay in Nepal. That day you had planned to finally have a serious conversation with her right before leaving; the last couple of weeks had been amazing and you had given in normality instead of facing the real issue that had brought you all the way to Kamar-Taj.

“I mean, you don’t have to and if you want…” Wand started babbling waving her hands while trying to hide her nervousness, you realised you had taken far too long to answer her and she was now trying to cover up for something that might not be what you wanted.

“Hey, that’s okay I was just…” You hesitated straightening up, the same nervous gesture of your hand at the nape of your neck present, “look…I just think we must talk.”

“Oh.” Wanda stepped back placing her left hand on her right elbow, her face fell only to change into a grimace that she tried to make look natural, “right, I mean you have Natasha and Yelena, and America is there and…and Carol. Right I just, I thought…”

Whatever Wanda thought got tangle in her throat as she found herself mere inches away from you, your hands had been placed tenderly on her hips and you were trying to catch her eyes in your to make sure that whatever you were going to say was not lost in misunderstanding.

“I have to go back, yes.” You started taking care of the words you were using, “Natasha and Yelena got news of something unusual happening in France and wanted my help, America is still at school so I have to make sure everything is arranged and Carol…”

A swift breeze formed around them, Wanda was frowning crunching up her nose while her eyes gleamed a single flash of red. She stepped back lifting her hand when you tried to approach her.

“I know, I get it. I never expected you to stay longer than…than what you should, I mean I don’t even know why you came here.” Wanda finally said looking away from you not really understanding what was happening, but hating the fact she was feeling so heartbroken.

“Wanda…” you started but the redhead shook her head breaking into a sad smile.

“Go take a bath and I will prepare the clothes and something to eat then, we can talk.”

You opened your mouth only to close it again nodding curtly.

“Okay.”

Without looking back at you or saying anything else Wanda turned around and left you alone feeling the coldness of the morning now more than ever.

_________________________

The sound of the shower filled your ears while the warm contact of the water heated your skin. You closed your eyes, your hands working on the knots on your back and arms moving through your shoulders and your neck whatever place you could reach. Your body was letting go of the tension, but your mind and heart were deeply tormented by what had happened in the last couple of weeks.

You had come to Nepal with a single goal in mind.

Seeing Wanda after almost five months had brought back all the love you thought you had stopped feeling for her. On that first day you had thought of just talk about what had happened and her letter, but things didn’t turn out the way you expected them and, as the days passed by you realised the conversation could wait as long as you had a chance to pretend that Wanda and you were okay.

Wanda had set up the food in the small living room, she had a laptop set up while a mug of hot chocolate rested in her hands. Her face lifted in your direction, her eyes were swollen and her cheeks were red, the smile she gave you was one of pure sadness and the sight alone broke your heart.

You approached her taking the spot beside her on the sofa, the table had been filled with another cup of hot chocolate, bread and some cheese.

“I thought you may be hungry as well, and I just thought well you told me you haven’t watched this movie and Strange got it for me under illegal circumstances.”

It was a silent offering that you took with a smile, you sat down grabbing the chocolate.

“I bet he did, don’t worry Tony has a specific program for this kind of activities as well,” You fixed your position on the sofa.

Wanda pulled on her blanket, a huge dark blue fleece she had bought on her way out of Norway. She stretched out making sure your legs were covered, her warm breath so close to your face that it sent shivers down your back.

“I just thought if this is going to be my last day with you, I would love to spend it like this.” She whispered, chewing on her lower lip before sitting closer to you.

“It is not your last day with me, Wanda.” You replied lowering your gaze furrowing your brows. “You left with a goodbye and a letter that left me confused.”

“It was not my intention.” Wanda leaned back, she was hoping for the conversation to not take place to perhaps evade the inevitable heartbreak but it seemed as if you were decided to continue without any consideration.

“I wrote that because…” Wanda brushed her hair shrugging, “I never thought I will meet with you again, Y/N, and the circumstances of this meeting make me face my past, and what I lost, what I could have.”

“You weren’t the only one, Wanda.” Your voice dropped shaking your head, “I never thought I will see you again, but when I did…”

“Why did you come here, Y/N?” Wanda finally dared to ask afraid of the answer but far to eager to know, to finally understand what had happened in the last couple of weeks.

You were looking straight ahead, your thoughts twirling around in a maze of uncertainties. Leaning to your right, you found Wanda was just as confused and nervous as you were feeling at the moment.

“I never stopped loving you.” You confessed unable to look away from those green eyes, “I tried several times to just forget and ripped away my love for you.”

Wand winced her heart clenching inside her chest at those words.

“But I couldn’t and then…” You snorted shaking your head. “Then everything happened, you come back and I just…”

“I love you.” Wanda whispered, her lips quivering and her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I never stopped and it hurts so much knowing that I messed up so big that you…I don’t pretend you want to be with me, and I know after everything things are…”

“Confusing.” You cut in; you took a deep breath before glancing back at Wanda.

Silence fell afterwards, the tension built like an invisible force that was threatening to explode in the outcomes Wanda was afraid of. It wasn’t until that moment that she understood she had been afraid to know the answer to her question, why were you there could have many responses, but Wanda had only written two possibilities: a possible friendship, or give Wanda a chance.

Both outcomes were equally terrifying, and the silence coming from you was the most disturbing thing for her.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak but the words tangled in her throat, you had shifted your position coming closer to her the back of your hand caressing her face and your eyes, those eyes that months ago had looked at her with hatred and anger, were now looking at her with tenderness and confusion. There was something else in there but Wanda was afraid to put a label on it, hope could be such a fragile emotion.

“I thought about your words, Wanda, I haven’t been able to rest since you left.” You furrowed your brows your hand moving away but your face coming closer to Wanda’s. “Tell me, what should I do?”

Wanda found herself lost in your eyes; her throat completely dry while her heart leaped painfully on her chest. Her abdomen filled with butterflies while she tried to find the right words to answer your question.

“I came here because I needed to see you, because I missed you.” You confessed your words hitting Wanda straight in her heart. “But the real reason, Little Witch, is because I don’t want to lose you. Not again. Not anymore. So, tell me, Little Witch, what should I do?”

Time stood still.

Wanda was still trying to process your words, her heart beating really fast with her mind wrapping around what you just said. She could feel your warm breath on her face, the smell of her shampoo on your hair and the sweet scent of chocolate on your breath. Wanda had waited far too long for to give her a chance and now that the opportunity was here she was afraid.

“You…You could stay with me.” Wanda whispered cringing at her response, thinking herself an idiot for not being straightforward.

You snorted shaking your head, Wanda was afraid to see anger or disappointment, but when you put two fingers under her chin and lifted her face slowly all she could see was amusement and…love.

“Whatever you want, Little Witch.”

The nickname rolled out of you sending shivers down Wanda’s back, something shifted at that moment but Wanda wasn’t sure what it was; but even though she was afraid and unsure, she leaned in closing the distance melting as soon as her lips touched yours.

It was like the first time you two kissed.

Tentative and timid, a single touch of lips moulding to the other with trembling hands holding you to Wanda. You missed this feeling so much, her soft lips, the taste that was purely Wanda, how she just gave in without thinking too much; the world fade away and the only person that existed was Wanda.

The kiss broke too fast for you liking, Wanda rested her forehead against yours tears rolling down her cheeks.

“What so you want, Wands?” you asked softly, your hand caressing her cheek and face.

Wanda fluttered her eyes closed leaning into your touch.

“If this is our last day, I just want to be with you.” Wanda’s eyes opened wide, her cheeks burn an intense red while you wiggle your brows teasingly.

“My, Wanda, but give us at least another cup of chocolate.” You chuckled when she slapped you playfully on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean… I just …ugh, would you stop it?” Wanda tried to hold back her laughter, but with you looking at her amused was kind of difficult.

“You have a dirty mind.”

“You’re the one with the dirty mind, I just said I want to be with you.” She retorted rolling her eyes but without getting away from your closeness.

“So movie and some snuggles?” You inquired fixing your position on the sofa, Wanda nodded playing the movie while crawling to you.

“This is not going to be our last day, Little Witch.”

“I know.” Wanda said with a flash of doubt crossing her green eyes, you wished there was something else you could tell her but for now your words should be enough. “Can we…watch the movie?”

“Whatever you want, Little Witch.”

You moved on your back, putting the movie while letting Wanda decided where she would rest. It didn’t take her took long to crawl to you resting her weight on your body cuddling closer with her eyes turned to the screen her ear placed tenderly on your chest hearing the beatings of your heart. Wanda sighed contentedly when your own arms wrapped protectively around her, and at that moment she knew she was falling in love with you again and this time around things would be different.

______________________________________________________________

Next Chapter: You meet with Wanda once more, this time around a different place and a different, as the world continues its existance you and Wanda are finally giving one another a chance to live. America gets in some trouble, Yelena brings back up, and Natasha can believe she is ready for retirement.

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 5 - Wouldn't It Be Nice?

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, John introduces Doll to some normal people, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Doll is kinda sorta Catholic? Who knew (me I knew)

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly this chapter is pretty mild all considered.

Ghost, Soap and Gaz come back a few hours later with the blue sports car (a bit scratched up, but tail-light repaired) and a pick up truck that looks a lot like the one John had before, but a generation older, and green instead of gray. John speaks to them briefly before he coaxes you into the truck and drives off, promising that the others will be gone before you get back.

He drives a few miles down the road, and pulls up in front of a little farmhouse. It looks idyllic, children and a dog playing in the yard. Two people on the porch wave, and John hops out and circles around right quick to open your door and help you down.

The couple trots up to greet you both. "Who's this?" The woman asks, looking at you and beaming. "You finally introducing us to a girlfriend?"

"Doesn't feel like the right word, does it, doll?" John winks at you, like your circumstances are all just a funny little blip, nothing nefarious or terrifying about it.

"No, it doesn't," you agree, keeping your face carefully neutral. "I'm Dalisay. Nice to meet you, um, Melissa, right?" You stick your hand out and shake hers. There’s no sense in being rude to them, just because they know John. He’s probably smart enough to keep his old life, and his boys away from his new one as much as possible.

"The very same! We were a bit worried John was going to be an eternal bachelor. Nice to see he's found someone." She introduces her husband, Rob, and her kids, Hannah, Haley and Jackson, who are ten, seven and five, respectively.

"Do you want to see the puppies?" Haley asks, grabbing your hand. Jackson grabs the other one and they pull you along to the garage, not waiting for an answer. You very deliberately don’t look over your shoulder at John, because you’re fairly sure that he’ll be looking back at you with a sickeningly hopeful expression. His comments from last night still ring in your ears, and you’re not willing to indulge that foolish fantasy of his.

The puppies are in a play pen with high enough walls to contain them, but still allow their mother to hop in and out. She hops out to inspect you, sniffing your outstretched hands warily. Her tail starts to wag after a moment, and you give her a proper pat, smiling. The dog has soft ears and a silky, black and tan coat, but you're not sure what type of dog she is.

"What's her name?" you ask, kneeling down.

"Bonnie-bell," Hannah says. "And our other dog is Charaid."

"Proper Scottish names," you say. The kids all have a slight burr, and although Melissa sounds scouse, it's the first hint as to where you are.

"Da said we was gettin' too English, livin' in London," Haley says. "I like it better here anyway. Mum says maybe we can get some coos. "

"I grew up near Aberdeen," you say. "But I've lived in Manchester too long. Lost my accent."

"No' far off, then, aye? We're only about an hour and a bit south and west," Rob says, appearing at the open garage door to supervise. His stern face looks friendlier now that he knows you're not proper English. "Was worried John dragged some poor city girl out'f England to live out here."

You hum. "Well, I am something of a city girl now. Been in Manchester since I was seventeen."

"Weel, welcome home then," Rob says with a wink. "We'll get ye proper re-acclimated soon enough." He leans over and plucks a puppy out of the sleeping pile inside the pen, and hands it to you. The pup is at the age where its somewhere between looking like a potato and a proper dog, maybe six or seven weeks old. "Gordon setter, by the by," he says. "Good dogs."

"Cute too." You settle the puppy in your lap, petting its soft little head. Bonnie-bell licks your wrist and hops back into the pen to lay down next to the others.

"Ye want one? This girl's no' spoken for yet. John's been hemmin' and hawin' about it, but I figure he wouldna want ta leave ye home alone, neither."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'll be staying that long. I'm only here because there was an incident at my apartment and John wouldn't hear of me staying anywhere else." You're not certain why you're stretching the truth to fit around what he and his wife think is happening, but you have no idea what John would do if you did say something. Maybe he would laugh it off like you were making a joke, or maybe he would snap. You don't really think he would hurt these people, but there's a wide-eyed prey animal in the back of your mind that warns you to be cautious, to be careful.

"We'll talk about it," John says from behind you. You hadn't even noticed his approach, with the noise the kids had made when they dashed back outside. "I'm trying to convince her to stay."

"Ye've gotta buy her a ring, ye daft bastard," Rob says, laughing. "A good catholic girl isna goin' ta wait for you ta get yer head out'f yer arse."

"If you don't, I'll introduce her to some lads in town that will," Melissa threatens. "Pretty girl like her has better options than you, old man. Better make your move before she realizes it." She swats John on the arm playfully.

You laugh nervously, touching the little cross around your neck absently. The puppy in your lap seems to sense your discomfort, because she starts wiggling in your arms and trying to lick your chin, little tail wagging. John kneels down beside you so he can pet the puppy too, eyes creased with a smile. "Is that it, doll? You need me to buy you a ring?"

"John," you say warningly. "We don't need to talk about this right now."

"No, I suppose you've had a rough morning. I'll try again later."

"You're impossible."

"Think you might kind of like that about me," he says.

"Not remotely. I think you're an awful, stubborn man," you tell him. Your voice comes out softer and sweeter than you intend, like you don't really mean it, even though it's true. The smile around his eyes grows deeper.

"I am." He picks up the puppy and holds her up in front of his face. "What do you think, girl?" he asks. The little dog's tail wags furiously, and she answers with a high pitched yip. And then she endears herself to you by trying to bite John’s nose. He looks stunned for a moment, but he grins when you start laughing. “Guess we’re all in agreement then,” he says, setting her down in the pen and standing up.

You accept his hand up, and quickly put a little distance between the two of you, before he anchors you to his side with a solid arm, or tries to reel you in close for a kiss. Rob and Melissa invite you in for a cup of tea, and somehow you end up sitting at a dining room table that’s obviously mostly used for crafts, and handed a piece of blank printer paper by Haley, and told by Jackson that you should draw dragons with them. The walls of the dining room are filled with tacked up juvenile masterpieces— Dragons seem to be a particular fixation of Jackson’s, whereas Hannah and Haley have more varied portfolios.

John stands leaning in the door to the kitchen, talking to Rob and Melissa quietly enough that you can’t quite pick up his words over the children’s chatter. You hate him a little for this, dangling Rob and Melissa’s idyllic little life in front of you. The implication is obvious. We could have this, his blue eyes seem to say when you look his way. Wouldn’t that be nice?

It’s frustrating, and confusing. You want to keep him at arms length for your own safety, but he’s already doing his best to roll right past your doubts and better judgment, like they’re just silly barriers between now and the future he’s dreamed up for the two of you.

And worse, you do want it.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” he says on the drive back. Jackson had been so excited about the dragon that you drew for him that he’d shown his parents and John.

“There’s a long list of things you don’t know about me,” you say.

"For now. We'll get there, sweetheart."

You hum, looking out the window. Spending time with the Stuarts has you wistful and homesick for something you can't get back. Days like this, you'd usually pour yourself a glass of wine, look through your family photo albums and have a good cry before going to bed early. It's been a while since it's caught up with you like this, but you'd always been reliant on your routine, burying grief in structure and familiarity. "Do we need to?"

"I'd like to."

"I'm not going to be what you want me to be."

John drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "What is it that you think I want?"

"Some little housewife. Someone soft and sweet to come home to."

"You seem plenty soft and sweet to me."

You sigh, pulling your arms around yourself. "I'm not consistent. I don't know what Johnny told you I was like, but he only knows me from work. I'm not like that all the time."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You say that now, but you'll change your mind."

"I'm not stupid enough to change my mind based on a bad day or two, doll. You're allowed to be upset. I wouldn't blame you if you spend the next week slamming doors and snapping at me. I'm still going to like you." He puts a hand on your knee and squeezes gently. Men like him shouldn't be allowed to have such attractive hands, and you shouldn't be attracted to hands like his, scarred knuckles, a few fingers broken and healed crooked. You know he's killed people, know it would be so easy for him to kill you. It turns your stomach that you feel any kind of desire for him at all.

Men like him are no different than the ones that killed your parents. Dealing death is not a noble trade, there's nothing honourable about exporting violence.

You push his hand away, and keep your eyes trained on the window.

He sighs, but he doesn't press the issue, just clicks on the radio to fill the silence.

When you get back to his house he sets you up in a cozy room down the hall from the more open main space where the kitchen is, an office of some kind with a couple of arm chairs and a desk with a clunky looking laptop set on top. The room smells kind of smoky, but you're just glad to have a door you can close while he "moves some things around". He opens the laptop up so you can watch something, but you just curl up in one of the armchairs and fall asleep.

When you wake, the door is open, one of your blankets is draped over you, and there's a mug of tea sitting on the desk, alongside a couple biscuits. You uncurl, your muscles stiff and joints cracking from not moving for too long, and pick up the tea. It's cold, like it had been left a while ago, but you drink it anyway, and eat the biscuits. There's a note underneath, explaining that John had run out to the shops, and that he'd be back by 18:00. You shake your head, and check the time on the laptop. 18:00 exactly.

Military habits must die hard. You imagine he’s usually prompt too, so you wander out into the main room, and put the clean dishes in the rack away. You realize that the living room side has been rearranged, condensed to a slightly smaller footprint, with some open space left by the far corner behind the bigger couch. The smaller leather sofa has been replaced with the little red love-seat from your apartment, and your T.V. is sitting on it’s familiar perch on the refinished credenza that you’d painted twining vines and little red flowers up the side of. You’d found it on by the curb on the Kinsey’s street a few years ago, and your friend Ripley had bused over and helped you carry it all the way back to your apartment.

You’re not sure you like seeing more of your things merging into John’s house, like any of it belongs there when you still want to insist that you’ll be leaving soon. You hate him for being presumptuous, but you can’t help but think it’s sweet, too, that he makes space for you so readily, that he’ll happily include your painted flowers and colourful blankets and bright red couch into space that was all his just twenty four hours ago. That he would leave you tea and biscuits for when you woke up, that he would tuck a blanket around you while you slept. You’re not used to someone wanting to take care of you, and it feels strange.

Strange, but nice too.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing that it’s twenty past six, and John still isn’t back. It’s getting darker out there, the sun nearly setting, and as much as you try to tell yourself that you’re not worried, it’s hard to deny the stab of relief when you finally see the truck's lights pull up the wooded drive.

You slip on your trainers and step outside as he parks. He grins at you around a lit cigar as he hops out. “Did you miss me, doll?” he asks, insufferably smug.

“Your note said you’d be back at six,” you say lamely. “I just wasn’t sure if you’re usually on time.”

“Usually am. Got caught talking to Wells, down on the corner. Seems someone drove right through his fence last night. Teenagers, like as not. I’m goin’ to help him fix it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You grimace. He must know it was really you. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm. By the sounds of it, you’re quite the driver. Soap said you nearly ran him off the road. That what they teach these days?”

“Defensive driving is well and good, but offensive driving gets you the last good spot in the lot,” you say.

He laughs out loud at that, and leans over to pick up a big paper bag from the passenger side. “Here, can you take this in while I grab the groceries?”

You take the bag (which is slightly greasy and smells like curry), and shift it to one hip. “Can I take anything else?”

He nods and hands you a second paper bag, this one with two wine bottles inside. “Wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, so I got both.”

You settle the bags in your arms and turn to walk away. “Bad time to tell you I like rosé hm?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder.

“Terrible timing. But that’s alright. One more thing, doll.”

You turn back toward him, and he’s right there. One big hand cups your jaw and then his lips are on yours, pressing a kiss that tastes like smoke against you. You stand frozen, holding onto your cargo for dear life, too surprised to do anything. It’s just as well, because in that moment you’re not sure if you’d slap him or pull him closer.

He pulls away without trying to deepen the kiss, which is a relief. You’re certain that you’d drop dinner and the wine.

