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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

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Can’t Bring Myself To Remember You

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’ve thought about it a little and I don’t think this adds anything to the story—it really just feels like a trashy filler episode.

word count: 4,173

-Part 14-

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It’s not an unusual occurrence for you to open a book near dusk then pull out of your mental wandering after dark, frequently falling so deep into immersion, so consistently dragged under by lonely curiosity that time itself seems to slip through your soft, tender fingers. A shadow twirls a lock of hair about, a gentle approach so you know he’s there.

Even when his steps don’t subconsciously take on that soundless whisper, it was too often you’d startle at the sound of his voice, almost strangely so, spun around looking slightly flustered. Azriel had always assumed it a side effect of being stolen from your home all that time ago, being thrown about in the ocean of your life, only now beginning to settle back into relative calm.

You turn now, meeting his soft hazel eyes, shadowed by lovely lashes and defined by a strong brow. A mouth that appears so soft your heart aches at the faintly curved edges, appearing so warm and inviting. The steady certainty about the way he moves, so calmly assured of each step, unrushed but quietly determined, driven forward relentlessly by his unfaltering loyalty, the dedication to helping those under his brother’s rule.

A smile pulls your mouth apart, surely gleaming in your eyes, warming your cheeks as you meet his gaze. “What a surprise to see you here,” you say, closing the book silently, balancing the thick and heavy edge on your hip, the leather of its wrapping weighing comfortably into your waist. “Looking for something?”

He smiles, pushing off from the bookcase he’d been leaning against, dark hair flopping over his brow, as soft as silk and looking as warm as fur. How lovely it would be to run your fingers through, gently playing with it like how you would do when you were younger, sat before an open fire in a wobbly line, crafting intricate patterns with your sisters.

“I’ve found it now,” he replies, amusement written clearly across his features, more open than usual, your pulse increasing. His eyes drop away from yours, landing on the book at your hip, nodding to it with a faint smile. “What have you gotten your hands on this time?”

You reciprocate the expression with a little more enthusiasm, almost beaming as you shift the volume to present the cover to him. “It was tucked near the back here,” you explain, eyes darting to the shelf you’d been stood before. “It looked a little forgotten so I had to move some of the others around to get to it. It’s a book on botany, and the different plants that can be found throughout the courts. It’s amazing how such a range can be contained to such a small land mass given the shift in climates.”

His eyes twinkle, and your heart flutters in response, smile broadening a little. “Were there many books in your first home, or did your curiosity come from seeing your father’s study?” He asks, watching you calmly, gaze skating over the beautifully crafted cover of the book appreciatively. “There weren’t as many as there are here, but there were a few I could get my hands on,” you answer honestly. “Elain and I used to flip through the pages to look at the illustrations when we were younger, though they were mostly done in ink so only black and white. Sometimes when we found ones with colour in—there were some wonderful ones. I mean, really so full of colour and shimmery paints they really looked from another world—but we would fold the corners over at the top to show to Feyre later. Then sometimes they’d have diagrams with names underneath that we didn’t yet know how to pronounce, so would fold the corners over at the bottom to ask Nesta later since our mother wouldn’t want to be disturbed. Then later because she wasn’t there.” You come to a stop, lips drawing themselves into a thin line.

“Do you miss her?” He asks quietly, those shadows of his rolling like mist from his back, weighing to the floor to cover the boards in an inky black fog. “I…it’s complicated,” you answer, head dipping as you pull the volume back to your torso, as if it will act as a shield against the complex emotions you have no idea how to articulate. “You have plenty of time to figure it out—should you wish to,” he says gently, and you peer up at him, heart fluttering at the warmth in his eyes. The faint softening at the edges of his wonderful mouth.

You remember to respond, dipping your head in a subdued nod. Tongue swiping over your lips. “Is your…I mean, your mother…?” He blinks those lovely hazel eyes, so filled with swirling colour, and you inwardly cringe, seeing how he shifts to stand more upright, posture more rigid. That sweet curve of his mouth replaced by a polite smile, one he probably knows he should give to keep anyone from feeling bad. “Alive, yes,” he answers, his tone not inviting anymore questions, without being clipped.

Lips pursing into an awkward line, your gaze drops down to the book, to your feet, nodding in confirmation. “I…I’m happy for you,” you say quietly, hoping it’s the right thing and she isn’t a terrible woman. Female. That would be quite awful, if she turned out to be.

Azriel hums lowly, and your throat rolls, toes curling a bit in your shoes. You inhale, managing to look in his vague direction, “how was your day?” It comes out much more muted than you had intended, heat spreading throughout your features as you again dip your head, felled with embarrassment. A moment of silence passes, and you feel like you might crumble into a heap of sand, simply disintegrate right then and there.

But, “good,” he answers, chuckling lowly.

Peeking up nervously, you can make out the slight twinkle in his eyes, the relaxed softness to his mouth, and relief washes through you, crushing and sweeping in its intensity. “Training’s going well,” he continues unprompted, and you perk up more, shifting on your feet, attempting to straighten out your shoulders. “It’s becoming a nice, well-rounded group. Nesta seems to be doing well, too. They all are.”

You manage a smile, drinking in every word, basking in the richness of his voice, imbued with a tinge of royal blue emotion. “Sounds like you’re having fun,” you say, trying to match the mirth of his intonation, how genuine it sounds. You don’t really succeed. “Between the strain of practice and learning, I think they do,” he answers, still smiling faintly, and you pause to take a moment to try and capture what’s different about his features when he’s smiling. The curve beneath his eyes, how his cheeks round a little, the way his lips stretch out and curve. Something about his ears raising a little higher, too.

“Have you ever considered joining?” He asks tentatively, and you freeze up.

“Training?” You manage, forcing down the splutter, cowering at the thought. His features level out, but his eyes remain amused as he nods. “No. I don’t think… It’s not for me,” you stumble through the answer, looking away. Then heat warms your cheeks, embarrassment heating across your chest, meeting his gaze. “Should I be?” You ask, quieter than before, stomach tensing as you pull the book closer to your front.

He shrugs, “only if you’d like to. You might find it enjoyable.”

You manage a tight smile, not knowing what to say without sounding rude, so choosing silence.

“Nesta…she has friends there,” Azriel says hesitantly, and you can feel his gaze on you. “They enjoy reading, too. Maybe it would be good for you to go. Exciting.”

