#and Vincent playing it absolutely cold | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

valkyyriia · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! If the request are still open I’d like to make one 😊 This is my first time requesting something so I apologize if I missed anything 🙏🏻

I’d like to request Comte as the suitor(established relationship) and rain for the prompt. Thank you 😊

A Deluge of Feelings

Words: 1401 CW: None | SFW Tags: Fluff, Non-Sexual Nudity, Google Translate French, Spoilers for Comte's name, Minor Characters from Comte's Route Prompt: Comte + Rain Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain / Reader

Note: Absolutely no worries Hikari! There's a first time for everything 😊 Glad to have another Comte enjoyer here! He's my favorite suitor!

I had several other ideas for this fic that I ended up stashing away for a rainy day (pun fully intended). I really do love Comte. ♥

Also posted on AO3 here.

When you left for the ball earlier this evening, the sky had been clear; nary a cloud in sight. The sun had been near setting when you had climbed into the carriage, its rays painting the evening sky with gorgeous shades of peach and orange. You made a mental note to ask Vincent - or Leonardo, if he felt productive - to try to paint a nineteenth-century Paris sunset for you one of these days.

So when you heard the telltale rumbles of thunder in the distance soon after arriving, it caught you - and your partner - by surprise. You had been talking to your friend, a nobleman's daughter by the name of Claudine, when the manor's windows rattled from the shockwave. Rain began to fall in light droplets, a soft pitter-patter cascading against the roof. Your partner, the ever-elegant Comte de Saint-Germain, quickly made his way to your side.

"Claudine, it's always a pleasure to see you," he greeted the other girl amicably. She curtsied and addressed him in kind, before excusing herself with a cheeky grin in your direction. Your response was a not-so-ladylike roll of the eyes, your own attention returning to the nobleman by your side.

Le Comte watched her walk off, his brow furrowed. The way girls behaved was still a mystery to him, even after God knows how many centuries of life. He would always be doomed to wonder in this regard, he supposed. Some things weren't meant to be understood.

Returning to the matter at hand, Comte placed a large hand on your back and drew you close, kissing your temple and murmuring into your ear. "We should try to get home before it gets any worse, Ma Chérie. I don't want to stay out and risk you catching cold or us getting stuck in town."

He swiftly guided you towards the doors of the manor house to call for your carriage. The rain, however, had other ideas. As you neared the door the soft droplets turned into a torrential downpour; sheets of rain fell from the sky like gauzy curtains, obscuring all but the brightest of lights. Water ran in dark, snaking rivulets across the cobblestone paths,

The pureblooded vampire exchanged a quick word with the coachman by the door. The watery onslaught was so deafening you were unable to make out much of what they were saying, but you assumed it had something to do with the carriages.

After a moment, your hypothesis was confirmed. Comte turned to you, an apologetic smile on his face.

"We won't be able to take a carriage back to the mansion in this weather, between the flooding and the low visibility. The coachman isn't certain they'd even be able to make it to the city's residential district with how bad it is," he said, kissing your forehead. "For now, we should just try to enjoy ourselves for a bit longer and hope the rain passes by."

The two of you returned inside, le Comte remaining by your side this time. He continued to greet the other nobles who approached the two of you, his hand secure on your hip. You stood by him, a placid smile on your face as you played the part of a nobleman’s partner.

Soon, you found yourselves dancing together on the ballroom floor, enjoying each other’s company as you waited for the storm to subside. Unfortunately, it seemed as though there was no end in sight. The rain continued to pour, quickly dashing any hopes you had had of returning home tonight. Normally this situation would bring you stress, but you found the thought of being stranded in town for the night didn’t bother you that much. You were with Comte, and you knew that he would stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Le Comte checked his pocket watch, a graceful frown marring his face. It had gotten quite late already, and with no sign of the rain letting up, your choices were dwindling. At your questioning glance, he smiled reassuringly.

“These things happen. We can predict the weather, but we can’t ever be fully certain how it’s going to be. It’s no matter,” Comte spoke, lovingly brushing a stray hair out of your face. “We will just have to brave the weather and head for a nearby inn, I’m afraid.”

Before you could speak up, you were interrupted by a familiar, loud voice.

“Ah, Comte de Saint-Germain,” he said. You immediately recognized this as the Duke de Guermantes, Comte’s friend and Claudine’s father. He smiled at you, greeting you as well.

You knew the Duke de Guermantes rather well, all things considered; he was the father of one of your only female friends in this time period, as well as a friend of Comte’s.

“Monsieur le Duc,” you replied in kind with a curtsy.

He turned back to le Comte with a friendly smile. “I see the two of you are stuck in town for the evening, non? The carriages won’t run in this weather.”

“I’m afraid you’re correct,” Comte agreed with resignation. “We had hoped the rain would let up long enough for us to return home, but I suppose le des intempéries had other plans.” He smiled amiably. “We were going to brave the outdoors soon and go to one of the inns nearby for the evening.”

The Duke de Guermantes shook his head dramatically. “I think not! I would make quite the poor host to force one of my dearest friends and his partner leave the safety and comfort of my home in un orage. Non, you shall stay here for the night.”

Le Comte’s features were painted in surprise. “Are you certain? I would hate for us to impose on such short notice.”

“Nonsense,” the Duke waved him off. “I shall not hear of it. You could never impose.”

“Merci beaucoup,” Comte said. “We are very grateful for your hospitality.”

Soon, you were both shown to a guest room in the Duke’s manor. Rain still beat against the windows, drowning out any other sounds.

Comte stepped up behind you, his hands deftly picking out several of the pins holding your hair up. As your hair came loose of its confines, his fingers gently combed through the strands. You sighed into his touch.

Comte’s hands slid down to your shoulders and he kissed the top of your head.

“Je t’aime,” he murmured, turning you around in his arms and brushing a hand against your cheek. “I am sorry we could not make it home tonight, Ma Chérie.”

You smiled back at him, leaning into his palm. “It’s alright, Abel. I’m happy to go anywhere so long as it’s with you.”

Le Comte’s golden eyes were filled with an indescribable deep emotion in response to your words. His hand drifted to your chin and tilted it up, his lips crashing into yours for a hungry kiss. He soon broke away from you, grimacing in discomfort.

You frowned, your hand cupping his cheek. “What is it, Abel?”

He just shook his head in response and took your hand in his, pulling it from his face. Your eyes widened in understanding.

“When did you last eat?” You murmured.

His eyes drifted to yours and he smiled knowingly. “I’m not hungry,” he murmured. “Not for anything but you, at least.”

Your cheeks flushed, but your frown deepened. You went to step away but his other hand came to grasp your waist and hold you there.

“It will pass, as it always does,” he assured you. “Un moment, s’il vous plait.”

You turned back around and began to unlace your dress. You were surprised when his fingers joined yours almost immediately, assisting you in shedding the garment. His fingers lightly skimmed over the skin that was now laid bare before him.

“You are beautiful, Ma Chérie. I still find it hard to believe that in the endless sea of eternity, I found you.” He kissed your bare shoulder. “However much I should like to ravish you this evening, I fear we must get to bed,” Comte sighed. “We still have to head back home in the morning and I think we should not abuse le Duc’s hospitality.”

With a pout, you agreed and crawled into bed with him, nestling against his warmth comfortably. He kissed your forehead. “Bonne nuit, mon amour,” Le Comte whispered. “Je t'aime, maintenant et pour toujours.”

Taglist: @natimiles @queengiuliettafirstlady @candiedcoffeedrops @goddesswitchmother

@fang-and-feather @candied-boys

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte

50 notes · View notes

cybercore-creations · 1 year ago

Text

All good things

Summary: Life played him for a fool again, he was stupid for thinking he'd get a single good thing

Tw: Suicide, Kidnapping, implied Stolkholm syndrome

He thought everything was okay. He thought you finally accepted this was where you were staying. Giving him a kiss every morning, helping Vincent with the sculptures, taking Jonsey on walks with Lester. You didn't scream or cry anymore. Didn't have to be locked up. Everything felt normal. A normal spouse, A normal family, A normal life.

But nothing ever went right for Beauregard Sinclair. He could never have a normal anything. Never had one normal thing in his life.

Maybe it was hopeful thinking or straight denial. Just playing pretend. But he didn't expect when he entered your shared bedroom to find you with bleeding wrists and one of his knives weakly clutched in your hands. There was no note. No closure. Not a simple thing to tell him it wasn't his fault.

You didn't have to say it, but he knew it was his fault. He shouldn't have kept you alive. Shoulda just threw you in the museum like everyone else, but he didn't. You were a spitfire from the beginning. That's what he liked about you. He never expected a victim to hot wire Lester's truck and try to run him over but there you were smiling as you pushed the old thing as fast as it could go. He laughed when you'd slammed your face onto the steering wheel when he shot out the tires. It wasn't even a sadistic one, he genuinely found it funny.

You saw the man. He was distracted, looking off into the distance, probably trying to find you but you hit the gas hard. The pedal slammed to the ground as you changed gears (He always liked someone who could drive stick) Bo heard the truck before he saw it. The loud rumble of the thing much too old to still be driven. It was like second instinct as he hopped out of the way, shooting out the tires. The truck spun out and all he heard was "FUCK" and then the slam of your forehead on the uncoushined wheel accompanied by a "ow"

His eyes drifted towards the now bloodied silver band on your finger. You were supposed to get married. You'd been in Ambrose for a little over a year when he popped the question and he remembers the bright smile before squeezing him tight. The memory would make him happy but instead he felt nothing but betrayl.

As the night draped itself over Ambrose, The two of you found yourselves perched on the rooftop of the old, weathered church. The stars above twinkled like glitter strewn across a velvet canvas. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the only sound that echoed through the quiet night was the faint chirping of crickets. Bo took your hand in his, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You know, Peaches, I've been thinking about a lot lately" You raised your eyebrows "And what does that thinking gotta do with Hun?" He fiddled with the ring in his pocket before taking a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he was nervous. "Our future together. How I wanna turn ya into Mx.Sinclair." "W-What?" You stuttered. "Peaches, the second I laid eyes on you went you came in for that fan belt, I was hooked. Every second since then I've been falling harder. So uh, will you be my spouse?" He pulled out the ring, hands shaking. You grabbed onto him. Squeezing him tightly, he could feel your smile against his shoulder. "Absolutely. I wouldn't want anything else."

He went soft and he absolutely hated you for it, well thats what he tried to tell himself when he ran to your side trying to find a pulse. It was obvious you'd been gone for awhile. Blood was already dried on some places and your body was cold to the touch. He was frozen in time like one of Vincent's statues as he stared before he dropped to his knees. Bo let out a scream. A noise so deep in his chest that it didn't even sound human. An animalistic sob that you could probably even hear the town over. The one good thing in his rotten life was taken from him

"I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU." He yelled. Tears now rolling down his face. "Why did you have to leave me?"

#house of wax #house of wax (2005)#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #slashers

143 notes · View notes

melancholicmaze · 4 months ago

Text

Quick and unorganized thoughts on Re:Zero Arc 9 Chapter 2. I don’t know if I’ll do something like this for every chapter, I just had a bit more than usual to say about this one.

Spoilers ahead

I really liked seeing Olbart again. He mentions that he’s on the verge of death, and I gotta say…. I hope he’s right. 😭 I also laughed at the visual of him scratching himself with his feet. What a silly old man, you’d almost forget he’s an irredeemable monster.

I’m not crazy about Moguro’s survival, it feels cheap considering we likely won’t see him again in any substantial capacity. Perhaps when Vincent reinforces Subaru in the future? But that role could’ve been given to another. I’ll wait to see what Tappei does, but not a fan rn.

I REALLY enjoyed the Otto section, absolute highlight of the chapter for me. He’s cold, cunning, and is willing to walk a path of thorns for an optimal outcome. And Ana of all people being the one to recognize that he’s playing the role of the villain is amazing. I really enjoyed seeing her call Otto out. It’s not at all surprising to see that he’s considering the political ramifications of the past two arcs. And he ponders the question I had after Priscilla’s death. Will the election proceed with four candidates now? Or will there be a fifth? (Melty?) Really interesting stuff. And sage council mention! Really excited to see them again, but I also dread it.

I enjoyed seeing Otto worrying that Emilia and Ana had gotten too close. His original plan regarding Priscilla was to arrange for her removal from the selection. And his only regret was that her loss hurt Subaru and Emilia. He’s purely logical, he’s cold, and absolutely going to be an ideological foil to the rest of the camp going forward. And that combined with the spica matter? Shit’s gonna go down. I love seeing the contrast between his reaction and Petra’s. Hopefully Otto’s fuckery is a focus of this arc. Emilia camp’s Russel fr

#re zero #re:zero #re:zero kara hajimeru isekai seikatsu #spoilers #arc 9

23 notes · View notes

studentinpursuitofclouds · 1 year ago

Note

hello 👋 I hope you had a wonderful day !! , can I please request People from SDV, SVE and RSV react to the Farmer snap , the Farmer snap because somebody had hurt their love ones and their friends or somebody could had done something stupid that could had got them hurt with the others and the farmer save them before that could happen, maybe there was an argument that escalated to far too ,the farmer having enough didn’t yell in anger but remain calm and cold and somewhere quiet with the blinks stare in their face, making the whole situation feel unsettling and cold by just a few words and the farmer quickly apologize going back to their usual self , because to be honest do you really want to fight with the person who have the power of defeating army’s of monsters and doing some crazy things with it too!! , I hope you have a wonderful day 😃.