“John, that wasn’t fair.” Your feet are still frozen in place, and his hand is still on your cheek, his fingers threaded into your hair.

His eyes practically sparkle. He’s entirely too pleased with himself. “Not fair because I kissed you, or not fair because I stopped before we got to the best part?”

Your cheeks flame hot, and you pray that he can’t feel it. “You can’t just— You’re impossible.” It takes concentrated effort to take ordinary, measured steps to the door instead of running. The effect he has on you is apparently very obvious. He never would have tried it if he didn’t know you were teetering on the edge of giving in already.

Boundaries need to be set-- Set and followed-- before you can really even contemplate letting this get any further. Unchecked, you have no doubt that John will have you underneath him in a matter of days. Once that happens you know he'll never let you go, and you'll never have peace of mind if you don't really get to know him first. You know he's not as good as he makes himself out to be, but you suspect he's a better man than your deepest fears might whisper to you. He's genuine about his wants, but that's not enough. You need to know him before you can trust him.

You set your packages down on the table and turn to open the door wide for John as he carries a tote full of groceries into the house. “Thanks, doll.”

The paper bag rips when you open it to pull take-out containers out, setting them on the table neatly. "John, can we talk?" You ask, glancing at him as he stows things in the fridge.

"Course, doll. What's on your mind?"

Nerves threaten to choke you, so you take a steadying breath, in and out, trying to quiet the sea of dread that pitches back and forth in your stomach. “You can’t just take what you want from me. Not if you’re serious about wanting this to be something. I’m afraid of you, John, and I’m not going to fight you. If you push me, I’ll fold, and I’ll hate you for it.”

He pauses, holding a box halfway lifted to the cupboard. It takes a moment before he moves again, setting the box on the shelf slowly. The silence is palpable in the room, settling across both of you like a thick blanket of snow. You fold the ripped takeout bag flat, nervous, the crinkle of heavy paper hardly breaking through the rush of blood in your ears, the panic that grips you by the throat. It’s as though the admission has given your body the chance to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last two days.

You’d been drugged and taken from your home, you’d been handed off to someone you didn’t know, with no clear indication if you’re free to leave or not, you’ve been picked up and manhandled and shot at.

Darkness flickers in the corners of your vision. All you can hear is the pounding of your own heart, the sick, dizzying drums of war, and high pitched ringing like a flat-lining hospital monitor, and screaming, and the rapid burst of machine gun fire. No. The screaming you hear is just in your head, the gunshots aren’t real, they can’t be. It’s not happening, it’s over, it’s been over for a decade, you’re safe.

Except you’re not safe.

Hands land on your shoulders. You lash out, fists striking something solid, knocking the hands away. You have to get away, you have to hide until it goes quiet again. Arms wrap around you in a tight hug, stilling your thrashing limbs and bringing you down to the floor gently.

“Doll! Dalisay, sweetheart, you’re alright, come back.” The voice has authority. You know that voice. It rumbles, shaking loose memory. “Come on, love, breathe slow. You’re okay.” You breathe in, warm spice and tobacco smoke, not burning petrol, not scorched flesh. You’re kneeling on the floor, and John is holding you tight, thighs bracketing yours.

The fight melts out of your limbs.

You’re not safe, but you’re not in danger either. John loosens his hold on you and cups your face, his worried face eclipsing all else. “Doll, where’d you go?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Panic attack,” you lie, because that’s easier to say than My parents were killed in a terrorist attack while we were visiting London ten years ago and sometimes I get so stressed out that I forget it’s not still happening. “I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t a panic attack, doll. Worked with Simon long enough to recognize PTSD. You were somewhere else.”

It’s hard to imagine that Ghost is as fallible, as human as you are, but you suppose there’s no shortage of opportunities for even the the biggest, toughest military men to to wade hip deep in trauma. The worst day of your life would be just another mission for them. The worst day of their lives would probably kill you outright.

"Yeah, I guess it was," you admit haltingly. "Everything just caught up with me. I won't let it happen again."

He shakes his head. "Did I set it off? I need to know— I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

"No, it's not like that. It’s just stress. It's been building since I got here."

"I guess that's what you meant in the truck, huh?"

You nod weakly. "I don't think I can explain it any better right now. But maybe tomorrow."

"Alright." John sighs, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing. " I don't want you to be afraid of me, doll."

"Then you're going to have to give me time, and space. I need to know what kind of man you are. And you should get to know who I am too.” There’s a wrinkle in his shirt, so you fixate on that rather than look right at him, smoothing it out with your fingers. “Let’s worry about becoming friends, for now. And then we can see if there’s something more.”

He doesn’t like that, you can tell by the way he pulls his hands back, reluctant to let go of you. But still, he nods, and smiles ruefully after a moment. “Guess I’m not as patient as I think I am. Too eager to get to the good part.”

You laugh lightly, the sound shaky from frayed nerves. “John, if we can be kind to each other, and come to an understanding, then it’s all the good part. You can’t build the things you want on foundations like this and hold it all together with sheer force of will.”

“You sure about that?" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "I’ve heard I’m pretty stubborn.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You still feel unsettled, your heart still pounding, your stomach still roiling with anxiety. The emotion in those blue eyes is something you can't identify, something fathomless that strikes you with a foreign kind of fear, the kind that's shot through with hope that you shouldn't feel.

“You don’t know me too well yet, John,” you say gently, “but so am I.”

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[kentobb]

PRESAGE | CHAPTER TWO

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Female Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Angst?

Author’s note: I feel like I should make a masterlist. Lmk what you guys think.

5 year later…

Five years had passed since the graduation, and Ushijima had become a household name in the world of volleyball. As a key player for the Schweiden Adlers, he had risen to fame with his exceptional skills and unyielding determination. His powerful spikes and steadfast presence on the court were often the highlight of sports news. Paparazzi followed him relentlessly, their cameras clicking like mechanical insects whenever he stepped out. His face adorned billboards, and his matches were televised events that drew millions of viewers.

Yet, despite the adulation and the accolades, a certain emptiness lingered in his heart. The constant attention was exhausting, and the endless cycle of training and competition left little room for personal reflection. It was this weariness that drove him to make a decision he rarely indulged in: he would take a break. He would return to his roots, to the serene landscapes of the Miyagi prefecture, and visit his mother for a month.

After informing his manager and ensuring his schedule was clear, Ushijima packed a small bag and took a quiet train ride out of Tokyo. The journey was a welcome change from the hustle of city life, the rhythmic clatter of the tracks and the rolling vistas of the countryside soothing his frazzled nerves.

He arrived in Miyagi to a brisk spring breeze and the familiar, comforting sights of his childhood.

His mother’s house stood as it always had, a modest home nestled among fields that stretched out under the wide sky. She greeted him with a warm embrace, her eyes sparkling with pride and joy.

“There’s my big star!” She said as she hugged him.

They spent the first evening catching up, sharing simple meals, and enjoying the unhurried pace of rural life.

It was a balm to his soul, and he felt a peace he hadn't known in years.

After a few days of rest, Ushijima decided to visit an old friend. Tendō Satori, his eccentric best friend from high school, had opened a chocolate store not far from Shiratorizawa Academy. The store, aptly named "Tendō's Treats," had quickly gained popularity for its unique and whimsical confections. Ushijima had followed its success from afar, often receiving care packages filled with Tendō's latest creations.

The shop was a cheerful, inviting place with bright colors and playful decorations that reflected Tendō’s personality. As Ushijima pushed open the door, a small bell chimed, and the rich scent of chocolate enveloped him. Tendō was behind the counter, his trademark grin widening as he looked up and saw his old friend.

“Waka-chan!” Tendō exclaimed, vaulting over the counter with surprising agility. “What a surprise! I didn’t know you were in town!”

Ushijima returned the grin with a rare smile of his own. “I needed a break,” he explained simply.

Tendō clapped him on the back and led him to a cozy corner of the shop. They sat among shelves filled with colorful chocolates, reminiscing about old times and catching up on the present. Tendō’s stories were as animated as ever, his laughter infectious.

“And here I thought you’d be too busy with all those interviews and matches to remember little old me,” Tendō teased, his eyes twinkling.

“You’re not easily forgotten,” Ushijima replied, a hint of warmth in his voice.

Ushijima took a sip of his hot chocolate, his mind wandering back to their high school days. The memories were bittersweet, tinged with nostalgia and regret. He turned to Tendō, who was leaning back in his chair, a contented smile on his face as he savored his own drink.

“Tendō,” Ushijima began, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Have you seen anyone from our class recently?”

Tendō’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Hmm, not too many, but I do keep in touch with a few. Why do you ask?”

Ushijima shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just curious. It’s been a while since we graduated.”

Tendō grinned and reached under the counter, pulling out a well-worn yearbook. “Ah, perfect timing! I was just looking through this the other day. Let’s take a trip down memory lane.”

He placed the yearbook on the table and opened it to a random page. The pictures and names of their classmates stared back at them, frozen in time. Tendō began flipping through the pages, pointing out familiar faces and providing updates.

“Ah, the usual suspects. Goshiki is still obsessed with volleyball, training kids now. Semi’s in a band, believe it or not. Shirabu went into medicine, as expected. He’s working crazy hours but loves it.”

Ushijima nodded, taking it all in. There was a comfort in hearing about his old teammates, their paths diverging yet somehow staying true to the people they were in high school. But these updates were not the ones he truly sought.

Ushijima nodded absently, his eyes scanning the pages but not really absorbing the information. He wasn’t interested in his old friends, not today. His mind was elsewhere, on someone else entirely.

Tendō noticed his distraction and paused, his expression turning more serious. “Waka-chan, you seem... different. Is there someone specific you’re wondering about?

Ushijima hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I’ve been trying to find her for years, but it’s like she vanished…” He breathed, “Do you know what happened to her? To Y/N”

Tendō’s eyes softened with understanding. He flipped through the yearbook with more purpose, stopping on a page featuring a picture of Ushijima and you sitting together in the library. Both engrossed in books, having a tutoring session, but the warmth your expression was unmistakable.

“I remember this,” Tendō said softly, tapping the picture. “You two were inseparable back then.”

Ushijima stared at the picture, memories flooding back. The late nights studying, the shared dreams, the quiet moments of understanding. His chest tightened with a mix of longing and regret.

Tendō closed the yearbook gently, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve heard a bit about her. She’s working as a waitress in a restaurant now. And... she has a kid.”

Ushijima’s eyes widened in surprise. “A kid? Is she married?”

Tendō shook his head. “No, there’s no husband or father in the picture as far as I know. I tried visiting her once to see how she was doing, but she avoided me. I didn’t want to push, especially knowing...”

He trailed off, but Ushijima understood. “Especially knowing that I broke her heart.”

Tendō nodded. “Yeah. Waka-chan. I didn’t want to make things harder for her.”

Ushijima leaned back in his chair, feeling a wave of emotions crash over him. Confusion, regret, a hint of heartbreak. But beneath it all, a deep, abiding yearning. Even after all these years, his heart still ached for you.

“I never wanted to hurt her,” he said quietly. “I thought I was doing what was best for both of us.”

Tendō reached across the table and placed a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “I know. You did what you thought was right. But sometimes, life doesn’t go the way we plan.”

Ushijima nodded, his gaze distant. “She has a child now. I’m glad she’s moved on, even if it means she had to move on without me.”

Tendō’s eyes were filled with sympathy. “Maybe it’s not too late, Waka-chan. Maybe you can still make things right, or at least find some closure.”

Ushijima looked at his friend, the weight of years of unresolved feelings pressing down on him. “Do you really think so?”

Tendō smiled gently. “I do. It’s never too late to try.”

“Can you tell me the name of the restaurant where she works?”

Tendō’s eyes widened slightly, and he paused before answering. “It’s called Sakura’s Garden. Are you planning to see her?”

Ushijima nodded. “I need to. Maybe I’ll run into her...by coincidence.”

Tendō gave a small nod of understanding. “Coincidence, Waka-chan?”

The walk to Sakura’s Garden felt longer than it should have, each step echoing with the weight of anticipation. As he approached the restaurant, his heart pounded in his chest. He stood outside, peering through the window.

And there you were, moving gracefully between tables. You looked different—older, more mature, and… tired.

He couldn’t stop looking at you. The years had changed you, but there was no mistaking the woman he had once loved. His mind swirled with memories and questions, unable to tear his gaze away.

“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice demanded, cutting through his thoughts.

Ushijima turned to see Asami, your best friend from high school, standing there with a look of disbelief and anger.

“Asami,” he began, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m just visiting town.”

Asami’s eyes narrowed. “You need to stay away from her, from Y/N.”

Ushijima was taken aback by the intensity of her words. “Why? I don’t understand.”

Before Asami could respond, a small voice interrupted them. “Aunty?”

They both turned to see a little boy standing nearby, looking up at them with curious eyes. Ushijima’s breath caught in his throat. The boy had the same dark, intense eyes he saw in the mirror every day, the same stoic expression.

Asami’s eyes flickered with panic as she glanced at the boy. “Go sit down, sweetie,” she said, her voice strained but gentle. The boy nodded and returned to his seat, casting one last look at Ushijima.

Ushijima watched the boy, his mind racing. The resemblance was undeniable. He turned back to Asami, his voice filled with confusion.

Asami’s expression hardened again. “You need to leave, Ushijima.”

Ushijima’s thoughts were a whirlwind. He looked back at the boy, who was now quietly drawing, the resemblance striking.

Asami shook her head, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and pity. “Leave.”

Ushijima stood there, torn between the need to know the answer of his own question and the realization that his presence might cause more harm than good. He took one last look at the boy, feeling a pang of longing and regret.

“Please,” Asami whispered, her voice softening. “Let her be.”

With a heavy heart, Ushijima nodded slowly. He turned and began to walk away, each step feeling like a battle against the unresolved feelings and questions that plagued him. As he left, he couldn’t shake the image of the boy from his mind. The resemblance, the possibility—it was all too much to process.

But for now, he had no choice but to leave, carrying with him the weight of unanswered questions.

Why does that little boy looks like him?

Comments, notes and reblogs are appreciated! Feel free to let me know how you feel about this chapter <3

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Aug 3rd

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1. Hi can you help me find this fic ?

So it was set during the Sunshot Campaign, vivid war setting, a lot of explicit sexual content,a long fic I think but definitely more than 10k. It was about Wangxian getting too during the war. I remember only some bits. LWJ asked JC for permission to get married or something of the sort and JC got mad because he thought LWJ was joking but started to negotiate with LXC when it became apparent he was not. Before the final battle WWX promised LWJ that they won't die.During the final battle LWJ got hurt and seemingly died and WWX lost control and made a giant earthquake that collapsed Koi Tower with JGS inside. LWJ was kind of dead for a while but his spirit stuck around (I don't remember why really just that maybe it was part of some spell?) and WWX managed to resurrect him but he needed to regain his memories slowly.

FOUND? The dreamers. by orange_crushed (E, 17k, WangXian, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Spells & Enchantments, Canon Divergence, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, War, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Temporary Character Death, The Character Dies But Does Not Stay Dead Trust Me, Resurrection, Suicidal Thoughts, Loss of Identity, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Injury Recovery, Trauma, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, War Is Hell Etcetera, I Promise The Characters Do Not Stay Dead and Will Absolutely Be Okay, Masturbation, Fantasy, Very Brief Mention of Burial-Mounds-Era Cannibalism, Major Character Death... but only for a minute honestly!!, Awkward First Times, Marriage Proposal)

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2. I'm looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian wasn't killed at the attack at Nightless City but taken captive by the Jins. It's discovered that, to escape the loss of his loved ones and the abuse at the Jin's hands, that he's grown a new core while dreaming and can now dream cultivate. He even manages to bring back Jiang Yanli. I can't find it and hope it hasn't been deleted. Any help tracking this one down would be greatly appreciated!

FOUND? Dream a little dream of me by Moominmammashandbag (M, 60k, WangXian, NHS/MXY, Prison, Hair Washing, WWX thinks he is dreaming, Hurt/Comfort,vFluff and Angst, mentions of torture, MXY deserves love, Mention of dismemberment, Coming Out, Plotting and scheming, animate body parts, goose, and supporting avian cast, Anxiety Disorder, Anxiety Attacks, Reincarnation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Do not fuck with NHS, Dreamwalking, Angst with a Happy Ending, I have read chapter 118 of MDZS ergo I regard JGY as a villain, JC is not a villain, just flawed, JZX Lives)

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3. looking for a fic that's set during the sunshot campaign, after wwx leaves the burial mounds and is found by lwj and jwy. all I recall is one chapter where jwy attacks wwx and endangers wwx. lwj rescues wwx and takes him to the medical tent, and then confronts jwy. I believe the fic author provided two versions of lwj's confrontation w jwy, one of which is a full on physical fight. does this ring a bell? thanks! @potatokunst

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4. hi, i vaguely remember reading a fic where wwx runs around the lan sect political hall in front of the other sect leaders threatening to strip to defuse political tensions HAHA i dont remember the name of the fic but if you could find that that would be great! thank you so much :)

FOUND? Kingfisher Feathers by anonymous (E, 165k, WIP, WangXian, A/B/O, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Rut Sex, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Palace, Royalty, Everyone Lives, Married but one of them doesn't remember it, Amnesia, Historical Inaccuracy, Harems, but not really because we all know lwj only ever sees wwx, Emperor LWJ, War Hero WWX, Collars as a status symbol, Eventual mpreg, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Mutual Pining, Breeding Kink, hints of dubcon cos the whole situation is kinda icky, trope-typical sexism, Dubious Consent, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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5. Hi! I am looking for this fic:

Wei wuxian either goes back in time or loses his memory. But it is back in burial mounds. And he has lost any love for Jiang Cheng. His golden core starts to come back to himself. Jiang Cheng comes to burial mounds demanding an explanation and wwx is rude as he doesn't have that brotherly love anymore

FOUND? 💖 Return to Sender by Thesaurus_with_no_words (M, 72k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX , WangXian Get a Happy Ending, YLLZ WWX, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, canon JC characteristics, Temporary Amnesia, Partial Memory Loss, Literal Emotional Manipulation, Unreliable Narrator, Unreliable Narrator WWX, they are all unreliable ok, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon typical horror and gore, Slow Burn)

FOUND? The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence)

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6. Im looking for this fic please let me know if you can find it

I don't remember a lot of it but in the end there is a battle and lwj and wwx are together and all the sect leaders are also on the battlefield. They can see that there is another flute and xichen finds out its jgy and su she responsible for it.

FOUND? 🔒 Living by WithBroomBefore (G, 15k, WangXian, JC & WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, POV LWJ, WWX Lives, JYL Lives, Family Feels, Siblings, Crying, Lots of it, Suicide Attempt, just the one though, everyone goes to Lotus Pier, plot happens offscreen, Healing, Sad with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death,nmostly just hugs and weeping and healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs)

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7. Hello! I have another fic finder request for you. I think wwx is a prince of the royal family that rules of gods/goddesses. I think lwj might've been mortal, but I'm not sure. I can't remember exactly how wwx and lwj meet, but I think they promised each other that they would marry. lwj then goes home and finds out that his marriage has been arranged - turns out it was wwx's family who got too excited and asked behind his back. I think wwx goes to find lwj in a tent(?) and tells him the truth before the wedding happens. Sorry it's kind of vague. Thank you everyone!

FOUND? cloudy autumn heaps the sky by anatheme (T, 23k, WangXian, Fantasy, Universe Alteration, Secret Identity, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Timeline What Timeline, wwx is a little older here, wwx piling gifts on lwj and encouraging hoarding tendencies, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Arranged Marriage)

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8. Hi! This is fic finder. A modern au where WangXian an ex. WWX works as a model and LWJ is a parfumer. LWJ got a job for YZY. When he goes to the meeting, he sees a bilboard that has WWX on it. Then he messed up the meeting. WWX and LWJ then work together. LWJ places got blown up. WWX asked LQR to sponsor LWJ. Thats all thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! 🔒 heart notes by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 92k, Modern, Fashion & Models, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Reconciliations, Family Drama, exes to friends to lovers, Second Chances, Breaking Up & Making Up, Flashbacks, POV Alternating, Perfume, Fire,bminor injury, Perfumer LWJ, Model WWX, just this once CSSR lives, LWJ's past mistakes come back to haunt him, the inherent eroticism of perfume and the application therein, a little bit of pining while fucking, shockingly enough this narrative does not rely on misunderstandings to fuel the plot)

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9. Hello!! Could you help me find a fanfic where wwx travels back in time as a ghost(? some people cant see him) and he stumbles upon lwj and lxc when they were kids, and he starts taking care of them like giving them treats and comforts lwj & lxc when they lost their mother

Thank you ! <3 @reredamancy

FOUND! Waiting by Morgana_avalon (G, 46k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Short Story, LWJ is five year old, LXC is eight year old, LWJ as a boy kneeling in the snow at the jingshi waiting for his mama to return, brothers looking out for each other, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, canon divergent but also canon compliant, Mystery, Mysticism, Chenqing, didn't know the name of Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen's father when I started writing this, Bichen, happy endings!, The Qilin, Author has no clue how to use birth/courtesy names correctly, Based on the TV-series and not the novel)

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10. Hi sorry to bother y'all, I am looking for a fic I've lost, (I need to learn to Bookmark them with Tags I can remember), and I need help finding it.