“Really?” You ask, managing to meet his gaze, shifting on your feet as you grip the book tighter. “What sort of things—do you know?”

“I could find out,” he offers, the edges of his irises softer.

But you shake your head, “it’s fine. I’m— I’m happy. Where I am, I mean. As I am.” You dip your head slightly at the awkwardness. Should you be saying something like that with pride? There isn’t much to be proud of. Hardly anything you can say for yourself.

It’s a bit worthless, if you’re honest, to only have that to cling to.

“You are?” He asks, gently.

Your stomach drops through your toes, heart plummeting deeper than the depths of the ocean’s floor. Shifting on your feet. Even he can tell… But you nod, head dipping further as you peer at the ground, heart straining for some reason. “Besides, I love getting to read the things in here,” you manage, clutching the volume a little tighter. “And, I’m not sure Nesta…her friends would be interested in reading encyclopaedias.”

“You don’t know until you try,” he says quietly, matching your level of volume. “Wouldn’t it be nice having more people to talk to about the things you like?”

You shift again on your feet, readjusting your grip on the bound book. “Maybe? I guess…”

“So why not try?” He asks, able to hear the slight smile in his voice, and you want so desperately to look at him. “Just one lesson, or even a few minutes to see what it’s like. The first step is usually the hardest.”

“I don’t know…” you hedge, discomfort lodging itself in your throat; between your ribs. “What are you unsure about?” He asks, leaning up against the bookshelves. You shrug, not meeting his gaze. “I guess…I don’t see the point in it,” you answer reluctantly, quietly. Knowing he won’t like that response.

Sure enough, you can hear the frown in his voice, disapproval sharpening into something bladed, disappointment in your lack of enthusiasm. “You should still try,” he says gently, wings shifting at his back, refolding themselves. But you shake your head, more firmly this time, “I don’t want to intrude. That’s her space that she’s made. I don’t want to contaminate it.”

“You wouldn’t be contaminating it,” he sighs, arms folding casually over his broad chest, and you feel like he’s telling you off for something.

Slightly desperately, you aim to switch topic to something he’ll be willing to move on to. You don’t doubt he could keep you here if he wanted, simply returning to the original topic of conversation, so you have to be careful with your new selection.

“Have you asked Elain if she would join?” You ask, not meeting his gaze.

You feel his pause, heart beating a little harder in the hopes he’ll go along with it. The irony of you being the one to bring her up isn’t lost on you—after you’ve wanted a conversation free of her for some time now. So it’s just the two of you, even for one discussion.

“Elain?” He asks, bemusedly, and you nod. “Do you think she’d be interested?”

“You thought I might be. Why not her?” You reply, wincing at your tone. Shifting again on your feet. But instead of tense silence, he chuckles faintly. “I understand the two of you are sisters, but you’re very different from one another.”

Your eyes close briefly, allowing no more than a moment for the condemnation to sink through you.

You’re nothing like Elain, and he can see that clear as day.

So you smile faintly, trying to bring some life into it. “Just a thought.”

———

It had felt like being tossed to the grimy, half-rotten wooden boards of the old hut in there.

They hadn’t bothered with chains—you were human, what could you do against them?

Strange, magic, powerful creatures, hewn from nature herself. Like gazing upon perfect marble sculptures and wishing for their cold grace, sacrificing flesh and blood for stone-cold immortality.

It’s strange how distorting panic can be. How acutely aware of the smallest hairs rising on mostly bare legs, yet forgetting the faces of the fae who’d thrown you into the deep dark of the cell. Warm bodies pressing tight to one another in the dim light of the stone cell, trembling hands gripping one another, grown out nails inadvertently scraping. Shaky breaths misting in the damp, winter deep air.

Few words had been traded in the perpetual night, a cold, spindly hand passing meals into the room through some method of magic. It had been good. Cold and plain yet disgustingly pleasant.

The first time Feyre had returned from Prythian and eaten human food she had gagged, it was unforgettable seeing how she’d changed. Such a small moment with such vast implications. Having then sampled the food, likely the worst of the worst of their own pallet, you could understand the insufficiency.

It doesn’t matter now though. Not now you’re trapped, locked away from the light.

Unknown time passes, and you never hear them coming. Like the night you’d been removed, they come on silent feet, utterly predatory and entirely invincible.

He’d appeared then, sat on a throne constructed of what you think vaguely reminds you human remains—long, stretching bones bound together to be sat upon, forced to serve long after death, condemned to relentless work, never to be lain to rest. The King you’ve been warned about.

At your side Nesta stiffens, observing something you can’t, struggling to remain alert after the numbing darkness of the cell. The strange isolation that had been enforced upon you despite company.

Even to human senses, the smell of blood is apparent, stark and piercing in the barren throne room. Though everything is secondary to the dooming thrum of pressure coming from the dais. Even the lives around you fade into something lesser when confronted with the concentration of Everything before you—a culmination of everything that has ever happened and everything that ever will across the four-dimensional planes, universes stretching and thinned, brought together before the Cauldron that sits, hunched on the stone floor. Watching. Observing. Waiting.

Words jumble from the king’s mouth, but you doubt even Nesta is entirely listening, not with the white-knuckled grip she has on you and Elain, pulled taut together, bound tighter than you’ve ever been before, a refusal to release one another. Even as numbing pain sets in, you don’t try to escape, each of you understanding the aches of the grip are small safeties, reminders you still exist with one another.

Grey-blue eyes catch yours across the hall, wide and fearful as they gaze upon the three of you. The youngest, yet the strongest. The strongest of your sisters, yet maybe the weakest in the room beyond yourselves. The power imbalance so stark the world tilts a little, as if nodding its head sadly in agreement.

Awareness is dunked over you like taking an icy bath, coming to in time to hear the damning words that have your heart jittering in your chest. Lurching and fumbling with fear.

“Who is the youngest, over there?”

And like a moth drawn to flame, your terrified eyes lock with his, singled out as a knowing smile tilts the King’s lips. “You.”

It’s a new terror, you understand. Being noticed by a being so incomprehensibly greater. How to rationalise and understand the fear in the fleeting seconds that tick faster and faster with each blink of your eyes. How time falls flat, and eventually pulls apart as a guard’s hand rips you clean from your sisters, a snarl of rage only adding to the ringing buzz that glistens though your ears, feet fumbling numbly over the cobbles, cracked and jagged in places.

