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honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

Game Night

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Reader

Word Count: 1,722

Warnings: none

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

It’s game night in the Morales household. The boys and you all sit down with drinks and snacks and decide to play one of the most friendship ruining games on the planet. Who will win the cutthroat game of monopoly?

“Babe, can you get the door?” You shouted, hearing Frankie shuffle around the living room. “The boys are here!”

Frankie eagerly bounded to the door, almost falling on his face on the slippery wooden floors. He quickly righted himself and pulled the door open, embracing Benny, Will, and Santiago in one go.

“Boys!” You said cheerily as they entered the house. “C’mon! I made dip, and there’s drinks in the fridge, and there’s also a secret dessert.”

“If you weren’t married, I would get on one knee, here and now,” Benny said, pulling you into a hug. “You are the best!”

You laughed. “Yeah? Let’s see how that holds up. I distinctly remember cleaning my carpets for a week after our last game night.”

“Excuse you!” Will called from the living room. “Benny called me a dumb whore for charging him money! I couldn’t let that slide!”

Laughing, you cleared away the coasters and remotes from the living room table, leaving it blank for tonight’s game.

Frankie grabbed a box from the supply closet and set it down on the living room coffee table. The box in question was beat up and held together with packing tape, but the name of the game was still legible. Monopoly.

“Are we playing teams?” Frankie asked as you all gathered around the table, you setting the snacks down and going out to grab beers for the boys.

“If we are, I call Frankie!” You shouted from the kitchen.

Will snorted. “You’re married. Of course you’ll be a team. Benny?”

Benny fist-bumped his brother. “Hell yeah!”

“And me?” Santiago said, amusement making his voice light.

“Pope,” Frankie said. “Every time we play, you kick all our asses. You don’t need a team.”

Santiago snorted. “Sounds fair,” he said. “Although, I would appreciate a partner to teach my secrets to.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. Ever since you and Frankie had gotten married, Santiago had been bugging you for a baby. You had no idea why he wanted you to have one so bad, but he did.

“Pope, if I do end up pregnant, I promise you’ll be the second person I tell,” you said, leaning towards the table and grabbing your favorite piece. The horse and rider. “Right after my husband.”

Santiago grabbed his piece, the battleship, and smiled. “Of course.”

Benny and Will took their piece, the cannon, and you all set the pieces down.

“Who’s rolling first?” Frankie asked, grabbing the dice and holding them out.

Will rolled for his team first, getting a solid 8. Santiago went next, rolling a 10.

“Good luck,” you said to Frankie, leaning on his shoulder as he rolled the dice. A quick count of the dots gave you an 11.

“Fuck yeah!” Frankie said happily, scooping up the dice again. “We get to go first.”

Nothing much happened for your first go around of the board. Everyone knew the strategy of ‘wait to see how the game would play out’ and that had led to plenty of long monopoly games. You and Frankie agreed on the light blue and pink properties, and managed to buy Vermont and Virginia in two turns. You also, after a quick discussion, bought Illinois when you landed on it, knowing that the reds and the yellows were Santiago’s strategy.

Another go around of the board, and the strategies began to emerge. You and Frankie got two railroads and another two properties in your target area, and it seemed that Will and Benny were too busy trying to outsmart Santiago that they didn’t even realize you and Frankie were very slowly taking over half the board. Santiago, in true Santiago fashion, kept his strategy as hidden as possible, buying properties from the entire board instead of focusing on one area. By the time you’d all passed Go again, tension was still, surprisingly, low.

That changed quickly. You and Frankie bought what was affectionately referred to as ‘the slums’ but was actually just the two brown properties with a lucky roll of snake eyes, and through a well timed chance card, Will and Benny ended up in jail, both agreeing that it was complete bullshit while Santiago laughed.

“Houses?” Frankie murmured in your ear as he added the second brown card to your stack.

You glanced at what Santiago had and what the brothers had. “Wait. Santi’s trying to edge us off those orange properties, but give it another go around. He’s got that last blue one, Connecticut, but we’ve got Illinois, which he needs. And I’ve got no clue what Will and Benny are doing.”

Frankie nodded, taking the dice and rolling again, getting you two the last pink property.

“I’m gonna go grab more food, anyone want anything?” You asked, standing and looking around.

“Another drink?” Benny asked, holding up his empty beer bottle.

You took it, scanning the table for anything else you could recycle. “Of course,” you said. “How about I bring out the prize tonight, hm?”

The boys cheered. Monopoly wasn’t a game where you often congratulated the winner. In fact, half the time Frankie managed to beat everyone, you jokingly refused to kiss him. But tonight, you wanted to up the stakes.

Grabbing another beer for Benny, you balanced a covered pie tin with your other hand and walked back into the living room, where Frankie was happily arranging what had been collected in Free Parking.

“Boys!” You announced happily. “Tonight’s victor will be awarded the grand prize of,” you pulled the tin foil off the pie tin. “A homemade cherry pie.”

Immediately, everyone went wild. You laughed, covering the pie back up and setting it down on the kitchen counter. “Shall we keep playing?”

The game continued, a few more go arounds of the board securing the final few properties. You and Frankie had almost every property you wanted, along with three of the four railroads.

“Uh, guys,” Benny said finally after you charged him for a railroad. “Team lovebirds are destroying us right now. How’d we let that happen? How did no one notice?”

You laughed, grabbing the dice and rolling them. “I guess we’ll be keeping that pie.”

“Not if I can help it!” Santiago held up the final light blue card. “Suck it!”

“Mhm, we’ve got that last red one,” you pointed out, moving your piece and reluctantly handing Benny and Will some money. “Whenever you’re ready to trade, we’ll be here.”

Will whistled, pushing the dice towards Santiago. “Dude, that’s rough.”

Santiago leaned forward. “Nah. I want that damn pie.”

Not long after that, Benny and Will went bankrupt, much to their disappointment. However, it meant they could man the bank and they wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire that would become your game.

The game continued to drag on, neither you nor Santiago willing to back down. Money was exchanged, Will and Benny’s properties were bought, and houses were built.

By the time anything interesting happened, you and Frankie had a solid chokehold on half the board. It was a war of attrition, a simple back and forth of the money. And then, by some miracle, you rolled the dice and landed on free parking.

It was a crushing blow for poor Santiago. Suddenly, you and Frankie were up by almost five thousand dollars, able to afford a bunch of houses and, very slowly, you were able to drive Santiago to bankruptcy.

“Damn!” He yelled, realizing he was done. “Good game, damn I cannot believe I lost.”

You grinned, standing. “Pack all of this up. I’ll go cut the pie.”

While the boys cleaned, you got five plates, putting a slice of pie on each one. Using old waiting skills and going very slowly, you carried all five plates out.

“Jeez babe!” Frankie said, jumping up to help you. “Gimme some of those! You could’ve asked for help.”

“I had it,” you reassured, sitting on the couch and sinking your fork into the pie. “Fuck, that is beautiful.”

For the rest of the night, you and the boys ate, drank, and pulled out a deck of Uno cards to keep the fun going. Of course, Benny kicked all your asses, but he was the only one who ever actually strategized Uno. Everyone else enjoyed tipsy fun, laughing when someone got screwed and groaning when someone won.

Eventually, some time well past midnight, you sent everyone to bed, or the couch in Santiago’s case. That included Frankie, who pulled you into your shared bedroom and grinned. “Babe, I got a question.”

“Fire away.”

Frankie came up behind you, putting his hands against your belly. “When are we gonna tell them?”

“Tomorrow,” you murmured, resting your hands overtop Frankie’s. “I wanna watch Santi spit coffee out his nose.”

Chuckling, Frankie led you to bed. “You’re evil.”

The next morning, you gave each of the boys a coffee cup, smiling as you received sleepy murmurs.

“Hey Benny,” you called, opening the fridge and peering into it. “You got any use for a perfectly good bottle of wine?”

“Uh, why?” Benny asked, looking up from his mug.

You shrugged. “Frankie’s not a wine guy and I can’t drink it.”

“Yes you can,” Will said. “You drank a whole bottle with Benny last month.”

“Bitch, I wasn’t pregnant last month.”

As you’d guessed last night, Santiago choked on his coffee, coughing so violently that Frankie had to thump him on the back a few times. “What?” He yelled when he was finally able to talk again.

“I’m pregnant,” you said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Surprise. You’re all gonna be uncles.”

Santiago fist pumped the air. “Hell yeah! I get a monopoly partner!”

You laughed, doubling over the counter. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“I have my priorities,” Santiago said with a smile.

Benny stood, looking you up and down. “Can I touch? Please?”

You shrugged, gesturing him closer. “Nothing to touch yet, but yeah.”

Benny’s hand was warm on your belly, and he grinned at the expanse of exposed skin. “Hey,” he said directly to the baby. “I’m your uncle Benny.”

“Ben,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re talking to a month old bean.”

But now Will was beside you, and so was Santi, and there was Frankie behind you. Surrounded by your boys, you grinned. “I love this family.”

#Triple Frontier #francisco 'catfish' morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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ambertea · 3 years ago

Text

snowman

(read on AO3)

Rose accidentally creates an evil snowman. A strange man helps her sort it out. Nine/Rose.

Pulling up the brim of her woolly hat, she gives her fiercest, scariest glare, complete with bared teeth.

Looking out the window this morning, she’d been so excited—it rarely snowed in London, and when it did it almost never settled. But it did and it had, and the entire estate had been coated in a thick, beautiful layer of snow.