A) Basically WWX gets taken in by the Lans because YZ traumatized him to be afraid of Lotuses and Purple? I can't really remember but he gets to stay with LWJ because of it.

B) Mingjue after death gets turned into a talking head/loud goose and the cultivation world looses it's head.

Thanks so much for your all's effort in this blog! (^_^♪)

10A)

FOUND!🔒 this body yet survives by RoseThorne (T, 54k, WangXian, WIP, No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Siblings, Protective Siblings, Soup, Triggers, Protective LWJ, Protective LQR, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Bad Parent YZY, POV Third Person, POV LWJ, reference to poisoning, reference to assassination, Reference to chronic illness, reference to infanticide, Depression, Minor Injuries, Painting, Gift Giving, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Good Sibling JC, Good Sibling JYL, BAMF WWX,, Jealous SS, WWX Protection Squad)

10B)

FOUND? Dream a little dream of me by Moominmammashandbag (M, 60k, WangXian, NHS/MXY, Prison, Hair Washing, WWX thinks he is dreaming, Hurt/Comfort,vFluff and Angst, mentions of torture, MXY deserves love, Mention of dismemberment, Coming Out, Plotting and scheming, animate body parts, goose, and supporting avian cast, Anxiety Disorder, Anxiety Attacks, Reincarnation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Do not fuck with NHS, Dreamwalking, Angst with a Happy Ending, I have read chapter 118 of MDZS ergo I regard JGY as a villain, JC is not a villain, just flawed, JZX Lives)

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11. I cannot for the life of me remember this fic although I'm sure it's a time travel fix it. The scene that has been stuck in my head is:

During the sunspot campaign (?) jzx admits he wants to marry jyl, and wwx and jwy sit down to negotiate the terms (it is implied that they're going to take him for everything he's got and he's going to let them). Just then mianmian bursts in towing a very confused jgy who then realised what's going on.

I thought it might be paper moon but they never broke their bethrothal. I've gone through my bookmarks and still can't place the scene. Please help!! @theladypeartree

FOUND! Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It)

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12. Hello there! I need help i am looking for a fic it was an Alien Invation au i think? Lan Wangji is in the Military with his brother Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue. They were trying to fight some of the aliens but Lan Wangji got seperated and met wei wuxian who was a scientist. There was also Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning. Hope you can find it please! Thankyouu! @lynthecat

FOUND? Deleted "Son Of A Soldier Boy" by FireAwayy. The cached link for chapter 1. If they want to read the rest of the fic they will have to search each chapter to find the cached version. I did check the Wayback Machine but the fic isn't available there (but here is that link too if interested: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41843295 ) // Number 12 for yesterday’s fic finder sounds like “Son Of A Soldier Man” by FireAwayy. They deleted some of their fics a while back including this one. The fic is not available on the wayback machine but you can access it, chapter by chapter, through cached search results. I haven’t been able to find all the chapters but I imagine some more sleuthing can dig them up. You can follow this tutorial for info on how to access cached pages. Note that Google Chrome no longer caches links, so you have to use an alternative like Microsoft Bing (ext for Chrome available) to access. 

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13. For fic finder: My apologies if I recently sent in this ask: this fic has been on my brain for the last few days and I can’t remember if I already wrote in about it or not! It was a modern au about pro e-sports. The different sects are different gaming teams in this fic. WWX was accused of cheating a few years back and had to leave the Jiang team. LWJ, captain of Lan team, eventually finds WWX again and asks to enter a competition with WWX, and I think together they can pull off some kind of special move in-game that shows they have incredible teamwork or something. The fic reminded me of the danmei novel God Level Summoner, but I think the general theme of “fallen champion player gets back on his feet and wins the league” is pretty common in esports stories. 

NOT FOUND! Love OP Please Nerf by LikeTheTide (T, 13k, WangXian, WIP, Esports, Gamer AU, Modern, Gaming, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, screw top and bottom whos the tank and whos the squishy dps, Slow Burn) Based purely on synopsis, could this be 13?

FOUND! 【为梦想而战】for this dream, i'll fight by paradisetrain (M, 27k, WangXian, JYL/MM, Modern, Gaming, Gamer AU, League of Legends, Video & Computer Games, Gaming Jargon, Social Media, Internet Hate, cancel culture, Hacking, Cheating Scandal, Internet Scandal, Bad Parenting, Parent Death, Loss of Parent(s), Family Issues, Family Feels, Healing, Falling In Love, Threatening unborn babies, Death threats to unborn babies, Blackmail, Implied Incest, Canon Typical Incest, Between JGY and QS, Illegal Activities, The game is League of Legends but with different names, Why do people on the same team all have the same surname?, just because, featuring:, WWX Goes Back to Gusu, WWX's canonical self-worth issues, LWJ's unconditional support of WWX) #13 might be this one - I've not read it, but my bestie says it might be the one.

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14. Hello! I'm looking for a fic that's is a university au, maybe lwj pov? In this fic, lwj is selectively mute and took a semester off from college to learn sign language so that he could communicate solely through that. When he meets wwx and his siblings, they can all speak with him because Madam yu is deaf and they know sign language because of her. I think wangxian meet at a cafe where wwx works? At some point point lwj is forced to make a speaking presentation in on of his classes and he prerecords a video to show in class instead due to his anxiety, also somewhwere in the story jiang cheng helps him through a panic attack. I swear I have looked all over AO3 for this fic, but I haven't been able to find it, so there's a chance it might have been deleted, but I hope you all can help!!!!! @kavlobebeki

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15. Hello, thank you for all your help! I am now looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian was raised as Jiang Cheng's whipping boy. This was a common practice among the gentry except for in the Lan clan. JC grew up and he tried not to do anything that would lead to WWX being whipped in his place but during the Cloud Recesses lectures Jin Zixuan demands WWX be whipped and JC can’t really stop it. Lan Wangji tried to intervene but Lan Qiren held him back saying not to get involved in other sect’s conflict. I think Meng Yao was also a designated whipping boy for Huaisang, possibly all the whipping boys for all the young masters also attended the lectures as manservants? I would love to read this again, if anyone can find it! @gloriousclotpole

FOUND? the price of a home by JemTheKingOfSass (T, 13k, JC & WWX, Whipping Boy AU, Pre-Canon, Canon verse events, TW details in top Notes of any chapter when necessary, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, the price of a home [podfic] by esbielle)

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16. I'm looking for a fic where the Lan are the most powerful sect, or maybe they were royalty, and take over Lotus pier because Lan Wangji thinks Wei Wuxian has very impolitely spurned his marriage proposal, only for it to be revealed that Madam Yu did it. @mullk6

FOUND? Warrior Prince by QteCuttlfish (M, 4k, WangXian, Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alpha/Omega, A/B/O, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Implied Mpreg, Not Canon Compliant)

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17. Hi can you help me find a wangxian fic where wei wuxian either runs away after the golden core transfer/did not participate in the war and works at an inn? He ends up finding and rescuing the wens and they work at the inn with him. Then lan wangji found him and so did jiang cheng at the end. @fjcfanatic

FOUND? The Taste of Home by For_the_Love_of_Bichen (E, 49k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bar/Pub, inn owner WWX, WWX never learns demonic cultivation, Human WWX, canon compliant up until the golden core removal, set in mdsz world, Fantasy Medical Procedures, Medical Procedures, Golden Core Transfer, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feels, canonical kinks, Anal Sex,bAnal Fingering, Oral Sex, Bathing/Washing, Dual Cultivation, LWJ & WWX Have a Breeding Kink, WWX Has a Rape/Non-Con Kink, mild cnc kink, mentioned cnc kink, no actual cnc play, Mild Breeding Kink, Drunk LWJ, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Slow Burn, Possessive LWJ, First Time, LWJ Has a Praise Kink, WWX Has No Golden Core, WWX Has Self-Worth Issues)

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18. Hi, I really hope you find this fic! It was WIP which I found only a few months ago. I think it's Jiang bashing altogether because the last chapter ended with Jiang yanli giving tea to Jiang fengmian saying she will take care of something. I tried the "Jiang yanli is not an angel" tag but I cannot find it. Can you help me with this one please?

~*~

19. For some reason scrolled by this fic when browsing through someone's bookmarks and now cannot remember whose, so must turn to you once again! Time travel by Jin Zixuan. Judging by the summary, I think he comes back to awareness in the middle of the fight with Wei Wuxian at Cloud Recesses; he wonders about the fact that he's sure he was bleeding out just a moment ago, then about the fact that WWX suddenly looks a lot younger but still very angry. @linderel

Had no idea that there would be several fics with that premise but then again, perhaps not surprising! Sadly, none of the three suggested for #19 so far sound right. I'll probably still read them at some point.

additionally, about #19: I'm fairly certain that the summary mentioned JZX bleeding out or something, which none of the suggestions have. I also went back to dig through several authors' bookmarks myself but alas, no luck yet; not even any of the suggested ones has popped up

NOT FOUND 一寸光阴一寸金, 寸金难买寸光阴 by orphan_account (G, 11k, JYL/JZX, JC/WQ, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, JZX Tries, JZX Has Friends, (frenemies really but still), Canon Divergence, Temporary Character Death, JZX-centric, Reconciliation, Everyone Lives, Socially Awkward JZX, Second Chances, Cloud Recesses, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Pining, JZX can see the love, Matchmaker JZX, did he sign up for this? no but he's gonna try anyways)

NOT FOUND Brittle Steel Slicing Through by meyari (T, 19k, JYL/JZX, WangXian, Major Character Death, Sunshot Campaign, War, aftermath of war, PTSD, Warning: Jin Guangshan, fuck that guy, murder as a method of problem solving, murder as a flirtation method, learning to communicate for idiots, Time Travel Fix-It, Jin Murder-Babies FTW, Fluff and Crack)

NOT FOUND 🔒 Rise of the Peacock by JustAWanderingBabbit (Not Rated, 70k, JZX & JGY, JYL/JZX, 3zun, WIP, Canon Divergence, Re:Birth/Transmigration, Drabble to Full Story, JZX is all grown up in a boy's body, Time to save the world, Or at least save JZX's chest cavity, I just love saving JGY, Definitely NOT Untamed timeline, Reasonably intelligent gamers, The Jin Brothers are a team, Attempted Sexual Assault, unwanted sexual touching)

NOT FOUND With you, I can fight the World by Weiyingbestboy (G, 2k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, JC & WWX & JYL, JZX & WWX, Everyone Lives, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, JC is so done, JZX and WWX Friendship)

FOUND! 🔒 long bygone burdens by humancorn (T, 17k, JYL/JZX, JZX & WWX, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travelling JZX, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, JZX-centric, JZX Tries, JZX & WWX Friendship, Wife Guy JZX, He's doing his best ok, Canon Divergence, mentions of corporal punishment) So none of the fics suggested for #19 were right but I finally braved the search function and found it myself! I think I skipped it because it wasn't Wangxian content 😅 Anyway, it was this

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20. hello! for the next fic finder, i’m looking for a fic where lqr ends up being able to hear wwx’s thoughts. there’s this distinct scene where lqr is traumatized by wwx jerking off to thoughts abt lwj. thank you!!

FOUND! Judge Softly by Chrononautical (E, 32k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LXC & LQR, LQR & WWX, Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Mind Reading, Oblivious WWX, WWX Has Self-Worth Issues, Cloud Recesses, BAMF WWX, Genius WWX, sex makes WWX stupid, LQR Tries, It may be more accurate to say LQR learns to try, Suffering LQR, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Post-Canon Fix-It, mostly web series with a few influences from the broader canon, Ghosts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gusu Lan Forehead Ribbon, Teacher LQR Mutual Pining, Longing, Playful Sex, Use Your Words, Canon-Typical Violence, Switching, Virgin WWX, Love Confessions)

~*~

[traveler-at-heart]

What we were

Summary: After losing Clint, your marriage and family begins to fall apart. Will Natasha be able to go back to what you once were?

A/N: This is going to be four chapters, but most of it is written. It’s a mix of angst, hurt and comfort. Obvious warning, there’s a major character death. Natasha and R have a daughter.

Time was unforgiving.

It had been six months since you lost Clint. Two since you asked Natasha to move out.

Four hours of sleep was the most you could get each night. 

Time heals everything, people say.

Then, how come, the more time passed, the worse you felt?

Thoughts like these invade your mind, even when doing the most mundane of tasks. Like now, when you’re waiting for your daughter’s school day to be over. Leaning over your black Mercedes, you wish that your injured leg could be less of a bother and instead of driving, you could walk to pick up Anya and get distracted by the sights of the city.

The school bell rings and the quiet classrooms are full of murmurs, books stored away and steps walking -some rushing eagerly- to the exit.

Impossible to miss, Anya’s red waves are the first thing you spot. Raising a hand, she says goodbye to her friends and walks your way. 

“Hi, darling” you sigh against her head. 

She’s getting taller and maybe next year she won’t let you hug her. Maybe she’ll even want to take the bus while you anxiously wait for her return home. But now, she’s still a sweet child and she still lets you run your hands through her hair. 

“How was Debate Club?” it’s the first thing you ask, because she’d been preparing relentlessly to beat the other team. 

“We won, obviously”

“We should celebrate” a voice joins the conversation. You’re so startled that you drop the car keys.

“Mom!” Anya says, wrapping her arms around Natasha.

It makes you happy that she’s not resentful even after everything that happened. That she can love so unconditionally.

She didn’t get that from you.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt” Natasha apologizes, finally looking at you. There’s a weak smile on your face, what else can you do? “I was thinking we could go shopping for that new game you wanted?”

“Can we please, Momma?” Anya turns to you.

“Sure. Have fun. But don’t spoil your appetite. We’re having lasagna” 

“Mom, our favorite” Anya nudges the Russian and you look away.

“I’ll have her home by 6” Natasha saves you the embarrassment of being forced to invite her.

“Have fun” you wave goodbye, heart beating fast.

Breaking the speed limit, you rush home. But the tears start running long before you’re parked.

You look at your sad reflection in the rearview mirror.

Natasha looks better than the last time you saw each other.

Maybe all she needed was to be away from you, to be happy again.

--

Two glasses of wine later, you’re curled up on the sofa watching your favorite comfort show and feeling better. 

“What’s up, Buck?” you answer at the second ring of your phone. 

“Are you ok?”

You look at the half empty glass of wine and decide that no, you’re most definitely not ok.

“Sure, why you ask?”

“I just saw her driving with Anya” 

“Mhm” you look at the clock. 5:55 PM. She’s trying to be a responsible parent, at least. “Yeah, she showed up at school today. It’s good that they spent time together”

“Want me to come over?”

“No, I don’t want you two fighting in my front yard. Thanks, though”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow, ok? And if you feel like it, we can go to that Broadway show on Saturday. I got us tickets”

“Thanks, Buck” 

“Ok, she’s parking outside now”

“You followed them all the way here?” you jump out of the couch, looking out the window.

“What? I was worried!” 

“Sometimes I think it’s not so great that you live a few blocks away, you weirdo”

“But then I bring coffee and scones and you change your mind” 

“Yeap”

“See ya, doll”

“Bye, creep”

“Oh, come on!”

You let out a laugh at his protest. Wanda and Yelena have been texting you, so you scroll, smiling at the silly pictures of Fanny or the videos of Tommy and Billy doing their crazy science experiments. 

“Hi, Ma” Anya rushes past you. “Gonna change for dinner”

“Mmkay” you nod, texting Bucky to make sure he’s actually back home, and not slashing Natasha’s tires. 

“So…” 

“Nat, jeez” you drop the phone, not even aware that she is still here. She looks at you across the kitchen island. 

Don’t think how sad it is that she looks out of place here, where it used to be home.

Don’t cry in front of her.

Don’t.

“Sorry, I’ll say goodbye and leave” 

“Anya, your mom’s leaving” you busy yourself in the kitchen, looking away.

“So soon?” the girl peeks around, pouting. “We haven’t even played the game yet”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” you give up, unable to say no to your daughter. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m always making extra anyways”

Because you were used to cooking dinner for three. 

Anya is happy to set the table, but you sit next to your daughter, leaving Natasha in front of her. You try to stay focused on Anya and school: the debate club, sports activities, a month in Europe for the best students. 

“Mom, do you think I can reach out to aunt Carol? I have some Astronomy questions”

Natasha immediately looks at you, but you’re hyper focused on the bottle of wine and pouring the last of it until your glass is filled to the rim.

“Uh, she’s not... I’m not sure where Danvers is, sweetheart. She left Earth a while back” 

“Oh, ok” the girl nods, looking at you with a frown. “Mom, what’s wrong? Is your leg hurting? What did Doctor Cho say?”

Crap.

“What’s wrong, det…?” Natasha asks, looking at you. The pet name almost rolled off her tongue.

Everything. Everything is wrong, Natasha. 

“That old injury from our outlaw days. Doctor Cho gave me some pain killers. But I don’t think I’ll take them, they make me too sleepy”

“We’ll do the dishes” Natasha jumps in. “Don’t worry about it” 

“Thanks”

The dishes are the least of your worries, but it’s still a nice gesture.

Maybe when she’s finally ready to ask you to divorce her, you’ll be able to coparent. 

“Here, let me” she asks as you approach with the empty glass of wine. “Did Doctor Cho say anything else?”

You sigh, leaning against the counter, watching as she washes the dishes.

“She said surgery might make the pain go away. Actually, there’s a 90% chance it will work. But Anya’s got school and I’d have to do bed rest for at least five weeks. Maybe during winter break” 

“I can take care of her. Drive her to school or cook dinner or…”

“You’re a terrible cook” you remind her. It’s meant to be a joke, but also a way to make her stop.

You don’t want to be a burden for someone who doesn’t want you anymore.

“Wanda could teach me” 

“She’s too busy making sure the twins aren’t building a nuclear weapon in the garage” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks, almost afraid of your answer.

“Can you take her to school tomorrow?” you finally say, without providing further details.

The truth is, you’ll probably cry until you fall asleep, because you miss Natasha and this is the first time you’ve seen her in two months. 

And it would be better if you could sleep in, make an appointment with your therapist and then find a way to look composed by the time you have to pick your daughter from school. 

“Absolutely” 

“Thank you” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N” 

The way she says your name makes you want to scream. 

--

Natasha’s long gone, Anya sleeping peacefully back in her room.

You’re looking at the ceiling, tears rolling down your face and soaking your pillow.

You miss her so damn much. You love her so much.

And you also hate her. And you hate yourself for loving her.

There’s a soft knock at your door. You know it’s not Anya because she would have turned on the hallway light.

“Hey, weirdo” you look at Bucky from across the room, smiling sadly. He approaches you and wraps you in his arms. You sob against his chest, feeling like the sadness will last forever.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. Let it all out. I’m here”

You don’t know when you fall asleep.

--

A lot has changed in such a short time, but by now, Anya is used to the sight of her uncle Bucky, rotating between the few breakfast foods he can make without burning everything.

“You read my mind” Anya watches as he makes blueberry pancakes.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?” he mumbles, impressed at how silent she was.

“No, because my moms are spies and so is my uncle and my other aunt and basically half my family”

“Smart ass,” he chuckles. “Come on, eat your food before it gets cold”

“Did mom eat anything yet?” Anya sits on a stool, eating on the kitchen counter.

“Your mom’s asleep” Bucky says. In fact, you cried, had a panic attack, a couple of nightmares, woke up to drink some water and then fell asleep at 4 AM. 

Basically, the usual for the past two months.