Hey hey, dear anon 👋 Thank you so much for the question, hope you're having a good day too! 😊❤️

I apologize, but I can't describe absolutely everyone, as all the people with vanilla Stardew Valley and with two global mods comes out too many for one ask (60+ people). Still hope you can enjoy the little HC! Thanks again 🫰

_________________________________________

"You're dead, man. Rest in pepperoni." Oh, trust me, the famous trio of Abigail, Sam and Sebastian know very well how fierce and menacing Farmer can be. And Farmer don't even need to yell for that, just the sight of them makes the blood freeze in their veins. Sam remembers that he once suggested a stupid and dangerous venture to Abby and Sebby, and though no one got hurt, Farmer scolded Sam a lot. So the idiot who was an asshole for Farmer's partner is very unlucky.

Oh, a free show? Great, 'cause Pam's TV just broke, so that scandal will keep her busy. She'd rather listen to Farmer put some out-of-town punk in his place than try to find something interesting to do in a trailer. True, if Farmer's injured friend is her daughter, Penny, then Pam will take part in a heated discussion with all the fury and profanity herself.

The way the Farmer had snapped loudly and unexpectedly at the idiot tourist during the Stardew Fair, who - unbelievable! - was offering Jas, Vincent, and Leo a cigarettes (a cigarettes?!) made the poor kids wince and squeeze closer together. Without stopping to wince, they watched as Farmer chased the frightened tourist away. But then the Farmer's angry look immediately softened as they turned to the children and offered to treat them to ice cream. The young Farmer was a little embarrassed and guilty that he was swearing right in front of the kids (Jas almost cried). But the delicious ice cream helped the kids forget about this unpleasant moment.

Oh, Shane's just in time to sneak a packet of crisps in his hoodie from the Jojamart warehouse, because the way the Farmer just morally destroys some out-of-town loader/colleague from Joja is a real show that won't end any time soon. And there's just the right snack to crunch on - like in the cinema! Even cheers for Farmer when Shane hears the reason for their snap. Hell yeah, fuck em up, Farmer.

Depending on the situation itself, Robin and Demetrius will behave slightly differently. Of course, they are surprised by Farmer's sudden outburst of rage, but when they both recognise the reason for it, they will side with Farmer, remaining fairly calm. If the idiot nearly hurt Maru and Sebastian, Robin herself will be as furious as a mama bear, and her husband (and other random people present) will now have to contain the rage of two people already. Nobody mess with Robin's children.

Harvey was extremely surprised that such a calm person like Farmer could get so furious with someone. Local doctor of the Pelican Town could understand why Farmer was so upset, but it was unnecessary to make such a loud scandal, whatever that stranger does.

June has seen a lot of different people in his time playing the piano. And so it is now, at Ridgeside Village. Most of the people who walk through the main lobby of the hotel are nice and quiet, with a few rude types. However, the hotel visitor that nearly pushed Farmer's friend down the stairs was simply out of line. It's a good thing that Farmer themselves happened to be nearby and were able to stop the rascal. June is not a fan of scandals and didn't really understand the reason for the whole situation, but even he is pleased when the scoundrel got what he deserved for his disgusting act. Well done, Farmer.

Richard doesn't know what made Farmer snap at one of his hotel guests like that, but will ask them to deal with everything outside his hotel. Sorry Farmer, nothing personal, but the other guests are nervous about the tense situation.

Marlon and Lance had to work hard to calm the unexpected anger of the ever-calm Farmer and keep them from hurting one foolish upstart from Castle Village. Both adventurers can understand their young fellow adventurer, but also remind the Farmer of the rules and code they swore an oath to when they stepped into the adventurer's shoes, and one of those rules is to protect people, not harm.

Oh, man... The same rude teenager who decided to tease and insult Vincent is now listening to the tirade of not only a furious Farmer, but also Jodi, joined by her friends Caroline and Olivia. The moms of the town are not surprised by Farmer's rage, they themselves would lose their temper if someone was hurting the local children (especially if they were their own son/daughter!).

Magnus doesn't usually use magic to intimidate. But the case in which a pale Morgan was hiding behind Wizard's back was the exception. The Farmer may have been the first to stand up for Morgan when some creep started bullying the kid, but Magnus would be the one to have the last word, giving the bully a good lesson. A couple of flying fireballs were enough to make the insolent man cowardly run away. Morgan has no need to be afraid, as neither their friend Farmer nor their teacher Magnus will let the child be bullied. Wizard is not surprised why Farmer snap, he would do the same.

Both Penny and Maru were naturally displeased when some idiot tourist threw a soccer ball at the two of them. But the girls even felt a little sorry for this tourist, when Farmer, in a fit of worry for Penny and Maru, and rage, frightened the idiot so much that it seemed that dumbass was about to cry.

To be honest, Jio, Daia and Kiwi are a bit disappointed. Why? Because they thought they would finally see the true power and fighting skills of the Farmer, the savior of Spirit Realm, because they have never once seen Farmer in battle. The young hero was masterful at using mere words to make the enemy retreat and apologize for bullying Farmer's friends, but Belinda's followers expected a battle. Sigh, boriiiiing...

Sophia and Victor don't know what they were more afraid of: the big bully who teased the pink-haired girl, and Victor too (as he was trying to protect Sophia), or Farmer, who drove the big guy away from them with the fury of a honey badger. They clearly hadn't expected that the Farmer could be so... intimidating. But Farmer is still a Farmer, after they returned to Victor and Sophia and apologized for the sudden outburst of aggression.

Considering that Louie and Ariah was being, to say the least, sometimes not very polite (mostly Louie) but calling them such words was clearly unnecessary on the part of some rich guest. Young Amethyne was even more surprised to realize that someone other than their family and servants were defending them. And with such fury. A Farmer?

Speaking of his family: of course Maive will not tolerate such behavior from her guests, and therefore, having found out the reason, she will kick the insolent guest out of her mansion. The Farmer will stay, but Madame will give them a stern and warning look, saying, "Don't try her patience." Sonny and Irene thank Farmer for standing up for Louie (albeit a little aggressively).

#sdv #stardew valley #sve #stardew valley expanded #rsv #ridgeside village #rsv headcanon #sve headcanon #sdv headcanon #thanks for the ask!

64 notes · View notes

heichou-dancho · 8 months ago

Text

FFVII Rebirth thoughts (Spoilers for everything)

I reemerge having finished Rebirth after four weeks and 92 hours in-game playtime. That’s an incredibly short but also massive amount of playtime for me, Yakuza 0 took me a year with pauses. I’m still reeling after finishing chapter 13, and since all my FF buddies from the old days are long gone, I’ll just vent here. I enjoy reading the reactions and thoughts of other players, so maybe someone else does too?

This post is full of spoilers and Shinra fangirling, but it’s about the whole game:

Shinra:

First, somebody on the team that wrote material for the Turks and Rufus must be some Shinra fandom veteran grown up with 20 years of fanon. Just Elena as a whole, Rude getting her that ice cream, Rufus in the Gold Saucer harassing fighting Cloud for fun, Dark Star not only obeying Rufus but also Tseng. Rufus complaining that Tseng is being overprotective… (faints) So much crack and shippy moments, I was grinning like an idiot.

(Is crack fic even a thing anymore? It feels like they’ve gotten rarer)

I expected maybe three or four scenes with the Turks, maybe less for Rufus. AND THEN SQUARE SHOVED THEM IN WHEREVER THEY COULD WITHOUT DERAILING THE PLOT. Elena was given so much room to breathe. Same for Rufus. Those little moments with Darkstar. I’m over the moon.

Okay, Rufus, so your father got stabbed, and the first thing you did after that was recording some motion-capturing and dialogue for a Turk recruitment hologram-video-thingy in an abandoned facility? It makes zero sense, but it’s my favourite protorelic mission and I’ll happily add it to my headcanon as a sign that Rufus gave Tseng his okay to recruit more Turks.

(The real answer would probably be automatically generated AI shenanigans, but that’s not very exciting.)

Viceroy Saruf. Just … Rufus, you’re such a cheeky idiot and I love you. Is there any faction in this world you’re not manipulating from the background? I can’t shake the feeling that being the man in the shadows suits you more than actually openly running the company.

Tseng and Reeve were great, I would love more little moments like that, where the Shinra folks just interact outside of action scenes and dramatic moments. The talk Tseng had with Reno and Rufus in Remake after the Sector 7 collapse hit the same note for me. I want more Reeve in part 3.

The scene between Tseng and Aerith at the temple made my eyes misty, but I wish it had been longer. Tseng keeping it short and abruptly leaving to "make a report" was perfect, and I know Cloud being so cold and cutting Aerith off fits his behaviour, but something about the timing just felt off.

I was surprised that Heidegger would take a bullet for Rufus. For President Shinra, absolutely, but Rufus? Hmm… This makes great fanfic material. I’ve read a fanfic before that tried to reimagine the Shinra executives (even Palmer) as more realistic people, and I found it to be really interesting, but then I’m a weirdo with plot bunnies in my head that involve a younger President Shinra, his wife, Veld, Vincent and the older Shinra execs.

I’ve never been a fan of Hojo but his R re-imagining is one of the few that doesn’t work at all for me. OG Hojo was far more unsettling. R!Hojo is just your typical mad scientist, I just can’t care about him, which is a shame, because him taunting Aerith in Remake with how he dissected Ifalna hit me hard.

I still haven’t quite grasped why Rufus is so obsessed with the Promised Land. It probably all comes down to wanting to be more successful than his father, right? I’m probably forgetting or mixing up details from Remake, Rebirth or the OG here, but I assumed that Rufus would outright dismiss it as a fairy tale.

Apparently there is a Midgar DLC for Power Wash Simulator. Square Enix, where is Hitman: Tseng and a version of Yakuza where I can play the Turks dealing with dumb crap doing missions in Midgar? Give us Shinra fans something, I'm still waiting for the EC version of Before Crisis. And I don't even like gacha mobile games. >:(

General game thoughts:

The open world is fantastic, I want to live in Gongaga or Kalm. So pretty. People online seem to hate the Gongaga map, but the soundtrack and the jungle theme made it work for me. I found the gliding parts in Cosmo Canyon far harder to navigate.

Shinra Manor is terrible with Vincent being it’s only redeeming part. The actual mansion looked great (the portrait of President Shinra was a nice touch) but the upper levels being inaccessible and turning it into another lab dungeon was boring. Same for the box throwing mini-game.

Dio the archaeologist turned body-builder is great, but Shinra knowing about the keystone and just not bothering to use it when President Shinra was looking for the Promised Land is a weird plot hole. It would have been a lot easier than trying to convince Aerith to come to them. There were some other little details like that, that bothered me but it’s a blur now.

Remake Barett made me into a Barret fan, Rebirth Nanaki into a Nanaki fan. The writers are genius when it comes to rewriting these characters from the OG. I’m not really bothered by Cid not being grumpy and swearing all the time. Him reminiscing about Ifalna was cute. Vincent using his old Turk skills (and having some lingering loyalty to the job?) was cool. Really looking forward to seeing how they’ll handle Lucrecia, the one character in FFVII I'm so conflicted about.

I’m still confused about Aerith’s death scene, especially the cuts where she’s lying in her own blood and then isn’t. I understand that she’s dead in her current reality, but is the scene without blood (and Aerith "waking up" in Cloud’s arms) Cloud’s hallucination or just a different reality? I’m also utterly confused by how many Aeriths we’re dealing with. The Aerith and Cloud we’re playing with and the sleeping Aerith (and Cloud) from the dimension where Zack lives are one and the same? It’s tying my brain into knots, and not in a good way. That’s why I usually can’t stand stories involving elaborate time travel loops or parallel universes.

(Man, why doesn't Tumblr allow spaces between paragraphs? I hope your eyes aren't bleeding)

I first played the OG as a young teen. Cloud’s mind being fractured and hallucinating was a neat bit of storytelling back then that I hadn’t encountered in video games before. Twenty years later, I’ve dealt with loved ones who are ill but refuse help, and known plenty of people who have some form of psychosis or schizophrenia. Whilst I would never seriously compare Cloud’s problems with rl mental illnesses, I found the scenes where he sees Sephiroth and no one else, or is completely out of it hard to stomach. Interacting with somebody who has hallucinations (even "harmless" ones) or paranoid thoughts is unsettling at best, nightmarish at worst. The group trying to passively bear it and keep things together rings very true (especially Tifa) but I’m surprised that even Barett or Yuffie aren’t trying to confront Cloud about his behaviour at least once.

(I tried to format in html, but it somehow looked worse. I'm old. This is how Vincent must feel like every day.)

