#and being excited at the prospect of everything becoming easier; and it's definitely a feeling I'm allowed to have | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

Text

5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

+1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peeks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

457 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! Your Nikolai fic tranquility is so beautiful! Can you write more for Nikolai? Maybe the opposite with reader having a nightmare? Or whatever you want just please give me more! If you have a tagging list I'd love to be included btw :)

A/n hii!! first off,, thank you! i was a little nervous about writing him for the first time,, but i love him so much (even though i love a good villain/morally grey character in love i think nikolai would probably make the least toxic bf in the grishaverse lol)

you gave me a little too much freedom here lol bc i have so many ideas for him!! lowkey might need to give him a longer fic/series soon when i catch up with requests!! WOW THIS FIC IS SO LONG AND FOR WHAT

Summary: Reader is a handmaid who has grown up assisting Nikolai. Through the years, the two have developed a special relationship that most definitely breaks royal protocol--they’re best friends and rivals on a good day, and dangerously close to being something more the second either of them is remotely upset or extremely happy. Learning about the fact that Nikolai was almost engaged to Alina (a good friend of yours) and being reminded of the fact that as royalty Nikolai has many prospects (both serious women worthy of his title and women only suitable for trysts meant to relieve tension) has you both realizing something you should have years ago.

Word count: 31210

Warnings: disclaimer--may not be the most cannon thing ever,, but i wanted the ‘child of the help competes and falls in love with the child of royalty’ energy okay?? Lol

I could do a whole blurb series with this dynamic nikolai x reader,, like just stories of them growing up together and randomly realizing they might like each other romantically?? I probably shouldn’t rn but i ADORE this trope.

The perfection of the room is disappointing. Idle hands, idle thoughts--so I work to smooth out a perfect duvet. Still, the thoughts come--aggressive and unavoidable. It’s silly, maybe even sad, to feel possessive over something that’s never been yours, something that could never be yours, but the harder I fight off the feeling the stronger it grows. Jealousy is a weed growing quickly in my chest, vile roots planted firmly in my heart.

Normally my favorite part of the day would be waiting for Nikolai to return to his room in the palace after dinner and his evening duties. He’s always a bit softer in the evenings, during my last check-in of the day. I’m normally thrilled to be done organizing his room early because that means the second he arrives there will be no distraction. Most evenings, he’ll find me perched in the seat by his bed, reading. He’ll mock-scold me for daring to defy his orders and reading ahead from the book we both take turns reading aloud from each night. He then warns me that I better react exactly the way I did when I first read it or else. That threat is always followed by a gentle laugh.

Tonight I’m in no mood for our nightly banter or even our nightly reading. My mother had warned me of the dangers of getting too comfortable with the royal family. I should have heeded that warning when she first gave it to me, the morning she found Nikolai and I fast asleep on a couch in the library as children. The palace likes to bring up the children of the staff by training them to attend to the next generation of royals. It makes the staff more efficient, a lifetime of knowing what someone wants makes you better for them. It also creates some level of connection, making betrayal a little less likely. Nikolai and I might have taken it farther than most. But now I want a reminder of the way we’re supposed to be--maybe if I detach now the bleeding of my heart won’t kill me. That has to remain secret, because if I explain it to Nikolai something in me will break. The one line between us will be crossed.

This will be the sixth secret I’ve kept from Nikolai in my entire life.

The secrets:

I don’t know why I was picked for Nikolai. I wasn’t particularly skilled, but still, the day came when my mother was told that I now worked directly for the Lantsov boy. It’s an honor, a true one, but my mother had been a little nervous. To whom much is given, much is expected--and I detested Nikolai. Not for being a prince, but for being a prince who thought girls couldn’t race or fight.

The day my mother came looking for me because I never showed up for dinner and she found Nikolai and I attempting to fight in the way only a ten-year-old girl and eleven-year-old boy would, she had looked truly mortified. Nikolai had only laughed, either oblivious to my mother’s embarrassment or uncaring about it. He had then hugged me--an expression of care that had left me reeling. I saw him more as a rival than someone to tend to, but in that moment I saw him as a friend. Even more so when he told me he didn’t want me to go yet and that he was upset that so much of the day had been wasted by studies that kept him with boring people and away from me. And then he invited me to his lessons--my mother was quick to attempt to decline politely, but the desires of a prince at any age outweigh that of a mother.

After that, everyone kind of just stopped trying to remind us of our propriety. The tutor at first was concerned about my presence, but Nikolai remained stubborn. I wasn’t a big enough deal to cause an argument, so I began to attend lessons with him almost every day, only staying away when my mother needed aid with laundry or cleaning. His parents must have been somewhat aware of our friendship, but they must have been oblivious to our closeness because it was never mentioned.

My mother’s worry began to ease, she’d even started to take some pride when I’d come to our room proudly proclaiming that I scored two marks higher than Nikolai. She did, however, warn that it might be more tactful to let him score higher.

The comment was casual, just a suggestion, but it left me feeling wrong. It was the first time since we met that I had thought about our different statuses. I didn’t tell him--and that was the first secret I ever kept from him.

As we grew, we traded physical competition for academic rivalry, trying to best each other in both lessons and games of strategy like chess and cards. But with growing comes responsibility. Nikolai started to have obligations that were meant to be private. I couldn’t follow him at all times. But he’d always come back from locked door meetings grinning like he carried schoolyard gossip instead of government secrets. He shared everything with me, even when I playfully warned against it.

He’d always step closer when I teased that perhaps he shouldn’t tell me everything. And then he’d say, “If I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone--and I don’t want to live in a world like that.” Often, he’d give my hand a light squeeze before moving on like he had not said anything intimate.

On a day in which Nikolai was in one of those meetings, I became a woman. When I first saw the blood, I had been horrified--but my mother was quick to explain that it was natural. She said that I was now a woman, a wonderful thing, really--but a thing that came with obligations. She told me that I could no longer have the impromptu ‘sleepovers’ with Nikolai unless he ordered it. I told her he’s never ordered me to do anything for him.

She didn’t ease, something in her had started to become nervous again. My mother had recently started to act the way she did when Nikolai and I first became friends. I didn’t want to fall asleep in Nikolai’s bed while I was bleeding, but I didn’t want to never have another sleepover with him again. Especially not when she refused to explain why being a woman changed so much.

I had decided to avoid Nikolai as much as possible until the sting of my mother’s new rule faded. Unfortunately, that night Nikolai was extra talkative--excited as he insisted I stay for a little longer. Soon, I found his familiar good naturedness melting away my nerves and before I knew it I was laughing in the middle of the night. When my eyelids started to feel heavy, I had moved from the chair, ready to head back to my room.

Nikolai had looked at me oddly before he asked why would I leave so late when it would be easier for me to just sleepover? It was an innocent question, he did not know about my change and I had wanted to keep it that way.

I tried playing coy, but Nikolai has always had a talent for getting around my better judgement. I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but I remember him standing in front of me. It was the first time I noticed how much had actually changed over the years--he was now taller than me for the first time in his life. His hair had started to grow a little longer, golden and soft-looking--and his face seemed much more angular. But he had not lost his boyish charm.

“Y/n?” My name fell softly from his lips, and that was the first time I had ever noted the fullness of them. I didn’t understand why I considered that something worth noting. “Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

Perhaps I had been a little curt--nerves and hormones had left me not feeling like myself. I didn’t tell him about the bleeding, I couldn’t. That became the second secret I kept from him--but I did tell him that my mother had told me I was a woman now, and that women can’t have sleepovers. Not with those of the opposite gender. I made no effort to hide my confusion because I expected him to be as perplexed as I was. But he was not confused--in fact, he had the audacity to laugh. My face flushed, but I did not know why.

“Why is that funny?” Maybe he thought I was still too much of a child to be considered a woman. I assumed it a fair assumption, I had not grown the way he had--my shoulders had not become sturdier and I had not become particularly broader. Still, I would rather melt into the floor than tell him about the reason my mother now considered me a woman. “My mother did say that, and I don’t know what being a ‘woman’ has to do with staying in your room at night.” Something strange had crossed over his features then, something much more brooding than I was used to.

I had blinked at him as unexplained nerves pooled in my stomach. Perhaps that look would have been enough to keep me silent if he had managed to not grin. That self-assured grin that had always challenged me. “Well since you know everything about my mother now, maybe you can tell me why she’s been acting strange. She’s starting to act the way she did when we first became friends.” I expected him to at least pretend to be worried. Perhaps his parents had spoken to her and had mentioned wanting our friendship to end. But his grin had only grown. Pride left me angry. “She did say that I could stay if you ordered it--but I’m glad you’ve never ordered me to do anything, so I can leave right now because you’re acting as odd as her. I don’t understand what you could find funny about our friendship ending.”

He had stopped me from storming out of his room by placing one hand on the wall between me and the door. “Y/n, don’t be cross--I’ll explain it all, I promise.” Angry pride made me want to storm away from him, but curiosity and something unknown and warm kept me in place. “Do you remember when we read the play about the rival families, how the two main characters had kissed?”

I remembered that part of the play especially well. The concept of kissing so casually, outside of marriage, had been jarring to me. “Yes.”

“Now that we’re older, your mother must be worried that we might do that.” He paused before leaning against the arm he placed on the wall to keep me from leaving a little more. “Kiss.”

The clarification was not needed--in that brief pause, I had allowed myself to imagine no distance between our lips. Something in me burned with embarrassment when I realized that some part of me found the thought appealing. The only thing I wanted in that moment was assurance that Nikolai would never know I felt that. That was my third secret, and the weight of it was heavy against my chest.

Still, though, all of my confusion had not yet left. “Is there much harm in a kiss?”

The question had left an odd smile on his lips. “There’s potential harm in what it could lead to for the woman, but not so much for the man.” He exhaled slowly as my face tensed. He could always read me too well because he was quick to add, “What it could lead to isn’t a bad thing, it’s meant to be pleasurable, but it’s serious.” I did not understand, but a part of me was starting to grow okay with that. Nikolai’s voice had started to become lower than ever, and his gaze remained tense. Perhaps if I accepted the confusion for now, things could go back to normal. If the conversation ended, I could stop thinking of his lips and his hands and what it would mean for them to touch me. “It’s considered a vice, like drinking or gambling.” The additional comment helped more than it should have. A vice--not scary and not painful, but not something to indulge in. That’s enough explanation for now. “If you want to know, I won’t deny you.”

I appreciated the offer tremendously. The vice that comes after kissing is clearly something that’s been intentionally kept from me. It’s something he was privy to that I was not, and he offered it to me like so much else. But if knowledge that my mother feared us kissing made me think of his lips, then I doubted I could handle knowing what comes after kissing.

“I’ll let you know when I want to know, but I appreciate the offer.” It felt like a fair response. His snarky grin came back immediately. Irritation rooted itself in my stomach. I hated not knowing more than him for once, but I still had one question I could not relinquish. “But what does that vice have to do with orders?”

At that, his smugness faltered. “It’s not unheard of, for princes and handmaids--for a prince to obligate a handmaid in order to fulfill his vice. Though many handmaids fill the vice of their own will for benefits.

The explanation left him like a confession. I didn’t understand his hesitance--it’s not like he’d ever make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Even when I worked, he was hesitant to ask me to go out of my way to bring him a glass of water. And I couldn’t imagine gaining anything from offering Nikolai something I didn’t really understand. I wasn’t naive to the fact that my life had more privileges than many palace servants. “Oh.”

His eyes hardened. “You know I’d never--”

“I know.” It was finally easy to smile again. “I never thought otherwise.” Something in him seemed to ease at that, his eyes went from hard to warm in less than a second.

I had no more questions for him and I was also no longer a flight risk, but Nikolai did not move. He did not step back to create a more appropriate distance and he did not drop his arm. His gaze, however, did move--dropping downwards, and slightly away from my eyes. I did the same, my eyes falling to his lips.

The silence between us began to make me feel like something in me was in danger of overflowing. “Then I guess my mother is once again worrying for no reason.” Strangely, I did not feel the need to feel embarrassed about staring at his lips. “Because I would never particularly want to kiss you, Nikolai Lantsov.”

The comment was meant to be teasing, a joke to clear away unknown tension. I should have known better than to challenge his pride because he instinctually moved his hand off the wall and beneath my chin. I did not flinch when he tilted my head upwards slightly with his fingers. “I could get you to want to kiss me if I wanted to.”

Three secrets in one night. I did not think I could bear a fourth one. “Hm…” The ground we treaded on felt unstable, but something in me trusted Nikolai to not let me falter. “I should--I should go before I give my mother anymore cause to worry.”

His fingers had brushed down my chin easily as he dropped his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

And that he did. The days passed without mention of the last time he asked me to sleepover. It was as if nothing had changed except now I found myself noting things I most definitely did not want to note. These didn’t feel like individual secrets because it felt easy to group each admirational thought into one secret. Soon, that became my new normal--easy banter, easy touches of hands, and easy yet silent admirations of his beauty.

I never wandered too hard about what the vice that kissing can lead to entailed. I didn't particularly want to know, but knowing that I could ask Nikolai at any time brought a sense of security to me. But besides that, I never thought of that conversation until the day I was asked to look for Nikolai because he was late for dinner.

That in itself was odd, most of the time when Nikolai was late it was because he was with you. I checked his room, two other rooms he was known to frequent, and then finally the library. First, I noticed a handmaid two years older than me. I was finally at an age when one begins to compare their beauty to those around them, and I recognized the girl as gorgeous. She was better endowed than me, physically, and she always seemed fun. And then I noticed Nikolai, standing closer to her than I’ve ever seen him stand to anyone. His expression was serious as the girl giggled.

Nikolai’s expression shifted from tense to shocked when he saw me. “Y/n.”

It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what I had interrupted. Guilt and jealousy were quick to twist in my stomach. “Dinner--your parents sent me to look for you.”

He was quick to walk around the girl, who was quick to glare at me. I attempted to disappear down the hall after mumbling a quick apology, but Nikolai was faster than me.

“Y/n,” he did not hesitate to grab my wrist.

It shouldn’t have irked me the way it did, after all, neither of us had ever really hesitated to touch each other. I had always reached for him when I wanted him, and he had done the same. But the thought of the same hands that touched the most beautiful girl I had ever seen on me left me bitter in a way I didn’t understand.

Still, I pushed through all of that. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, your mother asked me to look for you because she assumed you’d be with me when you were late to dinner. I didn’t think that there’d be--”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” The words came out flat as his eyes took on the same quality they did the night he explained my mother’s concern to me. “Valaria wishes there was something to interrupt, but there wasn’t.”

Oh. I refused to let the correction inflate me. “Would you like me to not come to your room tonight?”

The offer felt awkward to make. “No,” the answer came quickly, “In fact, go there now--I want to see you right after dinner. I’ve missed you today.” The instruction left my face feeling warm. “We could read an extra chapter of our book if you’d like.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “Yes.”

“Looking forward to it.”

True to his word, Nikolai was quick to return to his room. He had come back to me eagerly, going out of his way to squeeze my shoulder as he entered the room.

I opened the book to the chapter we had left off on, but before I could start reading, Nikolai stopped me. “Sit next to me?”

The question came softly. It had been some time since we sat next to each other on his bed. Still, I moved off of the chair and to his bed. Something in me longed for the familiar closeness of childhood. I allowed him to play with my fingers as I read.

“You know you could take one night off from me if you wanted to.” The admission left me softly, part of unsure if he was still paying attention to my words. “She was pretty, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings if you told me you wanted me to not come tonight.”

Nikolai exhaled easily, squeezing my fingers once. “I said I wanted to see you and I meant it.”

It took all of my energy to push past the way his words made my stomach leap. “In general, if you ever--”

Nikolai cut me off by laying his head on my lap the way he used to. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” It was the first time in years that he spoke to me in a way that acknowledged his authority. “Keep reading please.”

And that was the last time we had ever mentioned other handmaids in that context. The fifth secret I ever kept from him was the way I worried that one day that would change.

The door creaks open while I’m in the middle of fluffing an already pristine pillow. Nikolai steps into the room, but I continue to work.

“Darling,” he breathes too easily, “Today has been painful.” I straighten, looking at him as casually as I can manage. “And now I have to deal with you being mad at me.”

Damn him and his ability to read me with one look. “I’m not mad.”

“You know you can’t lie to me,” he sighs, stepping forward, “We’ve known each other too long for that.”

I press my lips together, irrational anger pushing itself into me at an odd angle. “We’ve also known each other too long to keep secrets.”

His eyebrows draw together, a look so quizzical I’m reminded of our schooling days. “What secrets have I kept from you?”

Mentioning that had been a mistake. I exhale as flatly as possible. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” My dismissal only has Nikolai’s expression hardening. I drop my gaze. “Unless you need something, I’m retiring my services for the evening.”

I take a reluctant step towards the door, eyes attached to the floor. “Y/n,” his voice is gentle. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired.” Please let that be at least somewhat believable. “I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself in the morning.” I take another step, a little more assured. Nikolai’s hand is on my shoulder before I can escape. “Nikolai--”

“Y/n,” his voice is that of velvet, “I can’t have you be mad at me. Not now.”

Sighing, I meet his gaze. The tiredness I see behind his eyes is almost enough to chase away my nerve. What I’d give to be able to melt into our familiar routine. “Then you should have told me you were almost engaged to a literal Saint--the same literal Saint who’s one of my closest friends.”

Nikolai’s expression shifts as his hand drops from my shoulder slowly, fingers brushing down my arm before he finally intertwines our fingers. I bite my tongue to avoid squeezing his hand, but I don’t move to separate us either. He studies me silently, eyebrows drawn together. The longer he stares, the more whatever turmoil he’s experiencing seems to dissipate. After a minute of silence, I can read his expression perfectly. His lips are pressed together in that coy way--the way he only looks when he’s suppressing a smile.

I loathe him for it. “Nikolai Lantsov, don’t you dare laugh--not after what you did. Do you have any idea what it felt like to have Alina casually mention the fact that you almost married her casually? Like that was common knowledge to everyone but me?”

My words break away the last of his self control. He grins, flashing his annoyingly perfect teeth. “Do you have any idea what it feels like for me to want nothing more than to see you and then you let me believe something may actually be wrong when the only issue is your jealousy?”

The amusement in his tone is like poison to me. I find the strength to jerk my hand away from him. “I am not jealous.” He laughs; I am further enraged. “I am not.” The genuineness of my anger must finally register on some level, because he tries to suppress his smile. “I have every right to be mad at my best friend for not telling me that he was almost married.”

“We didn’t exactly come close,” he manages, expression still much too light for my taste. “I’m glad for Alina’s sake, I’m not sure being a Saint would be enough to protect her.”

He is infuriating. “I’m not sure anything you have will be enough to protect you.”

Something in his gaze shifts, softening the tilt of his mouth. “I don’t doubt that.”

I don’t know what I expected from him--but not this. I thought he’d be at least somewhat apologetic. “You should have told me.”

“I would have if I felt it was significant.”

“I’m your best friend--your marriage is significant to me. And even though it’s not like you’re engaged to her right now, you should have told me. You know I talk to Alina all the time.”

He sighs once, a hint of apology threatening to ghost over his eyes. “If I knew not knowing would have upset you so much I would have told you. I was--I was just so excited to be around you again I didn’t see much relevance in anything that didn’t involve you.”

The intensity that Nikolai regards me with is enough to wither all of my fury. But without my anger, I am left spiraling in emotion that I’ve been pushing against for years. My mother’s warning about relationships with those above us rings in my ears--sharp and headache inducing. I am still when he reaches for my hand again, but I do no allow myself to return the gentle squeeze of his fingers.

“I’m not sure much outside of you has significance.” He’s giving me a look I am familiar with. A look he often uses to chase away my anger.

Without my anger, I have nothing to keep me from melting into him, indulging in his presence fully. It’s so easy with him and I blinded myself to the danger of that. He may not be marrying Alina, but one day he will marry someone. A person worthy of his status--and what would I be left doing? Washing their laundry? Tearing up when I dusted the library and came across a book we had read together? Enough damage has already been done--I need to cut myself with this blade now in hopes of making sure I can one day recover.

He will get married one day, and nothing will be the same. And that’s a good thing--he deserves the love of a princess or queen. I want his happiness, even if it’s not with me. But some vindictive part of me hopes that some part of him will miss me. That some part of him will be dulled without me.

I’m a fool--he will remember me as the handmaid from his youth. The girl who made him laugh once or twice before he grew up. I force my hand out of his grasp. “You can’t win me over with words every time.” I need to get out of here before he says something that makes me lose all resolve. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be here to prepare you for breakfast.”

“Y/n.”

I step forward, refusing to look at him. “Goodnight.”

He sighs, his hand quick to grab my arm. Before I can question him I feel myself pulled back. I expect him to pull me just close enough so that I have to meet his gaze. He continues, pulling me sharply before placing a quick hand on my shoulder, forcing me down. My back hits his bed.

I sit up as soon as the reality of what just happened seeps into my mind. “Nikolai, what in the Saints--”

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”

I scoff, thoughts of escaping him put on hold by the principle of pride. Fine. I’ll beat him one last time, and then I’ll let us separate. I shove him. He laughs--of course this is funny to him. He got to keep fighting past the age of about eleven. His laughter adds to my anger, I move to shove him again, but he catches my wrist easily. I struggle against his hold, shoving him a third time with my still free hand. He pushes me slightly. That’s all it takes to unleash familiar habits.

Our small fight is hardly fair. He has all the advantage--more training, and he’s standing above me. When I finally make a move that might give me some success, Nikolai leans forward. He practically tackles me, his weight forcing me flat against the bed.

I move an arm, ready to push him off of me. Nikolai snags my wrists, holding them above my head. “This means I win.” I roll my eyes, anger returning.

“Let me go.”

He sighs tiredly, but the smugness radiating off of him is suffocating. “Admit that you were jealous.”

There are a lot of things I am willing to do for him--but never that. I cannot give him the one separation I still have. “I wasn’t.”

“Then why are you mad?”

I press my lips together. “I told you--”

“Do you really think you could lie to me?”

“You don’t know me that well.”

Nikolai moves his freehand, touching my chin as a way to ask me to look at him. I meet his gaze hesitantly. “Yes, I do, and that’s never bothered you before but it does now.”

Maybe this is a conversation better had bluntly. “It bothers me now because you’re too old to hold onto the daughter of a palace handmaid and I’m too old to pretend that our different statuses don’t matter.”

“Y/n,” he breathes, “Nothing’s changed. Status didn’t matter to me when we were children, and it doesn’t matter to me now.”

