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alottanothing · 3 years ago

Text

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

#Beautiful Stranger Series #Merriell Shelton x Original Character #Merriell Shelton #Snafu Shelton #HBO War #The Pacific #The Pacific Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction

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starlightsearches · 4 years ago

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Fences - Modern AU Neighbor! Hux

@aramanna asked: Neighbor!Hux fanfic? Your dog wanders into his yard and you start talking after clearing up the mishap?

Hey friend, thanks for the request! This is kind of a modern version of a post TROS Hux, where he’s a little healthier, I think. The reader is a teacher because I’m a self-indulgent bitch 🥰 Also, I’ve never seen Peter Rabbit, but reading this again I feel like this might just be Thomas McGregor. Let me know if I’m right, I guess 😂😂😂

Warnings: discussion of a family member passing away, mentions of hospice care, maybe language?

When Armitage Hux isn't working, eating, or sleeping, he is in his garden. Which, for him at least, was a lot like work. Even so, he found that it relaxes him; there was something about being outside in the evening light—watering his flowers, picking stray weeds—that made everything clearer. He never had space like this when he lived in the city, but now that he’s away from it all, taking care of this space; it’s made him a better lawyer. Whenever he’s stuck on a case, feeling like he's exhausted every possibility, a few moments with his hands in the soft soil helped him unearth the perfect solution to his problems.

And sometimes you were there, in your own backyard, of course. He wouldn't watch you—that would be wrong—but he couldn't help but notice you through the little gaps in the chain-link fence. Sometimes he found you in your hammock stretched between two trees at the back of your house, your legs the only part of you visible as you swayed in the breeze. Or occasionally you’d spread out a blanket on warm summer days, soaking in the sun as you read.

Every so often he'd get the wild idea that he might say something to you, before changing his mind, or losing his nerve. He hadn’t said more than a handful of words to you since you moved in next door a few months ago—only visiting your doorstep on the rare occasion that your mail was delivered to the wrong house, or he wanted to borrow a cup of flour, or he needed some milk. Lately he’s played with the idea of approaching you about replacing the fence that runs between your houses—a terribly ugly chain link fixture—but he’s been putting that conversation off for some time now, waiting for the right moment.

Today could be the day, though. It’s a quiet Saturday, the last rays of sunlight stretching over the thick green grass, the air alive with the smell of earth as the water trickles from his hose over his many flowers, the sound only interrupted by the occasional passing car.

Hux listens more closely when a new sound is added—the slam of your back door, and then a series of gleeful yips, but he doesn’t let himself turn around just yet, choosing instead to feign indifference for a few more moments. This is the real reason he’s been putting off the conversation about the fence. Your incredibly enthusiastic new puppy has given him twice the opportunity to spend time with you. If you could call it that.

He turns now, after what he thinks is an appropriate waiting period, and you catch his eye, offering him a slight wave, which he returns—with the hand not holding the hose, this time. You’re attention pulled away from him for a moment as you watch the little corgi zip around your small yard, but Hux keeps his eyes on you, appreciating the way you light up with laughter at the dog’s antics.

He could talk to you right now, if he wanted. Could strike up a conversation about something inane, like the weather, invite you over for a drink, or maybe dinner sometime. He doesn’t think you’re seeing anyone, after all—hasn’t noticed any overnight guests, hasn’t seen you picked up for any dates. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Your door slams again, pulling him out of his fantasy world, and he turns back to see your yard left empty. Another missed opportunity. Hux doesn’t let himself feel too low about it; there’s always tomorrow.

He wakes early on Sunday morning—always awake before the sun rises—and that suits him just fine, padding through his empty house to the kitchen. Grey light streams in through the windows as the quiet morning sounds fill Hux’s ears: water boiling on the stove, the quiet rustle of cat food as he scoops some more into Millie’s bowl.

Where is Millicent? he wonders to himself—she normally sprints into the room at the first sign of her morning meal, but now he sees no sign of her. Hux wanders into the living room, eyes scanning the floor before he finds her by the sliding-glass door at the back of the house, her eyes watchful, tail swishing back and forth.

“What are you doing, Millie?” he asks, and she turns to look at him with her wide, intelligent eyes, offering him a soft meow in response. He really has to stop doing that, talking to his cat. It’s just another testament to the adverse side-effects of living alone. Millicent stays by the door, turning her eyes back to the glass, and eventually Hux caves, walking to the window, hoping to see something more interesting than a stray bird or squirrel.

Hux gasps as soon as he sees it, yanking open the sliding glass, not bothering to find shoes before he steps out onto the cool, wet grass—still damp from the early morning mist. A soft cry falls from his parted lips while he takes in the damage. His garden, it’s ruined.

He picks his way through the clods of dirt that litter the grass, trying to get a better look. There’s not a flower that’s been left undisturbed, every single one of them ripped from the dirt, mangled, crushed. Totally unsalvageable.

The headache that blossoms behind his eyes is all too familiar as it rears its ugly head. He thought he had left it behind with the Order—the unpleasant reminder that there’s so little he has control over, that something always goes wrong. Now it’s back with a vengeance.

Hux hears the little yip from the far side of the yard and turns to look, hoping to catch the culprit that had destroyed all his hard work. He sees the bushy little tail, wiggling as the intruder paws through the soft, brown earth, and he recognizes it immediately. His suspicions are confirmed when he turns the other way, notices the gap created at the bottom of the fence that separates your property from his.

The dog yelps when Hux grabs him and immediately begins to squirm, trying to get free, but Hux holds on tight, stomping back through the grass all the way to your front door, breathing hard. He knocks three times in loud, rapid succession, and he only has to wait for a moment before it opens.

As soon as Hux sees you, his anger vanishes, and a cacophony of other emotions takes its place. Embarrassment is first—you’re standing there in your pajamas, squinting into the first rays of sunlight peeking up over the houses across the street as you rub some leftover sleep from your eyes, and Hux just now realizes that he is also still in his sleepwear: an old t-shirt and some boxers, a ratty, blue robe thrown over his shoulders.

“Hello, Armitage,” you greet him with a smile, the sound of his name on your lips bringing a blush to his cheeks. You’ve always called him Armitage, ever since one of his stray bills had found its way into your mailbox, and he’s never had the courage to let you know nobody calls him by his first name. “Did you need someth-”

You gasp before you can finish, finally noticing the writhing little dog in his hands, and you reach for it immediately, pulling it in close to your chest. “Noodle!” Hux tries to process the exclamation before he realizes you’re still talking to the corgi—that must be his name. You turn your attention back to Hux and he pulls his robe closed over his pajamas, wrapping his arms over his chest. He needs to tell you about the fence, his garden. He can’t let himself get distracted.

You’re talking again before he gets the chance to formulate a sentence, holding the little dog against your hip like a baby, where he rests without wiggling, occasionally licking at your bare arm, looking up at you with his soft puppy eyes. “Thank you for bringing him back, I didn’t even realize he had gotten out of the yard,” you say, “I didn’t leave the gate open, did I?” Hux pauses, wondering how he should break the news to you. You still haven’t noticed the dirt covering the little demon’s paws, and you look at him with such innocence that for a moment, he thinks he should just leave and take care of the mess himself.

His silence says enough, your face falling when you first realize what it could mean. You look to the dog’s paws, then see the mud caking his fluffy little legs. “Oh no, he didn’t . . . “

“You should see for yourself.”

Hux watches as you take in the wreckage that was once his garden. You don’t say anything for a few minutes, just standing, staring. He had been so angry when he had first seen the carnage, but looking at it for a second time, he can’t find any of the leftover rage anywhere inside of him, especially not now, as he’s seeing it through your eyes. You look like you’re about to cry.

“I’ll pay for a new fence,” you say, turning to look at him with such urgent sadness, “and I’ll buy you new flowers. I’ll plant them all myself.”

“That’s- that’s not necessary,” Hux stutters out a response, looking away from you, back to the destroyed flower patch. He can’t stand to see you like this, so torn up over a silly garden, and with every passing moment he grows more and more sure that you’ll never want to speak to him again after this, if he doesn’t make things right. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You reach out to him, your grip firm where it rests on his arm. “Please,” you say, and you’re not just asking, you’re begging, “please, let me help. I can fix this.”

Hux looks down to the place where your hand rests against the arm of his robe, watches the way your fingers flex against him, and his heart softens, lifting his eyes to meet yours again. He gives you the smallest nod, watching as your face lights up with joy, relief, and for a moment, he finds himself feeling incredibly grateful for your silly, little dog.

___________________________________________

Hux looks back, as he wanders through the aisles of his favorite greenhouse, checking, once again, to make sure that you’re still following him before placing a few marigolds in the cart with a small cough. You had admitted pretty early on in your negotiations that you didn’t know much about gardening, but you had still insisted on helping, and Hux just couldn’t say no.

You’re easy to be around, he finds quickly, despite his nerves. He had been afraid that the rest of his day would be filled with awkward silences and stilted conversation, but words flow like water between you. You had spent the drive here telling him stories about your students, about what life was like before you moved, about the family and friends you left behind, and how much you missed them.

“Why’d you leave?” he asks absentmindedly, searching through the pansies for the healthiest of the bunch, his eyes searching for you again when you don’t immediately respond.

“My grandmother,” you begin, suddenly melancholy again, “I used to live with her every summer here. She left her house to me when she passed. I don’t know if you remember her.”

Hux thought back, easily conjuring the image of his old neighbor in his mind. She was a sweet lady who dropped off cookies to his porch when he first arrived at his new home, or occasionally asked him for help hanging a painting, carrying in her groceries. She had been the one who had found Millicent, when she was still a stray. He still remembers how sheepish she had looked, asking if he would take care of the little kitten while she found it a new home. I’d look after her myself, she had said, standing on his doorstep with the little orange bundle in her arms, but I’m not as young as I used to be.

“I remember her,” he says, and you smile again, “ but I didn’t know her that well.”

“She liked you-” you push the cart forward a little, nudging him with your shoulder as you pass, and the contact leaves him struggling for air, “I called her a lot, when she first started to get sick. She always talked about your flowers,” your voice grows thick, and you clear your throat, “she insisted that they put her hospice bed by the big window in the kitchen, so she could still see them whenever she wanted.”

You keep walking, steps a little more hurried now, maybe so he won’t see you tear up. Hux follows closely behind, still trying to process everything he had just learned. He could make sense of your reaction to the flowerbed fiasco now, why you had looked so distraught.

“She mentioned you,” Hux says, walking quickly to catch up with you, “now that I think about it. She’d tell me I’d have to stay for dinner some night, so I could meet her favorite grandchild.”

You laugh, your eyes lighting up in a way that makes his heart drop to his stomach. “That sounds like her; she was always quite the matchmaker,” you respond, before your eyes grow wide with embarrassment, and you realize what you’ve just said. Hux can feel his cheeks grow warm as well, and neither of you breathe, staring at each other in the middle of the aisle. He can scarcely let himself believe it, but it’s impossible to deny, the way you glance down at his lips, your own parting in response. Hux leans in, just slightly, just enough to feel the heat of your skin. He’s not sure if it’s your perfume or the air of the greenhouse, but everything smells like flowers, and desire, a heady scent that goes straight to his head as he watches you close the gap between his face and yours, your eyes still focused on his mouth, your breathing hard.

There’s a slight cough, and then a giggle, and you both turn at the same time, looking to the end of the aisle. Hux can feel his blush grow deeper when he sees the intruders, a group of girls—high school age, he thinks—watching you with wide eyes and mischievous grins.

“Sorry,” one of them says, and the other two break into fits of laughter again, “we were just trying to get through.” You move the cart out of the way good-naturedly as they move past, barely able to contain their laughter as they glide by.

You look at Hux again, but the moment is lost, to his dismay. You clear your throat, looking back at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Is there anything else that we need?” you ask, and he scans the cart in front of you, absolutely overflowing with flowers.

“I think that’s it,” he says, turning back to you. “Let’s go.”

___________________________________________

Golden rays of sunlight pour in through every window in Hux’s kitchen, the warmth of the day just beginning to fade into a quiet, twilight-kissed evening. You’re resting against his kitchen counter, eyes wandering around the space, but Hux keeps his eyes on you as he pours some water into a glass. You’re glowing, he thinks, and it’s not just the sunset. Your eyes are brighter, skin glistening with sweat before you swipe the back of your arm over your forehead to collect the stray perspiration. A soft breeze blows in through the open windows, a breeze that smells like freshly-planted flowers and the first inklings of nightfall.

Hux hands you the glass, and you take it with a smile, drinking deeply. You had both worked through the heat of the day, side by side, planting and watering and cleaning, everything about it natural, easy. He had shown you how to remove the plants from their temporary pots, brush the soil from their roots—watched as you created small indentations in the new dirt, the gentle work of your hands, and he thought back to the greenhouse, and the smell of flowers and your skin.

You finish draining the glass, wiping away a stray droplet of water that travels down your neck before you catch it with your fingers. He moves in closer. He doesn’t want to lose this moment.

There’s a stray smudge of dirt on your cheek, and he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, pulling his attention to you.

“Thank you, for this,” you whisper, and you smile at his confusion, “for letting me help. I would have felt really guilty if you had to do that all alone.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hux is thrumming, his heart a live-wire. Just being this close to you has filled him with fire—twin sunsets, one inside his chest and the other flooding through the windows.

“I’ll get the fence repaired, as well,” you set your glass down on the counter behind you before lifting yourself onto its surface, sitting with your legs dangling, leaning forward so you can look him directly in the eyes. “Or we can get it replaced, if you’d rather-”

It’s more than he can bear, this small talk, more than he can take to be so close to you and be forced to think of you being so far away, to have you anywhere but with him, in his kitchen, his garden, his bedroom. He kisses you before you can finish your thought, before he can think about being alone again while you’re on the other side of the fence—a whole life-time away.

“I don’t want to talk about fences anymore,” he mumbles against your lips, barely able to hear himself over the sound of your breathing, intoxicated by the feel of you. You pull him closer, wrapping your arms more tightly around his shoulders, and suddenly, fences are the furthest thing from his mind.

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux x you #general hux au #armitage hux au #modern au #general hux fanfic #armitage hux fanfiction #general hux/reader #general hux/you #my writing #requests #aramanna

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narrans · 4 years ago

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A Tall and Small Collection | Soren | Winter

His breath hitched in his throat. The frigid air filled his lungs, constricting them with each gasping breath. He could hear his younger brothers calling out for him. Each beat of his heart seemed to slow, begging him to calm his nerves. The crashing vibrations behind him were growing louder and louder. He had to speed up. He willed his legs to move faster as he darted to the side. The harsh sound of heavy breathing was close enough for him to smell. Just ahead was a hiding place. The roots of a freezing tree offered just enough protection; but could he make it? There was no other option. He pulled out his pin and dove, tumbling through the roots and spun on his heel to jab out. His heart leapt into his throat. A hollow, emptiness swelled in his gut as he came face to face with the gaping maw of a dog. He gripped his pin tight and thrust forward.

Soren woke with a start and sat bolt upright, a cold sweat on his brow. His breath was shallow and rapid. Every nerve in his body sending chills and nervous sparks through his body. As his heart began to calm and stop hammering against his chest, he laid back down and tried to breathe deeply against the constricting feeling in his chest.

It was a dream. It was only a dream – this time at least. Soren’s dream pulled from events just four days ago. Soren could’ve sworn he could still smell the dog’s breath. He glanced at either side, remembering his two younger brothers sound asleep and pressed against him. He hadn’t disturbed them. Their makeshift bed on the dirt and under those few scraps of clothing they managed to bring with them was neither comfortable nor warm. It allowed them to survive, which was enough for now.

Northern winters were harsh and frigid, especially by the northern lakes. This was not a contested point, it was fact. The wind would easily reach below zero. The snow could bury a yard in hours and make any terrain dangerous to traverse. Water would freeze over and become nearly impossible to drink or drill to boil. Wildlife, scarce in certain months, was nearly impossible to hunt and often the stores closed. If someone had a house with heating and water and light and the means to sustain such a life, it wasn’t so bad. No person in their right mind would live outside willingly in such harsh conditions; but, sometimes, it was unavoidable – especially if that person was a borrower.

In a small subdivision filled with a labyrinth of apartments and college town students, a family of four borrowers lay shivering in the cold. It was only late fall, but there was still a dusting of snow on the ground. They were forced to migrate after Brady, their father, thought he was seen. He most likely was seen; at least, that is what Soren guessed.

Neck stiff, Soren tried stretching without disturbing his siblings. A quick glance around told him it was just after dawn and he couldn’t see Brady anywhere nearby. He felt a frozen growl rise in his throat. If he was being honest with himself, Soren resented Brady in a way. Brady was clumsy and careless; it was a miracle he hadn’t been killed or worse, caught. If it weren’t for Soren’s mother, they probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

Soren shook his head free of his thoughts. He couldn’t think about that now. He had to focus on the move ahead of them. The house they intended to stay in for now was largely unexplored and they were in desperate need of supplies. His brothers were too young, being only seven and eight years old, and Brady was incompetent. Soren would need to handle supply gathering. With a gentle nudge, he began to wake his brothers.

“Soren?” groaned the youngest, Rey, teeth chattering slightly.

“I know, it’s early; but it’s time to wake up,” said Soren. Dorian stirred, pressing himself into the warmth of his eldest brother. Soren maneuvered slightly so he could better peer out of their rooted hiding place when they heard something. It was a soft scraping, and it was getting louder. Soren leaned forward, much to his brothers’ dismay, and pulled his pin from his pack and held it at the ready. The hair on his arms raised. His breath stilled as his heart began to pump harder in his chest.

It was Brady. Even with mixed feelings about him, Soren had to admit he was glad of his return. He said nothing and instead dropped his borrowing bag at the edge of the hole they came through.

“Anything?” asked Soren. Brady shook his head.

“Nothing. Everything is sealed up tight. There’s a whole maze of walls in this place,” muttered Brady, sinking against the wall and pressing his head to the concrete. Rey and Dorian stirred at the sound of their father’s voice and sat up shivering. [Of course.] Thought Soren bitterly. The knot in his gut wouldn’t be satisfied with snow again. Even though his body shuddered uncontrollably for a moment, he managed to push himself onto his feet. His brothers moaned in protest as their primary source of warmth.

“I’m going to see what I can find,” muttered Soren after retrieving the borrowing bag from the ground.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You should save your strength. We should just move onto the next home,” said Brady.

“It’s almost winter Brady. We’ve got to settle long-term here, at least for now. Regardless, we need some supplies. Don’t go anywhere until I get back,” said Soren stiffly before slinging the pack across his body and ducking in-between the walls.

The walls were only slightly warmer than their place by the crawl space. There was a place he could climb from the crawl space to the hall. Step by step, he carefully traversed the wall’s edge until he reached the first floor. From where he stood, he could stare up at the towering expanse above him. Just the sight of something so tall gave him a sense of vertigo. He couldn’t even see the roof of the hall without some sort of light source – and he only had a few matches which he left behind. The bricks and drywall surrounding him did offer some limited light where the electrical outlets connected their world to the world of the humans.

Soren shuddered at the thought of being seen by a human. His mother and father had told him stories of what happened to other borrowers who had encountered humans. The horror stories passed through generations was now uncommon. Whether some of the stories were true was always in debate. Still, it didn’t stop Soren from always been careful and he wasn’t about to stop now.

Just ahead was an outlet into the first floor. Soren took a calming breath before approaching the holes and the wires. Each wire in of itself was nearly as thick as his arm, making the hair on the back of his neck raise. Carefully, he pulled on the screw and unwound it just enough for him to peer inside.

The warmth from the room poured in through the miniscule crack Soren was able to create. He listened in. Nothing. He breathed deeply. There was a thick smell of mothballs and something else. A smell of a thick, scented powder wafted through the air. It was an unmistakable scent of litter. [Cats.] Soren pulled the plate back over and tightened the screw. [I have to remember not to go here.]

Soren jogged to the next few rooms which he soon realized belonged to the same human because of the smell. [We can stay in between these walls here and be unbothered as long as we don’t go into the rooms. It’s much warmer at the very least, even if it does stink.] Soren felt his way along the walls and jogged through the darkness until he reached another break in the walls. [These must divide the larger rooms] thought Soren.

The next five rooms Soren checked turned up unusable since they were completely empty. Soren had dared to go outside of the walls and walk around the chilled rooms. The vast expanse of room seemed endless and empty. It was unnerving and forced Soren to duck back into the confines of the walls. [How can humans live in such a huge space? I know they’re huge, but still…]

There were only a few abandoned spider webs and no signs of mice. Finally, after a long trek through the walls, Soren managed to find what he was looking for – a warm apartment kitchen left unattended. The outlet on the floor came out right beside the kitchen table. The chairs were covered with skirts that hid the legs, which made the perfect hiding place. The kitchen itself was only twenty-seven paces away. The counter, on the other hand, was another issue altogether.

The surface was slick and covered with something called linoleum. Gaining purchase with his hook was going to be nearly impossible without leaving a mark. Soren glanced from side to side. A move this bold wasn’t something he usually partook in, but he was running out of options if he wanted to make sure his family ate today.

Soren stepped out from behind the wall and walked the twenty-seven paces to the edge of the wall next to the kitchen. Empty and no active signs of humans at the moment. The kitchen was small, but there were still two separate counters. One side had the sink while the other had the stove. Based on his experience, bread didn’t do well next to water.

Taking a shaking breath to swell his confidence, Soren darted from his place by the wall toward the stove while swinging his hook as hard as he could toward to top of the oven. Missed. He cursed under his breath and tried again, this time finding his hook catch something metal. [I must’ve snagged the grate of the stove.]

Soren wasted no time and began climbing, his heart pounding as he rose further and further from the ground. Out of breath, he reached the top. He looked around. The place seemed clean and well put together. Soren shook his thoughts away. He couldn’t think about this now. He turned his attention back to the counter in search of something he could grab and shove into his bag quickly. [There!] There was a bread box shoved in the corner by the wall and the counter. More importantly, there was an electrical outlet mere inches away from the box. He’d hit the jackpot.

Soren wrapped up his hook and made quick work of getting into the box, pulling off enough breadcrumbs to be unnoticed. He wanted to take the entire end, but it would have been too much and was bound to be noticed. He had hopes that what he took wouldn’t be noticed as it was, pinching off more than what he usually would.

Soren had just stepped back onto the counter when he heard a loud grinding sound coming from the next room just behind the door. His heart stopped. Every nerve in his body screamed to run. He couldn’t hesitate now, but he had a choice. He could try and shimmy down his line back to the cover he knew would lead him back or he could pull free the electrical cover mere inches from himself. He made his choice.

Climbing now would be too risky and at least he could duck behind the top of the bread box which was just barely taller than the backsplash. Hands trembling, he began frantically unscrewing the cover. It was already loose. There was the sound of a high pitched, shrill sound followed by silence. Soren could guess it was a car coming to a stop. His hands fumbled as he managed to pry the screw loose and began to peel back the faceplate. Nearby, he could hear muffled shouting.

Humans. They were angry by the sound of it. Soren pulled with all his might, accidentally stumbling backwards when the plate came off suddenly. He could see the lock turning. It was now or never. He leapt to his feet, screw in hand, and bolted behind the faceplate cover. He straddled the electrical cords and managed to pull the face plate back into place just as the door opened.

Heart pounding through his ribs, Soren listened as the two humans, who were still shouting at one another, came into the apartment. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but at least he was out of harm’s way – for now at least. There was a small shelf just below his feet which he didn’t see before. Soren imbedded his spare hook into the wood and rappelled down the line and began jogging back to where he had left his brothers and Brady.

It was a close call, but not an unsuccessful venture. His family would eat tonight, and that’s what mattered. As his legs carried him, Soren couldn’t help but think about why the humans were shouting at one another. How could they be angry when they had so much? They had food and shelter, warmth when they wanted. Soren rounded the final corner and dropped down from the ledge into the crawl space. He could feel the temperature difference instantly.

Yes, they would move as Brady requested; but, Brady wasn’t going to be the only one calling the shots anymore.

Continue

#borrowers #g/t #giant tiny #tiny human #giant world #adventure #medical #angst #fear #pain #hurt #surprise #survive #narrans #liveforyou #family #walls #walls have ears

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sadistgalore · 4 years ago

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Chapter 12: Burn Together, Friends Forever

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @elliei-m

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the taglist.