The world fades in and out of focus as ice prickles from beneath your skin, at once hot and at once freezing the skin from your flesh, so cold it will start peeling back at any second, shedding until you disintegrate onto the floor. You’re helpless as you’re pushed onto the dais, far too close to the prowling beast of the Cauldron to ever come away. Even if they released you, the understanding is clear to you it would not allow the escape.

Noises break through the lilting haze of your world, vision clearing enough to pick out the wide, hellish eyes of your oldest sister, the conflict of terror and undeniable rage that blazes away in full view, and you wonder how she can sustain it. How she can muster up an emotion so overpowering your attention is pulled away from the Cauldron. From the King, and Queens.

Her teeth gleam in a snarl directed to the male atop the throne, and you wish for even an ember to take root in your soul. The inadequacies of your own self rising to the surface like bodies buried in muddy land.

“Put her in.”

Every muscle strings taut in your body, jaw nearly breaking itself from pressure, nearly vomiting the food you’d been given from squeezing your stomach in, every part of your being inherently recoiling from the eerily calm pool of black water before you, so still it looks like glass, contained in metal that reeks of something that should not be touched. Even borne witness to.

You’re lofted into the air, unable to so much as kick, terror taking control of your body, feeling as though you’re freshly dead, held stiff by catatonic shock while breath still whispers from your lips. Screams are choked back by the tightness in your throat, lungs burning with cries that would surely curdle blood, piercing shrieks that might at least serve to deafen their keen hearing.

But their large, spindly hands release you, and you slide into the yawning mouth. Gaping, and grinning.

Ice-cold water shocks your system, and you sink like a stone into the liquid. Sinking. Sinking. Sinking.

Dropping through the barriers of the realm. Falling off the edge of the world.

You drop further than possible, and nightmares resurface. Of rivers that swell and break their banks, flooding wetlands and tearing livestock from their home in the torrents of the winter melt. Rain lashing down day after day, heart pounding in your chest, hoping the rising water will never reach the already shaky beams of your rotting hut. In those night terrors there’s no escaping the rising tides, the currents gripping your ankles as you’re snatched from your feet, dragged away and under, swallowed whole and torn from your family in the blink of an eye.

Liquid like mercury surrounds you whole, submerged in the quicksilver of the Cauldron’s contents, dredging up long forgotten memories as though your life is passing before your eyes. Laying on the floor of your father’s study, flipping through books on food, plants, fauna and flora. There had been one nightmarish creature that had always stuck with you, lurking in the depths of your mind no matter what comforts Elain had provided, nor the goofy drawings Feyre had done in attempts to reduce the terror, nor the reasoning that such a small creature whose home was the deepest, murkiest parts of the sea would ever be able to find you.

And yet the Cauldron seems to seek it out specifically, conjuring the memory of the slimy pale blue paint that had been used, the ink that sharpened razor like teeth, the small spot of white on the page that illuminated the fish’s grotesque features.

Like an angler fish, you can’t help but feel now, sunken so far below, sucked in a whirlpool to the bottom of the Cauldron, that its icy surface had been the light, the power rolling from its dark metal the warm glow, and you’d been thrown toward it.

Now past the shredding ring of teeth, cast into its stomach.

The inky water pushes at your lips, squirming at your squeezed-shut eyes, wriggling like icy maggots trying to crawl beneath your skin, to worm their way inside and infest. It seems impossible to hold them out—everything had come from the Cauldron, how were you supposed to barricade yourself against that which you’d been born of?

You pull as tight as you can, wrapping in on yourself as blood recoils from your extremities, all you can salvage of yourself pulling taut and compact, stitched closer than rock, squeezed denser than ice that’s had centuries to compress. Air has long since lost its value among your turned around preservation instincts. Air is a pathway in, and you fear its intrusion with a conviction that spears deeper than any fear of death.

But the Cauldron is a prime creator, second you suppose only to the Mother, and has no concern for time.

No matter how long you keep it out for, minutes, hours, days, years, time is endless and stretching, a new metric confined to the swirling depths of horror contained within its malice-imbued metal. No matter how long you keep yourself walled off, hibernating deep within the parts of yourself you hadn’t even known existed, it waits just outside, prowling, circling, slowly squeezing and constricting. Until like even ice, or rock, you’ll split open. Pressure so steep it could cleave universes.

Even after the walls you’ve hidden behind, the only things keeping out the idle swirl of pure, liquid power, it’s not enough. Everything will fall to time, eroded and grated down to dust beneath the relentless drip of ticking seconds.

Your mind feels too numb to register as it creeps in, cold and deadening as it spreads calmly throughout your blood, filling you up from the inside out, infusing into your skin—numbed from slumber. Creeping and contaminating with cold, needle slim fingers, rearranging and knitting pieces together than should not be joined within a mortal.

It holds you with a familiarity that’s at once startling and reassuring, a puppet returned to the puppeteer, a dress returned to the seamstress, a splintered leg returned to the carpenter. All of them at once, without the care of a mother for her child. Cold and analytical, examining its past creation, exploring its functions with harsh fingers. Peeling back your skin, then your flesh, then your skull, retrieving the centre of your thoughts to discover your foundations.

Wishes and desires, tucked away secrets even you’ve forgotten, passing thoughts unworthy of being voiced, wants that deserved to be spoken but tied down by your tongue. Its ladle scoops you out, hollowing your mind and stomach, dipping a spoon into soup to retrieve a mouthful, except this space will be replaced with something else. Something to push the bounds of humanity and transform you into the sharp-featured creatures who had taken what scraps of your world had remained.

Something with the tremendous strike of lightening but worse fills the empty pockets it’s made. Capable of burning like the blazing rage contained within quicksilver eyes. Something slower. More insidious. You aren’t made for brute force, so a more subtle route will have to be afforded.

Like it had selected the nightmarish memories, so does it haul up the secret wishes. The wants so desperate they have heat kicking back against the icy touch of the Cauldron’s waters. To blaze like Nesta, to protect like Feyre, to soothe like Elain. But more.

A use.

If not a warrior, then a blade to be harnessed.

The Cauldron plucks the desire from your bones, and your body slumps. Skin without its stuffing, a heart without its thump. You could swear you feel it smile as it finds what it’s looking for, now conjuring up its match. The piece to fill the void it’s created by removing the wish, replaced with something sturdier, to lift your body to immortality.

With each possibility the prices rise steeper, and yet you no longer recoil.

