#but turns out it didn’t charge me when I ordered it like half a year ago and instead it charges me when it ships (in like two weeks)

[victory-cookies]

god I’m so torn. I have a few things I really buy rn but realistically I don’t think I can afford all of them. So I’m trying to weigh what I should let myself but bc I haven’t bought myself anything nice in a while

[virgoilluminati]

Hospitality at its Finest

a Jude Bellingham oneshot

Inspo: Basically i have the shittiest job ever, and the only thing that got me through it was thinking about how jude would comfort me at the end of a long shift. I feel like a lot of you gurlies can relate so enjoy ☺️

You had had the worst day.

Probably the worst day you'd had in years

And the only person you could blame was your boss.

He was an A grade arsehole. He only cared about how much money your restaurant made. How it made him look in front of the restaurant owners.

He didn't care about your feelings, how crying had become a normal part of the shift or how every time he walked in, your stomach tied in knots.

Today was an exemplar of it.

At the beginning of the shift, everything was fairly normal. You were supposed to start at 12pm, but you had come in early, caring for your colleagues and knowing that they would need the extra staff for the new delivery. As you mentally prepared yourself for the shift, you started putting away the new stock and organizing the kitchen.

Quickly looking at your phone one last time, you clocked into work before admiring your lock screen with Jude. After all, all of this was for your future.

As you made your way to the shop floor, it was dead silent. So silent that you knew the second you opened the door in the backroom, you'd be greeted with a mess. But you didn't expect what you were greeted with. Stacks of dishes towered precariously, remnants of ingredients sprawled across counters, and an unmistakable odor of burnt food lingered heavily in the air.

Your closest colleague Haley was on the ground, covered by stock boxes. When she see's you walk in, she smiles, but the exhaustion in her eyes betrays her forced cheerfulness. Without wasting a moment, you rush to help her up, setting the boxes aside.

"Wha-"

"Don't ask. It's Jamie. He overestimated our multitasking skills again. We could use all the help we can get right now."

You nod, taking in the chaotic scene. Rolling up your sleeves, you dive into the mess, prioritizing tasks in your head.

The second the doors to your restaurant opened, a wave of eager customers flooded in, adding to the already hefty workload. You had only just made your way out of the heavy stock room before you were serving your first customer, your manager already shaking his head.

You grabbed a notepad, scribbling down order after order with precision. As you do such, you realise that no one has set up back of house, and whilst everyone was dealing with the stock, you'd be doing both positions, already.

Oh gawd it was going to be a long day.

The next issues happened just after the lunchtime peak. Your manager—ever the perfectionist—decided to go out and back home to get changed. He didn’t tell any of you, just putting your colleague Hetty in charge.

Now, for all of the reasons you loved Hetty, she was a terrible team leader. She spent half of the time bossing everyone around, whilst the other half chatting and gossiping about the managers. So when you realized that she was in charge, you knew it was going to turn sideways.

What made it even worse was halfway through the shift you suddenly got cramps. It could only mean one thing: your period.

You knew better than to miss your orders, so you managed to deal with the cramps and act normal. But as soon as anyone’s order was mentioned, you gritted your teeth. Deep down, you could feel your cramps churning up. But you managed to keep your cool. Or at least until Hetty began barking orders at you, telling you that while you were making a cheesecake, you also needed to clean the station, get the ice cream ready for service, and get the lunch menu ready that was just coming out.

Needless to say, you didn’t really listen to her orders, instead focusing on the four cheesecakes you needed to bake, twenty lusty turkeys, and the rest of your workload that’s coming in. You’d maybe gotten halfway done with the orders when suddenly your stomach muscles tightened and spasmed at the same time. It hurt to breathe in, so you tried to breathe in as slowly as possible, praying to God that the next person who insulted you would take it back as soon as they said it.

Now, you’re screwed, because between the pain in your stomach and the pressure from the customers, it was overwhelming. To make matters even worse, your restaurant owner Jiah, a certified misogynist, stood next to you as you prepared each of the dishes. Every mistake you made, or anything you said to Hetty, was being monitored. At first, it was fine—still stressful, but you were so preoccupied that you didn’t care. Until you accidentally spilled three of your cheesecakes on the ground.

Every time someone shouted at you, it felt like someone was digging into your sides. Your vision blurred slightly as you bent down to clean up the mess. As you rose, you saw Jiah’s disapproving glare. You braced yourself, knowing a reprimand was imminent.

“Do you even know how much those cheesecakes cost?” Jiah hissed, his face reddening.

"Sorry-"

You nodded, biting your tongue to keep from snapping back. Losing your temper wouldn’t help anything, especially not with Jiah watching your every move. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the tasks at hand, prioritizing the most urgent ones. Hetty’s voice cut through the noise of the kitchen, but you tuned her out as best you could. There was no time to waste arguing with her or explaining why you couldn’t drop everything to clean the station right this second.

The cramps were relentless, and you clutched your stomach briefly, willing the pain to subside. A few of your colleagues noticed and offered sympathetic looks, but they were just as swamped as you were. It was clear that everyone was feeling the strain of the lunchtime rush.

You managed to get the cheesecakes into the oven and started on the turkeys. The repetitive motions of seasoning and prepping gave you a momentary distraction from the pain. But it wasn’t long before Hetty was back, barking orders again.

“You still haven’t cleaned the station! And where’s the ice cream?” she demanded.

“Working on it,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. But the frustration was building, and you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them back, determined not to let anyone see you break down.

Finally, a small reprieve: the cheesecakes were done, and you could focus on plating the desserts and getting them out to the customers. But just as you thought you might be able to catch your breath, Jiah appeared again. He didn’t say anything, but his disapproving glare spoke volumes.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. When you accidentally spilled three of your cheesecakes on the ground, Jiah’s look was withering. He didn’t need to say a word; his expression made it clear he was counting this as yet another mark against you.

“Get it together,” you heard him mutter under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. You nodded, biting your tongue to keep from snapping back. Losing your temper wouldn’t help anything, especially not with Jiah watching your every move.

Taking a deep breath, you focused on the tasks at hand, prioritizing the most urgent ones. Hetty’s voice cut through the noise of the kitchen, but you tuned her out as best you could. There was no time to waste arguing with her or explaining why you couldn’t drop everything to clean the station right this second.

Just as it began to calm down again, Jiah's glare disappearing from notion, Hetty came over to apologize for being stressy.

"Sorry for earlier," she said, her tone uncharacteristically soft. "I know I was a bit much."

You accepted her apology with a nod. "It's okay. We were all under a lot of pressure. I was just about to go to the toilet."

Before you could make your way to the restroom, a call came through the kitchen, telling everyone to gather in the staff room. You tried to hold yourself together, though you could feel tears threatening to flow. The cramps were still gnawing at your insides, and the stress of the day had worn you thin.

As you and the rest of the staff assembled in the cramped room, the air was thick with apprehension. Jamie, another manager, stormed in, his face a mask of fury. He didn't waste a second before launching into a tirade.

"I just got a bollocking from the owner! What the hell happened here?" he bellowed. "This is so embarrassing! We've had multiple complaints from customers, dishes sent back, and unacceptable delays. This is not the standard we uphold here!"

His words were like blows, each one landing heavily. You stood there, silent and still, trying to absorb it all without breaking down. The cramps were relentless, making it hard to concentrate on anything other than the pain.

For about forty minutes, Jamie continued his verbal assault, highlighting every mistake and misstep. You could feel the tension in the room, everyone too afraid to speak or move. As he yelled, you just stood there, taking it in, feeling smaller and more defeated with every passing second.

"This has to stop now," Jamie continued, his voice growing louder. "I expect better from all of you. No more excuses. The owner is furious, and honestly, I can't blame him. Today was a disaster!"

With that, he stormed out, leaving the staff in stunned silence. You could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you fought to keep them at bay. The pain in your stomach and the weight of Jamie's words were almost too much to bear.

Hetty gave you a sympathetic look but didn't say anything. Everyone slowly dispersed, heading back to their stations or taking a moment to collect themselves. You made a beeline for the restroom, finally letting the tears flow once you were safely behind the closed door.

Just as you began to take a couple of minutes to calm down, Jamie pulled you over.

"Hey, I need to ask you something," he said, his tone softer but still urgent. "Are you willing to leave early today?"

You had already had to cut a shift recently, and your hours were pretty low. "I really need the hours, Jamie. I'd prefer to stay."

He frowned. "I need to get rid of some staff because there's too many on right now."

You tried to politely refuse again, but before you could finish, he called out, "Hayley! Do you want to leave early?"

"Sure," Hayley replied without hesitation.

"See, it's not personal," Jamie said, turning back to you. Feeling completely deflated, you turned to get your stuff and clock out.

As you gathered your things, Jamie turned to you one more time. "By the way, you sat down too much today."

You were gobsmacked. "I didn't sit down at all."

"No, you were," he insisted. "And that's not acceptable."

You went to protest again, but he cut you off. "No, you were, and that's not acceptable."

Feeling a mix of frustration, exhaustion, and defeat, you bit back any further response. As you clocked out and walked out of the restaurant, you felt the tears begin to well up again.

By the time you got on the bus, the tears were streaming down your face. You found a seat at the back, hoping no one would notice as you buried your face in your hands and sobbed. The day's events replayed in your mind: the stress, the pain, the unfairness of it all. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on you, and you couldn't hold it in any longer.

As the bus moved through the city streets, you cried, letting out all the frustration and sorrow. You knew you had to face another day tomorrow, but for now, all you could do was let yourself feel the pain and hope that somehow, things would get better.

When you arrived home, you tried to wipe away your tears, determined to put on a brave face for Jude Bellingham, who had just returned from football camp. You were emotionally drained but wanted to be supportive and positive for him.

As you walked through the door, Jude was in the kitchen, looking relaxed and cheerful. He noticed your subdued demeanor but decided to wait before saying anything.

"Hey, how was work?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

"It was... busy," you replied, forcing a smile. "But let’s not focus on that. How was camp?"

Jude’s face lit up as he started recounting his experiences. "Camp was fantastic! We had some intense training sessions and a lot of fun. You won’t believe the prank Trent and I pulled on the new guys. We got them to believe they had to complete this ridiculous obstacle course to join the team."

He continued with animated enthusiasm, "And then there was the friendly match against a local team. Trent and I were trying out these new moves, and it was amazing to see the crowd’s reaction. We felt like rock stars!"

You nodded and smiled at the right moments, trying to engage with his excitement, but your mind kept drifting back to the stress of the day. Despite your efforts to seem interested, you felt a growing sense of overwhelm.

Jude’s stories flowed effortlessly. "Oh, and the camp mascot incident was hilarious. Trent and I ended up in the costume, and we had this impromptu dance-off with the kids. It was one of those moments where you just can’t stop laughing."

As he chatted, you found yourself struggling to keep up the façade. Your responses became more mechanical, and you occasionally glanced at the clock, feeling the weight of your exhausting day pressing down on you.

Jude seemed to sense something was off but kept going. "You know, I was telling Trent about how you and I used to go to that little café downtown. He said he’s been there before and loved it. We should go sometime."

You forced a laugh and nodded. "That sounds great."

As dinner preparation continued, you made an effort to stay present, but the stress from earlier was starting to take its toll. You kept insisting you were fine, even though you felt increasingly overwhelmed.

In the midst of this, you were preoccupied with trying to balance cooking and maintaining a cheerful demeanor. As you pulled a dish out of the oven, you accidentally brushed against the hot rack. The sudden sharp pain in your hand was like a jolt that broke through your emotional walls.

You cried out and rushed to the sink, holding your burned hand under the cold tap, your composure finally shattering. Tears streamed down your face as the pain seemed to trigger a flood of emotions from the stressful day.

Jude, who had been in the living room, heard your cry and the sound of your sobbing. He rushed into the kitchen and saw you with your hand under the tap, tears flowing freely.

"Hey, what happened?" Jude asked urgently, moving quickly to your side.

"I—I burned myself," you managed to say through sobs. "I’m so sorry... I tried to keep it together, but I couldn’t."

Jude gently took your hand from under the tap and inspected the burn. His concern deepened as he carefully wrapped your hand in a clean towel.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, m’love. It’s okay—speak to me,” Jude said, his voice filled with concern as he moved to your side.

“What do you mean? I’m okay, I just burned myself,” you tried to explain, though your voice was trembling.

“Y/N, do you think I was born yesterday? I know my girlfriend, and I know when she’s upset. What happened?” Jude asked, his tone gentle but firm.

His insistence broke through your remaining resolve. You burst into tears, the emotional strain of the day combining with the pain of the burn. “I—I had such a terrible day. Jamie was so harsh, and everything seemed to go wrong. I was trying so hard to keep it together, but I just couldn’t anymore.”

Jude’s expression softened, filled with empathy and concern. “No, don’t say that. You’re not stupid. You’re my Y/N. You’ve been through so much, and you’ve handled it with so much strength and grace.”

He gently took your hand from under the tap and wrapped it in a clean towel. Pulling you into a comforting embrace, he continued, “Your a trooper you know.”

You clung to him, the warmth of his embrace providing a much-needed sense of security. Jude held you close, his arms wrapping around you with tenderness. He stroked your hair softly and whispered in your ear, “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re allowed to have bad days and to feel overwhelmed. I’m here to help you through it, no matter what.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely as he continued to hold you. Jude’s soothing presence and gentle touch helped ease the burden of the day. He spoke softly, his voice full of love and reassurance. “You’ve been so strong, but it’s okay to let go and lean on me. I’m here to support you, to lift you up when you need it.”

Jude carefully wrapped your burned hand in a clean towel, his touch gentle but deliberate. He then pulled you into a comforting embrace. “Why don’t you head to the living room and take a breather? I’ll sort out dinner. And try not to make any more of the place look like a disaster zone, yeah?”

You managed a weak smile as you headed to the living room, still sniffling. The sounds of Jude bustling around in the kitchen—pots clattering, the hum of the stove—provided a bit of distraction as you settled onto the couch.

A few minutes later, Jude walked into the living room with his phone in hand and plopped down beside you. He placed his phone on the coffee table and began gently wiping away the tears from your cheeks.

“I don’t want anyone treating you like that,” Jude said firmly, but with a soft edge. “I’ve had a word with the higher-ups about Jamie. It’s not on.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You did? How’d you manage that?”

Jude grinned. “Let’s just say I’m good at sorting things out when it comes to my people."

You chuckled despite yourself. “Well, thanks. I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

Jude gave a cheeky wink. “I was gonna sort it anyway, oh, also, um well now seemed like the perfect time.”

"Jude-"

He pulled out his phone and showed you the screen. “I’ve had a chat with my agent. "

"What?!!"

"Got you a photography gig lined up. It’s something you’ve always wanted to do. Figured now’s as good a time as any.”

You were stunned, your eyes widening. “What-? How-When? How did you even know I wanted this now?”

Jude’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’ve been paying attention, love. You think i haven't notice your Pinterest boards? Or your amazon wish list?”

You laughed, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “I don’t even know what to say. This is amazing.”

Jude squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just remember, you’re brilliant, and you deserve all the good things. And if you ever leave me for a glamorous photographer life, just make sure to give me a shout-out in your interviews.”

You playfully nudged him. “Oh, so you’re worried I’ll become too famous for you?”

Jude grinned. "If that means sharing a bit of the limelight, so be it.”

You leaned into him, feeling a mix of relief and affection. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

Jude wrapped his arms around you. “I’m the lucky one. Seeing you happy is what matters to me. Now let’s enjoy the rest of the night. And if dinner turns into a burnt mess, at least we’ll have a laugh about it.”

Jude’s comforting presence and playful banter started to lift the weight of the day, bringing a renewed sense of hope and connection. His support and Brummie humor made the evening feel a lot brighter and more manageable.

[iwannakisskissyoureyesagain]

things that definitely happened in the percy jackson series’ that rick left out/didn’t expand on (basically a collection of headcanons)

- leo teased percy and annabeth about the stables scene for weeks until it got old

- leo trying to make a move on EVERYONE he interacted with, especially the aphrodite cabin

- (leo was a hey mamas lesbian in a past life i will die on this hill)

- bi4bi percabeth

- some of the apollo kids give out free stick-n-poke tattoos. will has a small treble clef on his hip for his mom, nico has a tiny skull behind his left ear, percy has a smiley face on his right middle finger bc he thought it was funny

- annabeth tried to act like she didn’t think it was funny and called him an idiot

- ella also gives out free tattoo services at camp jupiter, and camp half blood when she and tyson visit. frank told her to start charging for them, but being a harpy, she doesn’t really have a need for money. honestly, she just wants an excuse to do more tattoos, since there’s not a lot of space left on tyson

- percy always orders blue food or drinks when he’s out if it’s an option (basically canon in the senior year adventures). at this point it’s instinctual

- percy refuses to drink or smoke bc of gabe. sally understands this and that’s why, before she had estelle, she would only have a single glass of wine with dinner. annabeth likes to have a few drinks here and there, but when she does drink, she makes sure to never do it in front of percy

- dionysus is essentially the camp therapist, because deep down, he really does care about the campers. he has open office hours and a sign-up sheet for appointments (private or group therapy) in the big house

- percy has started calling dionysus the wrong name back, and it’s dissolved into a competition to see who can think of the most ridiculous names (so far perceval jackoff and destiny’s child are tied for first place). some of the other campers are waiting for the day dionysus turns percy into a bottlenose dolphin or a pile of dust and ashes, but he would never do it

- there’s also a sign-up sheet to use that single computer that chiron has, where everyone gets up to an hour of screen time

- after discovering the projector in chiron’s office, it’s common to find cabins or individual groups of campers having movie nights. nico and hazel’s boyfriends and friends use this as an opportunity to show them (when hazel visits) different movies. for example, one night percy brings all 3 back to the future movies (he doesn’t realize the irony until nico won’t stop teasing him about it), annabeth brings the last unicorn, which makes hazel cry (me too girl), piper brings jennifer’s body (hazel and frank both get all flustered during the sex scenes, nico is surprisingly unbothered until will nudges him and makes a comment about colin when he appears onscreen), reyna, on the rare occasions that the hunters visit, brings isle of dogs (she hasn’t watched a lot of movies, but that one is one of her favorites), frank brings the little prince, which makes percy openly sob, and will brings heathers, to nico’s surprise

- some camp traditions include telling ghost stories at the campfire, karaoke nights in the apollo cabin (they tried to hold one in the big house once, but that only lasted about ten minutes before dionysus kicked them out), secret santas, halloween parties, and thanksgiving at the jackson-blofis house for the year-round campers (and percy, annabeth, tyson, and ella, ofc)

- piper likes to walk around doing chappell roan’s vocal flips and reneé rapp’s riffs

- will is actually a pretty good singer, but he doesn’t think he is bc his powers are more focused on his role as a camp medic, so he compares himself to his siblings. he can also play guitar really well, but his favorite thing is playing it horribly and as loud as possible, or playing at nico because he knows he hates it

- will and annabeth both struggle with imposter syndrome, percy starts talking to dionysus about his ptsd, nico is working on breaking his disordered eating habits, and tyson makes ella a fidget that she can play with so she doesn’t pull out her feathers

- piper and leo like to call each other cunts and reference modern pop culture in front of chiron, who is eternally confused and has stopped trying to understand “the youth”

- annabeth is a swiftie (her favorite album is ttpd) and percy says he isn’t, but sally sometimes catches him singing “safe & sound” or “never grow up” to estelle (he has no idea she knows) and sends videos of it to annabeth. he can’t sing very well, don’t get me wrong, and it’s almost always off-key, but estelle doesn’t seem to mind

- percy does that thing that dads do where he stands at the edge of the room when estelle is watching one of her shows with sally and pretends he isn’t watching it, but eventually ends up sitting with them on the couch and singing (again, very poorly) along to the bluey theme song

- will isn’t actually a morning person, but as the camp medic, he’s just used to getting up at the ass-crack of dawn and running on three hours of sleep and multiple celsiuses (this is why, on “making-nico-and-hazel-watch-movies-we-think-are-important-movie-nights,” he never even makes it through the first one without crashing out)

- apollo did in fact develop a little crush on nico during the tower of nero, but for his son’s sake, he’ll take that secret to his grave (metaphorically ofc)

[corrodedbisexual]

Helping hands (& nails)

Steddie | T | ~5.3k | AO3 link

Written for @steddie-week Day 2: hands

Featuring: Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Homoerotic Wound Care, Flirting, First Kiss, Inexperienced Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Confident Bisexual Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, POV Steve Harrington

“You literally want me to scratch your back.” Steve groans. “Yes. Definitely, do that. Please.” “Hmm, I love it when they beg.” Steve freezes, speechless for a second. His face suddenly feels several degrees warmer. “Oh my god, shit, sorry, that was—” Eddie begins mumbling awkwardly, moving away, and Steve won’t have it. “Dude, you mind not flirting with me while I’m suffering here?”

It’s a little over a week since Vecna got defeated, and Steve’s got an uninvited guest at his house.

Uninvited is not the same as unwelcome, obviously. Frankly, Steve’s glad to have some company. Really glad. Although technically, Eddie Munson is still supposed to be on bed rest.

Doctor’s orders were two weeks; the demobats got the guy pretty roughed up, taking several juicy bites out of his torso before they all went down along with their master. He got patched up pretty quickly, but his overall weakened state from massive blood loss, the doctors’ concerns of infection and possible Upside Down creature-related consequences, and that annoying little matter of clearing him of the ridiculous murder charges all kept Eddie on a government-sealed floor of the hospital for a whole week, with no visitors allowed.

It’s no wonder that when he was finally discharged to go home, he lasted three whole days before showing up on Steve’s doorstep, unceremoniously inviting himself in and complaining about being so bored he was about to start clawing at the walls of his bedroom.

And, well… It’s Steve’s day off anyway, and his entire planned entertainment for the day was a potential lunch phone call from Robin to gossip and complain about how impossible Kieth is to survive a shift with.

Plus, at least it’s better if Eddie hangs out at his place instead of going out somewhere and doing something stupid that would get him to pop his stitches. Like climbing a tree. Steve hasn’t known Eddie for long, but in a way, he’s known enough to suspect something like that might happen.

But the best part is, Eddie Munson turns out to be really good company. For the first few minutes after the guy arrived, Steve’s a bit worried it would be quiet and awkward; after all, what did they have in common besides the whole Upside Down trauma (definitely not a fun conversation topic)? But the idea that it could be quiet with Eddie around turns out to be absolutely laughable. The guy keeps chatting about anything and everything, from how annoying it is to keep track of all the meds he’s supposed to take to random gossip from the trailer park. He’s vibrant and chaotic, and has a dry deadpan sense of humor that Steve finds himself genuinely laughing at; and pretty soon, he starts wondering if him and Eddie could actually be friends back in high school if the whole ridiculous system of social circles didn’t exist.

Halfway through some other half-finished thought, Eddie suddenly asks, “You hungry? I’m kinda starving, Wayne’s getting groceries tonight and the only option I had for breakfast was, I shit you not, a fucking box of Honeycombs, and honestly? I’d rather eat a demobat. Well, if it was cooked, maybe. Hey, d’you think roasted demobats could be a thing?”

He keeps rambling as he walks, with Steve trailing behind him, grinning and shaking his head because… well, damn. This guy sure is something else. Maybe exactly the kinda something Steve didn’t even know he needed in his life. Honestly, he’d probably say the same thing about Robin last year. Is this some profound universal balance thing? Out of something horrible must come something really good?

Read on AO3 | Divider credit

[gold-rhine]

What the guard dogs are for

There are some things you never want to hear your secret years-long crush saying, such as “I’m getting married,” “I think we should stay friends” or “I’m the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity.” Wriothesley’s very bad, no good day of trying to unravel conspiracy theories, fumbling a tea party with Chief Justice and learning Teyvat’s ancient history and vishap lore from the leading expert lector.

Genre: angst and misinformation campaign

Characters: Neuvillette\Wriothesley, Enjou

Warnings: sfw in a sense that nothing even remotely sexy happens, but there is dissociation, ptsd episode, brief mention of self-harm, and Enjou doing same thing he does in canon, which is not quite gaslighting? Anyway, let me know if you feel any other warnings need to be added.

Chapters: 1 out of 2. Wordcount: ~8k

With his morning tea, Wriothesley riffled through the reports as usual. Nothing was marked urgent, so he started with the most boring part, - the official ones. The production numbers, coupon consumption statistics, everything is prepared for Neuvillette’s upcoming inspection, which was mostly a formality, but he would want it to go as smoothly as possible. 

Reports from the surface informants. Traveler stirring up a ruckus with the research institute… Well, about time, that pit couldn’t go on forever pretending that massive explosions are just a part of science routine. 

Next, creatures called “vishaps” appeared recently in Erinnyes Forest. These vishaps are apparently a lesser form of dragons, and connected to Liyue vishaps, also lizard-like creatures, though in Liyue they are aligned with geo, not hydro. Non-hostile to humans, aside from one accident. But in that one they fought back against the hunters sent by nobles to capture them as novelty pets. So the only regrettable part was that they didn’t get the nobles, only their lackeys. For shame. 

Next, there are gangs with new lingo going around, which generally was a good thing to pay attention to as they usually ended up in Meropide. Wriothesley frowned, reading the lingo translations, as he suddenly felt old. “Trendy Zaytun Peach” was something he’d got called for taking it up the ass a lot in his days, but now it’s a hip and cool nickname with the youngsters. 

Informal internal reports. Victims of beret society are rehabilitating fine, preparations for the wedding are underway. Good. Albert, a new guy from the shop, is sending him tea. Quite good tea at that. Obviously a bribe attempt, though he didn’t ask for anything as of yet, so it was basically free. Everything was fair in love and bribes as far as Wriothesley was concerned. You could throw everything at the feet of your beloved as to the feet of your targeted bureaucrat, and receive nothing and you would have no claim to complain. Now, the fact he wouldn’t take it into account when making decisions about their proposals, and sometimes would even consider it a negative, was a different matter altogether. 

He perked up reading the last report. There was a new conspiracy, whose agenda was not very clear, as they were more careful than the others, but the gist was something against Neuvillette, so Wriothesley was tracking it for some time. It was hard to get anything concrete though, as they were pretty good at keeping a low profile, but now apparently one of the members by the name of Jacque got into the Fortress on unrelated charges, and he was reportedly not the brightest shank on the block. 

Wriothesley made the arrangements. 

Half an hour later, he happened to stroll by when Jacque was being beaten up by three guys in the shadowy corner. 

“Hey, what’s going on here? Leave him alone!” he said, walking up to them.

“Oh yeah?”, said one of the bullies, turning to him. “Well, make me!”

They were paid double for the pretend fight. It might have been an overkill, usually Wriothesley would go for just scaring them off without combat. Especially because anyone who’s been in the Fortess for some time or had a head on their shoulders would understand that nobody would try to openly fight the Duke outside of the fight club arena. But Jacque was as fresh as they get, allegedly stupid, and it was Wriothesley’s first chance at any info in two whole months, so he decided to make it as impressive as possible.

He went as easy on the guys as he could, they theatrically threw the fight and retreated. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, kneeling next to the guy in the corner and putting his hand on his shoulder for emphasis. 

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine,” Jacque muttered, shaking his head. 

“Why did they attack you?”

“They don’t want me to spread the truth...” Jacque said with heavy emphasis. “But uh, thanks for helping me out.” 

“No need to thank me. I feel bad enough that honest folk like yourself get picked on in MY Fortress. That’s not how I want to run my place, so it’s only natural that I stand up for you.”

It took a moment, but finally the guy gasped.

“Your fortress? Are you… the Duke?”

At least he knew what “Duke” is.

“Yeah,” Wriothesley grinned, turning up the charm. “And allow me to get you a couple of drinks to compensate for the rude welcome you’ve received so far.”

He got them to the Coupon Cafeteria, where best meals were already arranged, and generously poured alcohol into the poor guy, listening to the story of his life and misfortunes that brought him to the Fortress, nodding empathetically. He didn’t ask about Neuvillette at all, to not spook the target, trusting that he will come to this anyway, and finally his patience was rewarded. 