“You can afford to say things like that.”

“What good is my title if it means I can’t,” he pauses, eyes hesitant, “If I can’t keep things the same between us?”

I smile, the sadness of the look weighs on me and I can’t even see it. “Nikolai, you always knew things would change.”

“No, I--”

“You can’t tell me you think your future wife would like you having such a close relationship with a handmaid.” I press my lips together. “One day you’ll fall in love and get married and you’ll want me to leave your bedchamber as soon as dinner is over because you’ll be eager to spend time with your wife.” His gaze hardens. “And that’s not a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thi--”

The last syllable of my sentence dies in my throat. Nikolai, who must be possessed by something, leans down and presses his lips against mine. I beg myself to resist, but his gentleness is everything I’ve ever wanted. He releases my hands in favor of holding my face. That’s all it takes--my hands move without my permission, into his hair--pulling him closer to me. What am I doing? I’m insane. Placing my hands on his chest cautiously, I push just slightly. He’s quick to obey, pulling away while allowing his teeth to brush against my bottom lip.

I gape at him--taking in his now slightly swollen lips. “Nikolai.” He can’t do this to me. We’re friends. Despite the fact that I’ve loved him more than I should--we’re friends. “You’re being extremely unfair.”

He draws his eyebrows together, sitting up quickly and moving off of me. “I’m being unfair? I have spent my entire life loving y--”

I sit up, furious in a new way. “You have not!” This is the dumbest I have ever been. I move to stand, still feeling the softness of his lips against mine.

“Your tooth fell out.” The sharpness of his words forces me to still.

“What?”

I can’t bring myself to turn and look at him, but I’ve always been able to feel any heaviness he bears. The weight of it leaves little room for air in my lungs. “You were ten. I told you ‘girls couldn’t fight’ so you punched me in the face. That was the first time we ever fought--I didn’t mean to hit you in the face, but you moved. You moved and I hit you in the mouth and your last baby tooth fell out. I expected you to cry or get angry, but you just blinked at me and laughed. You were happy to lose your last baby tooth because it meant you were grown up. And then you smiled and asked me if you looked older. If anything, the gap in your smile made you look younger but I told you that you looked like a grown-up because I wanted you to keep smiling. Because your smile made me feel like I won something.” I turn on my heels, but I cannot meet his gaze. “That was the moment I fell in love with you--so don’t tell me I haven’t spent my entire life loving you.”

The weight of his words is harder to survive against than the heaviness of his feelings. “Nikolai, you know we can’t ever be together--”

“Why not?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I manage, voice low, “You almost married the Sun Summoner--”

“That was political--”

“Exactly, your marriage is meant to be political, and if it happens to be out of love--which is what I hope you get, because it is what you deserve--it will be to someone of status.”

Nikolai stands, the movement is that of a king, not the boy I know. “I do not want status or to love someone else--I want you.”

“I can’t take that from you--”

“You can’t take anything from me because I’ve already given it all to you.”

I press my lips together, heart tearing for him. “I love you too much to ruin you.”

My words seem to snap something in him because his eyes darken, the way he watches me adjusting accordingly. “You can’t ruin something that’s always been yours.”

I let myself smile. At him. At his words. At the foolish hope the child in me has clung to after all of these years. I reach for him thoughtlessly, because I have the right to. Because I’ve always had the right to. He’s quick to respond, kissing me with much more security than before.

This time, he pulls away of his own regard. “You still haven’t admitted that you were jealous.”

His teasing smugness isn’t as sour to me anymore. “I wasn’t.”

Nikolai pulls me towards him easily, lips threatening to brush against me, warm breath against my face. “Are you sure, darling? You were awfully quick to claim what’s yours.”

I roll my eyes, grinning so widely I’m surprised my face doesn’t yet hurt. “You’re the one that fell for a ten-year-old girl with a bloody mouth.”

When he smiles back at me, he places a hand on my hip, pulling me forward slightly. “That I did.” He pulls me forward slightly. "Does this mean you can sleep in here again?"

"If anything, this is more reason for me to sleep in another room." He rolls his eyes, pulling me even closer. "But I won't tell if you don't."

Nikolai leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Deal."

tags: @deardiarystuff @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone imagine #grisha #Grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse x reader #shadow and bone netflix

495 notes · View notes

alicemitch09writes · 4 years ago

Text

lame

04.

a fist full of fuck you

Junior school was always a rough patch for you and Izuku, especially because it was the reign of Bakugou Katsuki amongst the horde of crazy pubescent teens. On the first day at Aldera Junior High, he had made it clear that he was going to rule the school and become top, leaving the two of you out the dust.

Of course, with an acquired quirk and confidence like his, it was easy to assert his dominance. And with his rising fame and sheer dominance, the two of you were immediately cast out, because you didn’t have quirks. (It was easy to hide the fact that you had a nocturnal quirk anyway)

Throughout junior high, your only friend was Izuku, you didn't mind. But despite being the 'quirkless girl' nobody dared to cross you because you were a bit of a delinquent, a bona fide fighter who could beat anyone – with a quirk or not, to a pulp. Still, you tried to avoid fights for Izuku’s sake, your family name’s sake, and because you didn’t want to give in to their jeers. (You also had that annoying promise to keep.)

Due to your closeness, rumors began to spread of your relationship with Izuku, which you didn't correct. After all, nobody seemed to give two shits when you were younger, nor do they seem to care now. So, what was the point anyway? Izuku was your best friend, he was like a brother to you. He felt the same.

And as for Bakugou? Well, he was happy in his own little bubble, reigning, terrorizing, the occasional name-calling towards you or Izuku, casting explosions as a warning whenever your paths crossed.

It was your last year, if you could remember perfectly, your teacher had just passed out papers, happily announcing that everyone was going to take heroics. Beside you, you could see Izuku meekly shrinking in himself as the whole class went wild at the prospect of getting into a kickass school, especially granted with their own unique talents. Scoff.

However, Bakugou rose as the best – of course, besting everyone, even receiving praise from your ass of a teacher. He had no problem with calling them out as worthless extras to his great glory.

Per the norm, you and Izuku were alienated by the whole thing, but it didn’t phase you one bit. But when your teacher announced Izuku’s desire to enter UA, that’s when you phased, as his announcement caused everyone in the class to go deathly silent.

A smile immediately crossed your lips as you turned to your best friend, meeting his gaze and giving a supportive thumbs up when the class exploded into laughter. The smile turned into a scowl at the motherfuckers you call your classmates, even your teacher! Pathetic really.

“Izuku, pay them no mind-“

An explosion blasted before you could finish, the force causing the green-haired boy to jump back. Alarmed, you immediately were on your feet, watching as Bakugou lashed out on your friend. Venomous, mocking words were leaving his mouth, causing your friend to shrink even more, the class watching in glee as the school’s top student was putting the reckless boy in his place.

Having enough, you ran towards your friend, angrily shouldering the blond boy aside, crouching a little to offer a hand. “Izuku, can you stand?”

At the sight of you, his eyes lit, hands just reaching out to take yours before one of your classmates jeered behind you.

“Oh look, it’s the quirkless girl out to help the quirkless boy! How cute!”

“Haven’t you heard? She’s not taking heroics, she’s just gonna head to some generic lame-ass quirkless school to be with the rest of her lame ass quirkless normies. What a loser!”

“Just as I thought, the quirkless gotta stick together!”

The class laughed at that.

“And what of it?” you said, Izuku finally on his feet, his eyes turned to you. Giving him a reassuring look, you looked over your shoulder to your classmates with an impassive look. “So, what if I get to be with my fellow quirkless normies? At least I can feel normal and less of a freak like the lot of you.”

“W-What?”

“Stupid little quirkless bitch-”

“Quirkless, quirkless, quirkless. Wow, that’s really all you guys seem to care about. Why, jealous of us normies who don’t have to worry about shit aside from living peacefully? And as far as I know, maybe the lot of you will turn out as rejects since not all your quirks are as great as they seem. I don’t have to half-ass my so-called talent because there’ll definitely be others better than me.” leveling your eyes with carmine, you could see him grinding his teeth, a deep scowl on his features, you flashed one last playful smirk before you gave the last word “not many will actually care for the filth you all are actually are.”

Feeling a tug, you smiled brightly at Izuku, no longer shrunken but back to his normal self, before heading back to your seats, acting as if nothing happened.

Class resumed awkwardly, you being completely unfazed by the glaring looks from your classmates and dozed off easy.

Later that day, you were sitting on your desk, slightly refreshed because the day was ending. Bag in hand waiting patiently for your friend to finish packing so you both could go home; smiling at Izuku as he relayed the events that happened earlier that day.

“Eh, that sounds pretty exciting, Izuku. Well then, you better get home and write it all down!” you say encouragingly, feet swinging.

“Yes!” Setting his phone down, he lifted his Hero Analysis notebook, eyes sparkling with excitement at the notion of writing a new analysis on the heroes he’s seen.

Suddenly, the notebook was forcibly taken from him by Bakugou, who seemed unpleased at their ‘unfinished’ business earlier during homeroom. Two of Bakugou’s goonies appeared, laughing at the notebook in his hand.

“What the fuck?” Hopping off, you walked up the blond angrily. “Will you give it a rest already?”

“Kacchan,” shrieked your friend, standing from his seat. “give it back!”

Instead of returning it, the blond blew up the notebook, causing it to char, before tossing it easily out the window. Izuku screamed, completely at a loss of words. Angrily, your glared deepened at the blond, who didn’t bother looking your way as he headed towards the door breezily, goonies behind him.

Bakugou had always been a bully to both you, especially towards Izuku. It was so petty and cliché really, you wanted to throw up.

Long when you were younger, Izuku was always a target for Bakugou’s wrath, an easy pedestal to step over just to feel good about himself, a dummy he can just beat over and over because he can. It made you sick.

Gone were the happy days of you three, happily going about with your innocence, forever tarnished by quirks that branded you instantly the moment you had one. Gone were those days.

As for you? He didn’t even bother. You were a waste of space because you fought back, so there was no pleasure picking on a tomboy who could fight back and care less. It was always easier to aim for the weaker link.

But for Izuku, you had to be brave for you both. After all, you were his only best friend, his shield.

Worriedly, you turned to your friend, hating the crestfallen look on his face, reaching out to him. “Izuku-“

“If you want to be a hero so much, there is an efficient way. Believe to have a quirk in your next life” your hand froze in mid-air; the world had gone silent. “and dive off from the school roof. “

Silence.

A beat of silence.

A twitch.

And then, a beat, a hitch.

Suddenly, you saw red.

Just as he finished his sentence, a heavy fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him back against the door with a loud clatter, as though it were ready to break off from the hinges, alarming students on the other side.

“(NICKNAME)!”

Breathing heavily, you dropped your hand to your side, your fingers were shaking uncontrollably, balling them into fists didn’t help the anger seething through your blood, seeping into your bones, nails biting painfully into your skin.

Watching the blond get knocked on his ass did little to give you satisfaction, especially when his words rang over and over in your head still.

If you want to be a hero so much, there is an efficient way. Believe to have a quirk in your next life and dive off from the school roof.

Had you been calmer, you would’ve seen the absolute shock on his face, eyes locked on you.

One minute you were next to Deku, the next, you were in front of him, punching him with everything you had. It was quite the punch, judging from how the door rattled so much that it opened a little.

Coming to his senses, he nearly stumbled back on his feet, grabbing at your collar, snarling. “You-“

“Fuck you,” you all but said in one exhale, voice shaky and words full of anger and venom. Words that matched your eyes – so full of anger and venom.

It was all it took for both your friends to turn to you, shock at the amount of hatred falling out of your usually calm demeanor. But as they say, one can only handle so much before they break.

Bakugou’s hold loosened, faltering at the words leaving your mouth, at the eyes burning deep into his own.

“Fuck you, fuck your aspirations, fuck your friends” your eyes rose, angrily turning to the gazes of the two boys behind you, who flinched at the anger emanating off you. “fuck everyone in this school and fuck your quirk.” There was a sharp intake of breath, coming from him. It made you scoff. “Because let’s face it, Bakugou, without your quirk, you might as well be fucking worse than a dead fuck.”

Those infamous last words of yours, that signified and solidified the death of whatever relationship you had with him, giving you the expression on his face, that was plenty satisfaction.

Izuku had to physically take you away, grabbing both your bags as you left the room. He had to calm you down, extremely worried to see you so worked up. Gulping, he squeezed your hand, green eyes searching for yours. Weakly, you squeezed back, a feeble smile on your face. That was plenty.

As the two of you turned a corner, the green-haired teen froze beside you, turning to him in confusion, you followed his gaze, heart twisting at his fallen Hero Analysis notebook that was being poked by the fishes.

“Stop eating it,” he muttered, voice weak. “it’s not fish food.”

“Izuku…” you called out, worried about the way his shoulders hunched, posture rigid.

If you want to be a hero so much, there is an efficient way. Believe to have a quirk in your next life and dive off from the school roof.

Balling your hands into fists, you could feel the anger boiling, threatening to take over. No. Instead, you walked up to your friend, took the wet notebook from his hand, and waved it in the air, water splattering everywhere in the process.

“(N-Nickname), be careful of the pages!” he cried, you stopped only when the dull look in his eyes disappeared. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The favour returned.

Satisfied that it was semi-dry, you appeared by Izuku’s side, browsing through the pages – which miraculously were still readable despite getting wet. Each page, you bugged Izuku to explain what was written, he’d readily go on about what he wrote and more.

Hearing him speak calmed you, but it reminded you of the absolute fear in his face from earlier, your heart clenched – that was not you. So, you swore never to get that angry in front of him again. Also, Bakugou Katsuki was nothing but a dead fuck to you.

And yet, why did you feel like dying at that moment? Why did a part of you die thereafter?

It was the worse day of your life.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

But the worst was yet to come.

One phone call.

One phone call was it took.

One call from your grandfather, urging you to come home.

“L-Listen carefully to what I’m going to say, (Name), okay?”

Never had you heard your grandfather, the feared Shihan of your family, the stoic, cranky old man, in tears, sounding so weak, so afraid.

“I-It’s about your parents…”

Amidst the infamous Sludge Incident, you received word of your parents’ death, they were killed in action by villains.

Was the universe playing with you? Did the impact of the punch you gave Bakugou earlier rebound and knock you out?

Suddenly, the anger from earlier immediately dissipated, replacing it with a feeling as though someone had pierced into your soul, taking everything there is about you.

Numb.

A numbing sense washed over you, unable to take any valid information, make sense of your environment, or even your senses.

Heavy.

Everything felt heavy, your heart, your body – everything.

All you knew was that your heart was in pieces, tears wouldn’t stop pouring for days, and your life would never be the same again.

“(Name), what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Eh? Uh…um…”

“Don’t you want to be a hero like me and mama?”

“Should I be?”

“Well, according to family tradition, yes.”

“But how about according to you guys?”

“Us?”

“Well, actually, we’d be happier with whatever you want. Just so long as it makes you happy.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“…so, even if I want to be a gang leader?”

“Don’t push it, (Name).”

“Heh, kidding! I love you, Ma, Pa!”

“Getting cheekier and cheekier every day.”

"She is your daughter, after all."

For a whole week, you missed school to mourn.

Your mind too caught up in the loss of the two people you cared for the most in the world to even worry about your education.

Everything was a blur, a complete blur to you.

Understandably, everyone understood. Your grandfather. Auntie Inko. Auntie Mitsuki. Uncle Masaru. Especially Izuku, who came over to check on you from time to time. And during the burial, he held your hand. Tight. Warm. An assurance.

(Somewhere, you could have sworn you saw blond – aside from Auntie Mitsuki but paid no mind.)

When your parents died, so did a part of you.

The week after, you came back a hollow of a person you once were. Coming back to school, you were prepared for the onslaught of jeers and hatred, after giving Bakugou a beatdown last time, yet, all you got were condolences from everyone. That didn’t bother you much and just went on with life.

People were better. You suppose that’s what happens when people realize how much loss can affect someone.

Recovering was hard.

Every day hurts.

Every second was a reminder of loss.

Every waking hour felt like a bitter pill.

You just wanted to scream, to wreak havoc, to let it all out.

But how could you?

Since their deaths, you'd have nightmares of the time your parents left for their mission, in which they never came back. It was worst with insomnia wrought by your quirk, in fact, the grief made it worse. You were barely sleeping at all!

Izuku noticed just how tired and depressed you were, was the first to reach out to you. It was what you loved about him - he was selfless and full of compassion. Even as he suddenly went on a strange body regiment – that seemed to tax him physically and mentally, he was always there to keep you afloat. As opposed to Bakugou, who went out to call out on you two.

Still, after punching him in the face and the death of your parents on the same day, he was less menacing towards you, Izuku even.

It didn’t change the fact that the blond was dead to you, deader than your parents.

However, you did notice cans of coffee on your desk during lunchtime, or after a period where you slept in. Sometimes, there’d be an apple before the first period. One time, you could have sworn to hear explosions followed by angered shushing as you dozed off at the clinic.

There was a time, when you two crossed paths, both of you were silent, staring at each other. Carmine eyes stared into your dull (e/c) ones, his filled with worry and concern. But neither of you said a word, you just walked past him, dismissing him entirely.

Eventually, you found yourself applying for a part-time job, trained harder with your grandfather, all these to distract you, at least. And it worked, for a time.

You just weren’t sure about the other void.

masterlist • five

#lame #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou katsuki angst #bnha #bnha fic #bnha angst #bnha angst fic #mha #mha x reader #mha fic #mha angst #mha angst fic

70 notes · View notes

let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

Note

can you write a little something about Harry and reader finding out the gender of their baby after a long time of trying?

Ok, first of all, I’m SOOO sorry for taking so long to write this while I finished up my story. When I got this request, I got super emotional because this happened with me and my husband. So the story I wrote is our actual story. I hope you like it.

Word Count: 2,950

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

And don’t forget to let me know what you think! Enjoy.

CLICK HERE TO READ OTHER COMPLETED STORIES

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

Little Miracle

It had been two years. Two long and frustrating years. When Harry and Y/N first started talking about trying to get pregnant, it was exciting. They had been married for about three years at that point and Harry had finally started to slow down in his career a bit to focus a little more attention on his wife with the prospect of starting a family. But things hadn’t gone to plan. They didn’t expect to get pregnant on the first try. Maybe not even the second. But by month three, they started to get discouraged. Maybe their timing was off. Y/N’s period was irregular, after all, and their ideal of ‘letting it happen when it happens’ was starting to become easier said than done. So, Y/N started taking ovulation tests.

She took a text every single day for a week, and all of the tests came back negative. Not a big deal, there’s only three days of ovulation in a month. She continued to take them. The third week, nothing. Maybe her ovulation days were spread out further apart since her period was so irregular? By week five, Y/N began to worry, but she hadn’t lost hope, yet. She visited her OB/GYN who encouraged her to keep trying, try to stress less, and eat healthier. So she did. She started exercising, changing her diet, taking more vitamins, even starting couples yoga with Harry, doing everything within her power to live a better lifestyle. Nothing worked.

With every negative ovulation and pregnancy test they got, Y/N spirits dwindled. Harry began picking up more work, doing anything he could to distract himself from the ranges of emotions that were running through him. Of course, he wanted to have a baby with Y/N. She was the love of his life and to be able to bring a piece of both of them in this world would be the biggest blessing he could have imagined. But seeing the pain and heartache in Y/N’s eyes each day after another negative test felt like a stab in his chest.

He tried to do little things to take her mind off of it. Spontaneous dates, trips to the spa, exotic getaways, concerts, you name it. But when they got home at the end of the day, passing by the empty room they had always talked about one day making into a nursery, he saw the flicker of hope in her eyes die. It was even harder whenever tabloids speculated her pregnancy or friends and family asked when they would have a baby. They always played it off, simply saying ‘it’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen’, but the rage he felt whenever someone brought it up was something awful. It took everything in him not to lunge at the person joking about it. If only they knew, maybe they wouldn’t be so insensitive.

After a year and a half of trying, they decided to bite the bullet and meet with a fertility specialist to see what was going on. Harry had just finished a tour and they thought now was the perfect time to get serious again. Dozens of tests were done between bloodwork, urine screenings, semen samples, and finally an ultrasound. That’s when they were given the news. Y/N had a pretty severe case of PCOS. It was the cause of her irregular periods and the reason why it had been so difficult for her to conceive naturally.

The doctor had sat them down in a room to discuss what this meant. According to him, the chances of Y/N ever conceiving naturally, without medical intervention, were slim to none. And even though there were several medical and procedural routes they could go, the chances of a baby sticking, though not impossible, did not look to be in their favor. The look on Y/N’s face was enough to kill.

After the doctor laid out all of their options, he gave them some space to digest, and as soon as he left the room, Y/N collapsed into Harry’s arms. They had given up hope. What was the point in trying? Why go through all the pain and discomfort of medications and procedures for the high probability that it’d end in miscarriage? When they got home, they began discussing their options. There was always surrogacy and adoption. But the more they talked about it, the more frustrated Y/N got. She tossed all of her unused ovulation and pregnancy tests in a drawer under her bathroom sink and slammed it shut.

“Maybe we can get a second opinion about your PCOS,” Harry suggested, following her into their bedroom.

Y/N shook her head, shrugging her shoulders, and curling up on her bed, tired from all of the crying, “Maybe the universe is telling us we shouldn’t be parents. Maybe it’s just not time yet.”

Harry pouted, curling up with her, “Love, we’re going to have a baby. It may not have your eyes or my dimples, but we’ll have a family someday.”

Months had passed and Y/N continued to take her ovulation tests out of the habit of taking them every day for nearly two years, and every day they would still come up negative. It was Father’s Day, and after a long day celebrating with Y/N’s dad, the couple came home and got ready for bed. Y/N opened a drawer to her bathroom sink to get some floss and to take her daily ovulation test, setting it on the vanity counter before finishing her business, and as she washed her hands, she noticed the faintest extra line imaginable.

Laughing, she threw it in the trash, almost certain that it was either a false positive or a trick of the light. Still, with over four hundred negative ovulation tests under her belt, it was a bit strange. She didn’t mention anything to Harry, afraid he would think she was crazy. The number of times she had convinced herself she was pregnant because of a ‘feeling’ was starting to become ridiculous. But, what’s the harm in trying? Harry looked especially hot today with his hair extra floppy and the perfect amount of stubble on his chin. All it took was her dropping her dressing gown to get him in the mood.