Dyne, Myrna and Tseng talking to Aerith at the temple had me tearing up, and I lost it at Aerith’s "date" with Cloud in Ch. 14. Hoo boy, I know Aerith stalling off the inevitable just for a little time, was the game having a very direct conversation with the player about what’s going to come, death and how we deal with it. But to me personally, it was more about how one gets caught up in trauma and repeat it over and over in your head, mulling about the point of where things went wrong and what you could have done to prevent it. I know it doesn’t fit, but that’s what my weird brain made out of it. Also Dyne’s and Aerith’s (at the temple) speeches about how they deal (or didn’t) with grief and trauma hit me hard.

Damn you, silly anime action game, you really shouldn’t affect me this deeply, but then a lot of fiction hits me harder than it used to.

#rufus shinra #tseng #ff7 rebirth #ffvii rebirth #spoilers #ff7 rebirth spoilers #shinra #the turks

27 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 2 years ago

Text

VII. Supposed to Be With You

(banner by @/itaeetwon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

You and Namjoon support each other through some tough days.

Section Warnings: language, dealing with loss, pov switch to Namjoon for a section or two

WC: 6k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday November 10th

[9:22 AM] You: grocery run??? [9:36 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: ur just using me for my car 🙁 [9:37 AM] You: not true!!! i like when we go together and talk while we shop 🥺 [9:37 AM] You: the car is simply a bonus ☝️ [9:39 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i mean do i rly want to go run errands this morning… no [9:40 AM] You: you’re the worst [9:43 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: text me later tho! and buy those chips? remember the good ones? [9:45 AM] You: you’re literally insufferable 🙄

Officially on your own, you rise from the couch, coffee mug cooled and almost empty in your hand, and head back to your room to get dressed. When you’re ready, you place your coffee cup in the sink to deal with later and get your little wheely cart from the pantry. When you turn, Namjoon is in the living room, and you jump - just barely fighting back a shriek of surprise.

“God, you really are jumpy,” he laughs. “Are you ever just relaxed?”

“I startle easily!” you say defensively, laughing too.

“Are you getting groceries?” he asks, eyes catching on the cart in your hands.

“Yeah,” you say, following his gaze and looking down at your hands. “I was just on my way.”

“Can I go with you?” he asks, totally surprising you. “I need a few things.”

“Oh,” you say, still a little shocked by the question. “You can tell me what you need, if you want! I can grab it for you.”

“I’d rather join you,” he says, “as long as you don’t mind?”

You consider this. “No, I don’t mind,” you say, shrugging. “Do you need a few minutes?”

He shakes his head. “I can go now.”

It’s pleasant, walking through town together, pulling your little cart. It’s unseasonably warm, though the forecast claims you’re due for a frost that night and the next few days will stay cold. Namjoon talks easily with you as you collect produce, meats, and cheeses from the front section of the store. Overhead, the muzak plays 90’s hits that your mom used to love.

“You start on this side?” he asks, a little playful. “I always start on the other end.”

“I have a system,” you insist, smiling. “You’ll see. It’s very methodical.”

On the cereal row, your favorite brand seems to be low in stock. You stretch on your tippytoes, reaching, fingers just barely catching the corner of the box. It tips, then settles back where it was.

You know what’s coming, somehow, and you - the world’s jumpiest human - aren’t startled at all when you feel Namjoon’s warm body solidly against your back. One hand steadies you both by resting on your waist, the other reaches easily for the box you wanted.

There’s space between you again, too quickly, as he hands you the box. He avoids your gaze, like he’s not sure if he crossed a line or not.

“Be careful,” you tease, “or I’ll get spoiled and I’ll ask you to reach all the high places for me.”

He smiles. “It’s a curse I’ve lived with for a long time.”

You make your way, shivering, through the freezer sections, grabbing what you need. Namjoon carries a reusable bag of his own handful of items he’s picked up through the rows, so that he can pay for his separately.

Once you’re done, you check out and head home. Namjoon places a hand on the cart to pull it for you, and you shoulder him away.

“I’ve got it,” you insist.

He gives you an indulgent look. “You can let me pull the groceries, Y/N. It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to mean.”

This shames you into silence, and you move over to let him take the cart. You don’t feel like you deserve the patience he’s affording you.

“Don’t get all quiet on me, little cactus,” he says, eyeing you sideways. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine.”

What’s we? The only reason you don’t know is because you’re too cowardly to ask.

“What ever happened with your ex?” you ask, needing the subject to change. “We haven’t talked about that in a few weeks. Did you ever answer her?”

Beside you, Namjoon grimaces.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you say quickly. “I was just curious.”

“I answered her a while ago… back before Halloween. I told her I wasn’t interested in talking. She’s… been persistent.”

You frown. “Has she said what she wants?”

He shakes his head. “Just that she wants to see me, she wants to talk. I’ve pushed it - I know she’s got a reason - but she sticks to that story. She just wants to see me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “It doesn’t sound like she even knows.”

He purses his lips, annoyed with the situation. “That’s not it. She knows. She just can’t straight out say to me that she wants to see me to find out if I miss her or not.”

“Well…” you say carefully. You’re walking behind him a little, so you don’t have to see his face as you ask, “Do you?”

“I truly don’t,” he says, turning to look at you, something earnest and insistent in his voice. Like he needs you to believe him. “Trust me, it was toxic.”

You’re quiet for a minute, following his footsteps. “I think you can recognize the flaws in a relationship and still miss the person, though,” you say quietly. “I’m just saying. I wouldn’t judge you if you did, a little.”

“I don’t,” he says firmly.

You walk in silence, chastised. Then, you ask, “So she hasn’t given up?”

Namjoon shakes his head again.

“Let me talk to her for you,” you tease. “I’ll sort her out.”

He looks backwards at you now, smiling a little. “You’re not scary,” he disagrees.

You drop your jaw in pretend indignation. “I am scary!”

He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

You pretend to gasp. “That is absolutely the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you pretend to pout, reaching out to give him a playful swat.

The apartment is in sight, and you’ve got Namjoon’s laugh ringing in your ears as you get close enough to the front steps to register that someone is sitting on them. Then you register the parked car along the sidewalk.

Your brain slowly puts two and two together.

Taehyung watches you two come closer, the groceries in tow. He looks serious, and as you get close enough to talk to him, you wonder anxiously if he’s here because something is wrong.

“Hi,” you say, a little breathlessly. He steps out of the way to let Namjoon up the stairs with the cart. “We were getting groceries.”

“I see that,” he says, voice just a touch flat. He looks between Namjoon and you. “I called you.”

“Oh,” you say, reaching immediately for your pocket. “I didn’t feel it go off. Sorry, Taetae.” You give him big, sad eyes. He cracks quickly, just like he always has.

“It’s okay,” he says, sounding more like himself. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang.”

“I definitely do,” you tell him. “Come up while I put the groceries away, and we can figure out a plan?”

He nods, following you up the stairs. In the kitchen, the cart sits in the middle of the kitchen, all of your items waiting for you. Namjoon is in the fridge, putting a few of his own things away.

You start pulling your own items out of the cart one by one, putting them where they go. You and Namjoon move around each other easily, like it’s choreographed. At one point, he gently takes a box from your hands and puts it up on the highest shelf for you. You smile at him in thanks.

Taehyung watches all of this silently from where he’s perched at the breakfast bar. When your groceries are put away, you face Taehyung and put your hands on your hips. “What do you wanna do?” you ask.

He shrugs easily, his eyes on his phone screen as he scrolls. “Don’t care. What were you gonna do before I showed up?”

Honestly? Probably hang out with Namjoon in the living room, read a little, do some homework, maybe watch a show.

“I’m going to get some writing done,” Namjoon says, even though nobody asked him. It’s like he wants you to know you can remove him from the equation. You have a feeling that hadn’t been his original plan, either.

“Just hang out,” you say, looking back at Taehyung. His messy hair falls over his eyes as he bends his head to look at his phone. “Wanna put on a show?”

You get comfortable on the couch. The familiarity sets in, the comfort of doing your normal thing, with your normal person, in your normal place. It’s so much less scary than foraying into uncharted territory with Namjoon.

But it’s stagnant, too.

“My parents said to tell you hi,” Taehyung informs you from his side of the couch. “They asked how you were.”

“Oh,” you say, looking over the top of your phone at him. “Hi! Tell them I’m good. I miss them! Tell your mom I miss her stew, like, badly.”

“I can’t tell her that,” Taehyung laughs. “She’ll make you some and tell me to drive there to get it for you.”

“I fail to see the problem,” you sniff. From behind Namjoon’s door, you hear the telltale sound of classical music.

You know what that means - the writing isn’t going well. On the other side of the door, he’s stuck.

Thursday November 15th

Your alarm on Thursday goes off way before it should. You tap the snooze button without looking, and then are baffled when the buzzing doesn’t stop. You actually open one eye to peek at the screen and see that Kris is calling you. Something must be wrong.

“Hello?” you answer groggily, clearing your throat.

“I am so sorry,” they say in greeting. “I am such an asshole for waking you up and I am such an asshole for what I’m about to ask you.”

You groan, already knowing what’s coming.

“Can you please - please please please please please - cover me at the store for like two hours later?” they beg.

“I’m in class until 4:30,” you tell them.

“That’s fine, I don’t need you until six.”

“You want me to close?” you yelp. “Kris!”

“I will owe you a hundred times over,” they say desperately.

You roll onto your back and close your eyes again, the phone pressed to your ear. “Fine,” you grumble finally, because you love Kris, and because you need the money.

You survive both your morning and afternoon classes, grabbing lunch with Taehyung in the caf between the two. After your afternoon class, you have a weird gap of time before Kris needs you at the store, so you head for the library and do a bit of work. When it’s nearly time, you pack up and head to the store. You’re nearly there when you feel your phone vibrate in your hand.

[5:51 PM] Namjoon: did you order dinner already? I’m leaving campus now

[5:51 PM] You: im covering kris at the bookstore until 8:30 :(

You watch his three dots appear, then vanish. Appear, then vanish. Appear… hover… then vanish.

[5:54 PM] Namjoon: want me to bring you something to eat?

You want to sink down onto the concrete path and melt into the ground. What is this absolutely boyfriend behavior, and why are the butterflies in your stomach having a rager over it?!

It’s like he knows you’ll be having a whole meltdown about it, because he follows up quickly.

[5:55 PM] Namjoon: it’s not a big deal i can grab something on campus for myself too and bring it over

[5:56 PM] You: i would really appreciate that :’) best roomie ever

[5:57 PM] You: that was NOT me roomie-zoning you!!! you can be best roomie ever AND ….whatever else lol

Sometimes you wonder who decided to let you ever leave your house. You deserve a trophy for being the most awkward human alive.

You can’t dwell on it, though, because you’re at the store and you have to clock in and take over the register. There’s always a bit of a rush around the dinner hours - more students are in the student center for dinner anyway and stop in for what they need, or opt to get crappy snacks instead of real dinner. You don’t judge.

It’s almost eight when you see Namjoon’s familiar shape in the door. He’s holding a bag of food and uses his shoulders to push the door open.

“You brought me sustenance?” you ask hopefully. Your stomach is growling.

“I did,” he tells you. He sets the bag on the counter and you dig into it immediately, pulling out the wrap he got for you.

“You are a god amongst men,” you tell him reverently. He beams at you, standing still practically in the doorway of the store. He shifts over when the bell above the door chimes, and a pretty girl with dark hair steps through. You don’t think anything of it until you watch the smile literally drop off of his face.

“I thought that was you,” she says, her voice hushed like she’s in church, and her eyes are on his. You shove another bite of your wrap into your mouth and sink further behind the cashier’s counter, praying for invisibility.

“Elyse,” he says, and you notice several that all of him has gone tight - his eyes, his shoulders, his fists, his voice. All of it becomes coiled, ready to spring. You resist the urge to say his name, even though it’s fighting its way out of your mouth, so strong is your urge to calm him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just passing,” she says, sounding a little wounded. “I thought I saw you in here, so I came in. What are you doing here?”

You wait for him to implicate you, to indicate that he’s here to bring you food, spend time with you on the sly.

Instead, he says, “I lost my headphones again.”

A lie.

A lie that leaves you out.

The smile creeps over her face, fond and adoring. She shakes her head, hair swishing. “You’re such a mess, Namjoon.”

His eyes narrow, but he says nothing. The silence stretches between them, and finally he says, “What do you want, Elyse? You saw me and you came in why?”

Her eyebrows knit together; the hurt you’d heard in her voice shifts onto her face. “I just wanted to talk to you,” she says. “I’ve been trying to talk to you.”

He licks his lips, glances at you for the barest of seconds before facing her, arms crossing defensively over his chest.

“I’m aware,” he says dryly. “And I’ve been telling you no thanks. So, again… why are you here?”

Now the girl - Elyse, obviously - eyes you for the first time. You take another bite of your wrap, all innocence. For all she knows, you’re just the girl working the register at the school bookstore. She doesn’t know where you live… or what you’ve been doing with your roommate.

“Can we… go somewhere?”

He looks at her flatly in response.

“To talk,” she says, like she needed to explain, like he doesn’t completely get it.

“If you need to say something to me so badly,” he says, his voice scarily even, “you can do it right here.”