After that, her morning had quickly gone downhill. Her mum had insisted that she ate breakfast, of all things, and then wrapped her in so many clothes she felt like a ball of fluff. Mickey had refused to come out, eyes glued to his PlayStation as always, and she had been left to trek into the winter wonderland alone.

That, she could’ve dealt with. But it somehow it had gotten even worse.

There is something wrong with her snowman. He has two button eyes, a good carrot nose, and a nice warm scarf, courtesy of her mother. But he was in such a weird mood—she was of the distinct opinion he was not happy to be hanging out with her, which was a bit rude, and somehow the sticks she’d arranged into a smile had morphed into a frown.

“Hello!” A voice says from behind her, and she spins around, her hand out ready to karate chop.

It’s an old man, at least older than any bloke her mother has ever brought back to the house. He’s wearing a leather jacket, just like the pop stars on TV, and his eyes are bright and blue, much prettier than hers.

She turns away.

“Hello?”

“Mum said I shouldn’t talk to strangers,” she tells the snowman. “They might put me in a white van.”

“Oh, well, that’s good advice.” The man says, crouching down next to her. “But I don’t have a white van. It’s blue.”

He points at a blue box, nestled in the snow.

“That’s a rubbish van.” She tells him, and he nods.

“Yep. Absolutely rubbish. Anyway,” he says, his hand reaching out to her snowman. “I’m the Doctor. Who’s this?”

She looks him up and down. He doesn’t look like a doctor—doctors dress in white, and they scowl, and they prick her with needles when she’s least expecting it. But her snowman needs sorting out, and maybe a Doctor is the best way to do that.

“His name is Jack.”

“Of course it is.” He says mockingly. She hates that. Hates it when grown-ups make up jokes she can’t understand, like they’re trying to show off how smart they are. This Doctor probably had a higher reading age than her when he was eight, she thinks glumly, and an even higher reading age now.

She wants to turn away but she can’t just leave Jack here, not all by himself, so she just shrugs.

He pulls something out of his pocket and scans Jack with it, and Rose’s mouth drops open. She’s had toys that do stuff like this, but she’s never seen an adult able to do it. He notices her watching and grins.

“Sonic screwdriver,” he says, flipping it in his hand. “Diagnostic device.”

Rose isn’t sure what diagnostic means, but it sounds sort of clever, so she lets it slide. He frowns and holds the screwdriver up to his ear, and she wonders if it’s talking to him.

“Strange.” He frowns. He bends in and sniffs Jack, and eying him, Rose does too.

“He smells like tins of beans when they’re put in the microwave.” She tells the Doctor, and his eyebrows raise.

“Like metal?”

She nods slowly, feeling a bit shy under his attention.

“Is Jack going to be okay?”

He ignores her and scans the snowman again, and Rose is two seconds away from stomping her foot and storming away. But then he offers the screwdriver to Rose, and she holds it to her ear and waits.

“What are you doing?” The Doctor asks her quietly. She frowns at him.

“I thought it talked.”

“Um, no. Press the button and point it towards Jack.”

She does, her thumb trembling under the effort. Images suddenly light up in her brain. A woman, making lunch for her kids. A man huddling under a bus shelter, his shoulders shaking under the cold. A girl with a gun, shooting at far off dots on the horizon.

The images stop, and she notices suddenly that she’s shaking. She thrusts the screwdriver back at him.

“What did you see?” He asks curiously, and she scowls.

“What was that?”

He pockets the screwdriver and strokes Jack’s face. Rose wonders if she should look away, like she does when ‘uncle’ Harry does that to mum, but he’s frowning instead of smiling.

“Water has memory.” He whispers. He pulls himself up off the floor and pulls at his jacket, looking serious. Rose looks up at him, and wonders if her snowman will get an injection.

He starts to walk away, and Rose hurries after him, taking two quick steps for each one of his long strides.

“Is Jack going to be okay?”

“Need to run some tests,” he mutters. “There’s something wrong with the atomic make up.”

“The at-atomic make up?”

He stops, looking down like he’d only just noticed she was there at all. She huffs and crosses her arms, and the corner of his mouth reluctantly tugs into a smile. Not the best response to her scary glare, but a start.

He bends down and places his hands on her shoulders. She shrugs them off.

“Your snowman,” he whispers, looking at her intensely. “Is alive.”

She looks up at him and wonders whether it’s too late to start screaming stranger danger.

“He’s made of snow.” She says slowly, trying to copy the way her teachers tried to teach her Maths. “And a carrot.”

“Right. And I think he’s trying to take over Earth.” He says, a wild smile on his face. “Never met a killer snowman before. Met a snowman killer, once, weird guy—”

She stops listening, instead trying to sort out all of her thoughts. This man was clearly a bit crazy, which wasn’t great, but the snowman was a bit weird. And she didn’t want to wake up to it leaning over her bed in the night with a knife.

“How do we stop him?” She asks, and he nods wildly.

“Don’t know yet. Need to run some tests. God, snow. Never had to destroy snow before. Possibly a salt mix?”

She looks at him and reconsiders whether he’s smarter than she is.

“Or hot water.” She says, using her slow voice again, and his face brightens.

He legs it into the blue box, and Rose waits outside, a little bored. So much for her fun day in the snow, she had to save the world instead. Typical.

He emerges with a steaming kettle and a wild look on his face. She raises an eyebrow and tries to jump up to steal it out of his grasp.

“It’s my snowman.” She whines, but he shakes his head.

“Very hot water. It’s not safe for little girls.”

She growls, ready to pounce on top of him, but he is already storming off in Jack’s direction. With a quick grin over his shoulder, he pours it over Jack’s head, the water slapping the snow with a loud clap.

Rose comes to his side and watches sadly.

“He took me ages to make.”

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil must give us pause.” He says.

Rose eyes him, and wonders whether she should chuck some hot water over him too.

#hey amber what the fuck is this #i don't know what inspired this but i rly enjoyed writing it lol #fic #(this is not shippy in any way btw)

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years ago

Note

Spooky prompt with Norman x Sammy

Summary: After getting accidentally locked in the studio after-hours, Norman and Sammy feel less alone than they should of...

Closing prompt requests for now! Got something else I want to focus on for a while that I'm hoping you lot may enjoy.

---

[[MORE]]

It was a bit of an inevitability that one day this scenario came to play, being locked in for the night after Wally mistakingly assumed all personal had vacated the premises. What was unexpected was that it happened to two people on the very same night...

The people in question however? What with Sammy's new habit of isolating himself in a secret and tightly locked corner he'd claimed for himself, and Norman's proficiency in getting inside nooks and crannies no one else thought a nearly 7 foot tall man could fit? Definitely the sort to escape the janitor's notice and end up in this conundrum... Especially considering they'd clocked out many hours prior to Wally cleaning up and setting off for the night. If anything, they deserved it for being exceptionally sneaky.

"Fantastic..." The blond composer groaned as he watched the much taller projectionist give up on trying to fiddle with the lock. Cheapskate as Joey was, Mr. Drew seemed to at least invest in some very tight security. Likely a courtesy of GENT when the studio's partnership with the company arose. "Just what I needed, to be kept from my bed another night because Franks decided to go home early."

"N'aw. I reckon it ain't that early... When I was comin' upstairs the clock read 'bout 2:50..." He tapped his chin in thought and snapped the pin of his cravat back into place, no longer needing it to act as a makeshift lockpick. "Must be witchin' hour just 'bout now. Takes these old bones o' mine a while to get up here all quick-like..."

"3AM? Already?!" Sammy worried his lower lip as he realized how sidetracked he'd become. He should get a clock into his sanctuary at some point to avoid something like this in the near future. "Abigail is going to kill me... She must have waited all night..."

"Yous could always just call the landline an' say yous as busy as a one-legged cat in a sandbox." Norman offered with a smile that was bordering on the mischievous "In kinder words no doubt."

"She'd spit fire over the phone if I woke her up at 3 in the morning." He grimaced as he rejected such an idea. "The one thing she inherited from her mother is the capacity to transform into a fire-spitting drake if you wake her up at an ungodly hour..."

At such a notion Norman couldn't help grin and guffaw at the sight of Samuel Lawrence in all his peacock-like might, cowering away from a positively irate 18 year old girl with his tail between his shaking legs.

"Well, slap my head and call me silly! Yous still got your funny bone somewhere in that pile of highfalutin' grouchiness." The Louisianan's smile only grew as Sammy glares up at him. "Hey now, don't yous go lookin' so sour. It's good that yous is still yourself... Even after..."

"I'd rather not talk about that, thank you very much!" The musician knew exactly what Norman was referring to and he cut the topic short immediately. "Lets focus on the fact we're both trapped for the night. I don't know about you but I, for one, am starving and exhausted."

The projectionist nodded, conceding to the fact they should head to the breakroom and see if anyone had forgotten their packed lunch, or if maybe Lottie had left some non-perishables in the cabinets next to the stove. Like canned beans or maybe even canned fruit.

"I'm so hungry my belly thinks my throat's been cut... Tell yous what, if we gots the ingredients I could make us my Nanna's go to dish for when we was lil' tots growin' up." An easy enough meal that was effortless to make, and gave him enough time to see if Grant still had those blankets in his office while his companion ate

"And what's that?" Sammy asked, eyebrow raising.

"A peanut butter and jelly sandwich." Norman winked, which earned him a groan. "N'aw don't you go dissin' my poor Nanna's cookin' she was a skilled lady, but we was several youngins! And we was growin' bigger every day."

"I'll say... You're as large as a breeding bull." With better taste in clothes, albeit often overdressed for the occasion.