CW: Heavy dehumanization, pet whump, torture, burning, branding, conditioned whumpee, slapping, verbal abuse, kicking, referenced whump of a minor (nonsexual), implied starvation, Luther is his own warning, boils, impalement, left outside in the cold, implied noncon

Harper’s stomach dropped as soon as she heard the bastard’s voice, and heard a hard whimper behind her.

“Naughty, naughty girl, Harper. I don’t think your master would approve.”

Harper huffed. “You lied. You said you had a dog, not a human!”

Luther glared. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference? You people are fucking impossible!”

“I would watch your attitude, kitty. You’re just making this worse for yourself.”

“H-Ha-Harper,” said a voice behind her. The girl turned around, seeing Killian look up with tears in his eyes, trembling. “D-D-Don’t m-m-make h-“

“Doggy.” A voice cut him off. “That sounds an awful like talking to me.”

Killian lowered back down. Harper noticed this, and her police instincts kicked in once again. “Stop talking to him like that. You’re mad? Then take your anger out at me, you’ve hurt him enough.”

Luther smirked. “Fine, kitty. Come here.”

Harper looked once more to the shaking boy, then followed the orders given. Luther went across the room, looking towards the wall lined with Dark’s torture devices. He finally picked a long metal cord with a wire attached to it, and plugged said wire into the wall.

“I don’t know why Edward insisted on picking a defiant one like you, there’s so many other trained pets with black hair he can just buy for a few hundred bucks,” he muttered, beginning to loop the cord around her right arm.

“Sorry that me trying to preserve my dignity is a problem for you,” she spat.

Luther chuckled, hand moving to a button attached to the cord. “We’ll see about that,” he finished as he pushed the button.

At first, Harper didn’t feel anything, but soon felt a warm sensation after thirty seconds or so. That sensation only kept growing into a burning pain. She gasped, soon realizing what Luther was intending to do, and began trying to pull it off.

Luther grabbed her hand, “Bad kitty. You better stay still unless you want Doggy to have this looped around his throat.”

Harper looked up, eyes beginning to form tears, and put her hand down. She soon screamed as the heat only increased, the hot metal burning into her arm.

“Ruff!”

“No, doggy. Your punishment is later.” Luther said without even looking up, admiring the smoke coming from the kitty’s arm.

“S-stop, please! I’m begging you!” Harper screamed, beginning to grow nauseous as she smelt more and more of her burnt flesh.

“Just another minute,” Luther hummed, causing Harper to yell in frustration.

That minute felt like hours, during which the pain became too unbearable and she fell to the floor. She writhed on the ground, other hand burning as she tried to pry the clip off to no avail. Luther bent down, ignoring her defiance, and pushed the button on the wire.

“Such a crybaby,” he said as he walked towards his shackled dog.

Killian began whimpering loudly, crying out as Luther began to unshackle his wrists.

“You’re a very bad doggy, you know that?” Luther said as he cupped his face, feeling the tears streaming down his pet’s eyes. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

“B-bark-“ Slap.

“Stupid mutt. Use your words.”

“I-I’ll,” Killian started, not quite sure how exactly he was going to make it up to his captor. “I’ll be a b-bet-ter dog-“ Slap.

“Well you’re pretty fucking terrible at that, aren’t you?!” The man yelled, making Killian flinch back. “Answer me! Aren’t you a bad dog?”

“Yes sir-“ Instead of a slap, Luther punched Killian hard in the face. He got up, beginning to kick him to each word he spoke. “Stupid. Fucking. Dog! Why are you using your words?!”

“I don’t know what you want from me!” The young man screamed, Luther seeing a defiance in his eyes that he hadn’t seen since he was 17. Killian soon snapped back to reality, cringing at the cruel smile of his captor.

“No, no, I’m sorry. Please, I didn’t- ruff! Ruff, ruff, bark, woof!-“

Luther grabbed his hair and began to drag him upstairs. He stopped as he passed the girl on the floor, the coil around her arm now turning into a dull red instead of the fiery orange. “I’ll be back kitty. Once I’m back, I expect you to have dinner prepared for me only. Neither you or the doggy are getting food for a while.”

He didn’t stop to hear the choked gasps of the kitty as he walked upstairs, ripping the poor boy’s scalp as he continued to be dragged. Once they reached the kitchen, Luther threw the dog on the ground and stepped on his neck to prevent him from escaping.

The man grabbed a pot and filled it with water, setting the gas stove burner to high as he waited for it to boil. The boy was crying openly, not bothering to whimper or whine as he saw the rare aggression in his captor’s face.

“Oh, Killian,” Luther sighed as he leaned against the counter, foot still pressing on the dog’s neck. “You were doing so well, I thought I finally broke you.” Killian’s cries filled the room. “Still, you’re too incompetent to follow the rules.”

After a few minutes of more sobbing and the man’s silence, the water finally stopped boiling.

“You need to learn, pup,” Luther said as he grabbed the pot handle with a towel. “The only one who can give anything in this world,” he dumped the pot on the boy, ears straining at the blood-curdling scream that came with it.

“Is me.”

____________

“Wonderful dinner, kitty,” Luther complimented as he finished the last few bites of his steak.

The girl said nothing, completely exhausted from trying to ignore the unbearable pain on her arm and using what little energy she had to cook a meal for the bastard.

She can’t imagine what Killian must be going through, though.

The said boy was still on the kitchen floor, screams long since stopped and have resorted to painful crying. His face was an angry red, only a few boils on his face since he covered most of the splash with his arms. But those were scaly and irritated, raw skin being exposed. Harper had mentioned giving him some medicine, but one angry look from Luther was enough to shut her up.

Luther stood up from the table, and snapped his fingers. Harper moved hesitantly towards him, Killian didn’t. “Your punishment isn’t over. Since you two want to bond so much, you can bond in the cold outside. And no meals for three days. Clear?”

Harper nodded, dreading the thought of being chained up outside into the freezing cold.

Luther gripped her chin. “I said, are we clear?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

Luther said nothing as he walked towards a drawer, pulling out chains that had very thick cuffs attached to the ends. He tightly gripped her burned out, smiling as she screamed in pain. He dragged her outside and pushed her to the ground outside the porch, connecting the cuff to her ankle and linking it to the wall. He left, and came out with Killian who was also crying out in pain. He did the same procedure with him, and then flipped a switch on each of their ankle cuffs.

Harper flinched as she felt spikes just grazing her skin, regretting that as they seemed to break contact and draw blood.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Luther smirked, seeing the girl’s face in pain. They are spikes embedded into those cuffs; the more you struggle, the more they get into your skin. So you don’t try to run away, of course.”

Harper resisted the urge to roll her eyes and looked towards Killian, who was now crying again.

“I hope you learned your lesson today, kitty. I’ll be sure to tell Edward about this.”

“You branded my fucking arm,” Harper growled. “Dark said not to scar me.”

Luther gave the girl a cold glare. “You’re gonna learn, like all of his other pets did, that I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want with you despite if your master likes it or not. I’m sure you’ll see that in the nights we’re going to spend together, kitty.”

With that, the man walked back inside, content that his new playthings wouldn’t try running away.

Harper tested Luther’s claims by doing little movements with her ankle, but the spikes only dug into her skin more.

“Shit,” she whispered as she slumped against the porch behind her. “We’re gonna be impaled even if we moved an inch.”

Killian whimpered, but remained still as he curled up against the porch wall. Harper looked over to him, seeing spike-like scars on his wrists and ankles. “This isn’t the first time he put these damn cuffs on you, isn’t it?”

The boy shook his head.

Harper looked at him with a sorrowful look; she spent mere hours with this man, how long had Killian been with him? “Hey, we’re gonna be okay, alright?” Harper started, gently placing her arm on his non burnt shoulder. “I’m a police detective for Washington, D.C. My friend has been investigating this group for years, a rescue will come for me soon.” She said it more to herself than to Killian. “I promise.”

Killian listened to her words, but couldn’t get himself to believe her. He might have been a street rat, but he’s been missing for seven years. He’s met other pets like her, with reputations and hopes of being rescued. But he’s also met other masters, ones that have too good of a reputation to ever be met with repercussions for what they’ve done to their pets, like Luther.

But Harper was nice, nicer than most people he’s met in almost a decade of hell. Maybe the cycle will change. Maybe his torment will finally end.

He looked up at her, and smiled, and was met with a warm smile back. He nuzzled into her, and closed his eyes when he felt her arm wrapping around his back and running it gently. Together, they could try their best to remain warm.

Harper rested her head on Killian’s, and yawned as she prepared for an uncomfortable and cold night of sleep. “One day, Kill-”

Killian groaned. Harper chuckled nervously. “Sorry, I like giving people nicknames. ‘Kill’s’ not a good one?”

The boy shook his head, Harper thought some more.

“How about Ian?” She got a head nod in affirmation.

“Okay, Ian, one day we’ll get out of here together. From now on, I’m gonna do whatever I can to protect you, alright?”

There was silence for a moment, just their steady breaths filling the space, then a very silent,

“Alright.”

17 notes · View notes

puckyess · 5 years ago

Text

4 Times He Fake Proposed + 1 Time He Did For Real | Shay Donovan

Expect a double post this week! Hope everyone enjoys our Glue Guy! I’d love to know your favorite part, my inbox is open (& reblog pretty please!)

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED ***

Words: 7k

Free Drinks

“Shay, what do you mean you don’t have your wallet?” You asked incredulously, glancing at him as you pulled into a parking space at the restaurant. “I specifically asked you if I should bring my purse before we left”.

“Now we’re going to be late, again because we have to go back and get money or we’re going to have to ask one of the boys to cover us again. For being called mom and dad we sure don’t act like it”. You huff, laying out your options for him.

“Don’t even worry that pretty little head of yours, Y/N. I’ve got us covered”. The grin he wears spells trouble and you know you’re not going to like whatever he’s planning in his head, but you ask anyway.

“I don’t like that look you’re wearing. How exactly do you have us covered with no money? Are you going to wash dishes in the back to cover our meal?” You sarcastically ask.

“Nope” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end and grabbing your hand. You think he’s being sweet at first but then he’s pulling your hand closer to his face and examining your fingers. He nods as if he’s found what he’s looking for and slides one of your rings off of your finger before placing a light kiss on that finger and hopping out of the car.

You’re quick after him. “Shay Donovan, what’re you doing with that? Give it back” but he’s already holding open the door, waiting on you.

“After you, my lady” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. You refuse to walk in, standing in the middle of the door until he answers you.

“Give me my ring, Shay” you demand with your hand out.

He shakes his head at you and pulls the door open further. You’re getting irritated and there’s another couple getting out of their car so you stomp your foot at him. “Damnit, Shay just give it back” you hiss. He pulls you close to him, moving you out of the way to let the couple through and gives them a charming smile as they thank him. You roll your eyes at him once they pass and poke his ribs maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Ow!” He exclaims, putting distance between the two of you again and rubbing his side.

You just give him a look that says “well? You deserved that” and wait for him to hand over the piece of jewelry that was in his pocket.

“Look I’m just gonna fake propose to you and then everyone will just buy our meal and drinks” he says with a casual shrug like he’s talking about what he’s going to order.

Your mouth falls open. That was his plan? “Shay!” You exclaim in disbelief. “You cannot be serious! That’s awful. You can’t do that!”

He nods “yes I can! It’s perfect, everyone will believe it and they’ll offer to treat us. It’s what you do”. How he knows that, you’re not sure. He’s probably right but you didn’t know how you felt about a fake proposal, especially when you wanted the real thing so bad you weren’t sure you could handle a fake one and in front of a restaurant full of people.

He could tell by the look on your face that you were mulling over his proposal. “Come on, it’s a good plan. It’s not like you have a better one” he says trying to persuade you.

“Yes, actually I do. I’ll just ask one of the guys to pay for us and I’ll Venmo them. Bold of you to assume I’d say yes by the way, what if I were to say no? bet ya didn’t think of that one now did ya bud?” You challenge.

This time his jaw drops and he’s stuttering, clearly thrown off his game. But he recovers just as quickly “well then I’d be the one getting free pity drinks and you‘d be getting booed out of the restaurant” he says as he holds the door open for you once more.

You glare as you walk past him, “No funny business Mr. Donovan. I’ll just ask your brother to cover us again”. But the ring was still in his possession so you should’ve known.

Despite not running back to your apartment for Shay’s wallet, you’re still the last ones to take a seat at your table. You barely sit down before the waiter is taking your drink orders.

“Rydes”, you sing song and bat your lashes.

He groans, “Let me guess, Shay conveniently forgot his wallet again?”

“I’ll pay you back” you promise him, giving his thigh a little squeeze.

“I’m telling mom to cut your allowance and give more to me. I end up buying for you guys all the time” he whines.

Shay rolls his eyes. “Very funny. Actually I have an announcement to make”, he says, clearing his throat.

Everyone’s eyebrows raise, especially your own. He actually looked nervous as he got out of his seat.

“Y/N, I knew you were the one from the very minute I laid eyes on you, cheering me on in a shoving match on the ice. You’ve been my biggest supporter since the night I accidentally on purpose spilled my drink on you to get your number and I can’t imagine my life without you by my side. So, Y/N,” he says dropping down on one knee, “will you marry me?”

Your mouth is on the floor, as is the rest of your table’s. Did he really just propose to you in a room full of strangers? After you had told him not to? Yet, here he was kneeling here in front of you, with your ring in his hand, held out to you. You had half a mind to say no, just to serve him right for subjecting to you this kind of embarrassment but when you saw the look in his eyes you melted. They were soft and filled with a twinkle of light that was reserved just for you. They were begging you to say yes and you wondered if maybe he meant what he said even though it was a fake proposal.

Your reaction was genuine as you nodded profusely and he quickly slid the ring back on your finger, this time on your left hand and picked you up, swinging you around in a circle. You buried your blushing cheeks into his chest as you said “I’m gonna kill you, Donovan”

He laughed as he set you back down, the biggest smile on his face and kissed you fiercely, a little less than appropriate for the amount of people watching. Everyone who was still cheering from the original proposal was now whistling and hooting and hollering for the two of you.

“So what’s everyone ordering” Shay asks as he re takes his seat at the table looking at everyone with a casual smirk on his face.

The boys’ eyes are still wide and there’s a split second of silence before everyone explodes with congratulations and questions.

Needless to say an Uber was necessary for the ride home. Shay’s plan worked accordingly and you had a dozen people offering to pay for your meal and rounds of drinks. The boys also bought a couple rounds to “celebrate” and for a minute it all felt too real.

Especially when Ryder came up next to you and told you that he knew all along you’d be the one to finally tie down his brother and to assure you that Shay was head over heels for you. “I’ve never seen a man as in love as my dad until you came around for Shay. I’m kind of annoyed he didn’t tell me first though” and you had to look away to not let Ryder see the tears starting to form in your eyes as you watched Shay laugh with Tarek. “And that look that you have right there, you’ve got it just as bad”.

You lay your head on Shay’s shoulder the minute you get into the car. He readjusts you so that your body is leaning against his chest and his arm is wrapped around you, holding you. He gives your head a small kiss and you let out a content sigh, playing with his fingers in the dark. “So when are we going to tell them it’s fake?” you mumble. you can feel him shrug beneath you.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of fun being engaged” and even though you know he’s playing around you’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree.

“It is, isn’t it?” You ask tilting your head back so he can see the smile tugging at your lips as the lights pass by.

“One of these days it’ll be for real” he says in the quiet, giving you a squeeze. You can hear the promise behind it and you bring his hand that’s holding yours up to your lips, kissing the place where his engagement band will be. It’s a soft moment and you relish in it.

Finally though he breaks the silence. “I knew you’d say yes” and you don’t have to see his face to know there’s a big old smirk on those kissable lips of his.

Drunk Shay

“Are you sure you don’t mind me going out with the boys tonight? Because I can totally stay in and we can get pizza and watch a movie and do face masks” he offers.

You laugh at his almost request and assure him that it’s okay. “While I appreciate your offer, you should go with the boys. I know they miss you and I love you, but there’s things I need to get done tonight and I can’t do that with you here. You’re a little needy” you tease him.

“Fineeee”, he drags out in a pout. You love that he sounds disappointed that he can’t stay here with you. If you didn’t really have things you needed to finish for work you would’ve given into his puppy dog eyes but you held strong and all but shoved him out the door when Ryder came by to fetch him from you.

“I’ll have him home by curfew, mom!” He called to you with a wave.

“All in one piece preferably” you told him before shutting the door.

A few hours and a handful of snaps later, there’s a knock at your door and you know it’s your boyfriend delivery. One of the many things you loved about Shay was his dedication and how that applied to every area of his life. He lived by the phrase “go big or go home” , drinking included. While he was careful when he was out with you to make sure you were safe, he was wild when you weren’t there to be his tether.

You already had the water getting ready to boil on the stove for his Mac and cheese. “It’s tradition to end every good night with Mac and cheese, I’m telling you” he’d say every time.

“He’s all yours” Ryder says gruffly, trying to make his brother walk through the door. Shay is practically hanging on his brother and Dylan and even though they’re as big as they are, you can imagine his dead weight is pretty heavy.

“Have a good time, baby?” You ask with a smirk.

At hearing your voice his head lifts and a goofy smile takes over his face. He stumbles toward you and Ryder and Dylan both have their arms outstretched to catch him if he falls in the small space between them and you. It was like watching a two year old make their way from dad to mom. He makes it though and wraps you up in a bone crushing hug, forgetting for a second that you were half his size.

Remembering your question he sticks out his lip. “No I did not have fun. No one would kiss me or sit in my lap like you do”

You giggle at your whiny boyfriend. “Well I would hope not”

Dylan rolls his eyes at Shay’s clinginess. “Seriously though, if I had a dollar for every time he asked me to ‘just kiss his cheek’ I could’ve paid my tab”

You fake shock at this news as you turn to Shay, “you tried cheating on me?”

His eyes blow wide. “No no no, not at all I just wanted some kisses and Dylan was right there so, so , so” he stutters trying to defend himself. “You’re trying to get me in trouble” he says pointing at Dylan.

“I can’t take this anymore” Ryder says running his hands down his face. “I did my part, he’s in one piece.. kind of. Now he’s yours to babysit. Goodnight Y/N”

Dylan gives you one last look as if to make sure you don’t need him to stay too but is silently begging you to release him and you give him a little wave to send him on his way, leaving you with Shay who has wandered toward the pot on the stove.

You shake your head at the man who seemingly couldn’t go a night without you. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and give you sloppy kisses on the cheek and you have to keep gently shoving him back from the stove. When he nearly makes you drop the pot on your way to the sink you banish him to the stool until it’s ready. He pouts at first but begins rambling on about his night while you stir in the ingredients.

When you set the bowl in front of him he shovels it into his mouth and is so amazed. He always says it’s the best Mac and Cheese of his life which you find hilarious because it’s literally Kraft dinner. After finishing almost the whole box except for the little bit that you steal he just wants you in his arms to settle in for the night.

He watches you change for bed and it’s like he forgets that you sleep in one of his old hockey shirts. He sees you and his lips form a little “o” and you swear you see his pupils blow even from across the room.

“Damn, baby. You look so good? And you’re mine?” And he lets out a low whistle.

“Come on, Shay. We’ve been over this” You laugh but blush at the same time because the look he’s giving you is one of pure awe and it warms you to the core.

He pulls the covers back for you and pulls you close once you finally crawl in bed. He lets out a soft sigh.

“I can’t wait to do this every night. It’s like a sleepover with my favorite person except you have to come out too next time” he tells you.

“Favorite person, huh? Don’t let Ryder hear you say that” you poke at him but his statement warms your heart.

“Well his favorite person is Clara so I’m allowed to have my favorite person and it’s you. I love you the most” he says matter of factly.

You laugh, knowing he’s probably right but you try to explain that family should be loved more than you and he gets real quiet, which is uncharacteristic for him.

“But you are family”, he says honestly. And now it’s your turn to go silent.

“I mean, my mom always asks how you are when she calls, my family loves you, everyone knows I’m going to propose to you. I wouldn't feel right if you weren’t a Donovan”.

He always talks about marriage on nights like these. And every time it hits you that you truly want nothing more than to spend your life with this man, making him Mac and cheese in the wee hours of the night and watching him be surprised every time you wear one of his shirts.

“I can’t wait for that day” you tell him.

“Well I can do it right now, I’m ready” he says, sitting up in bed and then trying to move to a kneeling position but he’s still drunk enough that his sense of balance is off and he’s face planting into the mattress.

“I have a speech” he mumbles into the sheets and you’re laughing at his efforts as he tries once again to kneel for you.

“I’ve been in-“ he starts to lean again, “fuck it, I’m in love with you and I want to spend forever with you that’s all that matters. Will you marry me?” he says as he finally topples over and off the bed.

“Shay sweetie, I love you too but I can’t accept a drunk proposal” you tell him through giggles, helping him back into his spot in bed.

Once he’s settled back in bed he agrees that he can do better. “It’s gonna be so good. I’ve already got it all planned out, Ryder thinks you’re going to love it. I hope you do”.

For the second time that night, you’re silent. ”I have no doubt that I will”, and you mean it with all of your heart. He spends a few more minutes talking about your wedding, how beautiful you’re going to look in your dress, how he’s sure he’s going to cry when he sees you for the first time in it. He’s so soft and heartfelt and much more serious than earlier.

Until he isn’t, when he dozes off in the middle of telling you that he wants his dog to be the ring bearer.

In a Fight

“I don’t get why you’re mad at me?” you say as you follow your pissed off boyfriend into your apartment. You had just been out at the bar with some friends when Shay abruptly decided he wanted to be at home and hadn’t spoken a word to you since. You were growing more and more frustrated by the second, especially with your question being met with silence.

“Damnit, Shay. What’s your problem tonight, huh?” you finally break and throw your purse on the counter.

“What’s my problem?” he asks spinning toward you, his face flushed. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now”

“Would I be asking if I didn’t already know?” you throw back at him.

He shakes his head, a disgusted look on his face. “Maybe this will jog your memory. ‘We’re just having fun. I don’t love him like I used to and I don’t know how long this thing will actually last’” he mimics, “Way to make a guy feel confident and secure in his relationship”.

His words take you back to your conversation at the bar with a friend. Taken out of context, you admit they did sound bad. You hadn’t realized he was listening in on your conversation as he had seemingly been preoccupied with his boys at the time.

She had asked how things were with Shay, how serious you thought it was. Her question scared you to death. You were having fun, some of the best fun you’ve ever had in your whole life. But it wasn’t “just fun”. You had gone into it all thinking you would just see what happened but with every kiss and every new memory made with him, you fell more and more in love with the man. And you didn’t know how long it would last. Sure, he told you forever, but he still had three whole years of college to get through and you had already had your fair share of little bumps in the road. It came with dating a big time college athlete, but it wasn’t part of any normal relationship and who were you to bank on forever. You weren’t the same person and didn’t want the same things when you left college that you did when you entered and you were afraid that the same would happen with Shay and you would be one of those things he grew out of.

“Shay-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I don't know what more I have to do to show you I want this, us. I thought we were on the same page, but after your comments tonight I’m not so sure. ‘Just having fun’, Y/N, really? And ‘this thing’? The way you’re talking you’re making it sound like this is some fling and you don’t want it to last!” he’s angrily throwing his hands around and raising his voice with every word. He’d never raised his voice at you before. His brother? Sure. His teammates? Sure, but never you.

And then suddenly his voice drops so low, you don’t even know that you hear him right, when he asks “Is that what you want? For this to not last?”

Your eyes go wide as you realize what he’s insinuating. “What? No, Shay. I want this. I just, I don't know” you groan trying to find the right words to say.

Your words or lack thereof do nothing to reassure him. “So what’re you saying? ‘You want this, but-’ what’s the but, Y/N? You want this now, but if I got down on one knee in this kitchen and asked you to marry me right now, you’d say no? I need to know if I’m in this alone, here”

His face was pained, but honest as he got down on one knee just to prove his point.

Even though you couldn’t come up with the right words to explain what you were feeling, the only words that made their way through your lips were “I want this forever”.

You watched as relief washed over his face and probably yours as well. You went over to where he was still on one knee and took a seat on his lap looping your arms around his neck and looked deep into his eyes. There was still something in those brown eyes of his that worried you.

“But you said you don’t love me the same anymore” he says and his voice is sad and vulnerable.