“I just…” she says, faltering, looking back at him, “I just wanted to know how you were, I guess. I’ve been… having a hard time, and I…” She glances at you again, like she’s embarrassed for this conversation to be witnessed - and honestly, you don’t blame her. “I guess I wondered if you were, too.” She looks at the floor, rubbing her arms self-consciously.

And here’s the thing… from an outside perspective, even though you’ve heard his side of this… you kind of believe her. Maybe he was right when he said she just needed to grow up a little.

“I’m sorry you’re struggling,” he says, his voice softening. “You know I don’t want that for you.”

“I know,” she whispers, looking up at him through her lashes.

Damn, you think. This girl is good.

“Honestly, Elyse,” he continues, his voice still soft, gentle, “I’ve been doing fine. I’ve been okay. Just… just writing, you know?”

She smiles again, a tiny smile. You can’t believe your amazing luck to be able to innocently witness this transaction, but you also feel for him - to have this conversation in front of you has to be killing him. You can’t imagine trying to have a conversation like this with Taehyung with Namjoon listening. But you can’t leave - you’re glued to the register, your mouth still full of a chicken-avocado wrap.

“Of course,” she says, smiling shyly up at him. “Always writing. But, Namjoon...” She heaves a sigh. You wish Kris was here to witness this with you, to help you dissect it later. “I guess… I wanted to talk to you because I’ve been… I’ve been thinking about us.”

Your eyes go wide and you look at Namjoon immediately for his reaction.

“There’s no ‘us’, Elyse,” he points out, so kindly, like he doesn’t want to hurt her and he knows he has to anyway. “You made sure of that.”

You almost gasp out loud, and you quickly stifle your reaction with another big bite of dinner.

She has the presence of mind to look cowed. “I know that,” she admits. “I just… I guess I’m not sure how I feel about it now. About how we left things. And like… if that’s just me, I guess it’s my problem. But I needed to know… if it was just me.”

You’re chewing furiously, and then the damndest thing happens. Namjoon looks right at you.

You hold his gaze, and wish you could call time-out, pull him aside, confer with him before he answers. Say what you need to say, you’d tell him, because you get it. As complicated as shit is with you and Taehyung... of course you get it.

You’re fully prepared for him to tell her that it’s not just her, or at least something kind of in the middle, like it’s complicated.

He surprises you.

“It’s just you,” he tells her, and he’s holding your gaze the whole time. Like he’s talking to you. “I’m not coming back, Elyse.”

The door opens behind her, and a group of girls come in, talking loudly to one another. It gives Elyse time to get her face right, you guess, because when you look back she’s managing to smile at him, though it’s clearly forced.

“Okay,” she says. “Thanks for telling me. If your mind’s made up… then I guess there’s nothing else to say here?” She makes it a question.

“There never was,” he says, and though his words are cutting, his voice is still kind. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

She nods, licks her lips, eyes on the ground, and then she heads for the door. The group of girls come up to the register to pay, and you catch Namjoon’s gaze over their heads.

“I’ll see you at home,” he says, not a question, and you nod, scanning their items blindly.

The rest of your shift crawls, uneventful and lonely, and when you finally clock out you’re dying to text Kris or literally anyone about the episode you just witnessed.

After you lock up, you head outside of the student center. It’s dark, and freezing, and you hike your jacket up around your neck.

A voice says your name and a hand reaches for your elbow. Every time Namjoon has startled you at the apartment and you’d jumped or dropped what you were holding pales in comparison to now; you shriek, so loud that some students further down the path turn around to check on you.

“Jesus,” Namjoon huffs, laughing. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t grab people!” you scold, heart pounding against your ribs. “Holy shit.”

“Sorry,” he says, kind of an afterthought. “Are you going home now?”

As you come down from the adrenaline rush, things start to piece together in your head. “Were you… did you wait for me? It’s been almost an hour!”

“I know,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. But I wanted to make sure I caught you.”

You take a few steps in the direction of home and he follows. You start walking together this way, you leading for once. “Why?” you ask him, genuinely curious.

He sighs, looks away from you as you cross campus together. “I wanted to tell you thank you.”

“For what?” you demand, flummoxed.

He runs his hand down the back of his neck, still avoiding your gaze.

Adorable, you think.

“For being there. For all that with Elyse.”

“Firstly,” you point out, “I did literally nothing except popcorn-gif. Secondly, if you think that was dramatic, you haven’t watched enough dramas with me. That was tame. No one even cried.”

He laughs, once. “Chances are she’s crying now.”

“What happens when the scene cuts away doesn’t count,” you tell him firmly. Then, a beat later you add, “You were admirably forth-coming with her.”

“Made me feel like shit,” he admits in a grumble. You reach out and pat his arm reassuringly.

“I’m sure it did,” you tell him. “But this has to be better than stringing her along or something.”

He gives you a hum of agreement. “Well, anyway. Thank you.”

“Namjoon,” you say seriously, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Y/N,” he says, equally serious. “You have no idea how that would have gone if you hadn’t been there. You being there saved my ass from telling her we could talk again, if it made her happy. It stopped me from getting swept away in nostalgia, or her magic powers that make me stupid. You… grounded me.”

This knocks you into silence. It feels big, like he’s telling you a lot more than he’s actually saying.

And, you get it. Because Namjoon makes you feel grounded, too.

You aren’t sure what to say. You want to say thanks, because it feels like he’s given you a compliment. You want to say you’re sorry that he had to stare her down and tell her no, when - probably - at least one, little part of him wanted to say yes.

Instead, you just ask, “Are you okay?”

He shoots you a grateful look. “Yeah,” he says, “I am. Thanks.”

“Stop thanking me,” you tease, smiling, elbowing him lightly.

He catches your wrist, tugging you closer as you walk. When you’re close enough, he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you tight through the last two city blocks.

Monday November 19th

You’ve walked to campus with Namjoon three Mondays in a row, so he waits for you this morning too, sipping his coffee at the breakfast bar patiently. As he watches the time pass, the time you normally leave together inching closer, he starts to get a little concerned.

He tries texting you - you coming to campus today? - but you don’t answer. Finally, with about ten minutes to spare, he caves and knocks on your closed bedroom door. He hears your voice respond, muffled, but he doesn’t catch what you say.

He inches the door open, and is surprised to find that not only are you not ready to go, you’re still just a lump under your blankets.

“Y/N?” he ventures. “Are you sick?”

There’s some movement up by your head as you move the comforter enough to peer at him. “No,” you tell him, your voice a bit gravelly from sleep. “But I’m not going to campus today. You can go without me.”

“You’re not sick?” he repeats, just to clarify. There’s a little part of his brain that wonders if this is a menstruation thing, but wouldn’t he have noticed days like this in the months before now?

“No,” you repeat, and pull the blanket back up to cover your ears.

He feels unsure, like maybe he shouldn’t just leave you here, at least without getting to the bottom of what’s going on.

“Are you… okay?” he asks, the same question you’d asked him before the weekend, when Elyse had tried to fucking blindside him and drown him in guilt.

“Mhm,” you say, and he waits for more, an explanation, a reassurance, anything. You give him nothing.

“Okay,” he says finally, when he’s about five minutes late and he can’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to class. You’ll be alright here?”

You give another hum of an answer. He leaves your door open as he leaves, like it’ll help.

Concern and guilt eat at him all the way through his morning class; he can barely concentrate. He doesn’t really have time to go home between class and his TA hours, but when his professor dismisses him, he finds himself lifting his bag off the ground by his chair and heading in the direction of the apartment.

The apartment is so quiet when he gets there that he feels a flash of relief - you’d gotten up and gone to class after all. But as he makes his way through the living room and peers into your room, it’s clear that you haven’t moved.

What is going on? he wonders.

“Y/N?” he says. There’s no movement, no indication that you heard him. He inches into your room, still unsure if you want him there, if he’s crossing boundaries, if he’s overstepping. “Hey, have you eaten or anything?”

Silence. He purses his lips. Words Elyse used to throw at him ring in his head - stop trying to fix it when I’m upset. I don’t want a solution, I want support. But as far as he knows, you haven’t moved all day. He goes into the kitchen and fills a glass with water and walks it back to your room determinedly.

When he gets close enough to set the glass down on your nightstand, he can see that you're awake, laying on your side, your eyes on the wall, unblinking.

He sets it down, watching your face carefully, and backs away. He’s about to give up and head out to the living room when he hears you, quiet as a breath, whisper, “Thank you.”

He pauses, turning back. “Can I…?” He falters, still so uncertain. “Can I stay with you?”

You don’t respond right away, the moment stretching heavy between you. Then, silent, you nod your head, just once. Something blooms in Namjoon’s chest, stretching and growing so that he feels his ribs must shift to make room for it. He circles around to the other side of the bed and gingerly sits, turning and stretching his long legs out, leaning back against your headboard.

You don’t move, you don’t talk, so neither does he. He just stays, and waits, and watches the slant of sunlight through your blinds crawl inch by inch across your bedroom wall. After about an hour of this, he rises, needing to move to get his phone out of his pocket. He stands, trying to get some circulation back in his legs, as he dials the department head.

“Hey,” he says, walking to your bedroom window and peering through the crack in the blinds. “I’m going to take a sick day today, okay? I didn’t have anyone scheduled… maybe Alec can take it if you need someone?”

He listens for a minute, then adds, “Yeah. Thanks, I appreciate you. Yeah, I should be fine for tomorrow. Okay. Sorry about that. Thanks again.”

When he turns back to you, you’ve actually rolled a little bit peering over your shoulder at him. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say.

He regards you seriously. “I… think I did,” he admits. “I just don’t understand exactly why yet.”

You don’t answer, your tongue sneaking out to wet your lips. Then you reach over and flip the corner of your comforter down on the empty side of the bed, an invitation.

He sits, as expected, sliding his legs under your blankets, and pulling the comforter up to his chest. He lays next to you for a few minutes, about six inches between your bodies. Then, emboldened, he scoots closer, rolls and wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you flush against his front. You stiffen for the barest of seconds, then melt back against him, letting out a deep breath. His hand rests against your stomach, and after a few minutes you shift to place your own hand against his, holding tight. Keeping him in place.

Namjoon might not know what’s going on with you today, he might not know the best thing to do to help you. But he knows he wants to do this - hold you close, wrap himself around you like a protective cocoon - until you tell him you don’t need it anymore.

He thinks he drifts off for a little; he wakes, groggy, from a half-sleep, his nose buried in your hair against the pillow, his hand slack against the mattress, still touching yours. The tightness in your shoulders tells him that you’re awake, and the blue glow from outside the window tells him the sun has set behind the buildings across the street.

He rolls a little and hugs you tight again, moving to press his face to the junction of your neck, gently. “I’m going to get up and make us something to eat,” he tells you.

“You can’t,” you tell him.

Puzzled, he asks, “Why can’t I?”

“Because I can’t save you from lighting the kitchen on fire,” you tell him seriously, and he’s so surprised that you’re joking right now that it startles a laugh out of him.

“I’ll do a better job this time,” he promises. “I’ll start smaller. You good with ramen?”

You hum. “The spicy one. With an egg.”

He smiles against your neck, and you shiver when it tickles. “Your wish is my command,” he tells you, starting to rise.

“Be careful,” you warn. “I’ll get used to this.”

“Nope,” he tells you, finally releasing your middle and scooting towards the edge of the bed. “Once you’re out of the bed, I go back to being normal.”

“Guess I’m never getting up, then,” you say wryly. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand - a call - and you ignore it. Namjoon leaves, making a point not to look at the screen. He knows who’s calling you, even without looking.

In the kitchen, the water’s not yet boiling when there’s suddenly a pounding on the door. Eyeing his pot of water over his shoulder, Namjoon walks over to open it, only to find Taehyung standing there holding a bag of take-out. The relief he feels actually surprises him, but he realizes instantly that he probably should have reached out to Taehyung in the first place, to ask if he knew what the fuck was up with your sudden day of silence.

“Thank god you’re here,” he blurts out, and watches as understanding crosses Taehyung’s face, followed by guilt.

“Ah,” Taehyung utters, upset. “I should have been here hours ago. Where is she? Has she eaten?”

Namjoon steps back to let him in. “She’s in bed,” he says. “She hasn’t moved all day - I was just heating up water for ramen for her.”

Taehyung sighs, sinking in on himself. “I’m glad you were here,” he says, so genuinely that it makes Namjoon feel sick with guilt, like he was taking part in a great deception. “I usually take care of her today. I fucked up. I didn’t realize what day it was until like half an hour ago.”

Namjoon nods at this, not sure what to say. Part of him wants to ask Taehyung for some answers; a bigger part of him would rather it come from you, when you’re ready. To give himself something to do, he moves into the kitchen to pour out half the water - he only needs to cook enough for himself, now.

Taehyung makes his way into your room, the food bag clutched in his hands. He doesn’t close the door, and Namjoon tries not to eavesdrop from the kitchen, but he can’t help but hear Taehyung tell you, in a voice that’s absolutely sorrowful, “I’m so sorry. I’m a fucking terrible friend.”

He doesn’t hear you reply, but Taehyung says, “Yes I am. I left you alone today.”