"You askin' for a ride, cowboy?" The mischief returned to Norman's grin as he noted Sammy's unusual fondness for boots rather than dress shoes. A more practical choice in his humble opinion.

"Buy me dinner, you pig." The blond dismissed, albeit unable to keep a smile off his face. "A man of my caliber deserves proper servicing, wouldn't you agree?"

Before the conversation could get any bit lewder, a noise downstairs halted their banter altogether. The two instinctively turned their heads towards the stairs, twin expressions of concern as they assessed what they had both just heard. It had sounded like clattering, down in Dr. Hackenbush's tiny little infermary.

"You hear that?" An unnecessary question, as Sammy knew for a fact Norman had. Still it felt better to acknowledge it aloud.

"Somethin' yes... Probably them lousy paper-thin pipes again... I don't know where Mr. Connor is gettin' the metal for 'em but I have half a mind t' tell him off for gettin' such shoddy materials." He looked unnerved more so than curious. Maybe a little irritable as the noisy pipework distracted him just as much as it did Sammy.

"You'd think they were made of flimsy tin...Either way let's uh, let's go eat down in the breakroom." The blond shook his head and began making his way to the stairs. If there was anything in Hackenbush's workspace it's not like it could get to them. The damn thing had been locked for a while, until the Doctor's services were needed. Something about preventing people from stealing his sedatives or whatever.

He was probably worked up over a raccoon either way. The dang things kept getting in through the ventilation. Just the other day Wally had fought one over a donut of all things...And lost.

"Yeah..." The towering projectionist followed, quieter now. Pensive. "Might as well fill our bellies an' get some shut-eye... Tomorrow if we is lucky, Drew might let us go home an' shower."

"Maybe..." Sammy nodded. As reasonable as it was that a raccoon was the likely cause of the strange noise, he couldn't help feel like it might be something more sinister. He was sure Norman felt the same too, as neither were strangers to Joey's... Less than savoury dealings with criminals and charlatans. But the thoughts of a bit of sleep and a shower in the morning were much more interesting and inviting thoughts than to worry about his paranoia. "Maybe not."

"We'll see, now won't we?"

"Guess we will."

That night the pipes sounded louder somehow. It felt like they were calling to them even... Whether or not Norman heard the calls was debatable, as the man was harder to read than a Russian dictionary, but Sammy swore up and down that he could hear his name in the flow... It spooked him terribly.

Never again, he thought, would he let himself sleep over-night in this damnable studio. He already wasted enough time in there after all. Living in it was nowhere in his future. Even if it meant he could spend an entire night or two shooting the breeze with a man that both infuriated him and made his heart go soft.

#eps writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim #sammy lawrence #norman polk

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trillian-anders · 5 years ago

Text

chambers - ii

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Angst

Word Count: 4429

Description: Post-Endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Very loosely based on the Netflix series of the same name.)

Frequent colds, high blood pressure, heart palpitations, asthma, anxiety, prior suffering of scarlet fever and rheumatic fever, and a family history of stroke, diabetes, cancer, and heart disease. Thanks Dad.

The enlistment office was cold. The plastic chair they had him in was sticking against the backs of his thin thighs. You’ve never been this thin in your entire life. Your breathing--Steve’s breathing--was fine for now, but you could feel a rattling beginning in your chest. Just trying to get through this enlistment examination and then we can go home, light a fire, and eat the last tin of beans.

“Rogers.” The man examined you, took a deep sigh and stamped your papers. 4F. Denied.

This was the first one, in Brooklyn. The war has just started. Steve was trying to jump into the wagon early, trying against all odds to get his feet on the ground overseas. Do what he can, just like Dad did in the War to End All Wars. It’s too bad the war didn’t live up to its name. These memories came to you as you sat in a similar situation.

You were in grey shorts and a matching t shirt, Avengers logo in black on each in a lab, waiting for the man you had an appointment with. You jokingly thought to yourself about what it would have been like to fight in a war, lay your life on the line for a good noble cause, and you had to remind yourself that you truly hoped those memories never came to surface.

You swallowed roughly, shifting on the sterile paper beneath you, waiting. There was a two way mirror here, you remembered. As you looked at it you wondered who would be watching on the other side. Coming to see the freak who possesses the heart of Captain America. You hadn’t seen Sam or Bucky yet, thank god. Two hours ago a car showed up in front of your building and brought you to a jet bringing you to the compound, no sign of the super soldier or his winged friend in sight. You supposed you couldn’t blame them. This is a really strange situation to say the least.

It also didn’t hurt that you knew them in a severely intimate way whereas you were a complete stranger to them. It was also strange that you missed them, terribly. Your heart ached for them. Steve’s heart ached for them.

“Miss Y/L/N?” Two people entered the room, Bruce and Wanda. Your heart ached a little more. It was almost like reuniting with an old friend, you wonder if things will be the same, pick up right where you left off, the closeness you felt. But that’s Steve talking, not you. “I’m Bruce Banner and this is Wanda Maximoff,” the gentle giant offered with a soft smile, “but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“It’s so strange,” You expressed, “Feeling like I know all of you so well, but being a complete stranger.” You laughed nervously and wrapped your arms around your middle, swinging your feet slightly as they hung off the edge of the examining table.

“I couldn’t imagine honestly,” Bruce moved closest to you, Wanda opting to stay by the door. “Okay so first I’m going to take some blood if that’s okay with you?” He pulled a tray out from a medical drawer, setting it up beside you.

“Of course,” You smiled softly. The trust in Bruce was intense. You knew Steve fought beside him. You have distinct memories from the Battle of New York, but more than that the nights of eating take out at the kitchen counter and listening to him babble about isolating samples of Caps blood to synthesize cures for disease, but also how he couldn’t imagine creating a world of super soldiers so the idea was nixed as soon as he spat it out. Bruce Banner had a good moral compass. He can be trusted.

He quickly worked, wrapping a medical tourniquet onto your arm and finding a vein, filling six vials of blood. He bandaged you and removed the tourniquet just as quickly.

“So you have these flashbacks right?” Bruce asked as he labeled the vials, “You have seizures during?”

“Not always, but it always involves some sort of passing out.” He nods, scribbling notes on his notepad.

“And the agents in the alley?”

“No clue,” You admitted honestly. “My body,” Looking down at your hands, “It moved on its own, I had no control.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, well today is going to be strictly medical, but I would like to talk to you about some of the tests we would like to run, if you consent to them.” It was hard. The decision seemed so easy. Let them test so that you can figure out what the hell is going on and hopefully put a stop to it, but also you’d been poked and prodded your whole life.

You were born with the heart condition. You’ve literally been having surgeries since the day you were born. What if it never ends? What if they never find out why you and Steve are so connected? What if they do and you can’t keep the heart?

“Whatever outcome, we will not put your life at risk.” This was the first time Wanda has spoken during this entire visit. Your eyes flicked over to hers. A maternal instinct bloomed in your chest. Steve had a fond love for her, when she was parted from Ultron and her brother died she had leaned hard into Clint, but when Clint retired, Steve took his place. Making sure she was okay, making sure she practiced wielding her powers, making sure she ate everyday. That same affection could be found in you now, your eyes teared at the thought. “We will figure this out and keep you alive, even if it means getting you a new heart.”

It was what you needed to hear and she knew it. Part of her powers, but also she knew you would trust her. You nodded your head, looking back to Bruce. “Let's do it.”

You knew this memory. You HATED this memory.

Bucky Barnes. The handsome, charismatic, Bucky Barnes. James the dames would sigh as he nibbled their ears. He was screaming and there was nothing you could do to stop it. These videos you were obsessed with looking for clues. Where would he go? How could you find him? Sam was looking, but every day that Bucky was gone was a day his trail grew colder and colder.

He was strapped into a metal chair, skin damp, ice still trapped in his hair. They had just woken him up, strapping him into the chair, electrodes coming to lay over his face and he fucking screamed. It was horrifying, why were you torturing yourself like this. You should have gone back to that ravine and retrieved his body. You weren’t even sure where he fell, but you should have searched that whole fucking mountain to find him. He would have for you.

You let him down.

You fucking let him down.

A gasp and you were awake. Damp with sweat you swung your legs over the side of your bed, panting. The guilt. So consuming. Your stomach churned and you quickly found your way to the bathroom, dropping to your knees in order to wretch into the toilet. Body shivering from the cold. You placed a hand over your now racing heart, crying against the porcelain. You missed Bucky.

You didn’t even know Bucky.

Your heart was aching for him. Fuck. It had been a week since your initial visit with Bruce other than taking your blood and giving you a normal checkup not much else was done. He wanted to go easy on you, give you a little time to adjust and come to terms with your newfound anomaly. And for whatever reason right now you really wanted to run. Like… for stress relief. When has that thought ever crossed your mind? Who even were you?

Oh right, Steve was a runner. You could remember him lapping Sam Wilson on multiple occasions as they took their morning runs together. Your body burned with energy and you checked the time, it was 5 am. You had closed the bar last night and didn’t get home until one.

“Four hours of sleep.” You groaned. “Fucking great.” This itch wouldn’t give up so you dusted off your old gym shoes and strapped yourself into a sports bra, jacket, and sweats and you were out the door.

Running. At 5 am. Who would have fucking thought.

Old City was close, and you found yourself finding it. Not many cars out this early, but they’d grow in number to gridlock during rush hour. As you pounded the pavement, passing building after building, block after block you found yourself not even close to being out of breath, the energy not even close to being diminished. If you couldn’t get rid of this massive rush of energy you had been feeling then a mid morning nap was out of the question, and you had to be back at work at four.