“No, no , no, baby. There’s so much I have to explain” you sigh. “I’m having so much fun with you, Shay. I meant that but it’s not all just light flirty banter anymore, somethings changed...into more. So no, I don’t love you like I used to. It’s a different kind of feeling now, from the way your lips kiss me to the way your hand fits in mine. It’s better, stronger the longer I’m with you and grows every single day. And well, you just promised forever but things change, Shay. Just because I want forever doesn’t mean that at the end of all this you will too”

He listens intently but shakes his head at the end. “Y/N I’m promising forever because I mean it. Yeah, things change but me wanting you isn’t going to, no matter if it’s me crushing on the hot girl next door in the stands or planning a future with my future wife, I’m always going to want you”.

He sees your eyes watering and you chewing on your lip and lifts his hand to your chin, taking his thumb to pull your lip from between your teeth. Then he guides your lips toward his and puts some proof behind his words.

When he finally breaks away, breathless he pats your butt, “Alright, hun you’ve gotta get up. I’m too old for this, my knee can’t take this floor anymore”.

TikTok

“Babe, come here a second!” You hear your boyfriend call for you.

“Shay does it have to be now? I’m in the middle of something” you call back to him from your computer. You had a deadline to meet and Shay had been a minor distraction the whole day so you locked yourself in your room and left him to his own devices until you finished.

“It’ll just take a second” he promised.

You sigh as you move your laptop off your lap and onto the bed, grabbing your water as you pad your way over to him.

“C’mere” he says beckoning with his fingers to you. Like almost every other time he’s done that, you go to him. He gets down on his knees and pulls you down so that you’re mirroring him. “Ok now put your right knee up like this and touch mine” he says patting his leg

“Seriously Shay, I was busy” you whine, but do as you’re told.

“Okay now switch knees” he instructs. You roll your eyes but again, oblige.

“Okayyy, one more time. Put your right knee up” he says as he put his right knee up.

“Shay what is this about. I have to get my work done.”

“We’re almost done, just stand up”.

You take a big swig of your water as you stand up waiting for his next move. You don’t expect him to stay on one knee and dig into his pocket and pull out a black box.

When he looks at you with a full smile you nearly choke on your water, spitting it out and leaning over slightly to try and pull him up.

He’s dying laughing at your reaction and he tries his proposal again even though you’re still coughing.

“Y/N, you’ve brought so much light into my world and given me so many laughs like this one,” he tries but he can’t continue because he’s laughing so hard at you.

You’re still coughing and you look panicked with wide eyes and he just can’t believe how well you reacted. He looks over at his phone to make sure it’s still recording. You watch as he does so and put two and two together.

“It’s for a TikTok babe, you can relax. I’m glad that wasn’t real though, I never expected a rejection that harsh” he laughs as he tries to rub your back.

“I can’t believe you! That wasn’t funny” you say, annoyed. “You pulled me from work to fake propose for a TikTok? Unbelievable”. You grab your water bottle and turn to stomp back to your room. Was it a little bit of an overreaction? Maybe, but you had shit to get done and he was using your time to make tiktoks so you were a little annoyed. And he fake proposed again, on top of it all.

“Hey, hey, hey. It was just a joke, Y/N” he rushes to make sure you’re not really mad at him

“Well, I’ve got a deadline to meet, Shay!” you said with your back to him. His long legs makes the few short steps to be in front of you.

“Something tells me that’s not what this is about?”

Damn him for being able to read you so well. His eyes are searching your face for any indication of where he screwed up.

“With this being like the fourth time you've proposed, but not for real I’m just starting to think you don’t take that very seriously. And well, I do and it kind of hurts that you don’t” Your words tumble out, finally getting the weight off your chest.

He reacts instantly to your words, his arms reaching for you to bring you into his chest. He’s stroking your hair and you can hear his heart beat fast as he says, “oh no, honey I promise you I’m serious about marrying you. You know me, I’m not a serious guy, but I swear to you if there’s one I’m serious about, it’s putting a ring on your finger and making you a Donovan. Not today, because obviously that didn’t work out”, he chuckles, “but I promise you, you’re getting that ring for real”.

You look up at him with a little smile, forgiving him easily with this new promise. “Pinky promise?” you ask, holding out your pinky.

He gives you a soft smile in return and locks his pinky with yours, bringing your pinkies up to his lips to seal the deal with a kiss. “Pinky Promise”.

“Are you sure this is enough? I could probably make it bigger?” Shay asks turning to Ryder.

His brother shakes his head. “Dude, she’s going to love this. This is so her, just relax. Everything’s perfect”, he tries to reassure his brother.

Shay chews on his nonexistent thumbnail as he examines his list for the tenth time that day, making sure everything was in place. You were flying in later that day, thinking you were going on a girls date before the start of your second River Bandit Cup. You had loved the tournament so much last year, it was the perfect excuse for him to lure you out to Duluth even though you’d come anytime he asked.

“So mom, Clara, and Nessa are picking her up at 3, they should be there now actually and they’re going to go get their nails done or whatever and you and Boden have to help me get things ready here” Shay reminds him again.

“And what time are her family and friends coming in? You’re going to have to remind dad to go pick them up or he’ll forget” Ryder points out.

Shay looks up from his phone with a glare. “He better not forget or I’ll kill him. I’m on a very tight schedule here, everyone has to do their part or it’s going to be a disaster” he stresses.

“What’s going to be a disaster?” Vanessa asks as she walks in the room.

Shay’s eyes pop out of his head as he looks at his sister. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the airport right now! Where are mom and Clara? Who’s picking Y/N up?!” He practically yells as he jumps out of his seat.

“Someone’s a little on edge today” she tsks, “relax, I’m just meeting them at the nail place because the baker called and needed the cake picked up earlier than planned and I figured you’d have your hands full here. So it’s in the fridge in the garage, I do have to leave now though”.

“You’re going to be fine, everything is going to be perfect” she says, patting her little brother on the shoulder. “Good luck!” She calls over her shoulder as she closes the door.

Shay spent the next few hours running around, directing his brothers until there was absolutely nothing left for him to do but worry. He called to check all of the food was correct and ready to be delivered on time, made sure he had the right champagne, arranged the lights out back just so, sprayed the ODR with a fresh layer, reached out to everyone to make sure they knew where to be and at what time, placed and double checked the cameras and even ironed his damn clothes.

Ryder and Boden sat on Shay’s bed and watched as he stood in front of his mirror opening and closing the little box in his hand, trying to rehearse his speech and not lose his mind while he waited for the sound of car tires.

“You can do this, Shay. She loves you, you love her. Nothing to worry about. You can do this” he says like a mantra. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He was a confident guy and he was 100% positive he wanted to marry you and he knew you wanted the same. This should be the easiest thing in the world and yet the anxiety and butterflies he felt were tenfold worse than any he had ever felt before any game.

His brothers echo his self hype and promise him there’s nothing more he can do to show how much he loves you and you obviously love him. Their pep talk is interrupted by the sound of people entering the house.

—

Hours later after lunch and a nail appointment, you’re finally in the car on your way to the person you desperately wanted to see. While you loved Shay's family just as much as your own, you were anxious to get to your boyfriend. You had weirdly barely heard from him all day, only a few texts double checking your flight time, making sure you landed safely and what nail color you’d picked out.

As you pulled into his drive, your brow furrowed. You had expected to come home to a driveway full of cars from his friends, like last year. Checking your phone, it was already 6oclock. Everyone should definitely be here by now. “Where is everybody?” You question.

Clara and his mom both shrug, little smiles on their faces as the car slows to a stop. Shay’s waiting for you on the porch, a smile on his face and your skates in his hands. He looks as handsome as ever under the porch lights in black jeans that hug his long legs and a grey knit, the same one he was wearing when you first met, you note. A smile graces your face at the thought.

“Well hello handsome”, you call out to him. “You look too nice to be bringing me home that River Bandit Cup”.

You grip onto his arms and raise up onto your tip toes signaling what you wanted from him. You melt when he gives into you and don’t even notice his mom and sister sneaking around to the backyard.

“Change of plans”, he says setting you down on the bench by the door and pats his leg.

You throw him a confused look. “What do you mean? You’ve been planning this for months now?”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. If only you knew, he’d been planning this, not that for months.

Your leg is across his now and he’s taking off your boots, replacing them with skates. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as his fingers expertly tie your skate. He pushes your leg off and picks the other one up to do the same, staying silent. Your boyfriend was never silent.

“Earth to Shay. What’s going on with you today?” You ask, running your fingers through his hair.

“Is there gel in your hair?” You ask with a confused smile on your face when you pull your hand away. You begged him to put gel in his hair, knowing it would help his curly hair look extra dashing but he refused, only allowing it on game day.

“Maybe”. He says quickly and stands up after finishing up on your skate. Without warning his arm hooks under your legs and he’s picking you up bridal style. You’re giggling as you hook your arms around his neck and hold on tight.

Finally your boyfriend is back as he throws his back laughing, soaking up the sound of your squeals and giggles. “Close your eyes and no peeking” he instructs you.

“What?” You ask him, but follow his command blindly, closing your eyes. You trusted him, even after all these times when he’s made tiktoks and played tricks, you knew your trust in him was well placed.

“Just do it. I have a surprise for you” and you could sense a change in his voice, there was a hint of nervousness.

“Something better than the RBC?” You teased.

He laughs. “I sure hope it’s much better than the RBC”.

“I don’t knowww...I really enjoyed drinking out of that cup last year”

“You’ll still get your cup, but tonight I have something else to give you” he tells you and now there was a hint of excitement to his words.

You can tell you’ve reached the ice in his backyard by the change in his movements as he glides and the crisp sound of his blade cutting into what sounds like fresh ice.

Your curiosity was killing you as you practically begged him to let you open your eyes.

“Okay, now you can open them” he says, holding onto you as your blades hit the ice.

You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the lights. You look around you as Shay takes your hand, skating you both in little circles so that you can see the whole rink.

There are little candles all around the perimeter of the ice and twinkle lights draped along the fence and club house, creating a soft golden light. Rose petals lay scattered near the candles along with polaroids of you and Shay, dating all the way back to when you’d first met. The thumping in your chest intensified as you took it all in.

“Shay” you breathed. You wanted to look at him but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from each new picture.

There was one from the first game you had nervously waited in the hallway for him, one from the night he kissed you in front of the team to announce your relationship, one from your weekend getaway, and one of your personal favorites, one from the night you had to take him to the hospital because he bet that he could last longer on the mechanical bull than you and ended up throwing out his shoulder … and losing the bet. There was one from your first Christmas together, your first Valentine’s Day together. One of you across the table from him and one of him pretending to be studious at the library even though you know he was watching Netflix. He’s somehow managed to document every little moment of your relationship from the big firsts to unexpected candids. And in each one, no matter who is in the picture they look unbelievably happy.

“Do you like it?” He asks, when all you've said is his name.

“I - I have no words. Yes, of course I love it! What is all this though?” You search your brain trying to remember today’s date and whether or not it was important. You had been so focused on getting to see Shay this weekend that you had barely thought about anything else.

“Oh god, it isn’t our anniversary is it? What’s today’s date?” You asked him, flustered.

He laughed as he skated you back to the center of the ice, where one last picture was waiting for you. He picked it up but didn’t give it to you quite yet.

“Y/N, I’ve spent months trying to craft the perfect speech and I think I’ve come pretty close but no words will ever be able to describe what I feel for you, how much I love you. I knew you were the one from the very second I laid eyes on you in the crowd cheering me on in that shoving match against UMD. I told the whole locker room that night that I’d be marrying the girl in the third row. i looked everywhere for you after that game and low and behold you showed up at the same bar and I did the first thing I could think of and threw my drink on you” he laughs at himself.

“I knew that wasn’t an accident!” You exclaimed.

He shakes his head, “no it definitely was not. I panicked and just threw ice water all over you and then blamed Ryder for pushing me. I still got your number though” he says with a wink and then clears his throat to make himself get back on track.

“You’ve been my biggest supporter through every up and down. You’ve been there to celebrate every small victory like getting cleared to play again and passing my stats class and you’ve held me during my darkest days when I doubted myself and was so lost I didn’t know if I would ever be myself again. But you helped me through that and were my brightest light. You’ve encouraged me and cheered me on. You’ve made me want to be better and challenge myself to grow, not just for myself but for you” his hands are shaking slightly as he takes both of yours, the picture still in his hand.

“You’ve given me so many laughs, so many memories, so much love and I want to do the same for you. I want to be by your side for the highs and lows and tackle life with you, forever and a day. I want to look forward to coming home to you every night and eat Mac and cheese at 3 in the morning and lose my mind every time I see you in my stolen shirts. I want it all with you and I want you to finally have my last name because well, you have everything else of mine, my heart included. So,” he hands you the last Polaroid as he gets down on his left knee. It’s a picture of a diamond ring.

“Y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?” He asks, holding out a small box with a real diamond ring out to you.

You had passed the point of ugly crying long ago. His words were so filled with love you couldn’t contain the tears. Your freshly manicured hands were covering your mouth trying to hold in the emotions that were pouring out from you. You were nodding your head so fast, not even having to think about the answer to that question for a second.

“Yes?” He asks with a beaming smile just to clarify.

“Yes!” You practically shout.

You’re in his arms in the blink of an eye, skates fully off the ice. He’s twirling you around in circles and telling you how much he loves you when you hear cheering from all around the edge of the rink.

He sets you down and you see both of your families and friends lined up, cheering for the newly engaged couple. You start crying again and hold onto Shay a little tighter, if that was even possible.

“Thank you so much for this. You’ve outdone yourself, Shay. The perfect proposal”

He grins down at you and kisses the top of your head. “Better than the RBC?”

“Much better than the RBC.”

#shay donovan #ryder donovan #dylan holloway #shaydono #mine #my writing

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sulfurousdreamscapes · 4 years ago

Text

Eki was sick of the wasteland, even after the sky had been scarred and the land was now under the shadow of a legion of clouds driven by hell's wind. His dog liked to investigate the tiniest pebbles, and Eki had to pull on the leash, grunting and begging for the dog to co-operate.

His destination was in sight: a small hut that belonged to his sister-in-law, small hut that would be shelter against the wind. The dog didn't seem to care. Eki wished that he, too, could have fur blown behind him as he walked towards the pulsing scar.

He didn't think he'd cry when he saw the hut, but he did. The tears had no sooner left the comfort zone of his eye, than he slipped past his face and hurtled back.

Step by laboured step, Eki forged forward. If he so much as allowed himself to lean back, he was certain he'd fall and be dragged along the ground. It was a lot like climbing the mountains at the edge of the world. He knew such places.

A figure watched from the window. Eki couldn't make out a face, but he was certain it was his sister-in-law. If it wasn't, he would have travelled these hundreds of miles in vain.

"Just a little further," he told the dog through gritted teeth and slipping feet.

The dog whined in response, glancing at its master for a moment it could afford.

When they were within a marble-strike's distance from the hut, the door opened an inch. As if a spirit had emerged from that inch-wide gap, Eki felt renewed vigour and he put step after step in rapid succession to jam his hand in the open gap.

The door opened a little more, and Eki stepped in. The woman on the other side was about to close the door behind Eki, but the leash got in the way.

"It's my dog, he needs shelter."

The woman muttered something under her breath and opened the door a little wider again. The dog squeezed in through the gap and shook himself from front to back. Then, he looked up at Eki and his host, hanging a long tongue out.

"I don't like dogs," the woman said.

Eki and the woman stood inches apart, near the door, and Eki's dog sniffed the woman's feet.

"You're not Beth," Eki said, more to himself than to her.

"No." The woman resisted the urge to shoo the dog, and took a few steps towards the corner of the hut that was a kitchen.

"I came a long way to see her." Eki wound the leash in his hand. "I thought she still lived here."

"Did she now?" The woman who was not Beth poured some water into a kettle and set it on a stove that she lit with a matchstick. The kitchen window slammed open and rattled its panes, but the woman shut it and with some effort, slid the bolt into place.

"I had a letter for her." Eki looked at the letter in his hands. He'd written the letter himself, but he had pretended it was written by someone else. There was no way he could have broken the news in person, so he had written it down instead.

The woman put two glass plates on the kitchen counter, shut the drawer, pulled open another one, and pulled out a can of dry nuts and raisins.

"It was about her brother, and well..." Eki looked at his dog, who sat obediently, tail wagging and tongue hanging loose.

"This is the last house before the scar," the woman said, turning to him and putting the plates on a small table. "Is that how you found it?"

"Yeah."

"Then your Beth lied to you. This is, and always has been, my home. This Beth probably wanted you to die out here, so she gave you a fake address."

Eki shook his head. "She wouldn't do that." He glanced at his dog. "No, she wouldn't do anything like that."

The woman took a cashew in her fingers and inspected it. "It's happened in the past. I've come to expect people come here, searching for Beth."

"Really?" Eki sat down at the table picked up a handful of nuts. He inspected them too, as if he was looking for a nut he didn't like, and then he tossed the entire bunch into his mouth.

"You can have tea. Then you have to leave."

Eki scratched his cheek, then stroked it. "This is all a big surprise." His eyes were reddened.

The kitchen window slammed open again, and the woman cursed under the breath. She got up, held the window shut, and slid the bolt in one more time, even though it was already rattling backwards.

"I guess if you're not Beth, I can tell you why I came here to see her." Eki wanted to clean up his plate, but he waited a little to not seem desperate.

"Your business is your business," the woman replied as she picked up the kettle and poured the boiling water into two white cups, one of them chipped.

"Her brother, my husband... he's dead. Died when the scar opened up."

"That's a pity," the woman said almost immediately. Then, a moment later, she paused. The cup overflowed, and she put the kettle down. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really, really sorry to hear that."

Eki nodded thoughtfully. The leash had slipped out of his hand, and the dog was exploring the inside of the hut now.

"The scar took everyone by surprise," the woman said and served the two cups of tea on the table. She took the almost-full one in the chipped cup for herself.

"It did. I can't imagine what it's been like for you, living out here," Eki said.

The woman smiled and looked idly at the table. "When you leave, will you try to find Beth again?"

"I ought to."

The woman nodded, and her smile faded a little. "We could pretend that I'm Beth, and then you won't have to go looking for anyone anymore. You could go home."

Eki leaned back in his chair, looked at the plate of nuts, seemingly remembered it existed. He put the letter on the table, next to the plate.

"Read it," he said.

Continued here.

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slash-em-up · 5 years ago

Text

To Touch: An Iceman Fic

Ok so this is a lot softer than my other two pics for Niko; but I had a need for some sweeter content after @dashinslashin posted about the boy needing a massage and some hot cocoa. This is all your fault Dash.

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

Niko had made it crystal clear from the beginning that he was not interested in being your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even interested in being your friend. All you were to each other was a semi-regular hook-up.

You worked at the local bar off the pier and knew most, if not all, of the fisherman that launched from your area - but the only one who didn’t seem interested in flirting with you or playing grab-ass was Nikolas. So obviously he was the one you fixated on.

What could you say? You were a sucker for tall loner-types. And the sex was damn hot.

He was what your grandma would probably call a ‘lost soul’ - eyes blank but always searching for something you doubted he could put a name to.

You were pretty sure he tolerated you because you didn’t make fun of him when he tripped over a word or two in English (not that he spoke that much anyway). If he’d asked, you would have told him that you were only a second-generation Alaskan, and both your mom and grandparent still had trouble with their own vocabularies.

But he didn’t, so you kept that to yourself.

The winter storm rolling in off the sea and down from the mountains was vicious enough to force even the most fool-hardy soul back into the safety of their homes. Sadly for you and Niko, the real blizzard hadn’t started up until you two were well into your… well, your fucking.

Neither of you noticed until afterwards that the small path leading from Nikolas’ tiny house back into town was beyond impassable.

“Voi helvetti…” Niko muttered, yanking his shirt back over his head and stomping to the door.

You let out a shrill yelp as the cold air rushed in from the open entryway and under the quilt - your still naked form immediately beginning to shiver.

The door slammed as your former bedmate left the house to do god-knows-what in the middle of a damn blizzard.

Nikos’ dog rushed in from the small backroom he’d been exiled to and leapt onto the bed. He cuddled in close and began lathing the skin of your face with wet kisses.

You couldn’t complain.

The thick fur pressed against you was warm and you’d always liked dogs well enough.

You eyed the sweater Nikolas had discarded earlier and hesitantly stuck one leg out from under the covers - stretching as far as you could and grasping the thick, worn wool with your toes.

Jackpot.

The underwear you arrived in were nowhere to be found; but the sweater came nearly to mid-thigh as you slipped it on over your mussed hair.

The dog probably wouldn’t mind, and you clearly weren’t going anywhere else tonight.

Stepping your bare feet onto the rough wooden floor was uncomfortable, but with a few quick steps you were plopped happily in front of the small woodstove that warmed the cottage. Grabbing your purse, you rifled through for the small packets of hot cocoa mix you’d snagged from last Sunday’s church service and forgotten to remove.

Happy accident, in this case.

The cast-iron kettle looked decently maintained, and once it was full from the tap you set it to boil.

A quick perusal of the nearby shelves produced two mis-matched tin cups, which you emptied the cocoa packets into. It wouldn’t be nearly as good without milk; but you wouldn’t presume to start rifling through the man’s cabinets while he was out. Besides, it was the heat you were after more-so than the flavor. You just hoped Niko wouldn’t mind watery cocoa.

You were just finishing mixing the powder in when the front door flew open once more - the gusts of air trying their damndest to pull the wood panel out of Nikos’ hand.

Your shoulders curled inward as the winter chill chased the heat from the small room.

“Fuck! Niko, shut the door!”

One more hard shove, and the wind was closed out once more.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the unsmiling man. His dark coat was covered with a layer of snow, and his pale locks looked like they had been gone after with a whisk.

He glanced up at you as he shook out his jacket and hung it on the stand by the door.

“Well unless you have a few extra dogs and a sled hidden in here, I think you’re stuck with me for the night.”

Niko blinked, raising an eyebrow.

He pointed to a small closet.

“Ski’s in there. Have fun.”

You gaped at the pale man, until you saw the brief upward turn of his lips.

“You’re joking.”

Niko shrugged.

“Wouldn’t stop you.”

You glared.

“Asshole. Get over here and drink your cocoa.”

This seemed to take Nikolas aback.

He tilted his head and gave you a mildly confused look.

The hot tin nearly scalded your hand as you lifted it up to show him your offering.

“It’s just water, I wasn’t sure if you had milk or not.”

You were vaguely reminded of a cautious stray dog you used to offer pieces of your lunch to as Niko slowly walked forward - looking far more suspicious than you felt was warranted for something as simple as a warm drink.

Once he was close enough he peered into the cup of muddy liquid without taking it.

“Why?”

Now this was just getting ridiculous.

“Do I need a reason? Just take it Niko.”

Nearly forcing the cup into the man’s hands you turned back to the stove with a quite huff.

Honestly - you’d never met someone so wary of kind gestures. Even when you saw Niko in the bar, he never bought anyone a drink, nor accepted them, kept to himself… hell, he didn’t even pop a nickel into the old jukebox for the bar to enjoy.

Your brooding thoughts were interrupted by a barely audible “Thanks.”

Aw hell. He was looking at you with that damn fascinated look again. Like you were something new and interesting that he wanted nothing more than to investigate until he understood every tiny facet of you.

You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t flattering, having a man like Nikolas being completely focused on you.

A lot of your co-workers said he gave them the willies; but you’d never seen him as anything but an awkward, quiet foreigner - nothing to be scared of.

A noise from Niko once again brought you back to the present as he sat next to you with a low groan. You were sure you heard several of his joints pop as he settled.

Without thinking, you scooted up onto your knees and moved until you were sitting behind Niko, setting your mug onto the ground and reaching for his shoulders.

His icy gaze had followed your movements, and as you reached for him you saw his muscles go even tighter under his thermal shirt.

“So tense…” you teased with a light grin.

Niko didn’t respond, but he didn’t tell you to stop as you began feeling around for the knots in his shoulders and neck.

You found a cluster and began kneading them firmly with your thumbs until they released, moving across the broad expanse of bone and muscle until the tension was no more.

Niko’s eyes were hazy slits as you leaned around to look at him, unable to hold back the satisfied grin his dazed look prompted.

“Want me to do your back too?”

Awareness bled back into blue eyes before Niko nodded once. Coming from him that was practically begging.

“Lay on your stomach…”

The large man obeyed immediately, setting his own mug to the side; but you noted that he still kept an eye on your movements as much as he could from his position.

No trust; but he was willing to let you make him feel good.

You’d take what you could get.