This time, Namjoon hears your reply. “I wasn’t alone,” you tell Taehyung firmly. “Namjoon was here.”

“Good,” Taehyung says, his voice muffled, like maybe he’s hugging you in there. “Good.”

Tuesday November 20th

Namjoon awakens to the smell of bacon. Confused, he pulls a tshirt over his head, and blearily peeks his face out of his bedroom. You’re bustling around the kitchen - something he’s literally never seen before - cooking a full-course breakfast.

“Y/N?” he ventures, and you whirl around, eyes wide, the spatula in your hand.

“Oh!” you say happily. “Come get some eggs!”

Namjoon doesn’t dare argue. He sits at the breakfast bar, still half asleep, trying to open his eyes all the way. You present him with a full mug of coffee, which he takes gratefully. Then, you load up a plate and slide it in front of him, and then you lean against the counter from the kitchen side, watching him intently.

“Yes?” he asks archly.

You take a deep breath. “I’m sure you have questions about yesterday,” you say seriously.

He lowers his coffee cup. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says quickly. “Don’t feel like you owe me an explanation. I’m just… I’m glad I could be there for you. I don’t need anything else.”

You look away from him, blinking suspiciously hard. He waits you out. When you face him again, there’s something steely in your expression.

“I have a hard time on the 19th,” you tell him. “Every year. It’s… an anniversary. For, um. For when I lost my parents.”

Namjoon’s appetite leaves him instantly. He feels himself lean forward, like he’s trying to get closer to you, like his body needs to wrap you up, just like he had yesterday. He murmurs your name, and you avoid his gaze again.

“Anyway,” you say brusquely, “thank you for staying with me. And trying to feed me. Normally Taehyung does that.”

He wasn’t here this time, something ugly inside Namjoon thinks.

Instead, he says, “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could… be there. I’m glad I was with you.”

Your gaze drops to the floor, then you seem to get it together and look up at him. “I am too,” you say, and the words sound heavy coming off your tongue. “So, really… thank you.”

Namjoon pauses. He wants to ask - he wants to know - but he’s afraid it’ll push you away. “Can I ask you something?” he ventures, finally.

You look back at him, clearly nervous. “I guess,” you say, clearly uneasy.

He grimaces a little, unsure of the choices he’s made. “Yesterday… should I have called someone?” There’s a pause, where Namjoon decides to say what he actually means. “Should I have called Taehyung? Would that have been the right thing to do?”

He watches you soften, eyes widening as you realize what he’s been worrying about. You set down the dish towel that had been in your hands and come around the breakfast bar so you can look at him unobstructed.

“No,” you tell him seriously, eyes on his. “No, you did exactly what I needed.”

“Okay,” he says, reaching for his fork to try and eat some of the eggs you’d made for him. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Namjoon,” you say seriously, and he looks back up at you, fork in hand. You shake your head, voice pleading with him to believe you. “There is not even a tiny part of me that wishes it was Taehyung with me yesterday instead of you. I promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says easily, taking a bite of egg. Does he believe you? He’s not sure. But he��s eager to move on; the topic’s uncomfortable. He knows he started it, but he really did want to know if he did the wrong thing. “Did you eat any, yet?”

You give him a little smile. “I was waiting for you,” you tell him. “I’ll make my plate now.”

You settle next to him, eggs and coffee cup both steaming, and you eat in silence. Namjoon can’t say what you’re thinking about, but his head is spinning. He’s thinking about how it had felt when you’d touched his hand in the bed yesterday, giving him the signal that you were okay with this, that you didn’t want him to move away.

He’s thinking about how when he’d opened the door and found Taehyung standing on the other side, he’d felt like the person who was supposed to be with you had arrived to make it right.

He’s thinking about how when Elyse sent his mind skittering towards old, bad habits, locking his eyes on yours had kept his feet firmly in the present.

He’s thinking about your hips under his hands in that damn halloween costume, almost a month ago, and how he hasn’t come even close to kissing you since then.

<- Prev || Next ->

la di da di da :) what are we thinking?! how are we feeling?! pls consider some type of feedback!!!

thank you so much for readingggg, i'm so happy you're here!!!

267 notes · View notes

thistleation · 1 year ago

Note

Hi lovely blog and art, just chiming in to say I also think Beatrice is ruthless and that she is portrayed as ruthless in warrior nun, she shot a tranquilizer dart in Ava's neck. Like I guess she expected the other to talk to her and convince her of going with them, but ofc ofc she's the one that not only thought about the scenario in which Ava resisted and tried to escape, she arrived there with a solution, mind you, a swift solution that removed agency from Ava. Also she she asks Vincent is removing the halo would mean Ava would die, she's talking about it like she's discussing the weather. Seeing as she was a nun, I was actually expecting her to be like 'but father Vincent we can't even consider that, because the value of human life bla bla, and this is a innocent human life that got caught in the middle of it all', instead cold as ice sister Beatrice's response to the possibility of killing Ava to retrieve the halo was: 'but the politics though' it actually made me laugh. I mean she was raised by diplomatics/politicians ofc she has concepts like 'optics, church PR' in mind. That actually made me realize that even before being a nun, she's above all, a devoted warrior. Above her supposed catholic ethics and compassion is her absolute, unwavering commitment to The Mission. Beatrice is ruthless and I love that about her. Because after Ava, that ruthlessness, that devotion, all of her skills have shifted and she's loyal to Ava with that same ruthlessness

Yes exactly!

I think all of them can be expected to have a certain level of cavalier attitude towards death as any of them who've been on more than a handful of missions can be expected to have killed in the line of duty.

Beatrice though has her upbringing that plays a role as well.

She's been taught from an early age that her feelings are wrong, and her coping strategies for that trauma are repressing her feelings and cold, emotionless logic.

I don't think S1 Beatrice means to be cold and callous, I think she's quite empathetic underneath, even then. It's just that she's so used to trusting the moral aspect of her actions to the church.

Again, her feelings, her judgement can't be trusted — she's been told as much since childhood — so instead she relinquishes those to a higher authority. And what higher authority is there than the church, the literal embodiment of God's will on earth?

And so Beatrice instead focuses on the tactics, the strategy, the logical breakdown of any situation as a problem to be solved, trusting that the problem that was put in front of her was put there by the church and God and is therefore morally right to solve.

Beatrice only focuses on the line.

And eventually, when the situation gets messier, when her love for Ava grows stronger and stronger, and she finds her personal priorities have shifted because she's finally, finally found something for herself to truly live for, that line is still there, and Beatrice can see it clearly.

I'm fond of saying that one of the sexiest things about S2 Beatrice is that she's prepared to turn her back on the mission and let the world burn if it means saving Ava.

There's this post I saw a good while back that said there's an appeal to being loved by a villain, because a villain can put you first, can choose you even if it means thousands of others die, where a hero can only ever put you second, after the greater good.

Beatrice will put Ava first. Before anything else.

I think she realizes that towards the end of S2. I think it scares her, and I think that's partly what led to the "would you come with me" scene.

But in the end when it comes down to it, she still makes the decision. Fuck the mission and fuck the world if that's what it takes, she puts Ava first.

And I love that for her.

#warrior nun #sister beatrice #avatrice #thank you for the compliment as well!#art has been going better since I came out so here's to hoping you'll see a bunch more from me!#I've got another pirate one I'm working on right now and I *promise* I've not forgotten about the big LB splash page for Casper

81 notes · View notes

climbthemountain2020 · 4 months ago

Text

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 8

Part 8/? | Ao3

Thanks for being cool with my Elucien Week hiatus! Early update this week then back to my regularly scheduled Thursday updates.

Thanks as always to the lovely @witch-and-her-witcher for being my beta! <3

Feyre tucked the massive duvet beneath her chin as she watched the first rays of dawn’s light crest over the hills through her window. She nestled down further into the bed, fighting to keep the light chill of morning from seeping in. She wondered what it might be like to wake up regularly next to Rhys, his body always seeming to run hot and fiery, or perhaps that was simply her reaction when her fingers had found his skin in her mind. She sighed.

She had barely slept, too many thoughts in her mind to shut her eyes for long. The more she’d thought about it, the more she was convinced that she understood her part to play in all of this.

She was here, given magic and presented as half human, to be a bridge between Calla and the fae. She was sure of it. She could help ease Calla in, acclimate her to what Prythian was like and how well Feyre had been treated here since she arrived.

Vincent had told her in the coffee shop that day that she would play a vital role, though that already seemed like years and years ago now.

Things have already been set in motion that cannot be stopped, and you will be instrumental in carrying out any possible future where everyone is free.

Sure, the circumstances were not ideal, and she knew absolutely nothing about Calla’s personality or background past that she hated the fae enough to kill one of them, but Feyre held out hope. She could be very persuasive when she wanted to be.

Before the sun fully rose, Feyre gave up on resting, choosing instead to sit at the small table by her windows until the rest of the house woke. She grabbed the large book on the Winter Court, flipping it open and beginning a cursory look through it. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, looked incredibly young, just like Tarquin. She supposed Tamlin looked young, too, but he had an air of time-weathered experience about him that the other two lords did not. She flipped to the appendix, searching for the histories of the court. There was only a small blurb on the page about Kallias being made High Lord–

Installed during the time of the blight; replacement for the High Lord Johvnik upon his death due to complications from the blight, along with the High Lords of Summer and Day.

That meant Tarquin had been a young installment for the rebellion, too. She hadn’t reached Day Court yet, but she wondered if their High Lord was the same. Two, maybe three, young males, at least by fae standards, installed far before their time after witnessing the deaths of their fathers. A book of Vincent’s she’d read had stated the magic usually coursed through family lines, but sometimes jumped generations or bloodlines entirely for someone more favorable. Kallias looked as cold as the ice he ruled over, pale, sharp features accenting an otherworldly beauty.

She practiced honing the ice for hours, wrapping it around her fingers and pushing it out and back across the small table until she accidentally put small cracks into the surface. Marking her place and setting the book aside, she jotted down a quick reminder to grab the book on Autumn today, too. She didn’t really need the background on the powers, but she remembered what Lucien had told her: he’d fled here. She wanted to see what she could find in the histories of his court.

Once she pulled on clothes and made her way downstairs, Lucien, Tamlin, and Calla were already awkwardly sitting at the table in silence.

There wasn’t a single sound in the room except the quiet scraping of silverware on plates. Calla was in Feyre’s normal seat, so she pulled out the one next to Lucien, sitting down and piling her plate high with food to hopefully allow Calla to see it was safe to eat. She knew how many times growing up she’d heard the rumors that if you ate food offered by the fae you would be taken under their control.

“Good morning, everyone!” Tamlin’s eyes shot up and Lucien stifled a laugh into his tea at the forced enthusiasm in Feyre’s voice. Calla looked up, startled, and Feyre could see that she did look a bit healthier now that she was in clean clothes with her hair tied back. “It’s looking like it's going to be lovely out today. Perhaps we could take a stroll later?” She cut into her food emphatically and shoved a huge bite into her mouth. Lucien looked like he was about to start cackling at any moment, and Feyre kicked him beneath the table.

“Oh, uh, yes. A stroll around the property would be, uhm, very nice,” he fumbled trying to recover.

Feyre sighed, but Calla’s eyes were on Feyre’s plate. She looked back to her own and even took a small bite of the eggs. It was good enough for Feyre.

Tamlin cleared his throat and looked at Calla.

“You look…clean.”

“Gods be good,” Lucien murmured under his breath, receiving another swift kick and a look from Feyre.

“Thank you.” Calla’s voice was quiet, but Feyre could sense the undercurrent in it–the fear, uncertainty, and hate. She had lived with Nesta all her life–she knew what it sounded like when someone was trying their best to use propriety to stifle the emotions below. They might have their work cut out for them.

The rest of breakfast was quiet and intensely awkward, but Feyre noted Calla had eaten some things, so she was willing to call it a success. Lucien left first, barely mumbling a lackluster excuse. Tamlin’s wide, nervous eyes had found Feyre’s over the table and she’d nearly laughed out loud before nodding at him, giving him permission to make his excuses and go, leaving the two women there alone.

The second the door shut behind him, Calla’s eyes were on Feyre.

“You’re human!”

“Yes, well, half,” Feyre corrected, constantly reminding herself of the need to maintain her story.

“You just looked to fit with them so well yesterday, I didn’t notice until this morning. Are you a captive here?” Feyre nearly choked with laughter.

“No! Gods, no. I fled here. So did Lucien. For us, Spring has been a safe haven.”

Calla’s jaw dropped open. “They didn’t coerce you?”

“More like I turned up one day out of the blue and coerced them, and they now mostly tolerate my presence while I eat their food and organize their library.” Calla looked at her as though she’d grown a second head. “They truly aren’t bad once you get to know them. I am sorry about the welcome you received from us. We haven’t been at our best.”

“I deserve it. I killed your friend.”

“You did.” Feyre wouldn’t deny it, but as Calla looked up into her eyes, searching for some sort of absolution, Feyre knew without a doubt that there was more to the story. They had given Feyre a chance when she’d come to Spring. Before that, Vilja and Vincent had both seen past her limitations as a human and given her a chance to be more. Feyre could do the same– she could play her role, support Calla here, and allow her to see that the fae, that Tamlin, could be different than what she’d grown up believing.