He’s so caught in his thoughts that he forgets to flip the last pancake. A knock on the front door snaps him back to reality.

“Can you turn off the stove? And pack your bag, we’re leaving in five…” Bucky yells over, opening the door without looking through the peephole first. He’s surprised to find Natasha on the other side “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up my daughter” 

“Does Y/N know?” He's holding on to the door so hard that the wood cracks.

“She asked me to drive Anya to school”

“Ok, I’m ready” Anya announces, aware that her mother and uncle aren’t on the best terms. She walks between them to make sure they won’t punch each other. “Bye, uncle, thanks for breakfast” 

“Have a good day, sweetheart. See you Saturday”

“Right, for that musical, Beaglejuice”

“Shut up” he chuckles, kissing her forehead. Anya leans forward and hugs him goodbye.

Natasha is silent for most of the ride. Anya is looking out the window, uncertain of her mother’s mood. Maybe not saying anything is safer.

Three blocks away from school and Natasha hears herself blurting out what’s been on her mind this whole time.

“Does Barnes stay over a lot?”

“I guess” Anya mutters, still looking out the window.

“Well, do you know…”

The girl has enough, turning around to face her mother. There’s nothing but resentment in her eyes as she tells Natasha everything.

“Mom cries herself to sleep every night. Ever since you moved out, it's been hard for her to get up in the morning and act normal, let alone cook breakfast. So yeah, uncle Bucky is around all the time, just to make sure she’s at the very least alive. You’d know if you still cared about us” 

“Anya…”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way, thanks for the ride” she mumbles, opening the door and rushing away. Natasha is stuck in traffic, so all she can do is watch her daughter from the car.

Just when she was starting to make things right, she fucks up again.

--

“Thanks for breakfast” you say, mouth full of pancakes.

“More like lunch” Bucky corrects.

You nod, reaching for the maple syrup. 

“So, why’d you ask Natasha to drive Anya to school?” 

“Is that why my door is almost broken in half?” 

“I’ll fix it”

“You better” you mumble. He is still staring and you shrug your shoulders. “Just experimenting how co-parenting is gonna be when we officially divorce”

“So, you are asking her to divorce you?” 

“She’s gonna ask me. Sooner or later” you keep your head down, playing with your food. You’re not hungry anymore.

“All things considered, the ball is in your court”

“Buck” you plead, dropping the fork.

“I’m just saying” he approaches your side. “You’ll only be able to heal once you know what you both want. But running away won’t help”

“You sound like my therapist”

“But does she cook you breakfast?”

“For what she’s charging me, she should, actually” both of you laugh. And damn it, you know he’s right. “Thank you, for worrying about me. And for taking care of us these past few months. I’m sorry I’m such a mess”

As if on cue, tears start streaming down your face. Bucky hugs you, kissing your head.

“It’s ok”

“I know you hate it when people cry, I’m sorry” 

“Yeah, but I hate it a little bit more when you’re the one crying”

--

Luckily for your therapist, you’re all cried out by the time you reach her office. Instead, you discuss how it would be better to approach Natasha, who has always struggled with communication around difficult topics.

“I’m very happy with this session. We’ve made great progress” Doctor Thompson says and you put your fist forward.

“Fist bump” you encourage her.

“I’ll get my license taken away if we ever do this again” 

For the first time in months, you leave her office feeling a little bit lighter. 

Until you check your phone. 10 missed calls from Natasha.

“Nat?” you answer as she calls again.

“Is Anya with you?”

“I was about to pick her up from school” there’s a pause. “You did drive her to school, right?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot” she shoots back.

“Well, I’m very confused because she’s only about to end her last class. Why would she be anywhere else, then?” you retort.

“Just meet me back home, ok?” she pleads.

“Fine”

She’s pacing on the sidewalk as you park.

“Care to explain?”

“The school called me an hour ago. She sneaked out after recess” 

“Let’s just track her phone” 

“It’s off”

“Well, fuck” you run your hand through your hair. “Did she say anything to you this morning? Did she seem upset?”

Natasha looks away, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I asked her if Barnes was staying over often”

“Natasha, for fuck’s sake” you sigh, turning away from her. 

Don’t shout. You won’t solve anything by screaming at Natasha.

Your daughter is missing because your wife can’t keep her jealousy to herself. So fuck it.

“If you want to know anything, you ask me, Natasha, do you understand? You don’t go questioning our 13 year old daughter, who, by the way, has been through enough shit lately. I’m trying to protect her and you’re here implying I’m sleeping with the only friend who isn’t tired of me being a mess. Which, for the record, I’m not. And would never. Unlike you, I’m not going around fucking people outside my marriage because I’m having a hard time”

“I don’t know how to get close to you, Y/N. You pushed me out ever since…”

“No! You don’t get to put this on me. I tried for months. I tried everything. And you scoffed and ignored and stood me up. I gave up the moment I found you in bed with Carol” 

Your voice breaks at the last part. That memory has been buried for so long; you want it to stay hidden, forever. 

It doesn’t matter. You need to find Anya.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Buck” 

“I’m here. I’ll help you find her” 

“I’ll find my daughter alone, thank you” you walk past her, waiting impatiently for your friend to pick up.

“She’s my daughter too”

“You sure as hell haven’t acted like her mother in a long time, Natalia” 

You walk away, your back turned to her. 

“Buck” you say, voice trembling.

“I know. She’s at the Met. Hasn’t left. I’m outside, just in case”

“How did you…?” 

“I’m sorry. I was hoping I could convince her to come back before you found out she sneaked out of class”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can” 

--

Again, those soft waves of red are the first thing you spot in the room. Her blue eyes are fixed on Degas and his Dance Class.

“Hey, kiddo” you stand next to her, understanding immediately why she’s looking at this painting. “We still have your ballerina shoes somewhere in a box. Your mom loved going to your recitals” 

“I’m sorry for leaving school” 

“I played hooky a couple of times. It’s part of life. I just want to make sure you’re ok” 

“She doesn’t care if you’re able to get up in the morning but gets jealous because someone is taking care of us” 

You sigh. Anya has Natasha’s heart, after all. She loves and protects fiercely.

“That’s not exactly true. Come with me” your daughter takes your hand as you leave the museum. 

Central Park is still looking beautiful, even as fall approaches. Anya plops down on a bench and you take a seat next to her. A small groan leaves your lips. This damn leg.

“You know your mother was raised to be an assassin. The Red Room taught her that love was a weakness. And that she was incapable of having a family or people that cared about her. Even after all these years, insecurity can get the best of Nat sometimes”

“Why can’t we just… go back to what we used to be?” she mumbles, a tear rolling down her face.

“Oh, sweetheart” you hold her against your chest. “I want nothing more in this world” 

“I miss her”

“Me too, Anya”

“It’s like we lost her the day uncle Clint died” she sobs.

“But she’s still here. And she still needs you, my sweet girl. I’m not saying you should forgive her right this second. But don’t build a wall around yourself, please”

“Ok” 

“You know I lost my mom when I was 15. And a lot of that time I spent it angry at her for staying with a man that wasn’t good to us. But once she was gone, all I wished was that I had made her life a little easier”

“I’m sorry” 

“It’s ok. I’m glad I’m here, to make sure you don’t make the same mistake I did. We’re gonna be alright, I promise” 

“I love you”

“Love you too, kiddo” you keep her in your arms for as long as you can, but a light rain begins to fall. “Come on, now. Bucky’s been waiting for us”

“I know. I saw him following me on the bus here”

“My God, I don’t know which one of you is scarier” 

Anya giggles, and you take her hand. 

Even between all of this mess, she’s the one thing that makes everything worth it. 

--

Anya was the one that texted her mother, apologizing and letting her know she was ok.

You didn’t reply to Natasha’s text. “I’m sorry” isn’t enough sometimes.

After pizza and an intense game of Jenga with Anya and Bucky, you call it a night.

You know what you’ll dream of tonight, but you’re too tired to care.

[birdkatze]

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 4

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = Gaz/reader

Words = 1k

[Chapter 3] --- [Chapter 5]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Explicit under the cut

“Guys…We can’t leave them like that..” Gaz frowned, looking in between the three alphas in frustration.

“Gaz, they will be fine” Price asserted, pulling into their den’s driveway, “We can’t just…We have to give them time to accept.”

“Price, you don’t understand!” frowning Gaz pleaded with Price and the other three alphas, “Duck is an omega- one that hasn’t ever had pack before, fuck they haven’t shifted before today! We need to go back..”

“I said no.” Price took off his boots and clothes- as customary in the den.

Looking at the other two Gaz pleaded at them hopelessly “Alphas please..” “Sorry mate, I’m sure Duck’ll be fine” Ghost moved Gaz’s hat and kissed his forehead.

“What Price says goes.” Soap asserted frowning, taking off his clothes and climbing into the nest looking just as frustrated and upset. It was clear he was not happy with Price’s decision.

Gaz whimpered and looked at them hopelessly, frowning he stayed in the mudroom- still fully dressed. Crossing his arms he attempted to guilt his alphas into helping

“Price! You don’t get it as the pack omega you need to listen to me! At least one of us needs to be with Duck right now. It’s-” Gaz tried to explain before Price cut him off

“Gaz…” Price grumbled in warning, using his alpha voice “Come’on we’ll check on them tomorrow.”

Climbing into the nest, Price pulled Soap on top of him. Which was odd but not unusual.Gaz was always to one who Price did that with…Gaz frowned before giving in and getting undressed for the nest, curling up against Ghost who wrapped an arm around him- pulling him close.

Gaz didn’t get a lick of sleep, anxious the entire night. Eventually he couldn’t help it and carefully extracted himself from the nest to get a drink of water. A wave of nausea overtook Gaz as he thought about you, he had been lucky all things considered. Price and Ghost had taken him in and refused to let him be alone. They had reassured him and held him tightly as he got used to being in a pack that wasn’t unstable and cruel.

Gaz knew how it felt as an omega to meet a pack for the first time and for them to just leave…it was a painful feeling. Gaz’s second pack had done that to him, they had met with him and given him scraps, then they left. Even thinking about it now is painful, his omega felt rejected and hurt beyond comparison.   

His first and second pack were cruel, the scars he bore still hurt during the winter from his mistreatment. Gaz couldn’t even stomach the thought of pups now due to the horror of what they had done to him, Gaz felt tears prick in the corners of his eyes.

Soap sat down next to Gaz on the couch leaning against his shoulder, startling Gaz and pulling from his memories.

“You feel it too?” Kissing Gaz’s shoulder, Soap questions.

“We have to go back…We can’t leave an omega like that…” 

“I agree..”

Both men quietly left, making sure to leave a note. Quickly shifting into their wolf form and opting to run the few miles between the den and your house. The run was an easy one and rather beautiful. The moon light dappled through the trees.

As the pair got closer to the house they could smell the scent you were producing. It gutted both of them. It was the smell of pain, sadness, rejection, and agony. Climbing over your short fence Gaz opens the sliding glass door without having any issue which sets off alarm bells for the pair even more.

The scent that permeated in the house was one of sickness. Crying Gaz climbed up the stairs and into your room knocking on your bedroom door before entering.

“Duck?” walking over to you Gaz looked horrified at the state you were in.

You were curled up in a ball in the bathroom sobbing, making pained noises. 

Running to your side Gaz and Soap pull you up off the tile and into your bed. Soap runs out to get you water and a simple carb. Gaz pulled you on top of him and kissed your cheek.

“It’s okay Duck, me and Soap are here, you aren’t a bad omega sweetheart.” Gaz ran his fingers through your hair and across your back, holding you close. 

Soap came back up with a bag of chips he had found in your backpack and water.

Gaz carefully sat you up in the bed and Soap sat next to you. Gaz let Soap feed and water you, it would be better if there was an alpha doing it for you. Gaz simply held your hand gently rubbing circles with his thumb.

You started to come back into awareness as Soap and Gaz babied you. You let off a small whimper after you finish and curl up against them more as Gaz and Soap pull you into laying down.

Soap licked your jaw and kissed you the crown of your head, hugging and snuggling against you. Gaz does the same snuggling and holding you tightly, gently whispering sweet sentences, rubbing small circles into your hip.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, you felt more like a person again. 

Smiling softly you snuggled closer to Gaz and Soap, feeling much happier. You kiss the crown of Gaz’s head and Soap's shoulder. Feeling relieved the pair chatted your ear off, full of soft adoration and kind words.

Blushing, hiding your face against your pillow as the two praise you, apologizing for leaving you all alone.

“Duckkkkk..” nuzzling you, Soap smiled “Don’t hide from us..” he teasingly licked the shell of your ear. Causing you to shiver and squirm, a surprising flash of arousal passed over you.

“Stopppp” whining you keep your face in your pillow, feeling embarrassed and horny.

“It’s okay Duck, Soap let’em sleep” mumbling Gaz pulled the blanket over the three of you.

Relenting Soap snuggled up against you and fell asleep very quickly. You also were dead asleep and so was Gaz in a matter of seconds.

You had never felt so safe and warm.

[lovemyromance]

idk why but i think itll be forced if gwyn and az get together. Like say elain accepts the bond and gets with lucien and azriel knows he has to step back and then suddenly he likes gwyn and they started to form a bond and get together. like... no. thats not it at all. like at least do some type of slowburn for gwynriel if elain and lucien get together. (Idk why but I keep thinking itll be like a forcing thing if elain and luc get together because they know they are mates. LIKE IT JUST WONT HIT THE SAME) But, I think thats why im so built up on elriel and cant fully ship the other ships because theres nothing for me to fully ship.

My meeting got cancelled just now and I'm in a silly goofy mood so let me just say this: if I were SJM and I for some reason DID intend to write Elucien or Gwynriel, I would not have done it this way. I don't think any writer would've done it this way.

The way the books are currently written, it is a clear setup for Elriel. People who deny that are those who still hold out hopes for their preference of ship, but the writing does not support that. It has not supported that since ACOWAR.

Not that I am in any way SJM equivalent but here's how I would've done it, starting from ACOWAR, which was when she started actively planning Nesta & Elain's spinoffs. (And this is in no way Anti Lucien or Gwyn. But I'm tagging it anti because I don't want them getting any ideas lmaooo)

1. The second they got back to the Spring Court, have Lucien grow a backbone and tell Tamlin he's going after Elain. Not simply "Get her back" but "I'm getting her back." (Ring any bells?)

Not wait for Feyre to leave and tag along to see if Elain was "worth fighting for", not simply think about how Elain had been thrown at him, not even think about Jessiminda. I would've had Lucien take action himself. He would've left to go after Elain immediately, and Feyre would've followed HIM - or waited till she got the spring court fucked up and then followed him.

2. Have Lucien be patient with Elain. Have more than just one awkward conversation with Elain. Have Feyre observe multiple moments between them. Have Elain slowly soften to him or get used to his presence. Have Lucien sit in the garden with Elain. Have him frown at her words and bring them up to Feyre and actually try to help her. But most importantly I would've had Lucien figure out her powers. (Sound familiar? Good. It should.)

3. Have Azriel go volunteer to find Vassa, not Lucien. Perhaps he goes into the library to research (starting the foundation for Gwynriel very subtly). Have Lucien join the IC as they fight at SC, have Lucien join them at the HL meeting. Have Lucien go into an angry rage at seeing Graysen and how that man's words hurt his mate. Have him comfort Elain and say "I'll wait - however long it takes."

4. Have Lucien save Elain from Hybern's camp. Have Lucien go feral and break the wards around the camp - setting up for his parentage plotline - and winnow in and save her. Have Elain kiss his cheek. Have Elain finally see him in a different light. (Wow where have I seen this before?)

5. Have Elain willingly invite him to Velaris at the end of ACOWAR. Have Lucien take her up on that offer.

6. In ACOFAS, have Elain & Lucien get each other presents. Elain does not get Azriel a gift, just Lucien. She appreciates the gardening gloves. Gets Lucien ... a fishing rod or hair tie or something idk "here's a rod: for all the fish that you catch with your hands" 🤣🤣🤣 Lucien laughs and Feyre thinks "wow I've never seen him so happy"

7. Continue to develop their relationship in the background of ACOSF. Lucien offers to help Elain train her powers in the background (idk how he would but still). He is there at solstice and gets her another gift. Cassian thinks Elain is sneaking around with him but won't admit it. Lucien goes with them to Hewn city and gifts Elain a dress that suits her better and is from the Day court or whatever. There's a bonus chapter with LUCIEN's POV where Elain & Lucien are about to kiss but they get interrupted and Lucien feels bad he pushed her too far so he says sorry this was a mistake. Miscommunication trope ensues.

8. After ACOSF, start their book with a major conflict that comes up immediately. For some reason, Lucien & Elain go to Day court to research and train her powers - maybe they have a Seer there idk. make something up, a la CC3 translation bean. Their friendship has been steadily growing since ACOWAR, and now it turns to love.

I would've set Elucien up for a slow burn, friends to lovers romance from the second Elain got chucked out that cauldron.

But again, SJM did not write it that way. She wrote all those key pivotal moments with Elriel, not Elucien. It would've been so easy to do the storyline above. It would've made us root for them more by the time their book came around. Lucien was a main character since book 1 (before he fell off) so their story would've been eagerly anticipated.

And I could do this same thing for Gwynriel, but she didn't exist until ACOSF so it would be much much shorter and basically would be Nesta noticing ACTUAL romantic moments between Gwyn & Azriel (not "bye Shadowsinger" or "you're new ribbon Az" but actual romantic attraction - like Azriel physically helping Gwyn cut the ribbon and touching her - with her consent ofc - and Gwyn blushing at him). Like - do the antis realize how EASY that would've been? I dare say it would've been easier for SJM to write Gwynriel than any moment with Elriel at that point in ACOSF, because Nesta spent more time with Gwyn.

There's absolutely no way SJM wrote the books this way with all this Elriel buildup, just so she could have a shock factor (?) of "Elain & Lucien are mates but she avoids him for 3 books and gets with Azriel but SURPRISE- Elucien is actually endgame! And Az gets with Gwyn!"

That just doesn't make any sense. At all.

[officialdaydreamer00]

House fire

ROLLO FLAMME — in which one can predict a student exchange program might go south real quick

COLLAB WORK with @unfictinalnightmare for [The chimes of comfort]

CONTENT — takes place after glorious masquerade, our yuusonas (hillary and irene) are yuu, silly shenanigans with hillary and irene, rollo will show up soon :)

TAGGINGS — @cloudcountry @identity-theft-101 @xen-blank @esmerulia-chantelle @dove-da-birb @cookiesandbiscuits @vioisgoinginsane @siren-serenity @loser-jpg @axvwriter @aqua-beam @edith-is-a-cat @minimallyminnie @thehollowwriter @taruruchi @cyanide-latte @ferris-thewheel + others :3

Do reblog or comment if you enjoy my work! ^-^

Chapter 1: An undeniable request || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6

"WHAT?!"

"As I have just said, I want the two of you to act as our representatives when Mr. Flamme arrive to Night Raven College in the next student exchange."

The headmage offered the two girls in front of them a smile. Black and white, blood red and sea green, both were staring at their 'beloved' headmage with a look of utter disdain.

"Wait, pause- Who the hell is Flamme?" Hillary gave the girl next to her a confused glance before averting her eyes back to the headmage. Irene only sighed, taking off her round glasses as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Rollo Flamme, Noble Bell's rep and School Council President, he was our guide in Fleur City."

Irene was still haunted by that incident in Fleur City. She thought it was a rare occasion to relax after weeks and months of doing errands for the damn crow, but no. Seven knew he was plotting such a devious scheme.

"Indeed, ahem... Since the student body were rather, well, hesitant when speaking about him, so I believe you two are the best option as his guide in the upcoming exchange program." Crowley said joyfully. "Oh, and by the way, Mr Flamme shall stay at Ramshackle Dorm in the short duration of the program, I truly hope the two of you can do your best to accommodate him."

The headmage went on and on with his monologue, ignoring every signs of refusals from Hillary and Irene.

With Irene and her unforgettable experience in Noble Bell College, she was rather afraid of Rollo still. Who knows what could happen during the entire program when he faced NRC's students, especially her upperclassman Malleus. It would be one hell of a meeting, and like hell she wanted to be the one cleaning it up for the nth time.

With Hillary, who wasn't on the list of students on that trip to Fleur City, her impression about Rollo was practically zero. And it wasn't like she could ask Irene or the others since they wouldn't peep a single word. Though perhaps that was enough signs to guess this Flamme guy was anything but a saint.