But when the next day rolled around and her ovulation test was negative, she figured the previous night was just a dud. Typical. She had completely forgotten about it, her mind distracted by the fact that Harry had to leave for a few weeks to work on a new album, meeting with producers and mixers, songwriters, and masters in LA. Y/N stayed in their London home, spending time with his family and meeting up with friends.

The day Harry was supposed to return, she decided to get all dolled up for him. It had been a while since she had gone all out, and she wanted to surprise him. First thing’s first, she needed a shower. She stripped out of her clothes, tossing them in the hamper, and decided to use the bathroom real quick before she got in. The sink drawer was slightly ajar and she saw the outline of the unused pregnancy tests she never got the chance to take. She frowned, pulling it out of the drawer, all of the lost hopes and dreams fluttering away with this one pregnancy test. She should get rid of them. She sat on the toilet in thought for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. What’s one more test, for old time sake?

She held the test under her stream for a few seconds and shook it dry before tossing it to the ground, barely out of sight, knowing that the test would be negative like it always was. Besides, she had no symptoms of being pregnant. She felt fine. So, she finished her business and washed her hands. But just as she was about to get in the shower, she happened to look down and saw it. It was faint. Very faint. But it was there. Two blue lines.

Fully naked and one foot wet, she rushed over and grabbed it off the floor, pulling it to her face and holding it up to the light to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But no matter how she turned it, she couldn’t unsee the two lines.

“Nope. It’s just a false positive,” she told herself before tossing it on the counter and getting in the shower.

But she could barely focus. Her mind kept wandering back to the test. Was it possible? She remembered the ovulation test she had taken on Father’s Day. Maybe she had ovulated. Maybe she was pregnant. No. Not possible. But….maybe?

It was a good thing she drank so much water that morning because when she got out of the shower, she had to pee again. This time, she made sure to get a cup to pee in, wanting to try multiple tests, just in case. She dipped three into the cup and set them on the counter, leaving to get dressed before returning. She took a deep breath, trying not to get her hopes up, before looking down. And her heart began to race. All three, barely visible, had two lines. Were they too faint? Did that mean she wasn’t pregnant?

So, to be sure, she took out the big guns. An electric pregnancy test. She needed to see the words. It wouldn’t be clear until she got a definitive answer. Pregnant or Not Pregnant. So she dipped it in and saw the little hourglass blink, and watched as the bar got closer and closer to completion. It took a moment to register, but when she saw it, an audible gasp escaped her as she clapped her hands over her mouth and stepped back.

Pregnant

“Oh my god!” she cried, tears rolling down her face in streams.

She picked it up, put it down, and picked it back up again to make sure she was reading it right. Pregnant.

Y/N had always imagined telling Harry in a cute, fun way. Putting a bun in the oven, or with a game of Pictionary. Maybe even a little onesie. But all of that went out the window. He was going to be home any minute and there was no way she could keep this to herself long enough to figure out how to tell them. It was something they had been waiting on for two years. She wouldn’t wait another second.

She gathered all of the tests she had taken, capped them so nothing could be exposed to the pee, and took them down to the dining room table, scattering them around and staring at them. Her leg shook, anxious for her husband’s arrival, and she bit her fingernails, still in shock that this was even happening. The beeping of the motion sensor went off, signaling that the front door had been opened and Harry’s voice rang through the house.

“Y/N?! I’m home! Where are you?!”

She tried to shout, but she couldn’t find her voice. The butterflies flapped around in her stomach like crazy and she felt like she could vomit from the nerves. It only took seconds for him to find her, though. He wore sweats and his hair looked almost greasy from his long flight home, a smile had stretched across his face at the sight of her. But it quickly turned into confusion when he neared.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking at the objects scattering the table as he got closer.

He picked one up to examine and upon seeing what it was, his eyes widened, gasping, “What? No way?” he put the test that he had been holding down and quickly grabbed another one, and another, and another, repeating, “Is that a line? Y/N, is that a line?” before finally grabbing hold of the electric test that read ‘Pregnant’. He gripped it tight, finally looking up at his wife, tears rimming his eyes, “You’re pregnant? We’re going to be parents?”

Y/N grinned, her eyes beginning to water, and nodded, “We’re going to be parents.”

Harry lost it, unable to control his emotions anymore. Two years of pent up sadness had blown out of him and he bawled, collapsing into Y/N’s arms and squeezing her tightly, blubbering, “I’m going to be a dad.”

They waited a while before telling anyone, terrified of their fertility doctor’s prediction that their baby would most likely not stick. But after three months of regular appointment and growth checkups, all of which looked great, they felt comfortable enough to tell their immediate family and very close friends, all of whom were beyond thrilled for the couple.

It was easy to hide her pregnancy for a while. She had no symptoms, she hardly showed, and it was at a time where Y/N and Harry hardly left their house anyway, so most people hadn’t suspected anything. They had managed to get halfway through the pregnancy without any leaks, and finally, at their twenty-week checkup, they would be finding out whether they were having a boy or girl.

They were especially nervous because, although they had been tossing names in the air for months now and had a boy’s name picked out almost right away, they hadn’t been able to agree on a girl name quite yet, and Y/N was almost certain they were having a girl, though Harry had been adamant that it was a boy.

“I don’t care, either way. I just want to know what kind of laugh they’ll have,” Harry said as the ultrasound technician moved the wand around his wife’s belly, taking measurements of all of the baby’s extremities and organs. “Like, will it have that cute high-pitched baby laugh? Or will it have one of those laughs that sounds like demonic possession, you know? I just want to be prepared for what I might hear in the middle of the night.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes, “I hope they have a demonic laugh. Imagine how much more fun Halloween would be? And everyone would be too creeped out by their laughing to want to stay too long. Imagine all of the awkward or boring situations we could get out of because of it.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised, “Well, when you put it like that…”

The nurse giggled at their conversation and turned to face them, “Okay, are we ready to find out the gender?”

“Yes,” they grinned, squeezing each other’s hands tighter.

“Alright, let’s see if baby’s cooperating,” sang the technician, sliding the wand down further and pressing it harder into her skin. They saw their baby’s legs moving around wildly as she tried to get a better look in between their legs, digging the wand in harder. And that’s when they saw it. They shared a look with each other, mouths agape, as the nurse smiled, “It’s a boy.”

Y/N laughed, turning to face her husband, expecting him to start gloating. But she saw the reflection of light hit the water that started to collect at his lash line and a single tear rolled down his cheek, his chin quivering and sniffling as he quickly wiped it away.

“We’re having a boy,” he choked, catching his breath and pressing his lips to her forehead, his hand squeezing hers even harder now. The nurse grinned at his display of emotion as Harry whispered into her ear, “Paxton Robin Styles.”

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

Taglist: @odetostep

#Harry Styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #dad harry styles #dad #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry x reader

427 notes · View notes

demisexualemmaswan · 3 years ago

Text

heal over (1/1)

Summary: "Her heart seemed to slam against her chest as if trying to escape. The world tunneled in around her and she could barely draw breath." Cassandra has a panic attack and doubts her ability to recover after all she's been through. Her family certainly has no doubts on the matter and is more than happy to help her through it while she catches up. A/N: Hi! This is my first piece of Critical Role fanfiction! I initially had this idea about Percy and Cassandra talking bout like...Cassandra caring for baby Vesper if anything happened to him and Vex and I started this piece with that in mind, and then Cass had a panic attack and 3000 words later I ended up here and very far away from my original idea. But I will be definitely writing that one if we enjoy this one. Thanks for reading!

[Read on Ao3]

It had become a ritual at night, to seek out her brother and his wife before she laid down in bed. For whatever reason, it had helped Cassandra to check on her family to know that they were still there, and they hadn’t taken off, that they hadn’t died yet again… Tears stinging her eyes as she inexplicably remembered her brother needing to be resurrected, Cassandra sped to the room her brother and sister-in-law. His screams still rung in her ears from being tortured by Ripley, and her breaths quickened.

The door was open, which means that they wouldn’t mind company, which gave her some relief. Her brother had promised to take care of her, promised to help her, and she trusted him implicitly. He understood the darkness, the hurt that came with everything that had happened. He had seen the darkness inside himself, fought it and won.

And it gave her some hope that she was not as irredeemable as she’d feared. After all, she’d nearly betrayed him and still he loved her as fiercely as he loved. Percy had always loved a little recklessly, in the sense that he used that weapon of his. His confidence, his faith in his skills—or in this case the love in his life—always allowed him to be a little reckless.

And he had died several times because of it.

What if he’s gone now? What if he’s left you all alone, to the cruelty of the world again? a cruel voice sounded in her mind, sounded too much like Delilah Briarwood. Clinging to the doorframe, she all but swung into their room, unable to hold back the wild look in her eyes. Vex’ahlia was curled up by the fire, curled up with Trinket. Her hands gently stroked the small swell of her stomach, a small smile gracing her lips. Logically, Cassandra knew that if Vex was smiling so calmly that there was no reason for anything to be wrong. But Percy was nowhere to be found.

And her fear seemed to kick into overdrive. Her heart seemed to slam against her chest as if trying to escape. The world tunneled in around her and she could barely draw breath. “Where’s Percy?” Oh, Pelor help her…why was her voice shaking so badly? Were her hands still shaking? “Vex…where’s Percy?” The world seemed to narrow even further in around her.

Oh gods, was Percy gone? Had she lost another family member?

The bear looked up and made a curious noise, drawing Vex’s attention to Cassandra. “Darling?” she asked worriedly. “Are you all right?” Before Cassandra could draw another breath, Vex was on her feet and approaching her. “Cassandra, darling?” Vex coaxed gently. “Can I hold your hands?”

Vex was tactile. Vex liked to touch. Vex’s touch was friendly.

The touch was something Cassandra was getting used to, but she knew wouldn’t hurt. Not like the Briarwood’s.

Pursing her lips together, Cassandra nodded. Vex immediately threaded their fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Breathe in,” Vex commanded softly on the squeeze. “You’re all right. You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

Cassandra, tears running down her cheeks, breathed in. If her brother wasn’t there to catch her, Vex—her sister—could be counted on to catch her. She gave Vex the tiniest of nods to show that she was there, fighting to come back.

Vex squeezed again, still gentle and warm and encouraging. “Breathe out.” Cassandra breathed out. The tremors in her hands were still so strong but Vex was here. Vex would make it all right. The world was coming more into focus bit by bit.

“Good. You’re doing so well,” Vex praised warmly, giving Cassandra the warmest and gentlest of smiles. “I’m going to keep squeezing. You breathe in on the first squeeze. Breathe out on the second squeeze. Can you do that for me?”

Cassandra nodded, still lost for words for the moment. Her lip still trembled as she couldn’t find Percy, was he safe, oh god did the Briarwoods—

“It’s all right,” Vex murmured, bringing Cassandra back in the moment. “The Briarwoods are gone and can’t hurt you. Vecna is gone and can’t hurt you. You’re safe. I’m safe. Percival is safe.” Her thumbs gently stroked Cassandra’s hands. “Your niece is safe.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened. The prospect of life in the castle, in their lives, took her breath away, but not in a way that was frightening or overwhelming. “Niece?” she choked out, her eyes filling with happy tears this time. “I… are you sure? Does Percy know?” Vex’ahlia laughed, a warm sound settling in Cassandra’s chest in a way that opened it, allowing her to breathe easier. “I don’t know for sure,” she admitted, holding onto Vex’s hands tightly still, as if the world could spiral away if she let go. “It’s just a feeling. But I was sitting here thinking of what I wanted to name her just now when you came in…he’s…” The overwhelming affection that Vex had for Percy practically permeated the room as she smiled down at the floor. “He’s taken to calling her his ‘little darling’. So I think he thinks it’s a girl as well.” She squeezed Cassandra’s hands again. “She’s not even born yet and he absolutely dotes on her. I know that your family didn’t hug so much growing up but…I think he’ll be different. My father was not a particularly decent father…at least not to me.”

“But Percy…he’s so committed to being the best he can be. He’s down in his workshop right now. We were talking about the baby, and he was overcome with inspiration and there was something he had to make for her right then and there.” Vex chuckled at Percy’s predictable behavior, her eyes gleamed with the joy that his excitement and eagerness had given her.

Cassandra was suddenly overcome with the memory of their father, though he was not particularly affectionate, sitting by the fire reading to small children at his feet. An advisor tried to get his attention, but Frederick waved them off.

“It can wait until the children are asleep,” Frederick had insisted.

“Cassandra?” Vex’s voice brought her back to the present yet again. A hand gentle cupped her cheek to brush away a few stray tears that had fallen.

“A girl,” Cassandra whispered breathlessly, meeting Vex’s gaze. “That’s so wonderful, Vex’ahlia.”

It was so wonderful, truly. For the first time, life was returning to Whitestone Castle. There would be laughter, giggling down the hall, sweets and games…

And by god, child, you are so full of anger. And darkness. You’ve hurt Percy. You’ve hurt her. Who’s to say that you won’t hurt the child? You don’t deserve this ending. A voice that sounded like Sylas’s this time rang through her head, and she shifted nervously from foot to foot, tearing her gaze away from Vex’s.

The Briarwoods were dead, but certainly the memory of them could not be easily buried. She felt like her darkness could corrupt them, the way the Briarwoods had corrupted her. She was so terrified, all the time, of her anger and frustration and how it could ruin the happiness her brother had worked so hard to build for himself.

“I…it’s fine, really,” Cassandra said, even though they both knew she was lying. “I just…don’t feel like I’m worthy of being this happy. That’s all.”

Vex’s eyes flooded with understanding. “Cassandra?” she asked gently. “I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder. And I’m going to walk down with you to Percy’s workshop. Trinket and I won’t let anything hurt you, will we, Trinket?” Trinket let out a grunt of affirmation and gently nuzzled Cassandra’s side.

Cassandra drew into herself, her shoulders coming up in a feeble effort to protect herself. “I don’t think I’ll ever deserve it.”

“I know.” Vex’s voice broke a little bit and her eyes flashed with understanding. “I know and Percival knows.” She squeezed Cassandra’s shoulder. “And we’re here to help you. We both love you…so much more than we can say.” She pulled Cassandra in for the lightest and gentlest of hugs before asking, “Would you like me to bring you to Percy now?” Cassandra could barely speak around the lump in her throat, but she nodded against Vex’s shoulder with her lips pursed together, as if that could keep all of her feelings inside.

Vex pulled back and gently took her hand and began to walk down to Percy’s workshop. The path was familiar to both women, as it was arguably Percy’s favorite place in the entire castle. Even Trinket seemed to have an innate sense of where they were going, expertly maneuvering around the narrower spots in the hallway.

With as much confidence as Cassandra only supposed her sister-in-law could muster, Vex stood in front of the locked door and knocked. “Percival,” she said softly.

She knew her brother dearly loved his wife, but she had not had the benefit of seeing how attuned they were to each other until he flung the door wide open, his eyes wide with his own panic. His eyes desperately searched Vex, looking for some injury that he could fix. “Is everything all right? You…the baby…?” Vex stepped in closer to her husband and gently wrapped herself around him. She watched as her brother took a deep breath before nuzzling the top of his wife’s head, pulling her tightly against him. It took another nuzzle from Vex for Percy’s shoulders to slump all the way down, and he let her go with a tender look. He gently cupped her face in one hand and she kissed his palm before pressing their foreheads together.

He smiled brightly knowing she was all right and he quickly kissed the tip of her nose, chuckling softly when she giggled.

The effortless way that they communicated and how they were attuned to one another made an ugly feeling creep up inside Cassandra, which almost immediately made her feel guilty.

It’s not fair that she had the bond of a sibling with her own brother, and now your brother, is it? It was like they were there, goading her, feeding her head with lies just like when they paraded her around and insisted, she could be their daughter. But Cassandra knew it was her own thoughts.

It was an awful thing to think, given that Vax had just died. It was an awful thing to think knowing that Vex still had nightmares, still had days where she wept for her brother. It was an awful thing to think, knowing that all Percy wanted was for the loves of his life—Vex, her, and now the baby—to be safe.

Uselessly curling her hands into fists, she tried to stop herself from feeling all together, but a tiny sniffle escaped her. Both Vex and Percy’s heads snapped toward her, and Percy immediately left his wife’s side to stand before his sister. “Cass.”

The gentle lilt of her brother’s voice was encouraging, and she wanted to give into it and let herself be comforted. But also, surely, he would hate her for the ugly thing she had just thought, wouldn’t he? He opened his arms to her. “Cass. It’s all right,” he told her. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, whatever it is you’re feeling…it’s okay. You can tell me if you’d like, if it would help. Or you don’t have to talk either if it would help. But I’m here. Vex is here. Even Trinket is here if that would help.” She was tempted step forward and let her brother comfort her yet again, but the feeling of unworthiness took hold, and so she resorted to anger, trying to push her brother away even though it was the last thing she wanted.

“You’re here until you leave again,” is what she ended up muttering, her shoulders drawn high again, her fists clenched tightly. She grit her teeth, not wanting to start crying again, but feeling like she didn’t really want to be angry at Percy but not knowing what to do with herself and everything she was feeling. “I’ll just be here in this huge castle by myself with the memory of them and I always feel so alone and defenseless…”

Instead of getting angry at her, which is what she had been kind of been hoping for, Percy looked immediately chagrined. This only amplified the feelings of guilt bubbling up inside her as she looked at her brother.

She was worried about him leaving and hated when he was gone because she never knew if he’d return or not. Most of the time she never resented him for this wanderlust because no matter what he always returned to Whitestone and considered Whitestone—and her—his home.

But she did miss him fiercely when it was gone. It was lonely here.

It was harder to fight the memory of them when he wasn’t here.

“I’m not going to promise I’ll never leave again,” Percy murmured, his arms still open to her. “But I am not going to leave you without tools to fight the memory of them. You are not defenseless. And you are certainly not alone. I love you very much, Cassandra. And even if I’m not here, I am always fighting for you. Fighting with you. And fighting to make sure that Vex and I will both make it back to you.”

A memory of watching her brother stumble through snow and away from her flashed through her mind, and she brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the cry that instinctually escaped her lips.

“Percy…there was so much blood…” “I know.” Percy closed the gap between them immediately, clutching her tightly to his chest and giving the strongest hug that he possibly could. Her whole body relaxed under the deep pressure, and she clung to him tightly, squeezing her eyes shut against the memory. Her breathing was jagged as tried to calm herself down, though the steady thump of Percy’s heart against her ear gave her something to work for.

His hand seemed to soothingly stroke her back as he tucked her protectively against him. “They’re ugly thoughts,” Cassandra finally admitted to her brother. “Sometimes they’re about the what if…sometimes they’re about me and all the things I don’t like…and sometimes, well…you just saw what sometimes they’re like.” “Well, you are a de Rolo and we are very much alike,” Percy teased her softly, but his voice was heavy. Burying his face against her hair, he admitted, “I know the feelings…all of those feelings quite intimately, Cass. And I would be lying if I said that I don’t experience them too. Because I do. And every time I have one of those thoughts, I make the choice to fight it. My fight isn’t over either.” “But what if I fail?” Cassandra asked quietly. Though this was one of her fears, this time her voice was steady as she shared her burden with her family. “What if I can’t fight the thoughts and the memories? What if I disappoint you both?” “You’ll never disappoint us,” Vex promised, wrapping her arms around both of the de Rolo siblings. “And if you fail to fight the thoughts, come find us. Just like you did today. And we’ll help build up your strength until you’re ready to fight them yourself. And we’re more than happy to fight those worser instincts with you. Goodness knows that we’ve all had our fair share.” Trinket, not wanting to be left out, gently nuzzled Cassandra’s hip. His cold, wet nose brushed along her stomach through her nightgown and Cassandra couldn’t help but let out the smallest of laughs. Laughing felt like such a brave choice, and she let herself hold onto the feeling for just a moment longer. But then her confidence wavered, and she whispered, “What if I’m not as strong as you?” “Nonsense,” Percy refuted immediately, as was his way. “You are…so much stronger than I ever could be, Cassandra. And for us much as you want to make me proud, I can only hope that I will someday be a brother who is worthy of having a sister like you.”

“I’m already worthy of her,” Vex teased, but her voice was a little choked too. Cassandra let herself both laugh and smile this time as she stayed wedged in between the two of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Vex smile proudly at her.

“Besides,” Percy replied. “Our daughter…she’s going to need her aunt. When she’s too frustrated with us, you’re the one she’s going to turn to for advice. You’re going to be the one she looks up to. I consider myself so blessed as a father that she’ll have you and her mother to help her become an incredible person. And I want her to turn to you when she needs you.” He kissed the top of her head before adding, “But she is going to need her Aunt Cassandra here.”

“I’ll do my best,” Cassandra promised softly. “Good,” Vex murmured. “That’s all we can ever ask for. I mean, we brought your brother back after he made a deal with a smoke demon, so by all accounts you’re doing much better in the whole ‘dealing with your feelings about the past’ thing.” The tips of Percy’s ears turned red and he huffed impatiently, “Scanlan still hasn’t paid for a new gun, by the way.”

“Darling, you’re the Lord of Whitestone, I’m fairly sure you can just fund your own research…”

The playful bickering between her brother and his wife settled over her, in the way that a warm blanket or a nice cup of tea would. Letting her eyes flutter close, she didn’t see Percy in the snow or the Briarwoods lurking around the corner. In fact, she didn’t see anything, just let herself smile as she kept herself in the present, listening to her two favorite people in the whole world indulge in their home with their arms still wrapped protectively around her.