The craving to have something—something entirely new, something entirely your own taking control of your mind and soul, driving you forward. How deeply you yearn to be someone with possessions that are your own. Not passed down, nor borrowed or shared, but your own. Something only you can have.

The desire is so acute you feel salty wetness push out from beneath closed eyelids.

To be sought after. Craved. Pursued.

Valued, treasured, fought for.

To have something that made you become both desired and capable of protection.

The cost would always be irrelevant for an offer like that.

Down to your roots, clipped at the foundations, an entirely human desire to be wanted. At whatever price, the yearning so innate and so acute your heart aches within the cage of your ribs. It runs deeper than a want, or a wish, or a need. So inherent to your ideal that now you’ve discovered its existence, returning without it would be a new death with every second, every breath drawn taking you further apart from the moment your could’ve had it.

The Cauldron smiles, dangling it before you, quietly hiding away what it’s already taken, not giving you a chance to consider what you will lose.

And with a still human heart, your soft, trembling fingers pluck the glowing green star from the inky darkness. Fooled by inexperience.

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g0blintears · 4 months

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Dark Devotion [Yandere! Dead By Daylight x Reader]

Summary: You are a mystery to both the survivors and killers within the fog. A servant of darkness, a creature created by the entity itself, you are the shadow behind the scenes that provides the survivors with the necessities they need to survive, while also assisting killers with the weapons they need to sacrifice. You are a servant void of humanity, but not one that seeks out despair. An empty slate that perhaps just needs to be taught a little bit of hope and empathy to help the survivors escape once and for all.

Six. Botany Knowledge

Once the sound of even breathing filled the silence of the room, you quietly stood up from your chair. The pierced scraping of wood scratching across the floor and itched at your ears. Your eyes briefly looked over the sleeping brunet, watching as his chest slowly rose and fell with every breath he took.

You could understand why he didn’t want to rest. For someone like you, sleep wasn’t necessary. You could stay awake for as many millennia as the realm remained without ever needing to rest.

It wasn’t as if you couldn’t sleep though. You’ve just never tried. After all, if it wasn’t necessary, why bother?

It’s different for humans though. Since your creator had a very peculiar diet, you did everything you could to learn more about how to harvest the food source to its most beneficial potential. The more you learned about humanity, and the more you learned on how they functioned, the better you could do to ensure that the entity got to feast well. That’s why making sure the survivors were taken care of properly was one of your top priorities.

Giving one last look to the sleeping survivor, you turned around and opened up the screen door; making your way over to the next row of cabins.

One by one you continued with your routine. You walked into each cabin, dropping off some bed sheets, and left just as quick as you had entered. It wasn’t long until you were finally down to the last cabin.

Entering through the screen door, you were mindful to give the wooden door a gentle knock as you made your way inside. You looked around the room, your eyes searching for the brunette botanist, only for you to be met with another empty cabin.

Walking across the creaking wooden floors, your ears instantly picked up the sound of water droplets falling into a bigger body of water. You briefly gazed over to the woman’s desk where the source of the sound was coming from. Placing the neatly folded bedsheets on her bed, your focus went over to the table, intrigued by the contents that were scattered on the surface.

Dozens upon dozens of notes littered the desk. Papers scribbled with messages that started with ‘to me: from past me’ were written over in messy ink. Following the trail of papers, your eyes looked over the various plants spread over the window sill. Many of the herbs and flowers from the realm were planted into small tin cans with little noted descriptions of each flora written on a piece of paper taped to the wall. Each one of those notes had drawn diagrams of the plants, along with detailed paragraphs about the biology of each greenery and theories of what they did.

All of the notes were so intricate and riveting that you found yourself immersed with all of the contents on the desk. Especially once your eyes caught sight of the very corner of the table where a bowl of water with a tubed outlet was placed. The tube allowed water to dribble out of the small hole and fall into another bowl of water that was placed underneath the desk.

Lifting a hand to the desk, your fingers lightly traced over the notes. Reading over the contents of scribbled passages with curious [eye color] eyes. You took in all of the information like a sponge. Not once did you take your attention away from the papers, not even when the cabin door swung open.

Claudette looked down at her hands with a tender smile.

Her fingers gently held onto the handle of her basket. Various flowers and herbs of unknown origin were bundled into the mahogany hamper. Her hands were scratched up with cuts and bandages, a few lumps and itchy rashes covered her dark skin, but she didn’t mind as she gazed down in awe at the mysterious bundle of flora.

Claudette had just gotten back from foraging around the camp. After the nice blonde woman named Kate had shown her around, Claudette had to excuse herself from the others. The wave of information of the realm had flooded her mind like a typhoon, and she needed an outlet to rethink everything she had just learned.

She had gone back to the cabin Kate had said belonged to her. Upon entering, she had found herself staring at a desk with hundreds of notes written in her handwriting. All of the papers helped explain the situation to her in more detail. Not only that, but they also brought back some of her memories.

She had died.

She could still feel the pierced knives break through her skin. The many hooks that impaled into her shoulder, over and over again as she let out a horrid scream that scratched at the back of her throat. It sent shivers down her spine. Her breathing became disheveled and she began rocking back and forth while holding onto herself. Those memories were becoming overbearing. She couldn’t handle it. She needed to leave.

Once she had shakily grabbed her basket off the floor of her bed, Claudette ran out the door and sprinted into the forest. She ran and ran until the lights from the torches around the cabins began to fade, and she had found herself in the middle of the woods surrounded by towering trees and unfamiliar plants. After her heart settled back into an even pace, she began to recoup by throwing herself into the bundle of flowers.

With shaky hands, she studied the plants surrounding her, her once fearful brown eyes stared down at the flowers in awe. She was shocked to see how many of the flora looked like plants she had known back in her world. However, the plants in this realm were nothing like the ones she had studied. The flowers here were vastly different, glowing neon colors throughout the stems.

Memories of her life in the realm had slowly come back to her, but unlike the ones back in the cabin, these memories weren’t bad. They were fuzzy cut up images of her studying the flora of the realm. The recollection of broken memories were both comforting and familiar pieces of a puzzle that rose with each plant she encountered. She remembered how much she loved studying the flowers in the realm and how her knowledge in botany had helped not only her, but the others in this world.

She also remembered that all of the plants in this realm were scientific anomalies that had her mind buzzing with questions. These flowers had different purposes, each purpose confusing her more and more as she dug through the dirt and pulled the roots of the plants from the ground to place in her basket.