———————————————————

"I refuse."

Hillary immediately shook her head, cutting off Crowley's ramblings as he squawked in surprise. Not like he could force her to do his biddings anyways.

"I also refuse."

Irene followed her lead and answered as well, seeing how Hillary gave both of them a way out. It wouldn't hurt to work with that troublesome girl if it meant one less baggage on her shoulders.

"Oh no... Why must you two treat me, the kindest and most beloved headmage, that way? What a hurtful thing to hear from the Prefects themselves..."

Hillary and Irene could only watched in exasperation as the headmage blabbed on about his so-called kindness and hard work. However, the headmage was never an easy person to deal with, he gave them an unreadable smile.

"Nevertheless, as a careful teacher I am, I have come prepared! So I am counting on you two, Trein-sensei, Crewel-sensei."

———————————————————

Only after one long session of persuation from two most respected professors on campus, using various tricks and techniques, did Hillary and Irene agree to it, albeit reluctantly. Though it was a golden opportunity for them to upgrade Ramshackle dorm even more. They couldn't let that infuriating headmage win that easily.

"Fine. I promise to lend you some ingredients for your magic research." Crewel shook his head and sighed, looking at Irene with a tired stare.

The little dark pup excelled at everything and destroy every challenges thrown her way, which he was proud of as a Professor. Only that she was so damn stubborn and had a penchant for dark magic.

"Thank you, sir!" Irene smiled as she happily accepted the deal, thinking about all the things she could get from the Potions professor's laboratory.

However, if Irene was already headstrong, Hillary was completely, utterly a hardhead. Trein and Crowley even had to use the library key and give her free reign to it for her to agree.

And so the preparation the student exchange program began...

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Three

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

It was around 5 bells in the evening, from the last time Novali had heard the loud ringing as she made her way to Sailas' home in Hewn City, the faerie lights the only thing eliminating the place, she smoothed out her dress, her face expressionless as she walked the busy streets.

Novali, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, strode through the crowded market square, her head held high despite the anxiety gnawing at her insides. She passed by stalls laden with products and wildflowers. Every now and then, she would catch sight of familiar faces, acquaintances who greeted her curtly before going about their day.

As she neared Sailas' house, a sense of unease crept up her spine. This wasn't just another visit, this was different. This was important. The Night Court's inner Circle would be arriving today, and she had little to prepare for the cold welcome they would most likely receive. She hated not being in control, and Rhysand's possible arrival tensed her.

She looked up to see Aleks trailing beside her on the rooftops of the homes, his hair a fire-like beacon. "I'll be watching your back." He had said, not looking for her to deny him, not waiting for her to ask him.

Novali felt warmth in her heart when she saw Aleks looking her way, she'd

Novali nodded faintly, trying to suppress a small smile that threatened to appear at Aleks's constant vigilance. "Thank you," she whispered under her breath, not bothering to disguise the fondness creeping into her tone.

Despite herself, Novali could not ignore the warmth spreading within her heart, it seemed as though everything she felt for Aleks was magnified in those uncertain moments.

Finally, the quaint row houses came into view, the richest parts of the city, Sailas's residence nestled amidst them, bathed in the twilight glow of magical lamps. A few steps away and she could already hear voices echoing within, presumably Kier. Her stomach twisted nervously, but somehow, knowing that Aleks was right behind her helped to steady her nerves somewhat.

Novali masked her nervousness and knocked on the doors of Sailas' house

Sailas, standing at the threshold, eyed Novali warily when she knocked. His gaze drifted towards the empty street beyond her, a clear indication of his suspicion. Nonetheless, he opened the door and gestured for her to come inside.

The moment she stepped foot into the grand foyer, the scent of old magic enveloped her like a suffocating shroud. Sailas closed the door behind her while Kier emerged from one of the many corridors, his sharp gaze scanning every inch of her person.

"You're late," Kier commented without preamble, crossing his arms over his chest in typical fashion.

Novali stayed quite still Sailas placed a hand on her lower back, "Answer him." He demanded.

"I'm sorry. I got held up." Novali replied, her chin dipped in a show of respect, not looking the males in the eye.

Sailas's grip tightened momentarily on her back, his fingers digging slightly into her skin as a silent warning. But his voice remained even, betraying none of the annoyance he must have been feeling. "You should know better than to keep us waiting."

Kier's lips curled into a smirk, clearly amused by her apology. "And why is that? Because we hold your fate in our hands?" he asked rhetorically, taking a step closer to her.

Novali shifted uncomfortably under their combined scrutiny, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. She wished desperately for Aleks's presence, his steadying influence and his quiet strength were sorely needed at that moment.

But there was no sign of him anywhere, and she knew that he was likely keeping watch from afar.

"Yes... Sir." Novali replied, trying to make her voice as pleasant as she could. "I will not be late for tonight."

Both Sailas and Kier seemed to relax ever so slightly upon hearing her promise, but it didn’t take much to notice the underlying severity in their expressions. “Good,” Sailas murmured approvingly.

“Make sure you keep that vow,” Kier chimed in, a hint of sarcasm dripping from each word.

Novali stayed close, doing her best to keep her composure intact despite the simmering rage boiling beneath her calm exterior, rolling her eyes when the males looked away from her. She dreaded what tonight might bring, confrontations, arguments, perhaps even violence. But whatever happened, she couldn’t afford to let any of it get to her. Not here, not now.

Novali sat in a room in Sailas' house, a black dress laid out in front of her, it was quite a scandalous outfit. Novali studied the garment laid out before her, her heart pounding in her chest. It was unlike anything she'd seen before, revealing, provocative. A part of her wanted to reject it outright, but she knew that would only lead to further consequences. So instead, she swallowed hard and reached out hesitantly to touch the fabric.

As she did so, memories flooded back: her mother dressing her up in similar outfits for feasts and gatherings back when life was simpler, how proud her mother had been when people would compliment her daughter's beauty. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Novali jerked her hand away from the dress as if burned. Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision momentarily as she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides.

Her mother, the monster of her nightmares, the female who despite her own abuse sold Novali to suffer the same fate the second she bled for the first time. marrying a young 14-year-old to a male as old as Sailas, then turning her back on her after she was forced with child.

Novali's mind swirled with conflicting emotions, torn between past trauma and present dread. Memories of her mother flashed through her mind like images from a disturbing dream - her face contorted in anger or disgust, always looking away from Novali as if ashamed of what she'd done.

But reality snapped her back to attention when she heard Sailas's voice echoing down the hallway outside the room. "Hurry up," he called out impatiently.

With trembling fingers, Novali began to undress, discarding each piece of clothing with increasing speed until she stood naked before the dress. It seemed so foreign against her bare skin – heavy satin clinging to curves meant to please rather than serve. And yet, it also brought back echoes of childhood innocence, moments stolen before her world turned upside down.

In the blink of an eye, Novali's expression hardened into a blank mask, devoid of all emotion. The transformation was almost eerie, one moment she was lost in painful recollections, and the next she was a statue carved from stone.

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted the dress off its perch and slid it onto her body. The fabric clung to her curves like a second skin, accentuating every dip and swell of her form, making an elusion of it, because she had none, no dips or swells, it was the fabric and the wat it clung to her body, cuts on her sides and a deep V down her neck, that made it appear she had. She felt exposed, and vulnerable, but she could never let anyone see it.

With a final tug at the hemline, Novali stood fully clothed once more. There was something about this outfit that made her feel vulnerable, it was something her mother would've praised her for putting on, even if she would tutt at her breasts, pulling at them, commenting how they were too small, but at the same time be proud of the fear-filled look Novali used to wear.

Novali found herself staring back at someone else entirely reflected in the full-length mirror before her. The dress hugged her curves tightly, drawing attention to areas that had previously been hidden under layers of modest clothing. Its plunging neckline revealed far more cleavage than she was accustomed to showing, while the skirt flared out around her hips before tapering down to just above her knees.

Her eyes went to the high heels that were for her, being her size, as she went to put the heels on, Sailas barged in the room, a maid beside him, "Ugh, could you make that dress any less flattering?" He taunted Novali, "Do your best you can with her," He motioned at her for the maid

Novali's heart skipped a beat when Sailas suddenly appeared in the doorway, his harsh words cutting through her thoughts like a knife. She bit back the instinctive retort rising in her throat, knowing better than to antagonize him. Instead, she held his gaze steadily, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

Her hands hovered over the high-heeled shoes sitting neatly on the floor, their reflective surfaces reflecting back the chaos swirling within her. But she couldn't afford to show weakness, not now, not when Sailas was watching her so closely. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then bent down to slip on the uncomfortable footwear.

The maid standing obediently beside Sailas stepped forward, her eyes darting nervously between both figures.

Novali sat down on the chair of the vanity in her room was the maid began her work, lathering Novali up with make-up, on Sailas' command, going as far as putting some on her exposed chest to give the illusion of a heavy cleavage as Novali stayed as still as a lifeless doll.

Novali walked with Salias, in the depths of the throne room in Hewn City, a place she'd never been before.

Sailas led Novali through the grand halls of Hewn City, their steps echoing eerily in the vast expanse of the throne room. Despite its impressive size and opulent décor, Novali couldn't shake the feeling of unease that clung to her like a second skin. She glanced around nervously, taking in the towering pillars adorned with intricate carvings and the massive chandelier that hung ominously overhead, casting long shadows that danced with every flicker of light, giant statues of beasts on the pillars.

Her gaze was drawn to the dais at the far end of the chamber where the throne sat empty, a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play. The realization sent a shiver down her spine, causing her to look for Aleks' presence.

Her eyes widened seeing Cahira in the dark, she shouldn't be here, the thought ran through Novali's mind but Cahira gave her a simple nod, she was her back.

Novali's heart pounded in her chest as she noticed Cahira standing in the shadows near the entrance of the throne room. Her eyes met those of her friend, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be alright. But then Cahira gave her a simple nod, acknowledging her presence without breaking character, and returned to blending into the darkness.

Novali's stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight, a wave of guilt washing over her. Here she was, dressed up like a doll for Sailas's amusement, while Cahira risked her life to help her. It was a stark reminder of the precarious position she found herself in and the sacrifices others were willing to make for her sake. But then she forced herself to remember Cahira didn't like being treated with delicate hands, she was capable of staying some time outside of her comfort, all she hoped for was that Kier didn't see the girl.

As uncomfortable as it was, Novali forced herself to focus on her role. Cahira didn’t need her worry clouding her judgement. She had a mission to complete, and Novali needed to trust that she would succeed.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself as much as possible, reminding herself that she wasn't just doing this for herself anymore, but for everyone. The thought provided a measure of solace amidst the chaos swirling within her. She held her head high, walking tall despite the anxiety coursing through her veins.

As they continued through the throne room, Novali began to notice more and more people gathering, their gazes turning towards her as Sailas led her through the crowd. She could feel their eyes on her, appraising her like a piece of meat at market, and it only served to fuel the fire of indignation burning within her. She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to keep her composure despite the rising tide of anger threatening to spill over.

They reached the center of the throne room, where Sailas stopped and turned to address the gathered crowd. His voice rang out clearly, commanding attention and respect. Novali remained silent, standing dutifully at his side as he announced their engagement to the room full of nobles and courtiers.

"The scume that call themselves are rulers are coming tonight, let's show them they can't take back our city after a century of abandoning us!" His voice roared, and Kier also joined in rallying up the Court of Nightmares. The worst of the worst was easy to describe it, especially when they killed the kind ones, the innocent ones to show what would happen to those who went against them. Anyone who spoke up ended up in the dungeons that the spymaster hadn't visited in years.

Novalie only hoped Cahira didn't die tonight as she found her in the dark again, hoping she'd stay hidden.

{General - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Meeting in Grey - @sleepylunarwolf @achaotichuman @sarawritestories @bakananya @sheblogs @anuttellaa}

[teabooksandsweets]

A City of Bells

Chapter V — Part IV

It was the evening of the day before the shop was to open. The last book had been put in its place and the shop blind had been lowered to hide the glories within from the inquisitive gaze of Torminster. All his helpers had gone home and Jocelyn was alone in his house for the first time. He ate the supper that old Martha had left for him, cold ham and pickles and blancmange so hard that it needed a hatchet, in the kitchen with the rose-red floor. The copper pans that Felicity had arranged on the mantelpiece winked in such a charming way and reflected the red tiles with such a warm glow that they seemed alive, and such good company that he did not notice his loneliness.

But when he went into his sitting-room, the back room that had also been Ferranti’s sitting-room, he did not feel so companioned. He was tired and the peculiar feelings that lie in wait to pounce upon those who are both tired and alone proceeded to pounce. The bits of his own past that surrounded him seemed to have receded very far away. His friends hanging on the walls seemed to be looking at him through a veil, and that veil, he felt, was another man’s past. It was hanging all round him, obscuring his own, and like a mist it was closing in on him.

He had sat down in an arm-chair with a book, but suddenly he felt that he could not sit still … And he was so cold … The sunny June had given place to a wet July and outside his window the garden was wrapped in a cloak of soft, steady rain that never ceased for an instant. There was no wind and all day long there had not been one rent visible in the muffling pall that shrouded the world. The damp was awful. It penetrated every cranny and it seemed to Jocelyn that the atmosphere inside the house was as saturated with it as the atmosphere outside. It was the sort of weather that Torminster specialized in and its inhabitants were quite used to it, but to Jocelyn, on this his first introduction to its clamminess, it seemed unspeakably depressing.

He put on his mackintosh and went out to the shed in the garden where he had stored the chopped-up wood of a dead apple-tree. He carried the logs into his sitting-room, fetched paper and matches and lit a fire. The lovely yellow flames burst into flower in the grate and the exquisite smell of burning apple-wood filled the room, as though it were the fragrance of the flame petals.

Jocelyn lit a pipe and drew thankfully nearer to the golden comfort. The damp of the room seemed conquered and the mist, that had been closing in on him drew back … He was reminded of a man who lights a fire in a jungle to keep the wild beasts at bay.

He was deep in his book when a knock at the front door startled him. He went down the dark, damp little passage and opened the door almost apprehensively, but outside in the dripping Market Place was no one more alarming than Grandfather, muffled in his voluminous cloak and with his immense old green umbrella erected over his round hat.

“Come in,” cried Jocelyn. “Whatever made you come out again in all this wet?”

“I thought you might be lonely,” said Grandfather. “Yes. Depressing sort of evening for your first night. I’m lonely myself. Your dear Grandmother has gone to bed early with a cold and Felicity is up in London. Coming back by the late train. Thank you, my dear boy, if you could manage to put the umbrella down.”

In the passage Grandfather tenderly uncovered a parcel of books that he was carrying under his cloak. “Ferranti’s books,” he said. “After his disappearance there was a sale and I bought these—all he had left, poor fellow, that he had not already sold. I did not want them to fall into unsympathetic hands … Yes … They are yours now.”

“Do you want to give them to me?” asked Jocelyn.

“Yes. They belong here.”

Jocelyn hung up Grandfather’s cloak in the passage and led the way into the fire-lit sitting-room. He pulled up a second chair to the fire and then went to the kitchen to get hot coffee. Only when two cups of it were steaming on the table between them did he look at the books. There were only three of them, Shakespeare, Byron and Shelley.

“Did he only have these three left at the time of his disappearance?” he asked, holding the shabby volumes between his hands.

“That’s all. He had parted with nearly all his possessions … What excellent coffee. Did Martha make it?”

“Yes,” said Jocelyn. “But I think that old saint Mary must have made the blancmange I had for supper. It was the kind of blancmange,” he added vindictively, “that only a spiritually minded woman would make.”

“Mary,” said Grandfather, “was once the Archdeacon’s cook, but though her influence on the household was very great her beef-and-kidney pudding did not agree with the Archdeacon and he pensioned her off.”

Jocelyn carried Ferranti’s books to the bookcase and put them with his own. He did not question the gift of them, he did not even say thank you, for it seemed to him quite right that the only tangible things left from Ferranti’s past should live here with his. Coming back to the fire he piled on more logs and settled himself in front of Grandfather.

“Tell me about Ferranti,” he said.

“There’s so little to tell,” sighed Grandfather. “That was the trouble with Ferranti, he could tell one nothing. He was an egoist who could not let himself loose in words. The poison of self-absorption had no outlet, if you understand me, and I am afraid that it may have drowned him.”

“He lived to himself?” asked Jocelyn.

“Entirely. He was here for two years and as far as I know made no single intimate friend.”

“Not even yourself?”

“I tried,” said the old man humbly, “but I failed. I was a friend, but not intimate. I came to see him often, and he came to see me, and we talked of books and music and the fair beauties of this world, but of intimate things he would never speak. I could never get near him. It is difficult to take the citadel of another man’s being by storm, dear me, yes, but my failure there I count the worst of the sins I have committed against my God.”

He stretched out his hands to the fire and Jocelyn saw to his astonishment that they were trembling. “Sin?” he questioned smiling. “Do you call it a sin that you could not force the confidence of a reserved egoist?”

The old man raised troubled eyes. “When a life is shipwrecked,” he said, “one asks oneself, what were those near at hand doing that they did not prevent it?”

“Some ships,” said Jocelyn gently, “sail so far away by themselves that no one can get to them when they sink. In a case like that the only man to blame is the man who owns the ship and sets the course.”

“I cannot accept your comfort without adding the sin of self-deception to the sin of my failure,” said Grandfather. “I know quite well that if after seventy-eight years of the enjoyment of God’s goodness I cannot at the end of it kindle a spark of belief in a fellow-creature then I am not worthy of the bounty I have received.”

Grandfather’s self-scourging was pitiful to see and Jocelyn tried hard to comfort him. “You attempted the impossible,” he said. “Some of us are lucky enough to find a causeway for our feet across the slough of this world; belief in God, belief in love, belief in a sound core at the heart of seeming rottenness; something or other. But we find it for ourselves. It’s the tragedy of life that we can’t communicate it.”

“It is to our shame if we cannot.”

“Not always. For what can we do? We can cry aloud and hold out a hand to another man, but even though he may take our hand and come nearer to us we have no way of forcing his feet to find rock. That he must do for himself. If he’s too lazy or too paralysed by self-absorption or misery to make the effort we can’t help that.”

“You’re wrong there,” sighed Grandfather. “A life, such as mine, that has known God’s goodness, should act like a magnet. Yes. I can claim no such triumph of personality and therefore I have failed.”

“We can’t agree,” smiled Jocelyn. “Tell me more of Ferranti. Where he came from, what he wrote, why he failed.”

“Dear me, yes,” said Grandfather. “I came to talk of Ferranti and stay to talk of myself. How typical that is of human nature. How typical of my own gross selfishness … Dear me, now I’m starting on my own gross selfishness … Yes. Ferranti. Where was I?”

“Where did he come from?” asked Jocelyn.

“He had lived for years abroad, he told me, chiefly in Italy, for he was partly Italian, but that was all I could find out. He had that fanatical, dangerous love of beauty, that ‘desire of the moth for the star,’ that can be content with nothing but perfection … Yes … He could not be content, as we must be in this world, to worship beauty amid imperfection. If he had seen a lovely picture in an ugly frame he would, I think, have destroyed picture and frame together in his rage. From his complete loneliness I gathered that he must have turned aside from every human relationship the moment that it failed to satisfy his ideal.”

“And his verse?” asked Jocelyn.

“That was his passion. Dear me, yes. It was the way in which he had elected to serve beauty and nothing would turn him aside from it. He had that fatal gift of identifying his whole being with one object only … Yes … There’s a touch of greatness there, but it’s dangerous.”

“And as a poet he was a failure?”

“How could he be anything else? He wrote the sort of verse that only supersensitives such as himself could have appreciated. You know what I mean. It dealt with problems that are not problems to normal folk, and tortures they would never be likely to feel, and pleasures too delicate for their apprehension. It was verse that needed interpretation and he had no interpreter.”

“Did he want a public or did he not care?”

“Of course he cared. He said to me once, ‘At rock bottom living is merely a giving of personality in one form or another. If no one wants what you have to give you might as well hang yourself and have done with it.’”

“That sounds bad,” said Jocelyn. “The sort of temperament that would turn melancholic under strain.”

“Yes. Yes. And he suffered great strain. He told me one day that he had all the money he needed. Private means, he said. Yet, as I told you, when he disappeared we found that he had run through every penny of it. Pride, you see. Life is an appalling strain for those who are both proud and poor together … The fear that he may have made away with himself haunts me night and day.”