He inhaled sharply as you straddled his hips, bare legs pressing lightly against rough trousers.

You half-expected him to buck you off; but he soon settled beneath you and you reached forward to run the sides of your hands down his spine.

He arched in discomfort whenever you hit a knot, and that gave you some idea of where to start your work.

Humming softly, you made your way from vertebra to vertebra, tendon to tendon, until Niko was splayed out in a boneless puddle beneath you - nearly purring in contentment.

You leaned forward to run your nails across his scalp and pressed a brief kiss behind his ear.

That was something you and Niko didn’t really do - kiss - when you decided you both wanted some release it was very business-like. No less pleasurable; but you’d never offered to kiss him, nor had he to you.

But seeing him so relaxed and peaceful was doing things to you. Dammit.

A large arm curled around your waist and before you could blink Niko had pulled you down next to him, yanking you in so that your back was pressed against his front.

He pressed his nose to your throat and you could feel his lips curve ever so slightly against you.

“You can stay.” he murmured quietly into your ear.

You snorted.

“Gee, thanks.”

Reaching for a folded blanket resting atop a nearby chair, you unfolded it across the two of you and called for the dog.

The three of you curled up by the stove to wait out the snow.

Really, what else was there to do?

#Nikolas Teravainen #niko the fishstick man #I lub him mkay?#the iceman #slasher oc #Jessica writes

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pixiegrl · 4 years ago

Note

how about “this isn’t what i wanted.” with...cake! 💜💜 -molly

Molly! Weeks ago, I wrote you Shaking and Waiting for Something More with soft bakery Cake. Well, here’s a sequel to those soft, sweet boys. Inspired by Meg, the queen of Cake, because who else would help inspire something.

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607654

Calum opens the door to Luke’s apartment to the muffled sounds of shrieks and barking. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to have a key to the apartment that Luke shares with Ashton. He’s not even sure if Ashton knows he has a key, but Luke gave it to him three months into dating with the excuse that “I want you to come by whenever you want.”

Calum uses the key far more than he wants to admit. He likes being able to surprise Luke with drinks from the cafe or baked goods they have left over for the day. Sometimes, when he knows Luke’s stressed with school, he brings dinner over. One time, he’d found Luke asleep at the dining room table. It had been unbearably cute, head pillowed on his arms as he dozed. Calum had almost felt bad waking him up, but he managed to convince Luke to get into bed and cuddle with him, so Calum won either way.

Tonight though is not that. Luke’s standing in the kitchen trying to fan at the oven. He’s got flour on his cheeks and Petunia barking at his heels, pawing at his leg.

“Tuney, not now!” Luke says, despair clear in his voice. Calum clears his throat, drawing both dog and owner’s attention to him. Petunia abandons Luke to run to Calum, sighing happily when Calum rubs at her ears.

“Calum! When did you get here?” Luke asks, stepping in front of the stovetop to hide something. Calum stands up, inching closer to the kitchen. Luke takes another step, hiding whatever it is is on the stove.

“Luke, what’s that?”

“Nothing!” Luke says. He’s trying to use how broad he is to his advantage, hiding the burnt food. Calum’s a little quicker than Luke, getting his hands on Luke’s waist and spinning him out of the way. Luke’s too startled to put up a fight, letting Calum move him.

There’s a pan with brownies in it. Or rather, what might be brownies in it. It’s hard for Calum to see exactly they might be past the little puff of smoke coming off them. Luke sighs dramatically, picking up the pan. He’s wearing Winnie the Pooh oven mitts, covered in cocoa powder and Calum is helplessly in love.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Luke says. He sounds distressed, holding the pan in his hands. Calum looks down the brownies, which are somehow both burnt and yet, the middle looks uncooked. Calum pokes them, finger coming back covering in goo. He glances up at Luke, face creased in unhappiness, eyes a little wet.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Do you still have the ingredients?” Calum asks, taking the pan from Luke.

“I….I didn’t know what I needed?”

“What do you have?”

“Flour. Sugar. Cocoa powder. Eggs. Butter.”

“Did you not use chocolate in it?”

“Like the powder?” Luke asks, confused. Calum lets out a noise of horror and surprise at Luke. Luke blushes, rubbing at his nose, spreading around the flour.

“Luke, darling, let me teach you how to make proper brownies. Wash up, I’m dumping these out and then we’re grocery shopping to make real brownies,” Calum says. Luke smiles, sunshine coming back to his face. He leans over, kissing Calum’s cheek before darting off to the bedroom.

Calum pulls his phone out, making a small list of what he knows they’ll need, poking around Luke’s kitchen to see what he still has left. The biggest thing is all the bits of chocolate Calum wants to add into the mix.

Luke pops out from his room, curls pulled back into a bun, smiling at Calum.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Luke chirps. He crosses the room, lacing his fingers through Calum’s and tugging them out of his apartment and in the direction of the grocery store. The walk isn’t too far, air crisp with the approaching fall. Luke swings their arms back and forth, humming under his breath as they keep walking. Calum can’t help but smile at Luke, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek at a red light.

“What was that for?”

“Just cause. You’re being cute. Tell me about how school’s going,” Calum says. Luke giggles, pressing a kiss to the back of Calum’s hand as they continue on their way. Luke rambles about classes, the music he’s been learning recently, the classes he’s been TA for. Calum nods along, pretends he understands any of the music things Luke talks about.

They make it to the shop, Calum grabbing the cart of Luke barrels off into the store.

“Luke, hold on,” Calum calls to no avail. Luke’s already gone, disappeared down some aisle or another. Calum sighs, heading off to the baking section for the chocolate. He grabs a bar of dark chocolate to melt into the brownies and another bag of dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate chunk to add into the mix. Calum just assessed his list, making sure he doesn’t need any other dried goods, when he hears Luke’s boots clicking on the tile.

“Luke,” Calum says, exasperated when he glances up and notices Luke’s dropped a bag of gummy worms, microwave popcorn, vanilla ice cream, and a bag of pretzels into the cart.

“What?”

“We’re looking for brownie ingredients. Not snacks.”

“We can have both. What if we need snacks for the movie later?”

“Brownies are a snack.”

“They’re dessert. Snacks are different.”

“And why did we need ice cream?”

“For the brownies. Who ever heard of brownies without ice cream. Ooo speaking of food,” Luke says. Calum rolls his eyes fondly, trying to follow Luke as he darts off down the aisle on a mission.

Calum finds Luke in the pasta aisle, standing in front of the boxes of macaroni. He turns to Luke.

“What pasta do you like?”

“Fusilli,” Calum says, reaching over to grab the box. Luke gasps in horror.

“The proper answer is farfalle.”

“Farfalle holds no sauce Lu. The fusilli has all the twists for it.”

“That’s not true. There’s little nooks in the farfalle. Also look at the shape,” Luke says, shoving the box into Calum’s face. Calum takes a step back, startled.

“I’m going to break up with you for your taste in pasta,” Calum teases. Luke hushes, bopping Calum as the nose as he leans past him and grabs a different bag. Calum notices that it’s a bag of three cheese tortellini. Luke grabs another bag smiling.

“There, problem solved. Tortellini is best.”

“Agreed,” Calum says, putting the box back. He turns his attention to the jars of sauce, grabbing the first plain red sauce that he sees. Luke sneaks up behind him, wrapping his arms around Calum’s waist and resting his head on Calum’s shoulder.

“Hello,” Calum says, turning to his boyfriend. Luke rewards him with a quick kiss on the lips.

“Hi,” Luke whispers. Calum pats his arm, letting Luke give him a squeeze before he detangles himself from Luke’s arms. They proceed to the checkout, Calum trying to stop Luke from throwing more candy onto the conveyor belt. Luke sticks his tongue out in retaliation, grinning from ear to ear when Calum flicks him on the arm.

They gather their shopping bags and start to make their way back to the house. Luke interlaces their fingers again, humming quietly as they make their way back to his apartment. Like this, it’s easy to picture that this is something normal that they do every week. Calum can picture it, planning out their meals for the week, arguing over what to make, getting to go shopping for their groceries. He can imagine what it would be like, getting to rib Luke about his food preferences, pretending to be put out when Luke begs for Calum to make a different dessert each week. Calum knows they’ve only been dating for a short time, but it’s easy to imagine that this is his life, getting to do domestic things with him. The idea that Calum can go home with Luke and never have to leave. It’s perfect, picturing the life together that Calum wants to have. He wants to share his life with someone, get to have all the soft and intimate details with another person. It might be too soon, but he thinks he wants that person to be Luke.

They make it back to Luke’s apartment, dumping the bags onto the counter. Luke puts the ice cream in the freezer, flitting around his kitchen to put everything away, leaving out the pasta and the sauce. Calum gathers up the dry ingredients, setting them out with the bags of chocolate.

“So, the brownies will take about 30 minutes to bake after the prep. We can start the tortellini, so that way they’re ready,” Calum says. Luke nods, getting a pot and filling it with some water to boil for the pasta. Calum gets out the butter and eggs out of the fridge. He grabs a bowl, putting the butter and dark chocolate into it. He sticks it in the microwave, letting them melt, sets the oven for preheat while he grabs the sugar and eggs.

“What do you want me to do?” Luke asks.

“You can grab me a whisk and a bowl. We’re gonna mix the sugar and eggs together,” Calum says. Luke nods, grabbing both things. Calum cracks the eggs into the bowl, measures out the sugar and adds it in. He starts folding everything in, watching out of the corner of his eye as Luke dumps the pasta into the boiling water, sets a timer for it all. Calum starts humming under his breath as he keeps mixing slowly and deliberately.

“Let me put on some music,” Luke says. Calum nods, lets Luke mess around with his phone until the sounds of Taylor Swift fill the air.

“Really Luke?” Calum teases, pouring the chocolate mix into the sugar and egg mixture. Luke laughs, spinning around as he sings along to the opening notes of “Welcome to New York.”

“It’s fun Cal. Live a little,” Luke says. Calum rolls his eyes, folding the chocolate in with everything else.

“Be useful and measure out the flour.”

“How much?”

“Half a cup of that. And a third of a cup of the cocoa too.”

Luke follows Calum’s commands, measuring everything out into measuring cups. He watches as Calum finishes folding in the chocolate, picks up each cup and slowly adds them in. He holds the bowl out to Luke.

“You fold it in. Like this,” Calum instructs. Luke hesitantly takes the bowl, slowly starting to mix everything, trying to mimic what Calum was doing earlier.

“No, like this,” Calum says, getting his hands on Luke’s and guiding him through the motions. Luke blushes a little, letting Calum guide him through how to fold the dry ingredients into the wet.

“How are you so good at this?” Luke mumbles.

“Practice. I do own a bakery you know,” Calum teases, still pressed close to Luke, even though he doesn’t need it anymore. Luke’s a natural learner, picking up quickly on Calum’s instruction. They keep folding the batter until it’s nice and thick, evenly blended.

“Now what?” Luke asks.

“Now we add in the chocolate,” Calum says, handing the bags to Luke. His face lights up, giddy with excitement as he digs for a pair of scissors in a kitchen jar. He pulls some out, attacking each bag to open them and pouring out what is probably too many chocolate chunks into the batter. Calum can’t be bothered to correct Luke, watching him with fondness and love as he keeps going.

“Luke, that’s enough. You’re just going to have chocolate chips and no brownies soon,” Calum laughs, grabbing Luke’s hands. Luke pouts.

“Spoil sport,” he says. The timer digs, reminding the two of them about the pasta. Luke goes to take care of that while Calum greases the pan, pours the brownies into it. He puts them in the oven, watches as Luke struggles to open the jar of pasta sauce.

“Give me the jar. Separate the pasta,” Calum says. Luke sighs in defeat, heading it over to Calum. He digs out a knife, tapping the edge of the jar lid and opening it.

“That’s cheating!” Luke says laughing. Calum shrugs, handing the jar to Luke, watching as he pours it over the pasta.

They eat standing up at the kitchen island, Calum telling Luke about how the bakery’s been doing, Luke bitching about Ashton and his study habits now that the semester is almost over. It’s comforting, bumping elbows with Luke, Taylor Swift playing in the background as they eat their food. Luke keeps laughing so hard he snorts, covering his face with his hand. Calum’s charmed, can’t stop smiling every time Luke laughs.

Calum’s so caught up watching Luke retell a story from this week about his music class that he almost forgets about the brownies until the timer goes off.

“Oh! Brownies!” Luke cheers, abandoning the pasta bowls to rush to the oven. Calum dumps the finished bowls in the sink, grabbing the oven mitts and opening the oven door and pulling out the tin. They smell good, rich and chocolatey. Luke claps in excitement.

“Get a knife, some bowls, spoons, and the ice cream. We can watch a movie while we eat,” Calum says. Luke does it, bringing them all over to Calum and bouncing on the balls of his feet while Calum cuts out a corner and a side piece from the pan, scooping some ice cream on top of each piece. He follows Luke into the living room, settling in on the couch. He hoists Petunia up onto the couch between them while Luke pulls up some rom com from Netflix up.

Luke snuggles into Calum’s side, sighing happily when he bites into the brownies.

“These are good. Sorry I couldn’t make you some on my own,” Luke says.

“This was better. More fun. We got to spend time together.”

“Thank you. For everything. You’re always there when I need it, especially when I’m stressed. I love you.”

“What are boyfriends for?” Calum says. He’s content, getting to spend time with Luke and Petunia, wrapped up in their own little world of happiness and bliss. Calum wants this domestic bliss to neverend, but for now he’ll take this quiet quality time with Luke, taking a break from the world.

#5 seconds of summer #cake #luke hemmings #calum hood #its fluff and sweet and gross #just domestic bliss and sosft soft sweetness #they are having a great time baking and being in love #also if you recognize the pasta argument no you didnt #my writing

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creampuffqueen · 5 years ago

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Deep in the Heart of Texas - Two

a/n: I really need to stop writing instead of doing online school. Whatever. This is kind of a filler chapter; things should be getting more interesting soon. I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is ready for the best summer of her life. She’s home from college for the summer, and so are all of her friends. Even her cousin is on a break from the military. Everything is set up to be perfect. Until... her mother decides to let the son of an old family friend stay with them while he grieves the loss of a loved one. And Aelin is not going to let a party pooper ruin her summer.

Rowan Whitethorn has just suffered the biggest loss of his life: the death of his long-time girlfriend, Lyria. His family is sick of him moping around his tiny New York apartment, so they ship him down south for the summer. The last thing Rowan wants is to spend his vacation in Nowhereville, Texas, but he has little choice. Not to mention, the only people his age seem to hate him. How on earth is he going to survive 3 months of this?

“Aelin, we’re home!” Evalin trills as she steps inside. Rhoe is behind her, along with Eleanor and Gavriel.

“Uncle Gav! Aunt Ellie!” And Aelin feels like a little kid again, running to her aunt and uncle. Gavriel pulls her into a tight hug while Eleanor kisses her head.

“It’s so good to see you. How’s A&M?” Eleanor asks. Aelin walks her family to the living room, telling them everything. All about the professor she hates (“Maeve is still teaching?” Gavriel snorts), and the friends she’s made, and that crazy end-of-year party she went to.

“Aedion’s out right now.” Aelin tells her aunt before she can ask. Eleanor chuckles, sinking further into the couch.

“Aelin!” Turning to her mother, Aelin gives her a questioning look.

“What?”

“It’s five! We need to go pick up Rowan from the airport.” Evalin stands up, ready to grab her purse and run out again, but Aelin stops her.

“He’s already here, Mom. His flight got moved up and he got here around two o’clock.” Evalin’s eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you text me? And where is he?”

“Sorry, I forgot.” Aelin sighs lamely. “And he’s asleep in his bedroom. He must have been really tired, I haven’t heard a peep from him all afternoon.”

Aelin’s mother sits down again, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head. Nobody says anything for a long while, until Eleanor stands up suddenly.

“We should get started on dinner, don’t you think? Especially if we have a guest. We don’t want him going hungry, now do we?”

Evalin still doesn’t speak, but she gets up anyway and follows her sister into the kitchen. Leaving Aelin alone with her father and uncle.

“How long are you two in town for, uncle Gav?” She asks.

“I was able to get two weeks off.” Gavriel says with a smile. Eleanor is a teacher, so she’s already off for the whole summer. “We wanted to see y’all before you both went back to school.”

“You remember the Whitethorns, right?” Rhoe interjects. “They’ve been down here a few time when y’all were.”

“How can I forget?” Gavriel chuckles. “I had to scold Aedion for days after he punched one of their kids.”

The two men laugh at old memories, bringing Aelin back, as well. She’d been five years old the first time she met the Whitethorns.

Enda was six and Sellene was seven, and the three of them got on like wildfire. Aelin showed them all over the house, even the cool secret areas in places she wasn’t supposed to go. Rowan and Aedion had trailed behind, seeming to get along just fine.

But then, as Aelin showed them the cool secret alcove in the library, Rowan had threatened to tell on them for being where they weren’t supposed to. He’d barely turned around to get out of the room before Aedion tackled him.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, and all Aelin remembered after that was turning to Aedion as the Whitethorns’ car pulled out of the driveway and saying, “I’m so glad they’re gone.”

“Aelin! Come help me chop veggies!” Evalin’s voice from the kitchen pulls her from her memories, and she hurries away from the living room, leaving the two men to chat in peace.

“I’m making chicken spaghetti casserole.” Eleanor says from the stove. The water is at a rolling boil, and her aunt quickly drops in the pieces of chicken to cook while Aelin and Evalin cut up the onions and peppers.

It doesn’t take long before it seems like Aelin has been forgiven; or at least, Evalin doesn’t seem too mad anymore. Aelin tells her that Rowan arrived just fine, settled in fine. Like she’s checked on him since then.

She also makes sure to keep some other things to herself. Like how she knows her mother set up a large suite for him, but she gave him the smallest room on purpose. Or that even though she’s determined to hate his guts, Rowan Whitethorn is unfairly hot.

Hot as hell, and also off-limits as hell. After all, he’s here to recover from his girlfriend dying in a car accident. Hitting on him is… probably the opposite of what he needs.

Even if he’s far too attractive for his own good.

Eleanor pulls the chicken from the boiling water and adds the pasta, breaking the noodles in half before she drops them in. Aelin is busy grating cheese now, while her mother sautees the veggies.

Someone comes inside, opening up the creaky screen door and stepping into the entryway. Aelin peeks out of the kitchen to see her uncles, Orlon and Weylan.

“Something smells good.” Orlon laughs, already heading for the kitchen. Aelin meets him halfway, grinning, throwing herself into her great-uncle’s arms.

“You’re home!”

Orlon laughs at that, planting a kiss on Aelin’s golden head. Weylan comes up beside them, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “We’ve barely been gone a week.”

“Well, you missed my coming home party. Everyone was there.” Aelin pouts playfully.

Orlon just keeps smiling, shuffling into the kitchen to snatch a piece of boiled chicken, much to Eleanor’s dismay. She’s busy straining the pasta, getting ready to assemble the casserole and put it in the oven. She slaps Weylan’s hand away before he can take a piece, too.

“Uncle, did Mom tell you that she’s letting a strange man stay in our house?” Aelin asks, grinning fiendishly.

“Aelin,” Evalin sighs, “He’s not a strange man, he’s a family friend.”

“She did tell me.” Orlon chuckles. “Poor sucker.” He uses Eleanor’s distraction to take another piece of chicken, making Aelin’s aunt nearly squawk.

They all fall into conversation easily, the whole family crowding the large kitchen. When Aedion gets back from town, he’s just as excited to see his uncles.

Aelin hadn’t realized how much she missed this; the easy-going personality of Orlon mixed with Weylan’s snark, the laughter of her aunt and uncle, the feeling of togetherness. This, right here, is her family. Her people.

Rhoe pulls a few beers from the fridge, tossing one to Aedion and Gavriel. At Aelin’s protests, he gives her one too.

“I’m twenty-one, Dad. I can drink now.”

“Legally, at least.” Aedion grins. Aelin elbows him sharply, and her cousin doubles over, coughing.

All of the commotion draws Fleetfoot into the kitchen, and nobody can resist her cute begging face. Before Eleanor can get the casserole fixed up properly, the dog has already eaten what seems half the chicken, snuck to her by nearly every person in the room.

Aelin finishes her beer with a contented sigh and tosses the can, heading to set the table at her mother’s insistance. Despite the fact that she’s twenty-one and Aedion is twenty-six, they’re still the youngest members in the house, meaning all the mundane chores get thrown on them.

When the plates and cups and silverware are set, Evalin hands her daughter the cloth napkins. Aelin looks up at her, confused.

“Why are we being all fancy? It’s just us.” She asks.

“Have you already forgotten the guest sleeping upstairs?” Evalin sighs, clearly exasperated. “I want to give him a good impression.”

Aelin rolls her eyes, but sets out the fancy napkins anyway. By her standards, Rowan Whitethorn deserves absolutely none of this fuss. Really, she should have just gone out and gotten them all Whataburger for dinner.

But since she doesn’t have a death wish, Aelin doesn’t talk back to her mother. The napkins get set, the casserole comes out of the oven, piping hot and ready to eat.

“Aedion, go wash up.” Eleanor tells her son. “Aelin, how about you go and get our guest? I’m sure he’s starving by now.”

Aelin trudges up the large staircase, muttering obscenities under her breath.

“What was that?” Her aunt calls back.

“Nothing!” She answers. Screw the stupid mother sense that allows her to hear back-talk from nearly a room away.

Upstairs, Aelin hurries to Rowan’s room, on the furthest side of the house from her own bedroom. She wasn’t exactly lying about all the rooms being taken, but maybe she wasn’t completely truthful, either.

All of her friends stayed for a few days after the party, not ready to head home just yet. They’d spent the days in one room or the other, often accompanied by multiple bottles of wine, and just talked. She felt as though she hadn’t seen her friends in ages, with school just being so busy.

Now, seeing as everyone is finally gone, only a few rooms on the upper floor are taken, truly. Hers, Aedion’s, one for her great-uncles, and one for her aunt and uncle. Her parents’ bedroom is downstairs, leaving several rooms vacant that Rowan could have taken.

However, Aelin didn’t want him anywhere near her, which meant the furthest, smallest bedroom possible. She walks to it quickly, knocking impatiently on the door.

“I’m coming.” A muffled voice on the other side of the door says. Aelin tuts loudly and taps her foot, crossing her arms.

“It’s time for dinner.” Aelin calls.

The door opens, and Aelin hates how she has to look up at the bastard. His silvery hair is mussed, likely from sleeping on it. However, the bags under his eyes suggest otherwise.

“Are you coming?” She snaps. Rowan doesn’t say anything, just steps outside, running a hand through his hair in a failed attempt to tame it. Aelin turns away, feeling warm. He has absolutely no right to be so attractive, and it feels strangely intimate, walking in on him just waking up.

“It’s chicken spaghetti casserole. And the rest of my family is home, so try not to say anything too stupid. In fact, maybe just speak as little as possible.” Aelin leads him downstairs, heading for the dining room.