“You know, you’re good!” the guy said drunkenly after some time, clasping his hand on Wriothesley's shoulder, which he beared stoically, grinning with all friendliness in the world. 

“You know, they say we can’t talk to you because you’re bought by that lizard, but I think you’re a good guy. You just don’t know all the facts!”

“Which are?”

The guy leaned closer to him and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Neuvillette is an evil dragon!”

Wriothesley choked on a laughter, which was way too obvious to turn into cough even for the dunce this stupid. 

“No, you don't understand! Dragons were enemies of humanity that Celestia conquered. But they come back when killed! They reincarnate! He is a hydro dragon who was reborn in a human form so he could more easily trick us!”

Wriothesley blinked, remembering Neuvillette standing under the rain, and the old children’s song. “Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don’t cry….”

“He put our rightful archon Furina on that trial, right? No one else saw the verdict, so he pretended she was declared guilty. He forced her to abdicate and took the power for himself!”

Wriothesley realized long ago that Neuvilette, of course, was not human. It was clear to any idiot who talked to him for longer than a minute in an informal setting, not to mention a lifespan of at least five hundred years. But there were a lot of options other than “evil dragon”. There were old gods who did not receive archonhood, but instead decided to serve the archon, like Liyue’s adepti, and he always assumed Neuvillette was of the same kind. But the idea that Iudex was some kind of evil monster with a grudge against humanity was ridiculous. Especially when he showed up at the Fortress and saved the entire Fountaine and Wriothesley’s own hide from the flood.

“Really?”

“Yeah! We should restore our true archon Furina to her rightful throne!”

Furina’s insurrection? Interesting. Wouldn’t peg her for someone capable of this type of conspiracy.

“And did Furina herself give us her blessing?”

“She can’t speak publicly, as this monster threatens her.”

Hmm, inconclusive on Furina’s involvement.

He spent more time with the drunk Jacque, trying to get more details, but couldn’t get much more than unhinged ramblings on how evil the dragons are and how insidious it was for a dragon to pretend to be a human. He had to leave to prepare to Neuvillette's arrival the next day.

_____

Neuvillette stepped out of Opera Epiclese into the rain and slowed down his pace to prolong the sensation. It was a bit of what humans called guilty pleasure, as he felt guilty from inflicting rain on humans for his own pleasure. Though from his understanding, humans felt guilty because they saw this pleasure as something bad for themselves. Even if often this supposed harm made no sense to Neuvillette. Eating too much food until a human's stomach hurt was at least understandable to see as such, but he heard one of palais’ secretaries say that romance novels were her guilty pleasure. How could humans feel guilty for something as simple as reading? He stopped and asked her why she would feel guilty for reading, because melusines kept telling him that socializing with humans is very easy, you just need to ask them questions about themselves and let them talk about what they like. Well, it didn’t seem to work, as the secretary stumbled, started hyperventilating and emanated levels of panic and anxiety comparable to someone in the defendant’s chair. Sensing human emotions did not actually help Neuvillette in communicating with them, as he could not discern the reasons. He asked her if she perhaps came into possession of any cursed texts? He could generally sense the stench of corruption and there was nothing on her, but there was always a possibility that it was a curse he could not register. She panicked even more and vehemently denied. At this point he decided to give up on socializing, as it was obviously very distressing for humans, but felt obliged to tell her that if she ever did read anything she felt was cursed, to inform him. He hoped it would assuage her fear of reading. She thanked him, stuttering, and after that day avoided him at all costs. 

The rain was a compromise solution in any case. Neuvillette always felt a bit strained and uncomfortable in his body, but after obtaining full dragonhood and most of the memories of past lives, the human shape felt downright stifling. He now remembered thousands of years of being something much bigger, long coils that could easily crush the spire of Opera Epiclese. Now, when he looked at his own reflection, it was hard to comprehend that this small and ridiculous frame was actually him. In addition, all of his memories and instincts called him to be submerged in water. But even with his poor understanding of humans, he realized that seeing the Iudex floating in the river would alarm humans much more than him standing under the rain. So rain was the closest solution he could get at his position. 

He summoned rain instinctively, to be as close to engulfed in water as possible. It was a bit embarrassing that even humans noticed it and composed a rhyme, even if that rhyme was inaccurate. He didn’t cry, as vishaps didn’t cry at all and even his current human shaped body didn’t have tear ducts. The closest he could pinpoint to human experience, as he understood it, was being stressed and desire to be comforted, for which water was his best remedy.

And currently he was quite stressed, looking over the Fontaine laws in an attempt to revise them. The current system that treated justice as theater was clearly imperfect, which he realized long ago. But he never saw himself as authorized to change it, as humans were the responsibility of the archon and even without it, he was well aware he didn’t understand humans, so he knew it wasn’t his place to question the human justice system, to which he was only a temporary guest. But now, as fontanias became part of Teyvat after his decision, and so, a part of his responsibility as Teyvat’s god of life, even if the usurper tried to deny him, he couldn’t ignore the need for change any longer. The problem was that he did not understand humans any better, so it was very stressful to try and restructure their systems of governance. 

He extended a hand, catching raindrops on his palm, when he noticed a silhouette near the elevator to the Fortress, and stopped himself from visibly controlling the weather. 

Wriothesley caught his eyes and grinned, approaching him at brisk pace, umbrella over his head.

“Greetings, Monsieur.”

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley always somehow managed to make a “Monsieur” sound more impactful than Neuvillette could “Your Grace”, despite one being a noble title and another just a polite greeting. 

“Would you like to…?” Wriothesley extended his arm with an umbrella, without actually covering Neuvillette with it. In the past, as a part of playing a role of “normal human”, Neuvillette accepted such offers, though there were not many aside from Wriothesley who dared to approach him with it. But now, as he was a full-fledged dragon, at the height of his power and influence in this land, surely he could afford to discard this role? Surely he could afford to be himself at least in this?

“No, thank you,” he said, smiling and trying to sound as cordial as possible, so that Wriothesley would not think it was a slight against him personally. “Don’t take it as offense, but I actually like being under the rain.”

The Duke smiled back, shaking his head.

“No offense taken, but why didn’t you say it last time? I felt like an idiot forcing you under an umbrella.”

“Really?” Neuvillette perked up, falling in step with the human. “You could tell that I…”

“Hated it? Yeah, for sure.”

“....prefered not to have an umbrella.”

Wriothesley let out a low, guttural bark of laughter that somehow got to the dragon despite him not being interested in humans in general.

“Not only I could tell I disturbed you, but I had to walk on the flowerbed to get to you, and then I trailed dirt in the Palais while everyone here glared at me for the audacity. Meanwhile you walked on the same dirt, but stayed pristine!”

“I’m sorry for…”

“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m just kidding, don’t worry.”

Neuvillette met the greyish blue eyes of thawed ice directly and sensed that he was truly not bothered, which didn’t make much sense. But Wriothesley was one of the very few humans who was not scared in the dragon’s presence. He was, probably, the only one who emanated only positive emotions at their meetings. Neuvillette mostly encountered negative reactions in his daily life at the trials, so he could not tell apart which positive feelings exactly that he read from Wriothesley due to the lack of exposure. But perhaps…

“I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome at the Palais,” Neuvillette said after a short pause.

Wriothesley grinned with a careless shrug.

“Then I will be there, even if the rest of your bureaucrats make faces. As I said, don’t worry.”

Neuvilette frowned, but didn’t see much point in pressing this further. After a confrontation with Navia, the dragon realized that his lack of understanding of humans hindered him, instead of making him truly impartial. Especially now that he was de facto in charge of the entire Fontaine government. And practice showed that only direct interaction with humans could give valuable experience, as watching from the Iudex seat did not allow him a nuanced understanding. 

So perhaps, if Wriothesley was a rare human who was not scared of him, and he proved rational and trustworthy in the years they knew each other, Neuvillette could confide in his true nature and maybe ask for advice in understanding humanity?

“Perhaps staying for some tea would make up for this past offense?”

Wriothesley stumbled for a moment.

“Seriously?” He sounded as casual and ironic as usual, but the surprised burst of positive emotions from him was bright and obvious. “After all these years you finally decided to deign my humble office with your presence?”

“It’d be a completely unofficial visit, of course.”

“Sure, sure. It was never my secret plot to bribe you with a tea party, trust me, even I realize my tea is not that good.”

His voice was ironic, but for a moment Neuvillette could see his crooked grin turn into a genuine smile. So, reassured that he was not imposing, Iudex nodded and followed the human into the Fortress’ entrance.

_________

The inspection itself was mostly a formality. The Court of Fontaine technically had no direct authority over Meripode, but it provided guards and substantial resources, and so it had a right to oversee the use of these assets. The actual budgeting was done on the regular in behind the scenes reports though, as the data was not visible in the in person visit. Still, it was a time honored tradition that got Neuvilette to show up regularly.

“Take a seat. It will take me a minute to make tea.”

Neuvilette gracefully sat down on the visitor’s chair In Wriothesley office, folding his hands on the cane. He still sat with a ramrod straight back and perfect posture, but there was a certain lightness to him today, which was hard to put into words. 

“The inspection is over, yet you are still nervous.”

Wriothesley knew he had a poker face good enough to cover it, yet Neuvillette saw it anyway. He had theorized for a long time that the Iudex could sense emotions, but usually he would not acknowledge it directly like this. “I wasn't nervous about the inspection to begin with. But inviting a high and mighty Iudex himself to the tea for years and then disappointing him when he finally accepts would be a devastating faux de pas. They will mock me on the first pages of all the papers tomorrow.”

Neuvillette frowned slightly.

“I must underline that I’m not here in any official capacity, and I would hope I’m talking to Wriothesley, not the Warden or the Duke. If you agree, I would ask that we leave the titles at the door.”

“No, of course,” Wriothesley, who had fantasized about leaving titles at the door and then clothes on the floor for actual years, said quickly, frantically recalculating how he could turn the tea party to wine tasting, which best wines he had confiscated in his storage and how he could make turning on the gramophone and then maybe leaning against the edge of the table in front of Neuvillette look natural and smooth. “Absolutely. I was just joking anyway, don’t mind it.”

“Ah, I see. I apologize, I’m unfortunately prone to missing humorous intent, so I appreciate your clarification.”

With how far the Iudex went out of his way to assure people of his good intentions in informal situations, Wriothesley really didn’t understand how everyone found him so intimidating. Especially because he very often had to interact with assholes in positions of power who did try to intimidate him on purpose and the contrast was very apparent. Neuvillette projected an aura of power without really wanting to, and then tried to over-explain himself to make others feel at ease. His earnest awkwardness was something like the clumsiness of a huge beast like an elephant trying not to step on the gaggle of kittens at his feet.

“In any case, there is nothing to be nervous about. After all, tea is liquid, and it’s really hard to make liquids unpleasant. So far I think only Fonta truly managed it.” Neuvillette drummed his fingers on the table and glanced at Wriothesley. “To be frank, if crimes against water could be prosecuted, Fonta would receive life in prison.”

Wriothesley snorted. “So no sugar in your tea, I take it?”

“No, thank you,” Iudex said politely and then, after a short pause, “And to clarify, I was not serious. There is nothing wrong with people liking sugary drinks, of course. I was just making an attempt at a joke.”

He really was horrendously bad at pretending to be a human. How could anyone hear him talk and still believe he’s a scheming manipulator was beyond ridiculous.

“No, I got it. It was a good joke,” The Duke grinned, placing a teacup in front of Neuvillette and sitting down across the table with his own.

Neuvillette gave him a graceful nod with a little smile and picked up his cup, giving it a swirl before tasting.

“Hmm. Interesting. Poignant. Bitter,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head. 

Wriothesley was about to mention that this sort was not usually bitter, but Iudex continued. 

“Not by nature, but forced by circumstances. Not nearly enough water to be nourished, so it had to adapt and conserve strength, letting leaves seen as unimportant to die and concentrate on survival of the main branches. But there is not just hunger… there is a dream of rain. An ache of something not ever known, but yearned, longed for, without realizing what it is. But then…” Neuvillette closed his eyes for a moment. “It happened. There is a memory of luminous joy of water not gathered by mere drops, but drank in full, overwhelming, a feast after a life of fighting for scraps of morning dew. It had tasted rain at least once in the end.”

Wriothesley put his own cup down, leaning forward in disbelief.

“No way. This was a harvest from a drought year and it’s normally a mild sort, considered unusually strong in this season. How could you know this? Are you cheating?”

“You’re welcome to test me with other samples,” Neuvillette said with an air of a magnanimous ruler granting a boon and put the teacup down with a delicate clink. 

“Oh, I’m taking you up on your word, trust me,” the Duke grinned, but then paused. He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he remembered how strongly Neuvillette felt about the perceived melusines conspiracy. Wriothesley had to tell him about the evil dragon idiots just to make sure he’s not thrown off balance later. That’s what the guard dogs are for, after all.

“Actually, before we move forward with testing your psychic tea reading abilities, there is something concerning official business that I think you should know. And then we can forget it completely.”

Neuvillette inclined his head with a small smile.

“There is a small group of conspirators, - and I must reiterate, it’s very small - who operate on the ridiculous idea that… uh, that you’re some kind of an evil dragon who schemed to overthrow Furina.”

Neuvillette's smile froze.

“You don’t have to worry about it, really. It’s negligibly small, and well, anyone with a working brain would not believe that you’re a monster in disguise.”

Iudex was silent for some time, not meeting Wriothesley’s eyes.

“Are melusines implicated in this?” he said finally.

“No. No, there’s no connection to them in this stupid theory.”

“Good. That's good. They do love living with humans so much.”

Wriothesley suspected that Iudex was taking things kind of out of proportion again.

“Listen, it’s really nothing…”

“No, no, I understand. It would be so unacceptably horrifying for humans to learn their ruler is a… monster.”

Neuvillette's voice wavered, but his face was impartial, strict, previous lightness gone completely. Wriothesley saw his hands tighten their grip on the handle of his cane a moment before he abruptly stood up.

“I must apologize for impropriety, but I have important business in the Palais which was inappropriate for me to neglect for so long. I must beg your leave to depart.”

Wriothesley stood up too, scraping to understand what he did wrong.

“Wait, it’s not…”

“Thank you for your time, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley shut his mouth, the title feeling like a slap for the first time in his life. The formality and politeness somehow only made it worse. He took a deep breath and willed himself to sound calm.

“I hope you have a nice evening, Monsieur Iudex.”

Neuvillette left in what for his usual dignified pace could be considered a hurry. Wriothesley followed him without being seen, partly to make sure he doesn’t get bothered by inmates and partly on an instinct to investigate. 

At the Fortress’ entrance, he watched Neuvillette walk under the rain, lifting his head upward. The blue strands of his long hair glowed and so did his coat-tails. They extended, shining brilliant bioluminescent blue, trailing behind the Chief Justice, in a moment looking like fish’s fins, then the next - as colossal snake’s coils. Sea waves crashed against the ridge without any wind, rising high, reaching to a lonely glowing figure of Iudex. With bated breath, Wriothesley watched Neuvillette extend a hand, as if catching raindrops - and rain stopped mid-flight in the air, lingering over his palm, waves frozen cresting over the earth. The raindrops gathered in a shuddering spheres, and then stretched upwards, against all laws of gravity.  Wriothesley’s heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette closed his fist and the rain flew backwards to the skies.

Wriothesley stormed back into his office and frantically searched through the reports, pages flying about, until he found the one about vishaps. He looked at the photos, seeing similarities he would never look for before. The dark blue color of vishap’s hide was nearly identical to Neuvillette’s attire, but that was small beans, easily written off as coincidence. Their eyes, bright magenta with white vertical slice of a pupil, resembled Iudex, but there was room for debate, as his eyes were much paler, lilac merging into gentle blue instead of a bright pink, even as white vertical pupil was so similar. What really struck Wriothesley after all this, was actually the little blue feather at the side of the head of both vishaps and Neuvillette. It was identical and looked so… deliberate. It had to be chosen and placed precisely like this. 

Still, this was not enough. He needed more evidence. He needed… he needed answers.

He walked to Jacque's block as quickly as he could without alarming inmates, but when he got to the conspirator’s room, Jacque was sleeping on the bed and a man was sitting on the chair next to him, reading a book. He looked up when Wriothesley walked in and stood up, clumsily dropping the book. He was tall and gangly, had dark hair, Inazuman features and light brown eyes behind the glasses. 

“Who are you?” Wriothesley was really not in the mood for playing games.

“Well, my organization caught wind that you are interested in learning some… historical information, and our poor Jacque is really not the best source, which is why I’m here to answer any questions you have,” the man gave him a groveling smile. “You can call me Enjou.”

“Not here. In my office. Follow me.”

When they got there, Enjou whistled musingly.

“Uh, what a nice office! Must be a pretty sweet gig. I wish I had an office instead of slinking in dump ruins all the time.” He sighed theatrically. “So, I assume your main questions are on the vishap situation. I…”

“Wait,” Wriothesley said, walking up to one of his wall cabinets. “You can’t expect me to just believe you on your word.”

“Oh, of course, of course! You’re free to rough me up a bit first. Maybe a little bit of torture? But only a little bit, I’ve got a glass jaw, haha!”

Wriothesley didn’t live so long as an undisputed champion of fight club to not recognize a freak who gets off on pain. He grimaced, walking up to the table where Enjou was already trying to rifle through the papers. He stopped with an apologetic grin and put his hands up. Wriothesley put a glass vial on the table.

“Drink.”

Enjou raised his eyebrows.

“Are we dining and wining first or?...”

“It’s a truth serum,” it was a secret project of the Sumeru Akademiya, before the sages were overthrown. Dendro Archon reportedly could read the thoughts of people, and sages were trying to replicate the effect at least partially. Wriothesley came into possession of it after using his network to get the sages connected to the needed people in Fontaine institute, as Fontaine was at the cutting edge of mech technology and the sages were apparently building an artificial god. Didn’t pan out for them, but the serum worked. Wriothesley was sure of it, because he tried it on himself first.

“Oh! How exciting! How does it work? Will it perhaps burn my insides in agonizing pain if I lie?”

“Drink,” Wriothesley said through gritted teeth.

Enjou smiled and drank the vial in one shot.

“Well, nothing is burning so far, but the evening is young, haha,” he said, smacking his lips.

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“Why are you here?”

“Huh? What do you mean? To explain the history to you, as I said.”

“Because of the goodness of your heart? What’s your agenda? Your goal?”

Enhou cleared his throat.

“Well, first of all, I do believe in uncovering and spreading so-called “forbidden” knowledge. But with your particular case can you really question my agenda? I didn’t come to you first. You were the one who sought us out. I didn’t even want to be here! I was doing my own thing without knowing about you, to be honest! But, well, I am in an organization with some unfortunate morons who thought that recruiting a convenient idiot and then sending him into underworld prison to make sure he isn’t heard is a great plan. And then when the Warden takes note of the idiot and gets him to blabber, these same morons go, Enjou, you have to get there, because you’re a vishap expert! Ugh.” 

Enjou shook his head in seemingly sincere frustration.

“But um, yeah, I’m not trying to recruit you or anything. We know how you’ve disposed of House of Hearth agents and how you generally obstruct Fatui’s activity, and we just don't want you to do the same to us. Because we’re not your enemy! So I’m here to provide you with the necessary context to see that.”

Wriothesley drummed his fingers on the table.

“Okay. Start talking about Neuvilette and vishaps.”

“Well, Neuvilette is a Hydro Dragon, that should be obvious. To clarify, Hydro Dragon here means Hydro Dragon Sovereign, because technically all hydro vishaps are hydro dragons. If you didn’t know, which is understandable, as you’re more of a fighter type and not a bookworm like myself, haha, vishaps are primordial elemental creatures, original rulers of this land and mortal foes of humanity. Long before Archons, there were Dragon Sovereigns in charge of each element. Then there was a war with Celestia, specifics of which are not widely known, but we do know that Celestia won, dragons were largely eradicated and the huge chunks of powers of Sovereigns were taken from them and given to the Archons. Hydro Sovereign was killed.” 

Enjou made a dramatic pause, before leaning forward with a grin. “But you see, vishaps reincarnate. Neuvillette is a Hydro Sovereign reborn in a human shape. There was actually an Inazuman prophecy about it, recorded in the Byakuyakoku Collection. That Hydro Dragon will descend in a human form, and it specifically mentions a cane. This really baffles me, to be honest. How could they predict the cane? Why does he even need a cane? Surely not because of any weakness, he’s an immortal dragon, 500 years is very young for him. And the records say when Neuvilette took his position as the Iudex some 400 years ago, he already had a cane. Was he born with it? Like, had he sprung fully formed, with a cane? Did he pick it up as, I don't know, honorary agreement with a prophecy? Or were his fashion choices actually predetermined to the degree that the prophecy knew them millenia ago?”

“Get back on track,” Wriothesley growled.

“Oh, sorry. Hmm, this serum works by forcing you to spell your thoughts out loud, yes? Well, then it’s not my fault I’m even more blabbering than usual!”

Wriothesley clasped his hands together and said slowly, carefully watching Inazuman’s reaction. “Even if he is a hydro sovereign dragon, as you say, this alone does not make him evil, as your conspiracy claims.”

Enjou fixed his glasses. He really had the hands of a bookworm, no work calluses or fighting scars. But there were spots of reddened, peeling skin that looked like burns that didn’t get to fully heal before getting burned again.

“Did you miss the “mortal foe of humanity” bit? But okay, sure. This is Fontaine after all, presumption of innocence and all that. I mean, I can’t read his thoughts to tell you under oath that he’s evil, so don’t take me to court, hehe!” Enjou grinned, clearly pleased at his own joke. “But I can tell what I know and ask some questions. My first question is why, after losing a war and presumably being killed by Celestia, would an ancient dragon god want to serve a servant of Celestia? The Archon, who rules with what is actually his own power? Unless he had some sort of agenda, perhaps? And come to think of it, why would Hydro Archon put a mortal foe of humanity into a position of such institutional power?”

“Are you implying Neuvilette forced Furina to give him the position of Iudex?”

“Well, I wasn’t here!” Enjou raised his hands defensively. “But why else would he become the Iudex?”

“There are higher beings and gods serving archons in other nations. Like Liyue adepti serving Rex Lapis.”

“Morax was known as the prime of the adepti. None of them could compare with him at strength. Same with yokai and Baal in Inazuma, she was the strongest by far. It’s natural that they would accept servitude. But here…” Enjou glanced at Wriothesley with a sly smile. “If you had to make a bet on a direct fight between Neuvillette and Furina, who would you bet on? Come on, I know tales that her own court would not listen to her until the Iudex tapped his cane.”

Wriothesley couldn’t really argue with this. When the Primordial Sea started breaking out, he himself sent for Neuvillette and didn’t even think to ask the actual Archon.

“In that case, why didn’t he just kill her immediately? Why would he play the judge?”

“Well, you see, he would not get his power back from just killing her. It would just pass to the next Archon. No, the Hydro Archon had to destroy her own throne. And running out the ruler requires a long game, as you know very well yourself, You Grace.”

Wriothesley kept a calm face, but something must have given him away, as Enjou grinned predatorily.

“Next set of facts and questions. You know of the infamous Archon trial, of course? When it was revealed that fontanian people are actually oceanids, given human shape by the previous hydro archon, Egeria? And the prophecy of the flood works because Primordial Sea waters dissolve fontanians into their oceanid forms. Well, the flood actually came. Why were fontanians not dissolved?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me that.”

“Hehe, yes. It was because Neuvillette turned them into real humans with his powers of Hydro Sovereign. How generous of him, yeah? The question is, why did it take him so long? It’s been 500 years, and yet fontanians were made human only minutes before the flood.”

Despite a feeble bookworm posturing, there was a shadow of unhinged madness in his eyes, dangerous enough that in any other case Wriothesley would cut contact. But the stakes were too high right now. He needed to get all the information he could out of this lunatic.

“You might also remember that on the same trial it was proven that Furina is not a Hydro Archon. And I can tell you that the actual Archon, Focalors, was in the Oracle machine the whole time. Sorry, I’m not even trying to pronounce that full name, haha!”

The urge to punch this bastard was overwhelming, but Wriothesley kept himself in check, mostly because he could tell he was being baited into it and he didn’t want to give the piece of shit the satisfaction.

“Anyway, Neuvilette had an audience with her right after a trial, and as result she killed herself and gave him power back. You see, Hydro Archon doesn’t have the ability to turn oceanids into real humans. All of you were just… things, playing at being humans,” Enjou said with a smirk that looked more fascinated than mocking. “But Hydro Sovereign, the original god of life, does have the power to do so. And he also, conveniently, has control over the Primordial Sea, which you, Your Grace, already know as he stopped the flood in your own Fortress.”

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow and Enjou smiled with a shrug.

“Again, I was not there! But I do know Hydro Sovereign controls the Primordial Sea, and that there is an entrance to the Sea in the Meripode Fortress. I also know that there was some emergency in the Fortress, where inmates were told to run as close to the surface as possible, and then Monsieur Iudex visited and the disaster was somehow avoided.”

Wriothesley frowned. 

“If he was really a mortal enemy of humanity, why wouldn’t he just let the gates of Meripode break and the flood happen right there and then? We would all be gone and he wouldn’t need to lift a finger. Instead he ran to help when I… when the Fortress called.”

“And what would that achieve? He still wouldn’t get his power back,” Enjou shrugged dismissively and then smiled, almost wistfully. 

“No, you know what I would do if *I* was the Hydro Sovereign with an ability to take human form? And if the Archon who held my power hostage was relatively weak AND had the prophecy involving a flood of the Sea I control? Well, I’d infiltrate human society, take a position of high authority and make sure the humans not only see me as the personification of law and justice, but also respect me more than their own Archon. And when the prophecy deadline is coming up, I’d make sure I have people loyal to me in some key positions. Such as Royal Duelist… and the Warden of the Fortress.”

“He didn’t make me the Warden,” Wriothesley gritted out. 

“No, but he did make you the Duke, didn’t he?” Enjou smirked with a wink. “Our sources say the Court was not thrilled to give the highest noble title to you. And if the Iudex did not throw his own weight behind it, it would have never come to pass. How generous of him.”

It was true, Wriothesley’s own informants reported that the Court loathed to give him a title, let alone as high as the Duke. Neuvillette was the only one who fought for him and fought hard, because usually Iudex’s one word was enough to make a decision, but here the stalemate lasted for two months. They wanted to compromise and give him the viscount, but Iudex wouldn’t budge, so in the end, they caved.

Wriothesley never asked Neuvillette for the title. Neuvillette never mentioned what he did for the Warden and never dropped anything even as close as a hint of asking anything in return.

Unless you see it as a part of centuries long game, where mundane favors didn’t matter, but being called first to the access of the Primordial Sea did.

“Ah, you’re starting to get it, don’t you?” Enjou sensed blood in the water, like a proper shark would. “Then I would orchestrate a public court hearing to absolutely discredit the current ruler and corner the actual Archon. And when Focalors is forced to talk to me…. I would make a bargain. Saving the lives of all fontanians in exchange of getting my full power back and Focalors dying. Isn't it ironic that the dragon playing human was the one to turn human-shaped water things into actual humans?"

Enjou leaned back against his chair, grinning with satisfaction.

“And then I’d have an entire country loyal to me as a ruler, which would make a great foothold to use for attacking Celestia.”

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“You really expect me to take you on your word? You might believe it yourself, which will pass the truth serum, but the word of a lunatic is not evidence.”

“Oh, of course not! I would never expect you to take my lowly word for it. Instead, why don’t you take Monsieur Iudex’s word?”

Enjou made a dramatic gesture of spilling a heap of conches onto the table. Wriothesley raised his eyebrows, when the other man poked one of them awkwardly.

“Now that I have reclaimed one of the Seven Authorities from the hands of the usurpers, I have regained my true form,” a calm voice that was undoubtedly Neuvillette, said out of nowhere. “I am now a fully fledged dragon, powerful enough to judge the rest of the gods. My final destiny is to judge the Usurper-King in the heavens above.”

“This could be faked,” Wriothesley said automatically, just to argue, but his heart already fell.