“In all that you have told me there are certainly the ingredients for a first-class tragedy,” Jocelyn agreed. “But, if it happened, I can’t see that it’s any fault of yours. And I don’t see either,” he added gently, “what we can do about it now.”

“If he still lives,” said Grandfather, “he is not beyond our help. Dear me, no. As I said before, I think that you, living in this house, may yet be able to do something about it.”

“Good heavens, what?” asked poor Jocelyn.

“That is for you to find out. You will say that I am shifting my burden on to you. Perhaps I am. But your shoulders are younger than mine … Dear me, it’s late … I must get home or your dear Grandmother will be seriously displeased.”

Jocelyn put his cloak about him, took him to the door, erected his umbrella and bade him good night. “I’ll do all I can,” he said to the troubled old man, but he spoke as one speaks to a child who has broken a toy beyond hope of repair … For what could he do?

“Well, of all the fantastic nonsense,” he said to himself when he was alone in his sitting-room again. “But what a dear old boy Grandfather is!”

He lit a pipe and settled down again, thinking. Grandfather had quoted Shelley and now scraps of Shelley’s verse floated through his mind.

“The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow.”

Yes, that was all right. That was the quest for beauty upon which every soul is engaged; but Ferranti, it seemed, had pursued the spirit of transcendent beauty only, and that way madness lay. Immanent beauty he had missed.

“Spirit of beauty … where art thou gone? Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?”

Had beauty always been for Ferranti an elusive, flying thing? Had it never, in this lovely city, sat beside him at his own hearth and brought him peace?

[melit0n]

Delicate Is The Flesh - Chapter 6

- Synopsis: On the brink of the bustling new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned homes, shops and streets that sit mummified after a chemical outbreak in the 70s, leaving the city uninhabitable.

Over the years however, the place has become a hotspot for urban explorers and crime junkies alike.

Whispers of reanimated bodies stalking the dead streets and brutal murders worm their way into your friend's ears and, having nothing to do on your Winter break, you reluctantly agree to go exploring the abandoned city with them.

What could go wrong, right?

- Chapters ->

Prologue

Chapter 1: For Whom The Bell Tolls

Chapter 2: Corvus and Krater

Chapter 3: Belly of the Beast

Chapter 4: Something Forgotten

Chapter 5: Citrus and Cinnamon

Chapter 6: Mumbling Conscious (you're already here!)

Chapter 7: Heavy is The Head that Mourns The Past

Chapter 8: Be Not Afraid

- Status: Work In Progress.

- Obessive!Demon OC/Reader

- Word Count (for chp): 6.9k

- Warnings (for chp): None.

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55444003/chapters/150657787

“So, are you sure you don’t want to tell me about this little love story of yours now?”

Helen giggles softly behind you. It echoes loudly in the cracking concrete bowels you trek through.

“Yes. I can assure you, the only way you will be hearing it is if you come back to Greece with me.” Something snaps under someone’s foot, either glass or the dried remains of some bug. 

You both know very well it’s a thinly veiled act of persuasion, a not-so-subtle play on your curiosity. So, somewhat determined to get whatever she had been keeping secret out of her, you put on your best pout and turn to her.

She walks right past you.

Shaking her head back and forth with a hidden knowing smile, she replies, “Making sad faces will get you nowhere, I am afraid.”

“So mean…” you grumble. Considering Helen's typical openness in her thoughts and experiences, you were genuinely intrigued. While it wasn’t mandatory, it was rare she’d hide topics she’d happily chatter about if given the chance. That said, your main aim–hidden under glass and dust–was simply to keep a conversation going. You’ve learnt very quickly that you don’t like the silence here, either. For both of your benefit, you’d much rather keep aimless chatter bouncing off the walls instead of some distant radio show. Keep your mind focused on replies and not the sickly sweet stench of flowers blooming in the middle of winter.

Of empty sockets that stare right at you.

Helen shoots a hand out, “Careful.” Puzzled, you send her a confused glance.

However, the moment she puts a foot down on the wood, you get your answer: the floorboards creaking and groaning loudly with the simple weight. While it wasn’t unexpected–every step you’d taken for the last hour or so had been accompanied by a loud squeak–what catches your attention is how far the wood visibly bends. That, and how damp it is. Damp enough that the moisture shines under the light of your torches. 

Stretching your own leg out to test them, you’re unsurprised to now physically feel how deeply they bow under your weight; whining something foreboding with each kilo you put down. Through the soles of your shoes, you can practically feel the fibres cracking. 

You sigh to yourself, half out of exasperation and something else you can’t quite pin down. 

Looking up from the rotting floor, you’re not surprised to see the rest of the story was in a similar state.

More household items are scattered across the main hall: old stuffed animals poking their saturated heads out of screeching doors. Legs, maybe once holding up sturdy tables, lean against the walls. Sodden, deflated cushions lying haphazardly on the floor slowly melt into the woodwork; plush becoming indistinguishable from the flooring.

All create a waterlogged tapestry of the past.

The wallpaper, colours faded and mixed with old graffiti not unlike a fresh watercolour, reappear in diseased patches across the walls. Even vines from downstairs creep and crawl through the crumbling structure, anchoring themselves to whatever they can find. From the withering leaves, however, you guess they aren’t having as much success as they are downstairs. 

A floorboard wails loudly from beside you. “This does not look too good.” She steps forward–really only a half-step–and begins to test the strengths of the planks in front of you. Then, she takes a full one forward with sounds from the floor that have you partially reaching your hands out, as if to catch her. You watch with a building level of unease as she attempts to spread out her weight.

Even the air is heavy. Heavy with the calm before a storm: petrichor and an electric buzz that lets you know you shouldn’t be here. Somehow, it overpowers the dust–which you’re sure sits in foetid clumps wherever the rain and wind sees fit–and worms its way into your lungs. 

It’s nothing like the air downstairs: while that was fresh, still holding hints of petrichor, this was thick. Like oil. It’s somehow worse than the stagnant air from the basement. 

Eyeing the wood, you hesitantly do the same. “Yeah.” 

Something viscous is at the back of your throat. Tastes like how decaying autumn leaves smell. 

The thin walls–either on this floor or one of the many others–waver in the wind, and you’re starting to affirm to yourself that Jeanne’s promise of the place being ‘structurally sound’ was another one of her half lies.

Four floors high, including the ground floor–five with the addition of the basement–and you’re sure you’d snap your neck. Bleed out on that ugly cream carpet with wooden wings splayed out beside you. Your only consolation is that you’re pretty sure that the main structure is made of solid concrete, sitting silently under the wood.

The gaping plaster wounds in the walls–rippling wooden muscles and creaking metal bones taught underneath–make you doubt yourself.

At best, you’d break or twist an ankle. At worst, you’ll be a bloated carcass strangled by weeds. A rotting warning to all those who enter.

No way in Hell is this safe. 

You take a few more cautious steps forwards, ears perked for the tell-tale noises of crumbling wood that would rather collapse than hold your weight. “If the rest of the floors are like this, I say we stop.” One creaks loudly, a bit too loud for your taste, and you take one backwards. “Wouldn’t be surprised if we fell straight through.”

Helen’s head lowers to stare at the floor, probably contemplating whether the risk of going crashing through four or five stories was worth taking the chance. “I think,” she takes a step forward, graceful as an onyx chess piece slid across the board. “We will be okay.” She turns to you, optimism in her eyes. It makes your shoulder sag. “We just have to keep our eyes out for any wood that is especially dark, or looks wet on the surface.” Another step forward, and you sigh as you begin to follow behind, dutiful as ever. “Is that okay?”

Kind of hard to do when all the wood looks wet, you think. Even so, you keep your nervous thoughts concealed beneath a cool facade. “Whatever you say,” you feel the cold of the water sink into your soles. “You’re paying my hospital bills if I break something, though.”

It’s sarcasm, but she still takes it somewhat seriously. “It would be my fault, so I would not mind.” She shrugs, before pausing, her weight spread between a few different planks. Then she raises her flashlight.

The centre-piece window–which never fails to draw your eye–is broken: jagged teeth glinting in the light.

A soft hum glides up her throat, “The wind and the rain from the North probably comes in here quite harshly: it is no wonder this place is so wet. Either way, I am surprised this place hasn’t fallen like, what is it- paper mache?”

It’s a simple description, one you’d easily take for an answer if not for one simple fact: both windows on the other floors were broken. Both windows faced North, as all the rest of the windows above you.

So why weren’t those as dilapidated as this one?

Wearily, you take a few more steps, trying to follow her invisible pattern of semi-promised safety. “But what about-” that is, before your feet knock into something. Something solid.

Expecting the worst, you look down with a strained look on your face. You’re met with the sight of a porcelain doll. The pale, once pretty, type you almost always see in charity shops. 

And horror movies.

Part of its silky pallor is cracked and smashed in, leaving an empty void where half its face used to be. Curly blonde hair frames what’s left of it, fading blue eyes rolled absently to the side.

“Are you scared of it?”

There’s a bit of blush on its face, too. Faded, like everything else is at the hands of time and neglect, but still there. 

“What?”

It reminds you of something freshly dead. Eyes and body empty, yet still holding onto the warmth in its fingertips.

Helen crouches down in front of it, repeating herself. “Are you afraid of it?”

You’re surprised the wood holds her weight.

Before you can say anything–let a garbled and probably incoherent answer out of your mouth–she picks it up. Handles it more like a living baby rather than a porcelain resemblance. When she cradles its head, resting stiffly in her palm, one of its eyes rolls. Rolls out of its vacant skull to stare right at you. Glossy and unblinking and reflecting flashing blue and yellow that blinds you.

Beneath light fatigue and a growing sense of alarm that refuses to go away, something rings.

“You’ll get a demon or something attached to you if you hold on to it.” You joke, eyes darting up from the glass one you’re sure sees right through your skin. Or, maybe, sees right past you.

She takes your avoidance as an unspoken yes. She isn’t wrong: if you saw that thing at the end of your hallway in the middle of the night, you’d happily give your apartment up to it.

She fiddles with the stained lace that edges the sleeves and the hem of the forget-me-not dress. “Why?”

It’s a good question–like all of her questions are. You roll thoughts around in your head, seeing how they taste on your tongue. You’d say it’s something embedded in you; embroidered into the intricate tapestry of each twitching muscle and thumping pulse of your heart. You’re afraid of the doll the same way something in the back of your mind, a knowing voice neither old nor young–simply alert–tells you to be afraid of the dark. Tells you to be wary of things that creep and slide.

Tells you to be fearful of things that try to be human.

“Probably because I’ve watched too many shitty horror films with Jeanne.” You reply. Helen simply shakes her head, and you think she knows you aren’t telling the entire truth. Either way, she doesn’t bother to pry a more self-aware answer out of you.

Gingerly, she places the doll back down where she’d found it. Its eye rolls back up into its head, having seen enough. For a few brief moments, you don’t blame it. The untouchable night that resides in its hollow head is probably a more comforting view compared to the sodden floorboards.

Both of you carry on with your hushed agreement to explore the other apartments. Helen glides across the floor with wisp-like grace, barely making a noise, while you stumble over each creaking floorboard and spend every two seconds wondering if you’re going to fall.

You stagger through a few different apartments, eyes skimming over whatever was visible and then moving on, more focused on not falling than searching for anything of interest.

After traversing the hall somewhat aimlessly–chattering to Helen along the way–you find your way into another apartment. One side of the floors has swollen, and the entire place reeks of festering mould. 

A question strikes your mind, worming its way out of your mouth as the conversation threatens to fall flat. “Hey, Helen?”

With growing confidence, you carefully step forth. The living room is lifeless; void of any furniture. It also happens to be the side where the floors rise–something very old and very slow trying to breach the surface–so you make the decision to leave the bedroom unexplored. You value your ankles a bit more than that.

“Yes?”

The kitchen is in a similar state. Woodlice crawl between the splitting wood, and a low wind meanders through the rooms like a death rattle. Between what remains of a cabinet and the wall, a cobweb hangs, weighed down by the ever present moisture that seems to loom over the entire floor. 

Its weaver is absent.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Considering her lack of reaction to your joke earlier, you’d say her answer would be a no. Either that, or she wasn’t afraid of the dead leaning over her shoulder.

“I think so. To believe in ghosts, you have to have a belief in some sort of life after the one you live, yes?”

Eventually, you find a somewhat sturdy path towards the bathroom and storage room. Much to your displeasure, the bathroom is locked tight. Even though the wood crumbles under your hands, it refuses to open. In fact, after a few tugs, the doorknob comes right off, small screws clattering to the floor.

Almost as if to spite you, the lock stays intact.

“What do you think of it?”

So, you end up trying the storage room. It’s gutted of all furniture. 

“Of what?”

The air is stagnant. Brackish. You guess it hasn’t been opened in a while. 

“The afterlife. What do you think comes after all this?” Backing up, you attempt to follow your steps back out into the hall. 

“I am not entirely sure,” she hums. As each floorboard keens under your weight, you realise that Helen is practically silent as she walks through different apartments. You only really know she’s doing so because of her voice; ebbing and flowing like a warm summer wind from the hallway. “I believe each living thing has a soul, but I am unsure on how long that soul can last.” Her voice becomes louder, “but, I think it may stay after it does not have a body to support it.” and then quieter. You don’t see her walk past your door. “Perhaps they stay because they forgot to do, or say, something before they went. Maybe they stay because they miss home too much.”

Peeking your head out of the doorframe, you can’t spot her. She must’ve already gone into another apartment. 

Looking down, you find a stuffed animal imitating you. Or, rather, you it. 

You scoff, walking out into the hall and examining the different doors. “What’s home to someone who’s already dead? You’d think a ghost would want to go wherever they please since they have no physical restrictions.” With long strides–you’re sure you look like some sort of awkward stick bug–you pass the elevator. The twin doors are wide open, and even your flashlight can’t illuminate the rubber veins that crawl along its throat.

“Home is not always a place, I think.” Her voice is closer now. 

Each door is in varying states of decay: those closer to the window in the hall are mere fragments, while those nearer to the main stairs retain some semblance to actual entryways. 

Your eyes catch onto one near the elevator: number forty-six. It’s one of the few on the floor still holding on to its once shining number, this floor being numbers thirty-three to forty-eight. Although, the four is crooked–slanted to the left like a loose skull–and the six is ever so slightly lower than it should be.

“What else could it be?”

With a jostle of the knob, you also realise it's one of the few doors that’s locked. The weight in your pockets brings a smile to your face, and you can only hope you have the right key. 

“A person.” Her voice has moved again, now on the opposite side of the hall.

You pause, if only for a second. 

You’d never really thought of it that way. 

With warmed metal under your fingers, you wonder if you’ve ever seen home inside another person. Your thumb glides over engraved numbers, hidden from your eyes underneath years of rust and oily fingers. 

Maybe in Jeanne? Or Helen? Noah? A past lover?

“If you were to die,” you bring a key closer up to your eye, the number indistinguishable. “Away from ‘home’, do you think you’d try to find your way back? Or would you find somewhere else to haunt?”

Maybe…maybe in him.

“I would want to go home, definitely.” Floor six, apt eighty four… “When I do pass, I think it will be nice to be where I grew up. I would want to see the sea again, too. I would not mind staying there after I have passed.”

If so, home is long gone. The grass is dead, and there’s no soft light in the windows anymore.

Just flashing blue and glass in between in your fingers. In your skin.

“And what,”…Floor eighteen, apt two hundred and seventy-nine…not this one either. “What if you’re the type to see home as a person?”

She stays quiet for a few moments.

…Floor three…

You squint. 

“Then I trust I will find them, and them, I.”

…apt forty-eight. Shit. 

Your shoulders fall.

“Just…uhm, let me know when you make a decision about coming with me, okay?” Helen’s voice fades and flickers like candlelight. There’s almost an echo: a second whisper layered underneath her warm tone.

Wait a minute. 

You look back down at the key. Apt forty-eight. 

Slowly, your head turns to the left. 

The last door by the stairs. 

You frown. “Yeah, no- of course.” Answering absentmindedly, you begin to stalk over to the door. You trace invisible lines with your feet, and all seems silent. 

Easily, you find yourself in front of number forty-eight, your light greeting the door: a circular glimpse that pierces through the darkness. 

You feel like you’re sensing a pattern.

It’s closed, and, with a gentle tug, you find it locked as well. 

Half expecting another talking radio, or maybe a miniature desert for this one, you hesitate to even use the key you had been wanting to make use of. You turn it over in your hand: there’s nothing special about it, nor the door itself. Both are in similar stages of disrepair, the door swollen with water and the key elongated with rust. Looking at it closer, you doubt it’ll even open the lock. Hell, the lock itself has probably rusted shut. Either that, or the knob will fall right off, just like the bathroom door’s did. 

You look between the door and the key.

Well…as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

The key slides in, and the mechanism opens with a quiet click. Seems the building has decided to grant you a bit of good luck.

The door opens with an ominous creak. Loud and anguished. 

When light finally enters the morose cave, you’re more than pleased–although admittedly a little disappointed–to see nothing abnormal. No radios, no luscious ferns, and best of all, no buzzing flies. 

Plus, it seemed to house more furniture than the last. The windows are layered thickly with grime and algae, and, even with your torch light, the whole place still feels utterly drenched in darkness. Blinking, it’s as if a thin haze–a light mist–hangs over the room. Or maybe just your eyes. 

Tentatively, you step forward, keeping a careful watch on the floor.

The floorboards whine underneath you, rising and falling like valleys and hills under your feet. 

The first thing that catches your eye is a large, embroidered armchair in the living room. Like the doll, it has dark, frilled edging–colour indistinguishable–at the end of the fabric. While it’s faded, the colours of the threads bleeding into themselves, you can just about make out a floral pattern; deep viridian in the centre, framed by jade and mulberry. 

The legs are made of sturdy wood–not cracking and splintering like the floor–which curls inward at the feet like a snail’s shell. An endless spiral unfurling from itself. It’s exactly the type of chair a grandfather, or maybe some old-money, rich man, would have sitting by the fireplace. You can practically see a soft cat curled up on the seat, slowly nodding off as the wood cackles and crumbles into cinders. 

Quietly, you wonder if anybody in this building had a cat. Or a dog, for that matter.

A board bends underneath you, and you take a step back before continuing. 

Someone must’ve, right? Your own apartment had a policy on them: no pets allowed aside from fish–and the odd reptile, though that depended on how much paperwork you wanted to fill out–but maybe this one didn’t.

The door to the bedroom opens easily.

You wonder if they had to leave them behind when those chemicals got out. If they did, you hadn’t seen–nor heard–any once loved strays on your way here. Then again, nature, aside from her plants, seems to have abandoned this place. Left it to the hands of Time and the ever changing faces of the seasons.

Much to your surprise, the main bedroom is almost fully furnished. The bed frame is still intact. Well, you think it is, until you notice it’s leaning on one side. Looking closer, you find one leg had rotted off, the rest in a similar condition. There’s a tall wardrobe on the left wall and, opening it, you find it empty. That is, if you don’t count the dust. Running your index finger over the flat surface, you find it comes off in one thick clump that sticks to your finger. Reminds you of the gum people always stick under the desks. 

With a look of disgust, you wipe it off and continue looking around. 

A soft wind coming from the smashed balcony doors is the only noise you can hear. 

You wonder what Helens’ doing. 

Then, there’s something in the air. Nothing like the dust or the scent of chocolate, but a noise. It’s some sort of chime; light and soft like the call bell downstairs.

You cross through the main bedroom entryway, intrigued and more awake than you had been a few minutes ago.

Who knows, maybe it’ll be this floor’s anomaly.

You wonder where it’s even coming from: quiet as a breath, it disappears behind each thump of the blood in your ears. Maybe from the storage closet, or the bathroom? Whatever–wherever–it was, you determine it must be close. 

Doing a double take, you quickly discover that the kitchen floor was very close to caving in.

Ah. 

Well, now you know why the ceiling was dipping on the other story. 

Seems the bathroom and storage room are off limits, then. 

Ding.

You turn your head. There it is again.

With only one other traversable room left, at least in this apartment, you find your way into the second bedroom. It’s smaller, and without a window it feels as if you’re staring into the endless throat of space.

The wood hums endless tunes underneath you, and there are shapes dancing in your vision, trying to convince you that they’re stars. Stars, and not hooded eyes of indistinct figures.