You picked up the pace, passing Independence Hall, running the museum mile, before running back towards the direction of your apartment. You were flying. You’ve never run so fast in your life. You were running faster than the cars were driving on the still mildly empty streets. This was wild.

You weren’t a runner, but Steve Rogers was. It was almost like in the alley, where your body just sorta went and your brain followed. It was Steve’s body right now, you were just along for the ride.

Your legs felt like jelly as you walked up the steps, adrenaline wearing off. You just barely made it inside your door before you collapsed on the ground in extreme pain. It felt like you tore every muscle in your legs, you let out a silent scream trying not to wake your neighbors, fumbling for your phone. You couldn’t move your legs.

So you did the only thing you knew to do, you called Bruce.

Since Steve’s death Bucky Barnes liked doing one thing and one thing only. Staying busy. Anything that crossed Fury’s desk, big or small, he wanted it and he would fight every other agent in the compound in order to get it. You need some simple recon on a businessman you think might have connections to old Hydra sympathizers? He’s on it. You need someone to go in a diffuse a bomb? He’s on it. You need someone to come get your cat out of a tree, please stop him on the side of the road. He’s begging you.

It hurt bad enough when Steve said he was going to stay with Peggy. He resigned to the fact that his very selfless friend deserves to do a very selfish thing. He wanted Steve to be happy, and when you love someone you’ll let them be happy no matter the personal cost. But when Steve returned as an old man, and he had to physically watch him waste and die. That was probably something he could never forgive Steve for. He just couldn’t.

The coffee in his cup was basically water. The cheap motel Sam got them a room in was a fucking joke. Two single beds, a coffee maker from the 70s, and he didn’t even want to think about what was embedded in the shag carpet. Shit thing was they were leaving today, mission was over, recon was successful, information on a new budding cartel trafficking humans overseas was obtained. Procedure had them going back to report to Fury, getting a stat on how many people they should bring and what approach and then they’ll be back on the field.

He can’t wait.

Sam threw the now full duffel on the floor by the front door, turning to his friend. “I need a fucking break Bucky.” He groaned, stretching out his back. Bucky scoffed,

“Then take a fucking break Sam.” He finished off his coffee, tossing the cup in the trash and picking up his own duffel. Sam looked at him wearily.

“You need a break too.” Sam told Bucky as they left the motel room. The small plane they had taken over here sat for them 2 km into the woods behind this dingy motel, and that’s where they were headed, ready to take a quick flight home.

“I don’t need a break,” Bucky protested, “I know when I need to take a break.”

Sam looked at Bucky incredulously, “You literally got stabbed last week and hours later went back out on another mission. You’re taking a break.” Two duffels thrown into chairs on the plane, Bucky sitting himself in the pilot’s seat. A red, silver, and blue shield sat between them as Sam took his own seat in copilot.

“I don’t need a break, not yet.” Sam rolled his eyes, beginning take off procedure.

“You’re gonna have to deal with it sometime my man.” Bucky rolled his eyes at that, “Holding things in-”

“Don’t go all VA on me right now birdbrain.” Sam stared at Bucky a moment longer, trying to pick his next words out carefully.

“Buck-” Saved by the bell. A phone ringing in Sam’s pocket. He pulled the cell out looking at Bruce’s name flashing across the screen. “Bruce? What’s-” Bucky stared him down, heart jumping at the prospect of flying somewhere else, anywhere but home. Sam quickly hung up, buckling his seat belt. “We gotta go to Philly, pick Y/N up.” Bucky’s heart dropped. He didn’t want that.

“You’ve torn every muscle in your legs.” Bruce plainly stated. You were currently in the cradle created by Helen Cho. “Just by running?” Your mouth opened and quickly shut again, shrugging.

“Fast, I was running so fast.” Your eyes scanned the ceiling as you felt the machine slowly repairing the muscles of your legs. Bucky Barnes scoffed beside you, grunting when Sam elbowed him in his ribs.

“Like-”

“Like….,” You looked over to Sam and Bucky before turning your eyes back to Bruce, “Steve fast.” Bruce stared at you a moment before looking away. He walked over to the large glass windows on the opposite side of the room. Not speaking. Thinking.

“How is that possible? Muscle memory sure, but your body shouldn’t be able to move that way. Steve’s top speed is 60 mph.” You looked at him wide eyed.

“Maybe that’s why her legs are shredded.” Bucky said with some humor. He was being a dick. Why was he being a dick? Sam glared at him.

“Go file the report Buck, I’ll catch you up later.” Bucky turned to his friend with a glare,

“Why do I have to-”

“I’ll catch you up later.” He said sternly. Bucky called it his Captain’s voice. Like the one Steve would use when he knew something you didn’t and you just needed to follow him. Into battle or just to leave the room. Bucky acquiesced, but not before casting one more glance at you in the cradle, hands clasped over your belly, looking at him with wet eyes.

“So your body has this muscle memory of the activities Steve used to do,” Bruce began to pace. “Running and fighting-”

“Steve was really good at art too.” Sam offered. He took a seat in a chair by Bruce’s pacing, between you and the green giant. “That would be a safe activity to see if you’d be just as good.” You nodded in agreement.

“But for the more dangerous activities, your mind seems to think you’re able to do them. So the real issue are instances like this, where your mind goes and your body follows no matter the cost.” Bruce was looking at you now, thinking about how to proceed next.

“And this is a pretty high cost.” You said. Both men agreed.

…

The report was on Fury’s desk an hour later. Bucky’s hands gripping the leather chair across from him as his eye scanned the pages. “So what’s next?” Bucky asked. Like an addict asking for a fix. Fury studied him for a moment. “I can be ready to go back in with a task force in four hours, quick nap, time to clean my guns-”

“You’re suspended from missions until further notice.” Fury threw the folder onto his desk, waiting for the backlash.

“What?” Bucky’s heart started racing. Fucking Sam.

“Sam recommended it, but I was already going to suspend you until you can get your head on straight. I just needed a second person to sign off.” Bucky studied him for a moment. Trying to detect the lie.

“I’m fine, I need to be back out on the field.” Bucky gestured to the window behind him where recruits were running drills. “Who else are you going to use?”

“We have agents other than you Barnes.” He sounds tired, “You haven’t been out of the field since Steve died and we have an issue that came up that I know you don’t want anything to do with. It’s not good for you.”

“So this is about her?” Bucky thought back to your wet eyes, he felt guilty for being such an ass. It just sorta came out without thinking. He had a hard time doing that when he was in front of you, thinking.

When they went to pick you up, Sam hadn’t given him any warning in what they were about to walk into. They found you where you had fallen, sobbing in pain, body going into shock. He felt himself stunned. Your legs were black and blue, every inch of skin bruised. Sam yelled something at him he couldn’t hear and he watched Sam pick you up from the floor, clearly hearing the whimpering of pain you were steadily released from your body.

His heart fell to the floor as your half lidded eyes met his, unfocused.

It was terrifying. At first he felt some anger well up, who had done this to you? How did this happen? But when it was revealed that you had done it to yourself, that your muddled mind and heart caused you to run 60 mph into complete muscle destruction he found himself angry at you. It’s not her fault, he tried to remind himself, how could it be her fault?

He found himself, not for the first time, angry with Steve. It left him confused and broken. Steve on his deathbed. In a hospital, doctors ready to take his heart as soon as he took his last breath. It was planned. Steve had been in the hospital for a month before he died, no one knew why he was getting EKG’s almost daily and why he was moved so closely to the operating wing. He didn’t tell anyone. He was leaving his heart to her. Without even knowing her. What a good fucking guy. Bucky hated him for it. Barely getting to mourn before they carted him out into the OR to cut him open and shift his bloody, healthy heart into a woman who had a weak and dying one.

It was hard. This was hard.

“This is about you Barnes.” Fury leaned over his desk, folding his hands in front of him. “You continue doing this and you’ll be liable for a mistake. We can’t afford mistakes. Not when we are finally gaining ground back. You’re suspended from field work effective immediately, if you want to make yourself useful around here train some recruits, organize some files, or maybe help Bruce in the lab. His hands are pretty full.” With that he was dismissed. Fists meeting a punching bag not soon after.

“What am I going to do?” You cried softly. “I can’t keep my job if I have to take a month off.” Bruce looked up at her from his microscope, the cradle still working on the muscles in her legs.

“You’re on your feet for 12 hours a day,” Bruce explained, “You’re basically getting a new pair of legs right now, you’re gonna have to take it easy for a while.”

“I’m sure we can pick up your bills.” Sam offered, “If that’s what you’re worried about.” You shake your head, hands coming up to wipe the tears from your eyes.

“I won’t have a job to go back to,” You explained, “They’ll replace me.” Sam sighed and put down the Sudoku book he had been working on.

“I’m saying this because it’s what Steve would have wanted Y/N.” He looked at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. “We will do whatever it takes to make sure you are taken care of.” You knew Sam was a good guy. You knew he worked at the VA not because he needed the money but because he genuinely cared about the people there. And you knew he helped Steve when the whole world was against him. Twice.

“I don’t want you to feel-” you started, being cut off by Bruce,

“This is not an obligation. We want to help you, all of us do.” Bruce offered, “Not just because it’s what Steve would have wanted but also because this is a terrifying situation and we want you to be able to live a long, healthy life with or without these life altering issues.” He stood from his chair, bringing papers over and adjusting his glasses. “You’ll need to rest. For a while. I’m still examining your blood and tomorrow I’d like to get a look at your heart for myself, would that be okay?”

You sighed heavily before replying, “Yeah, that would be okay.”