“You wound me! These are his words, and I spent an entire night fishing them out for you, I’ll have you know. It’s quite hard to capture this. You’re welcome to listen to all of them and see for yourself.”

Almost against his will, Wriothesley reached out and touched one of the conches.

“…I shall fulfill my vow to judge all of The Seven in turn, even if the sky should fall and the ground give way.”

Wriothesley took an abrupt breath through his teeth. Enjou sighed and stood up.

“I think it’s better for you to listen to this alone. After, you’re welcome to reach out to us, but please don’t make any hasty decisions. I’ll see you soon, Your Grace!”

Enjou walked down the stairs, and by the time Wriothesley got to them, there was no one there. The Duke couldn’t bring himself to focus on that though. Instead, he walked up to one of the wall cabinets and took out a bottle of whiskey he was saving up as a possible gift.

He didn’t bother with the glass. He fell down into the chair in front of the conches and clenched his fingers on the bottle, icy veins springing up from under them. He took a sip and touched another conch.

“…my grievances with the usurpers have yet to be settled... They owe a debt of blood that shall not be forgotten.”

He drank, staring blindly into the distance, and listened, and the quiet words burned worse than whiskey sliding down his throat. He caught himself on a familiar thought. “This can’t be happening. This is too monstrous.” The same feverish thoughts he had when he discovered the truth about his foster parents.

As if by now he shouldn’t have learned that nothing is too monstrous in this world.

“As a survivor of the dragon race who has regained my full dragonhood, I must fulfill my oath and obligations even if it means returning all the water in the oceans back to the heavens.”

It really did sound exactly like Neuvillette. Wriothesley tried to find the lie, something that sounded fake, but not only the voice, but the cadence and word choice fit. And it sounded calm, impartial as usual too. And then there were hydro vishaps appearing in Erinnyes…

Fuck, was it really that easy to fool him? Was he really this big of a fool? He learned to distrust sweet words and warm smiles, and he was so sure that he wouldn’t get caught in the same lies ever again, even if he sacrificed his ability to love for this. But all it took was a seeming opposite, direct and harsh, too cold and intimidating to appear manipulative, but endearingly awkward just sometimes, just enough to make him believe that… That there was something true and clear in this rotten world. That he could trust in *someone*.

“Nothing will stop me from rendering judgment on each of The Seven.” 

He went through all of the recordings, frantically at first, wanting to find contradictions, then, when none were found, numbly re-listening to the few that hit the worst.

“…also the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity. “

Wasn’t it too obvious in hindsight? Why would the Iudex stake his own reputation on Wriothesley’s title? How could you not see it coming? Oh, because you thought you “deserve” it for turning this dog-fighting pit of a prison into something with a modicum of fairness? Because you thought he recognized your redemption? Gods, what are you, fucking fourteen again, did you learn nothing, why would anyone ever care about you, you naive goddamn idiot?

Soon, the bottle was somehow almost done. At this point he was running one recording on repeat, mindless and purposeless except for repeating slashes of pain, familiar rhythm like the knife on his wrists years ago.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry." Whoever had penned that rhyme, as well as the Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the Hydro Dragon all that well, considering that they thought the Hydro Dragon could cry. What did they take said Dragon for, some sort of bleeding heart who grieved for humans and the heavens alike?”

If this was true… If this was true, then Wriothesley didn’t just get fooled himself. Then he helped a monster take control of the country and potentially use it in war against heavens. 

He clenched his hand and it took him a moment to realize he broke the bottle he was holding in it. That pain from glass pieces in his palm felt small and distant now. But at last, it spurned him into action.

If this was true, he only had one shot. He’d already told Neuvillette of the dragon conspiracy, like a good little idiot eager to please. And any tyrant worth his salt would make sure to take him out after his, especially now that he outlived his purpose in giving access to Meripode vaults. He might have some time because of how oblivious he was, dismissing the conspiracy openly, but it couldn’t be long. 

He couldn’t take his time. He couldn’t hope for the better. He had to act like it’s the worst option possible. More than anything, he needed to confront Neuvillette, dragon Sovereign or not. He had to fix this, no matter the cost.

He realized he needed leverage. Brute strength was out of the question. Even before the flood, Neuvillette absolutely destroyed Fatui Harbinger in one flash, quicker than anyone in the audience could see what happened. Wriothesley would put himself against Harbringer with no hesitation, but he wasn’t an idiot. If this was how powerful Iudex was before, then after allegedly gaining his full power, there was no way Wriothesley could threaten him. No, he needed something else.

He took out the paper and wrote a note, taking care to not stain it with blood. Fortunately, he held the bottle in his left hand, so he could keep it out of the way.

“....and so confess that I, Wriothesley, Warden of the Fortress of Meripode, killed Chief Justice, Iudex Neuvillette.”

He finished the note and carefully put in his signature, then folded the paper into an envelope and closed it with his personal seal. Then he walked up to a safe, one of the hidden ones, and punched in a code. When the safe opened, he rummaged in it for a moment, until finally taking out two vials.

This was sold to him as the poison that could kill a god.

[poraphia]

"Four Medium-Sized Coffees, One Big Fat Work Crush"

lvjy!wilbur x manager!reader 1457 words • 8.9.23 request by @mrssabinecallas! "lead singer will with a manager reader! they book all their performances and bring them coffee every morning, just happy to be there with Will and their friends"

requests are still open!! dont be shy :3 pt. 2 here <-

How to be a good tour manager: 1) Bring them coffee every morning 2) Don't fall in love with the lead singer

♡♡♡

Y’know, when I signed up for this job, I didn’t expect the roller coaster of emotions and action that would come with being an on-tour manager. 

I especially didn’t think I’d end up falling for the lead singer of Lovejoy, William Gold.

I have been a stage director for concerts for a couple of years now since I graduated from university. I worked for different venues, taking up jobs such as being in charge of soundcheck and directing the lights. After years of hard work and a resume of experience, I was finally offered my first opportunity of being an on-tour manager for a rising band that was touring the world.

I have to admit, it was different. I was constantly away from home and on the road. The one thing genuinely battling this homesick feeling was the constant adventure and excitement we faced in every city. From sitting awkwardly in an Uber as the driver told us horrific stories, to running around the late-night streets tasting cuisines we had never heard of before.

I remember on the first day, I was a nervous train wreck. I spent most of that night pacing around my hotel room while occasionally practicing in the mirror how to greet the band, how to talk to them, and how to even shake their hand. It wasn’t until the peak time of 4 AM I decided that I should keep things simple (and that I should probably go to sleep because I had to wake up in three hours).

I met up with the band at our first venue for a soundcheck. When I got the text that they were arriving shortly, I ran to the nearest cafe and ordered four coffees, each with a simple shot of espresso, two scoops of sugar, and a cup of milk. It was basic, and it wasn’t guaranteed it would be something they’d love, but I was far too deep to turn back around and return the coffee. Plus, wouldn’t that be a super awkward situation? Oh, hey Mr. Barista! Sorry, can you refund me these four coffees after I walked in the blazing city heat for roughly ten minutes before—

“Hi,” A deep, posh voice caused me to snap out of my thoughts. I looked around, not even realizing I was already at the venue, and the man was holding the door for me. He was tall with disheveled curly hair and he wore a striped T-Shirt with some basic black jeans. Glasses rested on the bridge of his nose but more importantly, there was the guitar case slung across his shoulder.

“O-Oh, thank you!” I stuttered, rushing past him to avoid any more embarrassment. He softly chuckled behind me before closing the door. I turned around, half-smiling to shake off the embarrassing situation I’ve seemed to stumble in.

“You must be (y/n), right? Our manager?” He asked, his eyes trailing from my face to my lanyard, to the cardboard cupholders presenting four hot and fresh beverages. 

“Yeah!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly. Guess that’s another check on the list for what will keep me up tonight. “I, uh, I got these coffees for you guys! Just to help you guys out with the jetlag and all…” I trailed off in the end. But thankfully, the man smiled and took a random cup, slightly pursing his lips to retrieve the beverage only to flinch back, laughing.

“Holy shit, this is hot.” He chuckled. I couldn’t help but laugh along as well. “Oh, fuck, where are my manners– My name is Wilbur, Will, William, honestly call me what you like.” He shrugged. “My other mates are right there and are practicing on stage right now. There’s Ash, Mark, and Joe.” He pointed to the respective person, each calling out their name. 

We both began to walk toward the backstage area and continued talking. As Wilbur walked nonchalantly with coffee in hand, I struggled to catch up to his long strides while also maintaining the balance of the rest of the drinks.  “It’s a funny way how we all became a band actually–” He turned around. Noticing my struggle as he spared a few milliseconds so that I may catch up. Will chuckled before continuing to walk at a much slower pace.

Once we arrived in the backstage lounge, I pushed the door for him with my back. He thanked me before walking past. “Oh, (y/n), I would like to mention something–” He said, turning his head to face me. I tilted my head, anticipating. “Next time you get us coffee, I’d like mine with two cups of milk!” He smiled. “Although, it is perfect as it is anyway. I’m sure the rest of the band would love it.”

As I watched him finish up his coffee and make his way to the stage, my mind was set on a new goal:

“Find out Lovejoy’s desired coffee orders.”

From that day forward, I brought them coffee every morning. From meeting them on the tour bus, at soundcheck, to even waiting in the hotel lobby. I would listen closely to what comments they would make. If Joe slightly mentions to Ash he doesn't like sweet coffee, I'll remember to add less sugar. If I heard Mark asking around for creamer, I'll remember to put more cream. My petty rule for myself was that I wouldn't dare ask them directly about their preferences. It was a fun little game for me, and it only took Wilbur a little over two months for him to notice.

Wilbur and I were sitting in the tour bus booth area going over the set list when he brought it up. "Hey, (Y/N), can I ask you something?" He said, tapping at his cardboard cup. I looked up from the piece of paper I was writing on to meet his eyes. 

"I know what you're gonna ask– I've already asked the stage crew if we could add smoke for The Fall along with some more flashing lights during Warsaw." I explained, pointing at the paper with the pen I had in hand.

Wilbur let out a soft chuckle with the softest smile on his face. His hair covered a bit of his eyes but even then I could see the reflection of light making his pupils sparkle. His laugh caused a fluttering sensation in my chest. My hands and stomach tingled as if dozens of butterflies were dancing on my skin. Was I.. Getting flustered?

"No, no, I wasn't going to ask that." He spoke gently. I held my breath, a little embarrassed for my rambling. "Though I do appreciate it all. You've picked up so much about us as a band in just a couple of weeks." He held the end joints of my fingers between his grasp as he spoke, fidgeting with them as he talked. 

"Oh, well…" I felt the blush creeping to my face. "that is kind of my job." I chuckled.

"Also you've been getting our coffee orders perfectly I've noticed. Mark was raving to me earlier about how good it tasted. Ash even posted it in his story." Wilbur said, reminiscing on his mornings with his friends. 

I couldn't hold back the biggest smile on my face. It took every nerve of my body not to jump up on the table and do the goofiest, happiest dance of my life. Instead, I nodded and hummed, using my thumb to rub circles into his hand.

"I'm really glad to hear that. This is my first on-tour job, so here it's just–" I stumbled over my words trying to find the right phrases, but I was so overwhelmed with giddiness I just sighed. "Thank you…"

Wilbur looked back up to meet my eyes again. His cheeks were dusted with the slightest bit of pink as he examined bits of my face. I wanted to take in every feature of his as well. From the small mole near his eye to how pink his lips were. How pretty his lips are… they look so… Soft–

"(y/N)! Wilbur!" Mark called out from the other end of the bus. Immediately we pulled away from each other, sinking ourselves in our opposite-end seats from embarrassment. 

"Yeah?! What is it, Mark?" Will called out, but he dared not to turn around to face him. 

"We're in LA now! You guys ready for our last gig in the States?!" He asked excitedly.

Oh, God. 

It was the last gig. 

Which means… 

I looked over to Will, who also had a slight shock on his face as if it slipped his mind as well. 

This is it, I suppose. 

Who was I to think I would get my happy rom-com ending?

♡♡♡

my wilbur soot masterlist ~! a / n ~ i have a part two idea for this already omg should I do it?? reblogs and likes are super appreciated!! they be motivating me :33

[warping-realities]

Rebranding (Repost)

"How can you be so reckless, Vincent? Be grateful I pulled your ass out of the fire and threw a coat over your sorry self, you idiot. But the fallout... Don’t you get that this could totally wreck your whole career?"

"I know, but that bitch..."

"Don’t you dare use that word again; it's already bad enough to have it on tape flying around all the gossip shows!"

"Sorry, that... woman..."

"Valery, your girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend, or do you really think I’d stick around after she cheated on me?"

"Understandable you broke up, but threatening her and calling her all those names in front of a bunch of paparazzi? Half-naked, no less! What were you thinking?"

"That’s what I’m asking; what was I thinking when I decided to date a brainless bimbo with fake blonde hair?"

"Be super careful with what you say; after all, that’s not the image you wanna project, Vincent."

"Ah, I’m sorry." He replied, eyeing his agent's long blonde hair.

"Apology accepted, asshole. But we’ve got bigger fish to fry. So, tell me, what am I supposed to do with you?"

"I didn’t get your question."

"But I was so clear that even a bimbo would get it."

"Look, I already apologized for how I acted..."

"It turns out that in our circle, just saying sorry isn’t enough. We’ve got an image to protect and sell. Like you said, the vibe Valery gives off fits perfectly with betrayals and gossip sites. But you? Not so much, at least not until this week’s fiasco. Honestly, I never understood what she saw in you. Sure, you’re a well-known gamer influencer, but you’re just a nerd. She’s on another level, with more followers than you, and I bet she’ll be a fashion icon in no time."

"If you called me here just to roast me, I’m out." He said, getting up.

"Sit your ass down and shut it." Inexplicably, he found himself compelled to do just that.

"Hmmm, hmmm."

"Much better, right? I should've figured out your type way earlier, the nice guy who makes funny videos, the friend to everyone, protesting for minorities... but who, deep down, is just another sexist and misogynist like so many others. You’re way worse than a dumb jock, you know why, Vincent? Because they don’t hide who they are; women can smell the toxic masculinity from a mile away. But you, our so-called allies... what a joke... allies like you? I don’t need that. You come at us with your soft words and sensitive hearts, and women like us fall for it. We only catch on to all the microaggressions, the hits to our self-esteem when it’s gone too far, when that happens." She said, pointing to the eye prosthesis.

"I had a heart-to-heart with Valery this morning. Turns out, on top of all that, you’re a lousy performer in bed. That’s why she’s been sneaking around with her gym buddies. Poor girl, always picking the wrong guy, but at least the last dude had an enviable body and an even more enviable... tool, maybe the reason for your little meltdown. In your defense, she swore to me you never laid a finger on her. So, my dear, I’ve decided I’m not gonna bail on you, and Valery’s agreed not to press charges. But for everyone to be happy after the mess you made, you both gotta agree to clean up your images. And for that, you’re gonna participate in a reality show! Fun, right?" She finished with a smirk. Vincent's shocked look showed he wasn’t finding this fun at all.

"Now, Valery is perfect for the reality show in question, and as for you... we’ve got a few months until the next season drops, which I really appreciate, 'cause we need to let the dust settle to work on your image and do a total rebranding. Get up and strip down to your underwear; I don’t need to hurt my only eye with the sight of your tiny dick."

Vincent again found himself compelled to comply and robotically followed his manager's orders.

"It really isn’t good material! But let’s change that; how about a few years less studying foreign languages and more time getting swole at the gym, Vincent?"

Suddenly, all knowledge of Spanish and French evaporated from his mind. Followed by a weird feeling in his body, starting in his feet, which ballooned from size 8 to size 11. Then his calves, a joke among his friends, widened and showed more definition, as well as his thighs, which grew to the point of making him move one leg away from the other, with a little help from his dick, which went from size 3 to 7. Then his abs started to show the shadow of a six-pack, with defined pecs to match, and finally, his skinny arms gained the size and definition of someone who actually lifts weights at the gym. As soon as it started, the feeling passed.

"Much better, flex those muscles for me, Vincent." And so he did, screaming in horror in his own head, but utterly speechless on the outside.

"I think we still have room for improvement," said Monica distractedly. And Vincent, summoning all his willpower, finally got a moment of clarity, rushing to the table and trying to grab anything he could use against her. Not succeeding he just used all his remaining willpower to raise a fist in defiance.

"Stop right there! A fist? Seriously, Vincent? I figured with all your big-brain intellect you’d come up with something better." She mocked the frozen man.

"Apparently, that intellect isn’t all that great. So how about we trade twenty IQ points for another twenty pounds of lean muscle, a few extra inches on your height, on that useless dick of yours, and on those big feet; for some reason, some women go crazy for that!"

Vincent was hit by that odd feeling in his body again, this time accompanied by a sensation of being sucked into his own mind, which prevented him from even thinking. His feet reached a gigantic size 14, giving off a pungent odor, his calves grew until they took on the shape of diamonds, and his thighs expanded to the size of tree trunks; his penis - little Vinnie, a name that popped into his head - reached an impressive 9 inches in length, along with the circumference of a beer can. That hint of a six-pack evolved into a defined eight-pack, and his pecs turned into two slabs of meat, completing the sculpt he developed with broad shoulders and huge, vascularized arms.

"Almost there! The body’s perfect, and intellect down to just the right level. But something’s missing. How about we swap your obsession with game culture for an obsession with yourself? A few tattoos, and what were you saying about fake blonde tan and bleached blond hair? Let’s make sure the outside represents the inside well, my dear, and the main thing is that every woman who lays eyes on you knows what kind of man she’s dealing with.

…

The two girls sitting on the sand tried to focus from a distance on who the man was approaching at the edge of the sea.

"Is he mine or yours, Val?"

"I think he’s yours, Brit; from this distance, I can’t be sure, but he doesn’t look like any of mine... except... no way!"

"What, Val?" asked the other anxiously.

"Wait and see, Britt! But I can guarantee you this is gonna blow some minds!" answered Valery, seeing the young man approaching.

"Hello, ladies!" said the man, exuding cockiness.

"Vincent Parker?" Britt asked in disbelief as Valery just smiled.

"No formalities, girls. You can call me Vinnie!"

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

Following Orders

(Soap x domme civvy F!Reader)

When the conversation between you and your best friend, Johnny, takes a turn into heated territory, he can't hide his physical reaction. You decide to help him out and offer a little relief, as long as he follows orders.

Minors DNI. 18+ only.

Word count: 3.4k

Content warnings: JOI, friends to lovers, dry humping, discussions of sex, protected PiV

Or read on Ao3

"Don't even think about it," you said, slashing at the air with your chopsticks. 

With your back against your couch, seated on the floor, you were closer to the array of food spread across the coffee table of your apartment. But your position came at a cost.

Johnny huffed a laugh at your empty threat. Since he was on the couch behind you, he easily reached over your shoulder, snatching a piece of food from your takeout container.

"Asshole," you muttered.

"Admit it, hen. You love me."

You narrowed your eyes and pointed your chopsticks at him.

"Pushing your luck, buddy."

He chuckled and swapped his takeout container for a different one. After shoving a bite of food into his mouth that was too big, he spoke around it.

“Speaking of which, when are you finally gonna bring ‘round that boyfriend of yours? Need to give him a talk, you know. Man to man.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you, Johnny. There is no boyfriend. And even if there was one, I’m not introducing him just so you can scare him off.”

Johnny spread his hands. “I wouldn’t scare him off!”

You shot him a fond look of annoyance.

“That’s what you did with the last one.”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

“It’s not my fault the little shite pissed his pants over a friendly discussion involving C4.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing because you knew that would only egg him on even more. The corner of Johnny’s mouth quirked up because he saw right through you anyway.

“I could set you up,” he offered.

“Not in a million years.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Chicken.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Sticks and stones, Johnny.”

He snorted and offered his takeout toward you, giving it a shake.

“Trade.”

You swapped containers. When you started digging into it, you sighed.

“I think I’m just too damn difficult to please.”

“Obviously,” Johnny replied dryly. “I figured that out a long time ago.”

You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at his head. He laughed and caught it smoothly without spilling his food. Then he set it on the couch beside him.

“Easy with the friendly fire. No need to get violent.”

“Says Mr. Sexy Soldier who has no problem taking someone home. You get along with everyone.”

“Come on now, that’s not true,” Johnny protested, his tone turning serious. “I’ve had my moments. What’s the hang up, anyway? Are these guys you’re dating not…reciprocatin’?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, deliberating on just how much to divulge. While you and Johnny weren’t shy about conversations regarding sex, you didn’t want him to tease you about your most intimate desires either.

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off and dropped your gaze. “I have certain preferences. They don’t always align with what most guys consider to be standard sex.”

There was a pause. Johnny nodded.

Then…

“You’re into feet, aren’t you?”

You lobbed another pillow at him.

“No! God, you’re such a fucking child.”

He batted it aside, laughing.

“You were bein’ vague! What was I supposed to think?”

“Not that!”

Johnny raised his eyebrows and rolled his wrist in a go on gesture.

“Details, bonnie. I need details.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“When did you get to be so god awful bashful?”

You made a noise of distress, wishing you hadn’t brought up this topic of conversation. Using your elbow on the couch cushion, you leveraged yourself up and moved to the armchair - as far away from Johnny as you could get. You pulled your feet up to your chest and poked at your food.

“It’s just - I like to be in charge, okay?"

A beat of silence settled over the room. Johnny tilted his head as he considered this piece of information.

“That tracks,” he said at last. “You’ve always been mean to me. That’s how I knew you liked me.”

“I have not,” you countered, indignant.

He held up his forefinger and thumb with a squint to indicate a little bit.

“It isn’t about being mean,” I insisted. “I’m not interested in being submissive, that’s all. It makes me feel…”

You trailed off, suddenly realizing just how much you’d said. Johnny didn’t appear to be judging you though. And he wasn’t cracking any jokes at your expense either. In fact, he was suspiciously quiet and attentive.

“Makes you feel…what?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Powerless. But when I have a man handcuffed to the bed, hanging on every word out of my mouth, it’s…it’s intoxicating. It’s the greatest feeling in the world. I love watching how eager he is, quick to follow orders, hungry to obey. I love seeing how hard and desperate he gets, especially when he can’t do a damn thing about it until I decide to have mercy on him and give him the release he craves. That’s what I’m looking for. But the guys I’ve dated…they’re not into it at all.”

When you finished, Johnny had this glazed expression in his eyes. He cleared his throat, blinking a few times. Then he tugged the pillow beside him over his lap.

“That’s–uh–that’s good. Sounds like you know what you want, hen.”

His voice seemed…off. Too rough and scratchy.

“Did I say something wrong?” you asked.

Johnny shook his head vigorously. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Nope. Not at all.”

As a brief silence settled over the room, Johnny shifted on the couch. You could have sworn the muscles in his biceps flexed a little more than necessary, straining at his T-shirt sleeve when he pressed his elbow into the pillow on his lap.

That’s when it clicked in your brain. And a giddy little thrill zipped up your spine.

“Johnny.”

He raised his eyebrows, overly focused at prodding into his takeout container, even though he hadn’t eaten a bite in several seconds.

“Yeah?”

“What’s with the pillow?” you asked.

He glanced up. “What about it?”

“Why is it on your lap?”

He shrugged. “No–no reason. It’s just…there.”

Oh, you were like a missile locked onto your target now.

“Did I…fluster you?” you asked, lowering your voice.

Johnny growled. “Damn it, woman. Can’t you see when a man is fighting for his life out here?”

You laughed and eagerly pushed your food aside, fixing all your attention on him.

“I can’t believe this. Did you really just pop a boner because of what I was talking about?”

He tipped his head back with a groan.

“Fine! Fine, god, yes. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now? You devilish little minx. Fuckin’ hell.”

You were smiling so big that your cheeks hurt. You adjusted in your seat until you were kneeling on your chair, elbows propped on the armrest, studying the delicious strain in Johnny’s posture as he grappled for control.

“Johnny MacTavish,” you said. “I had no idea you would be into that.”

“Yeah, well…I guess I am. It’s hot, okay?”

You smirked.

“Stop smiling,” he said with a strangled laugh.

You snickered and pushed out of your seat, taking a position on the opposite end of the couch from Johnny.

“So, you like to be bossed around, huh?”

“Jesus,” he muttered, pressing himself deeper into the couch. 

When he pushed his knees wider, the pillow bucked upward. You tried–and failed miserably–to not think about the thrust of his hips. Why did that make the back of your neck prickle and your stomach get all tangled up in knots?

You bit your lower lip, debating whether you should continue or pull back. Even though you and Johnny were never shy about your conversations, this was clearly flirting with a sexual line that could muddy the waters between you.

Johnny’s gaze flicked to you, uncertain.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Like what?”

“Like I’m fresh meat and you’re a hungry wolf.”

You grinned. “Do you want me to change the subject?”

Johnny hedged. That was all the answer you needed. 

“I could help with your…little problem,” you added.

He blew out a shaky breath and turned his head away, his voice pitched so low that you almost missed it.

“You know damn well it’s not little, hen.”

Bracing an arm across the back of the couch, you leaned closer. Then you reached out and pinched a corner of the pillow between two fingers with a playful tug.

“Let me see,” you said softly.

Johnny clutched the pillow with a white-knuckled grip.

“No way.”

“Pretty please?” you teased.

Johnny didn’t budge, didn’t breathe a word. For once, he was uncharacteristically silent. You sidled closer and brushed a butterfly kiss to his cheek.

Slowly, Johnny turned to look at you. As soon as you met his gaze, your breath hitched in your chest. His ice-blue eyes were nearly completely black with arousal. In the back of your mind, you thought, we can’t do this. What if it ruins our friendship?

Then Johnny moved his hand away from the pillow without breaking eye contact.

You pulled it aside.

For a split second, you held Johnny’s gaze. Then you glanced down at his lap.

His jeans were stretched tight, the prominent ridge of his bulge showing just how much your words had affected him. Propping your elbow on the back of the couch, you rested your hand on your fist.

“Is this…too weird?”

Johnny adjusted in his seat, tugging at the front of his jeans.

“To be honest, bonnie, I don’t really give a shit right now. Do you…do you want to stop?”

You shook your head. A small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

“Good.”

A shiver of anticipation rose in your chest and you traced a fingertip down Johnny’s bicep.

“Unzip for me.”

Holding your gaze, Johnny’s shoulders and forearms flexed as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. The tip of his cock was barely visible, protruding from the waistband of his jeans. But when he started to pull it out, you clucked your tongue.

“Hold up. Did I tell you to touch yourself?”

Johnny bit back a groan. A muscle twitched in his jaw and he splayed his palms across his thighs. The tendons in his neck strained from fighting to sit still. Judging by the throb between your thighs and the jittery feeling in your stomach, you were just as eager as Johnny to plow ahead and get things moving. But you liked making him work for it, too.

“I should have known,” you said. “That you’d be so good at following orders, soldier boy.”

Johnny let out a breathless laugh.

“See? Like I said. You’re mean to me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet.” You tilted your chin in the direction of his lap. “Push your pants down a little more. Show off the goods.”

Johnny arched his hips up, shoving his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh. His cock curved up toward his stomach, thick, straining, and beautiful. The blunt head glistened with pre-cum. All you wanted to do was reach out and claim it for yourself. He clutched the couch cushions on either side of him, fists tight, biceps straining.

You couldn’t help yourself and hovered your hand over his lap, your fingers so close to touching his cock that you could feel the heat radiating off him. Then you brought your mouth to his ear.

“Let’s see how strong your stroke game is, yeah?”

Johnny’s breath shuddered and you didn’t miss the way his abs flexed beneath his shirt. When he thrust up toward your hand, you pulled away at the last second. He sagged against the mattress with a noise of frustration that broke off into a laugh.

“Oh, you little shite,” he said.

“Come on. Try again. I know for a fact you’re too stubborn to give up that easily, Johnny. Keep going.”

His palm strayed over your thigh as he thrust up again, straining for that painfully slight friction your fingers would offer. You didn’t reprimand him for the touch to your leg. The way his palm settled there seemed like a comforting gesture, for both of you, so you let him get away with it just this once.