She reached out and took Calla’s hand, and the hope that filled her eyes nearly knocked Feyre over.

“Come on, I know where the kitchen hides the good treats.”

Calla was not at all what Feyre had expected. In fact, she reminded her a good bit of Nesta–so much so, even, that her heart would occasionally ache at a simple gesture or turn of phrase.

Two weeks into her being in Spring, Feyre had warmed to Calla considerably, though things between Calla and the males were still awkward at best. The tension had melted a bit once Tamlin had told Feyre how he was taking care of Calla’s family. Without hesitating, Feyre had passed the message along. She wasn’t entirely sure of the background, other than what she’d gathered from Calla’s appearance when she’d shown up, but the relief in her eyes at hearing the news told her enough.

Calla wasn’t kind or warm or inviting, but Feyre, strangely, found she respected that about her. She’d never had a female friend before, and she often found herself not knowing what was normal or appropriate, though she got the feeling Calla might have been feeling the same. Feyre enjoyed Calla’s sharp edges, though, even when it could be frustrating at times. She found it made bantering with her in order to bring her out of her shell a bit easier, too, since she didn’t feel like she needed to treat her like something breakable.

“Gods, why is everything here so formal? These dresses feel like sitting on eggshells.” Calla slumped back onto the bed in Feyre’s room. She’d just burst in through the door while Feyre was drinking her tea and reading.

“I’ve told you, Calla, all you have to do is ask Alis for different clothes.”

“Alis doesn’t like me, Feyre. Not like you.” Feyre turned from her seat by the window to see Calla spread out on the bed where she’d dramatically thrown herself, holding back a laugh as the great tulle monstrosity she was wearing puffed up around her.

“Well, I didn’t try to set a trap for her.”

“I told you a million times, it was for Tamlin.”

Feyre laughed, pushing the seat back and standing up, placing her bookmark gingerly into the book on Autumn to hold her place. She’d gotten much better with wielding ice, along with the powers of Summer, Autumn, and Spring, though she had to practice solely at night now. Calla had a propensity for barging into Feyre’s room without knocking. Clearly.

She sat back on the bed with Calla, leaning into the tulle poof. “I’m sure she’s forgotten all about it.” Calla sent her a doubtful look. “Just ask her.”

“I just want tunics and pants. Why must you be so tall?” Feyre had tried lending her clothes, but Calla was a good six inches shorter than her.

“Oh, you know. Closer to the heavens, and all that.” Calla shoved her. She was brusque and speculative and distrusting, but Feyre liked her anyway. Oddly enough, she could see that Tamlin and Calla did, in fact, have some attributes in common.

Originally, she had planned to warm Calla up to Tamlin, using herself as a buffer to make both him and Spring seem more appealing. But somewhere along the way, Feyre had genuinely accepted that she wanted to be her friend. As much as she loved Lucien and Tamlin, she also liked having someone around who wasn’t all muscle and testosterone. She still attended their near-nightly ritual on the porch, laughing and training her fire magic with them. She’d invited Calla, but she always refused, choosing instead to stay in her rooms after dinner. She knew that, from Calla’s window, she could see down onto the porch. She wondered if she ever watched them. Regardless, Feyre wouldn’t stop extending the invitation to her–she knew how that loneliness could eat someone alive.

“Why don’t we go out in the gardens for a bit?”

“Tamlin’s out there. I saw him out of my window before I came in here.”

Feyre sighed. It had not been going well. “Won’t you give him a chance to be your friend, Calla? He truly is a kind male.”

“I just don’t know where to begin. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly.” Feyre couldn’t exactly refute that claim.

“Tamlin is…he has a lot that he is dealing with. He is gruff, but he is kind. Not so different from yourself.”

“Yes, but I’m not asking anyone to be my friend.”

Feyre shot her a look. “He took me in here when he had no obligation to. He offered to let me stay without me even having to ask. Hospitality is the same on either side of the wall, you know. Sometimes, it’s just a matter of being polite.”

“I wouldn’t know; it’s not like I ever went anywhere.” Feyre wasn’t necessarily shocked. She’d guessed that Calla’s background had not been the same as her own if for no other reason than her occasionally grating manners.

“Listen, when I traveled with my family before coming here, I was polite and friendly with the lords and ladies whose houses we frequented for my father’s trade deals. In return, they offered shelter and food and kindness. In a way, this isn’t so different.”

“I don’t see how this could possibly be the same.” Feyre gritted her teeth, trying not to be irritated, but it was like arguing with Nesta, and she could practically feel Calla digging her heels in. “You needed to be brought here because of the terms of the treaty. Tamlin knows this, and he’s trying his best to be polite and accommodating as a result. He’s being hospitable because these are the terms. Make sense?”

“You aren’t exactly staying for free, though. He’s got you working in his library, right?” Feyre was not unfamiliar with the deflections either.

“I practically had to beg him for a job so I could feel like I was pulling my weight. That was for my benefit, not his.”

Calla hummed, but seemed to deflate a bit.“I just…I don’t know the first thing about him. Or Lucien. They aren’t exactly forthcoming. And what about the masks? Why aren’t you wearing one? Is this a fae thing?”

Another thing Feyre had learned about Calla was that she had energy to spare, always near vibrating with the need to be doing or saying something. Feyre had wondered when the masks might come up. She wasn’t honestly sure how Calla had waited this long.

“The masks are part of…” she sighed, looking for the words, feeling the light clenching on her throat already waiting to grip her at a moment’s notice. She swallowed heavily.. “There is a magical sickness on these lands. There was a surge of power during a masquerade ball fifty years ago, and the masks got stuck. Obviously, I wasn’t here, so I don’t have one.”

“So, it’s like a curse from a witch?” Feyre cringed as her throat involuntarily clenched and was glad Calla wasn’t looking at her.

“Sort of. It’s complicated, but the fae have their magic bound. The sickness keeps them from their full power.”

“But what about–” A knocking at the door saved Feyre right in time. Both women sat up as Tamlin poked his head in.

“Oh, hello. I was just looking for Feyre.” He looked at her. “A word over lunch?” Feyre nodded, standing and helping pull Calla up. “Calla, you’re welcome to join, too.” She blushed a bit at the direct attention but shook her head.

“I might actually lay down for a bit. You two go ahead.” Feyre was immediately suspicious, knowing Calla was the last person on earth who needed time to lay down, but she let it go. As they all exited the room, she noticed Calla lingering in the hall as though she were trying to wait them out.

Interesting.

The noonday light was spilling into the dining room as they entered, taking their normal chairs. The staff had made some small sandwiches and laid them out with fruits–Feyre still hadn’t gotten over how delicious the food was here. She was thrilled to find they were the creamy, rich egg mixture that she adored so well, and she loaded her plate with more than she needed along with a heaping portion of melon.

Tamlin laughed and she shot him a look. “I don’t need your judgment, Tamlin. Your food is better here, and I’m going to enjoy it.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture and chuckled again.

“Your food is my food, Feyre.” He dug in, too.

“Where's Lucien?”

“In his office. I checked in on him before I came to get you; he wanted to finish a few things before lunch.” She nodded. “How are things going?” The hope in his voice made her heart ache. He’d been trying so hard to keep it leashed, still warring with his emotions on the subject of Andras while also noting the time the curse allowed was growing slimmer by the day. She did not envy him this position.

She slumped dramatically back in here chair. “I'm trying to get her to come around. Would it kill you to be a little more accommodating towards her?”

Tamlin frowned. “I am accommodating. She’s staying here and I am feeding her, am I not?”

Feyre growled. “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

“What am I supposed to say, Feyre? Hey, lovely day. Have you, perchance, thought about falling in love with me? He shoved his plate away, glowering.

“Stop being so dramatic. I am working on it, but you have to put in some effort, too. Just small conversation. Get to know her, maybe?”

“Fine. I will try.” He looked every bit of his five centuries as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Have there been other problems at the borders?”

Tamlin grimaced. “More creatures have been funneling into Spring and causing problems.” He looked exhausted. She knew he and Lucien were constantly out patrolling these days with the other sentries, staying out of the Human Lands now that Calla was here, but still staying busy enough with the threats Amarantha sent.

“I keep trying to get her to explore and show interest in the court, but perhaps I shouldn't be if it's dangerous.”

“Well, that’s actually one of the reasons I asked you down here. I wanted to give you something.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “Me?”

He nodded. “Things have been more dangerous, but you've been training, and I don't want you to find yourself in trouble out there.” He pushed a small box across the table towards her. She took it softly and brought it to her, opening the top slowly.

“Well, it isn’t going to bite you.” That friendly exasperation in his voice gave her cause to smile. Though he’d never be the most open person, they had warmed up to each other in the time she’d been here, especially since Andras. He was not a bad male, he simply had a hard time expressing things. She recalled the stern look of his father and brothers every time she had the thought, and figured it wasn’t too hard to see why he was the way he was. In fact, it was likely a wonder that he wasn’t much, much worse.

Inside the box sat a lovely leather arm band, clearly meant for the smaller wrist of a woman. It was dainty but strong, the leather worked to perfection by an extremely skilled craftsman. Pressed into it were whorls and shapes that looked like smoke and clouds, surrounded by small dottings of stars.

“I know how much you like to look up at the stars at night when we’re outside. I just thought it suited–”

“It’s perfect, Tamlin. Truly, it’s so lovely.” The emotion threatened to choke her.

“When you press that inner button here, it produces a small but sturdy knife. I had it made for you. You’re getting better at training, and I know you have daggers, but I wanted to make sure you had something that was tailored to you.”

“It’s absolutely beautiful.” She could count on one hand the gifts she’d received in her life. The shell from her father, her first set of paints, the ring from Rhys. The clenching of emotion in her chest felt nearly painful, and she could feel her eyes burning as she looked up at Tamlin, still looking uncertain at the head of the table.

“I, uh–” he cleared his throat. “It’s a thank you–for being here. For…well, doing all you’ve done,” he said. Feyre nodded frantically, trying to pull the tears that were welling in her eyes back in. “For helping how you can and for being a friend to us. Oh, Feyre, don’t cry.”

She laughed, wiping furiously at the tear that had escaped, sniffing and holding herself back to her normal standard. She knew how hard it must have been for him to say the words, to pull that sort of emotion out–two people who had never quite learned how to care for others, becoming friends and being uncomfortable about it. She laughed as she straightened back up, strapping the leather cuff onto her wrist.

“Thank you so much. You’re a good male, Tamlin. I am glad to call you a friend, and I am happy to be here.” She put her hand on his and smiled, pulling a small one out of him in turn. “I’m working on it, and I won’t give up. So you can’t either.”

He nodded, and they returned back to their food as if nothing had happened at all.

The next day, Calla was suspiciously absent from her job harassing Feyre while she worked in the library. She'd grown used to her nagging presence asking questions while Feyre filed and organized the books.

Feyre wasn’t generally inclined to make friends, and she’d had very little practice with it in her life. She often wondered if she was being too brash with Calla, and in the same turn, wondering if she swayed too far and seemed fake in her quest to be unnaturally enthusiastic. Trying to maintain a friendship with her was hard and exhausting at times.

She did, however, enjoy answering Calla’s questions about the fae, creatures, and the history of Prythian. Sometimes she didn’t know the answer, and she also liked that it gave her an excuse to learn more about Prythian and its inhabitants. Every bit of information she gathered, either by Calla’s neverending questions or of her own accord, brought her one step closer to Rhys.

She was also nearly done with organizing the vast collections, probably only a week or so away from completion, but she did need to acquire some additional shelves from Tamlin first.

It had just been Calla and Feyre at dinner the previous night, Tamlin and Lucien both out patrolling. They’d made small talk before Feyre tried to weasel out of her where she’d gone during lunch.

“How was your nap?” She’d eyed Calla as she’d asked it, and noted that way Calla’s cheeks had blanched slightly.

“It was fine. I was feeling a bit under the weather, but am feeling much better now!” The fake enthusiasm was eye-rollingly bad. She was perhaps the worst liar that Feyre had ever met, save for Elain.

“Mmhmm. Did you find the nap productive then?” Feyre’s best guess was that she’d snuck into the library to look for something she felt she shouldn’t be looking for. After their conversation yesterday, she’d likely wanted to know more about the curse. But Feyre had looked personally through all of those books. Not unlike the members of Spring, it seemed the books couldn’t share about the curse or Amarantha either. Calla had likely left disappointed.

Calla cleared her throat. “Yes, very productive. I am right as rain again!” She shoved the last of her food into her mouth. “What are Tamlin and Lucien looking for on these patrols?”

Feyre decided to let it go for now. “Creatures, mostly. They look for any disturbances in the woods that aren’t supposed to be there.”

“Like the Bogge?” Feyre had explained what she knew about the Bogge to Calla the other day when she’d stumbled upon a particularly gruesome picture of a scene, post-Bogge, in one of the library books.

“That’s likely one of them, but there are many others, from what I understand.” Feyre remembered her dreams about the horrid creature that often held her down, breath smelling of corpses and talons breaking her skin.