Your legs were still sore, even after spending 12 hours in the cradle. You weren’t able to walk yet. Wanda was kind enough to help you use the restroom and helped you into the room they were going to have you staying in temporarily. “Do you want to make a list of items and their locations in your apartment you’d like me to bring here?” She asked.

“Am I not going home?” She turned to look at you like she was caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Well…” She had given you half chicken, 2 sweet potatoes, and a bowl broccoli with a large pat of butter. Bruce said you needed nutrients and a lot of them. “We can’t risk you doing something to your body that we won't be able to repair. Just until the testing is done. I’m sorry.” She played with the ends of her hair. “I thought they already told you. I’m sure they’re going to ask you tomorrow.” You sighed, rubbing the scar on your chest gently before looking up at Wanda.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You were starving. “I understand.” She gave you a soft look you couldn’t really read before turning the tv on, working with you to find something to watch as you ate your dinner. You were the hungriest you’d ever been in your life. While in the cradle you were given snacks, but it was hard to eat completely laying down. The work your body was put through by the cradle repairing your muscles caused a major calorie deficit, and the fatigue you’ve been feeling all day was the price you’d been paying.

You almost choked halfway through eating, looking up from your plate to the television screen and seeing Steve Rogers staring back at you. He looked so real, the young Captain America, the person he was before the battle for the infinity stones. The Steve Rogers he was on every poster and war movie. What is happening?

Wanda’s hand began to pat your back as you tried to clear your airways, “Breathe, c’mon breathe.”

“Breathe, c’mon breathe.” Bucky’s hand was hard against your back, you couldn’t get air. “C’mon pal, that’s it.” It was a wet feeling in your throat, coughing the lard wad of mucus into the handkerchief held in Bucky’s palm. Gasping for breath Bucky was quick to toss the soiled napkin to the side, bringing your inhaler up to your mouth, thin weak hands coming up to grasp it as you inhaled the medicine, feeling your lungs expand and relax. “You okay?”

You could feel a rattle still in your chest. “Yeah I’m fine.” Steve was sick, which wasn’t anything new. You could feel the embarrassment.

“I hate you being here alone.” Bucky stood from his chair next to the bed, getting up to turn the radio down a few decibels. “You could come move in with us? Ma loves you.” You could feel yourself shake your head.

“I’ve lived in this apartment my whole life Buck.”

“Then I’ll move in here! You can move into your Ma’s room and I’ll take your old room Stevie.” You sighed, resting your back against the pillows Bucky had so carefully propped against your back. “You won’t be able to afford this place forever doing sketches for funnies. You’ve barely got any food in the icebox.”

“If you want to move in here Buck I’m not against it, but I’m staying right where I am.” Bucky nodded, hands on his hips turning to face his frail friend.

“I make enough money at the canary that we should be just fine here Stevie.” This was a year before Bucky was sent off for war. A year and a half before Steve became Captain America. You wondered if either of them could sense what was coming.

The piece of chicken that had been lodged in your throat was soon popped out and floated midair with a red energy surrounding it. Wanda had pulled it from your throat. Steve was gone.

“Are you okay?” She asked, worry evident in her voice.

“Yeah,” you nodded, losing your appetite. “I think I should go to bed.” You pushed the tray away from you and leaned back against your pillows. In that moment you could feel the Steve. Like a layer on top of your own body. His frail one, shivering with a chill he couldn’t shake, lungs rattling, weak.

“If you need anything at all just alert FRIDAY.” You nodded, ignoring her worried eyes as she left the room. You needed to sleep.

You were exhausted and this day felt three days long. You just needed to sleep. So far away from everything that was going on here. And you were praying against all odds that Steve wouldn’t follow you there either.

Those prayers went unanswered.

@albinotigerpython @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1149

What is your age? 22, but there’s less than a month to go before I turn 23.

What annoys you? Literally every single person who still supports the government at this point. For context, we are back to square one and we’re under the exact same quarantine imposed in March 2020 because of the surge in cases. Nothing has changed and nothing has been done in the last 365 days while people are getting hungrier and poorer. I’m done feeling hopeful for this country and I cannot wait to abandon it forever.

Do you have any allergies? Apparently, grass. Can’t be exposed to it for too long otherwise the skin on my thighs turn red and occasionally even get rashes.

Do you know anyone named Billy? Kind of, but they’re girls with their name spelled as Billie.

When is your birthday? April 21st and spending it in quarantine once again this year...

Who is your best friend(s)? Angela and Andi.

What's your favorite candy? I like gummy bears and worms. As for sweets, I really like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Butterfinger, Twix, and the Hershey’s Cookies and Creme bar.

When was the last time you cried? Maybe a day or two ago while watching a snippet from Caught in Providence.

Have you been out of the country? Yes.

Do you daydream? Not so much these days. I’ve been better at keeping my focus at work.

What's your favorite kind of dog? I love alllllll dogs, but I’d usually be wary of smaller dogs because 87% of the times I’ve met some, they’re aggressive or a bit moody. I don’t like stereotyping dogs as much as possible but because I’ve had direct experiences to back it up anyway, *shrug*

What day of the week is it? It’s a Sunday.

How do you like your eggs? Scrambled, poached, or an omelette with lots of fillings. Balut is also great.

Have you ever been in the emergency room? Only when I was born, I’m guessing.

What's the easiest thing ever to do? Idk, what comes easy to me might not be the same for others. But my answer would be to smile, regardless if it were genuine or otherwise.

Have you ever flown in a plane? Yeah, many times. The child-like excitement I get whenever I get on one will probably never go away, either.

Do you use fly swatters? No, my mom usually uses old shoebox covers or rolled-up scratch papers we have lying around to swat them.

Have you ever used a foghorn?: Only in video games lol, never in real life.

Have you pet a goat? I don’t think I have. I’ve pet lots of animals before but I don’t think a goat has been one of them yet.

Are you a giver or a taker? Giver, but I’ve been allowing myself to take more these days.

Do you like gummy candies? Love them.

How are you? We’ve entered summer weather now, so I feel hot and miserable. It’s also Sunday and I am stuck at home, which doesn’t make me the happiest camper.

What's your height? 5′1″ or a tiny tiny tiny bit taller than that.

What color is your hair? It’s black but on extremely rare occasions I’ll catch a single light brown strand when I play with my hair.

What's your favorite ice cream? Cookies and cream and chocolate chip cookie dough. My friend Leigh actually started her own ice cream shop recently and I bought her coffee crumble ice cream, and it is sooooooooo fuckinggggggggg good??????? It’s so rare to find coffee ice cream where I live period, so I’m fucking stoked to have a close friend who makes literally the best one and in generous servings too.

Have you ever ice skated? Many times as a kid. I was never formally trained, but it was something I wanted to try from watching other kids play in mall ice skating rinks; and when I did give it a shot, I ended up enjoying it. Luckily my mom was encouraging and actually frequently dropped me off at a rink so I can practice gliding and all for a few hours while she ran errands.

Have you cheated the IRS? That’s like an American tax thingy, right? We don’t have that here and my employer handles my TIN.

What's your favorite jelly bean? Not a big fan but if I had to have Jelly Belly, I obviously would want to get the pleasant-tasting ones.

Do you tell jokes? Yes.

Do you wear nice jewelry? Only on special occasions.

Do you want to kill anybody? I don’t want to kill anybody but I certainly wish a good number of public officials would finally die.

Do you want to have kids? Yes. I really wish I could still have a future with them. Thanks for the trauma, my real asshole of an ex.

Where did you have kindergarten? Somewhere.

Are you laidback? I doubt my friends would use this to describe me. I for sure lean more towards the uptight side of the spectrum.

Do you lie? Eh, occasionally.

When is the last time you sent a hand-written letter? I have no idea. Christmas 2019 maybe?

Ever talked in a microphone? Sure. Many times.

Do you still watch Disney Movies? I very rarely get in the mood for them if I’m by myself, but yes, I’d gladly sit down and watch should an opportunity come.

Do you like mangoes? No.

Do you have a nickname? 99% of people call me Robyn while my family calls me Byn, but there are a select few friends who’ve stayed long enough with me to catch other names I’ve gotten over the years, which have since become inside jokes/nicknames. There’s Reben and Rolayn, and literally just yesterday ‘Roby’ happened when I ordered food for lunch so that will probably catch on as well.

What’s your favorite number? 4.

Do you prefer night over day? Absolutely.

Are you an only child? No, I’m two siblings away from that status.

Do you wish this was over? I haven’t felt that way, no.

What is the closet orange object near you? An orange tumbler my Kuya gave me as a Christmas gift in 2019. There is also orange tape wrapped around the charger adaptor of my company laptop.

What one fear are you most paranoid about? Waking up in the middle of surgery and being unable to speak nor move.

Do you play any instruments? Nope.

Do you think you are pretty? Some days.

Are you quick to judge people? No, unless they are already blatantly showing their character like being rude towards service staff, tossing their trash to the ground, or cutting in queues. Whenever those things happen I give myself the space and freedom to guiltlessly judge.

What do you keep quiet about? How dysfunctional my family really is, and the things I really want to say about Gabie.

Do you have any quirks? Food-wise, I like peeling off the breading from fried chicken and placing them on the side of my plate so I can eat them last, because they’re my favorite part.

What’s a good reason to cry? Frustration. Crying can be really helpful in lessening stress.

Do you think you're always right? No.

Do you watch reality TV? Not religiously, but I love watching snippets of reality shows on Facebook because they’re all so embarrassing and it’s hilarious to watch hahahahah. Literally last night I was watching clips of Big Ed on 90 Day Fiance.

Are you a social person? More so now than I was years ago.