You watched Johnny struggle, falling short of coming in contact with your fingers every time no matter how much he arched upward. Head tilted back, lower lip clamped between his teeth. The way he pushed his hips back into the couch then up toward your hand was mesmerizing to witness, putting every gorgeous muscle in his body on powerful display.

“Fuck, bonnie, you’re killing me,” he said through his teeth.

You gave a pleased hum.

“You’re doing very well.”

He blew out a breath of frustration. A thin sheen of sweat was already beginning to form on his collarbones, pooling in the hollow of his throat. Your mouth watered at the thought of dragging your tongue over it, tasting the saltiness of him.

“Go on then,” you said. “Since you were so good for me, you can touch yourself.”

You sat back as Johnny frantically wrapped a hand around his cock with a breathless oh thank god.

You granted him two long, desperate strokes before you swatted his wrist. His skin was scorching beneath your touch.

“I didn’t say you could finish yourself off, big boy.”

“Fuck,” Johnny rasped, stilling his motion.

“That’s better. Bring your hand up over the head of your crown. You’re sensitive there, aren’t you?”

Johnny practically whimpered, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line as he obeyed. 

“Keep circling with your thumb for a bit,” you said. “And do it slowly. I want to watch.”

He passed the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock in steady circles. You loved the way his cock jumped in his hand. When you lifted your gaze, you found Johnny looking at you with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted. With his head tipped back against the couch, it fully exposed his neck, and it struck you how open and loose and vulnerable his position was.

He was putty in your hands even though the only touch you’d initiated was the slightest brush of your fingertip against his bicep a few minutes ago. You smiled sweetly and swept your knuckles along his cheek.

“If I had known you were so willing to please me,” you said. “We could have done this sooner.”

Johnny huffed. “You were too distracted with those damn sods who were no good for you.”

“Are you saying you like it when I’m mean to you?”

“I’ve got my fucking cock in my hand, hard as a rock. Do you really need me to spell it out for you more than that, love?”

You laughed softly with a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck your fist for me, Johnny,” you whispered against his skin. “But don’t come. I want to see how long you can hold out.”

He gave a deep groan. The slick sound of his fist around his cock echoed in the room, sloppy and hurried. His palm left your leg for a moment, and before you could register the loss, he cupped his hand beneath your chin, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

You gasped at the electric shock of his mouth against yours, the wet heat of his tongue sliding past your lips. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, when your senses were full of Johnny.

For a brief moment, you pulled back just long enough to watch him pumping along his length. His arm flexed with the movement, but his hand was still beneath your chin. After a second or two, Johnny slid his hand into your hair, cradling the back of your neck. 

You needed him, ached for him, and you had no idea how that happened. When had you changed from thinking of him as a friend to…this?

Before you realized what you were doing, you pushed Johnny’s fist away from his cock. Then you hitched your leg over his lap, your hands braced on the couch behind his head. Johnny’s palms came to rest on your hips, partly to guide you, but mostly to anchor himself. The weight of his cock bumped against your clothed pussy as you started grinding down on him.

“Fuck, you’re desperate, aren’t you, love?” he murmured. “You just needed a free cock to use and no one would give you what you needed.”

“But you’ll do that for me, won’t you, Johnny?” you said between one kiss and the next, breathing hard. “You’ll let me use your cock any time I want to, right?”

He nodded as he cupped his hands on either side of your face, pressing your mouth open for another soul-scorching kiss. Even through your clothes, you felt his cock throb and pulse, pressed up against your core.

You were both lost to the heat of the moment now, moving together, grasping, kissing, grinding. With his hands full of your ass, he rocked you back and forth on the ridge of his cock. When he mouthed at your clothed breasts, you yanked your shirt off with impatience, tossing it aside. A moment later, your bra followed.

You were surprised at how good and natural it felt. This was your best friend in the entire world and it could have been awkward but it wasn’t. As Johnny dragged the flat of his tongue over your nipple, pinching it between his teeth with a slight jolt of sweet pain, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back.

As you tugged at his hair, you realized just how wet and sticky your pants were getting. Gripping a fistful of fabric, you pulled his T-shirt over his head.

“Inside me,” you said, practically a croak because your voice was so raw with need. “Johnny, now.”

Johnny spread you out on the couch, cradling the back of your head in his hand to protect you in case you came in contact with the armrest. As he pulled away, he trailed his hands down your body, mapping every curve and swell as he went. When he reached your jeans, he flicked his gaze to yours in a silent request for permission.

Your lips quirked up. “Use your words, sweetie.”

He breathed a faint laugh and his cock twitched, thick and heavy between his legs.

“May I take your pants off, hen?”

You’d barely nodded when Johnny gave a playful growl and sucked a bruising kiss into your hip. He unbuttoned your jeans and stripped them off eagerly, leaving you in just your panties. He paused as he took in the sight of you there, waiting for him. He trailed his hands up your calves and thighs, teasing his thumbs at the edge of your panties.

“May I?” he asked again, his voice significantly gruffer this time.

Again, you nodded. Slowly, he hooked his thumbs into your panties and dragged them down, fully exposing you. Never in a million years would you have thought that inviting Johnny MacTavish over for your usual takeout to chat and catch up would lead to this - fucking on the couch.

“Condom,” you said even though it felt like your voice was going to give out at any moment.

Johnny blinked, shaking himself out of his reverie. Stripping his pants off the rest of the way, he fished a condom from his pocket and tore it open. When he rolled it on, you didn’t waste a second and locked your fingers into his hair with an insistent tug. You pulled him up until his body was flush against yours.

“Show me,” you said. “Show me how those damn sods were no good for me. Show me that you can do better.”

A hungry gleam came into Johnny’s arms as he braced his elbows on the couch, hemming you in. You cupped his face as he slotted his cock inside you and slowly, perfectly sank all the way in. Your mouth fell open at the first inch. You were moaning by the time his balls were pressed against your ass, filling you until you felt all of him, thick and throbbing and completely buried inside you.

“Oh, fuck, Johnny,” you said, your voice shaking with sensation. “All for me?”

“All for you, love,” he confirmed. 

As he enveloped your body beneath him, your eyes rolled back in your head and you sank your teeth into his shoulder. The salty taste of his skin was even better than you imagined.

Masterlist

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

So, the atrocities Rhaenyra committed never happened because “unreliable source” but F&B is suddenly very trustworthy when it comes to the Greens, am I right ?

Most of the stuff that Rhaenyra was claimed to have done was stuff she did. Eustace primarily looked to whitewashing Aegon II with his whole “he didn’t care until his children were threatened” BS.

Most of what she did during her half-year tenure (the taxes, the murders, the lavish feasts while her people starve, refusing to offer credible surrender terms to the Greens, etc.) cannot be mistaken as anything but her doing, with the only exception of Haelana, who may have been pushed, may have committed suicide, or may even have been murdered by Larys Strong (I doubt that though). Arguing for people who doubted the Strong bastards’ paternity to have their tongues ripped out definitely happened (and as Tyrion stated, “when you tear out a man’s tongue, you are not proving him a liar, you’re only telling the world that you fear what he might say”). Rhaenyra knew about Blood & Cheese beforehand, and never punished Daemon. Maelor’s death can’t be biased history, her Knights Inquisitor were publicly charged with finding Maelor. Ordering Lord Mooton to murder Nettles and ordering Addam Velaryon to be executed without trial was also something that definitely happened, writs of execution have paperwork.

The smallfolk of KL turned on her, and that can’t be explained away as propaganda after-the-fact, they were the ones living it. Their reactions can’t be explained away as propaganda; they slaughtered the dragons: the living symbols of Targaryen power, and justified their actions as righteous action. How can that be construed as anything but legitimately held rebellion against the very aspect of her rulership ? The heads that were placed on pikes above Maegor’s Holdfast too, are physical things that can be observed and confirmed (or disproven).

See, I don't think anyone taught you how to analyze unreliable sources. An easy way to do that is if there are other sources corroborating the story or see if the idea makes sense with the person being talked about. It's also important to consider the context of the decisions, which is analysis 101 by the way. So, since apparently holding your hand and walking you through something like I'm your fucking middle school teacher is necessary, let's go through your post.

First off, the taxes. Yes, I agree with you, the taxes are something Rhaenyra actually did, we know this because in a kingdom, tax records are always kept. This is how I know that you, much like all the Nettles stans who interact with me, have never fucking read a thing I've written. I've said that the heavy tax isn't something that's a sign of Rhaenyra being incompetent or a tyrant. It's a necessary cost of war, especially since the Greens stole the treasury, she needs money. The people did hate this and eventually riot, but, by looking at the context of the riot, it was rooted in hatred of the war, not Rhaenyra. They believed that if she took the throne, the war would be over, but it wasn't because of Aegon's cowardice. If Aegon was still on the throne, the people would have still rioted, they hated the war and blamed the monarch, end of story.

As for the beheadings, I hate to break it to you, but F&B takes place in a medieval world, meaning that beheading was the method for punishing treason. Aegon's supporters committed treason then, unlike Rhaenyra's supporters, tried to hide throughout the city. Now, am I saying that beheading your enemies and putting their heads on spikes on the walls is a good thing? No, it's something that's barbaric and cruel, however, it's no less than what Aegon did to her supporters, so condemning her for something Aegon does is extremely hypocritical and sexist. Also, it wasn't a witch hunt, Rhaenyra needed to find the treasury and Aegon in order to stop the war; was it extreme, yes, but, again, context is important. I find it interesting that you condemn the taxes she levied while also condemning her attempts to end the reason for the taxes, could it be you just hate Rhaenyra and are looking for any reason to shit on her?

Now we're getting into something that requires a little critical thinking, which I know is hard for you: the feasting. The only source that says Rhaenyra held feasts while she was in KL is Septon Eustace. Let's look at Eustace really quickly; he's the man who crowned Aegon and is known by the in-universe writers of F&B to be unreliable, he also wasn't in KL when Rhaenyra was ruling. So, if the maesters who wrote the sources F&B drew from deem him to be unreliable and he wasn't present during her reign, does that make Eustace a trustworthy source? And if the many courtiers who were in KL and weren't fans of Rhaenyra didn't corroborate this rumor, is it likely to be true? The answer to both of these is no. Eustace claiming Rhaenyra feasted during her time in KL is 99% a lie, and that other 1% would refer to the fact that nobles always ate better than their people.

Now, I have another question for you anon, I do hope you'll consider it. Would you offer mercy to the man responsible for the deaths of all but two of your children, your husband, your ex mother-in-law who acted as your surrogate mother, began a war based on your gender, and wanted to kill you and your remaining children? Unless you are literally a saint, the answer is, no, you wouldn't be inclined to offer that person "credible surrender terms". I think you're just referring to when Rhaenyra refused to split the kingdom between her and Aegon as well as refused to spare his life if she caught him while she was in KL. How exactly is throwing the kingdom into a shit storm by splitting it in half, despite the fact that a majority of the lords supported Rhaenyra, "credible terms"? It's not, it's fucking entitled and ridiculous, of course Rhaenyra rejected that audacious idea. Also, Aegon refused to surrender in any way, in fact he was more determined than ever to keep the war going (even after Rhaenyra was murdered, he kept fighting), what's the point of offering peace terms if they're going to be rejected again? She already offered very merciful terms at the beginning of the war.

"As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena," she announced, "they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer." (Fire and Blood: The Dying of the Dragons - the Blacks and the Greens)

Keep in mind, this is an official decree by Rhaenyra, terms delivered to Aegon and his council, meaning they were recorded and had official documentation. So not only are you not using any critical thinking, you're flat out lying and making shit up to try and support your argument.

Now, moving on to Rhaenyra's sons, her wanting people who are committing treason to be punished how the king decreed isn't an outlandish or unreasonable expectation. Jace, Luke, and Joff were declared the legitimate sons of Laenor by Viserys, Corlys, and Laenor himself, making them (at the very least adopted) Velaryons. Are you saying that people who are adopted are undeserving of inheritance just because of their blood? That's not even a medieval idea, since adopted heirs has been a custom since the Ancient Romans. Moving on, Viserys was the one who declared the punishment for the treason of questioning the boys' legitimacy, not Rhaenyra. There's also the fact that no one outside of the Greens cared about whether the boys were Laenor's blood or not, they are recorded by everyone, including Eustace himself, as true Velaryons. I'm not even going to address the Tyrion quote, since you clearly don't actually care about accuracy or literally any of the messages in ASOIAF.

Continuing your trend of blatantly making shit up, there's no evidence that Rhaenyra knew about B&C. All we have is Daemon's letter to her, which only said that Luke would be avenged, something which could be accomplished through taking her throne and executing Aemond. In fact, that's the most likely conclusion to be drawn from such a vague letter.

As for Maelor, Rhaenyra did order her knights to find him, as having Aegon's last child could motivate him to surrender. However, she didn't order him to be executed, that was clearly an example of how war twists people and drives them to atrocities. Rhaenyra offered a reward for his return, meaning she wanted him alive, it's not her fault that a mob tore him to pieces. Her people came to break up the mob, but they were too late, so they executed the people responsible. Rhaenyra gave Maelor's remains a Targaryen funeral, something Aegon and Aemond didn't bother giving to her children.

Rhaenyra ordering Nettles' and Addam's executions are actions that I don't defend and never have. Those are signs of how Rhaenyra is another gray character, a woman driven to intense paranoia and making unjust and harmful decisions. This makes her a gray protagonist, not an unredeemable villain, as you and her other antis seem to believe. If you guys want all good protagonists, maybe read a differen book series.

As I said earlier, the revolt of the KL smallfolk weren't against Rhaenyra herself, it was against the war. They killed the dragons because they were being led by a man who took their discontent and used it to support his religious fanaticism. The Shepherd wasn't preaching against Rhaenyra, he was preaching against the Targaryens, including Aegon. That's why they killed all the dragons they could, not just Rhaenyra's, they killed Jaehaera and Helaena's dragons, how is that an act just against Rhaenyra?

TG stans and Rhaenyra antis' arguments are driven solely by a lack of critical thinking, willful ignorance, and twisting of passages. You either have issues that aren't actually supported by the narrative or simply apply double standards to Rhaenyra while supporting other characters who do the same or worse. You seem to think that this ask was a "gotcha" moment, however, you have simply shown how even the Rhaenyra antis who have read the book lack critical thinking and don't understand how unreliable sources work. Have a good day/night anon, I do hope you'll eventually learn how to use logic and your critical thinking, I'm sure you can do it.

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 19: Atonement

He took Alec home - not to Arrow House, but to the old flat above the betting shop in Small Heath, where Thomas had lived as a bachelor before Grace, and which was much closer.

All eyes were upon them as they entered, Alec an arresting sight with his dishevelled curls and smudged makeup, clutching Thomas’s coat around himself. The fringe of his dress was visible below it, the long tassels dancing around his bare legs. But nobody would dare remark upon his appearance.

“You’ll be safe here,” said Thomas as he guided Alec upstairs. “I own this part of the city, and the people answer to me. Nobody can harm you here.”

The small, sparsely furnished flat overlooked the dreary cobblestones of Watery Lane, a view which Thomas had looked at every day while building his empire brick by brick. Alec stood lost in the middle of the room, glancing at his unfamiliar surroundings. He was still clutching the empty picture frame - the only material object that still mattered to him.

“You can put that down - nobody will take it away from you.”

Alec reluctantly set the frame down on the dresser.

“Are you hungry? I can heat up a tin of something.”

Alec shook his head.

“Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, eh?”

Leading Alec into the small en-suite, he sat him down on the edge of the bathtub and turned both taps. He removed the blanket from around Alec’s shoulders, folded it, and set it aside.

“Take a bath,” he said, “I’ll have my men start looking for your daughter.”

He left Alec staring into the water, and headed downstairs into the betting shop. From there began the search for Clara Cobb - a search he knew would most likely end in failure.

“Her name is Clara,” he said to the assembled Peaky Blinders, “She’s a year and a half old. Yellow hair, green eyes. If Cobb didn’t kill her, he most likely dumped her at an orphanage. Pay a visit to every children’s home in the area. Track down everyone who’s adopted a little girl of that description since late January. Tell them she was kidnapped and should never have been put up for adoption. Whatever compensation they want in exchange for her, tell them Thomas Shelby will pay it.”

He faltered, reluctant to voice what he needed to say next.

“It’s possible that Cobb planned to raise her until she was old enough to start working. Search every business he owned, in case she’s being kept among the other prostitutes’ children. Those businesses belong to Bragg now, and he won’t like us poking around, but he won’t risk starting shit with us - not when he’s still trying to establish himself as the new man in charge. Go in pairs, and don’t leave a single fucking stone unturned. This child needs her father and he needs her. We don’t have time to waste. Understood?”

A map of the West Midlands region was rolled out, and pins were placed to mark the brothels Cobb had run. Once he’d finished giving the men their orders, Thomas returned upstairs to his flat.

He expected to find that Alec had finished his bath, but instead found him sitting in a half-empty tub. His naked knees were drawn up to his chest, and he was gazing vacantly at nothing. His tasselled dress had been dropped in a pile on the floor, unwanted.

Thomas dipped his hand in the water. It had turned cold.

“You’re going to freeze,” he said.

He turned the hot taps on full blast, then crouched by the side of the tub. With a bar of soap and a sponge, he began to scrub Alec’s body, trying to wash away the memory of the Arcadia. The downward trajectory of Alec’s life was mapped out on his skin - fresh welts layered on top of old bruises, ribs making their presence known above a malnourished stomach, rope-marks itching on his wrists and ankles. On his neck and shoulders were love-bites left by loveless encounters - uncaring visitors who’d taken what they’d wanted and given nothing in return.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said quietly. “I never should’ve sent you away.”

Alec didn’t respond.

With his thumb, Thomas attempted to wipe away what remained of the smudged liner from around his eyes, but it held on stubbornly.

“That’s not giving up easy,” he said to fill the silence, “I’ll ask my Aunt Pol if she’s got anything to remove it. While I’m at it, I’ll ask her if she’s got anything to make these marks go away quicker. A cream or something...”

He checked the water temperature again. It was warm. He turned off the taps. Picking up a bottle of shampoo, he shook some of the fragrant liquid into his palm, and began to rub it into Alec’s hair.

Finally Alec spoke, his voice thin and hoarse from disuse.

“I’m never going to see her again,” he whispered.

“You will.” The dark, wet curls were slick in Thomas’s hands. “I promise you will.”

“She’s gone, Mister Shelby. I’ll never find her.”

“I’ll find her for you,” Thomas assured him, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“She won’t remember me,” Alec mourned, “Even I find her tomorrow, she won’t remember me. It’s been two months. She’ll have forgotten me by now.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Alec put his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath to steady himself, trying to suppress his tears.

“I’ll be nobody to her. I’ll be nothing. She won’t love me any more. If she has new parents, she’ll love them instead.”

“She might not remember you, but she will come to love you again. She’s still just a baby. All she’ll care about is that you’re the one holding her, you’re the one singing to her, you’re the one playing with her. Those are the things that matter to a child.”

Alec lowered his hands and looked desperately around the bathroom.

“I can still hear her, but she’s not there. Sometimes I dream that I’m holding her. I can feel her in my arms like she’s there. When I wake up, I just…I just want to go back to sleep, so I can feel her again.”

“I’ll find her,” Thomas repeated firmly.

With wet hands, Alec grasped at Thomas’s arm and clung tightly to it.

“I don’t know what to do, Mister Shelby,” he whispered, “She was…she was all I had. Before I met you, she was my only friend. And after you sent me away, it was the same. But now she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My whole life, I was just…I was nothing. I was invisible. People only saw me when they wanted to use me. I didn’t know why I was here - what the point of me was. But when she was born, suddenly I became someone. Someone who mattered. Clara loved me and needed me, and she didn’t care what I was. She didn’t care if I was a whore. To her, I was just her dad. And I was a good dad too.”

He could no longer see through eyes stinging with tears and soap-suds.

“When I held her, I could see her whole future. All the nice things she’d have and all the places she’d go. And I knew I’d do anything to make it come true. I knew I’d do anything for my Clara. And I didn’t hate myself anymore, because I knew I was finally doing something good.”

He choked back his sobs.

“I was nobody until I became a dad. But now she’s gone and I’m not a dad any more.”

“You still are. You always will be.”

“I’m not. How can I be?”

“My Grace is dead but I’m still her husband. Your Clara is still out there, and she will come back to you. I don’t know when, but she will.”

Alec’s ragged sobs subsided into hiccups.

“I’ve always protected her. I’ve always tried my best. But now she’s gone, and I don’t know where she is, and I don’t know if she’s alright. What if she’s in danger? What if she’s…?” He couldn’t speak the word.

“She’ll be alright,” Thomas said, “Whoever she’s with, I’m sure they’re taking care of her. There are decent people in the world.”

“But…”

“You’ve come this far by yourself. Now I’m here, and I’m going to help you. We’ll see it through together, the two of us. Understand?”

Alec nodded through tears and released his grip on Thomas’s arm.

Scooping up more water, Thomas cupped the young man’s jaw to hold his mouth shut, and tipped his head backwards. He placed his hand over Alec’s forehead to shield his eyes, and carefully poured the jug over his hair, rinsing away the foam.

“There.” He kissed Alec’s shoulder, pressing his lips against damp skin. “All done.”

“What should I do, Mister Shelby?”

“Right now? Nothing. You’ve worked yourself to the bone. It’s time to let us take over.” Thomas straightened up. “Now, come on. Up you get.”

Alec’s body was stiff from sitting in the tub for so long, and he struggled to rise. Thomas helped him to towel himself dry, then led him back into the main room. In the corner stood a narrow bed with an iron frame and a single pillow.

Thomas pulled back the old patchwork quilt and sat Alec naked on the edge of the bed. Then he helped him to lie down, lifting his bare legs up onto the mattress.

“Get some sleep,” he said, covering Alec warmly with the quilt.

Alec was unresisting, his mind elsewhere. Then he startled. He suddenly sat up, pushing back the quilt and attempting to rise.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he croaked, “I should be out looking for her.”

“My men are already looking for her. You have to rest.”

“I can’t just wait here. I can’t just do nothing.”

“Easy now,” Thomas said as if soothing a skittish horse. “Easy…”

“How can I stay here? It’s been so long…I haven’t held her in ages. I need to find her.”

“Alec, stop. Listen to me.” He held Alec’s face between his hands, stroking his haggard cheeks, gazing into his hollow eyes. “Listen. We’re searching for her. We’re the Peaky Blinders and we own this town. Wherever she is, we’ll find her much quicker than you could.”

Alec seemed to feel slightly comforted. It was probably the first time he’d been offered any kind of reassurance.

Thomas gently pushed him back onto the bed. Physically and mentally spent, Alec lay unmoving while Thomas adjusted the pillow and straightened the quilt. Thomas fetched the picture frame that was all that remained of Clara, and pressed it into Alec’s hands, then pulled up a chair beside his bed.

“Get some rest. If anything happens, I’ll wake you. Alright?”

“...Alright.”

Unable to argue any longer, Alec closed his eyes, hugged the empty picture frame to his chest, and sank into miserable unconsciousness. Thomas kept a silent watch over him, and when the nightmares came, he was ready. As soon as the sleep turned uneasy and the restless tossing began, he stroked Alec’s damp curls and murmured softly in his ear until he settled again.

Thomas knew that it was his own failures that had led them here. In his desperation for companionship, he’d refused to recognise the obvious warning signs before it was too late. And once the undeniable truth had been revealed, he’d failed to show mercy to a powerless pawn who’d been wielded as an unwilling weapon. Failed to predict the extent of Cobb’s vindictive cruelty. Failed to protect an innocent child from being separated from its father. Now Alec and Clara were paying the price for Thomas’s catastrophic mixture of stubbornness, complacency, and pure aching loneliness.

He knew there was nothing he could do to make up for those abject failures. But he had to start somewhere, and for now, all he could do was offer Alec a moment’s respite from the living hell of losing his daughter.

[bloodyfeverdreams]

Like I Could Pull Aside the Mask, and There Would be the Face of My Son, Diego

Soooooo I know this Zorro fandom is literally so dead, as the show's been over for literally over sixty years 😅 but I was watching the show for the first time since I adore Zorro, and as I went, I got an idea for this, annnnd then this happened. Whumptober let me finish this so it counts haha. If y'all don't mind reading fanfics for fandoms you're not familiar with, I'd be really excited if you could try this one. I'll give you a guide so you can follow the story.

Don Diego de la Vega - Zorro, the main character of the show. He's convinced the rest of Los Angeles that he's a dandy, completely inept with a sword in order to keep people from discovering he's Zorro.

Don Alejandro de la Vega - Diego's loving father, who doesn't know who Zorro is under the mask.

Bernardo - Diego's manservant, and best friend. He's mute, and also pretends to be deaf so he can help Diego with being Zorro.

Tornado - Zorro's horse, who's incredibly smart.

Sergeant Garcia - A soldier of the King of Spain, who's not the brightest, who's charged with arresting Zorro while also "secretly" thinking he's a hero

Corporal Reyes - Another soldier, who's probably slightly autistic lol who takes everything Sergeant Garcia says way too literally, and is as dumb as a box of rocks.

The Eagle - The main villain of the second half of the first season.

Juan Ramos - A guy I made up for the sole purpose of hurting Diego.

pueblo - What Los Angeles was before it really became a city. When they say pueblo, they basically mean the whole city.

hacienda - Alejandro's house, he's a rancher, Diego lives there with his father after returning from university in Spain.

cuartel - basically the police force/police station

Okay, now that we've got that out of the way, let's get down to the actual story.

Adrenaline really could be a powerful drug sometimes, Diego thought vaguely. It was why he never drank too much wine when he was drinking, he never liked his senses being dulled. But sometimes, as Zorro, he would get so caught up in the simple act of not getting killed, that his world narrowed to just what he was doing. Facing multiple enemies at once will do that to a person, even the most accomplished swordsman. And while the idea of Zorro could never be destroyed, that didn’t mean that Diego de la Vega wasn’t still just a mortal man.

The Eagle’s men were often very well-trained in swordplay, some even rivaled Diego himself, and this one was no different. Juan Ramon had been sent to smuggle a supply of weapons from Mexico to the Eagle’s men waiting in the outskirts of Los Angeles. As soon as he’d figured out the Eagle’s plan, Diego donned his mask and Zorro rode, and he intercepted the wagon full of the concealed weapons, redirecting it to Sergeant Garcia to prevent any of the Eagle’s men from getting their hands on it. The shipment of weapons had been stopped, but Ramon decided to ride with Sergeant Garcia to capture Zorro, citing the reward. It had been all too easy to evade the Sergeant, as it usually was, but Ramon wasn’t so easily misled, continuing to race after him as he rode on Tornado.

Tornado was the fastest horse in the pueblo, but it seemed nothing would stop Ramon from capturing Zorro. Ramon’s sword slashed at his back, slicing through some of his cape. So he’d turned Tornado around to fight the man honorably, though it seemed the man had none, and their swords began to clash in the darkness. Ramon was a fierce swordsman, a true challenger to Diego’s skills. Being Zorro for so long, he’d gotten very used to fighting in the dark, so he could parry Ramon’s strikes, though fighting on horseback was quite difficult. He didn’t just have to protect himself but he had to protect Tornado. He had no doubt that this man would strike Tornado just to get to him. As his blood thundered through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest, Diego felt the world narrowing to this fight, keeping himself and Tornado alive.

Luck it seemed was on his side though, and he could hear the rattle of a snake in between the crashes of their swords. Ramon’s horse bucked into the air, causing Ramon’s last thrust to veer off course as Ramon was thrown from his horse. Diego could sense that Tornado hadn’t seen the snake yet, though his good friend clearly heard it, and he used his new advantage to ride away before Ramon could get back on his horse to chase after him.