#blaire's writing #critical role fanfiction #cassandra de rolo #percy de rolo #vex'ahlia

19 notes · View notes

a-warriors-journey · 4 years ago

Text

sorry for submitting a post instead of an ask but i thought it might be easier to read since the asks would’ve broken everything all up and it’s kind of a lot! feel free to ask questions too, i… reaaaaally love talking about my characters haha

i think one of my favorite warrior cat ocs would have to be my gal, toyontuft! she was originally just supposed to be a background character for another one of my ocs, trillium, but quickly grew into a full-fledged character with one of the strongest developmental arcs within her story!

she was the product of what was supposed to be a one-night-stand between wildclan warriors, cottoncall and poppyjaw. they’d been friends as kits but had grown distant during training. they started talking again at the behest of their parents; poppyjaw’s wanting her to get out more and cottoncall’s being sympathetic to the cause.

poppyjaw hadn’t wanted to keep the litter and only went through with the pregnancy because cottoncall had essentially begged her to. while at first he’d been excited at the prospect of kits, being around poppyjaw quickly began taking a toll on him, and by the time she’d finally given birth to toyonkit he’d already began distancing himself.

cottoncall’s negligence continued until eventually he stopped showing up at the nursery at all. any attempt made by poppyjaw to discuss his absence was brushed off and, in turn, the queen was left worn-down and ornery which she took out on her daughter.

things came to a head when, some time during the end of toyontuft’s kithood, cottoncall showed up to camp with a pretty little kittypet in tow– heavily pregnant and sickeningly sweet, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened. poppyjaw’d had been livid, calling the tom out on his deadbeat nature, and nearly took his new mate’s eye out when she went to defend him. this was the beginning of the end of toyontuft’s relationship with her mother.

after receiving toyontuft had received her apprentice name, poppyjaw had began withdrawing from her daughter. the apprentice tried multiple times to reach out to the queen, still needing her mother, but eventually gave up when it resulted in her getting swiped at one too many times. she looked to her father’s side of the family for support.

the kittypet cottoncall had brought home, mollie, had taken on the name hollypaw then hollynose and had birthed a single kit similar to poppyjaw. when toyonpaw had approached them, cottoncall had initially been hesitant about her presence in his life but reluctantly accepted it at hollynose’s insistence. he still went to great lengths to avoid beng alone with her and the apprentice quickly recognized that, while allowed close, neither of the cats truly regarded her as part of the family.

her half-brother, marshkit, had been a sickly child; his head always tilted, his steps lacking finesse, and his body often seizing. he was suffering greatly and the medicine cat, even with the assistance of the other clans, couldn’t seem to get the kit to pull through. still, blinded by their love for their kit, they wouldn’t let him go. toyonpaw eventually took matters into her own paws and to this day she wonders if it was he right thing or if, perhaps, she’d been fueled by her own jealousy.

time passed, toyonpaw giving the couple space to grieve, and the apprentice quickly found herself isolated without the social crutch of her so-called ‘family’. her upbringing had left her bitter, blunt, and a bit of a downer but things changed when she officially met her first mate, mosquitobite.

mosquitobite, mosquitopaw at the time, was tom just as jaded as she. having been blamed for his mother’s passing by his father and named accordingly. they festered together, forming an unhealthy codependency, that would eventually grow into full-blown abusive relationship by the end of their apprenticeship.

while toyontuft was one to give as good as she got at this point, her desire to be wanted by someone often clouded her judgement and kept her from leaving, and they’d often fight on the outskirts of wildclan territory where unbeknownst to them they were being watched (this will become important later).

still, the two had their moments. they understood one another better than anyone else and there was genuine love there, buried beneath the misery, which is how toyontuft ended up expecting kits.

while both of them had been unsure about the pregnancy, they also believed (at first, anyways) that it might save their relationship. the world will never know, though, because mosquitobite ended up dying before the kits even arrived.

she gave birth, alone, to a litter of three with no other queens in the nursery at the time; one passed shortly after and the other two faded a week or so later. her post-partum and grief made it hard for her to care and when she realized she even felt a little relieved she quickly grew angry with herself.

this was around the time that trillium came into the picture. palefang, trillium’s bio-mother and toyontuft’s fraternal cousin, had moved into the nursery sometime before the passing of toyontuft’s other two kits but after the births themselves. palefang was a restless young queen, who seemed excited but also unsure about having a litter, toyontuft kept their conversations brief like she did with most of cottoncall’s family.

when palefang gave birth to trillium, a kit with only three legs (not that that ever ended up holding back trillium in any way, shape, or form), she called her too much responsibility for a young inexperienced queen such as herself and seemed to struggle when it came to taking care of the kit.

eventually, she conned toyontuft into taking trillium on as a surrogate so that palefang could return to her duties. using their family’s approval and, unknowingly, toyontuft’s guilt over her own kits’ deaths to get the queen to wetnurse the child. this, obviously, wasn’t the greatest foundation to build a relationship on in regards to toyontuft and trillium.

toyontuft did the bare minimum when it came to mothering the young kit and made it abundantly clear to trillium that she was not her child. while, to most, it would seem as if the she-cat resented the kit because she ended up saddled with her it was more so a result of the queen’s insecurities when it came to parenting; she’d let her first litter die, after all, and with mosquitobite gone she’d been essentially abandoned by all her remaining family. she just didn’t feel fit to take care of a kitten beyond going through the motions.

trillium was a difficult kit; adventurous by nature and rather reckless to boot, she’d often sneak her way out of the nursery while toyontuft slept in order to observe nature. this casted a poor light on the queen in the clan’s eyes but, at this point, she couldn’t care less what wildclan thought of her. especially given the fact she had to slip past most of the other warriors, too.

enter dan, a loveable loner with a heart of gold, whom trillium came across during one of her many outings. the loner, aware of the clans, had looked after the kit until two wildclan warriors had come to retrieve her. it was too late though, trillium was already attached and every time she got a chance she’d run off to see him.

wildclan quickly grew fed up with this and, in an attempt to keep the child in camp, allowed dan visitation which is when toyontuft and him met… officially. you see, the spot where toyontuft and mosquitobite would often have their disputes was in spitting distance of dan’s territory. he was privy to some of their worst fights, purely due to proximity, and while toyontuft didn’t know him; he certainly knew her.

the tom felt for the queen and could see she was suffering so while he didn’t agree with her treatment of trillium, who at this point he saw as his adoptive daughter, he wanted to help her. thus began the long, tumultuous journey, of toyontuft’s recovery.

at first the queen was frustrated by the tom’s behavior, uneased by his continued support especially given his fondness for trillium who she knew at this point had to hate her (she didn’t, she was saddened by toyontuft’s treatment but still loved her like a mother), and would often lash out in an attempt to ward him off.

this didn’t work, of course, and she ended up losing steam after the third or fourth time. she was still skeptical but if he wants to stick around that bad that's his problem, right? moons passed and soon she’d grown accustomed to dan’s presence which was… scary but also nice. they were tentatively friends and with his assistance he began taking better care of trillium and leaving the nursery more.

toyontuft began opening up, bit by bit, and while it was like pulling teeth when she did… it was good to get it off her chest. she’d been afraid, the first time, that he’d turn his back on her– or worse coddle her –but their relationship remained the same and with time it got easier.

weeks for trillium’s apprenticeship began STORY THINGS HAPPEN involving an outside group of wandering rogues who end up manipulating the young she-cat into joining them cause they ‘need her’ for some made-up prophecy.

this is a huge blow to toyontuft’s psyche, for obvious reasons, but she teams up with dan and a friend of trillium’s named brackenpaw (who they didn’t really want to come with but he seemed set on taking off after her… so they thought it best if they just let him joining them so there wasn’t TWO adolescent cats off on their own) to retrieve her.

it takes months to find trillium who, luckily, isn’t… too much worse for wear…? there’s definite trauma due to being basically kitnapped but a lot of the cats in the group were on trillium’s side when what happened came out and had left with her when she stated she was going back to the clans.

during that time, toyontuft starts working out her emotional hang-ups when it comes to her relationship with trillium because she does see trillium as her own she just… didn’t want to get hurt again. once again, dan (and even brackenpaw, in some ways) offers unwavering support throughout their journey.

when the three reunite with trillium, the she-cat embraces her friend then her father but hesitates when it comes to toyontuft. but, as soon as her body language opens up, trillium practically tackles her into a loving cuddle.

toyontuft is shocked at trillium’s receptiveness but chocks it up to dan’s influence on her; she knows she’s probably not forgiven fully for her behavior but she does have a chance to make it up to trillium which is all toyontuft could ask.

oooOOOOOO I LOVE THAT DEVELOPMENT !!

I’ve always really loved stories that portray healing as something a character has to work at over a period of time, and characters learning to repair the things they’ve done wrong– especially to others– so Trillium and Toyontuft’s reunion at the end there made me super happy!

and her design is so pretty!!! the little muzzle markings are my favorite

also i love the name toyontuft, I’ve never heard that prefix used before so that’s rad as hell!

#oc share #submission

13 notes · View notes

n1ght5h4d3-24 · 3 years ago

Text

Timeless (XIV)

A/N: Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

(Previously On...)

Agent Coulson had assured the girl that being in a different time would get easier as time passed, and Olivia believed him. For the past month and a half, she had been living at SHIELD's DC headquarters, the Triskelion. Coulson had told her it was to ease her into society which she greatly appreciated, as she still struggled a little with the new time she found herself in. She kept to herself mostly as she went along with the motions of training SHIELD put her through as well as the tests they wanted to run. Agent Coulson had become a friend to the young girl over time as he was there for her everyday. He tried to get her to open up more, which she did but, felt heartbroken every time he mentioned his love for her dear brother and his vintage trading cards. In those moments, she excuses herself to gather herself together without prying eyes watching her.

The young girl still struggled with processing the new time period she was in, as to her...she had only lost Bucky and fought alongside her brother only a handful of weeks ago. But to everyone else around her, it all happened decades ago. Fortunately for her, Director Fury took careful approaches to sharing information about the people she used to know. He began with telling her what SHIELD was and who founded it. Then, he informed her that Agent Carter was still alive. She immediately pleaded to see her friend, convincing the Director that seeing Peggy would help her. Director Fury gave into her pleads and had Agent Carter brought in a couple of days later. Agent Carter was much older than Agent Rogers, now at 86 years old but, still going strong. The two women embraced one another and cried, holding onto the other tightly. Peggy informed the young girl about her brother's last moments, and his promise to dance with her.

"Howard search for you both, nonstop. He found the cube but, could never find any trace of you or Steve." Peggy tells the girl, taking her hands into her own.

Olivia took in the information she was given, a small smile appearing on her face as she thought of the man.

"How is he?" she wonders.

She watches Peggy's expression change to one of sadness as she looks down at their hands.

"Peggy? What's the matter? What's wrong?" she asks.

"Howard...he uh...he and his wife, Maria...they uh...they died in a car accident in 1991." Peggy informs her.

"What?" Olivia asked, taken aback by the news.

"Official report says that it was an accident. But..." Peggy trails off.

"But since Howard helped found SHIELD, you don't think it's an accident." Olivia finishes for her.

"Wow...I can't believe it. Howard....he..." she was still in shock.

"He never stopped looking for you, or your brother. Said he owed it to you as your honorary big brother." Peggy tells her.

"He didn't owe me any thing." the young girl states.

She thinks for a moment, "Did he have any children?" she wonders.

"He did. Just one. A boy, named Anthony who actually goes by Tony. He is way too much like his father though." Peggy tells her.

The two continued to catch up before Peggy had to leave. In the following weeks, Olivia was plagued by nightmares of when she fell out of the plane and the blue cube. Coulson was the one who frequently comforted the young girl as he was the one staying in room beside hers and would be waken up by her screaming. He felt his heart break every time he heard her broken voice call out for the ones she lost in the middle of the night.

Olivia stopped sleeping, not wanting to deal with the nightmares anymore. Another month and a half passed when Fury decided to bring in his top two agents. He introduced them as Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff to the young girl, and explained to her that they were there to train her. Olivia welcomed the new regiment of training, throwing herself into it. Just like her training for the SSR, the young girl managed to pass all her tests, coming up in yet again the top percentile. When she wasn't training, she chose to use her free time to study up on everything that had happened between the forties and now as well as the new technology that had been developed over the years. Learning how to work the new technology was a struggle for the girl at first but, she persevered. Everyone was surprised by the progress she was making, how quick she was to pick up everything in just a few short months.

The government wanted to make a huge display over the founding of Olivia but, Fury and the rest of SHIELD convinced them to not say a word to the press. Director Fury saw the young girl as an asset for SHIELD and knew deep down that she wouldn't want to deal with all the attention that would be turn onto her if the world knew she was alive when, she herself had no idea how she survived. As her training progressed and she went on field missions, she grew close with the SHIELD agents that were entrusted to watch over her as they were really the only ones around. She found comfort in their presence, as she had woken up alone but now she had allies.

About a few months after Olivia had refused to sleep and a year after she had woken up from the ice, Director Fury placed a file on the girl's desk. She looks up from the paper work she had been going over, looking at the manila folder in confusion.

"What's this?" she asks.

"Your very first solo mission." Fury tells her.

She looks at him in surprise, before picking up the manila folder. She hesitated over opening it.

"Sir...I'm not sure if...I mean, I'm still adapting." she says.

"You're ready, Agent Rogers. Trust me. You've passed every test with flying colors and you're even better than Romanoff. You've successfully completed every field mission you've been sent on and have exceeded every prospect in the book. To be blunt, you are over qualified for this mission but, I believe this mission will help you in the long run." Director Fury informs her.

Olivia looks at the file in her hands before opening it, going through the pages.

"I don't understand, what is the mission?" she asked in confusion, eyes scanning the words on the papers.

"Personal security of the CEO of Stark Industries, Tony Stark." he says.

Her Cerulean eyes darted up to his one brown eye, shocked by the revelation.

"Wha- Howard's son? I thought he had gone missing?"

"The US military found him about roughly four hours ago. He's on his way home and you've already been hired. Surprisingly, his personal assistant and the board of his company, seemed very desperate to get him a personal security guard." he shares with her.

"Am I going undercover?" she inquires.

"Yes," he agrees.

"Is that such a good idea? Do we even know whether or not Howard spoke of me? Or had a picture of me displayed somewhere?" the young girl wonders.

"As far as we've gathered, he didn't." was Fury's answer.

"Oh," the information caused Olivia some heart ache, to know that the man who looked after her had never spoken about her. But, then again...it made sense to her, maybe he didn't want to remember how he had failed to find her.

"Umm...what name will I be using?" she asks.

"Olivia Coulson." he states. "We wanted to go with Olivia Barnes but, Agent Coulson told me it would cause you too much grief to be using his last name."

"Oh. I believe Coulson had a point. I would want to keep myself together and not fail the mission." she says.

"Understood. Your alias and background are already public knowledge, you should review the information on the way over there." Fury tells her. "There is one thing before you go."

The dirty blonde haired girl titled her head to the side in confusion.

"What is it?" she wonders.

"Your hair color." he points out.

Olivia grabbed some of her hair, to examine it, taking in its dirty blonde color. "Am I going to have to dye it?"

"No, nothing permanent. You'll just have to wear a wig. Agent Romanoff will show you how to wear it." Fury tells her.

"Okay, and when do I leave?" she asks.

"In an hour. Pack a bag, talk to Agent Romanoff and then you and Agent Coulson will be flying out to Los Angeles. Coulson will be your point guy on this. Any questions pertaining to the mission?" Fury asked her.

"I would like to know why you assigned me this case. Out of the entire case load, why this one?" she wonders.

Fury sighs, "I knew Howard, personally." he shares.

"Wait, what? You did? Why didn't you ever-"

"I never chose to share this information with you because I didn't think you needed to know. And you don't need to know everything that I know, just yet." he tells her.

"What?! You can't just-"

"I can do whatever I want, Agent. You work for me now. So quit wasting time and go." Fury cut her off once more.

Olivia clenched her jaw but gave him a curt nod and left the Director's office. As she walks down the hall, she looks down at the file in her hands, taking in the pictures of Tony. He was definitely Howard's son. She felt her heart clench the longer she looked at the photo, sniffling softly. Moments like this one made her miss the forties and what she had missed out on. Natasha was already in Olivia's room when she walked in.

"Are you excited?" the red head wonders. "First solo mission and all."

"I am, yes. I just...well I wish it was a different mission. I mean...Howard's son? It's just going to be too bizarre." the young girl tells her compatriot.

"From what I've gathered, he's even more of a playboy than his father." Natasha shares with her.

"Nat, that's not helping! Besides, don't I look a little too young to be a body guard?" Olivia questions.

"Yes but, that's a good thing. You look unsuspecting. Fury is fully convinced that you're ready for this opportunity. I figured you be more than excited for your first solo mission." Natasha says.

"I am... I am, just feeling nervous is all." Olivia tells her.

Natasha stopped packing the girl's bag and walked up to her. She placed her hands on the girl's shoulders as she looked at her.

"Listen to me, you've got this. If Fury didn't believe you were ready, then he wouldn't have given you this mission." she assures her.

"Right, of course. You have a point." Olivia agrees.

"Yes I do. Now, help me finish packing your bag so I can show you how to wear this wig." Natasha says.

Both women go about finishing pack up Agent Rogers' bag before Natasha shows Olivia how to wear the wig she would be donning for her undercover mission. After her display, the red head helped the young girl put the wig on before securing it to her head with an assortment of bobby pins. Once the wig was in place, Natasha sent Olivia on her way with her packed bag. She met with Agent Coulson by the plane before boarding after him and the plane took off, heading for Los Angeles.

(Next Time On...)

Timeless Taglist:

@mjaudrey

#Timeless #Marvel Imagine #Marvel Fanfiction #Marvel Imagines #Captain America The First Avenger #Steven Grant Rogers #Steve Rogers imagines #Captain America imagines #Steve Rogers imagine #Captain America imagine #platonic!Steve rogers x oc #Olivia Rogers #Captain America #Miss Justice #SHIELD #Director Nick Fury #Agent Phil Coulson #Natasha Romanoff #Clint Barton

6 notes · View notes

tres-spades-hotel · 4 years ago

Text

The Adventures of Avaline

Chapter 2 – Responsibilities

When I return to the throne room, I see two little children.

‘Hello!’ The boy who shows me a bright smile is Altair, the child messenger of the Department of Punishments.

‘Are the new goddess?’ The girl with pink hair I instantly recognise as Vega, the child messenger of the Department of Wishes. I smile at their adorableness.

‘Yes, I am. My name is Avaline. I’m the Goddess of Destiny.’ I bow in a graceful manner and their eyes shine.

‘Wow! It’s really nice to meet you!’ Vega says. I squat down to their height to speak with them easier.

‘It’s nice to meet the both of you too! What are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘His Highness asked us to show you to your room. Please follow us!’

‘Haha, okay thank you!’ They both grab my hands and I follow the children out of the throne room.

They’re such little bundles of joy! Plus their excitement is contagious. I’m actually excited to be here and start working. Since I was human, I’d like to think that I’m more mindful of how humans work. Hopefully, this will work to my advantage. Although, I’ve never heard of the Department of Souls before. It must be an important Department though if it’s dealing with souls.

The stories say that human souls enter into a rebirth cycle so human souls are reborn after a certain amount of time. It’s how the MC was reborn from Clotho. I wonder what kind of department it is and what kinds of gods and goddess I’ll encounter.

This is my life now I’ll just have to own it.

We arrive at a pair of doors with golden handles.

‘Here we are! This is your room. Now we actually have to go, we have a ton of work to do.’ Vega says in a dejected voice. I go down to their level.

‘That’s okay you two. Just promise me that we’ll see each other again to play, okay?’ Their eyes sparkle at my warm words.

‘Yes!’ They both shout out and hug me tightly before running off in opposite directions. So cute!

I stare at the doors for a moment, wondering what is inside. But I take a deep breath and push the doors open.

Inside is a large room. The chamber has two levels but it seems to be angled so that the bottom floor is larger than the top level. The floor itself is a mahogany colour. As I step inside, the doors behind me close automatically. When I look back I see two wall-bookcases either side of the doors. I wonder if the King knows how much I love books. I am, or was, an Aquarius.

Turning around, I walk further into my room. On my left is a large couch with two single chairs either side and a large coffee table. In the middle of the room is the reflecting pool that I will now have to use. I wonder if I can use the reflecting pool for work too. I look into the pool and see a group of people in a village. They’re grooming some horses. I smile at the scene when suddenly a pair of children run around the horses, seeming to be having fun. The scene disappears and a new one shows up of a couple working in a farm. It seems that their adult children are helping them tend to the plants. Everyone is in very old-fashioned clothing and I don’t see any tractors or farming equipment which reconfirms that this Earth is very far back in the past.

I stand up and look around some more. Either side of the reflecting pool are two sets of short, curved staircases. Under the stairs are more bookshelves which makes me squeal in delight. Can you tell how much I love books? I go up the left staircase and see a large bed below a big window. On my left is a cupboard with a desk placed perfectly in the middle. I’ll definitely be spending a lot of time here. There are bedside tables and a long wardrobe on the right which is where I catch a glimpse of my reflection.

I nearly jump back when I see myself. I walk over slowly to my reflection who looks as confused as I feel. All of the changes I felt on my body, I see in front of me. But what shocks me the most, is the face that I see. I feel my fingers slowly stroke the skin on my face. It’s the same face I had as a human. It sems as if my features have changed slightly though but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I spin in front of the mirror and feel myself smiling. I’m really alive. A goddess, but alive. I won’t age, I won’t die – probably – I’ll always be me. I just hope I don’t lose who I am inside. The human I am is still here and she is always here to stay.

That’s when I notice my eyes. On closer inspection, the stars shine bright almost in the shape of sun, with a circle and triangular shapes jutting out of it. But what bewilders me is the fact that the stars are moving. They move as if in water and occasional fit into the same sun shape. Are they meant to do that? Actually, didn’t Leon look confused when he saw my eyes? Where they moving at the time?

Turning away from the mirror, I flop backwards onto the bed. The ceiling has two golden chandeliers similar to those in the hallways. Thinking about being a goddess means that I have powers. Which means I can snap my fingers and make anything appear?

Sitting up at the prospect, I close my eyes and lift my right hand in the air. I think of the object that I want and SNAP. I feel a small object plop onto my lap and open my eyes. A little lion teddy has appeared and I smile uncontrollably.

‘Oh my god, it actually worked!’ I lift up the lion like a baby and marvel at its softness and cuteness. The lion is just like teddies I used to have when I was a kid.

‘Lion, I name thee…. Leo!’ It’s not very imaginative but I’ll take it. I hug the lion, squeezing it tight. Flopping back down I decide to sleep for a little while with Leo at my side.

The next day, I open my doors to a little girl who is not Vega. She has lavender hair and a little flower crown that is lopsided.

‘Oh, hello there.’ I say, crouching down to meet her height.

‘Hello Lady Avaline! My name is Lilac and I am the messenger of the Department of Souls. Lady Evelyn has told me to bring you to the office. Are you ready to go?’ She seems to be much younger than Vega and Altair but I smile at her politeness. My hands correct the crown on her head only to realise that it doesn’t fit very well. I frown.

‘This crown is a bit too big for you Lilac.’

‘Yes, I’m still really small but I’ll grow into it eventually! I joined the Department of Souls recently so I still have a few years to grow.’ She explains. I pat her head and hold out my hand.