What states have you lived in? I lived in Manila briefly but it didn’t take long till we transferred to another city for a more peaceful life in the suburbs.

What is your favorite season? I wanna say winter because of what I’ve seen from it in movies and shows, but I’ve never actually experienced it before.

When did you last sleep in a tent? Sometime in March or April last year.

Do you like tomatoes? Mostly in diced form. Tomato sauce is fine but I don’t really like it in my pasta. Bloody Mary also tastes rather awful.

What time did you wake up? 8:30 AM.

Do you have an umbrella in your car? I think so, yeah. I finally placed one in there lmao.

Do listen to Usher? Eh, not really. 2000s R&B isn’t my thing, save for Beyoncé.

Describe the underwear your wearing? It’s light blue.

What’s the worst veggie? I never learned to like pechay. I’d still eat it, but only because I like cleaning up my entire plate.

Do you like movies with violence? Some. Like I hate action movies but I enjoyed A Clockwork Orange and Scream lol.

Where do you want to go on vacation? I recently bookmarked an Airbnb in Zambales and the accommodation is basically this super cute line of tipi-styled huts by the beach. I'd love to have a solo trip push through once this Covid mess subsides.

Ever been on a wave runner? No.

Where do you work? I work in a PR company.

Do you wish on stars? Just sometimes.

Have you ever had an x-ray? Only for mandatory medical exams.

Do you own a xylophone? I think I had a toy one as a kid, but it’s not with me anymore.

Have you watched the x-games? No, not interested.

What did you do yesterday? I stayed at home; ordered food for Angela as a surprise; debated if I should buy a pair of Air Maxes – and ultimately decided I’ve already spent too much this month to deserve a new pair of shows lol; and just settled to buy a new night lamp for my bedroom. I also watched the newest episode of 2 Days 1 Night and ate more of Leigh’s ice cream while doing work.

Do you like the color yellow? Only in mustard yellow. I also like the song Yellow, heh.

What year were you born?: 1998.

Do you believe in the zodiac? No.

Has your bank account been at zero? No. I remember when I was first opening my own account at the bank and the clerk told me to make sure I don’t go below P2,000, and my intensely by-the-book ass has been following the rule ever since, even though my dad has told me it’s absolutely fine to go below it so long as I have P2,000 back in the account after a month hahaha.

Ever been to the zoo? A few.

#survey #surveys

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 5 years ago

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Bad Vegetarian | Feeding Habits #1

Hey People of Earth!

As you can see from the title, not only do we have a new series of writing updates, we have a new series of writing updates for a whole new novel that was! not! supposed! to! happen!

For any of my friends who miss Moth Work (aka myself), guess who started writing a sequel literally no one asked. :)

I’ve had ideas for spinoff stories for Moth Work (as if MW wasn’t enough of a spinoff) and was peer pressured into starting this novel by @sarahkelsiwrites and I’m really happy about it! I have yet to come up with a title, but the moment I do, shall inform you, but for now, we’re calling this MW2!

This book (if it even ends up being a book) starts with chapter one, Bad Vegetarian. Unlike MW, MW2 starts in Lonan’s POV (not sure I’ll switch but I’m sure it’ll be inevitable), and I’m here for it!

I’ve been wanting to explore Lonan and Eliza’s relationship in more detail since having them come together in MW by complete fluke, and oh! is the tea piping!

This chapter really illustrates how truly dysfunctional this relationship is on both sides. Here’s a break down by scene:

Scene A:

Lonan is paint shopping with Eliza who has just gone vegetarian (which is the def the most normal thing she’s spontaneously done lately). Eliza feels like celebrating by painting their entire kitchen red.

Lonan particularly is drawn to blues, but since this ain’t what Eliza wants, they go with a brilliant red.

Scene B:

Lonan lines the kitchen with painter’s tape as Eliza bothers their neighbours for paint rollers, while trying to convince himself this relationship is still somewhat okay.

While doing this, he gets his weekly call from Unknown Woman who he’s been in contact with for the last few weeks. What for? We don’t know! They talk in code, and he realizes Unknown Woman’s situation is getting worse, and impromptu, tries to do something about it.

Scene C:

Lonan and Eliza bump into each other as he’s exiting the apartment and she’s entering, and have a short, strained conversation about why he’s leaving (she’s not aware of top secret phone calls that make this book feel lowkey like the old dystopians!)

Scene D:

Lonan attempts to drive to Unknown Woman but only knows she lives in Arizona (not great for directions lol). While in the car, he realizes it’s essentially impossible to get there without knowing where he’s going, and eventually gives up and heads home.

Scene E:

TW: blood

Lonan re-enters the apartment only to find Eliza “bleeding” in the kitchen. She’s actually just being wild and this “blood” is wall paint.

Scene F:

If we haven’t already seen the dysfunction, oh does it get worse! As Lonan and Eliza try to have a *moment* Eliza has a conversation by herself and gets a lil gaslighty.

Halfway through this, Lonan gets a phone call from Unknown Woman who we finally find out is his ex-girlfriend Glenne. Sounds like tea but he’s genuinely only helping her out of her toxic situation (which will be clarified later) though Eliza’s skeptical.

This chapter was a lot of fun to write! I wrote a majority of it today, and am really happy to have a *chill* project. While I love my other books (the three I am apparently now working on at once), it’s nice to have a place to dump my ideas with characters I know very well in situations I’m comfortable in whenever I feel like writing but don’t have tons of time/ideas/energy.

Excerpts:

Here are the opening three paragraphs! The first sentence sets up the POV a little weirdly, but I think it works with a later sentence that sort of mimics this “reminder” kind of style:

There are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian. She’s into earth tones, neutral tones, leafy greens, root vegetables. It’s all new. The day she announced her diet change, she also announced a desire to repaint the kitchen, to fit the new aura, to fit the new ethics, but she wants to paint the kitchen blood red, and Lonan is still a meat-eater. He reminds himself: there are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian.

In the hardware store he thumbs paint chips. They’re set up in an array, almost like checkers, dissolving in a gradient from reds to purples. Eliza wants red, “Not necessarily earthy, but the root of organism, of life,” so Lonan looks at the blues. They’re all a variant of a seaside theme—Sea Breeze, a cloud-like blue, Beach Umbrella, a wispy aqua, Seafoam Serenade, muted like the soft side of a turquoise. Repainting the kitchen matters little to him, and so do the blues, but the red section, devilish, makes him shuffle his blue deck faster.

Radio from the store’s intercom tins through the speakers, dampened by the hustle of carts, the thud of bodies against the concrete flooring. He holds many cards up to the light, Secret Getaway and Parisian Summer almost the exact shade, but still he flicks through, until half the pile is indistinguishable, and the other half are blues he likes and not reds, like Eliza’s asked.

The next excerpt sort of highlights the last six months of Lonan’s life as he’s been on this whirlwind of keeping up with all the things Eliza has tried. I have added kudzu pudding and other kudzu food just for my pals @sarahkelsiwrites and @shaelinwrites (rlly want kudzu pudding):

Her sudden vegetarianism is not confusing to him. Eliza tries new things all the time, something he’s learned after living with her for half a year. One time, she brought home four different kinds of dried beans to make into tea, and together they drank it atop the balcony, the Vegas strip across them somehow tasting better. One time, they ate a variety of kudzu foods for a week because Eliza said invasive species had to be killed somehow, and so they spooned kudzu pudding into their mouths, kudzu root powder into their water, kudzu salads with salted almonds. One time, she put them on a warmth ban, and they ate only frozen peas, potatoes, raspberries, turned the thermostat down until every surface crackled. She liked the feeling of subtle frost on the countertops, how it jolted her when she touched it accidentally in the morning. He found her many mornings awake before him, transfixed to the table with both palms soldered to its surface, like she’d forgotten she wasn’t a part of it. One time, she paid to have the furniture in the house rearranged, not good enough for her spirit, and then reverted it two days later. “The couch doesn’t like being so close to the refrigerator,” and he could’ve asked “did you ask it?” but said, “Understandable. It shouldn’t be forced to catch a draft.” So her vegetarianism is normal. Already, she’s switched their meat supply to beetroots, chickpeas, tofu she rips apart bare-handed. For the last three mornings, they’ve both taken a shot of spinach and gingerroot, a liquid that burns to make you feel alive, as if you weren’t already.

The next excerpts kind of surprised me with their amount of humour! Not something I expect from Lonan, but I’m glad he has some sass back lol (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

There is nothing wrong in this relationship. Everything is Eliza’s new favourite adjective—stunning. Everything is scrubbed with kitchen bleach, glittering like a plasticky pool float in the shallow end, stunning. Everything is planned, put in a calendar, a notebook, a flitter of receipts, but always planned, stunning. Everything is better, even better than better, a better that can only be described as stunning.

Lonan uses this word frequently now, rolling out a strip of blue painter’s tape and trying to find different ways it stuns. Sticks when he sticks, peels when he peels, keeps its edge when it needs to keep its edge, so it’s stunning. The bubble television is turned onto a channel about sheep, and as he lines the baseboards, outlets, catches glances of a sheer buzzing against skin, sometimes a hunting knife slicing until there’s blood.

Eliza is asking a neighbour for paint rollers because they bought four cans of wall paint, two paint trays, a box of garbage bags, three rolls of painter’s tape, and a small paintbrush each for both of them but forgot the rollers. Stunning.

The following excerpt highlights that Lonan has a cellphone! Is Fostered just a bizarre alternate reality of a time period that doesn’t exist? Perhaps! (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

Today, they’ll prime the cabinets, the walls, and tomorrow, scroll a coat of red onto both. The kitchen will look more like the inside of an anatomical heart, the sinks and drawers like ventricles, but this is Eliza’s vision—her tastes come alive.