“What about a Suriel?”

“A what?”

“My mother used to warn me of them, like a bedtime tale.”

“I’ve never heard them talk about that one, nor have I read it. But we can look in the library later, if you’d like? I’ll be there all afternoon since I trained this morning.” Feyre had slipped outside with the rising sun to go through her training before the males left. Lucien was still kicking her ass regularly, but she was getting better and faster, and her fire magic was “frighteningly good”, according to him.

“Sure, I’m thinking of taking a walk in the gardens while you work, but I may stop by after.” The women pushed out from the table, staff already appearing to clear their plates as they left.

That had been hours ago, and Feyre hadn’t seen her since.

She did, however, hear the scream echoing across Spring’s grassy hills from all the way inside the library a few hours later.

By the time Feyre had sprinted outside, Tamlin and Calla were already on their way back up the hill to the house, both covered in dark looking blood; Tamlin looked pissed as hell, and Calla looked like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

“What the fuck happened?” Feyre yelled, running over to the two of them and meeting them halfway.

“Someone was out where she had no business being, and was attacked by a group of naga.”

“Calla was attacked by naga?” Feyre recalled those horrid, half-serpentine creatures, bent on killing and with a rampant thirst for blood.

How was she alive?

Calla didn’t appear to be injured at all, other than a few scratches on her face, but Tamlin was holding his arm which was still freely bleeding.

“I said I was sorry, now let me help.” Feyre tentatively stepped back as though watching firsthand as the world shifted. Calla was speaking to Tamlin in a soft voice that she had never used on him before, coaxing him nearly kindly into the manor and offering to help.

Tamlin acquiesced with a quick nod, the two of them turning to the house as Feyre fought to close her mouth. Tamlin looked back at her over his shoulder as they walked, and she snapped her jaw shut to nod encouragingly and give him a thumbs up. She thought she saw a shadow of a smile as he turned back.

Lucien ran up next to her, then, coming from the nearby woods where he’d been doing a closer patrol.

“What happened?” But Feyre had already begun to put the pieces together.

She whirled on him. “Tell me you did not send that girl into the woods to find a Suriel, Lucien Vanserra.”

He at least had the decency to look ashamed and grimace. She’d taken the time when she’d returned to the library after lunch to look the creature up.

“She could have died,” Feyre hissed at him. He held up his hands and smiled, though still looking guilty.

“But she didn’t?”

“Is it out of your system now?”

“Yes,” he responded, and Feyre relished in him looking very much like a boy being scolded.

She pointed a finger at him, pressing it into his chest. “You owe her an apology. What would we do if she died, Lucien? Will you go to the Human Lands and die next?” The panic seized Feyre abruptly then at how close she might have just come to losing her best bet at reaching Rhys. “She’s fragile. No more gambling with her life for your amusement. This ends now.”

“Yes, yes. Fine.” He grabbed her around the neck with his arm abruptly and ruffled her hair, a habit he’d picked up since Andras had died. Feyre fought him halfheartedly until he let her go, her hair flying into her eyes.

“No more potential murders, hmm?”

Lucien shoved her as they walked back to the house.

Calla came into the library the following morning, head bowed and looking a little ashamed of herself, while Feyre was marking her way through a stack of books. She had a book wide open on the table in front of her though, and she pressed a finger to it as she read aloud.

“The Suriel, an old and wicked creature, but willing and able to answer any question you ask of it–” Feyre looked up and caught Calla’s wide, apologetic eyes in hers. “ — if you’re stupid enough to seek them out.” She slammed the book shut. “What were you thinking?”

Calla ran up to the table and sat across from Feyre, taking her hand. “I had to know more. And you clearly couldn’t tell me, and Lucien wouldn’t.”

“Ugh, Calla. You could have died.” Calla, to her credit, looked guilty.

“I’m sorry, Feyre. I was asking Lucien some questions but he couldn’t tell me the answers. He told me he wasn’t a Suriel, and so I asked him what that was. He told me it was the only one who would know whether or not I could go back home.”

That asshole.

The verbal lashing she’d given him yesterday suddenly didn’t seem like enough.

Calla must have seen the scowl on Feyre’s face. “He apologized to me this morning. I could tell he felt bad. I told him I wouldn't tell Tamlin, so you don't either.” This was a surprise for Feyre. First, fixing Tamlin’s hurt arm, now defending Lucien. She’d almost be tricked into thinking Calla was warming up, but she fought her smile, afraid to break the gentle magic starting to warm Calla to Spring and its inhabitants.

“You didn’t have to trick me by asking slyly at dinner, you know. First, we’re friends, and you could have just told me. Second, you could always have just come up here to look it up.”

The silence hung in the air. Calla refused to meet Feyre’s eyes, and she continued. “There are so many books up here about creatures, perhaps some forewarning would have kept you from being so reckless.”

Calla gave Feyre a pained, beseeching look, and something clicked into place. All her questions, her inquiries; she’d never touched a book past looking over Feyre’s shoulder at pictures.

“You can’t read, can you?”

Calla’s voice was whisper-quiet, and she didn’t meet Feyre’s eyes. “I never learned. We lost all our money when I was still a child. We–I didn’t have the resources–we were just surviving–and then it was too late to teach myself.”

“I’ll teach you.” The words were out before Feyre could stop them, her heart aching for Calla. “Let me help you.” Calla did meet her eyes then.

“You would do that? Why?”

“We’re friends, Calla. Why wouldn’t I help you?”

“I haven’t had many friends, Feyre. I don’t exactly know how it works.” Her laugh was hollow, but the truth rang so close to Feyre’s own heart she couldn’t help but understand.

“Me neither. We don’t have to do what other people do. Let me help you.”

“Only if you let me teach you how to shoot in return. I’ve watched you shoot a bow and it’s awful, Feyre. Who taught you how to use it? A two-fingered blind man?” Feyre scoffed and shoved at her, but Calla was smiling again.

“Did you catch the Suriel then?”

“Yes, though it wasn't very helpful.” She played with a strand of her hair as she walked over to the plush couch and slumped into it.

“It told me ‘Stay with the High Lord, human. That’s all you can do. Do not interfere; do not go looking for answers after today, or you will be devoured by the shadow over Prythain.”’

“That’s it?”

“Then the naga showed up. I cut the Suriel down, but the time cost me. They were right on my tail, about to kill me when Tamlin showed up.” It was the first time Feyre had heard her speak of him with any sort of pause, and there was a sort of reverence and appreciation in her voice that hadn’t been there before. “It was stupid of me, but I had to know.”

“It was stupid, but I am glad you got what you were searching for. Hopefully, we can keep you away from the violent creatures of the woods now?”

Calla nodded, and Feyre was ready to put it behind them. “Come sit. Let’s see what you know.”

As it turned out, little more than the basics. Calla knew her letters, and she could somewhat sound things out from them, but the technique was clumsy, and her handwriting was worse. Feyre decided they’d work on writing first, hopefully the repetition and technique would ultimately help with her sounding things out.

She walked to Lucien’s empty study, grabbed a few different rolls of parchment and some pens, and came back to the library. Calla watched as she wrote out different lines on the first piece of parchment, then, satisfied with her job, sat back and passed the paper to her.

“I want you to sound these out, then I want you to rewrite the sentences. Five times apiece should be good. If it helps you to write them out the way you sound them out, do that too.” Calla nodded.

“Thank you for this, Feyre. Please don’t tell them I can’t write. They already think I’m enough of an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Calla. But I won’t tell them.”

“Fey…fey-ree. Hm. Oh! Feyre? Feyre…is..the kind–kindest. Feyre is the kindest….f–friend.” She got it, smiled, then glared. “Humble of you.”

Feyre laughed and motioned for her to write it, grabbing her own piece of parchment from the stack. She hadn’t written any of her dreams down in awhile, though she still had her journal. Everything felt like a secret kind of magic to her, every clandestine meeting with Rhys in her dreams something sweet and small and just for her that she wanted to hold close to her chest forever.

She looked at the parchment under her hand, pen poised to write but unsure of what to say. She missed him–his touch, his voice, his smell. She longed to have his elegant fingers pressed against her again, the comforting presence of him wrapping around her like a sun-warmed blanket on a blustery Spring day. A thought occurred to her, and she pressed pen to paper and began to write. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop, the words flying out of her like a bird on a breeze.

When she was finished, the sun had moved across the sky and was already dipping across the other side. It would be time for dinner soon, and she had nearly four pages of writing completed. She looked at the first page.

Eyes– lavender, violet, indigo, stars Hair – raven’s wings, inky blue black, night sky, tousled, messy, soft, love to run my hands through it Hands – soft, warm, firm

It went on for pages and pages– every single thing she could recall about Rhys, both from dreams and from reality, written down so she could tuck it away into that journal. Not that it would matter, truly, but it was a comfort to see the words on paper, even just to read over it all and assure herself that it was real. That he was real.

Though, she had to say, she was beginning to speculate more and more that her dreams were not dreams at all, the connection feeling so lucid and tangible to her that it was sometimes hard to separate. Had she not been in Spring every time she awoke, she’d likely be concerned that she’d been traveling to see him somehow. The simple fact that the dreams –or whatever they were– had grown so much stronger and more realistic once she’d crossed the wall had not been lost on her, and she found herself wondering more and more often if they were somehow a connection they’d forged that first night at the ball.

She’d read about this in her books– daemati– a fae who had the ability to look into another’s mind, read their thoughts. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered if Rhys was capable of that, thinking back to how he’d seemed to know at every turn what she was thinking that night they were together. Had they connected that night? Had he been inside her head and known how serious she’d been about him? Was it truly fate that had brought them together, or was there some other magic at play that Feyre had no idea about yet?

She pressed the pen to paper again, writing quickly on the last page.

Daemati? She underlined it twice.

She then stacked the pages, shuffled them into place, and folded them into a small square, stuffing it into her pocket.

“Done.” Calla said proudly.

“Good. Read them all to me.”

Calla cleared her throat and straightened her back confidently.

“Feyre is the kindest friend. Feyre is the most ben—benev–benevolent half-breed I've ever met.” She shot her a look, then continued. “Lucien is t-tolerable most of the time. Tamlin is the Hig. Hig-huh.”

Feyre interjected softly. “High. High Lord.”

“High Lord’s name. We are in Spring Court.”

Feyre giggled and nodded, and Calla smiled in kind, looking far more confident than she had earlier as she handed Feyre her papers to see her penmanship.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Taglist:

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

#feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand #acotar #acotar fics #feyre and rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met #acotar au #fated mates #acotar retelling

16 notes · View notes

obsessivehopelessromantic · 11 months ago

Text

As oof recently, I played dead plate which was, without a doubt, absolutely beautiful and I really liked Rody's and Vincent's dynamic(whether in ship or not)

And then, I realised that my favorite ship from STP was burned bridges or smitten x cold and then I realised what probably was my favourite dynamic..

Lovestruck fool &/X cold and cynical guy who may or may not like them.

#slay the princess #dead plate #voice of the cold #voice of the smitten #STP burned bridges #dead plate rody #dead plate vincent #coal fired heart

27 notes · View notes

aaaaaaaaaaaa-hey-its-jude-or-bee · 5 months ago

Note

okok ik I should probably start that violinist!farmer x elliot but HEAR ME OUT ON PUNK METAL!FARMER----

Imagine like farmer being like this really scary looking guy, coming to the valley with those spike bracelets on and trad goth makeup/corpse paint, looking like a full on murderer, skull t-shirt, those ripped thigh-high pants and chains from My Little Halo and everything;;.....

..only to be interested in geeky/nerdy hobbies, like collecting Hello Kitty/My Melody plushies, paint, and is somehow really good with the ASS trio (Abigail, Sebastian, Sam) + young adults/kids in general

.......and also punk metal!farmer is like the same age as Harvey LMAO, just like 2 ~ 3 years younger...

Farmer's got like, long dark brown hair too, it's amazing how he doesn't break a sweat doing farm work; you'd think he's cold blooded

Farmer's so engaging with the general community of the valley too, despite his usual gothic appearance slightly scaring Jaz and Vincent, he's a kind fellow who helps around here and there.

He'd probably be one of the first to test a game Sebastian coded, help orchestrate a song with Sam (farmer played cello in highschool?), or do/give manicures to Abigail while chatting about ghosts,,

He doesn't leave out Maru either; albeit he doesn't talk to her much, and Jaz and Vincent just need to get use to his corpse paint- but he doesn't dare talk with the kids unless they're the ones to strike conversation.

(because he's tried once, and Jaz ran away to Penny LMAO) (embarrassment 101)

Alex's cool with him too; he plays gridball with farmer sometimes,, (if you can count farmer losing most of the time after round 3 of gridball because he's too tired)

Especially when farmer develops a crush on Harvey/Elliot too, like he's not that bad at hiding it, but he spends a lot of free time with the trio so obviously they notice LMAO

“You want... THE FAMILY MEDICINE DOCTOR??????”