The less she looks at him, the better.

~~~~

As exhausted as he was, Rowan hadn’t slept a wink. A fact that pains him more and more with each step downstairs. His head feels fuzzy. And hot. Why is it still so fucking hot? How do these people handle it?

“Rowan!” He looks up to see Evalin Galathynius, arms wide open, pulling him into a sudden hug. Rowan tenses up, eyes widening. Over her shoulder, Rowan has a clear view of Aelin snickering at his misfortune.

“Please, come sit.” Another woman, one who looks almost exactly like Evalin, gestures to the large wooden table. Rowan takes a seat awkwardly, trying to force a smile to his face. He fails miserably.

“This is my sister, Eleanor.” Evalin smiles. “And her husband, Gavriel.” She introduces the rest of the people, and all Rowan wants is to go back upstairs and sleep.

The Galathynius family is a sight, that’s for sure. He always thought that Aelin and Aedion looked similar, but looking at Evalin and her sister… they’re practically twins.

At least the food is good. Probably incredibly unhealthy, being mostly pasta and cheese and breadcrumbs, but good. And the other people make up all the conversation, so at least he doesn’t have to speak too much.

If only he didn’t have to speak at all. The dog- what was its name- nudges his legs, and he can hear it panting beneath the table, begging for scraps. He tries his best to push it away discreetly.

“So, Rowan.” Gavriel tries to make friendly conversation, pulling Rowan away from staring at his nearly empty plate. “What’s New York like at this time of the year?”

“Fine.” Rowan doesn’t offer any more information, hoping to keep himself closed off. “And it doesn’t feel like the fires of hell.” He mutters under his breath.

Rhoe Galathynius bursts out laughing. “Ain’t that the truth! Hell, it’s barely June! Only gonna get hotter from here, son.”

Yay.

“I’ll take your plate, Rowan.” Looking up, he sees Aelin giving him a simpering smile, somehow paired with a death glare. He still hasn’t figured out why she hates him so much.

He passes her the dirty plate and silverware, and Aelin moves to offer the same to her uncles. She takes them through to the kitchen, the dog crawling out from under the table to follow her.

“Thank you for making dinner, Mrs. Galathynius.” Rowan says to the woman sitting across from him. She beams.

“Of course, sweetheart. And you can call me Evalin.”

“Anybody want ice cream?” Aelin yells into the dining room. “We got some Blue Bell left!”

Everyone calls back for ice cream, though Rowan is silent. Sure, something cold sounds nice, but he’s already full from dinner. Not that he’s had much appetite lately.

When Aelin returns, the dog yet again on her heels, she’s balancing several bowls of ice cream in both hands, and she places them expertly before her family, a real, genuine smile on her face.

“I hope y’all like it. There’s none left now.” She laughs. Getting a scoop of vanilla on her spoon, she lets the dog lick it off with a smile.

“You don’t want any, Rowan?” Evalin asks sweetly.

“No thanks.” He responds. “I’m already full. And… I’ve had a long day, I think I’m going to bed, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Get some sleep.” She smiles.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Blue Bell ice cream, man.” Aedion laughs from his seat. “This is the good shit. Sure you don’t wantney?”

Struggling to understand the thick accent, Rowan shakes his head quickly, offering another apology. He practically sprints upstairs, Aelin’s hysterical laugh ringing in his ears.

Despite it being nearly seven o’clock, the sun is still bright and hot, gleaming through the windows onto his bed.

Rowan flops down onto the comforter, wincing as he lands onto the patch of burning sunlight. Rolling over, he reaches for his phone of the nightstand.

Several missed texts and calls from friends and family meet him. Enda and Sellene’s are most prominent, wanting to make sure he’s arrived safely. There’s one or two alerts from his parents, just confirming his thoughts that they’ve shipped him down here to get him out of their hair, not because they’re worried for him, and then several from his friends, Fenrys and Lorcan.

In fact, right as he unlocks his phone, he gets another call from Fenrys. With a sigh, he answers it.

“Oh shit! He’s alive!” Fenrys chuckles, and Rowan can practically hear the troublemaking grin.

“Yeah, whatever. What do you want?”

“I’m checking in, man.” Fenrys says. “How’s the lone star state?”

“I’m literally sleeping on the set of Gone with the Wind, so…”

His friend laughs at that. “Well, at least you get to to sit around and drink beer and see hot women all day.”

Something in Rowan’s heart tugs violently, and he brushes it off with a laugh that sounds forced, even to his own ears.

“No, it’s too fucking hot to go outside. It was seriously almost 100 degrees this afternoon, and it’s only going to get hotter as summer goes on. I’m not going to survive the heat.”

“Well, man, you’re in luck.” Fenrys says. “Because if you’re stuck inside all day, at least you’ll have friends.”

“The only people my age in this awful town hate me.” Rowan snaps. “What are you planning, Fen?”

“How about Lorcan tells you.” His friend nearly cackles. Rowan hears the sound of the phone being passed over.

“Hey, Ro.” Lorcan sighs. “I can’t believe I let Fen talk me into this. Even Connall managed to resist him.”

“What’s going on.” Rowan asks, suspicious.

“I am currently holding two plane tickets to Houston, Texas!” Fenrys cheers. “We’re coming down to cheer you up!”

“What the hell.” Rowan groans. “Did either of you think this through at all? Where are you even staying?”

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow.” Fenrys calls, Lorcan having put the phone on speaker.

Of course. Fenrys’s family is filthy rich, so he clearly has the idea to just find a hotel nearby and crash, not caring about expenses. Although Rowan is touched his friends care enough to come all the way down to see him, he can already tell this is going to go badly. Very badly.

“All the nearby hotels are shitty.” Rowan tells him. “So just warning you. Everything in this stupid state is dusty and hot and ugly.”

Lorcan says something, but is interrupted by a loud knock on Rowan’s door.

“Hang on; I’ll call you back.” Fenrys protests, but Rowan doesn’t listen, just hanging up the call.

He walks over to the door, trying to reign in his groan. Why can’t he just be left alone?

It’s Aelin at the door, of course. It seems she’s taken it upon herself to personally torment him.

“I’m just letting you know, we have church in the morning. We leave at nine o’clock. If you need some nicer clothes, just take some of Aedion’s. You know, since this whole state is dusty and hot and ugly.”

Rowan groans at her words. Of course she heard him. Before he can say anything more, Aelin shuts the door, hard.

He’s been here for less than twenty-four hours, and yet he’s already messed something up.

Typical.

~~~~

a/n: so, in Rowan’s POV, I made sure to add a bunch of words and vocab not included in Aelin’s. Why? Because a Southern accent is something else, man. Of course Rowan’s going to notice it more, not being from the south, while Aelin has been listening and speaking like that her whole life. Also, the ‘wantney’ wasn’t a typo. Saying ‘want any’ out loud with my own southern voice smushed the words together, so I decided to do that here.

Comment to be added/removed from the tag list!

@http-itsrebecca

@rowaelinforeverworld

#throne of glass #tog #tog au #rowaelin #sarah j maas #sjm #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #fenrys moonbeam #lorcan salvaterre #aedion ashryver #southern au #tog southern au

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desiree-harding · 6 years ago

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Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Based on that one post by @thepensword about how Taako is always cold. Can be found here. Plus an idea I’ve had for a long time but never written about.

Cw for swears, kids. Be safe out there. But other than that it’s light angst with a fluffy chaser and a dash of Lore.

Enjoy!!!

*~*~*~*~*

Positively stomping through the streets of Neverwinter, Taako, for the thousandth time, curses the city for its positively idiotic name.

“Neverwinter”, his ass. Maybe they should have gone with “UsuallyWinter,” or “JustAsMuchWinterAsAnywhereElse,” or “CanWeReallySayThatAnythingOnThisOneSunnedPlanetIsn’tWinter.”

Because, you see, Taako is cold.

Taako is always cold.

It’s a holdover from a plane long behind them. Two-sunned elves have different traits than those of Faerun. Ears that move. Different colored eyes.

Different body temperatures.

Taako is a sun elf. A sun elf from a planet with two suns. He was made for warmth. More warmth than here. And even on two-sun he ran a little colder than the other elves he knew. But there, the extra warmth was enough to compensate. He’d tan in the summer, he’d soak up the rays and wear sleeveless shirts and live for the suns.

Faerun has one sun. On Faerun the long sleeves and pants, the heavy coat with the dozens of pockets he wore adventuring were more than just good sense - they helped him stay fucking warm.

It’s not even fair because Lup isn’t even cold all the time. Lup feels fine. Mostly. She gets a little chilly but it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix, and now she’s a Reaper and something about that helps too (Taako doesn’t know what). Taako’s body doesn’t work that way. And to top it all off, ever since Wonderland, when those fucking liches stole some of his vitality, it’s gotten even worse.

The snowy winter days in Fucking Neverwinter are hell to the multiverse’s favorite wizard, because no matter how many layers of coats and scarves and gloves and enchanted wizard hats he throws on, he can’t get warm.

He turns off the road, starts making the hike up the hill to his house which looks out on the Stillwater sea. He liked the walk when he bought the place. Lined it with trees and flowers that Merle and Pan blessed to grow big and beautiful.

He bought the place in the summer.

Magic should help. It doesn’t. First lesson he ever learned on the road with Lup: no matter how good a wizard you think you are, you never directly influence body temperature using magic. It’s too powerful, too volatile. Transmutation on the body was a risk they were willing to take. Watching your sibling’s blood boil just because you got a little chilly was not.

He finally makes it up to his front door, pushes inside, and sighs in relief.

Ever since the first chills of autumn in the city, every fireplace in Taako’s home, of which there are many, has been running almost nonstop. Is it a fire hazard? Probably. Does Taako give a shit? Maybe ten percent of one. He’s got more money than anyone else in the damn planar system. He can buy a new house.

(But he likes his villa-styled sprawling house by the sea. Likes the herbs in the window boxes and the flowers in the front and back. Likes the view of the water. It would be a shame if it burned down.)

The fireplaces help. But not enough. Never enough.

He takes off his outermost layer for the sake of the snow caked on it, but keeps on everything underneath it. Stupid, he thinks, to wear a full coat and scarf inside of his own house. But he doesn’t know any other way.

He walks through the foyer, and there.

The man of the hour.

Kravitz.

He’s reclining on the couch, close by the fire, book in one hand and glass of red wine in the other, wearing his usual suit without the jacket and shoes. He looks...

Well.

Taako knows how he looks (miraculous).

The worst thing about the winter is the space it’s put between him and his boyfriend.

Six months after Story and Song, and Taako, against all odds, is living with Kravitz. As in, Kravitz lives in his house. Kravitz drinks his wine and moved in his books and plays piano here and sleeps in Taako’s bed.

Well, most of the time.

Kravitz, who’s hands were ice cold on his and Taako’s first date, who tried to warm himself up for their first kiss, is fucking freezing to the touch in the winter.

It’s been a solid couple of months since Taako and Kravitz have cuddled without at least three or four layers between them, and by then Taako could pretty much have just bought a weighted blanket for all the good it does him. It’s hard to satisfy that craving for skin contact from the person you... care about when said skin contact feels like hugging an ice sculpture.

Kravitz looks up, puts down his glass of wine.

“Evening,” he says, mildly, as though testing the waters. And that’s what does it for Taako.

“Hey,” Taako says, immediately turning into the kitchen, not looking at Kravitz, because he just can’t.

Ever since the winter started, and Taako, out of necessity, started shying away from Kravitz’s touch, things have been... weird.

Taako knows that Kravitz isn’t the kind to speak up about this kind of thing. They’re working on it, but it’s been so long since he’s been in a relationship, so many mortal things are new to him. Taako knows this. And yet... breaching this issue, to which Taako has no solution, trying to communicate to Kravitz that he wants him while constantly having to push him away is... frustrating. What Kravitz wants is for Taako to be happy, for Taako to be comfortable. He says it constantly. He insists. And it’s the insisting that’s the problem.

Because Taako knows that even if he’s not saying it, Kravitz isn’t happy either.

And now when Taako comes home, and tries to spend time with his boyfriend, there’s all this horrible... space between them. When Taako’s cold, it seeps into his words and his actions, until all of him is cold, not just his body, not just his skin. Until he’s cold to people he cares about, and apologies come slow and with difficulty, and then the damage has been done.

Taako starts on a simple soup, no energy to make anything flashier, and still refusing to use magic in the kitchen. He hates the way all the extra clothing gets in the way of cooking. Hates the way the warmth of the stove only does so much.

Kravitz eats with him that night, and they talk, but it’s a weird, shy conversation, both of them anticipating what comes after.

What comes after is Kravitz sitting on the other side of the couch pretending to read while Taako shivers and pretends too.

What comes after is Taako going about his evening routine before slipping into bed in a full onesie and under about five blankets. It’s Kravitz dressing in flannels to try to shield Taako from the coldness of his skin, and then the two of them, side by side. Lying on their back and staring up at the ceiling, as they wait for sleep to come.

It’s a long wait, when one of them is an elf and the other doesn’t sleep naturally.

And there’s the thing about Kravitz: he’s not just without warmth. He’s actively cold. His body radiates cold like a living person’s radiates warmth. It’s only been a few minutes and Taako’s already shivering.

“I’m sorry,” Kravitz says from his side of the bed. And he sounds so fucking defeated and sad and Taako feels bad but he also feels annoyed. Because he’s cold. Because why can’t Kravitz just be a normal fucking person. Because Kravitz won’t talk to him and he won’t talk to Kravitz and this whole situation is just a goddamn nightmare.

“Not your fault,” Taako says, but the words have been said so many times they hardly mean anything anymore. He can feel how flippant they sound. He can feel the way they don’t sink in, how they bounce off Kravitz’s skin like Taako doesn’t care.

I do, he tries to broadcast. I promise I do.

“I think maybe it would be better if I stayed up tonight.” Kravitz says, like it’s an idea he’s only just had, not something he’s been saying nearly every night these days, like it’s not the new normal, like he truly believes that they still sleep in the same bed and touch each other and they aren’t on the verge of -

Kravitz slips out of the bed, pads gently out of the room and shuts the door behind him. And Taako turns over in bed, ignoring the tightness in his throat and trying, desperately, to get warm.

*~*~*~*~*

Candlenights comes, as it always does, despite the coldness in Taako’s house and his heart.

And Taako’s happy for it, really. He didn’t harbor any delusions about everything being beautiful and shiny and sparkly so close to the apocalypse, and in the aftermath of it. The world is still healing from a colossal wound. But he’s hosting, at least. He’s always been a good party planner. Lup is there and so is Barry. Merle comes up from the coast with his kids. Magnus and his dogs. Angus, visiting on his break from school. Davenport is still abroad, and Lucretia is conspicuously absent (no amount of begging from Lup could convince Taako to let her into his house), but it’s... good. Cozy, almost.

Taako even cooks for everyone, Lup assisting, and ignores the careful distance Kravitz keeps from him and from most of his family. The meal goes off without a hitch, save Taako’s shivering. He can see the sympathetic eyes Magnus keeps making at him, wants to glare and snap and tell him to fuck off, but he doesn’t. Just because the cold makes him crabby doesn’t mean he has to be an asshole.

He has a thick will blanket wrapped around him elegantly, like a shawl, while they’re unwrapping presents. Lup smiles brightly at the diamond earrings Kravitz got her, and Taako’s heart swells a little. Angus loves his books. Kravitz gets Taako a set of jewelry done up in gently curling silver and sapphire and pink tourmaline, because he’s a romantic, and Taako tries to ignore how... wiggly it makes him feel.

He wants to kiss him. He doesn’t.

Taako saves Lup’s gift for last, as is tradition.

It’s a tiny little box, which Taako had first been terrified was from Kravitz and then relieved wasn’t, and it’s as light as a feather.

Because, Taako discovers, there’s nothing inside.

Nothing, that is, except a tiny ivory card with scrolling golden text on it. It reads:

Command word: flambé.

Love, Barry and Lup! :)

“What the fuck, Lulu?” Taako asks, turning the card over and over in his hands.

“Oh fuck off, Taako,” Lup says good-naturedly from Barry’s lap. Gross. “You’ll thank me later. Well, thank us.”

And isn’t that fucking cryptic, he thinks. But Lup is Lup. His sister is fucking weird, and he brushes it off in favor of drinking more wine.

It’s a good day, mulled wine and carols and gift-giving, but as all good days do, it winds down sooner than expected. The guests go off to their many rooms, Taako’s house big enough to host them all (by design), and before he knows it, he and Kravitz are headed to bed.

It’s the same old charade. Kravitz goes through the motions, and Taako does too, and it’s awful and stilted and he just wants it to end.

It’s not fair, he thinks, staring at the the bed while Kravitz is still futzing around in the bathroom, a charade of mortality. Kravitz is good. Taako likes him. He’s nice to talk to and doesn’t make Taako feel like he has to perform. He’s a big old nerd and actually really compassionate and sometimes an entity of absolute chaos and he’s perfect for Taako, he really is. So why can’t he just have this? Why does there have to be fucking... roadblocks in the way?

Taako expected things to be hard. He expected having to make things work. Sometimes Kravitz is gone for days going after bounties and Taako can deal with that. There are elements of mortal life Kravitz has to re-learn, and he doesn’t know how to interact in just.. normal society sometimes, and Taako can deal with that. Sometimes he’s a real asshole and gets prickly and offended and impatient after a bad day and Taako can deal with that.

He doesn’t know how to deal with not being able to touch him for months at a time.

He’s shivering just standing there. He needs cover.

But when he pulls back the comforter the sheets are a deep fuchsia. And while it’s a nice color, it looks nothing like his usual ones.

There’s a piece of paper like a letter, there, on his side of the bed under the comforter. It’s the same as the card he found in lup’s gift, and all that’s on it, in that same gold ink, is a winky face.

Taako sighs, long and deep. Because with Lup these things are always a gamble. Is it a gag gift? If Taako says the command word, will his bed explode? He has a horrible flashback to the memory of his first conversation with Kravitz, which was about tentacle porn, and Lup heard it from the umbrastaff, and now she’s given him enchanted bedsheets. Taako pales at the thought.

But here’s the thing: it’s late, and he’s tired, and he can always shut it off because he’s the best wizard in all planar systems, and he’s curious.

He stands, contemplating, cold as balls, for another minute.

And then he says, very deliberately,

“Flambé.”

And for a second it looks like nothing happened. And then it really looks like nothing happened. And then...

Taako can feel the warmth just from standing next to the bed.

It takes him about 0.04 seconds to hop in after that, to pull the sheets up around his shoulders and bury himself under the covers up to his chin.

It’s heavenly. Warmth from all sides, and Taako sighs, long and deep, as he feels tension in his muscles all over his body, held from weeks and months of being cold all the time. Already he can feel the chill in his veins slipping away. He can feel the warmth reaching the core of him, strong and comforting.

He can feel his face flushing, and the warmth rushing up into his long ears.

And then it gets warmer.

And warmer.

Uncomfortably warm.

Taako’s sweating, he realizes. He’s flushed, not in the comfortable way of sitting by the fire. He’s hot like a beach day, hot like a desert plane. He throws the covers off above the waist. It’s not enough. He’s too hot. Much, much too hot.

The door to the bathroom opens up and Kravitz steps out.

“Oh thank god,” Taako says, without thinking, “get the hell over here.” He holds up the blankets on Kravitz’s side of the bed, gestures for him to get in. Kravitz is staring at him like he’s grown an extra head. He slides into bed, slowly, tentative, and Taako practically throws himself on top of him.

The relief of his cold skin isn’t enough through the flannel pajamas Taako’s wearing. He goes for his shirt buttons.

“Taako,” Kravitz says, “what’s happening here?”

“Damn enchanted sheets from Lup are too fucking hot,” Taako grumbles, pulling his shirt off and squirming around with his pajamas pants until those are off too. He tosses them across the room.

Laying across Kravitz’s chest is such a relief. It’s like cold water on a hot day, and Taako spends a luxurious moment running his hands over his chest and shoulders, nuzzles into his neck and revels in the coolness on his face. He sighs, goes boneless against his boyfriend. He feels wonderful.

Kravitz’s arms come up around his back, tentatively holding him, and it hits him.

“Oh shit,” he says, half sitting up. Kravitz looks him in the eyes, questioning.

“That was Lup’s Candlenights gift. It was...” he licks his lips. Why is it so much harder to say things than it is to feel them? “It was this,” he says, running his hands over Kravitz’s chest again.

Understanding dawns in Kravitz’s eyes, and he smiles at Taako, and his smile is like the sun on a warm day.

“Glad I can be your ice pack,” he says, smiling.

“Shut up,” Taako says, resting his head back down, feeling more than hearing the happy little hum Kravitz makes. He snuggles a little closer. Kravitz’s arms tighten around him.

“I missed you,” Kravitz whispers.

And what can Taako do in response to that but kiss him?

“I missed you too, handsome,” he whispers into Kravitz’s lips.

#taz balance #taakitz #taz taako #taz kravitz #taako taaco #kravitz #my fic #desiree: the tumblr sessions #thepensword

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chrysalispen · 5 years ago

Text

xxii. men who know their secret safe

She was awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep precisely an hour before sunrise, as light shimmered sullen and gray on the very edge of the timberline. The small partition that passed for her sleeping quarters were unlit, and she blinked owlishly into the near-total blackness, trying to get her bearings while fumbling with the laces of her kurta.

"Look alive, novice." This growled from what she could glimpse of the stooped figure, standing by the small window on the other side of the partition. "Henceforth your day starts as early as does mine. Up with you. Trevautioux's already gone out for the day's hunting."

Ewain was as good as his word, it seemed.

Suppressing a yawn, Aurelia drew herself to dirty stocking feet upon stiff and sleep-wobbling legs. Her back ached from the narrow hardness of the wooden cot and the cabin was cold and damp - to say naught of her hair, which likely resembled a destroyed bird's nest from all her tossing and turning. She combed at it with clumsy fingers.

Her erstwhile teacher watched her preparations with ill-concealed impatience.

"By the Matron," he groused, "you're slower than a three-legged eft."

"Surely you were not planning to walk 'round and make your introductions of your new whipping girl to the townsfolk at half five in the morning," came her retort, made quite surly for her lack of proper sleep. She rolled the scratchy, worn fabric up to her elbows. "The good townsfolk whom, I daresay, would be remarkably unappreciative of any accidental revelations about an imperial prisoner in their midst."

Rather than the scowl she'd half-expected the Hearer laughed, a chesty guffaw that ended in a wet cough into the elbow sleeve of his stained and rumpled hempen robe.

"I believe I'm starting to see why E-Sumi-Yan insisted on ridding himself of you, girl," he said. "You'll want to work on that bedside manner of yours if you hope to become a successful healer worth the name."

"It would appear the Guildmaster did not inform you that my lack of experience lies wholly within the context of conjury." With an attempt at neither softness nor grace she plucked the lantern from his fingers to hang upon the hook that dangled from the nearby rafter. "I was a chirurgeon when I served in the army."

"Aye, well, mayhap 'twould serve you best to keep your prior experience to yourself - or lack thereof."

"I beg your pardon," the Garlean snapped, now quite offended.

"You heard me. You're to smile and nod when we make our rounds later today. These folk can be prickly - and to my way of thinking, 'tis best that a lass with a sweet face and a shrew's tongue be seen and not heard in any case."

The stare Aurelia gave him was hard enough to strike sparks upon flint. He ignored it.

“I’ve already roused your Keeper friend,” he said. “I assume you want to wash before you eat. You’ll need to draw and boil your own water for that. You can make use of the buckets by the door; there’s a stream that runs behind the house. Make sure you boil the water before you use-”

“I’m aware,” she said shortly, already turning her back and making her way for the door.

One glance at the sky as she stepped outside revealed a sliver of pink dipping its toes into that sea of dull grey. The sun would be rising soon.

Aubin sat a few fulms away on the far edge of the porch; his ears swiveled forward at the sound of footsteps, but other than a soft whine the old wolf made no move to aggress her. He watched her movements with a sort of guarded curiosity as she reached for the wooden bucket on its peg by the door and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders.

The wolf seemed to lose interest once it was apparent that no food would be forthcoming; he yawned in a display of yellowed teeth, then dropped his greying muzzle back to his paws.

She made her way down the steps. It was a cold morning and twice-frozen snowmelt made the trek to the river muddy and fraught with slipping hazards. She moved with care, hopping from outcropping to outcropping like a mountain goat, making her steady way down the incline towards the creek as Ewain had bid.

The currents in the center of the creekbed still flowed unimpeded, but the slower-moving waters along the bank were trapped beneath a layer of dirty ice. With barely a pause the Garlean lifted one foot to stamp on its surface; it was obvious at a glance that the ice was far too brittle and thin to hold any substantial weight, much less withstand a blow.

A bright and shallow crack snapped through the morning silence as she stooped to fill both buckets with cold water before lugging them back up the steep hillock from the bank to the porch.

She had to set the bucket down to remove her shoes and hang her cloak on the peg over the others, then awkwardly kick the door open. The Hearer didn’t react to the sound of her entrance. All of his concentration was bent upon the heavy pot over the fireplace. Even Keveh’to’s glance in her direction was brief (if somewhat apologetic) before returning his attention to the wood he was feeding into the hearth.

So she continued past the men with buckets in hand to the partition with the tub. Aurelia had learned from her sojourn in Gridania how to use the crystal-powered camp stoves that the Eorzean Grand Companies used in their pavilions: shards of fire crystal were set into the space between the pilot switch and the range top to send aether into the coiled heating element.

She had not, however, seen one of these stoves employed to heat a bathtub before, and was a bit surprised to see that the Hearer had such a luxury in his house-- if anything, she had thought she would be expected to spot-wash herself with thawed icemelt. It was a relief to know that would not be the case. The water warmed in short order, and as she settled in with the soap bar to wet her hair she listened to the muffled bits of conversation on the other side of the partition.