The sheep are being herded by a collie. As Lonan rips another strip of tape with his teeth, he stares at the screen mounted in the corner, at the almost-naked sheep dashing across a field. How many will be slaughtered, he doesn’t know. The narrator must’ve said that, but there is no plan, really, for death. Even for sheep.

He kneels toward the kitchen vent, the tape roll linked around his wrist, and smooths a line of tape down. Eliza doesn’t want to paint the vent—it wouldn’t complete her vision—and so it will remain the original wall colour, a square of cream so worn, it’s almost grey.

Here we have some hints at Eliza’s weirdness:

He straightens and looks at her. She’s bundled in her fur coat even though she has always insisted she’s good at even Vegas’ warm winter. Since going vegetarian, she’s insisted it’s fake, even though he’s read the lining tag—100% mink. He doesn’t know why she’s needed her coat when she’s only walked up a few flights of stairs but doesn’t care to ask.

She approaches him with her thumb out, and when that thumb presses into his eye socket, he flinches.

“What happened here?” she smooths the dip of his under eyes, her fingertips cold. He smells her perfume, different today, always different, a smell like cloves and lavender. “Are you sleeping?” She presses onto her toes, examines the other side, and her frown deepens. “This doesn’t look like eight hours.”

“I’m sleeping,” he says, though they both know this is a lie. It’s taken her two weeks to notice.

“I can run to the pharmacy,” she says. “If you need a refill.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I didn’t notice this morning—I would’ve given you another energy shot.”

Here’s a line I like because of a) skin and b) sun:

Lonan goes nowhere. This is not his plan. Asphalt whips under the skin of each tire, the setting sun wringing him blind.

Fully sharing this for the verb zags (and also because I accidentally roast cities tho I love them I am one of these blink-less people):

He doesn’t know where he’s going. Arizona is the only thing he knows about her, doesn’t know if she lives in an apartment, a duplex, a house—fully detached, semi-detached. As he pulls into a residential neighbourhood somewhere along the vague line he’s drawn on the map from Las Vegas to Arizona, he watches for all these options. In the distance, a jogger zags across the street with her golden retriever, children play basketball on a driveway, still in their school uniforms, another woman clips the wilted stems off a magnolia bush.

It’s when he gets closer to the apartments that the sameness is noticeable. High-rises with pearlescent windows that go pinkish in the sunset—all of them identical. Each building evenly spaced, more like a board game than a place to live. Even the space around each building is the same—the same rose hedges, the same iron fence, the same people bustling in and out, all wearing some variation of the same pantsuit, all holding some other hand—child, partner, lover. The same haircuts, smiles, eyes like marbles, as if there’s a store somewhere that sells copies, a catalogue for eyes that don’t blink. He’s been looking into the sun for too long, there must be a difference, but the longer he looks, the more indistinguishable they become.

To get out of explaining where he wants to go when he and Eliza bump into each other, Lonan says he’s visiting his sister (Reeve), and because she’s iconic and must make an appearance, here’s a line ft. our queen:

He could make the lie true. Reeve is somewhere in the country, he imagines, dancing in a faceless city, living in a motel room, tipping everyone well.

(^^ all true)

Here we have Lonan identifying with the animals more than anything else for the second time in one chapter (TW for more blood imagery):

Lonan hooks the car keys onto the lanyard by the front door and slings his coat across the couch. The television is set to the same channel as before, though the program has switched from sheep slaughter to birdwatching. On screen, a heron perches by a riverbed, opalescent in the sunshine.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, the heron now frisking up the white bark of a tree. He glances at the fluorescent red dripping between her fingers, pattering against the tile.

“I was opening the paint cans.”

“With a kitchen knife?”

He gestures to the blade on the counter, blood-free, newly sharpened.

“It’s all I had on hand.” She pulls her wrist closer to her, runs her index finger along the injured area.

“It’s clean.”

“I washed it, Lonan.”

This next one has some blood imagery so TW for that!

The heron has moved closer to the riverbed. It watches the water knowingly, its subtle simmer of movement, and after a moment of watching, strikes its beak down so it spears a trout. He misses the part where it eats. Eliza’s clicked off the TV from behind him.

She slams the remote onto the counter so hard, its back clatters off and onto the tile. “I cut my arm with a kitchen knife while opening paint cans. It happens.”

“I don’t see a cut.”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I don’t see a cut.”

She walks toward him. He expects her to shove her wrist in his face, but she doesn’t. She just holds it, some of the blood fluorescing pink, splashes onto her toes.

“You got to see your sister?” she asks.

“She cancelled.”

Eliza clucks her tongue, examining her wrist, and then she extends her arm, revealing the full patch of pale skin gone red.

Lonan takes it, and with his fingernail carves a line through the red to reveal the healthy patch of skin, painted, uncut.

And finally, here’s the last line of this excerpt that essentially explains where the title comes from ft. predator VS prey symbolism:

He’s reminded once more of the heron, how it plunged into the riverbed with ease, and the trout dangling in its beak, its commitment to life most fervent the moment before being consumed.

So that’s going to be it for this update! I don’t know how frequently I’ll be writing this, but it’s been a lot of fun so far. I’m excited to explore more relationships I haven’t turned over in a while as a little side project while I do other things! Hope y’all enjoyed!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #mothwork #fostered #feedinghabits

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well-that-was-fucked-up · 4 years ago

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So there’s a lot of controversy about this “Bean Dad” guy at the minute and it’s uh, it’s another one of those times where I’m seeing abusers in media (even if only social media this time) get huge amounts of rightful condemnation for shit that is nowhere near as bad as my parents did all the time that nobody ever fucking condemned them for.

It’s a weird pattern that happens a lot on TV when characters get to call out their shitty fathers for being shitty and their shitty fathers are always 10x better than mine whilst also acknowledging that they’re shitty and having everyone around them acknowledge that too and I’m like...my dad and everyone around him acted like he was fucking amazing?? Except for my mother, which my dad and all his friends played off as her being crazy and having a grudge against him specifically, which, I mean...she was and she did. But she had a right to he was fucking awful to her he was fucking awful to all his girlfriends. But in that socially acceptable “he’s just one of the lads” kind of way. And my mother was 100x worse than him but nobody ever acknowledged it and everyone always just told me “she’s your mother” and would go off on rants about how hard it is having children and what a burden kids are and how I should cut her more slack (like I did’t get enough of all of that from her in the first place) and I just...

I regularly didn’t eat as a kid. I’d figured out how to make beans on toast from a tin on the stove entirely by myself by the age of 7 after being told to go make my own food enough times because I was fucking sick of just eating raw cucumbers and bowls of ketchup and jars of nutella and peanut butter because that’s literally what I used to have to do to survive before I figured out how to heat up tins on the stove and frozen food in the oven. And even after that I still didn’t eat enough because there often just wasn’t any food in the house FOR me to cook. I stole food from school until they literally moved the sandwiches behind the counter where people couldn’t reach it because of thieves (and these days I see kids getting help from their teachers and schools when they can’t eat and I don’t want to be jealous I’m so glad they have that help now but I AM because NOBODY BELIEVED ME at school when I told them I didn’t get fed at home and they responded to my clear need for food by making it harder to get!) and I stole chocolate bars and sweets on the way home from school almost every day because they were the easiest to slip up the sleeve of my jumper and were at least some quick energy. My dad gave me £25/month pocket money into my bank account and I spent like £5/week on coke and crisps because that was the best calories-for-money and walking into a shop and buying crisps covers up the fact that you’re stealing lots more chocolate while you’re in there. (and my mother and sister would STILL come to me at the end of the month for my last £5 because they’d spent all theirs on booze and fags and bullshit they didn’t need and I’d often be guilted into handing it over even though I also needed it for fucking toiletries and shit and later on makeup cause there was no way my mother was gonna buy me that when she hadn’t been paying for any of my hygiene products for years - I often just ended up stealing that shit too, enough for the basic natural look to get me out of being bullied at school because I considered that a fucking necessity, and then I just straight up went to the testing counters in big department stores to get my face done before dates lmfao)

And then my dad, who didn’t live with me and didn’t see how little I ate most of the time, would shame me for the amount I ate when I was round his house (because he actually cooked real meals that weren’t burnt-yet-frozen messes guaranteed to make me sick like the mother occasionally made me when she made anything at all), and would tell me I ate too much and that must be why I was so fat. As did everyone who ever saw me eating any of the chocolate or sweets that I stole. I’ve always been fat. I’ve always been starving. The two are highly connected you know. Food insecurity and yo-yo dieting both literally make you fat. And if you don’t want someone to eat chocolate maybe offer them a REAL FUCKING MEAL you have no idea how much that would have meant to me as a kid.

#bean dad #my dad #my mother #poverty #starvation #fatphobia

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thenectarinediaries · 4 years ago

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29.08 Home is where the pink is

When we got back to Morteau on Thursday evening and I stepped into the flat, it struck me that it didn’t smell like the previous occupant (Gégé, en l’occurrence) any more. It was my own smell, and I wasn’t a guest (an impostor, plutôt) any more.

It’s been grey and rainy still out here, but I like it - it goes with making a house a home. I realised that when left entirely to my own devices, the bits of my mother in me come out, in the way I conceive of home. It has smelled pleasantly of roasting vegetables today - granted, not the pork and lamb and duck of my teenage years at home with my mum, but the vibe is the same. The room smells delicious, the oven is making its noises (this one bumps occasionally), and I am grateful that my parents gave me this love of easy slow cooking that invades the house.