But something strange began to happen as he rode to the hacienda. His vision began to blur a little around the edges as his heart couldn’t slow down. Diego could tell that something was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what, this had never happened to him before. He tried to ignore it, hoping if he just made it home, he could deal with it then, but black spots began to dance across his vision as he rode. After checking that no one was following him, he had Tornado slow down, thinking that would ease his heart into something calmer. Again, it didn’t. Black spots still began to dance across his vision, actually if anything they got worse. At this point, Diego knew that something was terribly wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He began to slump a little in his saddle, and he became aware of a distant throbbing in his right side. He urged Tornado home, never more grateful that Tornado was the smartest horse in the state, as he was losing the ability to guide Tornado himself.

The throbbing in his side was beginning to get stronger, turning sharper and fouler with a kind of pain he’d never felt before, and he felt himself getting weaker and weaker far too quickly. Diego’s hands then came to his right side, trying to ascertain what was causing his unusual and unpleasant feelings. He ran his fingers up the right side of his shirt, and found part of it to be wet for some reason. He didn’t understand, his sharp, witty mind moving unusually slow, and he looked down at himself.

Wearing all black often let him move around in the pueblo in complete secrecy, moving as one with the shadows. But something he’d never thought of before was that being dressed in black would prevent him from seeing things like blood when they started to stain through his shirt. It wasn’t until he noticed that his shirt was ripped that he even saw the wound. It seemed Ramon’s last strike had found its mark.

All at once, when he finally registered he was wounded, the pain slammed into him like a horse kicking him in the chest. He doubled over, crying out as his hand covered the wound, and his breath left him like he’d been punched in the stomach. His mind went a little dizzy at seeing his flesh sliced open, and he leaned on Tornado to keep himself upright.

“Tornado, take, ahh, take me home.” Diego murmured, his eyes having trouble staying open. But he trusted Tornado, as he was the smartest horse Diego had ever met, and he knew his friend would get him home.

Darkness started to pull at him a little as Tornado trotted along carefully, as if sensing his master was wounded. Pull it together, he thought to himself, the hacienda wasn’t far. He just had to make it back home, and then Bernardo would be able to get him a doctor. He was sure Bernardo would be able to make some excuse of why Diego had been stabbed that didn’t involve Zorro. Probably in a way that made his father disappointed in him again.

Diego’s thoughts began to stray as the pain became unbearable, his body lurching with every step Tornado took. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking of his father, and the disappointed look he always had in his eyes whenever Diego backed down from a fight. Maybe because he’d just fought proudly and honorably for the people he and his father wanted to protect, but his father would never know it. He preferred it that way of course, because he never wanted his father to get caught up in his adventures of Zorro, as he risked his life often and losing his father would absolutely destroy him. But that didn’t make disappointing him any easier.

Thoughts of his father drifted as his body got weaker, as his mind lost the ability to think beyond the pain. He was slumping further and further in the saddle, his body now laying against Tornado’s neck, as he was unable to sit up anymore. His blinks got longer, heavier, his eyes feeling like lead, and he was losing the strength to keep them open.

“Torn’ado, get… get ‘ernardo. Get help…” Diego whimpered, the pain overwhelming him to the point where he could barely speak anymore. The adrenaline that had kept him going this entire time was fading, and he was losing what little strength he had.

But Diego couldn’t see his horse’s answer, as his eyes slipped closed and stayed closed. His body went limp, and he slowly slid out of the saddle. He collapsed onto the ground with a soft groan. He felt Tornado nuzzle his face, heard the fright in his friend’s neighs, but he couldn’t respond beyond a low moan. Tornado tried to get him up once more, but Diego still lay unmoving on his side. With the little bit of strength he had left, Diego tried to reach out to Tornado, unsure of what he was even reaching for, but desperate to try and not give into this darkness. Even though Zorro was a fearless hero, Diego was still just a man, and he was scared he was going to die here in the dirt, away from anyone he loved. His hand trembled as he fought as hard as he could, putting all of his remaining strength into trying to move, but his hand went slack as the little strength he had waned, and he collapsed into darkness.

Originally, Alejandro had wanted Diego to ride with him this morning since he thought that getting some fresh air would do his bookworm son some good, but when he knocked, Diego hadn’t answered. He assumed his son must still be asleep, having stayed up late due to his books and poems, no doubt. Thinking that he’d just see his son at breakfast,  Alejandro decided to ride  across his hacienda alone.

Riding across the hacienda every morning had become a part of his routine when he’d sent Diego off to Spain to finish his education. He’d missed his son terribly, so he’d taken to riding in the morning to clear his head to start the day. Diego had always loved riding when he was younger, so Alejandro rode in the mornings to make him feel close to his son while he was gone. And even though Diego had returned from Spain, Alejandro still missed the young boy he’d sent to college. Diego had been such a rambunctious youth, always getting into trouble, always swinging his sword at every problem in an effort to imitate his father. He wasn’t sure what had changed in his son during university, but something had. So Alejandro still rode every morning to clear his head, to let him focus on the day ahead of him, and to think about his son. He’d tried to understand, tried to get Diego to tell him what had happened to him, but Diego had suddenly become very evasive over his true feelings, and he wouldn’t speak to his father the way he used to. Whatever it was that had happened, he hoped that Diego would tell him eventually. He wanted his son to trust him, regardless of what path he walked in life.

A horse’s neigh started him out of his thoughts, and he was stunned to see Zorro’s black horse riding up to him. He’d only seen the horse a few times when he’d run into the outlaw, but it seemed that Zorro owned the only black horse in the entire pueblo, and everyone would recognize the horse on sight. But something was wrong, as an experienced ranchero like him would immediately spot the tell-tale signs in the horse. The horse came up to Alejandro without fear, and bucked a little. Alejandro could tell the horse knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what.

“Where is your master, horse?” Alejandro murmured, very confused as to why he was seeing Zorro’s horse without seeing Zorro. The horse still had his complete saddle on so Zorro must have been with him last night. Then the horse then nipped at his arm, gently grasping Alejandro’s jacket and pulling. The kind of control Zorro’s horse had of nipping at him without hurting him was incredible, and Alejandro wondered how Zorro had been able to train his horse so well. The horse nipped at him again, clearly trying to communicate through their language barrier, and he could tell the horse clearly thought whatever it was it was urgent.

“You want me to follow you, is that it?” Alejandro asked, and even though he hadn’t been expecting an answer, it seemed the horse was smarter than Alejandro thought and immediately took off. The horse turned a little, looking at him, and Alejandro nudged his own horse on, following Zorro’s horse.

When the horse realized that Alejandro was indeed following him, Zorro’s horse took off like a shot. Alejandro had to ride quickly to keep up, and the faster the horse ran, the more worried he became. Dread churned in his gut the more distance they covered, and Alejandro wondered what he would find when they finally reached their destination. Animals were often much smarter than most people thought, especially the ones who didn’t spend their lives raising them and training them. But Alejandro was an expert in horses, and he knew that Zorro’s horse wouldn’t have left his master without a good reason.

His eyes went wide when he finally saw what the horse had been leading him to. Zorro was lying on the ground, facedown, in a pool of blood, and he didn’t seem to be moving. Alejandro couldn’t even tell if the man was even breathing. Even though Zorro was a bandit, an outlaw, Alejandro respected him immensely for always riding for justice. He hadn’t forgotten how Zorro had saved him from Comandante Monastario, and how he owed Zorro his life. So Alejandro acted immediately, dismounting the moment he saw the still form of the hero, and he rushed to the man’s side. His hands hovered over Zorro for a moment, but then Alejandro grabbed the man’s shoulder and rolled him over, instantly leaning down to the man’s chest to check his heart. Alejandro could hear the soft thump-thump of Zorro’s heart, though he thought it sounded a little too fast, but the important thing was that the man was alive, and that meant that Alejandro could help him.

Even though Alejandro was getting up in years, he was still able to slide his arms underneath Zorro’s back and knees and he was able to lift the man into the air. He whistled his horse down, and with his horse kneeling, he was able to finagle the unconscious man onto his saddle and get behind him. Zorro was a little taller than he was, just about Diego’s height, so his head lolled onto Alejandro’s shoulder as they began to ride away. Alejandro had one hand on his horse’s reins and the other over Zorro’s chest, holding the unconscious man in the saddle as he whistled for his horse to take them back to the hacienda. Even though Alejandro hadn’t said anything, Zorro’s horse trailed after them, still upset and as frantic as a horse could get, easily matching his horse’s strides. Zorro truly had a magnificent horse, he’d never seen a horse so loyal before.

As they rode home, Alejandro wondered how long Zorro had been lying unconscious on the ground before his horse found Alejandro, how long his horse had clearly sought help. Zorro rocked back and forth limply in Alejandro’s arms as they rode, and Alejandro’s grip got tighter as they approached the hacienda. Even though he was being bounced around a little on Alejandro’s horse, Zorro still hadn’t woken up, and a pit of dread was starting to form in Alejandro’s stomach. With Zorro’s head on his shoulder, he could feel the man’s shallow breathing, and he prayed that he had gotten to the heroic outlaw in time to save the man’s life.

The hacienda was quiet as Alejandro approached, which was usual, as his vaqueros were already out taking care of the cattle and horses, and the servants were most likely still preparing breakfast. Alejandro rode into his hacienda, and he opened his mouth to call Diego down so he could help, but he thought better of it. He didn’t want to put any of his servants or employees in any danger by associating with someone who helped Zorro, even if they loved Zorro. But thankfully, Diego’s manservant exited Diego’s room, probably having just woken Diego for breakfast. Bernardo saw them almost immediately, and he ran down the stairs, coming right up to Alejandro and Zorro. Alejandro dismounted his horse, and Bernardo helped him ease Zorro’s limp body down from his horse and together, they wrapped his arms around their shoulders.

Unfortunately, Zorro’s horse had followed them into the hacienda, still very attached to his master, and Alejandro tried to gently shoo the horse away.

“Go on, horse.” Alejandro waved the horse away with the hand not currently holding the still unconscious Zorro. “We’ve got him, you’ve got to get out of here. It’s dangerous, you must go.”

The horse just neighed and bucked in response, obviously not wanting to leave Zorro’s side. But in order to keep Zorro safe, it had to be a complete secret that he was here, and this horse was far too recognizable. Bernardo turned to him and gestured for him to take all of Zorro’s weight. Alejandro was confused, but Diego trusted this man, and he trusted Diego’s judgment. So he held the limp Zorro in his arms as Bernardo approached Zorro’s horse. Strangely enough, the horse actually reacted to the deaf-mute. When the man put his hand on the horse’s chest, the horse calmed a little. Bernardo then pointed for the horse to leave, and miraculously, Zorro’s horse actually trotted away, obviously returning to where he lived with Zorro. Alejandro stared at Bernardo for a moment, completely bewildered by the man’s actions, but Bernardo then took Zorro’s other arm from him and wrapped it around his shoulders. Alejandro knew he could be confused as to why Zorro’s horse had reacted to a man he’d never met later, right now, they had to get Zorro into the hacienda where no one would stumble upon him.

“We need to find shelter for him.” Alejandro said, and then cursed himself as the man stared at him a little. Right, he couldn’t hear. Lord, he didn’t know how Diego communicated so well with the man. Bernardo then pointed to Diego’s room, and Alejandro nodded. Diego would have no issues giving up his bed for Zorro. He knew that Diego always spoke about how Zorro was a criminal, but he knew the twinkle in his son’s eyes when he was teasing, even if others didn’t.

So Alejandro and Bernardo carried Zorro’s unconscious body up the stairs, and maneuvered him into Diego’s room. Surprisingly, his son wasn’t there as he’d expected Diego to be. He wanted to ask where Diego was, but Bernardo couldn’t hear so that would have to be a question for later. Maybe his son had already gone down for an early breakfast.

Carefully, Alejandro and Bernardo laid Zorro down on Diego’s still made bed. Alejandro removed Zorro’s hat and torn cape, and Bernardo removed Zorro’s shoes and gloves. Then Alejandro gently pulled at the fabric stuck to Zorro’s skin, and hissed at the sight in sympathy. There was a roughly three inch gash in the man’s right side, dried blood mixing in with the dirt Alejandro had found him in. When Bernardo saw the gash, his face was extremely expressive in his worry. Bernardo placed his hand on Zorro’s forehead, and Zorro’s cheeks. He looked at Alejandro, clearly frightened and Alejandro gently touched the man’s skin around the wound. Dammit. It was already warm with fever. Alejandro cursed under his breath.

“Okay. We have to clean the wound, and no one can know he’s here.” Alejandro said slowly, trying to use gestures to explain what he was saying. Thankfully, the man seemed to understand, and he nodded. Alenajdro then gestured to the room, and the books that Diego loved so much. “Where’s Diego?”

Bernardo struggled a little, his gestures not making any sense. Alejandro sighed, wondering how Diego dealt with this all the time. At least his bookworm son had learned patience in Spain. Bernardo then shrugged, and Alejandro sighed. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Well, he could worry about where Diego had disappeared to later. Zorro needed him now. He trusted his son, Diego would be alright without his father and his manservant for a little while. His son was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

“Go get some water and several soft cloths.” Alejandro said, and tried to mime that to Bernardo. Even though Alejandro was not used to communicating only with his hands, Bernardo nodded quickly, and slipped out of the room. Having been deaf his whole life, he was probably very used to understanding gestures.

Even though Alejandro only knew cattle and horses, and wasn’t a doctor himself, he’d seen enough injuries over the course of his life that he had a fair idea of what to do. He had to clean the wound, stitch Zorro back up, and let him rest for at least a few days so he could recover from the blood loss and fever. He hoped that that was all Zorro needed, as Alejandro wouldn’t risk bringing a doctor to the hacienda unless it was at the uttermost end of need. The less people who knew of this secret the better.

Bernardo was rather quick in his return, carrying a large basin of water with several soft washcloths. Alejandro cleared a space on Diego’s nightstand for the man to set everything down. Alejandro then tried to gesture for Bernardo to lock Diego’s door, and he nodded quickly. At least now no one would be able to come in unannounced. Diego would understand why he was locked out of his own room once he came home.

When the man returned to Diego’s bed, worry still written clearly on his face, he pointed at Zorro, and then pretended to undress himself. Alejandro nodded resolutely. “You’re right, let’s get his shirt off.”

Bernardo then came around to the other side of Diego’s bed, and carefully, they eased Zorro’s body into somewhat of a sitting position. Alejandro ripped the already torn sash around Zorro’s waist and removed his gloves, and Bernardo supported Zorro’s unconscious body as Alejandro began to slowly try to remove Zorro’s shirt. The man moaned softly in pain as he did so, and while it hurt Alejandro’s heart, he was almost glad for it. The heroic outlaw wasn’t too far gone if he was still able to make noises. Bernardo helped Alejandro wrangle Zorro’s limp arms out of his shirt before they managed to pull it off his head. The pull of the fabric pulled a little at Zorro’s mask and bandana, and when that happened, Alejandro saw Zorro’s eyes open a little. He must have trained himself to recognize anything trying to unmask him, even when he was barely conscious.

“No… n-no…” Zorro whimpered, his trembling hand trying to come to his mask.

“Shh, it’s alright, Zorro. You’re safe here.” Alejandro took Zorro’s hand and squeezed gently. Zorro weakly tried to pull away, his hand trying to come back to his mask. Alejandro could see the fear in Zorro’s eyes, so he spoke with pure conviction, his only goal reassuring the outlaw. “I give you my word, Zorro. We will not unmask you. You’re safe here.”

Zorro stared at him with brown eyes that reminded him of Diego, and he must have seen Alejandro’s sincerity even though the haze of his fever, and he nodded a little, his head then falling limply down as his hand clutched Alejandro’s as tightly as he could. It frightened Alejandro with just how weak Zorro’s grip was.

“... hurts.” Zorro moaned, clearly insentient from the fever, as Alejandro doubted that the masked man would ever admit he was in pain if he were fully in control of his wits.

Again, Alejandro was reminded of Diego, of a time when Diego had been about twelve years old, still young but trying so hard to be a man like his father. Diego had climbed a tree to impress the young Rosarita Cortez, but he’d been more concerned about showing off to the girl he was infatuated with than caution, and he’d slipped and fallen out of the tree. He’d landed hard on his left wrist, and Alejandro had immediately taken him to the doctor in town. As Diego had clung to him in the saddle, he’d made the same exact sound, whispering that it hurts. He’d been trying very hard not to cry, but constantly being jostled around in the saddle had overwhelmed the small boy. But Alejandro had promised his young son that admitting he was in pain was a strength, and not a weakness. Diego then started sobbing into his father’s shirt as Alejandro rode to the doctor, and he comforted his young son as best as he could. If he remembered correctly, Diego still had the scar on his left wrist from the break, even though he’d fully healed years ago. But now was not the time to reminisce about his son. He needed to think about the man in front of him now.

Somehow, as if sensing Zorro’s distress, Bernardo then pulled down Zorro’s mask so it properly covered his face again. The restoration of his mask seemed to calm the outlaw, and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to remain conscious. Alejandro wondered if he should let the man sleep again, as what he was about to do was going to be painful, but he also didn’t want the man slipping into unconsciousness again to the point where Zorro wouldn’t wake up again.

“Lay him back down.” Alejandro said, there was silence and stillness for a moment, and then he gestured for Bernardo to lay him back down. Gently, Bernardo laid Zorro back down, careful with his head, until Zorro was once again laying flat in Diego’s bed.

Alejandro then reached over, grabbed a small cloth, and dipped it into the water. The water was only slightly cool, and Alejandro hoped that this wouldn’t be too much of a shock to Zorro’s fevered skin. Bernardo then got his attention, and gestured for a cloth of his own. He mimed placing something on his eyes, and Alejandro nodded, understanding. He handed Bernardo the cloth he’d had and grabbed another one. Bernardo folded the damp cloth and then placed it over Zorro’s eyes, over his mask. Alejandro hoped that would help ease the heroic outlaw into knowing that his secret was safe with them.

Taking a deep breath, Alejandro then brought the cool cloth to Zorro’s right side, starting with the skin around the wound. Zorro whimpered in pain at the touch of the cool cloth, but Alejandro knew he couldn’t stop even if his actions were going to cause the man pain. He slowly began to wipe away the dried blood and dirt around Zorro’s wound, trying not to use too much pressure but also trying to make sure he washed off all of the dirt around the wound. As he worked, he saw Bernardo out of the corner of his eye, gently stroking Zorro’s cheek, most likely trying to do what little he could to comfort the suffering man.

Stroke after stroke, Alejandro used gentle pressure to wipe away the dried blood and dirt around the gash in Zorro’s side. He tried to ignore the soft noises of pain that slipped past the outlaw’s lips, knowing that even though this hurt, he needed to clean the wound so Zorro could heal. But each noise twisted his gut a little, even if his hands remained steady as he cleansed the man’s skin. For a reason Alejandro couldn’t figure out, Zorro’s noises of pain sounded almost exactly like Diego. Alejandro ignored it, thinking that it was just his paternal instincts responding to Zorro’s pain as Zorro had the same eyes as his son. Though, Zorro clearly had much more muscle than his scholarly son, training to fence as well to be as skilled as Zorro was would of course build up that muscle. He wished Diego had put that much devotion into his fencing skills rather than his books. He’d heard from around town of just how hopeless his son was with a sword, which he didn’t understand. Diego had been a fine swordsman when he’d left for Spain. Even if he didn’t fence the entire time he was there, he shouldn’t be so hopeless now.

Even though Alejandro couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting to Diego, his hands moved just as they should. Slowly, carefully, he gently cleared away the dried blood and dirt away from Zorro’s right side. When he finished, he looked back up at Zorro. Bernardo was still softly stroking his cheek, and Alejandro saw droplets of water running down Zorro’s cheeks. Alejandro hoped that they were from the cool compress over his eyes, rather than the poor man being in so much pain that he was crying, though he knew it was probably the latter. Alejandro sighed. Unfortunately, it was only going to get worse.

“Bernardo, hold him down.” Alejandro said, trying to gesture to the deaf-mute. “This is going to be painful.”

He saw the fear on Bernardo’s face, as if he could hear the grimness in Alejandro’s tone, but most likely, he just understood what had to come next. Bernardo shifted a little, using his arm to pin Zorro’s shoulder’s to the bed. Using his other arm, Alejandro pinned Zorro’s waist to the bed, and he took another deep breath, trading the dirty cloth for a clean one.

Alejandro then brought the clean cloth to the wound itself. Zorro shrieked in pain as soon as Alejandro touched it, but Bernardo quickly covered Zorro’s mouth, trying to muffle the shrieks and groans of pain as Alejandro worked. The wound had stopped bleeding at some point during the night, but as soon as he began to try and wipe the dirt from the gash, it started bleeding sluggishly once again. Having been a ranchero all his life, Alejandro was very used to blood, human or cattle. But out of all the blood he’d seen in his life, this was the worst. This wasn’t some vaquero who’d been gored by a bull for getting too close to his mate, this wasn’t a man who’d accidentally cut himself as he was fixing the perimeter fence, this wasn’t a man who’d been kicked by a horse. This was a man who’d been intentionally injured because he fought for justice and cared about all people in the pueblo. Still, Alejandro had to do a job to keep the man alive, so he pushed away all thoughts of the cruelty of this wound.

With Bernardo muffling Zorro’s sounds as best as he could, Alejandro worked, trying to get all of the grime in the wound. He had to use a fair amount of his strength to keep Zorro pinned down, but he tried not to focus on that, on how much pain this was causing the man. He just did his best to work as quickly as he could without losing his caution and attention to detail. It felt like it took hours upon hours to make sure there was no more dirt in the wound, but just as he was finishing up, Zorro went completely limp in their arms. The poor man must have passed out from the pain. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, but at least the man wasn’t in agony anymore. Alejandro finished cleaning the wound as Zorro lay unconscious in Diego’s bed, and he sighed heavily when he thought that this would be as clean as he could get a wound like this.

Alejandro then stood up, taking the bloody rags, and threw them in Diego’s fireplace. When he turned back to the man, he saw silent tears running down Bernardo’s cheeks as he continued to stroke Zorro’s face. Even though the man couldn’t hear the horrid cries of excruciating pain he’d been trying to muffle, it seemed he could still tell just how much pain Zorro had been in, and tried to do what little he could to comfort the outlaw. Alejandro then placed his hand on Bernardo’s shoulder, surprising the man a little, but the deaf-mute just nodded at him. The man then started miming the act of sewing, and Alejandro motioned for him to continue. Bernardo then slipped off of Diego’s bed, and went to his desk. He ruffled around for a little bit before returning with some skin sewing thread, which confused Alejandro.

“Why does Diego have medical supplies in his desk?” Alejandro asked.

Bernardo must have understood the question even though he didn’t hear it, and he picked up one of Diego’s books, and pulled his hand back as if he’d been injured.

“He has sewing thread for the skin in case of a papercut?” Alejandro said incredulously, unable to believe that Diego would have something so extreme for something as insignificant as a papercut.

Again, Bernardo seemed to understand, probably going off of his facial expression, and he shook his head. He mimed getting another papercut, and Alejandro realized he’d gotten the wrong conclusion from his actions. Bernardo then mimed riding a horse, and Alejandro finally thought he understood. The man was just using a book to imitate the sensation of getting cut. He remembered how Diego had struggled to ride Princessa even though he was a fantastic rider, how sore he’d been after he’d slipped off of her. When he’d seen his son on the ground, he’d been afraid that Diego had been seriously hurt. Suddenly hitting the ground after being on a horse could cause any manner of injuries. Diego must have the thread because he knew just how dangerous it was to be thrown from a horse, and that sometimes the doctor couldn’t be reached immediately. If anything, his bookworm son had a good, logical head on his shoulders.

“I understand, come here.” Alejandro said, waving the man closer. Bernardo came to him, handing him the thread. He could see the hesitance in the deaf-mute’s face as Bernardo mimed sewing, clearly trying to ask a question.

“Yes, I can do this.” Alejandro nodded. He’d stitched up small wounds on cattle before, so he was confident that he could handle this. He then guided Bernardo’s hands to Zorro’s skin, lightly pressing the wound together. Zorro made another small sound of discomfort but he didn’t move, so Alejandro assumed the man was still unconscious, and Alejandro thought this was the best time to do this.

Alejandro threaded the needle, and with a fierce determination, he began to sew Zorro’s skin together. The process was arduously slow, and every time the needle pierced Zorro’s flesh, he let out another soft noise of pain, feeling the agony even as he slept. It broke Alejandro’s heart, but he didn’t let that affect him. Bernardo had turned away, unable to keep looking as Alejandro stitched the gash closed, and Alejandro didn’t blame him. Sometimes even the most experienced vaquero could be sick at the sight of an injury like this.

Puncture right, push through, puncture under the left, pull, switch sides, then repeat. The repetitive process of sewing Zorro’s skin back together was grueling, as the man had never stopped making those small noises of pain that reminded far too much of Diego. But eventually, after what felt like ten hours but was actually about ten minutes, and roughly twenty stitches later, Alejandro finished stitching the wound shut. Zorro’s skin kept twitching a little as his body adjusted to the stitches, but Alejandro knew that the man’s body would calm after a little while. Alejandro readjusted the cool compress over Zorro’s eyes, feeling Zorro’s warm forehead, but other than keeping Zorro safe and helping with his fever, Alejandro wasn’t sure what else he could do to help the outlaw.

As soon as Alejandro had finished stitching, Bernardo had let go, just staring sadly at Zorro. Alejandro grabbed Bernardo’s shoulder, trying to do what he could to comfort the man. Bernardo just looked at him. Bernardo then gestured to Zorro, and then mimed looking for something and then a question mark.

“I’m not sure,” Alejandro said, still speaking aloud even though the man couldn’t hear him. “I don’t know if the soldiers know he’s wounded, but I suppose it’s only a matter of time. So we must keep his presence here a complete secret.”

Alejandro tried to communicate his words in gestures, which was still a struggle, but Bernardo nodded, so he assumed he might have done something right. He then looked to Diego’s locked door, wondering where his son was. Diego wasn’t the type to go missing for such long periods of time. Alejandro noticed that Diego’s bed hadn’t seemed slept in, but he just assumed that Diego had gotten up during his father’s ride and Bernardo had just remade the bed. Of all the times to be off by himself reading his books or doing whatever it was that he was doing. His son truly had become a mystery since his return from Spain.

But now that the worst part was over, Alejandro was able to focus on other things again. Alejandro then got Bernardo’s attention.

He pointed at Zorro, and then tried to mime riding a horse, and then used his fingers trying to imitate how Zorro’s horse had listened to the deaf-mute. “How on earth did you get Zorro’s horse to obey you?”

Bernardo seemed to understand his question, and then he pointed at Zorro and also mimed riding a horse. He then mimed a lasso, and reached out and held an imaginary horse. Finally he mimed a spoof of one of the king’s soldiers.

“Ah, when Zorro’s horse had been captured by the soldiers, yes.” Alejandro murmured, speaking aloud instinctively. He nodded and then motioned for Bernardo to continue.

Bernardo pointed to himself and used his fingers to imitate walking and then the horse again.

“You were walking by where they were keeping the horse.”

Bernardo mimed the satirized version of a soldier again. Then he mimed a whip, and Alejandro gasped lightly.

“One of the soldiers was whipping Zorro’s horse?” Alejandro asked. “How dishonorable, attacking a defenseless animal like that.”

Bernardo continued as if he hadn’t spoken, miming the whip again, and catching it in the air. He then waved his finger from side to side in a fierce ‘no’.

“You tried to stop him.” Alejandro nodded, putting the puzzle pieces together in his head. Bernardo had been near the corral, and had tried to intervene when he saw the soldier whipping the horse. With as smart as Zorro’s horse seemed to be, that easily explained how Zorro’s horse knew that Bernardo could be trusted. “So he knows you as a friend. I see.”

It was very lucky indeed that Alejandro had been the one who found Zorro. The horse would’ve followed his master into the hacienda of whoever had found him, as everyone in the pueblo would have taken Zorro in, and they might not have been able to send the horse away. He did wonder where the horse went, but Zorro needed his attention more. He had wanted to wait a little to wrap the wound, wanting to give the poor man a break as his body adjusted to the stitches, but now it was time to continue.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Alejandro said slowly, trying his best to mime out his words. “I have some extra bandages in my room from when I was injured, I need to go get them.”