She had explored the light fog until her basket was full to the brim with unknown greenery. Once satisfied, she went back to her cabin. She was no longer upset, but rather excited to study and learn about the nature of this new place once she was in the safe haven of her room.

All of that led to where she was now. As soon as she walked through the screen door, she paused. Claudette’s eyes widened a bit as she gazed upon the person standing by her desk.

“Oh, hello.” She called out, placing the basket of plants by the door of the cabin. “Are you another survivor?” She asked with a small tilt of her head.

You didn’t respond at first. Your eyes just intensely stared at one of her notes, as though you were contemplating on saying something.

“I see your memories still haven’t returned.” You chose to respond before you finally brought your full attention to the botanist. “No. I’m not a survivor. I am the servant to the entity.”

“Servant?” She repeated, a frown formed on her face. She couldn’t quite remember you. Her memories were still a collection of broken fragments, but she did remember reading through her notes on things about you.

You were the entity’s servant. The only being allowed to wander anywhere around the realm without being blocked off by an invisible wall. She didn’t know how old you were. What your name was. Or how you were even created. No one knew any of those questions. You were a complete mystery, much like your creator.

All she knew about you was what she observed from the sidelines. And according to her notes, you were really nice and helpful. A little bit hard to talk to, but that could be blamed on herself since she was never the kind of person to easily talk to people. Other than that, she never thought one bad thing about you. If anything, her notes often wondered if you were anything like her.

Claudette let a smile curve on her lips. “Oh, it’s you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You shook your head, your eyes subtly trailing back to her desk. “Not at all. I was just dropping off some bed sheets.”

Claudette nodded. “Okay then. Well, thank you.”

The room was silent once more with Claudette looking at you and her eyes trailing over to her desk, anticipating for you to leave so she could continue to study her notes and bring back other memories to further study the plants within the fog. Although you said you were just there to drop off some bedsheets, you didn’t make any moves to leave after completing said task. You merely stood there, eyes glued to her notes.

“You’re wrong.”

You finally spoke, your words catching Claudette off guard.

“Huh?”

You pointed to one of her notes.

“The golden flowers. They don’t provide any aid to healing. However, they do grant one hundred percent bonuses to your currency.” You picked up one of the fragrant primrose flowers that was cut and strayed on the desk. You then twirled the stem of the flower in your hand, your eyes gazing down at the glowing golden petals.

Claudette’s eyes widened. Taking quick strides across the floor, she hastily picked up her notes, her eyes moving from her notes to the flowers between your fingers before her gaze met yours.

“Really? Because whenever I’d burn these offerings I would often feel like they had medicinal properties that would soothe injuries. I actually remember that feeling. I often felt like I was making a difference when it came to healing whenever I would offer the primrose to the campfire.”

You nodded, “Yes, I am certain that the primrose flora do not have any healing effects. What might make you think this could be a variety of factors such as your knowledge on botany or your ability to track injured survivors, however, I don't think that is exactly what you’re referring to.”

Claudette was quick to shake her head in protest, “No! I know the difference! When I would burn any of the plants in this realm, I can tell that it was doing something different, I just didn’t know what.”

“It’s the offering itself telling you what your main objective for that trial is.” You calmly explained. “For example, if you happen to burn a bog laurel flower, then you would feel the need to focus on generator repairs. If you burn a crispleaf amaranth, you would want to focus on escaping. Each offering motivates you to focus on an objective within the trials.”

Claudette gasped, “That makes so much sense!”

She then fumbled through her papers, her fingers excitedly flipping through all of her notes until she pulled out a brand new sheet of paper. Grabbing a pen, the woman scribbled down the things you had just taught her. She could feel her head thump in pain. Memories of the things she learned from the realm were resurfacing. Thousands upon thousands of questions filled her mind, all in which crowded her thoughts as she turned her attention back to you.

Regardless of how her head screamed at her, Claudette ignored the pain and grabbed some of her notes. The botanist then proceeded to push the papers into your hands.

“What about these notes? I’ve noticed that the leaves on the crispleaf are highlighted with crimson veins; that's not unusual since they’re amaranth flowers. But! What is unusual is that amaranth are short-lived perennials, or commonly known as annuals.” Claudette grabbed one of the amaranth flowers from the window sill. She brought the potted plant over to you, and carefully lifted it up to your eye level.

“If that were the case, then how come this one hasn’t died?” She then handed you the potted plant. You had to attentively tuck her notes into your arm as you held onto the shining tin of the planted amaranth.

Claudette didn’t seem to notice you juggling between her things as she scurried back over to her desk and continued to pull out more papers.

“The Amaranthaceae are a family of annual or perennial herbs. Depending on how the amaranth are stored and what species of amaranth they are, its lifespan can vary, but typically in a stored environment they can live up to a month or two. While in the wild they can live up to maybe a few weeks or months. The point is, the flowers themselves don’t live that long!”

Taking out the sheets of paper she was looking for, Claudette walked up to you and brought you a few charts. On the pages were tally marks scribbled across each line on the paper. Another page had squares with numbers and letters labeled ‘MTWTFSS’ along with a question mark on the top of each chart.

“What is this?” You asked, your eyes scanning over the paper, surprised and intrigued by the details of the notes.

“It’s my homemade calendar!” She exclaimed enthusiastically as she leaned over your shoulder. Her hand brushed against yours as she pointed at the different tally marks on the pages.

“At first I started tracking time by using tally marks to show how many hours have passed in this realm, but since that got overwhelming, I’ve decided to keep track of time by making a calendar.” She then pointed at the corner of the paper, “Since I have no idea which month I’m in, I’ve decided to just label them all as question marks for the time being, but each one of my months have seventy three days and each day has thirty hours. It just makes things easier since there’s no leap year…or at least not that I know of.”

Scratching her head, Claudette continued, “My memories are still fuzzy, but from what I’ve read in my notes, I’ve learned about ancient civilizations and how some old customs used to use water as a means to tell time.”

Claudette then left your side to pull out the journal that documented that day she had talked to the two scholars. Her eyes briefly read over the notes once more before she moved her attention back to you. “I had known this realm didn’t have a way to tell time. There are no clocks, there is no sun, and there aren’t any stars to track, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t at least try to record how much time had passed.”

Claudette then excitedly grabbed your wrist and brought you over to her desk. She went on to point at the large claymatic bowl you had previously been studying.