In the centre, backed up against the far wall–painted a stormy grey–is a cot. It used to be white, paint now peeling off of the wood and curling like angry fingers. There’s a small heart carved into the headboard. It’s obvious it wasn’t a part of the original design; scratchy, as if done with some knife instead of a well-trained machine. 

You like it better than the carbon copies, though. 

Above it hangs another reminder of one of the parent’s handiwork: something halfway between a traditional wind chime and a baby’s mobile. Falling apart as it is, you can still see the wood carved with pure love and twine threaded with nothing but adoration. Sanded wood and glass clink together, the wind from the hallway their conductor. 

There’s a few animals carved into twirling plaques, as well. At least, you think there is. There’s what looks to be a bird with a comically large beak–maybe a woodpecker?–and another that just looks like a homunculus with stick legs. 

It’s so utterly odd looking that it gets a chuckle out of you.

Asides from that, the only one that vaguely looks like anything living is one near the centre; a pig. It has sharply drawn trotters and floppy ears that cover its eyes. It spins endlessly in some subtle wind you can’t feel, glass frosted with the endless damp that coats everything in place of dust. 

But, from the darkness, something whispers.

You pay it no mind and continue staring at the cot and the home-made baby mobile. Each chime sounds like a baby’s wail: soft and nothing. It sparks something unknown in your chest. Maybe it's mourning. For who and what, you don’t really know. Provoked by some sort of empathy, perhaps.

You’re about to call for Helen–considering the large lack of somewhat interesting things here, you’re sure she’d like this–when there’s another whisper. It's closer this time.

What is that?

At first, you try to shove it off–there’s more broken windows than unbroken in this place. In the dark, it doesn’t take long for a person's mind to convince them that the wind is undead whispers, after all. 

There’s a humming in your ears. Not the sharp ring that usually finds you in calm silences and in the warmth of a sunny street, but constant all the same. It ebbs and flows like a breeze; the low mumble of a class yet to start: the distant hum of cars on the motorway: the eerie clatter of trees in the beginnings of a summer storm. 

It’s not distracting or intrusive like those invisible flies downstairs–buzzing ceaselessly around your ears–but not like the voices from the radio, either.

Sceptically, you walk out of the second bedroom with a growing frown on your face. The elastic of the mask’s straps dig into the back of your ears. 

Staying still, quieting your own breaths and trying not to focus on the constant thumping from the walls, you attempt to decipher what’s being said. 

You come up fruitless. It just sounds like an endless string of gibberish to you: too quiet to pick up and too muddled to unravel. 

Maybe you need to get your ears checked, too. 

Sliding your flashlight under your arm, you press down on a part of your ear, temporarily blocking out the noise. All you hear is the faint thrum of your body: each pulse of your heart, each twitch of your crooked fingers. Taking them away, the noise reappears. 

It’s somewhat of a relief to know that the noises weren’t phantoms created by your tired mind. But still, it begs the question of what, exactly, it was. Let alone where it was coming from. It could be an apartment on this floor, or maybe on one of the others. The staircase wasn’t exactly closed off, after all. 

Even so, you’re still sure it's close. A thin wall or two away close. 

So, you lightly step back to the main bedroom, expecting to pick up on some sort of change.

Nothing happens. 

A gentle gust of wind scrapes against the broken glass, and for a split second, you try your hardest to convince yourself that is all it is; the wind.

A gust pushes you forward and, wondering if the noise was coming from the bathroom or storage room, you try the kitchen.

Well, you get as close as you can to it without falling through.

Still no change. 

Mind busy with the hushed buzz, you temporarily disregard your fear of the boards underneath you and peek out into the hallway. As you swivel your head left and right–half searching for the source of the noise and half looking for Helen–you find nothing but air and rotting walls. 

Your light illuminates the staircase, almost hoping to see someone hiding in the darkness. It’d scare the shit out of you, Helen or stranger aside, but you’d rather find an obvious source than be left–quite literally–in the dark. 

You find no one.

Then, you try the other end of the hall. The lambent glow of the moon seems centuries away. 

Still no one.

“Helen?” Your voice cracks in your throat. “Helen! Do you,” You swallow something down. A clump of twitching nerves and bile. “Do you hear that?”

You wait a few moments for a response. You’re greeted with heavy silence. It’s deafening; somehow worse than being told a direct ‘no’. 

Wearily, you step out of the doorway, out of your damp burrow, and into the hallway. The creaking of the floor–of the walls–feels so quiet. 

Has it gotten any louder? Are you getting any closer?

Your light darts in and out of the different apartments. “Helen?”

Or is it getting closer to you?

“Helen! Where are you?” 

Passing by another apartment, you still can’t manage to find her. Either your eyesight is going, or she’s suddenly become one of the best hide and seek players you’ve known since primary school. That has to be it. She must be hiding from you for some reason, ready to jump out at you any moment.

Inside, you’re divided. Part paranoid, part annoyed–what if she just left you here?–and part confused. Both at the noise, and her sudden disappearance: you don’t remember her being a relative of Houdini. 

“I’m meant to be the one doing the scaring here!” You raise your voice, hoping to reach her. The faint whispers are your only response. “Jeeze, do you really hate me that much?” You try to play on her empathetic side, draw her out with offhanded self-deprecation that always makes her rebuke, but even that wields nothing. 

Brows furrowed, you begin to make another round. This time, you hastily search inside the different apartments too, hoping to catch a glimpse of her silky hair or the toe of her trainers.

You examine another apartment, almost skidding on the wet wood. There’s the flat face of a table leaning against a wall–legs missing–and another grimy, smashed window.

After practically running up and down the hallway, you can’t help the way your heart jumps in its marrow cage when you realise the volume of that uncanny noise hasn’t changed. At all. It’s not louder, nor quieter; just that same, off-putting, low mumble. 

“Helen! Come on, this isn’t funny. Just come out already.” You say it with a worried smile on your face and end it with a pathetic half-laugh.

Where could she be? You know you’re only skimming the apartments, wandering in and out of each room like a pacing animal, but with how many you’ve searched, you should’ve seen something by now. Plus, with how long you’ve been calling out for her, she would’ve come out of whatever dank hole she was hiding in.

If you were searching for Jeanne, you would understand. Unless you were gravely injured, she would continue playing her game for as long as she could. She was a proud winner who liked losing as much as she liked getting an injection: doing her best to avoid it by any means necessary. But this was Helen. Helen who doesn’t like silence. Helen who hates the dark.

There’s nothing in the next apartment, either. 

It strikes you then and there that the only other reason that she wasn’t responding was because she was hurt. Hurt to the point of being knocked out.

With the revelation, it doesn’t take long for your mind to dive into a worried spiral. What if the floor finally gave way? What if she’s already on the ground floor? Neck bent like your fingers. Face contorted with some unheard screech you’d been too distracted to hear. Broken and soulless, and bleeding and turning that ugly cream carpet red.

Suddenly, warm air blows over the shell of your ear, something teasing that sends a sharp spike of fear through every muscle. 

You jolt, veins thrumming with fear and relief, “Helen, you-”

Your flashlight illuminates nothing but air. 

That jumbled mumbling, that damned whispering, has risen: gotten louder without you even noticing it. It pounds against your eardrums and buzzes under your skin. It feels so close, yet so far, echoing out from every crevice. Coming from everywhere and nowhere.

With a war drum in your chest, you beg yourself to just calm down. All you’re doing by overthinking is making things worse for yourself, and probably Helen, too. It’s just the wind–just a creation of your overly-active imagination. Just that stupid, stupid effect Noah was talking about. 

What scares you, though, is that you begin to hear words. 

Last time you checked, the wind didn’t speak to anyone other than those fated for tragedy. As far as you were aware, you were no Orpheus. 

It’s like the radio all over again, yet somehow worse.

Thick, clotted air fills your lungs. Inhale and exhale. Stop yourself from getting so worked up: just inhale and exhale-

-But it’s so loud. 

You have a walkie-talkie in your pocket, don’t you? How about you put it to use? That’s what it’s-

-Louder. 

If she’s hurt, you’ll probably have to call-

-And louder.

You knew you shouldn-

-and louder. 

“Shut up!”

All goes quiet.

After all the noise, it feels wrong. 

In the blink of an eye, the class quietens, the motorway stands still, and the trees omit themselves to a vow of silence. 

There’s only you. You, your flashlight, the keys and your panicked breaths. It comes out in mist-like puffs in front of your face. 

You don’t remember dropping your flashlight. You don’t remember pressing your hands to your ears, either.

You take a few deep inhales. “I’m losing it. I’m absolutely losing it.” Bringing a hand to your eyes, you rub them, as if trying to dispel the lingering fingers of some sort of mania. You do it much more harshly than you really meant to. Feeling the soft tissue squish and scrape against the cavities of your skull, you hope it brings some sense back to you. 

You crouch down to grasp your flashlight again. You see your face, distorted, in a puddle on the wood. With your back constantly to some sort of darkness, you feel yourself teetering on some sort of edge, standing stock still as not to fall. Still as those looming trees that pray to Gods your mind is too young to even know the name of. 

A red hot blanket of indignation drapes itself over your fear for a moment. Whoever the Hell this was, whatever dim-witted asshole and their friends, was going to get an earful. Maybe even a right hook, if you were feeling ballsy. 

You scan the halls up and down, keeping a careful ear for any sort of movement, any sort of amused giggle. You almost expect a TV show presenter to appear with a bunch of cameras or something. Even something as outlandish as that would ease your mind.

Anything that gives you a logical explanation as to what you just heard.

You begin to even search the walls, almost expecting to find grinning eyes staring at you from behind the rotting pipework. What an absurd thought.

Then you see something move.

It's from the corner of your eye, and you pray to see Helen, or just someone, there.

You don’t. 

A chasmal wound sits before you, cracking at the edges like spindly fingers clawing their way up the walls.

Something skitters. Something dark and fat. Something with beady eyes and tiny feet. 

There's droning under the floorboards. A muted thrum that, for a few seconds, only your feet can pick up.

Then you see a tail.

And a foot.

And a snout.

And you realise with horror that there is something in the walls. Something that is speaking to you.

At first, it’s as indistinguishable as ever; that same endless murmur from before as thousands of voices speak over each other. 

But, slowly–like a church choir–they all come together, whispering in their whiny voices one great chant.

“We are small. We are many.”

And you finally begin to understand the words.

“We have teeth. We have tails.”

And all you can really do is stand in silent terror.

“We were here before. We will be forevermore.”

Over and over and over they repeat it: an unending mantra accompanied by chattering teeth and pattering feet.

You can’t even bring yourself to move, body completely unsure how to react. It’s like the flies; worming their way into your ears and resounding off of your skull.

There’s laughter there, too. High-pitched, shrill sniggering. Sniggering of a thousand strangers that you’re sure are mocking you. 

And they just keep getting louder. 

What are you even meant to do? You have to be hallucinating at this point–encouraged by a weird mix of sleep deprivation and sloping paranoia. 

You feel like you’re in some type of morbid comedy, and the joke is absolutely on you. 

It doesn’t take long before your synapses finally snap into action, forcing your legs forwards. It begins with a brisk walk and easily turns into a jog. You aim for the staircase, unsure whether you’ll be going up or down.

Abruptly, their chant changes, a few voices slow to catch onto the shift. 

“India, Tango-”

It almost makes you stop dead in your tracks: even more confused with the seemingly random words they begin chittering.

“-Kilo, November-”

You refuse to listen, just blocking it out. No need to make yourself more fearful than you already are.

“-Oscar, Whiskey, Sierra-”

And you’re almost at the staircase, when-

SNAP.

-The floor finally collapses under your weight. 

“Y/N!”

You feel your head slam against the wet, wooden flooring. For a split second, no longer than a blink, everything goes blank. 

Then there’s a strain in your ankle. And water soaking into your hoodie.

And you are very much so awake. 

“Γαμώτο- Y/N? Y/N! Are you alright?”

Your brain throbs underneath your sweat sheened skin. Something wet slides down your cheek, and you wonder if it's blood. Looking up, partially balanced on your hands, all you can really do is stare at Helen with a mixture of utter horror and confusion. You open your mouth. Your jaw whines like one of the doors, and you taste wood on your tongue. “What the fuck.”

She hooks her arms under your shoulders, mumbling apologies under her breath as she drags you forward like a limp corpse. Easily, your foot is freed. Back on your feet, you wipe any residue off of your hands and face with frantic fingers. 

Turning and looking down, you see that your luck had quickly run out: the wood had finally broken through.

Knowing that there’s concrete under it doesn’t bring you as much comfort as you thought it would. 

A cold buzz overtakes the hot pain.

“Is your foot normal? Does it hurt?”

You swing your head back around. “Where were you?”

Her face twitches in surprise, not expecting your harsh tone. “Where were you? I was asking for you to see if you wanted to go up to the next floor to see if it was like this one. I couldn’t find you so I went up to see if you were there: I came down when I heard the wood snap.”

You watch her for a moment, thinking. ‘I came down when I heard the wood’, not ‘I came down when I heard you calling for me.’

Did she…did she not hear you?

Did she not hear that?

You think your ankle should hurt a lot more than it does. You think there should be pain jumping up your leg when you put your weight down.

“I was…” Swallowing, your eyes search the floor for something you don’t know the name of. Your flashlight has skidded to the foot of the staircase. “...I was in the last apartment by the staircase.”

Her brows furrow. “Why did you not come out when I asked?” 

Your mouth is dry.

You desperately want to explain it to her. Tell her you’d be calling out for her for the last who knows how long, stalking up and down the hall. Tell her that there is something in the walls and you fear they know things you’ve tried to bury. However, the moment you re-run the memories, think over how to even begin to describe what just happened, you realise you sound mad. The epitome of it.

As supportive and believing as Helen was, there was no way she was going to believe you.

“I just…”

There’d be that look on her face. It’d be there for a second, but you’d still see it. It’d be on Noah’s face when she tells him–clear as freshwater–as well. 

“...got scared by some rats.”

You may be human, and it may be right to accept help when you’re hurting, but you still refuse to be seen as mad. 

Sick.

Her face softens. Still somewhat annoyed–for a fair reason from her perspective–but lesser so.

Nobody likes not being believed, after all.

“Rats?”

You nod. 

“I have never liked rats,” there's a smile in her eyes. You think it’s meant to comfort you. “Maybe we should leave if there’s more?”

You hope you do. You pray to Gods who have long averted their gaze from this place of endless night and thumping walls to allow you to leave. 

“Hm…well, we do not scare easy, do we? We aren’t afraid of the dark or,” she pauses for a moment. You don’t know if it's for effect or not. “Rats, are we?”

Something in you wilts when you realise she’s trying to encourage you. Encourage you to go through with things. To overcome what she thinks is just a minor fear. 

You spite August winds and cigarette smoke for sewing your mouth shut.

There’s an attempt at a smile underneath your mask. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah.”

Smoothly, her fingers intertwine with yours. She feels blisteringly warm. 

“Is your foot and ankle okay?”

You can’t bring yourself to lie. 

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

In all their ‘nonsensical’ murmuring, the words the Things speak do have some meaning behind it, if you look close enough.

IMPORTANT: If you, or any of your friends, are going urban exploring, and stumble upon a building like this (incredibly damp, rotting wood, mould etc.) do not enter. Please do not risk an injury, or your life, for the sake of an experience or some cool photos. Further, if you visibly see your friend get injured, actually check them over to make sure they're genuinely okay. 

On note of updates: expect an update every three weeks on a Friday. If it doesn’t come then, expect it on the Saturday, and, if it doesn’t come until then, expect that I’m busy and won’t be able to update until next week. As much as I’d like to write to my heart’s content, I unfortunately don’t have all that time :’]

- Γαμώτο = Damn it

[clouds-of-wings]

Some more screenshots from Mata Hari... CLICK TO ENLARGE! I saw that artwork in the top center in the Mucha museum in Prague! There are a couple of other Mucha paintings in the game too.

Downtown Monte Carlo

Mata getting blackmailed as usual, this time in the Paris train station.

More Mucha in the backstage area of the theatre.

Berlin has a much darker and more severe aesthetic than France.

German army elites mingle. Several of them desire me carnally.

Berlin being Dieselpunk

Not much happens in Madrid. This is the only map (that I've seen so far) but it's pretty too!

Mata has had enough of the "little weasel" Ladoux who keeps making her do his dirty work for him.

Being an international woman of mystery comes with its drawbacks, like a jealous wife accusing you of doing the thing you routinely do but happen to not be doing to her husband in particular.

The British embassy in Paris.

Gossiping (about the German war effort) with the bestie!

Marie Curie's lab office.

I have started to play the 2008 adventure game "Mata Hari" and... hhhh... CLICK TO ENLARGE THE PICS! I have the same attitude toward the game as the men in it have toward the protagonist: So super pretty, it doesn't matter if it does sketchy things.

Also I have been taught about the four types of men there are, and how to seduce each type. About time I'd say!

[arysbruv]

Overtime - A New Customer [prologue]

You’re new to town, only having moved here a week ago. After exploring for a while, you found a quaint little cafe near your work with amazing coffee and a hot barista! Thus, that place has become your regular visit after work.

Meanwhile, Nanami Kento has been a worker at the cafe for a long time; working there after his regular job for a few extra bucks. The people who visit are always the same boring people, that is until a new visitor comes in and shows him a new world.

pairings: nanami kento x gn!reader

warnings and whatnots: cafe au! turning into a series! Nothing much happening in this chapter. Haibara mentions 💕💕 I hope you enjoy’

MASTERLIST | -> NEXT |

Tokyo was beautiful.

When people told you that the place was busy and stunning, you never thought it would be like this. Yet, as you rounded your way through the innards of the city, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe get instilled into you.

The sun was setting. The golden rays of light hitting the scenery and causing the landscape to grow in beauty. You smile to yourself.

You recently moved in from a smaller town outside of Tokyo, having gained a good office job in the big city. It had been a week and you were still baffled by the complexities and intricacies of the city. You always found a new area to explore every time you went out.

Today, you decided to check out your new office. It was a Monday, and you wouldn’t start working until tomorrow, so you thought it would be a good idea to get a gist of your surroundings. As you rounded into an alleyway near your office building, you spot a small sign lit up with LED. You tilt your head, heading towards it. Excitement growing in you as you realise it was a cafe.

How fortunate! Lord knows you would need a coffee after a hard day’s work. You hope that the coffee in that place was good.

Entering the cafe, a small bell rung, announcing your presence. The cafe was quiet, only a few people sat there on their laptops, working. There was a small queue.

That must mean it’s good. You think to yourself.

Heading towards the counter, you look at the coffee and teas on the menu. All of them looked so creative and good! Your mouth salivated as you read the descriptions. What should you get?

•

Nanami was done with his job. But, he needed the money.

The cafe was slow but brought forth a sizeable income, mixed in with his 9-5 job, he had a good flow of cash flowing into his account. He sighed as he made another iced matcha latte, listening to his coworker, Haibara, chatting away to the elderly lady in front of him. How was he so energetic at the time of day?

The soft sound of the bell ring through the cafe, announcing the arrival of another customer. Nanami quickly glanced up, noticing your figure walk in, looking at the menu. He had never seen you before. Normally, the people who go to this cafe were regulars. Seldom came new customers.

He shrugs it off, continuing to make the coffee and putting it on the counter, calling out the person’s name. He leaves it there as he goes to make another order.

Raspberry frappe.

He moves quickly. He had gotten used to the mechanics of each machine he had to use, making him quite quick in preparing all the orders. That’s why he had always been the one making the coffee whilst Haibara handled the customers. Haibara was more amicable. He was pleasant to talk to and could break down people’s walls easily. That’s how he and Nanami became friends quickly. Haibara was patient with people. Not to say he wasn’t, but he would rather handle the backstage work then talk to the crowd.

A tap on the glass followed by a small ‘excuse me’ pulls him from his thoughts. He looks to his side, noticing you looking at him through the pastry case. You give him a soft smile.

“Yes?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “You need to line up if you are to order a pastry.”

You lean back, standing straighter. “Hm, no, I wanted to order a drink, but I don’t know what’s good. Do you have any recommendations?”

Nanami thinks for a second. No one had really asked him that. He wasn’t prepared to answer such questions. He left those to Haibara. He glanced at the brown-haired boy who was now quickly talking away with another customer. Truth be told, he had never really drank any of the drinks. He found them to be a bit too expensive on his budget.