‘Well then, shall we go?’ She looks at my hand uncertainly but she puts her little hand into mine.

‘Everyone is very busy at the moment preparing for Lord Leon’s ordination ceremony today.’ Lilac tells me as a group of gods pass by with paperwork.

‘Sounds intense. I hope everything goes well.’ I respond.

‘It will! He’s going to become the Chief Minister of the Department of Wishes.’

‘Really? The Wishes are probably going to have their hands full in the future.’ I say with a smile. Lilac looks up at me.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Haha, don’t worry about it. Let’s get going, hm?’ Lilac points out where the other departments are and the different rooms as well.

‘So here is the ballroom where lots of big parties are held. All the goddess’ look so pretty in their gowns. Sometimes the King likes to have competitions too.’ I scrunch up my face.

‘What do you mean competitions?’

‘Sometimes everyone has to vote for the best couple, best dressed, best ballroom dancer and so on. He likes to hold competitions in general though.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Over there is the Punishments. At the Department of Souls, we work closely with them because when a lot of humans die at the same time it causes a backlog of paperwork for us. So we work with the Punishments in order to prevent as much death as possible.’

‘Is that what the department does? Dealing with human souls?’ I ask, bewildered.

‘Yes. At the same time, we work with the Wishes because we also control which souls are reborn on Earth and these souls have to be good, not evil or had done bad things. But that job is mostly for higher up gods like Lady Evelyn and Lady Ria.’ She says.

‘Lady Ria?’

‘Oh, you’ll meet her right now! Here we are!’ We finally made it to the Souls office which seems to be in a small corner of the Palace. The doors are large like the others but it has a more silver tint in the light. There is a pair of statues holding long rods on either side of the doors.

‘What are these? They look so strong.’ I say attempting to touch one when the eyes immediately open.

‘Ah!’ I say startled and jump back.

‘Thank you milady for the compliment. We are guards of the Department of Souls, created by the Chief Minister Evelyn.’ I look down at Lilac who nods in confirmation.

‘Lady Evelyn will explain everything! Hurry, let’s go!’ The guards open the door and Lilac eagerly pulls me inside.

The office is large, similar to the throne room, with elongated stain-glass windows at the back. The room is bustling with activity when we enter. There are desks which are curved in rows all the way to the back. As we walk in, gods and goddess’ look at me curiously, some even giving a polite smile and nod. When I look down to say something to Lilac, I see a large flower pattern on the floor. It’s an English rose but instead of pink, it is golden.

‘Oh wow! It’s beautiful.’ I exclaim and Lilac jumps up and down on one of the petals.

‘Isn’t it? I love to jump from one petal to the other when I’m not working!’ She giggles excitedly and I laugh along with her. But when I step on a petal as well, it lights up. I step back shocked.

‘Why did it do that?’ I ask Lilac.

‘That is because the Soul System is responding to your power.’ A different voice echoes, silencing everyone. I look up to the voice standing behind a large desk on an elevated platform. Behind is a map of Earth but not as I know it.

‘You must be Avaline, the Goddess of Destiny. His Highness has told me of you. Welcome to the Department of Souls.’ An almost elderly looking woman stands up. She wears a white dress and a shawl wrapped around her. Despite her age, I guess, she has perfect features but also has a hint of proudness and maturity to her. She steps down from the platform and holds her arms out in greeting.

‘Oh, thank you, you must be Lady Evelyn?’ I ask nervously. She has a powerful aura around her, like Leon and Zyglavis. She definitely is the Chief Minister.

Evelyn smiles warmly at me.

‘Yes, it is I. We’re very lucky to have such a powerful goddess here in Souls.’

‘Powerful?’

Evelyn address’ her subordinates.

‘His Highness has deemed her the most powerful goddess in the Heavens. I’m sure you can all feel it.’ Isn’t that the same thing I heard some of the gods whispering yesterday? And why did she say it in such a proud tone? We don’t even know each other?

‘Um…’ As I look around nervously, everyone scrutinises me closely. I can’t tell if I’m being judged in a bad way or not, that I feel more intimidated by the second.

‘Lady Avaline over here is Lady Ria. She is the Apprentice of Souls. It’s sort of like a Vice-Minister title.’ The goddess, Ria, seems also quite mature. She wears her deep black hair back in a tight ponytail, extenuating her facial features. Unlike Lady Evelyn, she ears a black suite attire with the sleeves rolled up. A gold choker with a symbol on a pendant is the only jewellery she wears.

‘Hello, it’s nice to meet you.’ I bow slightly to the almost stoic woman. Ria narrows her eyes and nods at me. Does she not like me?

‘Avaline here will be working with us in the department. I expect an excellent work ethic from you, dear.’ She says, patting me on the shoulder.

‘Um, thank you. I’ll do my best!’ I try to say enthusiastically but I feel more nervous.

‘Remember everyone, today is Lord Leon’s ordination ceremony. Finish as much work as you can to prevent backlog. I think we deserve a break so all work can wait until tomorrow.’ Lady Evelyn says. Everyone gets back to work, looking over documents.

She turns to me.

‘Now Avaline, this is our main office. Over on the left is a reflecting pool room which we use to see the humans. Our work in the department is very important. Every document and file is a single human’s life from the second they are born to the second their heart stops beating. We decide whether the human’s soul deserves a ‘second chance’ and can enter the Soul System.’ She explains.

‘The Soul System? Lilac mentioned that.’

‘Yes, only I as the Chief Minister can summon it. Ria also can because she is my Apprentice. I cannot show you now, but the Soul System is the globe with rings around it. Each ring is a tier with souls floating on it. Each soul is different and requires different things. It is the cycle of rebirth itself.’

‘This sounds very complicated.’ I whisper but she catches it.

‘Yes it is. But it will become second nature to you. As my subordinate, it is your duty to decides whether a soul can be reborn. I will check some of these but not all. Since you’re new, I will check your work to make sure you’re on the right track. We don’t want any evil souls being reborn on Earth.’

‘What happens to the ones that don’t get reborn?’

‘They get sent to the Underworld.’ She replies.

‘Anyway, Lilac will give you your paperwork. Have a look before the ceremony starts. Sit with Ria in the throne room.’ Lady Evelyn says and sits back at her desk.

‘Follow me, your desk is next to mine.’ Ria walks over to the desk closest to Lady Evelyn. Beside it is a clean desk with a stack of documents.

After some time, the office begins to empty as gods and goddess’ leave to get ready for the ceremony. Lady Evelyn snaps her fingers and changes Ria and I’s outfits to gowns. Ria wears a navy blue figure-hugging gown with one strap on it. There is a slit up the side too to reveal her leg. I wear a strapless pastel orange gown with three-quarter length sleeves. The bodice hugs my chest while the rest slightly balloons out.

I follow Ria to the throne room which is lively with gods and goddess’ attempting to get the best seat for the ceremony. The front is filled with those who are high ranking in the Department of Wishes, Punishments and Souls. Ria spares no second in marching her way to her seat.

‘Hey, wait up!’ I shout out, scrambling to follow behind her. She walks confidently and doesn’t look at anyone. I can tell her grumpy attitude is displeasing as many get out of her path pretty quickly. We sit down at the very front with a few other gods from Souls who give a nod of greeting. I lean towards Ria.

‘Why am I sitting at the front? I’m not high ranking. Am I?’ She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms and legs.

‘You’re not since you are inexperienced. But Lady Evelyn wanted you to see the ceremony up close. Besides, you’re a Souls now. And the Souls is enough of a title to make you high ranking above all the other departments.’ She says the last part in a smug tone.

‘Is the Department of Souls really that important?’ She glares at me.

‘Of course! We deal with life and death every day. You can’t say the same for the other departments in the Heavens. Not even Punishments deal with that kind of thing.’ She sighs when she sees a look of exasperation on my face.

‘It takes a special kind of god or goddess to work in the Department of Souls. Unlike bigger departments like Wishes and Punishments, we value quality. Not quantity. That’s why we’re such a small department compared to the rest. Every subordinate is important. Our decisions decide what kind of humans live on Earth. You’re here because the King sees potential in you.’ Ria takes a breath and leans back on her chair.

‘You’re really proud of who you are, huh?’ I say to the air. Ria only huffs.

‘Just don’t screw up is my advice. And go to Evelyn if you need assistance.’

‘Right. I promise.’ I turn my sight to the King’s throne when I see somebody’s eyes already staring my way.

Leon sits lazily in his seat, but his gaze is as alert as ever. His eyes are concentrated on me, as if I just became his next prey. I feel my face flush under his intense gaze. No doubt, he’s thinking I’m weird or strange after what happened in the church. I look away for a moment but when I look back, he’s still looking at me! His eyes take in my gown too, making me feel like I’m a piece of meat laid out for him to take a bite.

I don’t know what to do so I hesitantly smile at him. The next thing I know he’s smirking at me as if I just got up and started dancing around like a clown. I feel my lips pull down into a frown and suddenly I’m pouting. His smirk gets even wider as he watches me pull annoyed faces. I catch myself giggle at this strange conversation we seem to be having. He rests his chin on the palm of his hand, observing me intently. I wonder what he’s thinking?

Suddenly, a hand ready to snap enters my vision and I blink, turning to see Ria with a questioning look on her face.

‘What are you staring at?’ She asks, raising her eyebrow.

‘Nothing! I was just… admiring the throne room! It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ I respond quickly and she just as quickly rolls her eyes at me.

‘Don’t tell you you’re also infatuated with that Wild Lion.’ She says with disbelief.

‘Infatuated? Me? No! Of course not!’ Looking at each other as I tell a sweet lie causes us to burst out in giggles.

‘Um, I mean, it’s not like that. Anyway, isn’t everyone charmed by Lord Leon?’ I ask and she chuckles darkly.

‘Everyone is but me. I don’t see the attraction. He didn’t work to get the position he’s getting today. He was practically born into it.’

‘Oh, I understand what you mean. He comes from an elite family right?’ I ask, turning back to see Leon still staring at me!

‘He does. Plus he’s the most powerful god next to the King so a large title is befitting for him. Unlike you.’ I turn back to Ria.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re the most powerful goddess next to the King. Don’t you think you need a big title like him?’ She gestures with her chin to Leon.

‘I’m not experienced enough for that kind of thing. I’m ready for such a big responsibility. I’d rather do what I can for the humans rather than stress over titles or statuses.’ Ria raises her eyebrow almost in shock.

‘What? Did I say something weird?’

‘No. It’s just, many goddess’ would say the opposite. I… I don’t know many goddess’ in general but to hear you say that is strange.’

‘Thanks.’ I say.

‘I believe in working hard to gain a status that is most deserving of the work you put in, in the first place.’

‘That sounds like a god… we know. So… who is attractive to you?’ I elbow her in a wink-wink-nudge-nudge gesture and she shakes me off.

‘Even if I had an attraction to a god, I wouldn’t tell it to you.’ She huffs away from, crossing her arms.

‘Well, Lord Zyglavis is pretty hard working. Isn’t he?’ I say.

‘Of course he is. But don’t think I’m attracted to him. I respect him. There’s a difference.’ I burst out laughing.

‘What?!’

‘You’re so cute.’ She blushes intensely at my comment.

‘Be quiet! It’s about to start!’

I sit still, stifling my giggles.

‘When the ceremony is over, I’ll help you get started on your paperwork.’

My eyes widen as I look over to see Ria smiling ever so slightly. To gain the approval of the Apprentice of Souls is an extreme achievement. Maybe there’s more to Lady Ria’s stern, grumpy side.

The King appears to officiate the ceremony. I watch Lady Evelyn stand beside him. I lean in to whisper to Ria.

‘Why is she standing there?’

‘To put the crown on his head. Now shush!’

Leon saunters up to the King. Lady Evelyn smiles sweetly at him and places the crown on his head.

Afterwards, everyone gathers in the ballroom, congratulating Leon on becoming the Chief Minister of Wishes. The ballroom looks exactly like the one in SCM with chandeliers and a large stage area for speeches and performances. There are different levels and raised platforms, creating a larger space for everyone who lives in the Palace.

I almost wish I could take it all in without being hounded.

‘Lady Avaline, you’re looking very beautiful. Are you sure you do not want a god such as I by your side?’

‘No, really thank you. I’m sure that there are other goddess’ who are more deserving of your attention.’ I try to placate a god who has been attempting to sweep me away.

‘You jest I’m certain. I mean, who wouldn’t want such a powerful goddess by their side? You’re aura is beautifully frightening.’ He attempts to take a strand of my hair when Ria comes to my rescue.

‘Have you no shame? Your lover is staring daggers at you. And you wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of her… might.’ She takes my arm and drags me away quickly but I could tell the god had tensed up.

‘Thank you! I didn’t know how to get him to leave me alone.’

‘You need to be more aggressive with gods like him. If you don’t put your foot down fast, they’ll follow you forever.’ I cringe when the music changes.

‘Oh, what’s happening?’

‘A group of goddess’ put together a dance for Lord Leon and the King. Let’s stand over here where you don’t get in the way.’ She pulls me to the side.

‘Hey!’

‘Hello.’

‘You’re so mean.’

‘Thank you, that’s the first time you’ve complimented in the last few hours since we’ve met.’ She smirks at me, having more fun teasing me than the party we’re at.

I puff out my cheeks when she puts a glass of champagne in my face.

‘Drink. It’ll make you feel in the party mood.’

‘I’m pretty sure I’ll be as grumpy as you when I’m done with this glass.’

‘What did you say!?’

‘Nothing!’

A large group of goddess’ are adorned with sparkling jewels and they dance like professionals. They match the beat and the rhythm of the music perfectly that it’s hard not to begin clapping along. Suddenly, they start pulling in gods in the crowd to dance with them. Some of the elder gods shyly refuse but the younger ones seem to be ready to dance the night away. Everyone is having lots of fun.

Suddenly, the music dies down and the King appears on the stage.

‘This is an auspicious occasion, for a new Department Minister is born. However, that is not the only reason we are celebrating today. A new goddess joins us in this wonderful event. Her ability and power alone has made you all curious, no doubt.’ At those words, everyone knows exactly who he is talking about. Many of whom even turn to look my way.

‘Everyone please welcome Avaline, the Goddess of Destiny to the Palace.’ Clapping echoes across the ballroom and I feel my body temperature rise rapidly at the attention. I bow slightly and send a smile to everyone I see.

‘To commemorate this extraordinary day, the new Department Minister and the new goddess will dance together.’ Murmurs and gasps travel through the crowd like a wave in the sea.

I have to dance … with Leon?!

I’m hit lightly with a shoulder. Ria motions for me to move since everyone is looking at me now. I nod and turn to the centre when a hand is held out in front of me.

‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

Leon stands before me, confident as ever. I’m not bad at ballroom dancing but if I mess up, it will be humiliating not only for me, but for him to.

Hesitantly, I place my hand in Leon’s who immediately pulls me towards him and places his hand on my waist. He guides me to the centre of the ballroom with all eyes on us. Our eyes never leave each other’s. Suddenly, everyone doesn’t matter anymore. Only he does.

#star crossed myth #scm #scm leon #god of leo #star crossed myth leon #the adventures of avaline #self insert

11 notes · View notes

sdottkrames · 4 years ago

Text

@comfortember Prompt 15: campfire

Summary: Tony takes Peter camping to watch a meteor shower

Notes: I adore space. Stars and constellations are so fascinating to me!!

Fun fact: The Leonids is actually happening in two days, and I thought that was really cool, so I incorporated that into this fic.

Also: the song is Jupiter by Sleeping at Last. I've recently become OBSESSED and their album Atlas 1 (especially the space songs) have become my Irondad muse. So enjoy!

Read on AO3: Here

While collecting the stars, I connected the dots

I don't know who I am, but now I know who I'm not

I'm just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit

***

Make my messes matter

Make this chaos count

_________________________________

Tony’s concentration on the book he was reading was interrupted by a scream from his wife. Even though he was retired, he always kept the nanosuit close by (old habits die hard), and he had his gauntlet up in an instant, ready to fight. Then he looked to the window and saw what had made her scream.

He rolled his eyes. “Let him in, Friday.”

“Sorry, Pepper,” Peter said as he climbed through the window, but his laughter made it hard to believe his apology.

“Don’t do that, Peter! I might not have the heart condition Tony’s always griping about,” she shot a grin to Tony, who pretended to be offended, “but I would rather stay away from one.”

“Duly noted.” Peter shed his coat and sauntered over to the couch, cuddling up to Tony with no embarrassment. There had been a time that the easy affection between the two seemed impossible, and Tony was forever grateful those times were long past them. He put his arm around the boy, pulling him closer and picking up his book again.

“What’re you reading?” Peter murmured.

Tony showed him the cover, a book on astronomy and the physics of stars, and was surprised to see Peter’s face light up.

“I love astronomy!” he said.

“Really? I used to, but I started to hate it. For obvious reasons. I was hoping that reading about it more might make me hate it less.”

Peter hummed. “I probably should hate space, too, but it was always my thing with Ben. I guess I just refused to let it go.”

Tony could understand that. He’d never had any particular connection to space, just an idle interest in it as a kid. He’d started looking down whenever he was out at night, unable to look at the black expanse above him without seeing destruction and death. His experiences in the wormhole were soon joined by red dust and grey ash that seared his skin with grief and guilt. He had even started hating the moon.

But Peter was back, and Tony was trying to work through his hatred of and anxiety from space. Hence the book.

“You know, there’s a meteor shower tomorrow night. The Leonids. I’ve never seen one.” Peter sighed wistfully.

They continued their night as usual, but the gears in Tony’s head had started turning. He had an idea.

“What are you planning?” Pepper asked him skeptically that night as she got into her pajamas. “You have that look in your eye you get when you have an idea.”

“I was thi-in abou ta-in Peer sta-azing.” Tony was brushing his teeth, so it came out garbled and unintelligible, but Pepper spoke fluent Tony nonsense, so she understood.

“I think that’s a great idea. There’s that campsite close by that we took Morgan to that one summer. The stars were pretty spectacular there.”

Tony smiled at the memory around his toothbrush, and retreated to the bathroom to spit so he could talk normally.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Just for tomorrow night. You can handle things here, right?” He teased.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “As if I don’t handle things all day every day.”

Tony kissed the corner of her smile. “You’re not wrong.”

***

Peter sleepily shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, grunting a greeting unceremoniously at Tony, who chuckled and put a plate with a pile of pancakes and some bacon in front of him. Peter perked up instantly at the prospect of food, and dug in with gusto.

“I will never understand how you can eat that much.”

Peter grinned around a mouthful of pancake, his cheeks sticking out like a chipmunk’s and forcing Tony to use every ounce of self control to keep from pinching them. He was sure Peter wouldn’t appreciate that.

“What can I say? I’m a growing boy!” Peter took a moment to swallow. “Thanks for the breakfast, by the way.”

Tony's amazing self control apparently didn't extend to ruffling Peter’s hair. “Anytime, kiddo,” he said. rubbing the kid's curly locks. “So, I was thinking, Pete. You want to go see the meteor shower tonight?”

Peter paused in his chewing, eyes wide with excitement and disbelief. “What?!”

“Well, I just figured since you said you’d never seen a meteor shower, and I happen to know of a really good camping spot, that you might want to go.”

Peter nodded, jumping up and crushing Tony into a hug, squeaking a thank you. The older hero squeezed him gently. “You’re welcome, bud.”

After finishing his food and putting his plate in the sink, Peter excitedly ran to his room to pack a bag for camping. It was a quick drive to the site, so they lounged around, watching a movie with Morgan and enjoying lunch as a family before they decided to leave.

Once everything was packed in the car, they were off. They stopped quickly at a grocery store because Peter insisted on hot dogs. Tony was more inclined to order takeout and eat it by the fire, but Peter had insisted on roasting hot dogs over the flames, and of course s'mores because “what camping trip is complete without s’mores, Tony?” Tony was quickly learning he had no self control when it came to Peter, so he ended up agreeing.

It was a quick drive, and Tony reveled in the easy conversation and camaraderie between him and his kid. He never got tired of just talking and spending time with Peter, and it definitely helped distract from the slight worry in his chest about spending a night staring at space.

They pulled into the campsite and Peter stretched as he got out. Tony let him pull out the tent. Being Tony Stark’s, it was no ordinary tent. It was huge, for one; Tony was pretty sure at least six of the Avengers had stayed in it one mission. It also had the comfiest blow up mattresses, and a built in speaker system that connected to Friday.

Peter took one look as they laid it out, rolled his eyes, and mumbled something about glamping.

“Yeah, I know, Underoos, this isn’t the typical camping tent. But I saved the world, lost an arm, all that jazz. I think I deserve a little comfort.”

Peter let out a laugh. “Mmmmhmmmm. Sure. Are you sure it’s not just cause you’re old?”

Tony gasped in mock offense. “Insubordination. I’m eating all your marshmallows.”

Peter didn’t look concerned as he hammered the stakes into place. “Uh huh, okay,” he grinned.

They made quick work of the tent, and even quicker work making the fire. Peter made it a competition gathering firewood, and Tony called him a cheater for climbing up a tree to get some bigger limbs.

“Show off,” he muttered as Peter flipped from the top of a tree, landing perfectly. “You’re like a cat, kid.”

Peter grinned, and they got to work making the fire. It blazed, warm and bright, and they roasted hot dogs and marshmallows as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky.

“Oh, Tony, look!”

Tony glanced up just in time to see a star streak across the sky, and he couldn’t help but notice it’s beauty despite how his heart started thumping in his ears.

A hand slipped into his, stemming the panic.

“You’re here. You’re okay,” Peter whispered, and Tony took a shaky breath. “Did you know that shooting stars are little bits of debris from outer space? They enter the atmosphere and burn up. Sometimes they end up falling to the ground, but usually they just burn and disappear.”

Tony nodded. He had read that somewhere as a kid. Peter pointed to a group of stars.

“That’s the constellation Andromeda. See that blurry spot in the middle?” Tony nodded again. “That’s an entire galaxy. It’s amazing how we can see it so well this far away.”

Peter continued to talk quietly, spouting off facts that Ben had taught him or that he’d learned from class. A strange sort of peace filled Tony as Peter's voice swirled with the crackling of the fire, replacing the panic in his heart.

“Tell me about Ben,” he whispered eventually.

Peter let out a little sigh. It wasn’t sad, more wistful than anything. “He was the best. You know this already, but he was the reason I became Spider-Man. He was kind, he cared about everybody he met, and he always made time for me. He was my hero.” Peter paused, and his voice went quiet. “He would have liked you.”