“See this here? This is a water clock, also called a clepsydras. I made it with the clay I molded from the dirt,” She spoke with a proud grin before continuing, “You see, I learned that many cultures used this method to track time,” She explained, her eyes looking through her notes. Claudette then crouched down, her hand still clamped around your wrist, bringing you down to level with her in front of the bowl of water placed on the floor. “There are two types of clepsydra. Inflow and outflow, both methods needing two large containers full of water. This right here just so happens to be an inflow type. You can tell because right here are marks for each hour.” She explained, her fingers pointing to the inside of the bowl where you can see numbers and lines marked across the clay.

Claudette turned her head towards you. You could see how bright her brown eyes shined as she gazed at you with excitement. “With this method, I can track how many hours have passed in the realm!” She exclaimed, then paused. Her smile wavered a bit as she looked back at the water with her teeth lightly chewing on her lower lip, “Well, it’s not always accurate since I sometimes don’t make it out alive in trials and I come back to find my clock has overflowed, but it works enough for me to get a guess-stimate of how much time has passed.”

Her eyes then went to you and then the potted plant that was still resting in your hand.

“This is what brings me to my question. I know in some customs these flowers are said to be everlasting, immortal- they never die! But flower meanings aren’t facts. These are annual flowers and they aren’t supposed to last more than a few weeks, but they’ve surpassed that number! These annuals haven’t wilted since being planted! Why is that? Same question goes for all the other flowers that are supposed to be annuals!”

She scooted herself closer to you. You could see her cheeks flush with enthusiasm as she excitedly spoke in rapid words.

“Does this have something to do with the biology of the flowers themselves? They aren’t exactly normal flowers, right? Or is it because the motion of time doesn’t exist here? I realized that like these plants, we don’t grow old. We don’t age no matter how much time has gone by! So far I’ve tracked that a few months have passed since I’ve created this clock, so it’s not a lot of time, but I can’t help but feel like it’s been maybe a few years…”

She then frowned, her mind began to stray for a moment, but before she could go back to any old memories of her previous life, Claudette shook her head. She didn’t want to think too hard on how long she’s been in the realm. What mattered was the present. So with her hands slapping her cheeks, she turned back to you.

“Well, that aside, I believe that we are like these plants,” Claudette brought her hand to her chin, her mind buzzing with questions that she let slip off her tongue.

”I don't know how it is possible, but it seems as if we are somehow frozen in space and time. Everything I know about the science of how the universe works, it just doesn’t seem to apply to this place. It’s- it’s impossible. And yet, here I am experiencing it first hand…” Claudette pursed her lips, a deep frown settling on her face, “Does this mean that this place defies all laws of physics? I know time is technically just an illusion generated by the limitations of the way we perceive this universe, but still. Time is constant, and yet…”

Rubbing the space between her eyes, Claudette let out a tired sighed, “Oh wow, I shouldn’t be getting so worked up on this. After all, I’m no quantum physicist. I just have a love for the science field, so I don’t know why I started rambling. I doubt you’re even allowed to talk about this stuff, huh? ” She chuckled, moving her gaze to meet your stare.

As for you, you were honestly not expecting her to be so vocal after you had merely just corrected one of her notes. But here you were, sitting with her on the floor with your arms full of papers and a plant in your hand, having a one sided discussion over the nature of this realm.

For a moment, you had no idea how to reply. There were certain rules that you couldn’t break. Ever since an incident with an old survivor, you couldn’t afford to make another mistake. Not if you wanted to disappoint your creator once more.

However, this survivor wasn’t like him. She was very intelligent, yes, but also carried herself in a way that was transparent. Much like you when you first emerged from the fog. So given what you’ve seen out of this survivor, you know that she is no threat to you. If anything, she could prove to be beneficial if you were to motivate her.

“This realm is much different from your own. Think of everything you know about the properties that make up your universe, and disregard everything about it. This place isn’t your world. It is the entity’s.” You finally explained, voice stern as you faced the botanist, “Understand this, there are some things in this realm that I am forbidden to discuss, and there are some things that are just too vast for the human mind to comprehend. So know that I will do my best to answer any inquiries you have on this realm, and I’ll let you know if I am unable to answer.”

Claudette’s eyes widened and she took a deep breath. She was half expecting you to shut her down right away since that’s what you’re known to do when asked questions on the entity. Yet, here you were. You listened to her, you conversed with her, and you were ready to answer any questions she had (with some exceptions) but that's besides the point.

It was unexpected, but it thrilled her. Her fingers fidgeted with the papers in her hand, but she wasn’t nervous. Instead, a fuzzy warm feeling bloomed in her chest, causing her lips to curve up into a bright, excited smile.

#claudette morel #Claudette morel x reader #yandere dbd #dbd x reader #yandere dead by daylight x reader #yandere dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #yandere dbd x reader

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creative-caramel-coffee · 1 year

Text

Shes a Sleepy Softie

Pairings: Weems x Thornhill x reader (platonic)

Word count: 3K

Summary: You have been hacking trouble sleeping and the teachers finally find out.

TW: insomnia (I guess), Exhaustion, passing out (kinda?)

A/n This is cute.

It's not that you found botany boring, the opposite in fact, but you were so tired. To say you hadn’t been sleeping well this past week would be an understatement. Ms Thornhill was stood at the front writing on the board and drawing diagrams. But the way you laid your head down on the desk was almost involuntary. In this new position, with you head resting on your folded arms on top of the table the battle to stay awake grew so much harder.

Mentally you reasoned you would be able to get the notes from Yoko at the end of the day when the two of you were back in your shared dorm. Your eyelids drooped and you gave in to the temptation of sleep letting it wash over you. Your breathing began to slow and become more even. Your pens and pencils, notebook and bag were a mess on the table, but you trusted Yoko to wake you up in time for class to end.

Ms Thornhill had just assigned a worksheet and gone to sit back at her desk. She glanced over the classroom, her gaze settled on you. She sighed mildly annoyed, standing she walked over to your desk and stood beside you. Her hand reached out to rub your shoulder to wake you up, but a voice stopped her.

“I wouldn’t recommend that Ms thornhill.” Yoko said not looking up from her notes.

“And why would that be Yoko?” Ms Thornhill said letting her hand fall back to her side.

“She hasn’t been sleeping this past week. Im honestly surprised it took this long for her to drop.” She said finally meeting the teachers concerned gaze.

“At all?”

“Maybe about an hour since last Monday.” Yoko shrugged. “I wanted to tell someone, but she begged me.”