“Might as well go ask the garrison if they’ve aught to be done about town,” Ewain was saying gruffly. There was the hollow rattling sound of a trencher smacking against a ladle. “Eat up.”

“I’ll be coming with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“The hells I won’t. She’s my job.”

“She’s my job too. And she’ll not be able to accomplish what needs must with you dogging her every step. You’ll only be in the way.”

“If you mislike my presence so much,” Keveh’to said stiffly, “then make your complaints to the Grand Company. Or Brother E-Sumi-Yan.”

“I’m not saying you can’t do your job. I’m saying it’ll be easier for you to do your job if you help out with the watch. There’s all of three full-time Wailers here and I’m sure they’d appreciate another pair of hands, especially if the help was volunteered.”

“The villagers we saw yesterday didn’t look very appreciative.”

“Do your bit and they’ll warm up over time.” She heard the Miqo’te’s sulking sigh, followed by silence and pouring liquid. “Here. I think it oversteeped a touch, but it should still be drinkable.”

“Mm.”

“Anyroad, if you get bored walking about the village alone, there’s a rest stop about a half-bell out.”

“The Druthers, aye. We passed it on our way.”

“Aye, that’s the one; a decent watering hole from what I hear tell.” Another clink of the ladle against the pot, and Hearer Ewain grunted. “Wouldn’t kill you to try and make nice with the owner, too, while you’re here.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“Well, think harder, lad, because I’m not asking you to stay out of our way. I’m telling you.”

“Commander Heuloix-”

“I don’t give a shite for some stuffed shirt behind a desk in the city. I’ll not be having a bleeding soldier along on my rounds.” Aurelia heard the clatter of a walking stick, and through the edge of the partition she watched the old man hoist himself to his feet. “The villagers will start asking questions and before you know it you and your friend will be the talk of the village. Won’t be long before rumors start if they haven’t already-- and I’m willing to bet your secrets don’t guard themselves half as well as they should. Nor hers.”

“Come now,” Keveh’to scoffed, “Aurelia’s not stupid.”

“She’s not,” agreed Ewain, and the subject of their conversation nearly dropped her washcloth in surprise. “Unaccustomed to Eorzean ways, to be certain. But the last thing any of us needs is for wild rumors about the new conjurer in the village to be running rampant. If she’s being trailed by an armed escort every second of the day, it’ll only prompt awkward questions-”

“Awkward, my arse. Just say what you mean, oldtimer. Inconvenient, more like.”

“-and offering your sword arm - or bow arm, if you like - to the watch takes that pressure off the both of you,” Ewain finished as though he’d never been interrupted. “Novice! You can stop eavesdropping now. Get dressed and get out here so you can break your fast. We’ve places to be this morning.”

Aurelia said nothing but let herself fix the blank face of the hempen curtain with the most ferocious scowl she could muster. Seven hells, this was like being ten summers old all over again, if not worse. Even L’haiya hadn’t been this much of an autocrat; surely he didn't plan upon haranguing her for the most trivial of infractions every single day...

Well, sitting about sulking in cold bathwater and turning into a prune surely won’t impress him nor anyone else. Get moving.

The cabin was cold and it took her a few tries to work her fresh set of smalls on for the shivering, but once she had warm socks and breeches on it was more easily managed. After pulling the simple robe over her head she pulled the curtain aside.

“Leave the water. We’re running behind as it is,” was the gruff response. “If you-”

“I’ll see to the tub,” Keveh’to interrupted. It prompted a startled glare from the old man, who’d clearly intended to lecture. “Come get your food.”

Breakfast turned out to be more frumenty (and Aurelia was certainly becoming tired of porridge with cinnamon by now, but there was little to be done about it); she all but shoveled the trencher’s contents into her mouth between sips of the mint tea from her tin cup, then hurried into the back of the room to grab one of her bags.

Her hand lingered over the carbonweave strapping of the field kit before some unknown instinct caused her to shove it back in the cabinet, and she grabbed the leather herb satchel with her logs and inkpots instead.

“Don’t get too fancy with that,” Ewain said when she came out, fumbling with the square of hemp in her hand. “As long as they can’t see it without attacking you you’ll be fine. Just a light covering under your hood will serve. Put your boots on so we can go--and… you there, lad.”

“The name is Keveh’to, Hearer,” the Miqo’te said, no small note of irritation in his voice.

"Thought it were Sergeant Epocan." The wrinkles around Ewain’s eyes deepened into canyons as he squinted and pointed one gnarled finger in the younger man’s direction. “Well. Keveh'to, then. You mind what I said. No following along behind, you hear?”

“I heard you the first three times you told me,” was the grumbled response, one that went largely unnoticed as the two conjurers made their exit.

The old Hearer wasted no time in herding her down the small stone path and through the gate. She rearranged the covering on her head just in time to flip the hood up as a pretty Midlander woman of middling age came strolling towards them with a basket of dried grass listing upon one hip.

“Good morning, Hearer Ewain,” she said with a friendly smile, one that became guarded and painfully polite when turned upon Aurelia herself--only a glance, but a glance was enough. “Going into town, are we?”

“Morning, Mistress Frieda. Aye, I’ve a new fledgling under my wing and I thought ‘twould serve her well to know where you lot live, in case it’s needful. I won’t be able much longer to come running to your doorstep every time one of those boys of yours takes a fall from a tree.”

To Aurelia’s surprise, the woman - Frieda - offered a bright laugh, shifting the basket in her hands.

“Oh, come now, I’ve not had to call you nor Conjurer Trevautioux since last spring.”

“Aye, I'd be that surprised if you had, lass, seeing as there are no trees to climb inside a cabin.” His free hand clamped down on Aurelia’s shoulder and she had to steel herself not to jump. “...This young lady here is Aurelia, my newest pupil. She’s been sent to us fresh from the Conjurers’ Guild in Gridania to learn how the job’s properly done, and I thought I’d take her about the village. You’ll be seeing much more of her in the future.”

Feeling unaccountably awkward, Aurelia offered a quiet “good morning,” unsure what else might be expected of her. In the end she settled for a middle ground and inclined her chin towards the woman in what she hoped would appear as a grave but amiable greeting.

“Good morning to you, Conjurer,” Frieda’s smile was still rather polite, though Aurelia thought it had thawed perhaps a degree or two for Ewain’s introduction, “and welcome to Willowsbend. You’ll find this part of the Shroud a good sight different from the big town, I'm sure- but I’d never want to live anywhere else. The forest and the elementals provide all that we need.”

“Indeed.”

“Really, you’ll find no lack of things to do about the village. Why, just the other day, I-- Blessed Nophica,” she gasped, eyes wide, “my distaff! I’ve got to be along, a pleasure meeting you both, good day!”

Aurelia blinked as the woman, suddenly flustered, dropped a quick curtsy before dashing back the way she came.

At her side, Ewain cackled. “And that forgetful lass will be Frieda Miller,” he said. “I cut the cord myself on her nameday and was there for all four of her sons to boot---though that goes for most of the village these days, I wager. She’s right though, you’ll find no lack of things to do here.”

“Shall I be allowed?” Aurelia asked. “I assumed I’d be kept busy with other duties. About the cabin and such.”

“Only during certain times of the year, and now that we’ve four pairs of hands about the place I’m not opposed to you using a bit of free time to get your feet wet and learn about your new home. The village was hit hard by a recent illness-- one that came from soiled waters. We aren’t sure how much of it lingers still; that’s why I told you to wash up -- and they could use the help.”

She nodded, silently wondering if the damage she’d seen to their walls came from the falling moon or something else. It didn’t seem extensive enough to have been caused by shrapnel.

“Besides,” Ewain said, apparently taking her lack of response for agreement, “I wager they’ll take a bit more quickly to a lass who shows she’s willing to get her hands dirty. Now, come this way. We’re stopping by the Starke place first.”

She shifted the bag on her shoulder, bowed her head, and measured her pace so as not to stray too far ahead.

The morning wore on.

~*~

Keveh’to stepped onto the porch, tail lashing hard enough in his agitation to thump against the door he’d closed at his back. The pathway leading into the village square was, other than a few souls and the odd pig wandering through the muddy road, empty. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. Winter still had a grasp, if a slowly weakening one, on the Shroud.

The Keeper sighed, his ears flattened against his head. Wisps of his own hair tickled them uncomfortably but he barely marked it for his worry.

“I mislike the feel of this place,” he muttered aloud.

Were this Gridania, Aurelia would be here, and she would chuckle at his remark and make some wry-tongued jest about it. That thought made the invisible and oppressive heaviness on his shoulders seem to weigh him down further. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having her there until she suddenly wasn’t, and the maddening thing was that he knew she hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

She’d become a friend, a good friend, and that surprised him more than anything.

Keveh’to Epocan was entirely unaccustomed to the notion of having friends. He had acquaintances aplenty to be certain, but ‘friend’ was a category of acquaintance rather more intimate than a professional relationship allowed, and he was rarely willing to be so trusting with others. He’d drifted about the fringes of Shroud society most of his life, as all too many Keepers did. Becoming an adventurer had brought him neither coin nor glory nor camaraderie.

Even the formal affiliation with a Grand Company brought with it only the structured drudgery of rank-and-file military existence. When the newly instated Commander Heuloix had called upon him to mind one of the VIIth Legion soldiers taken prisoner by the Alliance in the wake of the disaster, Keveh’to had been none too thrilled. In truth, he had seen it as a punishment detail. Keepers and Duskwights in the Twin Adder (whether any of the Grand Company's officers wished to admit it or not) so often drew the short straw where such matters were concerned.

He was painfully aware that he’d been saddled with this “privilege,” simply because no one else was willing to damn themselves by association in volunteering for the duty. But he’d taken the job, of course. What else did they think he was going to do? It wasn’t as if Keveh'to could be more of an outcast than he already was. A tolerable local nuisance, one of three boys born to a mother who’d left them with relatives before she had disappeared into the depths of the wood, and that when he was barely three summers old.

And really, no one else was going to look after the safety of a godsdamned Garlean, not of their own free will. Not even a Garlean that the Seedseer had seen fit to spare for reasons unknown.

Might as well be him.

Thus, with no small amount of underlying rancor Keveh’to had watched his charge struggle to find her feet in a place full of people who hated her kind and would have liked naught better than to see her fail. Watched as she endured the same sort of hostility he had- that many outsiders had- from the townspeople. It had been almost every day on her way to the Fane, in those first weeks. The Stillglade Fane, where it had been the prisoner’s lot to deal with more hostility in the form of conjurers and chirurgeons who - at best - refused to trust her with aught save the most menial of tasks.

It reminded him, with a sort of bitter irony, of his own treatment growing up.

At first he had found himself with little reason to care beyond following the letter of his duties. Oh, there was little love lost between himself and Gridania’s townspeople, of course; he was precisely as fond of them as they were of him. But the fall of Dalamud was a different matter altogether and a pretty face and a lady’s fine manners didn’t change the facts. She had been a cog in the machinery of an invasion force, one which had quite nearly broken the land itself.

His charge was a living, breathing symbol of imperial oppression. Small wonder few had pity to spare.

Still, he had marveled in silence at the breadth of her patience, for Keveh’to knew he would not have been able to exercise the same level of discretion and self-control were their positions reversed. The snail’s pace with which the Gridanians were willing to give her or the other prisoners any chances at all often frustrated Aurelia, and she was of a certainty no saint; she had let her temper get the better of her tongue a time or two in more private settings.

But she had never once given into the urge to become truly embittered by her treatment. If anything, she seemed so sorry for her own part in it that she seemed to have quietly accepted their harsh treatment as the punishment she was due.

Before he realized it, his own attitude towards her had started to thaw little by little until he found himself looking forward to their trips into the forest. He’d found her wanting in the beginning, and now he found himself wanting for the company of one of the few friends he’d ever had. It wasn’t the old man’s ire that gave him pause now, it was the possibility of her disappointment in him.

As galling as the old bugger’s grouchy lecture had been, he had to admit (however grudgingly) that the man’s assessment was a valid one. If Keveh’to wanted Aurelia to be successful during her time here, he needed to call as little attention to her as possible, and if that involved giving a bit of slack to her leash then he would have to do just that.

But something about the woods here did make him feel uneasy. Keveh'to didn't like feeling watched.

Yet that was what he’d sensed not a quarter-malm past what folk called the Druthers, little more than a rest stop composed of two thatch houses and a tavern. Eyes that had lingered until they came within sight of the perimeter of the village, and by the fidgeting he’d felt at his back he suspected Aurelia might have sensed it too.

With all of that in mind, Keveh’to amended, perhaps Hearer Ewain’s suggestion to befriend the villagers hadn’t been as daft as he’d initially thought.

He shifted his shoulders beneath the weight of his worn gambeson, paused, and decided to leave his yellow Twin Adders overcoat hanging on its peg. This was just a visit, he told himself, a means to feel out the mood of the local garrison-- or what passed for one-- and offer his assistance should they deem it needful.

The reaction of the villagers he passed was, he thought grimly, no less hostile than he’d expected. The suspicious glares, mothers dragging their children out of his reach, fading smiles, eyes hastily avoiding his: every bit of it the reception a Keeper could expect in most small villages in the Shroud. Just as he'd told Brother E-Sumi-Yan, this one appeared to be no exception to the rule.

Keveh’to bore it with the stoic mask he had so carefully built over longer years, making his way down the muddy main thoroughfare as if he had noticed nothing and would not care a whit even if he did.

Security in a village this size would have been an afterthought at best to the Twin Adder. The Grand Company’s purpose was specifically to fight Garlemald; defending the Shroud itself came a distant second, and only where they were needed to bolster ranks. The Wood Wailers existed for the latter purpose, though even at a glance he had seen yesterday that their presence in this place was equally minimal.

Out of the dozen faces he’d seen along the wall to accost them, only three had worn the monoa masks typical of the forest guardians. But he still didn't rate his chances against three Wailers if they decided to deem him hostile.

Best tread carefully, he thought.

He took care to approach the wall from as open an angle as he could manage, bow and quiver on his back, hands exposed and posture relaxed. The Wailers at the gate watched him approach with visible tension. Although their faces were hidden from his sight, he could see how tautly the strings of their bows were drawn, the nocked arrows, the adjustment of the grasp upon a lance, the slightest crouch into a battle stance.

They wanted a fight and he wasn't here to give them one, as much as he would have liked it.

Mildly he said, “A good morning to you.”

One of the Wailers chose to simply ignore him; the point of the arrow did not waver.

The other relaxed his stance, though he was in no wise unprepared to fight. His tall and lanky frame marked him as an Elezen even were it not for the sight of his ears, pointed and prominent as they were behind carved ash.

“You came in with that conjurer yesterday,” he said. The flat, unimpressed undercurrent was no less obvious for being muffled behind the mask. “What do you want with us?”

Keveh’to supposed the truth would serve as well as aught else he could say. “Under advisement from Hearer Ewain, I’ve come to offer my services to the watch.”

The pair exchanged long and meaningful stares before those unsettling and near-featureless masks turned back on him.

“Why?”

Taken aback by the question, he countered, “Why not?”

“Why would an outsider care about a place like this?”

“Friend,” Keveh’to said with a patience he didn’t feel, “hard times have fallen upon us all, and unless I miss my guess, there are all of three Wood Wailers to protect this settlement. I can’t imagine that three of you against a full war band of Ixal is anything like a fair fight, to say nothing of any other dangers that might prowl the woods.”

“You won’t-”

“I am an adept hunter,” he said. “I know the forests very well- and as you can see, I’m a deft hand with a bow if I do say so myself.”

The man's posture, notably, had by now relaxed further to something almost approaching casual. By all appearances, Keveh'to thought, he was no longer considered a threat.

"....you said you belong to the Grand Company?"

"That's right. Sergeant Keveh'to Epocan."

An impatient sigh issued from behind the blank surface of the mask.

“Very well,” the man answered. “Since you insist upon making yourself available, Sergeant, then I wager we might as well make you useful. You are hardly Wailer material but the wall can always use more eyes, I suppose. Follow me.”

And that was how, within the first twenty-four bells of their arrival in Willowsbend, Keveh’to Epocan of the Twin Adder found himself deputized as the village watch’s first and only Miqo’te volunteer. It was, he thought, almost as hilarious as the realization that they harbored the Gridanian Conjurers’ Guild’s first and only Garlean novitiate.

With any luck, he thought wryly, no one would ever be the wiser.

#chrysalispen writes #reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris

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1000roughdrafts · 5 years ago

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Family Secrets: Chapter Fourteen

Town That Never Stops Smiling

Summary: Being transported to Teraw leaves you tired and confused, but the path to the truth is a long and needy road.

Warnings: slight angst, slightly OOC Dean

W/C: 3.2k

Masterlist/schedule

The four of you walk in silence through the field and onto a dirt road. Walking towards the bridge, you peer over at the glistening water underneath it. Dean squints at her, shaking his head, "all right. So where we headin'? Motel? Get some grub?"

Allanah giggles, "no. Here, there are no hotels, as they have no need for them. No one is allowed to travel between the regions without a request from the Head of the Region. From there, the Head provides them with a place to stay, whether that be in his or her own quarters, or at a volunteers. On the topic, we need to be careful about how we interact with the people and places here. It's big enough that we won't be noticed right away, but if we stay in one place too long there are going to be issues," Allanah says while you make your way to the start of the bridge.

"Uh, so what happens if we do get caught?" Sam asks in a whisper, looking around at the decaying bridge and trees that surround it.

As sweet as can be, Allanah smiles, "think American TSA meets intense CIA interrogations," she smirks. "In other words, let's just not get caught." Dean frowns which puts her attention onto him, "you're going to struggle with this the most, Dean, I can already feel it. But Y/N, you've felt it deep down, haven't you? A mother's love is not to be taken lightly, even beyond death."

You keep quiet, peaking over at Dean. He holds contempt in his face, trapped behind that stoic expression but easy to see the swirl of emotion in his eyes. He wants to scream out and ask questions, but what could he say? He has children, or at least a past version of him did and he knows nothing of it, but Y/N does?

Luna - June 26, 2068

Teraw - Region 3

Complete darkness goes so well with shattering silence. I have known nothing other than the darkness and cherish the quiet. The only thing I hate about the silence is that it traps me in a world of uncertainty. With nothing to grip onto, I succumb to the thoughts raging in my mind like an ocean under a full moon; but it is a beautiful thing.

Just as I am trapped in my mind I am trapped in my body. No movement in my arms, torso, hands, legs, feet or face. I can not open my eyes, nor can I move my lips. Absolutely nothing works anymore. Well, almost nothing. Miraculously my ears can hear anything from a train passing by to a mouse three stories down.

I am surrounded by so much noise in the day that I look forward to the treacherous words my mind whispers to me as I lay to sleep. I rely on my ears so much these days, as it's the only sense I've got left. There's this single sound I hear more than anything. It has a set pace, just as a metronome would tick along to keep the beat of a song. Beep. Beep. Beep. I don't live like many others, they say I'm lucky to be alive at all.

I hear my family as they trickle in, their footsteps are quick and loud. It breaks my concentration on the ticking. The stepping stops, I hear sniffling, deep breaths and then suddenly, "Luna, it's your mama. Can you hear me?" Yes, I hear you. I want to say it.

"I should start at the beginning," Allanah sighs, slowing her walk to a gentle stroll. "The two of you, Shirley and Bill you used to be called," she laughs lightly. "You enlisted me as a," she motions her hand around, scrunching her face, "guardian of sorts for your five children, quintuplets," she laughs again. "Wren, Ana, Tullie, Aidan and Luna."

You and Dean lock eyes, "Luna?" he says, pointing at you, "the girl that's-"

"Indeed," Allanah lets out a long breath, watching the ground somberly. "It's very sad what has happened to her," she says. "There's evil in this realm that neither of you could predict. It's what sent me back to Earth, locked me out. It wasn't until after I'd ended things with Crowley and found Y/N that I remembered who I truly was and what you created me to be. I needed to do something, anything, to bring the two of you back to this realm to fix what had been broken."

Coming to a stop at the start of the bridge, Allanah looks into her hands, "your children, they," looking back up between you and Dean. "They are very powerful, yet they don't know it. Not anymore, at least."

"What do you mean?" Sam tilts his head.

"Each of them possess qualities and powers of an element specific to Earth. When Bill and Shirley created this realm, you split the children up into regions. This was done to protect them, or so you said. Teraw was specific to Luna, but with you two gone and evil sneaking in, the regions had grown a mind of their own," she lowers her voice, "it's gotten out of control. Ana was born in Inequescent, but with the latest reincarnation, the family Ana was brought into grew tired and she was adopted by a family here in Teraw. What I know to be happening soon is that because of Luna's sickness, Tullie will be requested to come help her. Horrible things are in store for the regions, unless we can stop it.”

"Like what?" Dean asks.

"This evil... it wishes to gain control of the other regions. After that, other dimensions... like Earth."

Tullie - June 6, 2068 Hemort - Region 4

A day off is a luxury when one has specialized skills in the medical profession, at least for those in Hemort. I usually try to wind down and relax on those two short days, or tune into my favorite channel to watch some gushy movies about how everything always works out in the end, and everyone is just so nice. They make me sick, and yet I can't bring myself to watch anything else. In my day to day life, I don't always get to see the happy endings. Moreso, with my line of work, I see death more than any sane person should. And that begs the question; am I really as sane as I believe myself to be?

I admire the house on the screen and the characters who live in it, wondering what it would be like to have a big house with a yard and a cute dog who gets to enjoy it. There's not much of that here, only the Elite live on large plots of land. Instead, I rent this quaint apartment with the ceiling to wall windows I'd dreamt of having since I was young. When the new owner bought the complex, she planted the most beautiful garden and elegant, tall trees on either side of the building, which is better than the concrete nothingness that resided there before.

Pausing the movie, I unravel myself from underneath the blankets to make some tea, although I'd never be able to make it as calming and tasty as my mother had. The storm doesn't help to calm me either, with the trees rattling against the windows and begging to come inside. While waiting for the kettle to boil, I close the blinds and play the movie. I could stand to miss a little of it if it means I don't have to listen to that screaming sound the wind makes.

While adding honey to the mug in preparation, my phone rings. I'm not expecting a call, so I don't scatter to answer it. I pull the kettle and turn down the dial on the stove before going back to the couch to rummage through knitted blankets for my cell.

"Hello," I say, putting the phone between my ear and shoulder as I make my way back to my tea.

"Hi, Tullie," the voice says, calmly and sweetly. I spill boiling water onto my hands at the surprise, and curse myself for not checking the caller ID. How dare he call me at this hour.

"What do you want, Dan?"

After a heartbreaking pause, he speaks out, "this is not a personal call, okay? I don't care how you're doing. I don't want to know what you're doing. I don't even care if you're hiding from the storm in a cup of tea right now, or watching those stupid puke inducing movies, I-" I hear him sigh, "this is about the hospital," he says swiftly.

"Mine or yours?"

"Why would I be calling about yours? Listen, I have my hands tied on a case over here. I could really use your help. No one has a clue on what to do. They put me on this, but," he pauses and his voice shifts down a tone, "I'm really in over my head."

"How does no one there know what to do? Your hospital is the best out of all five districts."

"This case is really strange, Tu-"

"Don't," I sharply cut him off and take the phone in my hand before he can finish my name. "Please, don't call me that. It's Doctor Marion."

There is a silence between us as I make my way back to the couch, gripping my mug with both hands and the phone resting back on my shoulder.

"You know I wouldn't be calling you if I wasn't out of options, but this girl," he sighs. "She's been out for three weeks. There is nothing in her medical history that would help to explain her state. Her parents have no idea what happened, they said they just found her like this."

"Okay, so assuming it's a coma," I say, mostly thinking out loud. Then back to him, I condescend, "are you sure it's not locked-in state? Er, what about psychogenic unresponsiveness?"

"Of course, what do you take me for?" he says in a short, agitated breath. "Look, it's absolutely a coma with no explainable source. We've taken MRI's and Cat Scans and still can not locate the site of her brain that's causing it."

"Were there drugs involved?"

"No, we did blood work after taken her vitals. No drugs in her system, vitamin levels are all normal and we've been monitoring her brain waves while she's been here. It's like she went to sleep one night and just... didn't wake up."

"It sounds like you've done everything I would have, so why are you calling me?"