Tony sniffed back unexpected tears. When Peter first came into his life, he hadn’t known what he meant to Peter for a long time, but he’d known he wasn’t the kid’s dad and uncle, and he had been so worried Peter felt like he was trying to replace them or something.

“I’d’ve been honored, and know I would have liked him too,” he finally answered.

“You know, you remind me a lot of him. There was always a huge hole when he died, and you obviously didn’t fill the hole completely. Only he could. But you filled a different hole. You made it easier." Peter squeezed Tony's hand. "You still do. I’m glad I have you.”

All the fear, the sorrow, the worry, every mess he made and every bit of chaos that came with raising a child was worth it in that moment. He squeezed Peter’s hand, telling his kid thank you without saying it.

The fire crackled, the warmth washing over them and creating such a sense of peace that, combined with Peter’s hand in his, made it impossible for Tony to feel scared anymore.

And above them, the stars rained down.

#comfortember #comfortember 2020 #i love my iron dad and spidey son #mine

10 notes · View notes

got7thotsss · 5 years ago

Text

Kiss Me First, Baby- Yugyeom

Requested: Yep Warnings: Disgustingly smutty, public sex Summary: Y/N and Yugyeom have a bit of fun in public. Pairing: Yugyeom x Reader Word Count: 1.5k A/N: This is just overall wild. Have fun reading :)))

You have no idea how he managed to do it, but Yugyeom had fully snuck into your late night lecture. You always sat at the back under the dim lights, so that your professor wouldn’t see you clear enough to be able to call on you. That’s something you’re definitely not here for. Yugyeom was absolutely delighted to notice that you’re sat at the back, away from all of the others also in attendance.

He wasted no time in rubbing his hand over your crotch in the place that he knows will get you going without even realising he’s fully remembered. You bite your lip in an attempt to not moan. His lips meet the skin where your neck and shoulder meet and he starts to pepper kisses all over your bare skin. You silently curse yourself for wearing an off-the-shoulder top.

“Undo your jeans baby, I’ll make it quick.” Yugyeom mumbles into your ear, you didn’t even realise he’d moved up to your jaw. You lick your lips, looking around the lecture hall. Your professor continues droning on about the 10-minute video clip he’s about to play. A few of the students are writing notes, the others are nodding off in their seats, to the monotone voice of the professor.

You let out a sigh, but unbutton your jeans, allowing Yugyeom full access to what lies beneath them. His slender hand quickly slips underneath your jeans, but stays rubbing your clit over your underwear. Your breaths become shallow the more he rubs. He always knows how to get you to the brink of your orgasm, with only a few touches. As soon as a small breathy moan escapes your lips, he ceases the rubbing.

“Gyeom, get on with it.” You whine quietly, becoming impatient with his lack of movement.

“Kiss me first, baby.” He demands, softly. You let your eyes meet his, they’re full of hunger and excitement. You lean into him and capture his lips. As he deepens the kiss, his hand starts moving around and around in circles, once again. His other hand placed firmly on the back of your neck, keeping you in place against his lips.

Momentarily forgetting where you are, you move your hand and place it on his thigh. Moving it slowly up and down, until you’re met with the familiar feeling of his boner. You rub him through his sweatpants, as he moves his hand below the waistband of your underwear. He moves his fingers delicately over your entrance, making your body jolt at the tiny movements.

“Gyeommmmm. You better put them in or I swear to God.” You angrily mutter, after pulling away from his lips. He removes his hand from the back of your neck, to take hold of your hand that still hasn’t stopped rubbing him.

“You can do that later. Right now, baby, is time for you to cum all over my hand.” He whispers, before plunging his fingers inside of you. You gasp at the suddenness of his actions, gripping his thigh as a reflex action. He casually moves his free hand to cover your mouth, an insurance policy in case you’re unable to be quiet.

You look up and notice your professor is starting the video, you throw your head back and relax into Yugyeom as his pumps his fingers rhythmically in and out of your wet pussy. Your breathing once again becomes shallow, you roll your hips into Gyeom’s fingers. It doesn’t take long until you’re gasping and shuddering as your orgasm washes over you.

Yugyeom’s fingers quickly retract from your underwear and are placed swiftly in his mouth. You try to catch your breath whilst sorting your jeans out, expecting it all to be over for now. Yugyeom takes his time licking every last drop of your cum off his fingers, smacking his lips in delight at the sound. The sound resonates through the lecture hall, as your professor decides to stop the video right at that very second.

“Hey, you back there. If you’re gonna be eating please do it quietly or you know where the door is.” The professor calls over to the two of you.

“Sorry.” You respond, managing to get your breath back. Yugyeom places his hand tenderly on your thigh, moving up and down ever so slightly.

“Baby, we’re not through just yet. I’m gonna go and wait in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll see you in a minute.” Gyeom whispers to you, pecking your lips, before disappearing into the darkness.

You quietly pack away your notebook and pens, fully aware that you’re not going to be coming back into this lecture. You’re just grateful that the other people who attend this lecture write their notes in a google doc, so it is available for the rest of the class.

After slipping silently out of the hall, you all but run to the bathrooms. Yugyeom is stood, sweats around his ankles dick stood, veins throbbing. You feel it calling your name, begging you to put it in your mouth and lick every inch. You feel your mouth starting to water at the prospect.

“I know what you’re thinking, baby. I know how much you love being on your knees in front of my dick. But that’s not going to happen here. You’re going to lock the door.” He pauses, waiting for you to obey his order. You flick the lock on the door, then wait for him to continue, “Now, you’re gonna pull your jeans and panties down, then bend over the sink.”

Once again you follow his instructions and wait for Yugyeom to do whatever he plans on doing. You let out a gasp as you feel his cool hands against your ass cheeks, spreading them. He lets out a slow cool breath out over all that is being shown, then darts his tongue out to lick all down to your clit. You flinch, then grip onto the edge of the sink.

“I’ve never eaten you out like this baby, but I think this is my new favourite way.” He comments, before going to town on your pussy. When he gets you on the brink of another orgasm, however, he pulls away. You watch in the mirror as he stands up, then grips your hips in his large hands, “Tell me you want me.”

“Yugs, I need your cock inside me, so bad.” You whine, making strong eye contact through the mirror.

“That’s not what I told you to say.” He grumbles, struggling to hold your hips in place away from his own. You’re desperately wiggling out of his grip to try and grind against his dick.

“I want you to put your dick inside me, right now Gyeomie.” You let out an uncontrollable moan, as Yugyeom finally caves and roughly enters you. He thrusts endlessly in and out of your dripping pussy, feeling you clench and tighten around his length and allowing his own moans to mix with yours.

You push your arms up, so you’re stood up straight, then move one of Yugyeom’s hands from your hip to grip your boob. He presses kisses to the back of your neck, as he moves his hand underneath your shirt, to flick the tip of his finger around your nipple. You both then bend back down, Yugyeom’s chest hovering, inches above your back, to allow him easier access to continue thrusting in and out of you.

The sound of your bodies slapping together echoes around the tiled room, along with your breathless moans and whimpers, and Yugyeom’s groans. You start to feel the familiar sensation building up in your stomach and tingling all over your body, “Oh my, Gyeomie I’m gonna cum.” You moan out.

“Me too baby, me too.” Yugyeom responds, quickening his pace until he feels his high begin. You both cry out at your finish. You still move your hips against his, until he presses a kiss on your shoulder then pulls out.

After you take a moment to collect yourself, tidy up and re-clothe, you speak up, “How many more bathrooms are left on your list?”

“Three, but I thought of another place. Wanna try it out tomorrow?” He responds, helping you collect your bag and things from where you abandoned them before stripping.

“Depends where it is.” You trail off, giving him a curious look.

“The East corridor staircase.” He reveals, with a wiggle of the eyebrows.

You exit the bathroom and look around, before you both walk down the corridor towards the exit.

“Yuggs, how would we pull that off?” He shrugs his shoulders, then nudges you with his elbow.

“We’ve managed to pull everything off so far. I was completely sure we were gonna get caught in that restaurant that one time.”

“You’ve got a point. But, we did get caught that one time at the bar, you know, when Bam booked the bar for Jinyoung’s birthday.” You state, as he slips his fingers into yours. He always walks you back to your dorm after your nightly bathroom escapades.

“Jinyoung is still pissed about that.” He laughs.

“How did you come up with the idea to fuck in every bathroom on campus anyway?”

“Bam bet me I couldn’t. I knew I could rely on you to help me prove him wrong.”

“Any reason to get your dick inside me Yugs.”

#got7 #got7 imagines #got7 smut #kim yugyeom #yugyeom #yugyeom imagine #yugyeom smut #Im Jaebum #mark tuan #jackson wang #park jinyoung #choi youngjae #bambam #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop smut

249 notes · View notes

undreaming-fanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

A night to remember: The Gifts

Fandom: Cats the musical Rating: T Pairing: multiple in future chapters, Tuggoffelees, Victoria/Plato, Demeter/Munkustrap etc. Category: magical circus AU, slow burn Chapter number: 2 Chapter summary: Before he became the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees, he had been Quaxo. Before she became Victoria, she had been "the mute" or "white-hair". And both of them had a "gift".

The previous chapter: Prologue

Before he became the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees, he had been Quaxo, a short, pale and dark-haired boy with eyes too old for his age. He didn't really like being Quaxo in the first place, but it was definitely better than being nobody. And being a nobody, while unimaginable for some people, was frighteningly close to Quaxo and his sister's reality.

Of course, she probably wasn't his real sister, but he could never be sure, could never verify or disprove their genetic relation. Some days he thought about it and always came to the same conclusion - that even if he could find out, it wouldn't matter. They probably had a much better relationship than most siblings anyway. They had never learned who their parents were, why they were abandoned or if their original families still lived, and perhaps they only met in one of the shelters in which they occasionally spent the night. All that Quaxo knew was that she had been appearing in his earliest memories and he had very few of those without her. He believed it was the same for her.

Victoria hadn't always been Victoria either - they usually called her "white-hair" (although it was only pale blond, Quaxo thought angrily, she wasn't old or anything, why would they call her that?!) or "the mute" - but she was luckier than Quaxo. One particularly cold day, they were trying to survive the night outside and the sharp autumn wind brought in a page from a newspaper, probably something on an exposition about Queen Victoria (Quaxo never knew what exactly the article was because both of them had only been learning to read, here and there, when the adults felt generous and they helped them with some work in exchange). Not-yet-Victoria caught the page and her tired eyes lit up with excitement that Quaxo had never seen before. She shoved the page in front of his eyes and proceeded to point to the name and to herself, looking at him anxiously, as if she needed the assurance that this could be her, that what she wanted mattered. His teeth were chattering with cold, but he still managed to smile and nod. "Of course," he managed to stutter out. "Anything, anyone you want to be, Victoria."

As he was crushed in an enthusiastic embrace way too tight for her fragile arms, he felt a rush of happiness and perhaps a slight tinge of envy. If he too could only find out who he wanted to be...

Quaxo never liked to speak out loud, it was against his timid nature, but when the people on the street called her "Mute" again the next day, he straightened his spine and looked them in the eye. "Her name is Victoria. Remember it."

---

Things were never easy for them, but they definitely got more bearable when the siblings found out they could do things. Most people could do at least something well - paint, cook, run or make jokes, those things were normal in Quaxo's book. But he and Victoria were different. The things they could do should not be real and, after asking about them on the street and being disbelieved, laughed at or accused of lying, decided together they would never mention them again. Using them, however, was a completely different matter.

It happened for Victoria first. Whenever she wanted Quaxo's attention, she would jump, point, clap...pretty much anything she could think of. But one day, a careless driver almost ran Quaxo over. The boy was exhausted from another night spent outside so he wasn't paying attention, clapping wouldn't do any good in the noise of traffic and as Victoria was behind him, she could only grab his arm and pull, as hard as she could. She felt something strange happening at that moment, as if something left her. And it wasn't only her imagination, because her brother stared at her in awe, his mouth agape. "Did you just...shout?" he asked her incredulously.

She shook her head, pointing to her throat. Her voice had never worked, for as long as she could remember.

"But...but I heard you!" Quaxo blurted out, grabbing her shoulders and examining her, as if the reason for what he had heard would be written on her face. "I heard you say Watch out! And no one else was around...and it..." he paused for a moment, unable to find the right words, "...it sounded like you. Like I've always thought you would sound..."

Victoria tried. She tried to speak, whisper, she opened her mouth again and again, but no sound would come out. Eventually, she slumped down in Quaxo's arms.

Nothing. As I thought, she shrugged in disappointment.

A sudden embrace "I heard that! I heard your words! That wasn't nothing, Victoria, that was...!" He took a step back, watching her with curiosity. "That wasn't speaking. What exactly did you do?"

After the initial shock, the pair slowly found out what exactly happened. As long as Victoria moved or gesticulated, she could project her thoughts, as if she were speaking. At first, she was terrified, and conveyed with numerous sharp movements how what she does isn't natural, that people would be afraid of her, call her a monster...but Quaxo never shared her point of view. He was in awe and kept repeating that what she could do was amazing, unique, that she should never feel ashamed of it. That helped to ease her worries and finally, let her brother convince her to use her gift. She spent weeks practicing with Quaxo, opening her mouth at the same time with the stream of thoughts she was projecting, looking in the mirror and finally, their efforts paid off. Without meticulous observation, it seemed like she was simply talking, although other people made fun of her exaggerated gestures and constant pacing around when she "spoke".

It was at this time when Victoria started climbing onto the window sill of the local ballet school, balancing on the narrow beam and imitating the dancers. She had always loved to watch them, she and her brother spent so many evenings peeking through curtains or sneaking into theaters, variety shows and dances for both warmth and entertainment, but he had never seen Victoria so eager to learn the skill before. When Quaxo asked her about it, she explained that dancing made it much easier to convey her thoughts, to project what she really wanted to say. Quaxo only nodded and didn't push the topic any more, but the following Christmas, he managed to surprise Victoria with a small, cheap pocket radio, to help her learn in a safer environment, he said. And if he happened to be there for every single dancing practice and watched her with a content smile, well...that was nobody else's business but his.

---

Quaxo's gift manifested several months later. The seasonal work was scarce those days and he was watching a baker unpacking his stand early in the morning. He saw a loaf of bread, close to the edge, and thought how lucky a coincidence it would be if it were to fall off and thrown away by the baker. Then he could pick it up and he and Victoria would have something to eat. And just as he had finished his thought, there was a strong gust of wind out of nowhere, knocking the loaf off the stand and prompting a stream of swearing from the baker. The man looked around, saw Quaxo and waved at him. "You there. Help me finish unpacking this before more wind messes up the whole place, will you? I can give you the loaf plus a few more defective pieces."

Quaxo couldn't believe his luck, but in the following days, he found out that it wasn't simply good fortune or series of lucky coincidences. As if things around him only waited for his prompt to fall into places he wanted them to be, a tiny nudge and everything suddenly worked out. It took Quaxo a while to find out the pattern, but after a while, he could confidently say that he had a strange power, just like Victoria. The best way he could describe it was that he could make tiny alterations to reality, not that he would ever dare to attempt larger ones - he could make people notice him or miss his presence altogether, by making them stumble at the right moment, look at his reflection, turn their head...he could also swap objects in two different places, make things look less or more appealing, so many small but intriguing things! He would experiment each day and Victoria would watch, clapping her slender hands in excitement.

It was around this time that Quaxo started considering using his and Victoria's powers to make more money. Nothing illegal, even though the prospect was tempting, Victoria's high moral standards would never allow it and Quaxo had to admit he didn't feel like becoming the bad guy either. Perhaps through an unconscious use of his powers, perhaps as a true coincidence this time, his gaze fell on a discarded leaflet for a shop with tricks, pranks and would-be magical items.

He nudged Victoria. "Say, sister," he winked at her with a barely visible smile, "how about becoming performers?"

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

The next chapter: The Magician and the Dancer

#cats #cats fanfiction #cats the musical #quaxo #Mr. Mistoffelees #victoria #circus au #magical circus au

18 notes · View notes

alegacyofmikalsons · 4 years ago

Text

The Act of Living Chp.4: Connections

Author’s Note: I’m super excited to share this chapter with you. It’s a bit on the long side but, there was a lot I wanted to include since the plot is starting to pick up. There’s some heavy foreshadowing sprinkled in for where the story is going and what revelations are going to happen soon. I want to continue to thank everyone who has read and left their support, it really means a lot!

Rating: Mature

Series Summary: Klaus and Elijah were supposed to die, but fate in the form of new friends Serafina Hewitt and her sister Stevie intervened. A year later Stevie is dead and Sera returns to New Orleans to see her friends and investigate her suspicions about what happened. When it's confirmed that a powerful hunter group is responsible, she realizes a much bigger threat is coming, one that threatens all of New Orleans. As they race to stop it, she gets more than she bargained for, finding the truth about who she is and a growing attachment towards a certain Mikalson. Most importantly, they all get answers to the biggest riddle of all: what the act of living really means.

Masterlist: https://alegacyofmikalsons.tumblr.com/post/623479526213681153/the-act-of-living-masterlist

Tags: @kinda-iconic @endlesshero1122 @katelynnicolerollins @im-a-bisexual-mess

If anyone wants to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know! I also post this story on Wattpad so you can check it out there as well.

Shoutout to @bbchoices for beta reading this for me!

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/916376115-the-act-of-living-chapter-4-connections

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Several hours later, only a dull ache remains as I come downstairs freshly showered and changed into the lacy black dress Rebekah let me borrow. I stop in the living room surprised to find it in pristine condition. Just as Elijah promised all evidence of my destructive emotions is gone. That means Freya is here somewhere.

"Wow that was fast," I murmur before going to search for her.

However, I don't get far before hearing her raspy voice.

"That's the beauty of magic isn't it."

Turning, I see her walk into the room. "Freya, there you are!"

She quickly comes over, pulling me into a quick hug. "Sera, it's good to see you!"

"The feeling is mutual," I reply before asking, "Where's Keelin?"

"She stayed at home. Her feet are killing her lately so, I figured I'd let her rest. She's meeting us at the cemetery though."

I nod slightly. "How are she and the little one doing?"

"They're both good," she answers, a look of adoration appearing in her eyes. "The baby is healthy and is almost ready to go. After next week it'll be a matter of waiting."

I can't help the smile tugging at my cheeks. Talk of impending motherhood always put me in a good mood.

"Well, it looks like I'll still be here when the time comes."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Really? How'd you get the time off?"

"I just lost my sister, they'll understand. I know my boss will. As if for the council, if they don't then, I don't really care."

I keep my response vague since I want to hold off on telling her about Nemean. I don't want her and Keelin stressing about this unless they have to.

At the mention of Stevie, Freya's expression falls. "I can't believe she's actually gone. She was just at our place yesterday afternoon."

I know the reason why. She was working on the nursery for the two of them. It was her latest design project and a gift. Now, she would never get to see the result.

"The nursery. She told me last week that it's almost finished?"

I frown as another wave of grief causes a lump to form.

"That's right. All that's left is a few furniture items to set up and things to put away."

"Well let me know if I can help. I can definitely assemble things," I offer, clearing my throat.

She lets out a little sound of relief. "I might have to take you up on that."

We continue to talk for several minutes while we wait for the others to join us.

At some point I inquire, "When exactly did you get here? I didn't hear you come in?"

"Oh, I've been here for at least an hour. No one told you I was here?"

I shake my head, pressing my lips together. "I wish they had, I would've gotten ready earlier."

Hearing the sound of footsteps behind me, I turn around to see Elijah walking into the room.

He raises an eyebrow as his brown eyes land on mine. "And that's precisely why I made sure no one did."

"Overprotective much?" I quip in protest. "I wasn't in that much pain you know."

He gives me a dubious expression, crossing his arms. "That's not what it looked like to me."

The level of concern causes my annoyance to disappear. I do tend to shy away from showing any kind of vulnerability, including taking other people's help. Most of the time I can cover up any discomfort or distress I may be facing. This time, I clearly let something show or he'd learned how to look beneath the surface.

"Okay I'll admit I was...a bit sore," I respond, with a half shrug. "But, I'm not made of glass Elijah. I could've walked down a short flight of stairs! Or if it was really that big of a deal you could've sent her up to the library. No movement from me required there."

Before he can respond, Klaus enters the room followed by Rebekah and Marcel.

"She's right, brother," the hybrid says, a smirk forming on his lips. "I tried telling you she would react this way but you wouldn't listen."

Glancing over, I notice Elijah's face turning a faint shade of pink. It's a prospect I find myself liking. He's always so controlled, so to see him suddenly flustered is refreshing. I try not to dwell on it too much though, much like the other thoughts I've had.

"Serafina," he finally stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to overstep I was just...concerned for your well-being."

I bite my lip in an attempt to hide the smile forming. "Oh, I know you were. You wouldn't leave the room until I had to get ready."

Freya's eyebrows shoot up in amusement. "Oh really? He definitely doesn't do that with everyone."

This renders him speechless, the flush deepening as he adjusts his already perfectly straight tie. Luckily for him, his sister's comment also leaves me at a rare loss for words.

"Well, it was nice, even if I did find it a bit excessive," I eventually tell him, my cheeks starting to become warm. "I guess it's just...easier to taking care of myself."

This seems to relax him somewhat, as he gives me a silent look. A shared understanding of what exactly I mean.

"I figured you could use the company given everything that's happened," he responds with a half-smile.

My smile widens. "It definitely helped take my mind off of things. So, thank you."

"You're welcome."

It's only now that I look around the room and realize everyone is staring. I quickly avert my gaze as the blush on my cheeks spreads.

For a moment, no one says anything until Elijah clears his throat. "I believe it's time to leave is it not?"

I look out the window to see the sun low in the sky, not quite at the point of beginning its final descent.

"I'm ready to go if you are," I answer.

When the others nod in agreement, I breathe a sigh of relief as everyone heads toward the front door. Less than five minutes later, we begin to head towards our destination. As I walk, I'm surprisingly able to keep up with the conversation without too many distractions. Occasionally, a fraction of a strange memory takes me away momentarily whenever I pass someone, but the visions don't last more than thirty seconds. Before long, we reach Lafayette Cemetery where Keelin is waiting for us.

"You look lovely," I tell her after saying hello.

She responds by rolling her eyes. "You don't have to flatter me, Sera."

"I'm only telling the truth."

We continue to talk as the group heads inside. However, I trail off seeing how many people there are. All four factions are here talking with one another as if there wasn't a deep history between them.