“Good god thats not enough. Thank you for letting me know. I’m going to step outside to make a call to get her excused from classes for the day. I trust you to keep an eye on her.” she said, and Yoko nodded.

Ms Thornhill walked to the classroom door glancing back at your sleeping from before turning the door-handle and stepping into the hall. She fished her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her contacts. Finding the principal number, she listened to the dial ring.

“This is principal Weems.” The headmistress answered.

“Hi Larissa.”

“Hello Marilyn whats the matter? I believe you have a class now, correct?”

“Yes. Yes, i do. I was wondering if i could have Ms L/n excused from classes for the day?”

“Y/n?”

“Yes.”

“Is she ok? Whats the matter?”

“Yoko has informed me she hasn’t been sleeping this past week. She finally fell asleep in class and i was hoping to let her have the rest of the day off to catch up on sleep.”

“Certainly. However, I will come get her when class ends, there’s nobody to supervise the dorms right now and i have an idea to assist her. Please also keep Ms Tanaka there when class is dismissed. I will be down soon.”

“Thank you, Larissa.”

“Anytime Marilyn.”

the two hung up and the teacher stepped back into the classroom. Checking her watch and then the clock on the wall she waited the last fifteen minutes of class to dismiss the students. Keeping Yoko behind.

Once the rest of the student body had left, some sparing glances to where you stayed asleep, Ms Thornhill walked over to Yoko and your desk. Yoko had packed up and was now carefully cleaning up your stuff as well, being mindful not to wake you as she slipped the notebook from under your arms. By some small miracle you slept through it.

A few minutes passed of Yoko packing everything up and Ms Thornhill keeping an eye on the both of you. A quiet knock sounded on the doorframe and Principal Weems came into the room.

“Ah I see what you mean, she sure looks exhausted.” The principal said softly, and Yoko snorted.

“Exhausted is an understatement. I’ve been waiting for her to pass out all week. She’s stubborn as a mule.” Yoko said and the principal raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I plan to take Ms L/n here back to my office to keep an eye on her. Yoko would you be able to get her anything she may need for the night from your dorm and bring it to my office? I will write you a note for your next class.” Weems said studying your sleeping form. The three of them were stood around you.

“Sure. Don’t worry about the note. I have a study period now anyway.” She said. “I’ll grab it and come back soon. You good to carry her? Because she’s not waking up anytime soon.” Yoko said with a mischievous smile that showed her fangs.

“Im sure i can manage thank you Ms Tanaka.” Weems said with a smile.

“Suit yourself.” Yoko shrugged and took both bags and left.

Ms Thornhill who had silently watched the exchange decided to say something now Yoko was gone.

“I had no idea she was struggling so much.”

“It’s quite alright Marilyn. I believe Y/n is a master in charades. If she didn’t want us to know she would have made sure it stayed that way. It is nobody’s fault.”

“I still feel i should have noticed earlier.”

“All we can do now is our best to help her get the rest she needs. Will you accompany me to my office? Someone needs to open the door and i doubt it will be sleeping beauty here and my hands will be full.” Weems joked.

“Sure. Lead the way, Larissa.” Ms Thornhill said, and Weems gently leaned down to place her arm under your knees and another around your torso. She softly scooped you into her arms and held you close as you continued to sleep with your head now resting on her collarbone. She straightened her back, standing back to her full height with you bundled in her arms. You sighed softly and turned your face into her collar. Ms Thornhill chuckled softly.

“You're quite the natural at that Larissa. She seems to like it.” Ms Thornhill joked.

“Well, I don’t suppose I hate it either, she is refreshingly warm to hold. And seems to be a cuddler.” Weems said with a lighthearted smile.

“That she does.” The botany teacher agreed as you turned yourself further into the principals embrace.

“Well, we should take this one to my office.” Weems said and the two left the room. It wasn’t far to the principal's office and there were no students in the hall. Weems heels clicked as she walked with Ms Thornhill trailing behind her. They made short quiet conversation about students and staff alike as they walked.

Arriving at the big oak doors Marilyn stepped forward and opened them, holding it wide for the principal to step in with you in her arms still. Your heads lolled slightly as you continued to sleep. Weems was reluctant to let you go, afraid of waking you, but regardless she set you down on the couch. Supporting your head like one might a small child as she laid you down into the nest of pillows. Marilyn appeared and gently laid a blanket over you which Weems noted was from where she had discarded it on the floor in the early hours of the morning. the principal thanked the botanist and went to put another log on the fire to keep the room warm. You wiggled around a little on the couch before settling which made both teacher chuckle.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

“I’ve got it.” Ms Thornhill said and went to open the door. She let Yoko into the room where she grinned devilishly at your sleeping form. She had decided to take revenge for one of your most recent pranks on her. She held your black bag in her arms and had a blanket over her shoulder.

“Ms Tanaka, I believe i have blankets.” Weems said frowning.

“Yes, but I doubt you have Y/n’s weighted blanket.” Yoko smiled.

“You are correct.” Weems said.

“She doesn’t sleep without it. Actually, she’s very particular about how she sleeps.” Yoko said.

“How so?” Ms Thornhill asked her curiosity piqued.

“Watch this.” Yoko said smiling with a feral grin that weems knew meant trouble. Yoko crossed the office and began to unzip the bag; she pulled out two stuffed toys and Weems raised an eyebrow. Yoko placed the toys next to you on the couch and whispered something in your ear. Almost immediately you reached out and grabbed them wrapping an arm around them and tucking them, so they rested under your chin.

Weems stifled a smiled at how cute it was as Marilyn cooed softly. Yoko snickered.

“Shes a big softy.” The vampire grinned looking back at the two teachers.

“I packed her a change of clothes, her Pjs, her toothbrush, her sketchbook, the blanket, her phone and her noise cancelling headphones because as i said earlier she’s a weirdo and sleep with them on.” Yoko said looking at you with a soft smile and both teachers knew there was no heat behind the coy insults.

“Right, well thank you Ms Tanaka.” Weems said and took the blanket from Yoko. “Christ thats heavy.” Weems said the weight catching her off guard as Yoko held it with ease. She just shrugged.

“Vampire strength has its perks.” She smiled and her fangs glinted in the flickering firelight.

“Yes well, what a blessing. Now, i best recommend you return to wherever you are required to be.” The principal said and Yoko smiled and crossed the room to her door.