“I…” He trails off, not knowing what to say. He glanced at his hand. “The strawberry frappe is good.” He manages out.

You give him an encouraging smile, pleased with his answer. Somehow, that made him more motivated to speak.

“Truthfully, I’ve never drank anything here. But, our most popular items are Iced Matcha Latte, the Butterfly Tea, and our Strawberry frappe.”

You nod along, giving him a smile. “Thank you sir!” You say, moving to the back of the line.

His eyes follow you as you move. He nods at you before continuing on with his work.

•

You walk up to the counter finally, smiling at the brown haired boy in front of you.

“Hi! I’m Haibara. What would you like?” He asks positively, his voice full of care and love. You smile back at him, recalling what his coworker had said.

“I’d like the Butterfly Tea please.”

He smiles jotting down the order, making quick conversation with you about your name, the level of sugar you want and ice.

“Are you new around here? I’ve never seen you before!” Haibara finally lets out, masking his excitement. You nod, explaining that you had gotten a new job recently which caused you to move here.

The conversation between the two of you didn’t fall on deaf ears to Nanami. As he made your drink, he listened offhandedly to your conversations He listened up until you went to the side to let the customer behind you order. You smile at Haibara before moving to the end where your drink would end up, watching Nanami focus on mixing your drink up.

“Your drink.” He says to you, handing the drink to you. You give him a warm smile, taking it from him. Your fingers grazed his cold hands.

“I like your hair.” You state nonchalantly, pointing over to his blonde hair.

If you were being perfectly honest, the barista whom you didn’t know the name of was quite good looking. Hell, he was handsome. If the coffee wasn’t good, maybe you would just come over to gawk and admire the blonde haired man who made drinks. He couldn’t have been any older than you. Maybe… you shake the thought away. First week in the city and you’re already having thoughts on marrying the first hot guy you see.

The unnamed barista smiles at your compliment, nodding politely. Your eyebrows lower down slightly, saddened a bit by his lack of conversation. It was no wonder why Haibara was the one treating the customer and not him.

Either way, you move towards the entrance again, waving goodbye as you leave, fully intending to come visit again even if the drinks were bad.

[bahbahhh]

begin again

a lot of change happens in between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. let’s fill in the gaps. zelda pov | zelink | totk spoilers | multichapter | rated T zelinkweek2023 | @zelinkcommunity [ ao3 ]

Chapters: [2 ] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

The Calamity is gone. The remaining leaders of Hyrule gather for a Summit to determine the future of the kingdom, starting with how to repurpose all the Sheikah Technology. Zelda is among them, and while everyone still calls her Princess, she’s not sure she wants to lay claim to an old throne. What she really wants is to move on. She wants to continue her research, to prove her worth beyond her bloodline, and to spend as much time with Link as she can…which sounds an awful lot like what she wanted a hundred years ago…

[ A story set between BotW and TotK, containing many spoilers for TotK as it was born from my need to explain many of the changes we see. A tremendous thank you to @zeldaelmo who volunteered to beta read this before she knew what she was getting herself into. I am immensely thankful for your eagle eye and your patience. ]

chapter 1

for the prompt “yearning”

Zelda doesn’t have a bed. 

She thinks about this lying on the spare one in Purah’s study. She’s staying with Purah for the Hyrule Restoration Summit, which is what they are calling the first official gathering of Hyrule leaders since the fall of the Calamity, and the more she thinks about it, technically speaking, it's a cot.

It’s not unlike the one she uses when they are in Kakariko, albeit a few inches shorter, like everything else customized for a child in Purah’s lab. Zelda has to lay at an angle to fit and even so, her feet dangle over the edge when she straightens her legs. Symin offered her his bed, as Paya had in Kakariko, and like there, Zelda declined. 

When she traveled a century ago, families were forced to give up their entire homes to host her. Royal quarters were permanently built in Kakariko, Rito Village, Gerudo Town, and Zora’s Domain. Due to the hostile environment surrounding Goron City, the Gorons agreed to travel to Akkala Citadel whenever there was official business with the Royal family which, in addition to a military fortress for the Hyrulian armed forces, acted as a second residence for her family. Another bed.

But that was all before. Akkala Citadel is in ruins, all the Royal quarters have since been repurposed by their respective domains, and Zelda will never ask anything more of the people of Hyrule so long as she draws breath.

Still, selfishly, and in the safety of her own thoughts, she yearns for the comfort of a real bed. Nothing extravagant, no need for anyone in Hyrule to forfeit their comforts on her behalf. Just somewhere she can readily count on for rest when sleep decides to visit. 

That’s what Link says: a visit of sleep. 

They are alike in this way. Their internal clocks recalibrated in the prolonged absence of waking, such that their bodies don’t readily cue the need for sleep. In the beginning, it took her weeks just to register the sensation of fatigue again. She stayed awake for two full days after the final confrontation on Hyrule Field before collapsing abruptly during the climb up to Kakariko’s western entrance. Link had to carry her the rest of the way. She slept for ninety-two hours straight. 

When Zelda finally awoke, someone was smoothing her hair out of her face. Another sensory experience she needed to register again: touch. Not toxic oil on her skin, claws of shadow raking down her spine, or darkness pulling so tight it feels like it might become one with her. Actual human touch. 

She hoped it might be Link in a delayed return of her affections for a heartbeat, but when she opened her eyes, it was an old Sheikah woman at her bedside. Zelda’s expression must have soured or pulled with confusion, because the woman began to laugh. Laughter. Warm and inviting and familiar. The sound vibrated inside Zelda like a bell. She gasped, set her hands on either side of the women’s face and felt a sudden and painful ache that has accompanied every subsequent realization of her losses. 

She will never age like she was meant to. With the people of her time, with the people she loved.

And after a century in stasis, she is on the verge of being completely left behind.

“Now, it’s not that bad, is it?” Impa teased.  

Zelda didn’t answer. She wept.

It has gotten a little better in the months since she returned to her physical form. She’s started to suspect Link is “visited’ by sleep out of preference more than necessity. But really, he slept for a hundred years, so she can’t blame him for rejecting a more traditional sleep cycle. She, on the other hand, was frozen. Not sleeping, not waking, just there—like gravity itself. Holding everything and everyone in place, unnoticeable until she wasn’t, when the Calamity would slip free of her grasp, swirl about the castle, and remind Hyrule of the horrors that awaited them if she failed again. 

Zelda smudges a tear against the side of her face and turns onto her back. Regardless, she can’t help but feel like having a bed, a ceiling overhead she recognizes, and the freedom to get up and roam down to a kitchen for a slice of fruitcake when the night is still young, that she might be visited by rest more willingly when she wants it. Needs it.

Like tonight. 

“So, what you're really talking about is wanting a home,” Zelda tells herself, a habit formed in the decades of solitude. Sometimes, in periods of dormancy or resignation, the Calamity would growl back at her in a tone that was almost human. But for the most part, she started talking to herself in and out of days and throughout the years until her sense of time too was a thing Hylia claimed in penance for her failures. 

“That’s not accurate,” she chides herself and flips onto her stomach. Blaming the Goddess is a bad habit she is trying to change. When she finally unlocked her Powers, suspended in divinity, the closest to holy she’s ever been, the Goddess didn’t even answer her then. It was just the sound of her own voice, echoing back at her from inside the Calamity. 

A bed. Something simple and fixed, like the one Link has in his house right on the outskirts of the village. Zelda’s caught glimpses of it when they’ve stopped there to replenish supplies; nestled against the wall on the second floor, beneath the only window so natural light kisses him awake when he finally decides to rest. He has a small dresser for linens and travel spoils, and a bedside table that is home to a painted vase from Rito Village he often fills with fresh flowers. 

She wonders which flowers are watching over him right now. Has sleep visited him? Or is he rolling about his sheets, worrying about the Summit, trying to break old habits, or craving something warm from the cooking pot down the stairs?

If he is awake, it is likely the latter. He would be able to sleep on a night like this. The air is cool. Everyone at the Summit knows him personally; is indebted to him in some way, although he carries no ledger. He is known. Respected. Tomorrow is just another day. Sleep will visit.

Zelda’s role in all of this is yet to be defined. While news of Calamity Ganon’s defeat spread quickly, there was no whisper of the lost Princess’ return at first. Rumors focused on the disappearance of the shadow around Hyrule Castle and then later, turned into formal requests for Link’s presence in the aid of investigating the Divine Beasts sudden malfunctioning. No one asked about her.

And it was nice. 

For a brief moment, she fantasized about cutting her hair, burning her dress, and letting Zelda disappear with the embers into history. Maybe she would accompany Link as a traveling scholar under another name? Or join the Sheikah and train with the weapons she was forbidden to touch a hundred years ago?

Impa, however, had other plans. She suggested Zelda travel with Link to investigate Vah Ruta so the Zora could verify her identity. They found her old travel clothes, Link presented her with a descendant of her horse, Storm, and the dreams of obscurity ceased. The Zora instantly recognized her, adding credibility to the announcement of her return and soon, her identity grew heavy with an unspoken claim to a throne that needed rebuilding.

No one has officially said anything, but there is a generous amount of speculation surrounding tomorrow and the opportunity to reestablish a centralized and unifying governing body. If they asked it of her, she would have no choice but to accept, right? It is the duty tied to this life. This title.  

Maybe she could convince them of her usefulness as a scholar? She no longer has any restrictions on time spent researching. She could help the Sheikah redesign their technology. Perhaps to aid in the great restoration…if she could just get the Divine Beasts up and running again, they would prove so useful in the rebuilding! 

This part of her, shunned by her family and now forgotten with them, could be the key to proving her worth beyond a head to carry the crown. She will show them. She has to.  They don’t seem to know what else to do with her, otherwise. Rarely does anyone use her name, even after they realized who she is.

They all call her ‘Princess’.  

Except for Link. 

Zelda turns onto her side and inspects the empty sliver of cot beside her. She runs her hand across the weaving and thinks about how she used to be able to visit Link. When the Calamity was dormant and her Power was still new and untaxed, she would separate a part of herself from Hyrule Castle and ride the wind to the Great Plateau. She watched the seasons turn by Link’s side in the shrine until the Calamity would wake and pull her back into herself like a rubber band. This went on for decades. 

When he finally woke up and the shrine’s toll for restoring his life was realized, Zelda felt her strength begin to waver. She is not aware of a word that accurately describes the feeling of being forgotten by the person you tethered your heart to; to have it remain connected to that person and witness it drift behind them, becoming more of a dark cloud than guiding light.

Her love for him burned for a hundred years. Somehow, in the depths of a living, breathing, rageful hell, it grew. It grounded her within the swirl of eternal darkness, the unyielding burn of malice, the mourning of time. As his memories of their kingdom, their comrades, and of her, returned to him, his reckoning of it all remained indistinguishable. 

The last six months between them were uncomfortable. He never outwardly answered her question on the field. He extended his hand and led her away from the castle. He was gentle yet reserved, closer than the three paces he once stood as her appointed knight and still somehow further than when he sunk into the glowing waters of the shrine and she stepped into the center of the darkest night.  Did his love die with him on the field that day? Was it left in the spot where he bled out, where flowers now grow? Has one unknowingly ever made it back to his bedside table? Could he recognize it now? 

Did he want to? 

She glances over her shoulder quickly, half expecting him to be there like he always was all those years ago, appearing out of thin air, as a part of her as her own shadow. 

But there is no one else in the room. Her shadow is empty. Her window shut. 

Zelda turns her attention back to the empty spot beside her and begins to imagine the weight of his arms around her. The sound of his sleep. His breath on her face. The cot is small, like his bed, but in the way she imagines they might fit together, it would be enough for sleep to find her. Even on a night like this. 

But there is no one else in the room. 

Just her and a bed, that's not even a bed, that doesn’t belong to her. 

—

Sleep doesn’t visit her. 

Zelda eventually gives up and pours her energy into drafting up a proposal on how to repurpose the Sheikah Technology. The Divine Beasts will be a tremendous asset. Vah Ruta can create new water reservoirs. Vah Medoh can mass transport supplies and people across Hyrule. Vah Rudania and Vah Naboris will be essential for maneuvering the harsher terrains of each region. 

She is confident she and Robbie could reprogram the guardians and assign them different purposes. She will recommend they remove all of the mechanics for combat, save for a select few machines that will be assigned to aid in monster defense.

Their greatest challenge will be finding a new power source. When Zelda obliterated Calamity Ganon from the realm, her Light purified every non-living thing it held influence over; every pool of Malice evaporated instantly and every guardian -earthbound, skyward or decayed- from the North Akkala Beach to Daval’s Peak stopped working. Robbie has yet to find a working ancient core and hypothesizes Zelda “nuked the network”. Whatever that means. 

The Sheikah Towers and shrines remain functional, so once they isolate the remaining source of power, she is confident Robbie and Purah will be able to design and power up new cores. 

 If only she had access to the old blueprints in her study…

On her way down to the main floor, she scribbles a note about returning to the castle upon acceptance of the proposal. She folds the pages carefully and tucks them into the small leather satchel Link gave her. Purah assumes ownership of the Sheikah Slate whenever they come to Hateno, so Link presented her with a satchel enchanted by the koroks so she can carry multiple items outside of the Slate on her at all times. Link has an identical one. 

He jokingly calls it an ‘adventure pouch’.  

Purah, Symin and a few others are already buzzing about the lab. Purah has the Sheikah Slate in the Guidance Stone, a tear drop of crystal blue bouncing between the stone and the Slate every few seconds. Zelda always thought it was interesting that information takes the shape of a teardrop. Was it intentional by the Sheikah who created the technology all those years ago? Or is it just the natural form of data? Of memory? 

There is so much for them to learn.

“Good morning, Princess!” Purah says without looking up from her work. Zelda decided earlier this morning, just as the sun started peeking through her window, not to fight the title of Princess anymore. She would help them rebuild the kingdom, sit on a new throne if they asked it of her, but she would have a hand defining the responsibilities of the title. 

“Good morning,” Zelda answers. 

Purah rapidly flaps her hand in Zelda’s direction. Zelda moves into the spot beside Purah, who is balanced on her knees on a pillow in order to sit level with the table. There are sketches of the Sheikah Slate, looking very much like a six year old drew them, along with an unflattering portrait of Symin, and handwriting Zelda won’t even attempt to decipher. 

“I think I can duplicate the Slate,” Purah says, snapping her fingers.

Zelda grins. She imagines each region having their own Slate. The possibilities for research, for communication. How quickly Hyrule could share information…the problems they could solve! 

Link pushes open the door to the lab. Zelda imagines how his shoulders might relax the more Hyrule becomes connected. His burden would finally be eased...then maybe…

“Good morning!” She practically bursts. 

Link waves and crosses the room to the cooking pot. Symin starts explaining what he is cooking and Link casually dumps the entire contents into the fire. Symin sighs in relief and pulls out a notebook. Link produces the ingredients one by one from his pouch, displaying each carefully so Symin can copy the recipe. A dozen eggs, Hylian tomatoes, assorted mushrooms, a handful of greens, and a tiny bottle of Goron spice. Zelda’s mouth waters before he even starts cooking. 

She watches Link demonstrate how to slice the tomatoes before setting Symin to work, involving Symin in the salvaging of the meal and in doing so, lessening the blow of his failure. It is a change in Link’s behavior she has loved witnessing: he is eager to share his knowledge after awakening from the shrine; to spread it generously with everyone who asks for his help. In this way, he is teaching Hyrule how to need him less in the long run, a step forfeited a century ago by the pressure he felt and the structure of the role assigned to him. 

Hero, knight, swordsman; whatever title he is to carry moving forward, she will protect his freedom to define it as well. 

They eat quickly and head down the hill toward the village together. Hateno is the chosen location for the Summit because it has the largest settlement of Hylians, who, as a whole, have been without formal leadership for over a century. Central Hyrule was initially considered given the proximity for all participants, but the general consensus is six months of calm is not enough time for anyone to meet comfortably in the shadow of the castle. 

“I heard this is the first time King Dorephan has left his domain in two hundred years,” Purah whispers to Zelda as they turn the corner down the split in the road to Hateno Pasture. A farmer named Dantz offered up his land, which borders Lake Sumac, to host. The water provides an added measure of comfort for the Zora. Zelda spots King Dorephan sitting close to the shore with several elder Zora and Prince Sidon.

There are a handful of Hylians mingling with leading members of the Sheikah, Rito, Gorons, and Gerudo. 

Purah and Symin split off to join Impa, who is sitting in the shade of a nearby tree with Paya. Their movement pulls the attention of the crowd in Zelda’s direction. She watches recognition ripple across the group. The conversations soften and then die off completely at the mere sight of her. Just like old times. 

Zelda flexes her fingers. 

Suddenly, there is a hand in hers. She jumps, glancing to her side where only Link stands. He’s looking right at her, the same way everyone else is, but she doesn’t feel the weight of the crown on her shoulders in his gaze. He squeezes her hand and nods her forward.  

“Right. Okay, then,” Zelda whispers.

Link leads her around the crowd so she can make introductions before the Summit starts. She is already known to the Sheikah, who are represented by Impa, Robbie, Purah, Symin, Paya, and Cado, and the Zora. Prince Sidon embraces her and compliments Link relentlessly. 

It is Zelda’s first time meeting the Goron Boss, Bludo, who introduces Zelda to a young Goron named Yubono and emphasizes he is a descendant of Daruk, as well as the Rito Chief, Kaneli. He is joined by a Rito warrier named Teba, and his son, Tulin, who begs Link to go shooting with him later that day. Link offers the fledgling a thumbs up and then gestures like, you want to go now, quick? 

Teba scolds them both. 

Her favorite introduction is the last one. Chief Makeela Riju, who insists Zelda calls her Riju, informs Zelda the Gerudo sun has missed her and personally invites her to come meet her pet sand seal. 

There certainly is a lot of personality, but Zelda feels certain the proposal will appease them all equally. The fact Link’s hand has remained in hers the entire time only boosts her confidence. Should she request the floor immediately or wait to see if there are region-specific needs she can weave into her proposal? She wants to emphasize the importance of each region’s involvement. 

“I think it’s time,” Impa makes her way out of the shade with the other Sheikah and takes the spot closest to Zelda. “that we begin again, don’t you all agree?”

“Well said. The Zora recognize the start of the Hyrule Restoration Summit,” King Dorphean says. 

“As do the Rito.” 

“And the Gerudo.”

“The Shei-kah!” Robbie throws his hand in the air and postures. 

“Gorons,” Bludo grunts.

“The Hylians have elected four representatives: I, Reede of Hateno Village, Elder Rozel of Lurelin Village, Hudson of Tarrey Town, and Traysi for the Stable Association. We recognize the start of the Hyrule Restoration Summit.”

“I officially call this meeting to order.” Impa claps her hands together and sits. She thanks everyone for traveling and for the village of Hateno for their hospitality. She summarizes the objective of the meeting as a gathering of the people of Hyrule in preliminary discussions about plans for a massive restoration following the purge of Calamity Ganon. She explains the forum will be open, but organized, in order for accurate minute keeping. Everyone motions in favor of detailed records. There are too many nameless ruins, too many stories and lessons lost to time scattered across Hyrule.

“Since there is no old business to attend to, I suppose it might be best to open the floor up to hear any initial recommendations for the restoration?”

Link raises his hand. 

He so rarely speaks out loud that the anticipation of it commands the attention of the entire Summit immediately. It might be her imagination, but Zelda swears the wind stops, too.  

“Let the record show the Hylian Champion and Hero of the Wild, Link, has the floor,”  Impa dictates and gestures for Link to continue. Zelda fishes her proposal out from her adventure pouch and folds it in her lap. Whatever he says, she’s assuming he will have some brilliant suggestions on how the former trade routes can be optimized or offer insight into the state of Central Hyrule for an exhibition, it will provide the perfect opportunity for her to follow. 

Link turns and smiles at her as he rises. It’s small. Relaxed. The kind of smile that’s only meant for the space between two people. Which means it is meant for her. 

She smiles back. 

With her plans for the Sheikah Technology, which will no doubt be strengthened by Link’s expertise, they can face this new Hyrule together. Self-chosen, this time, not forced by fate and the responsibilities of an old kingdom. 

Her heart flutters so rapidly at the thought, it takes her brain a moment to register what he actually says:

“I propose the first step in the restoration of Hyrule should be the destruction of all Sheikah Technology.”