Bernardo nodded. Alejandro still marveled at how easily Bernardo was able to understand him, even though he couldn’t hear him. Alejandro then slipped out of Diego’s room, and carefully came to his own room. He searched through his drawers and found the bandages. As long as the wound didn’t reopen, he thought what he had would be enough.

A knock startled him, and he shoved the bandages into his pocket to hide them. He took a deep breath to steady himself before answering, “Yes?”

“Senor, breakfast is ready.” Alejandro sighed, recognizing his servant’s voice. He’d been afraid that it would be a soldier looking for Zorro.

Alejandro then exited his room. “I shall come down for it later, my son and I have some important business to attend to. I ask that you don’t disturb us.”

The servant nodded, and Alejandro just sighed, walking causally back to Diego’s room. But he trusted his son. Diego was a smart boy, when he returned if anyone asked about this ‘new important business’, his son would easily catch on that his father needed him.

He was beginning to become worried, as it was not like his son to go somewhere where he’d be gone for a while without telling anyone. But he trusted his son to be careful. He was sure Diego was alright. As his father, he felt he’d know if something happened to his son. Still, the longer Diego went without coming home, the more worried he became. Oh mijo, where are you?

Alejandro slipped back into Diego’s room, and pulled the bandages out of his pocket. Bernardo helped ease Zorro into a sitting position again, causing the man to again make a soft noise of pain as they unfortunately jostled his wound. Bernardo then got his attention and mimed a circle and then pointed at himself. It seemed Bernardo wanted to wrap the bandages. Alejandro nodded, seeing no reason to deny him, and handed him the cotton bandages.

Holding Zorro by the shoulders, Alejandro then adjusted himself so he was holding Zorro upright. Bernardo then began to softly wrap the bandages around Zorro’s wound. The man’s touch was incredibly delicate, almost reverent, like he was bandaging a close friend. Maybe Zorro had thanked him for rescuing his horse from that cruel, dishonorable man in some sort of way and Bernardo felt indebted to him as he did, as many did after encountering the hero.

Alejandro watched as Bernardo’s nimble fingers wrapped the white cotton around Zorro’s abdomen. Bernardo moved quickly but tenderly, making sure not to cause any further pain to the hero. He seemed very experienced in this, and a small part of Alejandro hoped that he’d just learned how to do this in his training as a manservant, and not because he’d bandaged an injured Diego before. He hoped that wasn’t what changed his son while he was in Spain. He’d seen the aftereffects of some battles that left men shaking whenever they held a sword again.

Swathes of white soon covered Zorro’s abdomen, and Bernardo tied the two ends together. Together, they laid Zorro against the pillows once more, and adjusted him so he’d be as comfortable as he could be. Alejandro sighed. At least now, all they needed to do was let Zorro rest. They shouldn’t need to cause him any more pain.

With Zorro taken care of Alejandro needed to tend to the hacienda as he always did, trying to assume a look of normalcy. No one could suspect that Zorro was here, that anything was out of the ordinary. And even though Alejandro wanted to remain with Zorro, to watch over the hero as he had watched over Alejandro, it would be better for him to keep the secret and act completely normal. That would keep him the safest.

“Watch over him.” Alejandro said, pointing to his eyes and to Zorro. “I need to tend to the hacienda, otherwise it will seem suspicious.”

Bernardo nodded, and Alejandro placed his hand on Bernardo’s shoulder before heading out. Even though he didn’t really feel like eating, he went down to breakfast anyway. Maybe Diego would be there, waiting with a smile that always calmed Alejandro’s heart.

Bernardo had been exhausted from waiting up all night for Diego to return, but the second he saw his friend in Don Alejandro’s arms, he’d suddenly become wide awake. It was as if he’d drunk a whole keg of coffee, his heart racing in his chest at seeing his friend so injured. Bernardo knew that being Zorro was risky for Diego, it was risky for him too when he joined his friend, but this was the first time Diego had really gotten injured. There had been that one instance when Diego had hit his head against a rock, but he’d been fine afterwards, except for a rather strong headache. He’d been perfectly fine after a little rest. This injury would not go away so easily.

Holding Diego down as his father cleaned the wound was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Hearing Don Alejandro’s promise to not unmask Diego had been slightly comforting, but his friend was so injured, already afflicted with fever that it was hard to feel it. He’d had trouble keeping up the ruse that he was also deaf, especially when Diego had started screaming in pain. Covering his mouth to muffle his sounds broke Bernardo’s heart, but he knew it was necessary. Diego couldn’t be found here like this, unable to defend himself, and Diego certainly wouldn’t want his father being implicated in helping Zorro, no matter what state he was in.

When Diego finally passed out from the pain, Bernardo didn’t know whether to be grateful or distraught. While he hated to see his friend be in pain, he longed to see Diego’s eyes open once again, so Bernardo could see that he was alive, he was awake. But even in unconsciousness, Diego wasn’t relieved of the pain. He’d kept stroking Diego’s face as gently as he could, trying to bring what little softness and comfort he could to his best friend, trying to give Diego something to focus on that wasn’t the horrible pain he was in. Unfortunately, it hadn’t seemed to work, as Diego continued to make those soft noises of pain as Don Alejandro worked, even after he’d finally lost consciousness.

Bernardo had almost been sick at having to hold the two edges of Diego’s skin closer so Don Alejandro could stitch them together, but he forced himself to be strong for his friend. Diego had always been so strong for him, defending him from people who thought that his inability to speak was a deficiency and made him unintelligent. It was one of the main reasons he’d become so devoted to Diego, who never got frustrated with him because he couldn’t speak. In Spain, Diego had never let anyone speak ill of Bernardo, even dueling a couple of people because they insulted him. Diego was one of the kindest, most patient men he’d ever met, and Bernardo would do anything for the man who had become his best friend. He’d never thought he’d become best friends with someone who was sixteen years younger than him, but Diego was special. He’d never had such a good friend before. So no matter what, no matter how ugly or hard this healing process would be for him to watch, he’d see Diego through this if it killed him.

When Don Alejandro told him he was leaving to keep up appearances, Bernardo nodded, wanting some time alone with his friend. Bernardo locked the door behind him, so he wouldn’t be disturbed. Slumping a little in relief, Bernardo immediately came back to his friend. Gently, Bernardo removed Diego’s bandana and then his mask. This time, Diego’s eyes remained closed, knowing Bernardo’s touch even in sleep. Bernardo then dipped another one of the cloths into the water, and began to dab at the dirt still on Diego’s face, trying hard not to wake him. Judging by the dirt on Diego’s body, he must have fallen off of Tornado at some point. He wondered how long Diego had laid in the dirt before Don Alejandro had found him.

Tenderly, Bernardo began to reveal Diego’s soft skin from under the dirt. His friend slept on, unaware, only occasionally murmuring nonsense in his sleep. He’d never known Diego to talk in his sleep before, but fevers often did strange things to people. So he just focused on his task, gently cleansing Diego’s face with the cool water. This way, Don Alejandro didn’t have to do it and they wouldn’t have to risk Diego’s father potentially accidentally seeing under his mask. Bernardo knew that Don Alejandro promised he wouldn’t unmask Zorro, but still. He and Diego didn’t like to take risks they didn’t have to.

As he worked, little droplets of water ran down Diego’s face, mixing in with the tear tracks so obvious within the dirt that still remained. Bernardo softly stroked Diego’s face with his fingers again, looking sadly upon his friend. Seeing Diego cry was such a rarity that the memories were vivid in his mind. The first time was when Diego wept at the bedside of a good friend when he’d died unexpectedly of yellow fever, and the second was at a wedding as Diego (and most of the crowd) had teared up during the vows. And now this was the third.

Once Diego’s forehead and eyes were clear, Bernardo immediately put the mask back on. Even though the door was locked, he knew Diego would be more comfortable with it on. Despite his fever, Diego still clearly had enough of his wits to remember that he was Zorro, not Don Diego de la Vega. Bernardo hoped the mask’s presence would give Diego the emotional comfort he clearly needed to reassure him that his identity had remained a secret.

Bernardo’s touch was gentle as he brought the cool cloth to Diego’s cheeks, but it seemed that all the touches to his mask and face had woken his friend anyway. Diego’s brow furrowed as his eyes fluttered open. Bernardo could see the fevered glaze in Diego’s brown eyes, and his heart hurt for his friend.

“Ber… bern’do?” Diego whimpered, and Bernardo was grateful that Diego wasn’t too far gone to not recognize him. Bernardo cupped Diego’s cheek gently, and Diego whispered, “wha…?”

Bernardo shushed him gently by putting his finger on Diego’s lips, and then he took Diego’s hand. When he’d first become Diego’s friend, Bernardo had taught him a few hand positions to use as a way to communicate with him. He’d taught Diego the same signs his family had used for the alphabet. It wasn’t something he needed to use often, as Diego was unusually good at communicating with him, but it was what he used to spell out his words as a last resort.

Carefully, Bernardo shifted Diego’s fingers into a fist, with his index and middle fingers raised, and he waited for Diego to recognize it. It took a moment for Diego to understand him through his fever, but eventually he murmured a breathless, “U…” Bernardo then crossed Diego’s fingers, and again waited. “R…” Bernardo guided Diego’s fingers into four successive letters, and when Diego didn’t respond except a confused noise, he did it again. “S-s-a-fe. Safe.”

Bernardo nodded, and cupped Diego’s cheek again. “‘ts good.”

Diego’s eyelids seem to hang heavy over his eyes, and Bernardo’s fingers softly brushed over his bandana. He then grabbed the glass of water he’d gotten earlier, and brought it to Diego’s lips, cradling Diego’s head to help ease him up. Diego wasn’t strong enough to hold the glass, but he managed a few sips of cool water.

“Tor… tornado.” Diego suddenly gasped, his exhausted eyes opening wider in fear, and Bernardo shushed him gently again, setting the glass aside.

Bernardo mimed himself sending Tornado back to their secret hideout, and then he softly stroked Diego’s forehead again. Diego nodded weakly, understanding that Tornado was safe too. Tornado was a smart horse, he’d keep himself out of trouble.

It seemed that the knowledge that he and Tornado were safe was enough for Diego to slip back into sleep, and Bernardo just stroked his cheek until he was sure Diego was deeply asleep again. Bernardo then brought the damp cloth to Diego’s cheeks, softly washing the dirt from Diego’s skin. His touch was featherlight, not wanting to wake Diego again when he clearly didn’t have the strength to stay awake.

After that, Bernardo worked in complete silence, just washing the dirt from Diego’s cheeks, and then Diego’s neck. His costume covered everything else except the wound, and that had already been taken care of. But just as Bernardo placed the dirty, damp cloth to the side, he noticed a thin sheen of sweat on Diego’s skin. He felt Diego’s forehead again, still feeling too warm as the fever burned within him. Hopefully it would burn itself out soon. Diego would need all of his strength to recover from this wound.

Diego hadn’t been at breakfast. He also hadn’t been home for lunch. Alejandro hoped that Diego was just in town, with his friends, and that he was alright. It really was not like Diego to go for so long without at least telling his father where he would be going. The only thing he could think of was that Diego had taken a spur of the moment trip, perhaps to the mission, as potentially someone in town wanted his presence. Still, Diego usually stopped by the hacienda to tell his father where he was going, but perhaps this was an emergency. Alejandro just hoped that Diego came home soon, he missed him.

It was evening by the time that Alejandro had been able to return to Zorro’s side without arousing suspicion. It took a little while for him to get the deaf-mute’s attention inside, but eventually Bernardo unlocked the door upon seeing him.

“You should get some rest, Bernardo.” Alejandro said, doing his best to mime, seeing the exhaustion on Bernardo’s face. “I’ll watch over him for the night.”

Bernardo seemed torn, looking at Zorro with forlorn eyes, obviously not wanting to part from the hero. Alejandro placed his hand on Bernardo’s shoulder, miming “I’ll fetch you if I need you.”

While the man clearly still did not want to go, he did nod. Alejandro wondered if the man had slept the previous night, but whatever had exhausted him was catching up to him. Bernardo took one last look at Zorro, but he went to the door. He knocked three times in a rhythm, and then again. Alejandro realized he was setting up a code for him to use, so he nodded, showing he understood. At least Alejandro could hear the knocks when Bernardo wanted back in.

Alejandro sat at Zorro’s bedside, watching the hero sleep with a worried expression. Zorro’s eyes darted around under his eyelids, his body restless and trembling. Alejandro pressed his hand to Zorro’s forehead, and frowned at the heat he found. All they could do now was hope that an infection had not taken hold and that what was causing this fever would not be as serious as that. An infection would mean Alejandro would need to fetch a doctor, and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to do that. Alejandro grabbed another cloth, it seemed Bernardo had restocked while he was gone, and he dipped it in the cool water.

Carefully, Alejandro brought the cool cloth to Zorro’s collarbone, deciding to forgo touching the man’s face since the slightest touch to his mask had woken him the last time. Tiny beads of sweat had formed across Zorro’s skin, and he softly wiped them away, hoping the cool water would help break the man’s fever. He brushed the cloth over Zorro’s chest, carefully avoiding the bandages around his waist.

As he brushed the cloth over Zorro’s arms, he saw something rather incredible. Zorro also had a scar on his left wrist that Alejandro could’ve sworn looked exactly like Diego’s. He lifted Zorro’s hand, taking great care to be as careful as possible, examining the scar curiously. It was the same length, same width, seemed just as old as Diego’s.

“You know, my son has a scar just like this.” Alejandro murmured. He wasn’t quite sure why he was talking to an unconscious man, but he hoped that his voice could bring the hero some kind of comfort as he slept. “Though, I’m sure you got yours a different way, being the master swordsman that you are. You probably got yours as you honed your incredible skill. My son fell out of a tree, heh.”

A soft moan filled the air, and Zorro’s eyes fluttered open. His brown eyes were glassy and dazed, and it took them a moment to focus on Alejandro.

“Father?” Zorro murmured, his voice weak and confused.

“Shh, it’s alright, Zorro. It’s Don Alejandro.”

Zorro just whimpered again, raising his hand a little. “Father.” Alejandro just grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

“Father… I’m sorry.” Zorro whispered, staring directly into Alejandro’s eyes. Alejandro frowned in confusion, pursing his lips, feeling a little discouraged that Zorro didn’t recognize him. The fever must be distorting Zorro’s mind into thinking Alejandro was his father. “I tried… tried so hard to make you proud.”

“Shh, Zorro, it’s alright.” Alejandro squeezed the hero’s hand. “You did everything you could. Even the bravest in battle get injured. I’m sure your father is very proud of you.”

“No…” Zorro slurred, his glazed eyes drifting softly to the wall. “My father isn’t proud of me.”

“Nonsense.” Alejandro instinctively started stroking Zorro’s hair over his bandana, as Diego always liked his father petting his hair when he wasn’t feeling well. He just hoped that Zorro took comfort from it too. “You’re a great hero. A savior of our people.”

“No… my father thinks I’m a coward.” Zorro muttered. “Always so disappointed in me. I can see it in his eyes.”

Unconsciously, Alejandro’s mind flashed to Diego, that first day when he’d returned from Spain and he hadn’t wanted to take up arms against Comandante Monasterio. How heartbroken Alejandro had been when Diego hadn’t wanted to draw his sword against the corrupt captain, or even draw his sword at all. But how could anyone think that Zorro was a coward? Zorro risked his life constantly for the people of Los Angeles. No one could dare call him a coward or a disappointment! He was tempted to ask who his father was, as he had a few words to exchange with the man. Zorro had risked his own life to save Alejandro’s, how could anyone ever say that he was a coward or a disappointment?

“Your father is wrong.” Alejandro squeezed Zorro’s hand again, his voice full of conviction, which brought Zorro’s fevered eyes back to Alejandro. “You are no coward. You are a hero to us all, Zorro, from the richest ranchero to the poorest peasant. Every day, you risk your life to save us from tyranny and injustice. If your father can’t see that, then even a blind man can see more than he can.”

Zorro’s eyes glistened as Alejandro spoke, and he saw a single tear slide down into the mask. Alejandro’s heart twisted in pain. His thumb came to Zorro’s face, softly brushing under Zorro’s eye. Zorro’s eyes fluttered closed, and Alejandro didn’t stop his ministrations until he was sure that the hero had fallen asleep once again.

Alejandro sighed softly as he gazed upon Zorro’s sleeping form. He hadn’t met the outlaw often, but he never would’ve guessed he’d had such a difficult family. He couldn’t imagine having a father who treated him so disrespectfully. Even he had gotten used to how bookish and unwilling to fight Diego had been since he got back from Spain. Truthfully, it had been hard, but Diego was his son. That meant that Alejandro loved him unconditionally, whether he was a master swordsman or a dandy. Diego was the best thing in his life, nothing could ever change that, even his son’s inability to handle a sword. But Zorro, he was a hero! He did more for the pueblo than anyone. How could anyone be disappointed in that?

Alejandro shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. As much as it hurt to hear that Zorro’s family didn’t appreciate him as they should, there was nothing he could do about that. But what he could do was do his best to help the man heal. He continued wiping the sweat away, brushing Zorro’s skin with clean cool water. He checked the bandage, and thankfully, he didn’t see anything that would indicate an infection. This fever was most likely caused by the stress of getting such an injury, Diego and his late wife had been prone to them as well, Diego especially once his mother passed.

A sudden knock on the door startled him, and he quickly composed himself, covering Zorro with Diego’s blanket and trying his best to hide his mask with a cool compress over his eyes. He then went to the door, trying his best to calm his nerves.

“Yes?” Alejandro answered, seeing one of his servants.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, sir, but Sergeant Garcia is at the door and is urgently requesting to speak to you.”

Alejandro’s heart raced. What could Sergeant Garcia be wanting at this hour? Had something happened to Diego? Were they looking for Zorro? His stomach twisted with dread, but he kept a straight face, looking appropriately worried rather letting the terror and panic he was feeling show. He nodded simply, and then headed down to the entrance of the hacienda.

“Sergeant.” Alejandro said, fighting his every nerve to keep calm. “What brings you here this late into the night?”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Don Alejandro, but on our last attempt to capture Zorro, it seems he was wounded.” The Sergeant said. “ One of the swords that did battle with him came back with blood on it. So we’re searching everywhere in the pueblo for him, as he’d need help, and since we couldn’t find him in any place he’d seek a doctor, we’ve started searching all the haciendas to see if we can find him.”

“We want to make sure he’s still alive.” Corporal Reyes added.

“Babosa!” Sergeant Garcia shouted, smacking Corporal Reyes upside the head. “You’re not supposed to say that!”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said, Corporal, now be silent!” Garcia growled, and then turned and smiled bashfully at him.

Alejandro’s heart raced, his mind becoming a whirling dervish as he struggled to think of a reason he could deny them entry.

“Well, Sergeant, it is very late, perhaps you could come back tomorrow.” Alejandro said. “Most of the hacienda are already in bed, and I’d hate to wake them.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.” Sergeant Garcia said, sounding regretful. “We must check everywhere for Zorro, even this late at night. N-Not that I suspect you, Don Alejandro, but the Comandante would be very upset if I didn’t search everywhere, including your hacienda. But we’ll try to be quiet.”

Alejandro fought to keep his composure. He had to think, how could he keep them from discovering Zorro? There was no way to sneak him out without the soldiers noticing!

“Well, if you must, but I must ask you that you do not go into Diego’s room.” Alejandro said, hoping this excuse was enough to deter them. He didn’t have the time to think of another. “I’m afraid my son is sick, and cannot be disturbed. A-and I wouldn’t want you catching what he has.”

Sergeant Garcia looked surprised. “Diego is feeling unwell? Oh I’m very sorry to hear that. I was wondering why he hadn’t met me for lunch yesterday as we’d agreed. It’s not like him to miss our lunches together.”

Wait, Diego had made plans and then not kept them? Sergeant Garcia was right, that wasn’t like Diego. That wasn’t like his son at all. He almost asked when the last time the Sergeant had seen his son, but he stopped himself as he realized that he couldn’t. He was pretending Zorro was Diego. The Sergeant would find it very odd that Alejandro needed to look for Diego when supposedly he was lying sick in bed. He would send Diego’s manservant out tomorrow at dawn, and see if the deaf-mute could find his son. Bernardo knew Diego best since he returned from Spain, perhaps he’d be able to find Diego.

“Yes, he has a fever.” Alejandro said, trying to hide his worry for his missing son. “He’s asleep at the moment, and the noise of someone searching his room will most definitely wake him.”

“I do apologize, Don Alejandro, but I must search every room.” Sergeant Garcia said. “But I’ll check his room myself and just peek in there to make sure I don’t wake him.”

“I appreciate your understanding, Sergeant.” Alejandro said, a vice grip squeezing at his chest. The only thing he could hope for now was that the Sergeant wouldn’t recognize Zorro on sight.

With his heart pounding out of his chest, he followed Sergeant Garcia up the stairs while the other soldiers began to search the hacienda. He swallowed nervously as they went up the stairs, using every faculty he had to keep himself acting calm, even if he wasn’t inside. Quietly, Sergeant Garcia opened the door. The soldier peeked through the door, and Alejandro was so anxious about him finding Zorro that he could barely breathe.

Miraculously, Sergeant Garcia closed the door after just a moment. “I apologize for disturbing him, Don Alejandro. It’s obvious Zorro is not in there. Please let me know when he feels better, I would like to come by and see him.”

Don Alejandro smiled, and he actually meant it this time, knowing that Zorro was safe. “Of course, Sergeant. When he feels up to seeing visitors, I’ll send for you.”

Sergeant Garcia nodded happily, smiling broadly at him.

After that, Alejandro could act as he usually did around the soldiers, chatting with them as if nothing was wrong. He knew nothing else in the hacienda would give away that Zorro was here, so there was no chance of them finding Zorro here. Internally, he worried about Diego. What could’ve happened to his son to keep him away from home for so long? To miss plans that he’d made. Diego was not one to go back on his word. Alejandro had taught him the importance of integrity from a very young age. Where on earth could his son be?!

Alejandro wasn’t sure how long the soldiers spent looking for Zorro, but it was still a relief seeing them leave, Sergeant Garcia again apologizing for the disturbance as the rest complained to the Sergeant that they wanted to stop and go home so they could sleep. He bid them adios before returning to Diego’s room. There was nothing he could do about Diego since it was late in the night, and there was only moonlight and starlight to search for him. But the moment the sun rose, Alejandro would start looking for his son.

The moment Alejandro stepped through the door, he could tell something was wrong. Zorro was thrashing a little, having kicked off the blanket which was now tangled between his feet, with the cool compress laying on the pillow beside him. He was murmuring nonsense in his sleep, but it was clear that he was in distress. After locking the door, Alejandro rushed to Zorro’s side.

“Shh, Zorro, you’re alright, you’re alright.” Alejandro said, trying his best to sound soothing.

“No, no please,” Zorro whimpered, still lost in the throes of a nightmare.

“Zorro, wake up, you’re having a nightmare, you’re safe here.” Alejandro gently cupped Zorro’s cheek, hoping the touch to his face would wake him.

But Zorro kept thrashing, his head moving from side to side, his face twisted in fright. Alejandro tried again to wake him before suddenly going still, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Zorro’s thrashing had dislodged his mask, revealing part of his face. Even though he was asleep, Alejandro still recognized the face of his son.

Diego… Diego was Zorro??? His bookish, pacifist son was the hero of the pueblo who fought with the strength of ten men? Impossible. Yet here he was, staring at his son as he thrashed from a nightmare, clearly Zorro under the mask. Surely, it must be a dream, but he was wide awake, and this was no dream.

Alejandro then acted on impulse, his paternal instincts screaming at him to comfort his son. He took Zorro- Diego by the shoulders and brought him up to Alejandro’s chest, his arms wrapping around his suffering son’s body in a fierce hug, holding Diego close to him. He slowly began to rock back and forth, just as he’d done when Diego was a small child.

“Shh, Diego, it’s alright, Father’s here, you’re safe, shh, you’re safe.” He whispered, keeping one hand on Diego’s head, keeping him pressed against his chest. He knew his son, he knew what would comfort him. It had always worked when he was a child, he saw no reason it wouldn’t work now that he was an adult.

Just as he thought it would, Diego’s murmurs of fright softened as his father held him, whispering comforts as he slowly rocked back and forth. When Diego’s mother was alive, Alejandro would often find a sleeping Diego in his late wife’s arms as she sat in her rocking chair. He knew that the feeling comforted Diego, especially after his mother passed. So he just kept rocking back and forth, holding his son tightly until Diego’s cries quieted down. But even though the nightmare seemed to have passed, Alejandro didn’t let go of his son.

Carefully shifting Diego’s weight so he could hold his son with one hand, he gently pulled off the mask of Zorro. He figured, since he’d already found out it was Diego, he wasn’t breaking his word to not unmask Zorro. Gently dropping the mask and bandana onto the bed, he tilted Diego’s head up a little. Alejandro had burned his son’s face into his memory when he’d come home from Spain, having missed him so much. And here he was, in his arms, sleeping peacefully now.

How could he have missed this? How could he have not seen that his own son was Zorro? Obviously, Diego had gone to great lengths to hide his identity from his father, as well as the rest of the pueblo, but Diego was his son. Alejandro should’ve been able to tell. Now that he knew, the clues were rather apparent. No one had ever seen Diego and Zorro in the same room at the same time, Diego was never around whenever Zorro appeared, the fact that Diego was constantly being accused of being Zorro (even though previously it seemed so evident that he wasn’t), Diego’s sudden evasiveness over his feelings, how Zorro sounded so much like Diego especially when he was in pain, the scar on his wrist… it all made sense now.

“I fail to see what we can do.”

“We can stand up to him, fight him!”

“Calm yourself, Father. The use of force should be our last resort.”

“I hardly expected such discretion from a son of mine!”

Diego hadn’t been a coward in the face of Comandante Monastario, he just made Alejandro believe that. He’d seen the hurt in Diego’s eyes when Alejandro had been so vocal about his obvious disappointment when Diego had refused to take a stand against Monastario, but he’d been more concerned about his son becoming a coward after he left for college rather than comforting his son. It must have been very painful for Diego to let him think such low things of his own son.

“I’m sorry. I tried… tried so hard to make you proud… My father isn’t proud of me. My father thinks I’m a coward. Always so disappointed in me. I can see it in his eyes.”

The only time words had caused Alejandro to feel such pain was when the doctor had told him that his wonderful wife was dying. Never before had Alejandro felt such a sickening regret in his chest that consumed him so entirely. Diego, his incredible, precious son thought that he was a disappointment. That Alejandro considered him a coward. Admittedly, Alejandro hadn’t been very good at telling his son how proud he was of him when Diego constantly ran from a fight, not understanding how his amazing son could’ve become such a coward in a few short years. But… he understood now. Diego never ran from a fight, he just became Zorro to fight that fight.

“It is strange. So strange. It is almost as if I had known you. You seem so much like someone I know. I'm a foolish old man with foolish dreams. So often have I dreamed that my son came back from Spain and he would be like you. Now that you're so close, it is so much like my dreams. I feel almost that I could pull aside the mask, and there would be the face of my son, Diego. I would not pull away the mask. I would not have the courage. An old man must cling to his dreams as desperately as he clings to life.”

Alejandro startled at seeing tears run down Diego’s cheeks as he slept, but he soon realized that the tears were coming from him, dripping down from his face onto Diego. He tucked Diego’s head into his shoulder again, kissing his hair.

“Oh, mijo. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He held his son all night, unwilling to let him go. His only consolation was at least now he didn’t have to worry about where Diego was. His precious son was right here in his arms, where he should be when he was… wounded. It was the smallest of silver linings that he hadn’t known that this was his son when struggling to treat his wound. He felt nauseous just thinking of his son being so grievously injured, especially when all his son was trying to do was help people.

Dawn’s early light surprised him, as he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed that several hours had passed. Diego was still overly warm in his arms, but he seemed to be resting quietly.