“Enjoy your sleepover Ms Weems and thank you for setting be free for a night.” She said and left cheekily.

An hour passed and Marilyn had elected to stay, she was sat across from you on the couch reading the book she had propped up on her knees. She was cradling a mug of tea while the principal sat at her desk typing out emails. You were beginning to show some more signs of life as you stirred. Ms Thornhill looked over the top of her book at you, studying you as you blinked a few times as you adjusted to the light. She gently set the book down after placing her bookmark in the spine.

“Good afternoon, Ms L/n.” She said with a grin. You blinked at her, and she noted you still seemed exhausted.

“Hi?” You said, voice deep and gravely from sleep. You looked around slightly confused, gaze catching on the principal who had stopped typing was was watching you from her desk. You took a moment and Ms Thornhill took her chance to tease you. The principal had kindly decided to not mention the stuffies under your arm, but Ms Thornhill decided to have some fun after all, you did fall asleep in her class and the two of you got along well. She smiled at you wolfishly.

“So, Y/n who are your little friends?” She asked.

You looked down finally noticing the toys and blushed a deep shade of red and buried them under the blankets making Ms Thornhill chuckle and the principal smile.

“Oh, Yoko’s dead” You groaned.

“I assure you Ms Tanaka is quiet well.” Weems said.

“She won't be once i murder her.” You grumbled softly but they both heard you.

“May i take this chance to remind you i do not allow nor condone grievous bodily harm to students?” Weems said with a smile. You frowned grumbling softly under your breath. Deciding to opt for a subject change you sat up keeping the toys under the blanket.

“Um… Principal Weems? How did I get here?” You asked looking around.

“Well, Yoko informed me of your sleeping habits or rather, lack thereof” Weems said with a disproving frown, “after you fell asleep in Ms Thornhill’s class, we brought you here.”

“Not that I’m not grateful but why am I here?”

“Well, we cannot leave you unsupervised in the dormitory during the day and all the staff have classes or marking to do. And based off the sleeping pill I plan to give you, you need to be with a trusted adult to ensure you're alright in the event of an emergency, however unlikely, in the night. As you would most likely not wake up yourself. And based off the fact the infirmary beds aren’t very comfortable and it’s rather loud, aside from the fact the nurses go home for the night at 10pm I thought it best you stay here. With me. Unless you have a problem with that?”

“N-no. Thank you principal Weems.”

“Now Yoko has brought your things from your dorm. I’ve sent someone to get you some food from the kitchen, so you have something in you before you take the medicine.”

She said and Ms Thornhill stood and grabbed the bag handing it to you. You quickly stuffed both the teddies into the bag, and she saw what they were. Both toys were white as snow, and one was a monkey and the other a dog with a small yellow t-shirt. They both looked well loved. She smiled gently; you were cute in your own way. A softie as Yoko had said.

“So am i ever going to get to know their names?” She asked gesturing to the bag.

“Fine.” You huffed. “But i named them as a seven-year-old so you can't judge me. Also, as a kid all my toys i slept with had to be white. I don’t know why. I had one before these two and it was also white. The monkey is named marshmallow, and the dog is the older one, I’ve had her longer; her name is snowflake. Happy?” You huffed. And Ms Thornhill smiled.

“Very.” She said with an air of finality.

“Well Ms L/n-“

“Y/n.” You corrected the principal. “Ms L/n is too formal. It reminds me of when I’m in trouble.” You said wincing slightly at the uncomfortable memories. Weems sensed the change in you disposition and nodded.

“Y/n.” She corrected, “We should get you ready for bed. The food should be here soon, and you can have an early night. Ms Thornhill and I will eat with you and then it's off to bed.” She said and you nodded slightly embarrassed with the kindness and attention you were unused to.

“Come change and then we can eat.” She said and stood from her desk to come to your side. You grabbed the Pjs Yoko had chosen and sighed as she had at least gotten you something with a little dignity. It was a faded black AC/DC shirt and a pair of fluffy black long pants. You grabbed the clothes and let the tall blonde lead you to the bathroom in her private quarters with a hand on the small of your back. As the two of you left Ms Thornhill went back to her book. She looked up at another knock on the door. She stood, thanking the cook and taking the tray of food into the principals' quarters, she was good friends with the blonde and had been in there many times, so it was ok. She set the food down on the large glass dining table. The principal came and joined her bring plates from her own small kitchen to serve the food on.

A moment later the heard the door open and you stepped into the room looking slightly awkward.

“Come sit.” Ms Thornhill said and patted the seat beside her.

“Yes. You to eat and then it's back to bed with you.” Weems said and smiled.

The two teachers talked amicably while you opted to silently eat. The exhaustion had returned, and you kept spacing out while you fed yourself. Something that did not go unnoticed by both teachers as they grew concerned.

After everyone was finished Weems left and returned with a glass of water and a pill. She handed them to you and nodded. You took them sluggishly and popped the white tablet into your mouth downing the water and setting the empty glass on the table. Weems helped you up and led you to a spare bedroom. She folded back the sheets for you.

“Brush your teeth and do whatever else you do before bed and then I’ll tuck you in so to speak.” She said with a soft smile. “Bathroom is the second door on the right. The other ones the closet.” She said.

You got ready and hopped into the bed. The principal came back in a moment later.

“I expect you to sleep Y/n. I don’t want to find you were awake tomorrow. I will be in the next room or my office if you need anything at all. Don’t make me use the baby monitor.” She said sounding serious.

“Baby monitor?” You asked.

“How do you think I keep other students in bed when they stay here?” She asked raising a brow.

“You have other students here?” You asked getting sleepy.

“Oh, darling you're not the first who has had trouble sleeping. And I know a certain raven who insists on trying to sneak out. Hence the baby monitor.”

“Ha!” You laughed. “Wednesday’s baby monitor.” You said grinning and closing your eyes.

“Yes. Now sleep child. Sweet dreams darling.” She said and turned the lights out and pulled the door closed but not shut, leaving it slightly ajar.

You mumbled goodnight and rolled over. You grabbed the teddies from your backpack and burrowed under the blankets.

An hour later both teachers peaked into the room to check on you, smiling when the say the white fluff of the teddies peeking out from under the blankets. Weems grinned.

“Yoko’s right, she is a softie.”

“A sleepy softie.” Marilyn nodded and agreed.

Both teachers smiled at each other and went back to the principal's office to talk and enjoy a glass of wine.

MASTERLIST

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