"Tu - Doctor Marion, I know you-"

"No, you knew me," I softly yell, foolishly pointing a finger in the air as if he were in front of me. Quieter now, I keep a harsh tongue, "I'm not the same person I was then, you played a huge role in that. I changed myself for the better. I never wanted to hear from you again. The last thing I need is to be reminded..." I trail off before the tear in my eye can drop and listen to the actors giggling on the television.

"Reminded of what?" Dan asks, in that same torturous way he'd always comforted me in the past.

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to bed. You'll get an answer tomorrow." Forgetting the tea, I barricade myself in blankets and cry myself to sleep.

As you walk along the bridge, Allanah continues, “for the first long while that I was here, things were fine. The churches were full, as were the pubs and shops. That’s the way many enjoyed it for a great while, but when those who opened their eyes fought back?” She sucks in air through her teeth, “well, let’s just say blood was shed, and tears were shared.”

She moves her hands around and slows her steps, “allow me to take this back in time. They followed a set of standards. A hierarchy of social standings and if one was not near the top, they were not worth a loaf. The weight of one’s standing held in community intervention in threefold. It started with the preparation and bringing about of their first church. Many thought that if one was of fellowship they were among deities.” She laughs softly, “as I, the only guardian of this realm, knew there were no deities, just little old me. It was comical. And per the two of you, I was never allowed to step in or intervene.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter under your breath, watching your steps along the bridge.

“Blacksmiths, clergymen, doctors and carpenters were just below, and seen as noble. Those however that farmed land, crops and livestock were seen at the bottom. Along with butchers, dairymaids, tailors, barbers, and the like were noted to be Sepulchers. It’s worth noting, that this system was not one that you two brought in place.”

“Sepulchers?” Sam twists his face.

“No one had an inkling as to why, but it was surmised that it was in reference to those folk being just as untitled as the many of the graves placed just outside of this bridge.”

Dean folds his lips down in a nod, looking around at the piles of dirt outside of the river and under the bridge.

“After segregating with an older congregating with an older woman who called herself Minerva, it was she that determined there was power in numbers. There were more of them than there were in the fellowship and just as one might catch a second wind, they found their strength. It started at first with the announcement. The Town Crier, also among the Sepulchers, had begun his course into the Town Whisperer, and could be found in the benighted area, or circumferential. They conspired many gatherings and prepared for battle, if need be so. The churches grew ever suspicious as their totality grew by the day. Minerva conducted the rough fifty to leave their work for another day,” she sighs, “and then another. This war lasted for years, reaching all five regions and the only thing that I could do was try and protect your children, and carry them through their reincarnations. I had made many, many attempts to reach out to the two of you and all had fallen short.”

She focuses on the boards of the bridge and the squeaking they make as you walk over them, “a man by the name of Henry took to ending the war, and was appointed the Head of Teraw for his efforts. This man’s son is now the Head and Luna’s father in this realm. I wasn’t here to place them into the proper families,” she sighs, “and now I worry he’s stirring up trouble.”

Ana - June 6, 2068

Teraw - Region 3

These briefings make me feel less of who I want to be. I understand the importance of putting together the minds of professional colleagues to come to a conclusion on how to move forward with whatever case we happen to be discussing. However, as someone who works in healthcare, forgive me for stating that I find them to be quite menial. It's usually the same act every day; Dan will turn up late, I drum my fingers on the table, Mary doesn't say a damn word and Nathan does most, if not all, of the talking.

I'm mid-yawn through one of Nathan's monologues as a pink-haired woman wearing sweatpants, a tank top and a light cardigan walks in. I can only assume she is lost with the confusion draped on her face, so I stand to redirect her. Nathan, the natural born leader that he is, smiles and holds a hand out to her.

"You must be Doctor Marion. I'm Chief Nathan Scott. Dean speaks very highly of you." Her confusion is overtaken by a smile as she accepts the greeting, "I understand your decision to be here was quite rash, so we'll excuse the lapse in dress code this one time," he jokes.

I mask a chuckle by returning to my seat and shuffling through my papers. He pulls out his pocket watch and just barely inspects it before looking back up at her. With a careless wave of his hands and a slight shrug he says, "Dan should be arriving soon. If you know him like we do, you would know he's late to everything."

She laughs softly, looking at her feet. "Go ahead and take a seat right there, next to Ana." He gestures over to me and smiles. I do not. "She doesn't bite, I promise." I might.

"Enough," Nathan says as if he's heard one too many of Dan's jokes. Then again, we all certainly have. Dan glides across the room, briefcase in tow, and plops into the chair next to Mary. "First of all," Nathan goes on, sitting at the head of the table. He pulls a stack of papers from his own briefcase and shifts to Doctor Marion. "I need you to look over and sign these before we can proceed, for patient privacy and all that."

"I understand," she squeaks out and inches her chair close to the table. She smiles when she's finished and pushes the papers back to Nathan, who inspects them thoroughly before carrying on with his speech.

"Now, miss Luna's case is of high priority and exceptionally confidential." He classically folds his hands together and leans slightly into the table, facing me and the new doctor. "You see, her parents are what makes this town what it is."

"And what is that, exactly?"

"Powerful," I scoff.

Approaching the end of the bridge, Dean grips onto your arm, pulling you to face him. “I want to know what’s going on. Damn it, Y/N, we haven’t talked in... ten months, and - and now we’re in an alternate dimension where apparently our kids live, and...” he flops his hands down at his sides, looking around before taking a step closer to you, holding up a finger, “and you knew about them?”

“No,” you sigh, “I only had a feeling about it, I - I didn’t know for sure. I don’t even know how to explain it, it was just this gut feeling...” you trail off, not really understanding the whole thing yourself.

Dean rolls his eyes, so you push on, “look, Dean, I’m sorry that you got dragged into this, but-” you take a deep breath, forcefully letting it out. He turns his eyebrows down, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what else to tell you,” you breathe. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? That I never should have left? That I wish none of this was happening in the first place?”

He continues to glare, and you take one small step towards him, your bodies merely inches from each other.

“You never should have left, Y/N,” he scowls. “We were heading here from the beginning, Y/N. The only freaking difference is that we spent ten months apart from each other,” he says, voice crawling back into animosity. “I don’t know if I can trust anything you say to me now.”

You drop your voice to a whisper, “I am sorry, Dean, for everything. I’m sorry that I left, again, but we - I can’t change any of that now, so we just gotta get through this, and when we get back home... if we get back home, we can go our separate ways if that’s what you want.”

After a long pause, his face softens slightly, “no,” he says. Clearing his throat, his eyes move around your face, “no, Y/N. That’s the opposite of what I want. I want you. Even through all the shit we went through, I was happy with you. Why can’t you see that?”

Next Chapter

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#dean winchester x you slow burn #dean winchester x you enemies to lovers #dean winchester x angst #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x yn #dean x yn #dean x female reader #supernatural #supernatural fandom #dean winchester #spn #supernatural fan fic #spnfandom #spnfamily #sam winchester #spn fanfic

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xxisxxisxxis · 5 years ago

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Gateway Drug | Part Seventeen

Part Sixteen

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx X OC

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning(s): Language, Sexual Situations

Tag List: @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif

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My legs are shaking, lip's swollen from enduring the abuse from my teeth and Nikki's, my skin's covered by a sheen of sweat, my cheeks are hot and tear stained from crying and my nails are sore from clawing at the sheets, Nikki's skin, and sometimes even my own skin, to vent a little relief from the relentless, aching pleasure being forced through my body repeatedly with no end.

He's given me a minute to catch my breath, and I take full advantage of it.

He's happy with himself at my expense, standing at the foot of the bed, tapping in to his bottle of Jack, looking at me like I'm his prey.

Thoughts are running through his head like a wildfire, the look in his eye as he tilts his head a little is almost scaring me because I was ready to tap out an hour ago, but he doesn't know how to just stop. Once he gets going, he goes through the night, and he hasn't even came once, yet.

I close my eyes for a split second, which is a mistake, because I feel warm liquid hitting at my sensitive nipples, washing over the rest of my chest and down my ribs, my eyes flying open in time to see his tongue lick it off of me.

A weak moan leaves my throat, my hands coming up to move through his hair, arching in to him. His soft lick turns in to a rough bite on my rib, and I cry out, groaning a little, but I still wrap my legs around him.

"Nikki, please." I beg, tears coming back to my eyes and he looks up at me. I don't know if I want him to stop or don't want him to stop.

He gives one last kiss to both of my breasts before pulling off of me and tugging at his pants after dropping the empty bottle on the carpet.

There's no way in hell I want him to stop.

I mentally talk myself in to getting up on my knees, ignoring the overly sensitive flesh between my legs, and crawling to the edge of the bed to meet him.

Once he's got the zipper pulled down, my lips are brushing against his chest, tongue coming out to lick his collarbone before my teeth nip at his neck.

His hand goes to my hair, pulling my lips to his in a bruising kiss.

My hands rest at the top of his pants, my skin being electrified by his enticing touch as his fingers run up my ribs, and back down to grab at my hips.

Reaching out to get him out of the remains of his clothes, his hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me just as I'm about to grab at him.

"What is it?" I ask him, quietly.

"I fucked someone else and I'm being reminded of it, right now." Is what he should've said. But he didn't.

"I'll be right back." He says in the same tone, taking a step back from me and I furrow my brows.

"Where are you going?" I ask next, seeing him dig through his bag but I don't see what he gets out of it before he heads to the door.

"Nothing. I'll be back in a minute." He assures me before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

I wait for him to come back, but once I realize he's been gone longer than ten minutes, I throw my T-shirt back on and go to find him.

Just as I'm about to open the bathroom door, he's opening it sloppily, the smell of peculiar smoke wafting in to my nostrils, nearly knocking me to the floor.

"Damn it, Nikki." I rub my forehead, holding my breath and opening the bathroom window above the toilet, seeing the lighter and spoon he used on the side of the bathtub.

He's so stoned he can barely walk, holding on to the door frame to keep from falling over with his droopy eyes and slow reflexes.

I grab the spoon and lighter, and help him back to our room.

"Sorry." He mumbles nearly incoherently and I sit him on the bed.

"You can't screw me without being on something, can you?" I ask him, noticing there hasn't been a completely sober moment of sex in our entire relationship.

He just blinks at me slowly and I exhale softly, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Sorry." He repeats himself.

"Okay, Nikki." I don't feel like trying to argue, helping him get tucked in before I crawl under the covers on my side of the bed and try to get some sleep.

The next morning is accompanied by sausage, waffles, bitter black coffee and a silent tension that stakes its claim between Nikki and I...mainly because Nikki's hugging the kitchen's trash can while Nona holds his hair back and his grandad stops chewing his food for a moment to tell him, "you lay with dogs, you catch fleas."

"Tom." She scolds him.

"Glad to see you haven't changed much, Rockstar." His grandfather continues.

I assume Nikki was partying while living with them, too, and this is nothing new to them.

Nikki hacks a few more times before he doesn't have anything else to hack up, and I feel guilt rattle my bones at how pathetic he looks.

My appetite is suddenly gone.

"You need to go get cleaned up." Nona tells him softly, wiping his mouth with a wet paper towel.

I stand up from the table and hand my plate of left overs to her, and she hands Nikki over to me.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He groans out, holding his head as I help him to the bathroom.

"You know, one of the perks of being sober is not waking up feeling like Satan is splitting your head open." I inform him in a near whisper to avoid hurting his head anymore than it is, sitting him on the closed toilet seat.

He glares at me and I brush his hair from his eyes.

"It's a thought." I shrug, helping him out of his shirt and turning on the shower.

"Get in with me." He requests with closed eyes.

"You had the chance of doing whatever you wanted with me last night, for the first time in months but you chose heroin over me."

He doesn't say a word because he knows it's true.

"I got on it to help with my shoulder and finish my parts of the album so it would be ready in time." He tells me honestly.

"And your shoulder's healed now, Nikki. So why are you still bothering with it?" I ask, looking at him.

"It's not like I'm injecting the shit, Vivian." He argues, getting defensive. "Go read your Bible or pray or something...anything."

His words sting, feeling as if a thousand wasps have let hell rain down on my body, but I'm too prideful to show a shred of hurt and he's too prideful to admit he's being a jerk-off.

"Okay, Nikki." I go along with it, not wanting to have a fight with his grandparents in the house.

By the time he's finished cleaning himself up, I'm turning another page in Proverbs while he steps in to the room and changes in to a T-shirt and torn up jeans.

Neither of us says a word to the other before he grabs his hairspray and comb and walks back to the bathroom to blow dry his hair before teasing it.

"Nikki!" Nona's banging on thebathroom door over the noise of the dryer, causing him to turn it off. "Me and Tom are going to town, is there anything you kids need?" She asks when he opens the door and it's silent for a moment.

"I need another bottle of Jack." Nikki tells her casually and she breathes out.

"We're not getting that for you." She scolds and he groans.

"Fine. I'll get it tonight." He plans and she lets out a weighted, "Mmhmm." Before walking back up the hall.

He goes back to doing his hair and I go back to reading, marking notes on the margins of the page.

"Where'd you get that?" His voice is blurting, curiosity woven thickly into it and I glance at where his eyes are caught.

The bracelet on my wrist.

"Tommy, his sister and his parents gave it to me while they were visiting." I mumble.

"Oh..." He replies, going to his bag and digging around it.

"I put it in the zipped pocket." I say without having to think about what he's looking for.

"I'm not looking for that." He argues and I raise a brow.

"Sure you aren't."

"Okay, Viv, I'm serious. Just drop it." It's a demand that takes every nerve in my body not to argue with. "This is suppose to be a nice thing for us and I really don't want to spend the next six days arguing." He explains and I breathe out and shut my book, setting aside and falling back on the mattress.

"You're right." I agree softly, pushing my pride aside. "Sorry."

"Yeah, me too." He admits, collapsing next to me.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a small cough before licking his lips a little.

A little grin tugs at my lips, and I stare at him like a creeper.

He peeps one eye open a little bit and looks at me.

"What?" He asks, closing his eye once more and I shake my head a little.

I love you, you idiot. That's what, I think to myself as I continue to look at him.

"Nothing." I lie, my fingers reaching out to brush over his skin, the scratch of regrowing facial hair prickling my fingertips. "So while we're here..." I start, rolling over to him, resting my chin on his chest as I look up at him. "Any crazy ex-girlfriends I should be worried about?"

He opens his eyes and thinks for a moment, rubbing his lips together.

"I honestly don't remember."

No, there weren’t any crazy ex-girlfriends. Yet.

"Have you ever blanched peas before?" Nona asks me, the next day, and I raise my brows.

"Blanched peas?" I repeat, blinking at her.

"You know, you pick the peas, shell them, rinse them, blanch them, package them?"

I don't say a word and she nods slowly.

"Well, you're going to learn how to right now." She tells me and I'm all for it.

"Okay." I stand up as she motions for me to come to the counter where she's got the giant bowl of rinsed peas sitting by a pot on the stove.

"I do about three cups at a time." She explains, taking a measuring cup and scooping in three loads of peas in to the pot of water.

Turns out blanching is basically boiling the vegetable for a little bit to keep it from going bad as fast before putting it in the freezer.

"Now, the peas that are floating at the very top are bad and need to be thrown out." She tells me, taking a spoon and getting the bad ones off the top of the water. "You can get the foam off the top, too." She adds, using the same spoon to scrape the foam building up from the boiling water.

She walks me through the entire process, in detail, as if I'm ever going to blanch anything in my life after I leave here, but I absorb everything she teaches me like a sponge, considering it well learned knowledge that could someday come in handy.

"I tried reaching Nikki how to do this." She chuckles out and I look at her with slightly furrowed brows. "He was about sixteen at the time and accused me of trying to 'domesticate' him, is what he said, if I remember correctly." She laughs to herself, adding more peas to the water. "Apparently rockstars don't cook."

I stay quiet for a moment, licking my lips nervously before finally asking:

"What was he like?"

"Oh, dear, it depends on what day it was." She rubs her forehead, thinking for a moment. "He's always been incredibly smart, but he didn't really apply himself all that much unless it was something he was interested in. He excelled in music class, but his other subjects were always the bare minimum average and passing grade...until he got to high school and didn't really care for school at all. I'm not sure if he even went to school while he was in Seattle."

"Why was he in Seattle, I thought he lived here?"

"He's lived everywhere." She jokes, but I also feel like she's not kidding. "His mother moved and sister moved to Seattle and me and Tom looked after Nikki for her. We moved anywhere Tom could find work and Nikki always managed to be up to no good, some how, someway. We sent him to live with her after we couldn't handle him anymore."

"He has a sister?" I ask, all of this new information to me.

"His half sister." She corrects herself.

"Well, what about his dad?"

"He's been out of the picture since 1960. Deana's had all kinds of men come and go and Frankie—well, Nikki—never liked any of them except maybe one every now and again."

I furrow my brows in utter confusion.

"Frankie?"

She raises her brows and turns to me, looking at me oddly.

"Tom and I provided him with what we could but there's only so much you can do and kids do whatever they want to do whether you know about it or not and Nikki is very good at doing whatever he wants to do and when he got to California one of the first things he did was change his name."

Once the boiling is over with, she's starting to put the peas in to a colander and rinsing cold water over them before giving me the duty of fitting as many cups of them as possible into quart sized ziplock bags.

By the fourth bag, the front door is opening and Tom and Nikki are stepping in to the kitchen, Nona greeting the both of them warmly.

I jump a little when Nikki unsuspectedly grabs at my hips and suggestively pulls my ass into him, his lips pressing up and down my neck. My face turns beet red, and I thank God Tom and Nona aren't paying attention. Instead, they're headed out the door so Nona can show Tom where she last saw the Gopher Snake that's been hanging around their house.

"Will you stop?!" I whisper with a slight laugh, turning to push him off of me.

"You weren't saying that a couple hours ago." He tells me and I get out of his hold, squealing as he chases me out of the kitchen.

Before he can pin me on the couch in the living room, his grand dad is interrupting us by barging back through the door.

"Me and Nona are about to head out for a few minutes, Kids." He announces and I distance myself from Nikki, acting like he wasn't just trying to grope me.

"Alright." Nikki tells him, waving his hand carelessly as Nona grabs her purse.

"We'll finish the rest of the peas when I get back." She assures me and I nod, smiling at the two of them as they leave.

I sat there and stared at him for God knows how long, attempting to make sense of why he'd never given much detail to me about his life prior to living in L.A. and becoming the notorious Nikki Sixx of Mötley Crüe. It took me years to piece together why he'd kept it away from me, but his lack of mentioning any of it never stopped me from trying to get the information straight from the source.

Rain patters softly onto the roof of the house as the window unit fights with the humid air to keep the room a comfortable temperature. It's still stuffy in here, and I'm kicking the old quilts, Nikki's grandmother gave to us as extra cover if we needed it, off of me.

I can't sleep.

"Nikki?" The whisper rolls off my tongue as I face my husband, only able to see the silhouette of his fluffy hair.

"What, baby?" He mumbles incoherently, partially high from smoking heroin out the bathroom window earlier.

"I can't sleep." I say it as if he can do anything about it.

But God knows he tries, even when he can't comprehend half of what I'm saying.

"Why not?"

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"You." I answer honestly, glancing at him in the dark, seeing him roll over to face me.

"What about me?"

"How come you never told me you changed your name?" It's the only thing I can come up with that doesn't give too much away that Nona told me more than he might have wanted me to know.

He sighs out heavily, groaning a little before rubbing at his face.

"It's not important, Viv. Just go to sleep." He tells me gently.

"It's important to me. You know you can talk to me about anyth—"

"I said go the fuck to sleep, Viv." He snaps, suddenly, and I let out a breath and don't argue, burying anymore questions in the back of my mind.

There are some questions I had that night that I still have buried and never bother to ask him.

By day six of our honeymoon, Nikki was itching to get back to L.A.

"Thought you two weren't going back until tomorrow?" Nona asks as Nikki and I double check to make sure we've got everything packed.

"We'll be back to visit plenty." Nikki assures her and she leans against the bedroom door, her fingertips pressed to her lips as a sad expression cloaks her features. "Hey, Grandma, you guys can come visit me anytime you want. Bring the whole damn family if you want." He says after he notices her melancholy expression.

"Nona, come help me with this TV! The damned antenna is crooked again!" Tom calls from the den and she lets out a sigh as she says:

"Oh, Lord."

Once she's gone, I push a strand of hair behind my ear and glance at Nikki, who's zipping his bag up before grabbing it from the bed.

"You know it wouldn't be so bad if we stayed a few more days." I suggest, crossing my arms. "I know your family would really like to have a little more time with you."

"And I'd like to have a little more time with Mötley Crüe, Viv. We start making our rounds to meet fans and talk about the album this week, remember?" He asks me.

"Right. Yeah." I pretend I wasn't even considering the band before I suggested the idea—which I did consider the band, I just don't care at the moment.

We got back to Los Angeles late that night, and within a week, the guys were hitting the ground running.

I arch my brows as Doc discloses the schedule for the next month, glancing back at Nikki from where I'm perched on his lap.

Nikki, Tommy, Vince and Mick all have stars in their eyes as their manager starts popping off headlining tour dates and itineraries for each stop, handing each of us a hard copy of thick paper listed loosely with vague time stamps and descriptions of what all the guys will be doing.

"Twenty-Three cities, one month." Doc finishes waiting patiently for our responses.

"Headlining?" Vince asks, nearly in disbelief.

"Yes." Doc nods, looking awfully proud of himself. "Also, if you turn to the last page," he instructs us and we all follow, turning to the last page of the stack of paper and my mouth nearly falls to the floor. "I secured a slot for you guys to support Ozzy on the 'Bark At The Moon' tour, which preparation will start pretty quickly after tour wraps up."

"Dude!" Tommy shouts excitedly, nearly falling to the floor.

"Nice." Mick mumbles as Nikki and Vince grin like children ready to roll around in some dirt.

"And, Vivian, of course, you're more than welcome to tag along." Doc reminds me and before I can speak, Tommy's cutting in.

"Hell yeah she is." He nudges me with his elbow. "Fuckin' sick, Viv."

"Yeah, sick." I say in a faux eagerness, my hand holding tightly to Nikki's as my nerves start being ground down by worst case scenarios.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mötley crüe #colson baker #douglas booth #daniel webber #the dirt #the dirt movie

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doodles-arts · 5 years ago

Text

Head-cannon: The turtles with a bender s/o

Word count: 6048

Description: This is a headcanon on how the turtles act with a s/o that bends an element, like water, earth, air and fire. Everything changed when the fire nation attacked. There is also a bonus! each of the head canons have a short imagine

pairings: donatellox reader, leonardo x reader, michaelangelo x reader, raphael x reader

Raphael:

-My bad boy here would be smitten over you the second he sees you.

-oh shit? Who’s that’s badass?? You b!!!

-he loves how easy water bending is for you. He also loves the way that when he gets hurt you're the first person at his side, healing him with your special ability

-Your So! Strong. Controlling water and bending takes patience, peace and power. And he’s certain that you have all three

-he’s so beta for you O m g

-he loves your hair!!! The way is moves when you bend. Almost like water

-Your calves and biceps are rock hard. He so vexed over them

-”watch your tongue big red!” You say that whenever he gets sassy with you

-Big red? SUch a turn of for him

-Your both so flirty all the time

-You sneak kisses and touch as often as possible

-“oh please, choke me,'' he says this to Leo- testing his older brother- you pipe in before leo can say anything “I volunteer.” everyone is shook

-raph listens to no one, but you~

-Your so strong, and he can tell because one day a flood breaks through the lair and you tried to hold it all off. There was SO much water, you were grunting in pain as you held it all off to help Donnie as he fixes a pipe that burst

You held the water from pouring through the broken pipe. The water kept building, getting heavier and heavier. You felt when the water was about to burst, ready to hold it off even before it did. Now? You weren’t so sure.

Raph was amazed at how you could hold the water so perfectly it was still; unmoving. “Amazing”, he mumbled. You were holding the water for a good hour, and it was straining on you. After another 20 minutes and you fall to your knees, almost yelling in pain.

”Donnie…. What's taking so long?”

Everyone froze as you fell to your knees. The cloud of water above you rippling. Your arms were trembling as you held up all of the water in the air. The boys checked in on you now and again after you fell. Ralph didn't move from beside you, keeping you company as an excuse to fret over you. Another 10 minutes and your arms were shaking, your back cracking under pressure. You were yelling in anguish, the weight too heavy for you. Two hands pushed your back forward, ”I’ve got you, tiger, take a break”.