A set of three knocks in a row startled him enough that he nearly dropped his son. There was a pause, and another three knocks. Alejandro’s shoulders slumped when he realized it was just Bernardo. He leaned forward, cradling his son’s head with the utmost reverence as he laid Diego back down. He got up to let Bernardo in before he hastily remembered to put on Diego’s Zorro disguise. He wasn’t sure if Bernardo knew, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t reveal his son’s secret.

Alejandro then let Bernardo in, and the man immediately rushed to Diego’s side. Bernardo’s hand came to Diego’s forehead, his cheeks, checking on his fever. Diego didn’t stir at the touch, and now Alejandro knew what that meant. Even as Zorro, Diego recognized the touch of his friend. He wondered if that meant that Bernardo knew too.

Diego murmured nonsense in his sleep again, and Alejandro sat beside his son, stroking his hair over the bandana. “Shh, Diego, it’s alright, you’re alright. Sleep my son, shh.”

His son calmed, soothed by Alejandro’s voice. Alejandro just stared at his son for a moment, taking in his peaceful expression before he noticed that Bernardo was looking at him in panic. At first it confused him, before he realized that somehow Bernardo must have understood that he knew now that Diego was Zorro.

“You knew?” Alejandro said, his voice incredulous before it turned to anger. “You knew this whole time?”

Bernardo struggled again with nonsensical movements before he just nodded.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” Alejandro demanded. “I’m his father!”

Bernardo then pointed to Diego and pressed a finger to his lips, showing that Diego had asked him not to tell.

Alejandro groaned and ran a hand over his face. Then he stopped.

“Wait, you can hear?” Alejandro exclaimed. “You could hear the whole time too?”

Bernardo nodded again.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Alejandro asked. “Why deceive everyone in such a way?”

Bernardo pointed at Diego again, and then he covered his ear. He then mimed walking again, and used his hands to mime talking. Then he placed his hand behind his ear to mime the word listen. Then he placed his hand over his mouth as if he was whispering and pointed to Diego.

“Diego wanted you to pretend to be deaf so you could overhear others’ conversations and what, report back to him?”

Bernardo gave him a hand wave to indicate perhaps a maybe, and pointed at himself. “You wanted to do that?” Bernardo nodded again. “Why?”

He placed his hand behind his ear again, and then mimed running and then whispering to Diego again. He made a ‘Z’ sign, and then pointed to Diego, and then mimed a shield.

“So… you could overhear things that would indicate that Zorro needed protection?” Alejandro asked.

Bernardo nodded happily.

Alejandro sighed. “At least Diego trusted someone to help him.”

Bernardo frowned and patted his shoulder in what seemed to be a gesture of comfort.

“So Diego has been Zorro this entire time.” Alejandro sighed again before a terrible thought entered his mind. “Even… even when we drew swords against each other.”

He remembered dueling Zorro when he and the other landowners tried to rush the cuartel to free the unjustly imprisoned Torres’ women. He’d noticed back then that Zorro had seemed very reluctant to draw his sword against them, a sadness in his eyes that he hadn’t understood in his anger. And all the time, it was Diego. Diego forced to fight his own father. Even if Alejandro’s intentions were good, his actions had still led him to fight his own son. Poor Diego. Diego had never hidden how much he loved his father, even if he hadn’t told Alejandro his secret.

Bernardo nodded at his statement, pointed at Diego, and then mimed an obvious frown, telling him that Diego had been very upset at having to do that. He could tell the man wasn’t trying to make him feel bad, just trying to tell him that Diego had been just as upset as he was right now, that Diego hadn’t wanted to fight him, but that brought him no comfort. He couldn’t imagine the strength of will Diego must have had to make himself fight his own father on his quest for justice. He doubted he’d have been strong enough to be able to draw his sword against his son.

“We need to take off his mask.” Alejandro said, reaching over. Bernardo grabbed his wrist, shaking his head and waving his finger in a no gesture.

“I’m not doing this because I know now.” Alejandro said. “Last night, while you and most of the hacienda were asleep, the soldiers came here.” Bernardo’s eyes went wide with fear. “Don’t worry, I was able to convince them that Diego was ill to hide Zorro’s presence, but now people expect Diego to be ill. And… I suppose he really is. But if we cover the bandages with a blanket, and hide his mask, then no one will be able to tell that Diego is Zorro. We could let him rest without worry of someone discovering him.”

Alejandro could tell that Bernardo was still uncertain about his plan, but after a moment, he did let go. Alejandro tenderly reached over and slipped Diego’s bandana off, and then very carefully, his mask. Without his Zorro disguise, Diego looked so young, like the boy who he’d sent to university those few years ago. Alejandro softly stroked his son’s cheek, unable to tear his eyes away for a moment. His poor son. Having to shoulder all of that responsibility, all of that pressure to protect the pueblo and distribute justice all alone, unable to confide in his own father. He didn’t know how Diego did it.

They lapsed into silence for a while as Diego slept beside them. Bernardo placed another cool cloth on Diego’s forehead, and Alejandro just sat, brushing another cool cloth over his son’s skin. At least, now that he knew it was Diego, he knew how to help his son. Whenever Diego had gotten stress fevers before, when he was a child, Alejandro just had to give him water, and keep him cool. When they checked his wound as they changed his bandages, the wound showed no sign of infection. Alejandro was nauseous at the sight of seeing his son’s body torn up and stitched together, but he had to be strong for his son. If Diego could fight under his mask as Zorro, then Alejandro could take care of him as his father. When Diego was born, he’d promised to always take care of his son, and he wouldn’t let him down now.

Dusk was settling gently in the west when Diego stirred again. To Alejandro’s immense relief, and when Diego opened his eyes the glaze of fever was gone. He smiled softly at his son.

Soon, fear entered his son’s eyes, and his hand came to his face, obviously searching for his mask. “Father, what… why did you…”

“Last night, you were thrashing in your sleep.” Alejandro explained, his voice saddened by his son’s fear and confusion. As much as he was grateful that he knew, he would’ve wanted his son to tell him of his own free will, and he knew Diego would’ve wanted that too. “It disturbed your mask, and well… I could recognize your face from the other side of the pueblo.”

Diego just stared at him, with his fingers still under his eye. Bernardo then took his hand, and Diego startled a little, having been so distracted with Alejandro’s presence that he didn’t notice his friend. Bernardo smiled a little, but Diego didn’t seem to react to it.

“I am sorry, my son.” Alejandro said, and he knew his son could sense his sincerity. “I know this isn’t how you wanted this to happen.”

Diego slowly brought his hand back down, and he suddenly couldn’t meet his father’s eye. “Are you upset with me? For not telling you?”

“Of course not, mijo.” Alejandro stroked Diego’s hair as he did when he was a child. “I could never be upset with you because you decided to keep a secret. Even one so big as this.”

Diego met his eyes once more. It hurt Alejandro’s heart to see shame in his son’s brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, Father.” Diego murmured. “I didn’t mean to lie to you for so long. I hated doing it.”

“It’s alright, Diego.” Alejandro smiled down at his son. “I can understand why you did it.”

Diego tried for a smile but it didn’t quite make his eyes. He shifted a little, seemingly uncomfortable, and then he winced, frowning in confusion. “What…?”

“Diego, what’s the last thing you remember?” Alejandro asked quietly, as it seemed like Diego didn’t know what had happened to him.

His son paused, his brow furrowing a little. “Riding Tornado. We’d just gotten away from Ramon, the last man I fought. He was trying to smuggle weapons into the pueblo. I… I remember my side hurting, and I didn’t know why. After that, it’s a bit of a blur.”

Alejandro hummed slightly, nodding. That lined up with the timeline that Alejandro had been able to figure out from what little information he had.

“What happened?” Diego asked. “How did you find me?”

“Your horse, actually, he’s incredibly intelligent.” Alejandro explained. “You must have fallen out of the saddle as you rode, and your Tornado went looking for help. He found me and brought me back to you. I found you lying in the dirt with your side sliced open. I brought you home, and since Diego de la Vega wasn’t in his room, I thought we could use it as a place to keep Zorro safe. Bernardo and I took care of you from there.”

“Oh.” Diego said softly, his hand coming to his right side. “I wondered what hurt so much.”

“I can send someone into town for laudanum tomorrow.” Alejandro said. “I couldn’t risk it when you were Zorro, but since the soldiers now think that Diego de la Vega isn’t feeling well, we can ask for it without repercussions.”

“The soldiers?” Diego asked, becoming afraid. “Why were the soldiers here? Is everything alright?”

Alejandro explained how the soldiers had come looking for him and left easily enough, thinking that a sleeping Zorro was a sleeping Diego. That calmed Diego visibly.

“Thank goodness.” Diego murmured. “I never wanted to put anyone in danger.”

Alejandro cupped Diego’s jawline, brushing his thumb over his cheek.

“Bernardo,” Alejandro muttered softly, and the man turned to him. “Can you give me and my son a moment alone?”

Bernardo looked to Diego, who nodded. Alejandro wasn’t sure of what had happened to make Bernardo so loyal to Diego, but he was glad his son had someone who would always stand by his side. It was clear Bernardo didn’t want to go, but he still listened to Diego, and he stood. He mimed getting Diego some water and food, and Diego smiled gratefully.

“That would be nice, Bernardo, thank you.”

Bernardo smiled at his son, and then he slipped out of the room. Now that he and Diego were alone, Alejandro sighed heavily.

“Why didn’t you tell me, mijo?” Alejandro murmured, asking the question that had been burning within him since he found out. “You know I wouldn’t have told anyone. You didn’t have to make me think that you had changed so much since I sent you to Spain.”

“Because I knew being Zorro would put you in danger, and I couldn’t risk that.” Diego whispered, his voice tinted with shyness and shame. “I knew I had to become someone I’m not to fight Comandante Monastario, I had to become someone he would never suspect. A scholar who couldn’t wield a sword couldn’t possibly be Zorro, and it worked. I knew if we took open action as you wanted to do, your life would be in danger. And I had to protect you.”

“You’re my son, Diego, you’re not responsible for protecting me. “ Alejandro said. “I’m responsible for protecting you. I swore to your mother that I would protect you until the end of my days and I will keep that promise. Even if it means dying for you.”

“I couldn’t risk that.” Diego said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Seeing you get shot was one of the worst days of my life. I’ve never been so scared, not even when I’m fighting the whole of the cuartel at once. I couldn’t knowingly put you in danger, and being Zorro is nothing but danger. I could choose to risk my own life, but I could never ask you to risk yours. I had to protect you, Father, even if it meant lying to you about who I was. I’d rather be a disappointment in your eyes than the reason you were killed.”

“Oh, mijo.” Alejandro sighed, stroking his son’s cheek. “You could never be a disappointment to me. You’re my son, I will always be proud of you. Yes, it was difficult to understand why you wouldn’t fight alongside me, why you suddenly had become so interested in books and music when you hadn’t been before. But that never meant that I thought of you as a disappointment.”

“Father-”

“Diego.” Alejandro said firmly. “Whether you’re a scholar and a diplomat or a dueler and an outlaw, I will always be proud of you. I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that. You’re my son, I love you more than life itself.”

Diego smiled again, and this time, he could see it in Diego’s eyes. “I love you too, Father.”

Alejandro smiled in return. This was probably the most honest talk they’d had since Diego returned from Spain, and he was glad that his son could finally be honest with him.

Diego huffed quietly, slightly smirking. “I will say, I’m not looking forward to the worry and fretting you’re going to do whenever I go out at night.”

“I see no reason to do that.” Alejandro laughed, seeing Diego’s attempt at humor for what it was, but going with it anyways. Diego looked surprised at his answer. “You’ve bested me in a duel, my son. Not to mention you constantly fight the curatel and always escape unharmed. You… do escape unharmed every time, right?”

“Yes, Father.” Diego nodded, soothing Alejandro’s worry. “This is the first time I’ve ever gotten seriously hurt being Zorro. Usually, I’m very good at avoiding it.”

“Then I have no need to be worried.” Alejandro said. “I trust in your skills.”

Diego smiled. “Thank you, Father. I’m glad Zorro is skilled enough to earn your trust.”

“I did wonder what happened to your skills when you came back.” Alejandro mused. “When you left, I was sure you’d become the best swordsman in California before age thirty. But I suppose I wasn’t wrong, I just thought it would be under the name de la Vega.”

Diego chuckled. “So did I. I wish I could’ve shown you the medals and trophies I won back in Spain for fencing. You would’ve been so proud.”

“Medals and trophies?” Alejandro asked, confused. This was the first time Diego had ever mentioned anything of the sort since he came back.

“Yes.” Diego nodded. “I won several. I was one of the best swordsmen at university.”

“Where are they? Did you hide them?”

“Yes… at the bottom of the ocean.” Diego said wistfully. “I was warned our bags would be searched when we arrived in Los Angeles, so in order to keep up the illusion that I was completely inept with a sword, I had Bernardo throw them out the port window.”

“That’s a shame.” Alejandro said. “I would’ve liked to have seen them. And shown them off.”

“I can always go swimming the next time I go to the coast.” Diego smirked, and they both laughed together. A somewhat heavy tension between them dissolved softly into nonexistence.

Bernardo soon returned with some soup and a glass of water for Diego. His son went to sit up, before he immediately fell back into the pillows, whimpering in pain and clutching his right side.

“Easy, son.” Alejandro soothed, helping Diego adjust, sliding behind him so he could keep Diego up, maneuvering him into a sitting position. “You’re not ready for that yet. Just let us help you.”

“I don’t seem to have a choice in that.” Diego muttered, and Alejandro could hear the slight bitterness in Diego’s voice. His son had always been independent, and Alejandro knew how difficult it was for him to accept help sometimes.

“The more you rest, the faster you’ll heal.” Alejandro murmured. “I can certainly attest to that.”

Diego huffed quietly, still obviously upset at his situation, but he didn’t protest further. Bernardo could also clearly sense Diego’s desire to not be dependent on them, as he fed Diego as quickly as he could without making him sick so Diego wouldn’t have to deal with being so weak for longer than he had to. Alejandro could tell his son’s strength was waning as he finished, and when Diego was finished, he gently moved so Diego was resting against the pillows again. It took a moment for Diego to adjust and get comfortable again, but his eyes were half-lidded by the time he was done, clearly exhausted.

“Sleep, my son.” Alejandro whispered. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

It was barely a few minutes between Diego nodding softly and Diego’s breathing evening out as he slipped back into sleep. Alejandro stayed with him the entire night, promising himself that he’d watch over Diego until his son was fully healed and riding for justice again.

[ele-sme]

“Hi Jake, Spider might or might not fallen of a tree”

 goJake was bored and annoyed, more than three had passed since the battle, and a lot happened during it. First of all, recom Quartich and his whole squad turned to Eywa’s side, which is good right? WRONG, well yes good, no one but the sky people died in that battle, and much information was given. But that motherfucker turned only because of Spider, and his minions followed because of ‘semper fidelis’. Now those things were in the Omatikaya forest learning the ways like he had done years before. Cringe. 

Plus, that bastard of a copy wanted Spider right next to him during the whole process, he wanted Jake’s son during the whole process!

Now, maybe saying son is a little hasty, in the end, him and Neytiri never officially adopt him, or never toke care of him. But still they accept him now

you should have accepted him immediately, he was just a child, why why why wh-

a call. 

“Yes?” Jake responded at the mobile that was used for him and the others who were in the forest for communication. 

usually before the battle, he would contact Max and Norm weekly, then once he called them for Kiri and another for Spider. 

now, he and the rest of the family would daily call Spider to check on him, which annoyed the blonde since he would spend all the weekends with them. 

still, every time Jake heard his voice, his heart would go in tilt, he could feel the joy, relife, love, longing and other emotions.

this time, it wasn't his son’s voice, but his other father. 

“Hello Jake, i didn't really want to call you, but your so called friends insisted that i do” Quaritch began “i think you can't really call someone like them friends you know? i wouldn’t like if someone called me telling what im telling you right no-” 

“Can you please just tell me what happened without telling me the story of your life?”

“Alright, Spider might have fallen of a tree...of twenty meters from the ground...and he might have craked his mask and broken some bones...and it might have got us almost thirty minutes to come back to the base...remove the might” Quaritch said

Jake’s heart skipped a bit, the pod became silent, he forgot about everyone in it, it took a few seconds before the house fallen into chaos. 

Neytiri practically jumped to him, taking the device off Jake’s hands, and starting telling off at Quaritch for saying something like that with such nostalange.

“at least is he alright?” she asked and after a few seconds he responded with a yes, which made Tuk calm down since she have started to cry. 

“alright we are coming right now” Jake announced and ended the call.

“yeah, let's go!” Lo’ak said trying to get out but Neytiri stopped him

“we are going means me and your mother, you stay here, not discussing that. Neteyam you are in charge” Jake said without letting Neytiri speak, like it was necessary.

he speaked for her, she speaked for him, he acted for her, she acted for him.

the flight which was usually of nine hours became one of five. The two Ikrans were exhausted. 

Neytiri praticlttly jumped off hers, running towards the infirmary, secretly hoping it was in the same place she remembered it to be.

Spider was asleep when they entered the room, next to him Quarithc who looked half asleep but was waken up when the other two entered the room. 

“you, me outside” Jake order the other avatar who silently obeyed him.

leaving Neytiri behind with Spider, they got to the outside, and Jake took his knife out pointing him at Quaritch. 

“i swear if something happened to him”

Quaritch let out a hiss but didn't respond

“we are taking him for all month, no need to say again“ Jake said, spitting at quaritch feet before returning to his mate and their child, finding Spider who was crying and Neytiri humming his favorite song. 

Without saying anything he got next to them an hummed with Neytiri the next verses. 

BONUS

Jake and Quaritch got out lefting Neytiri and Spider alone, the door closing made Spider wake up, and looked around finding Neytiri next to him. 

she gave him a motherly smile, one he never had, just it made him want to tear up all the water that was in him. 

“you came?” he said, it was more than a question, like Neytiri wasn't infront of him. But she was, and she was ready to give him a lot of kisses.

“You are my son after all”

[angelswing236]

"Well, that worked out great."

Fictober 24 challenge

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Fanfiction

Seething with impotent rage, Tom kicked the small pile of spare tyres stacked at the back of the garage, almost welcoming the bone-shaking jolt that reverberated through his body.

‘Well, that worked out great,’ a familiar Mancunian voice drawled and he turned to see the tall figure of Thomas Barrow at the garage door, a cigarette clamped between his fingers.

‘What do you know about it?’ Tom growled, in no mood to deal with Thomas’s smartarse remarks.

‘Your big plan to humiliate the general? I know that you cocked it up royally and that it was a stupid plan in the first place.’

‘Why? It would have made a point, wouldn’t it?’

‘What point?’

‘That he and people like him can’t just waltz around ordering people about and expecting them to just do what they say,’ Branson spat.

Thomas laughed, amused by the naivety of Branson’s statement. ‘Of course, he can. That’s exactly what people like him and his lordship have been doing all their lives.’

‘It would have humiliated the British Army!’

‘You think the British Army cares about one mad Irishman throwing oil, ink, cow pat and – what else was it?’

‘Sour milk,’ Branson muttered, mutinously.

‘Ugh. Bet that stank,’ Thomas said, wrinkling his nose.

‘It was supposed to stink.’

‘Did you really think it would make a difference? The British Army has bigger fish to fry than you, Branson. I tell you what would have happened, shall I? They’d have charged you with aggravated bodily harm or something and slung you in prison. All you’d have achieved was to piss off a few people, including the poor sods who would have had to clean his uniform, the tablecloth, the carpet and the chairs. And for what? Nothing.’

‘At least it would have made the papers!’ Branson argued, hotly.

‘Made the papers? You’re off your head if you think your antics would have made the papers. You’d have been whisked away and banged up without so much as a peep of it getting into the papers. Bad for morale, you see. Same as telling people here just how awful it is out there is. Can’t have the truth about it all getting out, can we? Can’t be spoiling the great British public’s rose-tinted view of how bloody glorious it is to sit in inches of mud and water, your bowels turning to liquid when the guns start, wondering if this is the day you finally cop it.’

Branson stared at Thomas, thrown off balance by this sudden, unexpected glimpse into the last two years of his life.

‘Do you…’

‘What?’  Thomas snapped, embarrassed that he’d shared more than he’d intended.

‘Want to talk about it?’ Branson offered, awkwardly.

‘With you?’ Thomas sneered, looking down his nose at the chauffeur. ‘What would you know about any of it? Sitting pretty here on your arse in the sticks, safe as houses. No, I don’t want to talk about it.’

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, neither man knowing quite what to say.

‘Why did you want to throw slop over him anyway? What’s he ever done to you?’ Thomas eventually asked, sucking on his fag again.

‘He’s a symbol,’ Branson said, hesitating before adding, ‘The British Army killed my cousin. In the Rising in Dublin.’

Thomas cocked his head. ‘Hmmph. Well, they’ve killed a lot of people in this war. I scraped what felt like half of them up onto my stretcher for long enough.’

‘I wish I’d done it.’

‘Then you’re a silly bugger. You should have had a much better plan. I mean, for a start, why did you write a letter saying you were going to do something? That’s just stupid.’

‘I didn’t know Anna was going to read it, did I?’ Branson said, indignantly.

‘She couldn’t have read it if you hadn’t written it, though, could she?’ Thomas pointed out. ‘And why were you writing a letter to Lady Sybil anyway? Why do you think she’d care if you got carted off to prison?’

‘I didn’t want her to think badly of me,’ Branson said, flushing pink.

‘Sweet on her, are you?’

‘None of your bloody business!’

‘No, and she’s none of yours if you know what’s good for you. Carson will give you the old heave-ho if he thinks you’re fawning over one of the young ladies.’

‘I’m not fawning over her,’ Branson said, somewhat sulkily.

‘So, just out of interest, did you think this plan of yours up in two seconds flat while you were sitting on the lavvy?’ Thomas asked, curious to know how Branson came up with such a spectacularly stupid plan to humiliate the general.

‘No. I was polishing headlamps.’

‘Christ, I hope that’s not a euphemism,’ Thomas said with feeling.

‘I suppose you would have come up with something better, would you?’ Branson said, tetchily.

‘Too right, I would have. I would definitely have come up with something that didn’t immediately end up with me losing my job and getting banged up.’

‘What would you have done?’

‘Well, off the top of my head, given him something to give him the trots. Nobody respects a man who shits his britches in their dining room,’ Thomas replied, taking another drag on his cigarette. 'So, you’re not sacked, then?’

‘No. Mr Carson doesn’t want a fuss.’

‘Course, he doesn’t. A fuss is the worst thing Mr Carson can imagine. But you’ve had to promise not to play at silly buggers again, have you?’

‘Yes. And I’m not to let on to his lordship.’

Thomas snorted. ‘No, let’s not disturb his lordship’s peace. Heaven forbid. What about Lady Sybil?’

‘What about her?’ Branson asked, suspiciously.

‘Has he asked you why you chose to confess your dastardly deeds to her?’

‘No.’

‘Well, he still might, so make sure you have a reason that won’t set him frothing at the mouth.’

‘I will. Don’t worry about that.’

‘Hmmm. She’s all right, is Lady Sybil. Don’t you go causing trouble for her.’

‘I wouldn’t!’

‘Make sure you don’t. Or it won’t just be Mr Carson you have to worry about.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning keep your mitts and your lustful thoughts to yourself, Branson. She’s one of my nurses now, so stay away.’

Tom bristled, kicking himself for writing that note to Sybil. If he’d jeopardised their fledgling relationship, he’d never forgive himself.

Thomas took a final drag of his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot heel. ‘Right. I’m off. Try not to do anything stupid between now and breakfast.’

‘Get lost, Thomas,’ Tom said, irritably.

Thomas smirked and headed back to his small kingdom.

[snuggerudism]

kiss the stars goodnight for me | red dirt roads

Since freshman year of high school, the trio of girls had gone stargazing in the summer nearly every night they could. It brought a sense of peace to Calla that almost nothing else in the world did. 

It was finally nearing the end of summer, and the girls only had a handful of times left they could do it. Calla was in charge of packing her truck with the essentials, while Annie and Shay got everything they needed for the picnic and ordered the food. The three had the routine down to a science, and it took them half the time it used to. 

“Alright, everything’s ordered,” Shay slips the phone in her pocket. “Let’s head out?” She ties her raven hair in a messy bun, a huff escaping her when she realizes not all of her hair made it in the bun.

“One second, I just need to grab a sweatshirt.” Calla’s already halfway through the door as she speaks the last word, leaving her two friends waiting.

Not even two seconds later, the door opens and Ryan and Jimmy come into view. Shay’s head snaps from looking at the window to Jimmy’s eyes, shooting him a smile. “Didn’t think you’d be here,” Shay shifts so she’s across from the two. “Calla said you guys have been busy with hockey, and nobody’s seen much of you.”

“Today’s an off day. They’re pretty rare, but it’s nice. The season’s not started yet.” Jimmy’s eyes don’t leave Shay’s once. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Ryan and Annie, but the door swinging open once again cuts the moment short. 

“Alright, I’m all set to-” Calla looks up from her phone, mixed emotions written on her face. “Oh, you’re here,” She rolls her eyes at Ryan. “Hey Jimmy.” She smiles sweetly at him. Their friendship was growing by the day. 

“Hi Calla.” He chuckles. Ryan and her bickering is amusing toward him, and hasn’t gotten old yet. 

Ryan scoffs after their interactions, moving out of Calla’s way so she can get to her car. “We were just saying hi. We’ll leave you be and find something else to do.” 

“Gre-”

“You should come with us,” Annie’s voice is soft as she looks at Jimmy and Ryan, a slight smile appearing on her lips. “We ordered plenty of food for dinner, two more people wouldn’t hurt.” Shay opens up the door of Calla’s car, motioning them in before her. 

Both boys look unsure, but Shay’s smile and reassuring look eases Jimmy as he gets into the car. The two instantly start to talk, a laugh escaping Shay’s lips at Jimmy’s joke. 

“That joke wasn’t even funny Jim.” Ryan smirks at his friend, raising his eyebrows knowingly. 

His entire face goes red, and he whips his head away from Shay to stare out the window. 

As soon as Shay’s eyes meet Ryan’s, his face falls. The girl is glaring, sending him an ‘are you serious?’ look. She barely knows him, but she doesn’t really care. 

“For what it’s worth, I thought the joke was really funny Jimmy.” She sends him a smile, patting his shoulder. 

Her attention is taken from him, leaning forward to talk to Calla and Annie. “I’m glad the boys came.” Annie looks from Shay to Calla, a frown set on her face. 

“Jimmy- I like him. He’s nice,” She pauses, turning into the parking lot. This time, her words are much quieter, reserved for the two girls. “I just can’t stand Ryan. He makes everything so hard. I tried so hard, but he’s no help.” She swallows, stepping out of the car. 

Annie silently follows her into the pizza shop, and Shay leans back to the boys. “These nights are really fun, I can promise you that. They make Calla really happy, so please just try and not pick a fight with her,” She turns to Ryan. “I’m not saying her feelings are your fault, at all. I just know things between you get… tense.”

“I won’t do anything to make her upset. Thank you for inviting us. We never really get to be kids, or have fun like this. It’s always hockey, hockey, hockey,” Ryan sighs. “I haven’t lived at home since I was 12. I love hockey, but I missed out on a lot.” He averts his eyes, staring at the car pulling in next to them. 

Shay opens her mouth to speak, but Calla and Annie opening their doors interrupts her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Calla was mid-bite of her pizza when Ryan sat down next to her on the blanket. “Hi Calla.” 

She looks to Shay for help, but the girl is too preoccupied in her conversation with Jimmy to notice the stares from her friend. “Ryan,” She nods her head toward him. She looks toward the sky, and he does the same. “How are you liking this?” 

She’s choosing to be civil, and puts the ball in his court. “It’s fun, y’know? Relaxing, and I like that.”

“Yeah, it is,” She smiles. “The stars are so gorgeous.”

“You see those stars clustered right there?” He points, and her eyes trail over where he’s pointing. “That's a scorpius.” Ryan looks over at her, seeing that she’s already looking at him. 

“How do you know?” 