“You tell him and I'm moving out-”

poly!harvey x elliot x punk metal!farmer too omg

obsessed with the extrovert x introverts poly trope tho

what if I was devious and added morris /j /j /j

Ok I have to go do chores now my parents are gonna kill me if I don't LMAO

- 🫚anon

I don't know if this is a request but I am gonna just wjsjsjs and then I'll like add stuff onto this later on to make this some sort of thing maybe depends,,,,, would go insane with metal punk farmer like absolutely, would go insane,

I deleted two entire paragraphs because I did not like how I written my ideas, so, imagine when you first arrive yeah? You need to befriend the older people first, and then the parents of stardew valley, doing things for them, running errands, so they'll talk about you to everyone else and become friends with you, they'll say you're nice and all that, and not as scary as you seem, so, you soon become friends, even though it takes a long time, with the others in the small town, and you have to slowly befriend the children, which takes a longer time, since they are kids and kids have the power of imagination, which, can lead to scary thoughts and images on whatever, so you have to be careful and ask their parents how you could possibly seem not scary, and so their kids wouldn't have to seem so scared around you, and act like they're walking on eggshells in their homes when you visit or when you're walking around town doing your own thing, since you just want them to be comfortable around you and not worry about you, since you're not scary and you're just wearing makeup you know??

Like that would be nice, I would also enjoy having a mod where you just need to befriend the older people before you could try and befriend the bachelors and bachelorettes, or even try and romance them, you need to get close with their family and friends before you could do such things, not sure how I'm gonna romance Harvey but you know what that's fine.

17 notes · View notes

authorxxxxxx · 2 years ago

Text

Growing Old Together | Zlatan Ibrahimović x Female Reader

Summary : After so many years of playing football , Zlatan decides to retire .

Tw: insomnia , physical pain and tears , but mainly fluff .

English isn't my first language so if you spot any mistakes please just bare with me.

5k words : \

__________________________________________________

05 : 00 a . m .

He checked the clock at his bedside table for one last time , before he tried to sit up on the bed .

He was in pain .

He was in so much pain .

Everything in his body was in pain .

Every bone in his body was in pain .

His muscles were in pain .

The painkillers didn't do anything .

Nothing helped him .

' ' Try and get some sleep Big Man . Alright ? ' ' His manager said to him .

Well he tried .

He tried multiple times this week .

This month .

The last couple years .

He is in constant pain .

He loved football .

Football was his whole life .

But right now , at the age of 41 years old and after so many years of playing , he felt . . . Tired .

He turned his head right and stared at the woman sleeping peacefully besides him .

His soulmate .

His wife .

The mother of his two kids .

The Love of his life .

He got up trying to not wake her up and made his was in the living room to make the phone call .

__________

06 : 00 a . m .

She woke up and before she opened her eyes , her hands searched for warmth .

For him .

His side of the bed was empty and cold .

" Maybe he went for training . " She thought to herself .

She got up and made her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her kids and a coffee for herself .

' ' Morning . ' ' Her older son Maximilian said .

' ' Goodmorning honey . ' ' She said to him back while making him a toast just the way he liked it .

' ' What's dad still doing here ? ' ' Max asked her before making his way back to his bedroom .

' ' What ? ' ' She asked quietly while looking outside the living room .

He was outside at the balcony with his hair up like she loved , an open grey hoodie and black shorts talking to his phone .

She observed him for a couple of minutes while sipping the coffee from her mug and when he was done with the phone call , she walked over to him .

__________

' ' Is everything okay ? ' ' She asked him while looking up at him .

He grabbed her from her waist and kissed her soft lips that he so much loved .

After a while , when they parted their ways , he looked at her pink cheeks and her puffy lips , her beautiful eyes and caressed her face .

' ' You're worrying me . Is everything okay ? ' ' She asked him again while holding his arms .

' ' From now on , I'm all yours everyday and every night . ' ' He answered to her with a smile .

' ' You're retiring ? ' ' She asked him seriously .

' ' Yeah . I just did it and they gave me an opportunity for the head coach of the team and I took it . ' '

' ' I am so proud of you . Really . But are you sure about that ? ' '

' ' Yes I'm absolutely sure . I'm just tired . I'm tired of feeling pain everyday when I wake up . It's too much and I have trouble sleeping . I know it's gonna be difficult for the fans but I just can't do it anymore . ' '

' ' Why didn't you tell me anything ? I could have helped you somehow . ' ' She told him while tears escaped her eyes .

' ' How long has this thing going ? ' ' She asked him again but before he could say anything back , her sobs filled the quiet morning .

He embraced he in a tight hug for a couple of minutes to calm her down .

' ' I now it's gonna be hard for some people , because of the my past but I'll try to get better in the future . ' '

' ' Do not think about the past nor the future. Just enjoy the moments of the present . ' ' She told him before hugging him again .

' ' I love you . ' ' She said to him .

' ' I love you too . ' ' He said back .

That stayed like that for a couple of minutes .

' ' Dad ? Why is mom crying ? ' ' Max and Vincent both asked while looking at them trough their bedroom window ready for their parents to take them to school .

After that they both started laughing .

__________

Tags : @unimportantbabymilksharkte

#football fanfic #football imagine #football x reader #football x you #zlatan ibrahimovic imagines #zlatan ibrahimovic x reader #zlatan ibrahimovic x you

85 notes · View notes

malimaywrite · 1 year ago

Text

for redacted-tober 2023 | day 1: vincent & home general | wc: 1.7k

cw: depictions of grief, the beginnings of a panic attack; discussions of death and loss, very brief allusion to postpartum depression

notes: includes very brief non-canon physical descriptions of vincent and a lot of non-canon backstory on him as well; banner image from 'oak fractured by lightning' (1842) by maxim vorobiev

/ / /

She saw her son every night.

She saw him in the living room when she reclined in the leathery cushion of their couch. Her husband's gruff clearing cough covered by the sound of the nightly news blaring ahead of them. The glow of the anchor never touched the Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, and Beastie Boys CDs that continued to gather dust in the dark wood storage of the TV stand. All blues and white spines coated in gray underneath.

She should get to them. She should clean them off. She should finally put them away.

Vincent always forgot to put them away.

He'd stroll in with his hunk of a boombox Sunday mornings, absolutely dragging his feet because he knew it was time to clean. Handle in one hand, the chipped plastic of too many CDs in the other. He dropped them to the floor, opened the curtains wider than she liked. The scream of the vacuum and guitars soon followed.

She often called to him to turn the noise down some. He always would. His hum and half-whisper singing broke through as he wiped off the windows, straightened the magazines on the coffee table.

Those same songs sometimes played on the 'throwback' hour on the radio now. She always heard Vincent's hum along with them. Light and heavy at the same time, soothing even mixed with the clash of cymbals.

The CDs blurred the longer she stared at them.

They rested right where he left them his last Sunday.

A hard swallow as the same Max's Rustic Pizza ad blasted in bright red along the screen, as she ignored her uneaten cake slice on the table. She braced and pushed herself off the couch with a huff, a slow breath that steadied her. Her body took longer to do so these days.

She saw Vincent in the kitchen. All in the cabinets, all in the mug that sat too high for her to reach now. The words 'Best Mom Ever' decorated the bright pink ceramic—a gift from him when was six via his dad.

Vincent wobbled over to her that Mother's Day morning all ruffled hair and bright eyed with his security blanket in tow. High-pitched squeaks of 'mommy, mommy' warmed her ears. He tried to reach for the mug she already had on the counter. Little hops to replace that one with his.

She did it for him then scooped him up to plant kisses on his dimpled cheek until he giggled.

He flashed in front of the jug of some artificial juice that sat unopened in the pantry. They'd had it for a week. Vincent used to cobble for it, horde the drink in the midst of his studies. The electric blue of it half gone within days whenever he found it. Once in awhile, her husband would grab a jug at the store, grumble about seeing 'what the fuss' used to be about.

She saw Vincent rod straight against the framing of the pantry door. Marker in her hand and black ink lining his height. Only one dash for every year until eleven when he asked to grab the stool to kneel on so he could measure her height too. His own handwriting joined hers, barely legible until he was sixteen—until he started rolling his eyes with a smirk when she started his birthday mornings with their heights.

He'd laughed on his 18th when it was his turn to measure her again. She turned to see her new height just slightly under the year prior.

“Mom,” he'd started with feigned shock. “Don't tell me you're shrinking on me?”

She'd nudged him then. He only laughed harder. A song and his beam of a smile in the back of her mind that made the kitchen less cold.

A deep breath—one that trembled on its way in and out.

Flickers of him in the bathroom he shared with guests. His tall and lanky frame practically contorted closer to the mirror to get all the black hair dye through the gelled waves of his dark brown hair. The splotches from it still dotted the dark purple bath mat he picked out—all the washes since only turning it gray. The dull gold of the doorknob still wobbled when it shut ever since he slammed the door that one night she grounded him for skipping school to go skateboard.

The glimpses of him in the hallway—running to head out the door for the school bus, rushing at the honk from his friends waiting in the driveway, shuffling half-asleep with his midnight snack. Framed pictures of him hung along the wallpaper walls. The posed picture of a bow-tied, red-faced toddler caught mid-cry. The edited floating head of him wailing hovered above him in the gray backdrop. His other bow-tied photo from his senior year, all middle part swooped hair and a closed smile. One photo with a missing tooth, one with multicolored braces. Another with him squinting through the sun on their redwoods trip, another when he led the family hike for the first time.

Her chest fluttered, breaths starting to leave her faster than she liked.

Her feet dragged across the carpet as if her body didn't want to leave the space, as if she hadn't already etched every detail of the aging snapshots onto the back of her eyelids.

Her sister asked earlier if all the pictures up made it harder. She didn't know. Her niece had a son in 2003, gave him Vincent for a middle name. He'd stopped by today—now the same age as Vincent when he—stared at the photos, told her he thought they would have gotten along really well. She did know that.

The open blinds of their bedroom windows led to the shadows covering Vincent's swing set out back. She'd pushed him as high as he could go then, as high as what wouldn't unnerve her, when his feet couldn't touch the ground. When his feet could, they sat together as he rambled about a crush, a group project, some fancy cars he wanted when he got older.

She saw him tumble dramatically off the swing, sending her heart into her throat, before running over to her—before yelling that he couldn't go to his first day of kindergarten tomorrow, mommy, because he just broke his leg. Several years later, he sniffled over a small patch of dirt near the back fence, where they buried his pet iguana Littlefoot. She told him it would hurt less later.

She may have lied to him then.

Her breaths stuttered, all staccato in the center of her chest.

Underneath that bedroom window lay an empty space. One that over forty years ago rested the gray wood of his crib. He'd leaned to look at her between the bars, a garbled babble left him. His tiny hand reached out for her.

The questions that rumbled like thunder ever since she sat scared in the bathroom with a positive pregnancy test staring back at her. What was she going to do? Would she do right by her child? Would she ruin them? Would they end up a good person? Would they hate her? Would they think she's a good mom? Would she protect them? Would they be happy?

He cried out to her, only one year old then when the rain cloud of postpartum gave way just enough for her to see the sun. To see it on Vincent's face.

She held him then, cradled him so maybe, maybe he could hear her heartbeat. He calmed eventually, staring up at her in what seemed like awe on his little face. She was sure her expression matched his. She trailed a finger gently down, down from the top of his forehead to the tip of his button nose until he fell asleep in her arms. The first time of thousands, all the way up until his anxious night before he'd drive four hours away for his college freshmen move-in day. And she held him each time. She always held him.

Her baby. Her Vincent. Her home.

Her home, her home, her home.

She didn't know when she ended up in Vincent's nearly untouched room again. Or on her side along his flannel blanket that stretched tucked into his queen size bed. Her veiny, age-spotted hands warming up the side her body couldn't.

Her breaths quick and shallow, racing now.

Some years were okay. On his 31st, they took Vincent's favorite hiking route—followed the bright orange of the California poppies. On his 23rd, 34th, and 40th, they popped over to her sister's an hour away, cherished stories between each other like pieces of gold. Last year, she and her husband headed deeper into Dahlia and got ice cream.

She didn't remember his 22nd or his 30th. She'd told her husband she needed to stop by the store for the former mid-morning, but didn't come home until early evening. The whites of her eyes red. There was nowhere to place herself. The day after the latter he asked why their car smelled like someone else's cologne. She didn't have an answer for either. He asked her to stop drinking. She was sure she hadn't had a single glass.

Some years were bad. On his 25th, she screamed in the courthouse lobby asking the clerk which judge, which shitty judge declared him 'presumed dead' when she could not bury her son. On the 27th, she fussed at her husband for not including Vincent in the 'survived by' section on her father-in-law's obituary. She locked herself in the bathroom all day on his 32nd.

Some years.

Some years the weight pressed heavy on her chest. It threatened to crush her until she was no more.

Some years her cries out to him only eased ever so slightly when a new weight sunk down the bed behind her, when her husband smelled of frosting and took to rubbing her back until she fell into a troubled sleep.

One where she got to see her baby the same as he was that last Sunday.

Today was her son's 43rd birthday.

And she missed him.

She'd miss him, miss him, miss him until there was not a breath left in her.

#redacted-tober 2023 #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted fanfic #redacted vincent #my writing

35 notes · View notes