You smiled, biting your lip at his gruff voice. ”oh, I think I like that idea!” you said seductively, Raph found this funny and smirked. Though when you let go of all the weight from your back and put them on to his hands, he knew you had to be superhuman. You weighed as much as his weights, good God! He couldn't imagine what type of weight you were holding on your arms. His palms pushed against the part of your back below your shoulders with his hands uncomfortably upside down.

After 30 minutes you could feel Raphael hands trembling, the uncomfortable position as he held the weight of the water was new to him, he couldn't hold on to it well. You felt really bad for him having to help you, but thankfully Donnie finally finished fixing the pipe. You tried to stand but felt your legs falter, ”let me help you up” his warm breath on your neck was driving you crazy!

You sent the water away slowly out of the lair, with Raphael’s help, and into the sewers. ”jeez tiger, you deserve more credit!” he said placing a hand on your waist and rubbed it as you held the water back from flowing through the pipes until Donnie could fix it permanently. ”I think I might be able to forgive you,” you mumbled with a smirk.

-You got him to appreciate you in a few more way after that

-he helped you ”stretch” out the knots out...

Leonardo:

-This calm leader is amazed at your strength

-fire bending takes a clear mind with zero emotion

-and gosh, are you emotionless!

-at first he finds it mysterious, than annoying because you never really paid him any attention, but after getting to know you through Donatello he sorta likes it.

-finding your straightforward and cool headed personality attractive

-Your fire bending is almost as hot as you are

- ha ha, get it?

- you always light things on fire whenever Leo touches you

-The perfect heater. Mickey cuddles you all the time during winter

-leo h a t e s it

-Your hands get super hot and red like an electric stove whoever you get mad

-and your cheeks, when your flustered!!

-Leo finds out that he sucks at flirting with you

-You always light the candles when you’re both meditating

-Oh did I mention, you love tea? And meditating, reading?

-Your both a match made in heaven

-he tries to flirt and drop hints

-Your oblivious, like not a clue

-he finally tells you he likes you and your like, “okay cool, I like you too leo”

- at first he like, what?

-You still don't get though

-You still didn’t know that he liked LIKED you.

-When he further explains it, your shook

He sat quietly, waiting for your response after he had just blurted it out in the kitchen to you. Your eyes focused on your book. You slowly lifted your head with a raised eyebrow, looking back down at your book as you responded. “Okay Leo, I like you too.” His eyes widened and grinned like a maniac!

That was until he noticed your eyes were glued back to your book nonchalantly. He might not have ever had a girlfriend before but he knew that no confession ever ended that way. He knew not to expect, you, of all people, to jump up and kiss him. But he knew that just because you tried to be emotionless didn’t mean you didn’t have any. He knew that your emotions were way to closely connected to your bending.

Clearing his throat to catch your attention once more, it didn’t work. He reached over and gently put a hand on the top of your book. Covering the page you were reading from. “Hey, I’m not sure you heard me, I like you. Like more than a friend, I like the way you smirk when you're smiling and when your nose wrinkles up when your angry”, he got up and walked around the table, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I really do like you, I’ve been wanting to ask, would you be my girlfriend?” Your eyes were wide and the spring in your stomach started to stretch. You tried to keep the fire in check, but this was all new and Leo leaning forward wasn’t making it any easier.

“Yes,” you wanted to be his girlfriend, but you just couldn’t meet his eyes.

Leo wasn’t going to let this moment pass, you never got this flustered, this was his only chance. He leaned in closer to your face and planted a soft kiss on your cheek, but last minute something stung his lips. “YeAuOo!” You had been so surprised that your cheeks had gotten as hot as a stove. “MAh Lipzz” he cried out trying to stop the burning stinging.

Oh no!

-He forgives you though, because the way you heat up your lips when you kiss him is addicting.

-he loves when you kiss his neck, it feels like a sin.

-perfect cuddle buddy in the winter. Mikey lost his privilege

Michaelangelo:

-earth bending takes confidence and lots of emotion, unlike fire

-Your strong, like stronger than normal humans and other benders

-mikey loves your shoulders

-You actually picked him up once

-You like to pretend their are earthquakes to prank him

-he’s s h o o k every time

-he likes when you train, your Amazing

-You make earth roller coasters for him

-for a moment, NY times really believed it to be aliens, all the earth craters and roads that were paved as you bent a track

-once he convinced you to make crop circles in central park

-The news Lost its mind

-Your both a dangerous mix

-like if you mix a mentos and soda in a closed bottle and opened it unexpectedly

-You guys are the couple that don’t understand that PDA can be alil uncomfortable to watch

-This is because of Mikey though, he’s the clingy type

-sometimes your too harsh on others and super cold, but Mikey melts your heart

-Your honestly like a rabid dog, and mikey is your trainer

-he loves how all of your ex’s want you back, but you don’t even bat an eye towards them

-”none of them know how to make me laugh”, “he didn’t know how to calm me down”, “none of them knew how to please me, Like you~”

-oh?? He takes the hint

-he’s loud, and you like it

-a lot of the times your orange underwear is ripped by the end of the day…

-You and Raph are best friends

-Mikey is low key jealous

-one day, your training and he loses it

-You snap at him, than cuddle him because he cries. You coo him back to his happy and goofy self

-You’re never this soft with anyone

-He loves your special attention though

Your sparring against Raph, trash talking each other in the new dojo, an extra space Mikey begged donatello to clear for you, so you could practice your earth bending. Usually your both very loud, yelling as Raph blocks and you bend. The new dojo is big and round with all solid earth underneath. It’s in a hole in the ground outside of the lair, but there’s a pipes that connects the two spaces and Mikey can hear everything from his spot on the couch playing video games. At first he didn’t mind you hanging with Raph, he didn’t care if you beat his butt in a few spars, but then you started leaving him behind to spar with the red cladded giant. And as much as he was a very chill dude, it hurts to feel like second best and forgotten like some toy. He tried to contain his anger and focus on his game. But your voice was intoxicating, your war cries raised goosebumps on his scaly skin. How could he not feel the anger boil and top over as he watched you rough house with Raph on your way back into the lair and laugh. You laughed. Something you rarely did without him. It’s why no one really liked you, it's why he loved your smile so much. Cause you only laughed at his jokes. You only ever smiled at him, it made your smile so much more special. He slammed his controller off and stomped off into his room, angirly flopping on his bed before pulling out the Dsi you got him for his birthday and playing.

Raph gave you the okay to run after him, he never got angry, never got jealous. Oh god, did you mess up again? You always had ex’s leave because you were overconfident and way too sure of yourself. You never understood the whole, not being buddy buddy with other guys. You were stuck up. And as much as you knew this, none of your ex’s were really any fun, but not Mikey, he was perfect. And you were afraid he’s felt the same way, that he’d want to leave. You tried to shake the feeling, he was allowed to be jealous, at least that’s what you hoped it was.

Knocking gently before opening the door, unsure of how to approach an angry Mikey, afraid you’d screw up like you always did. You never knew how to fix arguments or disagreements with your past lovers, you always made it worse. “Hey winky dink” you whispered as you used his nickname, trying to be as sweet as you could. He angrily turned away from you,his shell facing you as he played on the Dsi. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, you knew he was just reacting, and he was allowed to react. You placed a hand on his shell, “baby if you wanna talk about something, I'm all ears. What’s wrong?” You thought that was nice, though your tone was low and sweet… it sounded a little condescending. He shimmed away from your touch. “No” he grumbled, and you were taken aback. Mikey never acted this way! It was out of character for him. You were never good at being empathetic and this was all new to you.

And he knew he was pushing his luck, but he never felt jealousy quite like this before, not knowing how to control himself, he was riding out his anger. But he didn’t really want you to leave. And you didn’t have the heart to leave either. But you also weren’t going to put up with this shit! “Listen here you overgrown yoshi, i’m trying to share a heart to heart with you because I'm afraid of losing you. If you can’t grow up and talk to me, then why the hell make a scene? You should already know I don’t like your brother you dope!” Though you never really said anything insulting except the yoshi part and name calling, your tone was rough. Tough as rock and Mikey didn’t like confrontation with you. He loved you way too much to be yelled at and was extremely sensitive with you.

He whirled around, baby blue eyes wide as saucers. His bottom lip jutted out and started trembling, aw man, your heart started panicking. ‘Here it comes’...

His eyes started to water up, and soon you couldn’t even see his beautiful baby blue eyes under his thick tears. He sobbed, “yoshi? B-BUt he’s FAT. Are you s-saying i’m FAt? Is that w-why you train with R-raph- Cause? Is i-it?” He started mumbling and sobbing nonsense and your chest felt like someone punched their way into your heart and pulled it out. You felt terrible. Like a monster. “No, no, no baby. That’s not it at all.” you cooed as you crawled further on his bed and towards him. Pulling him to your chest and putting his thighs on your lap*. Rocking him slowly as you cood to him how much you loved him and how he was the only one for you. There could be no other in your heart but him. It was only until you started asking him how much he thought you loved him while pulling his face to look at you with his chin. Nuzzling his snout with your nose until he laughed. “There's my laughy-Mikey~” He hid his face in your neck until he felt his cheeks cool down.

You trailed kisses down the side of his face, “I love you Mikey.” He churred in response.

“For the record, yoshi has nothing on me.”

-He loves the way you victory dance and taunt him when you win mario kart

-Your not even good but he lets you win once in while

-You give the best b******

*mikey can be very soft when he cries. Soft boi 100%

Donatello

-computers = hot air

-hot air= heat

-turtle + heat = snappy turtle or sweaty turtle

-he didn’t like you at first

-Your really positive… wayyy too optimistic for his realistic expectations

-one day in the summer Mikey makes a prank with water balloons and when he throws at Donatello, almost wetting his very computers, you blow it away before he can damage the electronics

-after that, he learns to respect you

- a few days later Donatello comments on how hot it is and you blow a cold breeze in to his lab

-he doesn’t realize it until he sees his brothers sweating their asses off in the living room and his room is super cool. And his room is usually the hottest because of all the hot software

-Your sleeping on the edge of the couch, head on the armrest with a hand posed towards his room

-he smiles sweetly, realizing how sweet you actually are. Your not extremely optimistic, your kind and empathetic.

-he works the nerve to invite you to his lab for more cool breezes in exchange to help you with your homework. You agreed.

-as you work, he sees how hard you try, your a fast learner

-he likes watching you work and doze off

-he starts to notice how beautiful you are

-You stare at him Alot

-why?

-Best free air conditioning

-everyone fights over you in the summer, Donnie usually wins

-Your just so good at your bending that it isn’t even tiring to bend cold air around the room

-Your really level headed, but your always happy

-You always make him feel better

-You’re really tiny

-like is it normal? He loves how those buns look on your head

-The way your baby hairs move cutely around whenever you air bend

-oh shit.

-he’s head over heels now. bam.game over

-he makes you a pinwheel that plays 3D images whenever you air bend wind in to it

-You Love it, you jump into his arms and give him a huge hug

-he Confucius

-hugs back, and loves the way your hair smells, wishes he could hug you more

-one day you tell him how much you like his eyes and his mind is blown

-You find this funny

You’re packing your things away to go home and as you pass Donatello and bid him goodbye you remember something that had been on your mind lately. You turned around sharply and stood still for a second. If you did it, would he return the thought? Would you overstep a boundary? Well, there was only one way to find out!

Walking back to Donnie’s lab with a huge grin and a pep in your step, walking back into the lab and walking towards his computer chair you took a deep breath feeling the air welcome you and feel your confidence build a little more. “Mikey, no I can’t help-” cutting him off by grabbing the sides of the computer swivel chair and turning him around to face you. You smile and he straightens his glasses, he gulps in confusion when you lean in to his face. Small enough that you don’t really lean down even if he is sitting, he finds that sexy/ adorable. You tilt your head and stared harder, leaning in closer and he leans back into his chair, cheeks on fire. You reached forward and pulled his glasses upwards with a gentle smile, “uhhh-” “-You really do have beautiful eyes!” He pulled back fully in confusion hitting his head on his swivel chair from pulling back so strongly. His glasses fell on his snout and slid down, you giggled before pushing them upwards before leaning to his left cheek and giving his hot cheek and blow of cool air and a quick kiss.

“See ya donn-” there was a tug on your wrist as your turned around. Feeling giddy you turned back around and face the pretty purple turtle. His mouth opened and closed in a faint attempt to gather himself and say something, he was making a bigger fool of himself, damnit. “I think I can help” you uttered sweetly while lifting his chin and leaning back down. Your lips were soft. God he could get used to this. Your like cold water, cooling and you smelt like pinewood and mint, he liked it very much.

Bonus?????

Splinter

-he never thought you’d accept him, but you weren’t exactly normal either

-living in a swap with no one other than the few like you

-splinter seemed normal

-You lived with other vine benders and water benders in your swap, but the expanding cities called for your people to accept the modern world.

-The sewers were close to home and were the only spot where you could bend and learn new things like plant bending, without being seen

-You first met him when he was around looking for supplies and food for himself and the boys.

-once you gained his trust you met the baby turtles and you had fallen in love

-being an older woman from different world, these baby boys were a step in the right direction; for a family

-You offered to help him raise them

-reluctant at first but soon won over, splinter agreed

-You cooked and worked for the boys while splinter cleaned and tuckered the boys out with ninjutsu

-the first time they called you mom you cried

-You made flower crowns for Raph as a child

-Leo helped you farm, it wasn’t easy in the sewers but you both managed

-Donatello soon helped and you couldn’t have been prouder of your boys. Creating a mechanism of mirrors to help the planting vegetables grows

-You always grew herbs with your bending for splinters tea, he was always grateful

-You taught the boys as much as you can about the outside world, but the truth was, you were still learning as well

-Leo was always curious about your old life in the swamp with your old family

-You loved telling them stories with splinter, one told from your own families

-Your mom look is very frightening

-The boys love you so much, your so kind and caring

-they don’t like to pick favorites, but… mom has never sent us to the hashi, chores are a lot better than the hashi

-You spoil them, you really do

-splinter tells you a l l the time

-they love when you play with them, their so used to seeing you leave for work and coming back very late that they don’t get to play with you much

-You grow older in to your mid 40’s and splinters grows concerned with your work schedule

-it wasn’t until you began coming home and passing out the second you sat down that he pleaded you take a break

-he knew it wasn’t easy to work more than 8 hours and then come home to cook and leave again fro more work

-You refused, the boys needed you to work, they were growing and deserved everything they asked for and needed new clothes and shoes as they grew older and bigger.

-splinter tried to reason with you, and again you refused. Growing tired of his persistence you both argued over it.

-The boys were very frightened and peeked through the dojo slide doors, and you looked back splinter before you started laughing once you noticed them.

-”oh, please forgive me splinter, it’s just were fighting like an old married couple”

-he joins in and you take his advice to take a vacation once the boys walk in for a family hug

-more time home meant more family time!

-The boys won't let you do anything the first two days

-”you need water? I've got it!” “you need your slippers? Where are they?” “dinner’s on us!” “I've run you a bath mom!”

-it isn’t until the end of the second day that the boys are arguing and you over hear that you finally understand

-they think you work so much because your tired of them?

-You barge in and remind them how much you love them, FAMILY HUG

-splinter is very helpful when you have a lot of stress, massages, teas, and bath remedies

-The boys are so annoying as they get older

-they mother hen you SO much, why? Because your older and frail because of all those years working for them

-You have a bad knee and really bad wrists that get stuck and hurt if you do too much

-even though your old you, still tend to an old garden and make Raph secret flower crowns every once and awhile

-You make Donnie tea that sends him sleeping in seconds, splinter is really amazed at how you still pull it off

-Mikey stays up watching the kids cartoon channel with you, you like them because they're cute and heartwarming

-You scrapbook

-The boys love you so much, you cry at EVERY birthday

-Your a cool mom in their teen years

-You worked your butt off to save money and retire. It’s totally worth it

-You love being their for them when their teenage emotions get the better of them

-The night they escape to go topside, you catch them leaving but instead of busting them you distract splinter, splinter is pleased

-splinter is Not pleased once their back

-You don’t tattle tale either!

“Where are you boys going?” you croaked in your southern accent, they froze. Knowing they had woke you up. They froze, fearing the worst from you and then the hashi, you and dad made a sick tag team. “If your going to go, what are you waiting for? Make sure to stay quiet, New York never sleeps.” They were ecstatic, each lifting you around and hugging, you shushed them as they rough housed and cheered about their amazing mother.

“Shushhhhh, Leave, leave! I’ll take care of your father. Now have fun and stay safe. Look after each other.” They smiled at each other before dashing out of the lair. You smile and walk over to the splinters room, finding him reading the new book you got him. Reaching forward to grab his book, your plan on distracting him already in tow. You knew his soft spots like the back of your hand

They get caught on their way back into the lair, because they were being loud as usual and Splinter heard them. No longer having his undivided attention and distraction. You rolled your eyes at your boys, could they have been any more obvious? He lined them up while you fiddled with the metal ring on your hand, feeling very bad for your boys. They looked at you awaiting for your help, gosh, you really did spoil them! You couldn’t help them now!

“Where were you? Did your mother assist you to go topside?” you gasped dramatically before grabbing one of his ears and twisting it painfully. The boys snickered as splinter apologized profusely and turned back to the boy, that got them quiet fast. “Next time think before you accuse me of something so foolish.” he rubbed his ear, “yes, yes. To the hashi I suppose if you won’t confess,” your heart clenched painfully when you saw them in there but stink eyed them to ensure your name wouldn’t be named once they spilled.

“Honey, listen-” “NO, ma! I’m tired of being the bad guy, tired of dad treating us like kids when we’ve saved the world. Tired of being treated like the one with no control. I’m tired of Leo being the favorite…” you listened, listened to him rant. Because it was important he trusted you and knew you respected all of his emotions. Important that he learned that all of his emotions were valid.

You patted the spot on the bed next to you and held your hot headed son against your own head. “I love you Raphael, I have no favorites, because if I lost any of you my heart would never heal. Leo is not our favorite, and if you don’t believe me, who makes you your flower crowns? Who’s the one who makes you the extra pancakes just because you ask? Me. I love you all, I try my best to show it, my son, my beautiful son. You have so much to give the human world don’t let your anger cloud that.” You pet his head as he cried and made him the flower crown you always made him on times like these.

“No, no, you have training tomorrow morning sweetie, off to bed!” He gave you his famous puppy pout. And you caved, knowing splinter would never let you live this down, your son always won you over. It was those baby blue eyes. “30 more minutes and its off to bed!” He grinned so big your own jaw hurt. “Okay mommy! Love you!” you chuckled, your youngest still called you mommy and you LOVed it, it reminded you of when they were little. You went to the bathroom, and stepped in to your bed, as quietly as possible…

“Michelangelo gave you the pout again didn’t he?” You could have face palmed right there, he chuckled and turned around and hugged you, “it is alright my lotus, you will overcome it soon enough.” You sighed playfully. After awhile you woke up to a raspy throat, Your husband asked why you were leaving, replying you asked if he’d like some water as well. He asked for a cup and walking out of your room you saw you youngest son passed out on the couch with the remote in hand. You smiled, grabbing a comforter to drape over him and tucking him in and put the remote away. Leaning down to kiss his forehead, “I love you too, Michelangelo”

“Donatello baby, it's awfully late, are you working on something important?” “extremely mother!” There was nothing better than being called mother in your late years. Note the sarcasm. It made you feel older, but you knew it was out of respect. “Hmmm, is it saving the world from terror, important?” He paused before peeking his head out of his work to look at you, “about 5 notches less important, mother.” You nodded slowly, “baby, you have training tomorrow, 30 more minutes.” He grinned and your heart melted, “thanks mother!”

You warmed a ketted and crushed up some special herbs, fixing them in and when the tea was ready you added mint and lavender with plenty of honey after adding your special herbs, with a peanut butter sandwich. A new trick you came up with and splinter was well aware of it. Watching by, could you trick the boy this time? “Baby, Are you hungry? I made you a sandwich” he gladly took it with a big smile and a very sweet ‘thank you’. “Do you want something to drink, baby?” you asked coyly, he took another bite and nodded gratefully, Leaning over to splinter as you both walked back over to the kitchen, “got ‘em!” Bringing the already made cup over to your little genius.

“There was no milk, but I made me and your father some tea, so I thought this would be better anyway~”, he took a swing and thanked you again. You walked over to the seat where Splinter waited for you on the couch with your own tea cup of peppermint tea. Reaching out your hand for a high-five your husband gave you one. “You never cease to amaze me, my darling.” Your son was asleep in the next 10 minutes, your husband helped him to bed and off to dream land and he went with a kiss to his forehead as you tucked him in.

He groaned once more, he couldn’t focus on his meditation. “Alright, even i’m tense. What’s wrong, my son?” He jumped in his seat on the dojo floor. Usually it was splinter who helped him out of this funk, but mamma bear had come to the rescue today. He sighed one more time as helped you sit on the mat because of your bad knees and laid his head on your lap. You massaged his temples, and almost instantly he started feeling better. “Recently I've been thinking I'm not fit to be leader. This is supposed to be easy, but it isn’t. It’s supposed to be, like, second nature but it’s not.” You thought for a moment on how to reply while stroking your son’s head and shoulder.

“I’m not like you father, wisdom has never come easy to me. But I do have experience, leadership isn’t natural it’s a choice. You have to fail to learn as a leader because your not following and your not learning. Your teaching and I'm aware it can be quite a hassle at times, but your father chose you for a reason. Perhaps you don’t believe it, but he did. And if there's one thing that man is good at, it’s at choosing the right choices.” He smiled at his mother's words meant to tease is father, at the end. “Your right-” “damn straight I am” you mumbled and chuckled. He leaned up and gave you a kiss on the cheek before returning to his meditation in perfect peace now. His mind remembering what you had said, he trusted you and took great care with your words. You leaned over and grabbed an arm while placing a kiss on his cheek, “you’ve got this, blue”, having full fate in your eldest son.

With your birthday coming up the boys in your home were awfully quiet at times. For a whole week there were no fights, zero trips to the hashi, and no boys staying up late. Thankfully you had clean the lair up before your birthday week and you had the whole week to relax. And that’s exactly what you did. Too old to be running after the boys, your first birthday in retirement. “This is livin~”. On your birthday your husband awoke you with tickling kisses and whispers, and when you arrived to the kitchen and found breakfast all prepared. You smiled and gushed at your boys. “You boys shouldn’t have!” They all let you pick the best of everything, and instead of taking it you gave mikey the first spritz of the whipped cream, Rapheal the sweetest and biggest strawberry by bending it to grow, donatello the best pancake and leo the warm syrup first. You also poured the tea for your husband, “but mom-”, “no buts! My favorite part of breakfast is taking care of my family!” “sweet!” You giggled at michaelangelo.

The rest of the day, the boys paid you extra attention, getting you anything you wanted and your husband ran you a special bath. Life was bliss at the moment and you were enjoying every bit of it. As you walked to the kitchen for a cup of water the boys screamed ‘surprise!’ “boys! You should know better than to scare an old lady like that!” They all laughed as they brought out the cake with two candles with a 6 and a 0. They sang you happy birthday and you were gushing the whole time. You asked donnie o take a family photo, he timed the camera and you said “whiskeyyy!” It was beautiful and the boys insisted you took one with splinter, and in the middle of the picture you swiped a finger of frosting on his nose. You laughed as the boys froze and kissed the frosting off with a smile, another flash made you laugh. The cake and family time was a blast! You all played Monopoly and you laughed the whole way through it. At the end of the night the boys prepared to leave for patrol and before they routinely they all gave you a hug.

“Happy birthday mom, thank you for always working hard for us, you always put us first”

“Happy birthday ma! Thank you for always putting up with us, no one could have asked for a better mother”

“Happy birthday mother, thank you for always making time for us and getting everything we’ve ever wanted"

“Happy birthday mommy! Your the coolest and one day i’m gonna spoil you as much as you’ve spoiled us!”

You were in tears at the end of their hugs, “get back here boys!” you said with tears in your eyes, Holding all four of them for a group hug. “I have the bet sons!”

After they left your husband played some of your favorite slow southern songs and danced with you. “Thank you darling, for all you have done for this family. If it were possible, I'm sure me and the boys would find a way of giving you the world. You have done more than be a mother to the boys, you have become their hero, lotus” he whispered into your ear as you danced and you danced as you sobbed happily. It felt so good to be validated by your family after all the years you worked so hard for. This was officially the best birthday ever.

Remember to validate your mothers!!

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