“I bought a book freshman year, with all the constellations. In my spare time, I studied it. Over there,” He points again, this time right above Calla. “That’s a big dipper.”

“I knew that,” She smirks, staring at him again. “What do you do other than hockey?”

“Sleep, eat, practice. That’s usually it. Hockey is everything to me, so there’s not much else in my life.”

“Oh,” She frowns. In her eyes, there's so much more to life. “That’s-”

“It’s what I know, and my dad thinks it’s best.”

“Yeah, but what do you think is best for you? I don’t think that any person needs to live their lives focused on one thing. That’s a sad way to live life.”

“You wouldn’t understand-”

“I’m an athlete too, Ryan. I do track and field, and cross country.”

“Oh.” His jaw is slack, and he opens his mouth, but the words get stuck in his throat. 

“Whatever, it’s fine.” She turns to Annie starting a conversation with her best friend. 

Ryan’s kicking himself. They were getting along, and he had to go and mess it all up again.

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

hear me out, first date where Aiden is like "surely a movie then dinner cannot go wrong, right?" WRONG. Spirit starts the date super awkward but cute, but she's actually more at ease halfway through the movie...only for her stomach not to be and then by the time dinner rolls in she's feeling so bad, she's shutting him off and Aiden, who's not aware she's feeling sick, is just? 😭 i thought we had a thing?

But then he catches up w/ what's going on, be it bc she tells him or because she gets sick 🙈🙈🙈

Here it is, ladies and gents

Thanks to @bellysoupset for this ask!!😊

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

“One small regular coffee,” Spirit said, pulling out her wallet. It was an old little thing, brown and made of leather that was wearing away after so many years of use. Many years.

“Any cream or sugar?” the girl taking orders asked in a bubbly voice, her long blonde hair swishing in a ponytail.

Spirit shook her head, well aware that cream and sugar was an extra charge, and she was fine with black coffee.

“Two dollars,” the girl said.

Spirit opened her wallet and fished out a wad of crinkled dollars. She went through twenties and tens, trying to find two one-dollar bills.

“Here.”

Spirit froze, looking to her side and seeing Aiden handing four dollars to the girl. “And I’ll have whatever she ordered.”

The bubbly girl nodded, taking the money and printing a receipt. She handed it to Spirit. “We’ll call your name when it’s ready.”

Spirit didn’t say a word, nodding and taking the receipt. She stepped out of line, went to an empty table, and without sitting down she turned and asked Aiden, “Where the hell did you pop out of?!”

He smiled and shrugged.

Spirit shook her head, sitting. “I swear to God, you just spawn out of nowhere every fucking time we run into each other. You’re like a goddamn NPC or something.”

He laughed at that, sitting down in the other chair at the table. “Are you saying you don’t like running into me?”

Spirit’s cheeks warmed, and she tried to hide it with a half-hearted scowl.

It wasn’t a busy day at the coffee shop, and with such a simple order, Spirit’s name was called.

She stood, got the two coffees, and went back to the table.

“Thank you,” Aiden said when Spirit handed his coffee to him.

She shrugged. “I should thank you. You didn’t have to buy my coffee for me.”

He waved off the thanks. “I didn’t mind.” Just then, he took at sip of his coffee and his whole body went rigid, his face twisting in a weird grimace that made Spirit snort.

“Not a fan of bitter black coffee?” she asked, amused.

He shook his head, his face remaining disgusted but turning more normal.

Spirit took a sip of hers with ease. “So, why exactly did you buy my coffee?”

He shrugged. But then he said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Spirit raised a brow. “About what?”

This time, it was his face that turned warm. A warm blush spread on his cheeks. “I was wondering. . . well, I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while, and say no if you really aren’t interested because I don’t want you to say ‘yes’ just to be nice—though you don’t seem like the kind of person who would say ‘yes’ just to be nice. . . I mean, I’m not saying you don’t look nice! Y-you look really nice, and I—”

“Aiden, spit it out. You’re rambling.”

“Will you go out with me?”

The words made Spirit’s heart leap, though the flustered rant gave her a hint as to what he was going to ask. Still though, actually hearing the words made Spirit feel butterflies in her stomach—a feeling that was so new to her that she found it uncomfortable.

Aiden was right. Spirit was not the type of person to say ‘yes’ just to be nice. If her answer is no, she says no.

But she opened her mouth and said, “Yes.”

— — —

Spirit had no idea what to wear.

A quick search of ‘first date outfits’ only brought up pictures of girls in pretty dresses and miniskirts. Completely not her style. And she didn’t want to tell her friends about this date—not even Birdie—so she had no help.

She wound up showing up to the movie theater in jean cargo pants, a green t-shirt, and a black bomber jacket. It wasn’t a girl’s typical first date outfit, but if this dude wanted a date with Spirit, he was gonna have a date with the real Spirit.

Aiden had been legitimately shocked when Spirit said yes. He couldn’t stop smiling dorkily as he asked her to the movies on Saturday night.

He asked her out on Friday. Now it was Saturday. The sky was orange with the setting sun, and Spirit saw Aiden standing against the wall outside the movie theater. She was relieved to see he was also pretty casual, wearing grey jeans and a black t-shirt.

“Hey”, he said when she approached him, his glasses perched on top of his head like sunglasses. “So, what movies do you like? Old, new, comedy, horror, fantasy, wholesome. . ?”

Spirit shrugged, feeling a little awkward and tense. “I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

Aiden smirked. “I like everything, so I’m not picky. C’mon, what kind of movies do you like?”

Spirit stayed quiet for a second. Then said, “I love horror.”

“Perfect,” Aiden grinned. “There’s a showing of Imaginary. It’s the one with the—”

“Creepy and evil teddy bear?” Spirit finished for him.

He nodded. “Exactly. And wanna grab some dinner after?”

Spirit accepted.

The two of them made their way inside the theater. Aiden bought two tickets, and they agreed on seats in the back of the theater so there was no chance of people kicking their seats and they could have a good view.

Aiden bought a couple of popcorn buckets and two DrPepper drinks, giving one of each to Spirit, and they made their way to the theater room.

Aiden chatted while the adds played, and Spirit went along with it. “So where are you from?” Aiden asked.

“Here,” Spirit said simply. “I used to live in Drexel Park.”

“Really?” Aiden asked, brow raised. “Isn’t that area a little sketchy? With high crime rates?”

Spirit shrugged. “A bit. But what about you?”

“Malibu,” he answered.

Spirit smirked. “Nice. But crime rates are high there, too.”

He nodded. “Yeah. My dad used to be a cop. He got in an accident and doesn’t work with the police anymore, but he always tells me about the kind of stuff he saw as a cop.”

“Is that why you major in criminal justice?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

They talked throughout all of the adds, and quieted when the movie started. But they were talking again before too long.

A little kid somewhere in the front had started screaming and bawling his eyes out when the first scary moment happened. Spirit had to force herself not to cackle. Aiden wasn’t as reserved and was trying his best to chuckle as quietly as he could. He leaned a little closer to Spirit and whispered, “That poor kid will be traumatized for the rest of his childhood.”

Spirit’s smile widened. “Right?! What kind of parent brings a little kid to a movie about an evil and demonic teddy bear?”

A parent in the row ahead of them cast a glare their way—an embarrassed flush on her face—before standing and leaving the theater with her daughter who looked about nine. The little girl looked horrified.

Spirit and Aiden looked at each other before smiling and snickering together.

Throughout the rest of the movie, they exchanged whispers and laughed whenever one of them flinched or if they flinched together.

The tension and nervousness had rolled off of Spirit by the time the movie was halfway through. She was having a good time, even if that feeling of butterflies hadn’t left her gut. Even earlier when she wasn’t with Aiden, she felt those butterflies.

By the time the movie ended, Spirit’s gut was still feeling weird. Even a little bit achy.

“That was. . . holy fucking wow,” Aiden said as the lights came on in the theater.

Spirit smirked at his words, rolling her eyes. “How eloquently put.”

He smiled at her. “So, what’re you thinking for dinner. Italian? Chinese food? Greasy burgers? Dumpster diving?”

Spirit cringed at the poor joke. “Um. . . maybe some Italian food.”

“Perfect,” Aiden said, standing.

Aiden continued to talk as they left the theater and the building, but Spirit stayed quiet because now that the movie was over, she was aware of just how off her stomach felt.

The butterflies, she realized, felt more like an uncomfortable churning in her stomach.

Aiden was oblivious, still talking about the movie as they made their way to the parking lot.

“Wanna share a ride, or take our own cars separately?”

Spirit took a second too long to process the question, too focused on her stomach. “Oh. I’ll take my own car. Where’re we meeting?”

“Tavolino,” he said. “See ya there.”

He went to his car, and Spirit made her way to hers. Once in the driver seat of her car, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her gut felt weird, and she truthfully did not want to go to dinner. She thought about texting Aiden and telling him as much, but truth be told, she was enjoying the date and really didn’t want to cancel on him.

So she sucked it up. Tavolino was a pretty well-known place, and it wasn’t far from the theater. Aiden got there first.

Spirit still tried to put on a smile, but with each passing minute, she just felt more sick to her stomach. She didn’t talk as much. When ordering a drink, she just asked for some water since she felt too nauseous for anything else.

“Do you like reading?” Aiden asked her. Spirit only nodded in response to that question, her mouth pressed to a thin line. Aiden felt his stomach sink a little at that.

“Do you have a favorite book? Or genre?”

Spirit seemed to not hear him, glaring down at the menu. Aiden felt his blood run cold. Had he done something wrong? He thought everything was going well.

“Um, Spirit? You okay?”

She looked up, still not smiling and even looking a little bothered. She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just. . .” Her gut churned even more. She was gonna be sick. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She abruptly stood from the table, and felt a pang of guilt at the hurt look on Aiden’s face. She didn’t want to leave, but she couldn’t stay. She’d rather leave on the first date than throw up on the guy she’s on the date with.

She all but bolted out of the restaurant and went around the corner of the building, doubling over and taking deep breaths with her arms hugging her gut.

She gagged and coughed. And then heard someone call her name.

Aiden was just around the corner, calling her name. He could probably see her car, so he probably knew she hadn’t left. Suddenly, he came around the corner and saw her, and his eyes widened. “You’re sick?”

Spirit’s face grew hot with embarrassment and shame. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t wanna ruin the date. I guess I kinda did that anyway, though.” A wet, sick burp came from her throat, tasing like DrPepper and buttered popcorn. She gagged, and her hand shakily went to her hair. She pulled it out of her face and tied her hair into a bun.

She gagged again, and this time she brought up everything in her stomach. It was awful, to say the least. Here she was, on her first date, puking in front of the guy who made her flustered and weak in the knees. She wanted to punch something.

Suddenly, she felt a large hand on her back. “Okay. Just get it up; you’ll feel better.”

It was painful, throwing up what was a whole tup of popcorn and a giant drink of very sweet soda. Her head was spinning and she felt like she was gonna collapse at any moment. Aiden’s hand made its way around her and he was helping her to stay on her feet. “I’ve got you,” he said.

She continued to throw up for a painful fifteen minutes. When her gut was through with her, she stood up straight and pressed her back to the wall of the restaurant, feeling pathetic with tears in her eyes, snot running from her nose and vomit on her chin.

Worst. Date. Ever.

Spirit looked at Aiden, who seemed very worried about her. He shouldn’t be, she thought. I ruined this date. I was going to leave him here.

“You okay?” Aiden asked, sounding so concerned.

Spirit sighed, wiping snot and vomit off her face with the back of her hand. “I’m fine,” she answered stiffly.

Aiden frowned at the coldness of her voice. “You okay to drive?” he asked.

Spirit nodded. “Like I said, I’m fine. It’s probably just a bug.”

“Okay,” he said, looking disappointed. “I had a good time tonight.”

Spirit’s heart grew heavier. She felt like she’d messed up the whole date. “Can we reschedule?” she asked hopefully.

Aiden’s disappointment faded a bit. “What?”

“Another date, another time,” Spirit said. “Hopefully I won’t have a bug next time.”

Aiden perked up a bit. “So, you want there to be a next time?”

Spirit smiled softly. “If you want there to be, then absolutely.”

He grinned. “Okay. It’s a date. Here, gimmie your phone.”

Spirit handed her phone to him, and he put his number on it. “There. Now you have my number,” he said. “And I really wanna get to that second date, so don’t die from this bug, please.”

Spirit snorted. “No promises.”

[peterpcrkcr]

Shy Girl | Peter Parker x Reader

Third person pov.

Requested by @z-iridest

3.4 k words. One shot. I definitely could see me writing more lol.

ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ

The final bell of school was about to roll on Monday. This wasn’t your average monday. It was the day a big news story was going to break and the nerves inside Peter Parker were building up.

“Alright everybody it’s the last week of school so listen up.” Mr. Harrington said in his usual anxious drol. “We have a lot to get through as you’re going to be seniors next year. That means more training, more studying, and more mental dexterity.”

No one was listening. A quiet roar of excited young minds sharing their summer plans drowned out the nearly useless info he was producing.

“Excuse me,” he said a little louder to possibly break through the chatter. “Don’t you guys care about my plans to hold up your brain prowess over the summer?”

“If I’m being honest, no.” Flash Thompson, the alternate for the team who rarely ever came to meetings spoke up. Everyone listened. Everyone except for Peter who was enthralled in a diagram he was making to keep his thoughts in order. There was too much he needed to do by the end of the week to make sure everything was covered for a full summer of crime saving. “We’re all busy worrying about what we actually give a shit about.”

“And what would that be Mr. Thompson?” The teacher asked, though plainly uninterested.

“The massive summer kickoff pool party I’m throwing this Saturday at my mansion!” He said to many cheers and applause of favor. Flash crossed his arms and nodded his head, a smug look of accomplishment across his face.

“Now that’s fine and all but we really need to be focusing on how you guys are going to-“ Mr. Harrington started to rebuff but a knock on the open door stopped him mid sentence.

“Um, Mr. Harrington?” A woman’s voice called from the doorway.

“Yes?” He responded as all the kids turned their heads toward the door.

“I know this is incredibly last minute but we have a new student at Midtown and even though the decathlon season is over, we’d like her to join now so she can feel nice and welcome come next semester.” The administrator spoke.

“Yes, that's fine.” Mr. Harrington said, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

The female administrator closed the door, leaving the students to their chatter.

“Now- Flash don’t you think there are more important things to worry about than some party you won’t remember in 20 years?” Mr. Harrington posed to his most ruthless student.

“It’s okay Mr. Harrington, you don’t have to be sad that you were never invited to parties when you were in high school.” Flash responded to a gasp and a chuckle from the crowd.

Peter couldn’t have been more uninterested. Mind wrapped up in a web of tangled thoughts and nerves and worry. 17 years old and on top of the world. He died and was brought back after half of the planet disappeared. He made a hundred powerful friends and made the news a million times. Well, not him necessarily but he was still doing really well for himself. High grades, and life was pretty easy when Happy was in charge of him considering the man was so busy running Tony Stark's estate. A deep sadness hung over Peter though. Not only had so many great things happened, many terrible and heart wrenching things had as well. He felt a sharp heat start to prick the back of his neck.

“Im gonna go to the bathroom.” He said curtly as he stood quickly from the table to walk out of the room. He stopped just a little down the hallway, not even 20 feet from the classroom he was just in.

His breathing started to quicken. Sweat beads popped up on his forehead. His fists clenched at his sides. Maybe it was too much. He wasn’t even a legal adult and yet it was like the whole world was in his shoulders. And there didn’t seem to be single person who could possibly help lift it for him.

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Two. His shoulders relaxed. Three breaths and his fists unfurled. Four and the color returned to his face.

When he turned on his heel to head back to the room, he opened his eyes and saw a girl standing across the hall. He felt a shiver down his spine and his eyes went wide. The red returned to his face, but the color of embarrassment.

She met his gaze with wide eyes of her own. A hard pink blush bloomed over her cheeks for being caught. She had watched him leave the room and calm down. She looked down quickly.

“Been there long-?” He asked her. She nodded. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed-“ she said quickly, still gazing at the floor. “I was doing the same thing.”

“What?” He asked, confused. “You were out here taking deep breaths so you didn’t freak out in front of everyone you know?”

“Not exactly.” She moved her foot to twiddle with a spare pencil on the ground. “I was taking deep breaths though.”

“Why?” Genuinely, Peter wanted to know.

“Well, I’m a new student during the last week of school and I’ve had an awkward day of being introduced to people who are already fully over the school year so they haven’t really cared about being super friendly.” She said glancing up at him.

“I care-“ Peter blurted out. She let out a soft burst of a laugh. “I mean. I care that you’re having a hard time. I’ve lived here my whole life so I don’t really have that problem, but I definitely know how you feel.”

“You do?” She asked, fully meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” he smiled at her.

For a moment it was just the two of them standing in the hallway, looking into each others eyes. A silent understanding of emotion holding all of the space between them.

“Do you need help finding your class or something?” He offered.

“Ummm… not really. I was supposed to go into the room you came out of for another introduction but I couldn’t do it.” She looked away, at some student made poster celebrating the end of the school year. Peter looked over her with a soft gaze. She could feel his eyes tracing over her. “It was making me a little anxious.”

“Right-“ he stopped his eyes from wandering and placed a hand on the back of his neck. “Oh! You’re the new student!”

“Yeah.” She chuckled nervously. “That’s me.”

“I’m Peter.” He said offering the hand on the back of his neck to her.

She crossed the hallway and met his gaze. Peter’s eyes fluttered as her perfume filled his senses. Her skin looked soft and her hair was fluffed. Eyes a little red. Possibly from crying, he thought. When she took his hand he felt another shiver up his spine.

“I’m (y/n).” She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” They dropped hands and immediately his hand felt cold again.

“We should probably head in.” She said ducking her head toward the classroom. Peter didn’t move his eyes from her. Something was different about her. Something gentle and soft. She reminded him of a doe. Delicate and stuck in the middle of the street. His weakness. “Peter?”

“Oh, yeah. We should.” He didn’t make a move to the room though. He couldn’t. This was the first time in months that he felt his mind quiet down.

For a silent beat they locked eyes once more. There was a tenderness to it. Sharing a moment of vulnerability with a complete stranger wasn’t common for most people, but Peter had had his fair share. This was different though, because she couldn’t see Spider-Man. She couldn’t see any of it. She only saw Peter. Midtown student and anxious student.

The bell rang, unleashing them from their gaze and the students from their rooms. As the doors flew open, endless conversations erupted into the hall, filling their warm silence.

Mr. Harrington and Flash hadn’t finished their debate about partying as they headed Peters way down the hall.

“Oh! Mr. Parker!” Mr. Harrington smiled. “You must’ve found our new student!”

“Come on now Porker, you didn’t think you could call dibs before anyone even saw her, did you?”

Flash said as he pulled Peter into a tight Noogie.

Peter shoved him with a little extra strength, making Flash clash just enough with Mr. Harrington to knock his glasses off his face. Students walking by trampled right over them. The poor broke teacher bent down and picked them up.

“It’s going to be a fun summer.” Mr. Harrington said, putting the shattered glasses back on. “See you guys Wednesday.”

With that, he was off.

“Whatever Porker.” Flash said, hurrying down the hall.

This left Peter and (y/n) alone once more. Even though it wasn’t even close to silent, when he looked at her he could only hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

“I guess that means the day’s over…” she said sheepishly.

“Y-yeah… right. Okay. Well I’ll see you Wednesday?” He asked. She nodded and started as though she would walk away. He gently pinched her elbow to stop her, which sent a shockwave from her skin to his fingertips as he did it. “Hey-“

“Y-yes?” She asked stopping close to him. So close he could feel the faintest sip of her breath on his face. She didn’t look at his eyes though. Her face was very red and he could almost hear how fast her heart was beating.

“If you need anything this week I’m here for you.” He said in earnest. When she looked into his eyes again he almost wanted to say forever, but forever was never a possibility for him.

“Th-thanks, Peter.” She said with the cutest stutter, her eyes drifting to his hand. He started to blush when he realized he was still holding her elbow. He dropped his hand and looked away. “See you around.”

“Yeah. See ya.” He said, and with that she was off.

——-

“Dude you missed Flash’s party announcement.” Peter said as he spun another web to swing on his way home from school. Ned Leeds, his best and most trusted friend, was on a video call in Peter’s mask.

“It’s not my fault my aunts came to town for the spring parade. We’re doing all the touristy stuff. I can’t tell you all the stuff I learned about the Chrysler Building today. I felt like I was in school anyway-“ Ned said making Peter grin. “Wait, since when do you care about Flash’s dumb parties? Especially after the one sophomore year?”

Peter’s eyes widened in surprised thought. Ned was right. Why did he care about the party?

“I don’t know. Other than that it was a normal day.” Peter said shaking it off

“Nah, I can tell something’s up with you. Is it about the news announcement today?” Ned asked. Peter had almost forgotten about that considering his mind was wrapped around (y/n) all day.

Peter smiled. He was glad to find out he wasn’t worrying about his usual problems. Something much more exciting had entered his life.

“Well there’s a new girl and she-“

“Dude no!” Ned said. “Leave it to you to meet someone the last week of school. I’ve been single since Betty and I broke up. Wait until college, dude. That’s where the babes will be.”

Peter laughed and shook his head as he dropped in the alley by his apartment for one. 17 and living alone. He could handle it but he had never been lonelier in his life.

“You wanna come over and play COD?” He asked as he threw his backpack in his apartment window.

“Nah, I can’t. My aunties want to go to that cafe where people scream Broadway music at you while you eat.” Ned said smacking his tongue on the top of his mouth.

“Don’t have too much fun.” Peter said jokingly.

“Oh I won’t.” Ned said making Peter chuckle to himself. “I’ll be at school tomorrow morning but I’m leaving at lunch to go see a matinee of Bye Bye Birdie.”

“On a Tuesday?” Peter asked.

“It’s a seniors only showing.” Ned responded. “With the alternate cast.”

“Good luck with that.” Peter said.

“Thanks. Honestly I think I need it more than you right now.”

“Catch ya later.” Peter said. Ned threw up a peace sign and the call was over.

Peter was about to climb inside when his spider senses started going off. Something was wrong.

He closed his window and took off out of the alley. He followed the hairs on his arms toward the feeling. He started to hear the commotion as he moved to the end of the street.

Two men were cornering a young woman by some bodega dumpsters.

“I don’t have anything-“ she said with a teary, terrified voice. “Please, just go!”

“Not gonna happen little lady.” One of the thugs said, rolling up his sleeve.

“Yeah, I see that gold watch you’re wearing. And it ain’t a fake.” The second moron said as they both moved closer to her. Her back was flush against the dumpster and Peter didn’t really have a good view of the situation. No time to waste.

He shot a web at the second thug and threw him hard against the wall of the electronics sales shop next door. (Y/n) screamed in shock.

The second thug turned and started barreling toward Peter, but Peter was faster. He threw one web at his feet, encasing them together. The thug fell flat on his face, but reached quickly into his pocket for a knife.

Peter dodged it, and as it flew by his face he shot a web and the thugs back and whipped him up and into the dumpster, hard.

At this point a small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. The local, and world, hero had saved another citizen of New York.

He took a step toward the girl and stopped. He recognized her. (Y/n). She was crying. Shaking. Eyes wide in fear. When he stepped toward her again she tensed up and stepped even more flush against the dumpster.

“Don’t be scared.” He said reaching a hand out. She eyed him. “I’m Spider-Man.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Fear locked her up. The doe in headlights. He wanted to rip his mask off and laugh and say “haha me again!” But he wouldn’t risk that secrets weight atop her head.

“You don’t have to be afraid.” He said softly, his hand still out-stretched. She looked at his hand and relaxed her shoulders. “You can trust me.”

“You just knocked two guys out cold in like a minute. I don’t know what you could do to me.” She said with a choked voice.

“I just saved you-“ he said surprised.

“Thank you for that, I’m just taken back. You… you really hurt them.” She looked at the man still unconscious on the ground by her feet. “He’s bleeding.”

“Yeah! I’m bleeding too!” The thug in the dumpster chimed in. Peter shook head head.

This wasn’t right. He just saved her. He just took two criminals off the map. She didn’t owe him anything, of course, but this was new.

“You’re sorry for the thugs?” He asked, dropping his hand to his side.

“Well, no…” she said, looking away. “Actually yes? Kind of? They’re still people, Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, bad people.” He said plainly.

The crowd watching were chatting amongst themselves and Peter knew he had to head out soon before the police came to investigate. And before the news bulletin came out.

“IN TODAYS NEWS!” A voice bellowed from one of the television at the electronic store. He felt every hair on his body stand straight.

“We need to go.” He said to her urging her gently with his hand stretched out to her once again. She shook her head.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She said matter of factly.

“SPIDER-MAN IS ANNOUNCED AS THE NEWEST MEMBER OF THE AVENGERS!” The voice bellowed. The crowd standing nearby started cheering. Clapping. And closing in on Peter and (Y/n).

“You’re an avenger?” She asked, marbled eyes looking into the animated eyes of his mask. He nodded.

“Yes, now let’s go.” He said stepping toward her. The crowd moved closer to them both.

“I said im not going with y-“ she didn’t have time to finish her sentence before he webbed her hip and pulled her into his side.

Up up and away to the heights of the skyscrapers and away from the investigative crowd of adoring fans.

“What the hell!” She exclaimed as her leftover tears flew from her face as they swung through town. “PUT ME DOOOOOWN!!”

She screamed into his ear, making his grip on a web falter just a little. She gripped him tighter and as he felt her body press against his, he felt an odd mix of emotions. Annoyance for the fact that she wasn’t very happy to be near him, but solace in the fact that she didn’t know it was Peter.

But if she did? If she could know he’d just saved her life would she still have those tender eyes for him in the hallway? Would she even look at him again?

“I’ve got you.” He said in a tone so soft she felt her breath relax in her chest. “Relax.”

“How!?! I’m like 100 feet high!” She asked.

“More like 500.” He said, which made her hold him tighter. He could definitely feel her racing heart against him. “I won’t drop you.”

“You can’t tell me that!” Her eyes were closed. Closed since she lifted off of the ground.

“Feel the wind, (y/n).” She opened her eyes to stare at the masked crusader. “Enjoy the moment.”

She then felt her entire body take a deep breath. She could feel the wind on her face. The push and pull of his swinging motions. The leap of gravity as they played between the earth and the sky. She started to look around and she started to laugh.

Peter had never heard a more gleeful sound in his entire life.

“Woohoo!!” She yelled as they swung through the burough. “This is awesome!”

Peter watched where he was going most of all, but when he knew the next placement of his web, he watched her. Watched the fear fly away with the wind in her hair. He grinned at every yelp she made, every cheer. Her eyes were shining and sparkling in the light of the evening sun.

When they reached their destination, which was just around the corner from the high school, he set her down. Her legs were like jelly as she took a step. He caught her softly in his arms before she stumbled forward. This time she wasn’t afraid of his touch. She leaned into him. He could tell she could feel his warmth. His body. She wrapped her arms around him and held him. He didn’t know what to do for a second but when he wrapped his arms around her, it was like a glow covered them in their embrace.

Peter couldn’t tell if it had been a minute or ten that she held him. And she was really holding him.

“Thank you for saving me.” (Y/n) said as she pulled out of the hug. She put a large step between them. Brushed a piece of hair behind her head, and looked at the ground by his feet. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah…” Peter said dreamily. Until he realized who he was at the moment. He straightened up and started to chuckle with a hand on the back of his neck. “Well citizen, I’ll leave you to your day.”

“Right…” she started as though to walk away but turned quickly back to him. He tensed before she stopped right in front of him and kissed him on his clothed cheek. “Thanks again, Spider-Man.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah. Don’t mention it. Haha…” he had never been more thankful for his mask in his life as he knew he had probably never had his face this red before. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She said, pulling out her phone to make a call. Probably to her parents. Or a taxi. Or the cops.

All Peter knew were the butterflies in his stomach and how he couldn’t wait until Wednesday to see (y/n) again. He was going to ask if she wanted to go to Flash’s party with her. And he hoped more than anything that she would say yes.