"There's no tension," I murmur, eyes widening.

"I told you everyone liked her," Marcel replies, his expression solemn. "She helped bring the whole community together."

I raise my eyebrows. "She always had this effect on people. But, I didn't realize she did this much."

"You have no idea Sera." Hearing Vincent's voice, I notice him walking towards me, a ghost of a smile forming.

"I assume I have you to thank for this."

He wraps me in a quick hug which I accept with no hesitation.

"In part," he replies. His eyes examine me, having not seen me in person for over a year. After he's done, his brows pinch together in care. "How are you holding up?"

The question forces me to acknowledge the grief that's come over me since we got here.

"As well as you'd expect," I finally answer with a shrug I definitely don't mean. "You'd think it would be easier after so many times, but...it's not."

He nods, sadness clouding his features. "Believe me, I wish it did too."

After a minute, I sigh, pushing past the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. At least I don't have to worry about another episode. They don't tend to occur repeatedly. In fact, the time between them is usually at least a few weeks.

"Anyway, I'm surprised you were able to do this so soon," I mention.

"I was told to expedite things with the local PD since you figured out what you needed. We couldn't get them to bury her any sooner than tomorrow afternoon but Elijah did compel them into letting us do this."

Of course, he did.

"I could've waited a couple of days. But, I appreciate it," I say, shaking my head.

When I look over, Elijah offers a shrug. "It was the least I could do."

I return my attention to Vincent. "In other news, it looks like I'll be in town for a while."

"Really?" His expression brightens. "Maybe this time you'll be convinced to stay for good."

This receives a scoff from Rebekah. "Oh, believe me, we're trying. But, she's more stubborn about obligations than Elijah is!"

I raise my eyebrows as the elder Mikalson purses his lips.

"That is a perfectly good thing to have," I protest. "It takes a lot of patience helping people who don't want it."

My tone hardens as my thoughts drift towards the leaders of Mirebrook.

"I don't know how you put up with them," Vincent grumbles. "They don't treat you with an ounce of respect."

More like they want me dead. I don't exactly fault their reasoning since I am the one that helped cause the decade of chaos we've had.

"I don't really have a choice. Not when I promised mom I'd finish her term on the council," I reply. "And I can't give up on the kids at the school. They need someone on their side."

Maybe one day I'll leave that place. Either if I get tired of it or if the townsfolk succeed in driving me out. But, as much as I've come to loath living there, there are some ties I can't sever just yet.

My gaze wanders towards the surrounding people, as I take in the scenery. For a cemetery, it's beautiful even without the addition of string lights and white flowers. Almost everyone is somewhat close together, in pockets of three or four.

Standing off towards the edge outside the gates is an older looking woman, her eyes wild and searching for something. Immediately, she piques my interest. She has to be at least in her sixties, judging by her warm and wrinkled facial features and wispy, graying hair. Several layers of clothing, including a loose dress and yellow knit sweater, cover her skinny frame.

For some reason, I can't look away no matter how hard I try. I jump when she suddenly notices me staring. A mixed expression of pain and fear appears on her face. Then, with superhuman speed, she vanishes. Almost like she was never there.

"That's weird," I mumble to myself.

I can't shake the feeling that we're connected somehow. That I should know her.

Then, I look over to see Vincent staring at the spot where she was standing. In his expression, I find familiarity and hesitation.

"Have you seen her before?"

He finally meets my gaze with a start. "Oh, that's Minerva. She lives out in the bayou but I've seen her in the city a lot. She's...a bit of a character. Keeps to herself for the most part. Except when...well...that's not important."

His sudden evasiveness is starting to bother me. Usually, he never hides anything from me. I don't from him.

"Vincent, what?" I ask, unable to let this go. "When she looked at me, it seemed like she knew who I was."

It doesn't take long to lower his resolve.

"She...knew your folks Sera," he finally says.

I widen my eyes as my mouth opens. "What?"

"They...made me promise not to tell you. But, yes. She came by the house occasionally, ever since they brought you home."

The information makes my head spin. Then, I gasp as old memories flood my brain. I remember talking to her when I was younger, her appearance exactly the same. All the things she randomly left on our doorstep, including a white jewelry box with a shimmering gold ribbon tying it shut.

"That's who she is," I whisper as I come back to the present. "She never told me her name."

"Serafina?"

Hearing his voice, I turn to find him staring at me in bewilderment.

"I talked to her when I was a kid," I tell him. "She gave me gifts sometimes too. My mythology books...this necklace." My fingers find the gold chain around my neck. "I wonder what she was doing here. Why she didn't just come inside."

"I wish I had an answer for you," Vincent says, clearing his throat. "Anyway, things are starting soon so, I'd better finish getting everything ready."

Once he's left we head over to where the chairs are set up in front of a small display. Sitting down in the front row, I examine everything. The first thing I notice is the closed black casket where Stevie is tucked inside. Next to it is a picture of her and a bouquet of her favorite flowers. A stage platform is also there with a podium that's chipping away in some spots from use.

Before I know it, Vincent's there greeting everyone. "Hi, everyone thanks for coming out here tonight on such short notice."

He then goes through the short program of the ceremony before beginning his eulogy.

"We're here to say goodbye to Stephanie Hewitt, better known as Stevie. I was friends with her parents for a long time, especially her dad, Anthony who I'd known since childhood. And so, I've had the pleasure of being here when Stevie was born. I watched her grow up from a sweet little girl to a remarkable young woman. Last year, she moved back to New Orleans and our community after being away for many years. That's when most of you met her. What she found was a community deeply divided, more than it ever had been before and that is an understatement."

The remark receives uneasy laughs from many around us.

After it settles, he continues. "We've had our tries at peace, but they never lasted long. But, in several months, Stevie was able to do what so many of us couldn't. Like many of you, I was skeptical at first. It definitely wasn't easy either. However, the challenges only made her more resolved to see this through. And eventually, by some miracle, we began to come together. Because of her, the factions have a real chance at peace. I will always be in awe of that. I know for me personally, that she made this place, this community, feel like home again. And I just...hope that we'll be able to continue this without her." He trails off as his voice breaks. "But, I know that she'll always be with us in spirit, looking after us. That here, she'll never be forgotten."

I watch with a heavy heart as he struggles to keep himself together. A few minutes pass before he can speak once more.

"Now, I'll leave the podium open for anyone who would like to say some words," he instructs.

One by one, people share their memories and pay their respects until almost everyone here has said something. Then, to my surprise, Rebekah comes up to the front, a tangled web of emotions on her face. I didn't expect any of them to say anything here given how closed off they usually were.

"I won't take too much time, I promise. I just wanted to say a few words on behalf of our family," she says as the small crowd quiets. Taking a deep breath, she continues. "Many of you know that our reputation precedes us. It's no secret that we're difficult to befriend or be partial to at all."

This receives some nervous laughter.

"However, there are a few brave souls during our long life who have sought to do the impossible. Who sought to truly get to know us. Stevie was one of those people along with her sister, Sera. When they first met us, they knew all about the legend of the Original Family. Yet, that didn't affect how they treated us. That alone earned our respect. Over the past several years, that has turned into a close friendship, something that usually takes decades for us. That's because they were able to see good in us despite everything we've done. Stevie especially. When they care about you, they make it known and they would do anything for you."

She paused, taking a breath as her eyes glistened. "They even...found a way to keep our family together...against all odds. Stevie was one of the best people I've ever known and I'm sure that my siblings would agree. We've experienced our share of losses over a thousand years, but this one we will carry with us for a long time. Thank you."

"You didn't have to do that," I say after she sits back down beside me.

She rolls her eyes, wiping away her tear-stained cheeks. "Of course I did. Even if it meant a moment of public embarrassment, Stevie is worth the sacrifice."

I give her a bittersweet smile, unable to hold back a snide remark. "But, now the world knows that the Mikalsons aren't completely heartless."

"Oh, I'm sure we will do something to make them forget again," Klaus interjects, his smirk faltering ever so slightly.

It seems even he isn't immune to my sister's influence. The thought makes me smile. Lord knows he needed it as much as I did. When I return my attention to the front, Vincent is there once more.

"At this time, I'd like to invite Stevie's sister, Sera to say some words," he announces.

A coil of anxiety forms in my stomach as I widen my eyes. I didn't prepare to say anything since I don't live here. But, I can't turn down this now. Reluctantly, I stand and walk onto the small stage.

Sighing, I approach the podium, trying to tune out everyone's eyes on me. "Thank you, Vincent. And thank you to everyone who's here."

I swallow nervously, trying to figure out what to say that hasn't already been said. Eventually, I decide to talk about the beginning.

"Usually, when you meet your younger sibling, it's when they're born," I begin. "However, Stevie was five when I first came into her and my parents' life. That's because they first took me in when I was nine and the adoption was finalized a year later. When they first brought me home, I was a bit apprehensive and didn't trust them yet. Back then, I was known as a problematic child...by the system. My emotions, especially my temper, often got out of control causing destructive things to happen. At the foster home I was at before this, they didn't know what to do. The adults hated me and the other kids were too terrified to come near me."

I pause, as ancient traumas make their appearance. Taking a deep breath, I muster enough strength to continue.

"I was scared that this would happen at my new home too. And so for the first few weeks, I pushed them away as much as I could, Stevie especially. I, either ignored her attempts to talk to me or... I lashed out. This continued until... I went too far. This time, I ended up pushing her which resulted in a bloody nose and a decent sized bruise. My parents were furious, more than they ever were up to this point. I remember being terrified as they sat me down in the living room. I was convinced that this was it, they were going to send me back...to that system."

My voice breaks off as I relive that time of my life. How if I didn't have my parents, things could've ended up different.

"What I didn't expect, was for them to start asking me questions. Not as an interrogation, but because they somehow understood that I was doing everything for a reason. For a good twenty minutes or so I resisted, still expecting the worst to come. Eventually, though, I couldn't keep it in. I broke down and told them everything. They stopped being angry after that."

As I continue, I don't even have to close my eyes to be transported back in time.

"They promised that they would always be there for me, that they would always love me. And they kept their word. Right up...until I lost them. First, my dad when I was 19, and then my mom almost two years ago. After this talk, I had to go and apologize to Stevie. I found her in her room, drawing something. I barely got the words out before she forgave me. Just like that. In fact, she was happy to see me, as if the incident never happened. Even back then, she never held a grudge against you. Since that day, we became almost inseparable. I tell you this story because it explains why Stevie became the person she was. The ability to believe in the good of everyone, her capacity to see every perspective, her forgiveness. All of it, she learned from our parents. I'm not surprised she brought that here."

I shake my head, my hand balling into a fist. "All she wanted was to make people smile. Through her friendship, her art. Everything. She didn't deserve this...for her life to be cut short. I loved her so much...and I will miss her every day."

Blinking back tears, I step down from the platform and head back to my seat. Somehow, I'm able to keep myself together and they stay inside.

I feel Rebekah's hand come over mine, squeezing gently. The gesture somehow makes everything less painful. Soon, the ceremony ends with Vincent thanking everyone and providing instructions for leaving.

I make everyone wait outside the entrance for Vincent without too much protest. They still don't have the best relationship but, they manage to keep any lingering grievances to themselves around me. I wasn't going to pick a side in any arguments, which usually revolved around something small.

By the time I see him approach us, the place is empty and devoid of the decorations that were here.

"Sorry that went a little long," he says, a sheepish expression on his face. "I didn't expect that many people would want to speak."

I shrug. "Don't apologize, I'm glad they did. It makes me feel better that I wasn't here."

He frowns at me. "You're not blaming yourself for what happened, are you?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" I remark. "Of course I do. If I was there...I could've protected her."

"She wanted you to come with her."

I roll my eyes. "I know that, Vince. I wish I could've but...you know why I couldn't."

We exchange a silent look. He knew about Nemean and how they wanted me. He was the only person Mom trusted with it.

"So, you think her staying in Mirebrook would've been safer?" he asks incredulously.

"I don't know, maybe!" I exclaim, his tone rousing my easily set off temper.

I don't need a guilt trip or lecture at the moment.

"Come on, Sera. We both know how secure that place really is. She would've been just as vulnerable there as she was here. There was nothing you could do."

I whip around to face him.

"And whose fault is it?" I snap. "It's still mine. I'm the one who started all of this in the first place!"

"Because you were manipulated, Sera! By someone who claimed to love you!" I recoil, the words stinging as I'm reminded of the worst mistake I ever made. "What happened is on him and the rest of Nemean, not you."

Freezing with alarm, I widen my eyes at him. "Vincent--"

"Yeah, I saw the mark," he interrupts, his eyes slightly narrowed. "I know they're here, that they did this."

"Not everyone here did, and that was for a reason." My nerves tinge with anger once more. But, I know it's no use trying to keep this a secret now. "The community can't know yet, especially since we have no idea what they have planned."

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Sera, we have to tell people! They need to know what they're up against."

I shake my head adamantly. "No, that is the worst possible thing we can do right now."

"And why is that?"

"You know why," I snap, images from the last attack at the edges of my vision. "Mirebrook, two years ago. The council told everyone right away and look what happened! When the fire started none of them stuck to the plan we spent the last four months creating." This time as my eyelids well with tears, I can't keep them from spilling down. "Mom and I were the only ones who stayed behind! We were trapped in there for hours before someone came back."

When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are haunted. "I know Sera. As if I can forget what happened."

A tension-filled silence surrounds us as we calm down. Then, I hear Freya clear her throat.

"Wait a minute. Who the hell is Nemean?" she asks, her hands loosely on her hips.

Vincent gives me a nod. "They deserve to know."

As much as I'd rather not talk about this out in the open, I know he's right. Exhaling, I reveal who Nemean is and how I knew about them.

"Oh my god," Freya stammers after I'm finished. "Were they...really behind what happened to Stevie?"

"Yes," I say quietly. "Each time they kill someone, they leave their symbol in ink somewhere on the body. We found one on Stevie's neck."

"We also discovered one on someone else," Rebekah adds, her gaze landing on Marcel. "Daniel."

After a few seconds, he blinks in realization. "You already knew? And you didn't say anything?" he exclaimed, his forehead creasing into a scowl.

"I...yes." She gives me a hesitant stare.

Feeling a little guilty, I try to reassure him. "I made her promise not to say anything to you yet."

The irritation barely diminishes as it shifts towards me. "And why is that? I wouldn't have told any of the vampires yet."

"I know, I wanted to wait until I could convince Klaus and Elijah first which didn't take as long as I thought it would." I turn back to Freya who I can tell is also a bit annoyed. "And I didn't want to stress you two. My mom always talked about how it wasn't good for her clients."

Her gaze softens at this, her arms loosening from her sides. "I appreciate the concern but, I'd rather know what this threat is."

"What do you think Nemean will do exactly?" Keelin inquires.

Glancing around, I make sure no one can overhear us, even with enhanced hearing.

"I believe that there will be a large attack at some point," I confess. "One that could endanger everyone in the quarter, possibly more of the city."

Both of them look at me in horrified shock.

"What?!" Freya stammers.

"It's what they always do in places like this, with large supernatural populations. Did you hear about the explosion in Savannah, Georgia six weeks ago?"

Her eyes widen, the color draining from her already light complexion.

Keelin swallows, equally disturbed. "It was on the news. They said a gas leak was responsible."

"Which was started by Nemean. They also set the fire inside. I know because I've been tracking them for years now. Including hacking into their communications."

"That's awful," she murmurs, her hands gravitating towards her stomach instinctively.

"That's actually one of their less successful ones. Usually, their casualties are around twice that number."

Marcel's eyebrows knit in concern. "What made the difference?"

"The amount of warning time. Nemean only started sending their threats five weeks beforehand. The residents had enough time to prepare a defense while staying in the right mindset. The three places they targeted before this one? Same thing. I should've known they were coming here. All of them lead in a curved line...towards New Orleans."

This leaves everyone in stunned silence.

"That's why we need to keep this between us right now," I continue, giving Vincent a pointed look. "I doubt we'll be given the same treatment."

"Why not?" he counters. "Why wouldn't they just continue the pattern?"

I roll my eyes heavenward. "Because this is different! I'm here. More importantly, I care about this place, a thousand times more than I do Mirebrook. This isn't just a means to an end for them. This is personal. They're going to inflict as much pain as they can, which means they're not going to reveal their final move for a while. Trust me on this one Vince. Do you really think they'll give us enough to plan anything until they want us to?"

His jaw clenches repeatedly, his expression full of conflict.

"Alright," he relents, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I won't say anything for now." He narrows his eyes at me. "But if this backfires, I won't hesitate to say I told you so."

I press my lips together to keep a slight smirk from forming. "I would be concerned if you didn't," I remark before I raise an eyebrow at the others as a silent question.

Marcel lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. "The vampires won't hear a thing."

"You know we trust you," Freya adds, gesturing to Keelin who nods in agreement.

An ounce of relief runs through me, allowing the tension I usually carry around with me to ease slightly.

"Thank you," I say before a yawn escapes my lips.

Suddenly, I'm aware of just how exhausted I am from everything that's occurred since this morning.

"Are you...actually tired for once?" Rebekah exclaims with a laugh.

They all knew how I tended to stay up late. Usually, the short amount of sleep I received is somehow enough to keep me energized but, this isn't normal circumstances.

I fail to hide the smile making it's way upwards. "I know, I hardly believe it myself."

"I should probably get going then," Vincent says, his gaze meeting mine once more. "I assume I'll be seeing you soon?"

"Probably. You're the only person here who knows as much about Nemean as I do. I'm sure you'll be able to assist somehow."

He gives me an amused look. "What'd you do, bring all those files with you?"

"Of course not. I digitized everything several months ago. All I needed to bring was my laptop and four flash drives."

After another minute or so of idle conversation, he finally heads for his place. Freya and Keelin leave shortly followed by Marcel and Rebekah who have their own place in the Quarter for when they're not traveling.

"I assume that you'll be staying with us," Elijah says, somewhere between a statement and a question.

I shake my head, realizing I hadn't said anything until now. "Actually, I got a hotel room when I first arrived. It was a couple of hours before check-ins started but, I managed to charm the guy into letting me do it early."

He blinks at me in surprise. Though I catch something else too. Disappointment? I can't quite tell. Usually, people's emotions were easy to decipher but, not his. At least, not when he didn't want you to.

Finally, he gives me a slight grin. "I assume there's no way to dissuade you?"

"Nope." Though I have to admit, the prospect of staying with them is tempting. Luckily, I did plan on having to do it eventually. "But, I did just pay for tonight. After that, if your offer still stands I'll take you up on it then."

"Of course love," Klaus tells me, his gaze dancing between the two of us.

Elijah nods, choosing to ignore him. "You're always welcome when you're here."

We agree to reconvene around 10 in the morning tomorrow before taking my leave. The walk is a relatively short one, around fifteen minutes. The hotel is a historic one but not a major attraction. It's a bit more than I wanted to spend but, since I'll only be here for a night, I didn't really care.

As I start to round the corner onto the street it's on, I notice a figure emerge from the building. Something about it seems strange, compelling me to investigate. I quickly duck back against the brick. Peeking out, I freeze when the person walks underneath a streetlight, illuminating their face.

Minerva.

Why would she be at the hotel? Vincent mentioned that she lived in the Bayou. When she goes past where I'm hiding she stops suddenly, and I hold my breath. Then, the air suddenly warps around her and I have to bite down on my lip hard to keep from gasping.

Blinking, her appearance changes as everything stills once more. The woman is now several years younger and strawberry blonde hair cascades down her shoulders. A pristine white and gold dress covers her slim but muscular frame.

What the hell?!

She looks around as if she can sense someone is watching her. However, her blue eyes never land on mine and she eventually walks past me. The air shifts once more and before I can blink the older woman is back, as if nothing ever happened. I stare in confusion, unable to process anything until she's merely a shadow in the night.

Shaking my head, I finally walk down the street once more and head inside the hotel. When I reach my room, I'm snapped out of my bewildered state as my blood turns to ice. The door is slightly ajar. I didn't forget to lock it. The memory is clear as day. Which means someone else opened it.

I reach for the knife I always keep hidden, briefly closing my eyes to feel the coil of dark energy that hums in my veins. Once I have control of it, I push open the door open completely. Not seeing anyone from out in the hallway, I step inside, my eyes darting around the small space.

"If you're still here, I have a weapon and know how to fight," I exclaim, my tone harsh. "I suggest you come out now."

I receive no response, the only sound from the old radiator. Growling, I search the entire place including the bathroom and closet with no luck. Whoever was here left before I arrived. Examining my suitcase, I find it undisturbed.

With a huff, I lower my hand to my side and allow the energy to become dormant once more. Surveying the room again, I spot a small slip of paper on the nightstand that wasn't there before. Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I pick it up expecting it to be from Nemean. The paper is smooth under my fingers, thick.

This isn't anything like they've left before. Turning on the lamp, I hold it up to the light until a faint watermark can be seen. Expensive no doubt. A short handwritten message is written on one side in simple yet elegant penmanship. I don't recognize the writing. It isn't Richard's or one of is subordinates. The ink is black which could mean anything. I'd have to analyze it up close to know more.

Sighing, I finally decide to read the message, which is addressed to me.

Dear Serafina,

You do not know who I am but, I believe that I may be able to help you. I am aware of your conflict with the Nemean Brotherhood and have seen the different ways that it may end. It is because of this that I have decided that the time is come to reveal myself to you. To tell you the truth of who exactly you are. More specifically, what you are. It will be the key to defeating your enemy. You have no reason to trust me but, I have watched you from afar since you were a mere infant. I have even visited Mary and Tony to ensure that you were alright. When you left New Orleans, they entrusted me with the care of your home. If you choose to meet with me, I will be there waiting for you. However, I understand if you do not. I will send you the information in another manner.

- A.

The words leave me speechless my heart hammering in my chest. Is this real? Or some elaborate trick? As I continue to stare at the note, it suddenly starts to glow in my hands. Jumping, the paper falls to the ground, a tingling sensation running up my arms. Then, I look down to see my necklace gleaming in the same faint yellow color, the metal suddenly hot against my skin.

I stumble back, almost knocking the lamp over as a strong realization hits me. An overwhelming sense that this is the clue to find out exactly who I am. What Nemean wants with me.

Everything.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

#the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikalson x oc #elijah x oc #originals au

3 notes · View notes

afrodeitiess · 5 years ago

Text

Wedding Bells

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 | Prologue

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tony Stark x Black!Oc

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1780 Words

THE CREAMY WHITE wedding dress seemed to become tighter with each growing second, constructing her breathing and pushing her chest together so that her breasts had no other direction to go but up, up, up.

Topanga Woods has never once imagined that she'd be here. She'd never thought that she would ever choose to spend the rest of her life with one person and she remembered being quite averse to the idea of marriage. She was as stubborn as they came and that she was no picnic to be around. The idea of marriage has always felt very far away, like some inevitable fate that would one day catch up with her and drain all of the light from her life.

Every single time that her father had brought up the topic of marriage before, she'd always said that she'd die all alone and surrounded by a million cats and while her stance on the cats still had not changed, it was now hard to imagine her life without Tony Stark. It was difficult to say exactly when her feelings for the millionaire, playboy genius, philanthropist - his words, not hers - had suddenly morphed from hatred to mere tolerance and eventually to love but she'd never imagined that she'd be so excited at the prospect of walking down the aisle and becoming his wife.

Despite all of this, Topanga felt an iron grip over her heart, squeezing and wrenching until she felt as if she could just crawl into a hole and die. She'd known to expect this as she'd lived her entire with anxiety and she was always second-guessing her decisions and sweating the simple things but all of her fears and doubts were bubbling over inside of her.

What sort of wife would she make? She wasn't the most accommodating person and she required her standard eight hours of sleep to function. Topanga had a tendency to self-destruct, to simply give up or ruin something before she could end up hurt and alone. Being with Tony made her happy and she loved being able to wake up next to him every morning and being able to make him smile with a simple corny joke. She loved him and she wanted the best for him but she couldn't shake the feeling that he deserved better. Somebody else.

Besides, the title of Tony Stark's wife would definitely be different from all of the ones that she'd occupied previously. They'd started out as enemies and rivals and with time, they became friends and eventually, she was his girlfriend and then lover. And in the sum of a few years, she'd managed to add fiancée to the list and now, she was taking in the title of his wife.

What sort of mother would she make? She hadn't known her own mother as anything other than the woman had left her father soon after she was born. All that Topanga had ever had was her father and a letter from the woman who had birthed her. She didn't particularly care for her mother. What a pair she and Tony made with their various mommy and daddy issues.

Topanga allowed herself to chuckle at her own thoughts and shift ever so slightly. The little movement was enough to catch her seamstress' attention. "Stop moving. You're going to mess up your dress and then you'll have to walk down the aisle looking like a mess." Topanga adhered to her instruction and resisted the urge to retort that stating all of the things that could go wrong was not helping her anxiety at all. She was already singing that song to herself on repeat.

Within half an hour, her makeup was all done and Topanga was grateful, although she couldn't feel her face. She sat in front of the mirror and glanced over her shoulder to make sure that her makeup artist wasn't looking before she wiped furiously at the vivid red lipstick that she'd painted all over her lips. "Are you decent?" Topanga heard a voice call from the door. She could recognize her best friend's voice anywhere.

"Decent," she called to Alex and she heard two sets of footsteps from the door.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before anyways," a voice called and the words were followed by a low chuckle. Topanga could hardly stop the smile that perched itself on her lips, despite her upset feelings. Her husband-to-be. She turned around to find Tony stumbling into the room, hands over his eyes.

"I found him outside straight up freaking out," Alexis explained as she led Tony by the arm further into the large room.

"I was not freaking out. Tony Stark doesn't freak out."

Topanga scoffed underneath her breath as she could recall several times that he'd done just that. She smiled at him, although he couldn't see her and picked up the bottom of her dress and she waved off the makeup artist to give them some time alone. "Hey baby," she greeted him.

"Hey," he returned and despite her closed eyes, she could hear the smile in his voice. "I wasn't sure if it was seeing the bride or talking to her on the wedding day that's bad luck."

Topanga chuckled at him and turned around before instructing him to do the same. "What's wrong?" she asked, taking a step in his general direction and she heard him do the same. "You're not going to disappear on me, are you?" Her tone was joking and for the most part, she was but she couldn't help the fear that crept into her mind and her moisture that seemed to materialize on her palms.

"I would never. Besides, I highly doubt that there's any distance that would stop you from hunting me down and making my life hell," he said, laughing lightly as stepped to the right in the direction of her voice.

"True," Topanga admitted with a shrug. She took another step back, using the sound of his voice as a guide. "All of these preparations are getting to me. It would be much easier if we just eloped."

Tony's answer came far too quickly for her comfort. It seemed that he, too, was second-guessing everything. "We still could. We could run away from here and get engaged in Vegas. It's really nice there this time of the year. I know people there that can marry us for little to no money - I did that once, true story - and then we can honeymoon around the world and come back and show off the tan that we don't have."

Topanga's brow jutted up at the insinuation that Tony had been married once although she was sure that it was another story from his crazy life and she wasn't all that excited to hear about it. She lifted her feet back one step towards him. This time she was sure that she was close. She could feel it. She lifted her hand to grab his and was met with cool air. "To your left, Tony. No, not my left. Your left."

This time she reached back and her skin made contact with his and she wrapped her hand around him and exhaled quietly. She rested her back against him and their hands intertwined behind them and suddenly, nothing mattered. Not the doubts that she was having or the too-tight dress or Tony's Vegas story. All of her doubts were reduced to whimpering whispers at the back of her mind. She felt Tony exhale and slump a bit. "Where is all this coming from, Tony?" she asked after the silence became too much bear.

"I'm not sure," he whispered to her as they both sunk to the ground, not caring that it would be really bad if her dress was stained. "You know that I never really pictured myself getting married. Commitment? Gross, right. But I always figured that I would eventually and I love you. I absolutely want to spend the rest of my life with you but I don't know, I just always thought if I ever did get married, that my mom would be there."

Topanga couldn't think of anything to say. They talked about everything but while they'd talked about his parents before, she knew that it was a touchy subject for him. She wasn't sure that there was anything that she could say that would fix it so she didn't say anything. She simply rubbed circles at the back of his hand. It wasn't much but to Tony, it was everything. She was there and that was all that mattered the most. Still, he couldn't stop himself from voicing his fears to her. "Do you think we're making a mistake?"

Topanga sighed. "I really don't know." There was something quite daunting about having to voice her worried out loud. Even if it was to the person who knew her best. She got the sense that she didn't have to say it anyway. He already knew. "I hope not but we're human and making mistakes is what we do best. We're all too skilled at shattering but we're together, right? And we'll always be able to put the pieces back together."

Topanga wasn't sure if she believed it or if she was simply trying to convince herself but she really hoped it was true because she'd found something great with Tony and she wasn't willing to give it up. Not now.

A beat passed between them.

"God, I really want to kiss you right now," Tony commented, his fingers playing with hers. "You know that I'm absolutely in love with you, right?"

"You've said it once or twice," she laughed at him and she was surprised to find that she didn't feel as awful as she did before. If anything, she was in a hurry to put a ring on him and officially make him hers. "I love you." She leaned back against him and he squeezed her hands tighter as if she was his only tether to the world around him.

Topanga couldn't help but think that everything would be okay. They were only two people and they were, by no means, perfect but they were together and they were in the eye of the storm. It was quiet and perhaps that was all they'd ever have but it was them against the world and that was more than enough for the two troubled souls.

___________________

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄.

━ So that was the first chapter and it’s kind of tame and not nearly as emotional as the rest of the story will get but I hope you enjoyed it. Like and reblog if you did

6 notes · View notes

thelifeoftuan · 5 years ago

Text

Journalism Hell

There’s a little known fact about me. Or a fact that is usually forgotten. Either way. In college, apart from my Biochemistry major and pursuit of a career in medicine, I was also a Journalism major.

We’ll backtrack a little bit. Spring 2010 of my sophomore year of college, following a meeting with my advisor within the College of Arts and Sciences for my Biochemistry degree towards the end of that semester, I sort of spun out of control into this existential crisis. Hahaha! Why, you might ask? Well, it was at that meeting that my advisor was reviewing all of my credits and told me that I was on track to graduate the following Spring. And I was like, “What?” He looked over all of my requirements and said that with some good planning, I am set to graduate the following year. And in my head, I, for some reason, started to panic. Hahaha! I was like, “Um, excuse me dude, I’m only a sophomore. I haven’t even taken the MCAT yet, let alone apply for medical school. I’m not ready to graduate.” I remember asking him what my options were, and he was like, either book it and take the MCAT two months ago and apply to medical school yesterday then saunter on over to the commencement department and get ready to apply for graduation... or, do something else. I went home and stewed. ...like stewed to the point where the stew burned. And I was like, “what the shit! I didn’t plan for this!” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, why am I complaining, right? The prospect of graduating a year early from college isn’t something to be butt-hurt about. But at that time, I was definitely not ready, mentally or emotionally. Not to mention I was nowhere near ready to really plunge into the horrid process of applying for medical school. That would have required me to get together letters of recommendation, transcripts, take the MCAT (and do somewhat well), apply for our pre-medicine committee interview (a stupid and unnecessary process, honestly, in retrospect), decide where I wanted to try to go to medical school and get those applications together... within a matter of weeks, because if memory serves me right, the application cycles started in the summer. So after I (rather unnecessarily, I will admit) agonized about this, I was like, “nah bro, we’re staying the full four years.” And it was at that time that I then embarked on my existential crisis. What the crap was I gonna do that will effectively prolong my stay in college to the appropriate four years? And it took a couple of days. I didn’t want to squander my time (or money, to be honest) doing something that wasn’t worthwhile. But I also didn’t want to over-tax myself. At first, I was like, well? I’ve always seen myself as a writer, maybe I should delve down that route. I initially thought about picking up an English major or minor. I spent hours and hours pouring over the coursework and projecting my class schedules and how that would pan out or if it would even work. And I discovered that it would if I picked up an English minor. And this department was within the College of Arts and Sciences, and so I wouldn’t have to really branch out too far from “home base.” But then I delved further into the required classes and read up on the syllabi (syllabuses? ...silly buses?) and looked up the instructors on the university online database, and review after review for course after course... they were all mostly bad with, at best, a B- average for grades, and I was like, “...I actually don’t think this is for me.” Being a literature buff was not my thing, and I think the English minor/major at my university trains students for that... which, in my opinion, was not worth my time or energy. I barely knew how to read, let alone critically analyze literature. I definitely was not going to risk something that would take shots at my already teetering GPA if I could help it, especially if it was something additional I was taking on. At that point, I would’ve rather graduated a year early and figure it out from there. So I scrapped that idea. And then it was back to the drawing board. Another several days of searching and seeking counsel... and then one day, a random thought came into my head. There was this nice building at the southern corner of the campus that was one of the newer colleges of our university, the College of Journalism. I would always walk by this building but never ventured in. One nice summer day that Spring semester of 2010, I did. And immediately, I felt sort of the same “at home” vibe I had felt all those years ago when I decided I wanted to become a pediatrician. Another little known fact. I actually started writing (for lack of a better term, honestly) before I even decided medicine was my calling. I remember in kindergarten, I had started writing and I remember my teacher reading some of my stories to my classmates. It wasn’t talent. It was a whim. Some sort of strange whim that has carried me forward throughout the years, just like how my aspiration for a career in medicine did. Within the College of Journalism was a major known as Professional Writing. I went home immediately after that day and did all the research I could on this. There was, unfortunately, no minor offered for any of the journalism majors. But the more I read about the Professional Writing track, the more and more I was sold. This major would train me and give me the skills I needed to become a more proficient writer and actually give me an avenue and motivation to continue writing as a potential career. None of that literary crap that made me despise high school English class, but stories that I would actually enjoy writing. I meticulously planned out my current coursework remaining for my Biochemistry major and overlay the required coursework for a Journalism-Professional Writing major... and it was like over-packing for a trip (another one of my wondrous qualities), borderline impractical and insane, but doable if done correctly. I asked myself, “how invested are you in this, Tuan?” I remember taking an afternoon to think about this, seeking opinions from some of my friends. And then, by the end of the day, I decided to go for it. I scheduled a meeting with an advisor at the college who, honestly and I think appropriately, questioned my sanity. I concretely remember him, one, looking at me with his eyebrows raised when I told him my background and experience (or lack thereof), and two, asking me repeatedly, “Are you sure about this?” But when I expressed my extreme interest and drive, he complied and laid out the requirements for me. I would have to take an entrance competency exam (basically a reading and writing exam). Thank goodness the foreign language requirements were the same among colleges, because I was not about to go down that route again (Spanish 3 is a story for another time...). That summer of 2010 would end up being my busiest summer. Because I picked this new major, I would have to get the required prerequisites out of the way before I could even think about starting any Journalism classes. So this required me to take two journalism classes over the summer. And I had also enrolled in a Biochemistry course that summer. So, three classes during that fateful summer of 2010. Hahaha! Not my smartest decision. But it felt like this new endeavor into the world of Journalism breathed new meaning in my life, and I felt rejuvenated and excited. Well, that feeling did not last too long. Hahaha! Mind you, yes, the entire way until I graduated college, I loved my Journalism major and classes, and it was definitely a reprieve away from my science classes and the stress of applying for medical school. But the very first class I had to take, and I will always remember the course ID to this day, was JMC 2033: Writing for Mass Media (JMC stood for Journalism and Mass Communication and was the ID used for all Journalism classes at my university). This was the introductory “weed-out” class for Journalism majors... which shocked me when my teacher, an impassioned writer and, in my opinion, rather poorly directed masters student who took pride in making this class the hardest it could ever possibly be, said to us on our first day, “If you are taking this class in the summer thinking that it was going to be easier, think again.” In my head, I was like, “oh shit.” No biochemistry professor of mine ever said that in any of my classes on the first day, and here I am, at a place I thought was the greener side of things, and there’s this crazy 20-something-year-old lady with an ego the size of the screen projected at the front of the classroom ready to skewer each and every one of us for the next 8 weeks. ...and skewer us she did. She definitely found some sick joy torturing us students in that class that summer. And I was so out of my element. I knew that I had a disadvantage and that this wasn’t something I had a true strength in. Other people in my class seemed to have read all the time and knew how to pick apart articles, had an eye for ads and design, understood the basic workings of PR and broadcasting. Me? I was the lowly writer who really only had the skills of an unpolished kindergartener. ...but I will be damned if I let my first step into the Journalism world be a misstep. So that summer, even more than my Biochemistry class, I worked my ass off more than ever before. Because it was a summer class, we crammed 16 weeks of work into 8... which was not the healthiest thing, honestly, because that required working and studying every single night, because this lady would present us with quizzes almost every single day of class. And this class was Monday through Thursday. Not to mention you had to make a C average or above in this class to be accepted into the College of Journalism (which, yes, is a given for anything, really), but as you will see from the quiz averages of this particular class, that was kinda touch and go, and I feared for my life and the life of my classmates at several points. And thus arrives the main topic of this post. Hahaha! (That took a while, right?) These quizzes we were subjected to tested absolutely everything (but truthfully, essentially nothing) about the supposed skills a journalist should have. Looking back... honestly, it was mostly hogwash, as you’ll come to see. Hahaha! This class was so bad and so hard that I ended up making daily Facebook status posts about it and then compiling them all together in a singular post titled “Lessons in Journalism Hell” posted on my Blogspot exactly 9 years ago today. I think the funniest (and frankly most appalling) thing this teacher did for this class was each morning, she would post the quiz averages of the day before on the large projector in front of the class, which I always wrote down so that I could relay how horrid this class was, and she also put the highest score and the lowest score on the projector and always, without fail, revealed to the class who made the highest score. ...if she had revealed who made the lowest score, she probably would’ve been murdered, honestly, because no one in the class liked her. And if someone made a perfect score, she would put the student’s name up there for all to see. ...it was kinda insane what this lady did. I look back on this course with such comical contempt, because I was like, “if all of my Journalism classes are going to be like this, I have made a grave mistake.” Thankfully, this was not the case. JMC 2033 is, notoriously, and especially when taught by this one particular crazy lady, is the hardest class in the college. I think what made it hard was it was an introductory course that attempted to teach all Journalism majors the basic concepts of journalism and mass communication, which included advertising, broadcasting, PR, and professional writing, and incorporated the necessities of media literacy and competence. I will say that I learned a few things from this class. But was any of it particularly useful? I mean, a good majority of our assignments and preparation for quizzes was to read or watch or listen to something that was published within a specific time window the day/night before and remember every single goddamn detail we possibly could and hope that we even read, watched, or listened to the right thing so that we could answer quiz questions the following morning. ...perhaps that only useful thing I did pick up from this class was a stronger resilience and work ethic than what I had previously. Haha! And so, without further ado, I would like to repost my Lessons in Journalism Hell on my tumblr today, to commemorate a rather miserable yet pretty laughable time in my life 9 years ago when I decided to pursue a Journalism major the summer before my Junior year of college. Each lesson is numbered and dated with a short sentence or two I devised to describe what the quiz was about, followed by the class average (and often my own personal commentary on such average). I don’t remember my own grades from these quizzes, as I didn’t write them down. It felt like it was poor form. Also, the teacher took back our quizzes after we had five seconds to review them (for some dumbass reason I will never understand), so I don’t have them in any archives of mine. But anyway, I present to you, Lessons in Journalism Hell, June 9 - July 29, 2010. June 9 | Journalism Hell Lesson #1: Copy-editing marks. A journalist MUST learn how to copy-edit using the CORRECT symbols and marks. Class avg: 57.7/100 ...HOLY CRAP! June 10 | Journalism Hell Lesson #2: Making distinctions. A journalist MUST learn how and when to use who vs. whom. Class avg: 79.6/100 June 14 | Journalism Hell Lesson #3: AP Style. A journalist MUST learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 63/100... and teacher said she expected great things from this quiz -.- June 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #4: Newspapers. A journalist MUST learn how to read a newspaper--and figure out what content the teacher will quiz over. Class avg: horrendously low... T_T June 16 | Journalism Hell Lesson #5: Language Lapses. A journalist MUST learn that you feel bad NOT badly, that mobs are always angry and beatings are usually brutal, and finally, that you are usually nauseated, NOT nauseous...unless you make OTHER people want to vomit. Class avg: 97.3/100 :] June 17 | Journalism Hell Lesson #6: Newspapers Round 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read the newspaper (again), analyze it, memorize important facts, and rely on sheer gut about what the heck the teacher will ask on the quiz. Class avg: 68.2/100 ...my Buddha. -.- June 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #7: Diversity. A journalist MUST know the difference between an oreo and a twinkie. Enough said. Class avg: 75.7/100 June 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #8: Diversity Part 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read online news sources about blacks, Native Americans, and gays. Class avg: 43.7/100 ...OH MY SNAPS! We're getting killed by these quizzes! June 23 | Journalism Hell Lesson #9: It's anyone's guess. A journalist MUST know that if he/she WERE smarter, he/she would have made a better grade on this quiz. Class avg: 77/100 June 24 | Journalism Hell Lesson #10: Huffingtonpost.com. A journalist MUST... oh, what the hell. This quiz was completely insane and taught me nothing besides how terribly vague and untimely the quiz content was. All I learned was that huffingtonpost.com updates multiple times and the time frame we journalism students were given was within a 10-hour time span. Class avg: 58.8/100 -- I'm starting to get worried... June 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #11: AP style round 2. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 70/100 June 30 | Journalism Hell Lesson #12: The Week (online magazine). A journalist MUST not give up. As we are all getting tired of this, refer back to lessons 4, 6, and 10. Class avg: 71.9/100 July 1 | Journalism Hell Lesson #JUST KIDDING: There was no quiz today. WHOOPEE! July 6 | Journalism Hell Lesson #13: Us Weekly. A journalist MUST not let his/her brain melt while reading this tabloid-esque trash. Class avg: 78.1/100 July 7 | Journalism Hell Lesson #14: AP style round 3. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP style of writing. Class avg: 93.2/100 ...WOOHOO! July 8 | Journalism Hell Lesson #15: Pluralizing. It's bitches and hoes! Class avg: 85.9/100 July 12 | Journalism Hell Lesson #16: AP style round 4. Class avg: 85.9/100 July 13 | Journalism Hell Lesson #17: AP style round 5. Class avg. 82.1/100 July 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #18: NPR. A journalist MUST listen to 20 stories of Morning Edition on NPR (National Public Radio) and remember all the details. Class avg. 76.4/100 July 19 | Journalism Hell Lesson #19: NBC Nightly News @ 5:30 p.m. A journalist MUST watch the 5:30 p.m. programming of NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams. Class avg. 89.3/100 July 20 | Journalism Hell Lesson #20: AP style round 6. Class avg. 85.7/100 July 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #21: Advertising Age (AdAge.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with AdAge.com. Class avg. 70.9/100 ...and we were doing so well. -.- July 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #22: PR Newswire (prnewswire.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with a PR tool website. Class avg. 72.9/100 July 26 | Journalism Hell Lesson #23: ESPN.com. A journalist MUST ...seriously?! This is by far the stupidest thing I've studied. Class avg. 75.4/100 July 27 | Journalism Hell Lesson #24: The First Amendment. A journalist MUST memorize the First Amendment... word for word. Class avg. 81.5/100. Awesomeness! July 28 | Journalism Hell Lesson #25: TMZ.com. A journalist MUST read more trash. Ugh. Class avg. 68.6/100. ...GEEZ! July 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #26: Gawker.com. And so, the last lesson in Journalism Hell before the shit hits the fan. A journalist MUST read even MORE trash. -.- Class avg. 71.2/100 Hahaha! There you have it. Needless to say, I got through this class with an A (thank Buddha. I honestly would have been a little upset if the decision to pick up a second major in college brought down my GPA and further hurt my chances of getting into medical school). My teacher called out my name a number of times because I had made the highest grade on a quiz, and I think my name showed up on the board twice because I had made a perfect score on two quizzes. Each time, I just sunk into my seat and avoided eye contact. I definitely did not take these instances as accolades, because it made me feel really bad because the class averages were so low, and my classmates honestly were not having it with this lady, so I definitely did not appreciate her putting me on the spot. But regardless, I persevered and left JMC 2033 in the rear-view mirror as I started my actual Professional Writing classes the following fall semester. It gave me a giggle to go through this post again. Some comical memories of a pretty grueling summer, for sure, but productive and successful nonetheless. In the end, I definitely enjoyed my classes at the Journalism college, and it was definitely a decision that I did not regret. Anyway, just thought I’d trek through memory lane for a bit on this late night. Till next time. :]

#life of tuan #journalism #professional writing #lessons in journalism hell

2 notes · View notes