Another thing decidedly pervasive in my life right now is the colour pink, which also comes from my ma. Everything is happily bathed in it. I have a newfound love for blush, I am snuggled in the dusky corduroy overshirt I stole from Pascale, there is the rose cordial and the pink cocktails I have planned for my own housewarming party next weekend... even these flowers I took pictures of today before the thought of pink even occurred to me:

Lise also brought back a pink fruit memory of lychees which we ate by the kilo:

[lol it’s true]

But this is supposed to be a food blog.

I always forget I have a load of rocket in my fridge and by the time I want to make a salad it’s too late and the leaves are a bit limp and unappetizing. SO I make walnut and rocket pesto. This one.

Tonight I ate the pesto with a warm salad of roasted fennel and cannelini beans, which is ultimate lazy. You roast the fennel in slices at 160° fan for thirty minutes, then add a drained tin of beans to the pan and mix. Give it another ten minutes in the oven and serve with the pesto and some tasty bread.

Yesterday’s optimism about school is fast fading and my teeth feel wobbly with anxiety. The dentist has confirmed that they are deeply rooted, in good health and that they aren’t going anywhere, I just can’t help freaking out. Poor Pascale used to spend a lot of time reassuring me that my teeth weren’t moving, but now it’s just me and them.

#food #fennel #beans #pink

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qhostqizmo · 5 years ago

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I can’t Bear to keep this secret

I’m still not good at titling. Ya’ll have to live with me like this. I’m sorry.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The event played beneath his eyelids every time he closed them to rest. A menacing beast towering above; maw spread wide to reveal large teeth and a bellowing roar he could feel in his bones. It was a sight that didn’t give him nightmares, up until recently.

Where the bear had bitten him and drawn blood, he’d been able to pass off as a swipe from its claws. It was healed before anyone had a chance to inspect what had truly caused the wound.

He was ashamed, and frightened. Maybe a little of himself; as he felt the curse of the werebear weigh heavily with each passing day in his veins, but mostly, of them. These traveling companions he called friends were more then just his allies at the end of the day. They were family. Each one had slowly become, on some strange quirky level, someone he trusted. How often had he been given these privileges? What were the odds anyone else would accept him as he was; with what he had done to his step-brother, with all his broken pieces and strange dark secrets.

If he hurt a single hair on their heads, he’d never be able to forgive himself. But if they turned away from him… The thought made his insides quiver. He would have nothing. Nothing.

He bit his tongue, jostled by the wagon ride to open his eyes once again and banish the sight of glowing eyes descending upon him and sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. He reached up to grasp at it; a ghostly pain there but not there.

“Are you alright, m’lord? Do you need some of your ointment rubbed on your shoulder?”

Amon cleared his throat roughly as he gazed to the woman sitting beside him. She wore her bleeding heart of concern open on her chest, and in the furrow of her brow as her worried eyes gazed him over.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her. He dropped his hand. Truly, he felt much better, at least, for the moment. He was centered by the gravity of her eyes; the sun pulling him back into orbit.

Although Essätha didn’t appear entirely convinced, she smiled at him warmly just the same. Her hand stretched across to lay upon his as a sign of reassurance. Her touch left a trail of tingling awareness in its wake. Although she made no sign to remove her hand, he turned his over greedily to take hold of hers. He was going to need all the strength he could get tonight, and maybe it was selfish, but if he could imprint as much of the puzzled but soft look in her gaze upon him, or the smell of lavender on her hair, or the softness of her touch in his mind, maybe he’d be okay.

“We made great time, it looks like the campsite’s just ahead,” Sulhadur called out to the back in a chipper voice.

“Glad we made it before sundown,” Adela sighed, swishing her tail idly back and forth as she joked, “I’d hate to be ambushed by any wolves.”

The nobleman had to suppress a grimace. He too was grateful they made it before sundown, and prayed Adela’s jest wasn’t a bad omen for an entirely different creature: the one residing inside him.

As the wagon jerked and fumbled down the short lane to the camping site, K’varr finally took its beady-eyed glaring off of him to take to the sky, screeching. He didn’t blame the bird’s distrust; it’s instincts were likely more keen then anyone else on the cart. The only animal companion who didn’t seem to shy away from him still was Caesar, who rested their head protectively upon his knee and hefted a large and imposing yawn with gaping jaws and all as they finally came to a halt.

“Pile out!” Ravamora shrieked, eagerly leaping off the side and into the grass.

“I’d like to get up, really I would, but I can no longer feel my legs,” Penimra announced, glancing up towards Abe as he dismounted from the front. “Abbbeeee-”

“Manners, Master Penimra, ladies first,” the Paladin spiritedly replied, offering out a hand to aid Adela out of the back first.

Caesar whimpered as Amon gently pat his head, the mastiff rising to his paws to look over at him. Although the great dog’s face was usually droopy in expression, he appeared extra saggy around his eyes as though deeply worried. He offered a great huff, and hobbled over to jump from the back with ease, waiting patiently for him to step out.

Amon climbed out the back and offered his hand to Essie, who wobbled and almost fell into his arms on the way out. He offered her a crooked smile and a blush she returned, trying to ignore the way Abernathy had stopped to watch them with his own beaming grin.

“I’ll start the fire!” Pri’cha chirped with their usually pleasant demeanor. They didn’t wait for anyone to respond before scurrying over around the edges of the wilds to collect firewood.

“We’ll get to work on building the tents,” Abe grunted, pointing to Sul as the Dragonborn offered a nod. “Penimra, why don’t you go with Adela to refill the waterskins; I can hear the stream some yards down that way.”

“Ugghhh why are you giving me work?”

“You can otherwise join Rava, who seems to be doing a fine job picking from the berry bushes we saw up on the road.”

“… Waterskins it is.”

“Mmm, guess that leaves us as the unpacking crew,” Essie remarked as she nudged him.

He offered her a strained smile. His skin was growing itchy and uncomfortable, and he was growing all too aware of the emptiness in his stomach. The sun still had a few hours before it hit the horizon, but with each passing minute his focus seemed to erratically jump.

As the group parted into their pairs to begin setting up for the evening, the nobleman found it a bit easier then even normal to lift and parade around all their goods to the security of the tents and trees to keep away from the wildlife and, well… bears. After unloading much of the cart by himself far before the two paladins had even began working on the second tent, he excused Essie to join Pri’cha in setting up dinner.

It didn’t take long before the wafting aromas of supper was filling the air. His stomach growled furiously, and with each sound Caesar whined and scampered helplessly around his feet.

While the rest of them chatted and exchanged jokes, Amon kept his hands busy. They felt small and clumsy, for some reason. He tied some of the luggage up into the safety of the branches, and added everyone’s things into their preferred sleeping areas. While the roast of meat and potatoes crackled on the iron skillet over the flames, he forced himself to gather firewood and avoid the conversation. Or more importantly, avoid diving his hands into the coals themselves to feast, and feed the bear inside of him.

“Amon!” Abe called out, appeared baffled as they all joined along the edges of the fire. “Come, join us. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Swallowing the puddle of drool sitting on his tongue, the nobleman obediently lumbered his way over to take a seat near Essätha.

The food smelt heavenly. Even his faithful canine and Adela’s bird forgot to glower and stare at him, sensing the predator beneath his skin. Sitting in a pool of sauce with mushrooms and a glistening of meat fats, the potatoes perfectly fork-tender and piles of warmed breads loaves piled along the edges to soak up the greasy gravy. There as some cheese sliced, and a pan of green beans with onions and crushed up nuts. Rava’s berries collection had made it into a beat-up looking serving bowl, with sprigs of mint they’d scrounged up. What appeared to be some sort of attempt at a bread-pudding, but clearly a bit overcooked, sat near it for the berries to be served atop.

“You burned desert,” the wood-elf sniffed.

“I couldn’t watch all of it,” Essie defended, filling one of the tin plates with food. “I was busy moving the beans from being directly over the fire.”

“You should have let those burn.”

“Well, you won’t be getting desert anyway unless you eat all your vegetables,” Abernathy reminded her with a twinkle in his eye.

“No thanks, I won’t be wanting burned sweet-bread anyway.”

“Ungrateful,” Essätha mumbled, shaking her head. She turned a smile up to the nobleman, offering him the plate she’d filled. “Hungry?”

Amon swallowed. Their words had all been a muffled haze to him, staring at the mouth-watering spread.

“I could eat.”

She snickered, helping to ladle out some of the gravy upon Pri’cha’s dish. “Hopefully it’s not too overcooked for you, m’lord.”

Still steaming from the heat of the raging fire, Amon stabbed his fork into the juicy piece of meat. It was tender, and flaked into pieces. He shoved it into his mouth; the searing heat burning his tongue but the staring monster inside rumbling with encouragement.

Tears in his eyes from the heat, he shamefully gorged himself on another bite while everyone was still settling into their spots and blowing on their food.

Measuring how fast he ate was an obstacle. He tried to sneak one spoonful here, and another there when everyone was too preoccupied and leaning into each other laughing and chatting to notice him. If not for Essätha’s vigilance, he wasn’t even sure if he’d have the thought of mind to feed Caesar as distracted as he was. She filled the bowl carved with his name so no one would mistakenly eat from it up with some of the meat, and some dried jerky for him to dig into.

Amon was disgusted with his jealousy. The dog got to dive right in, make a mess, and woof his food down without any comment. But his stomach gurgled and demanded more. He could not rip into his meal with a voracious appetite no; he was a man, and not an animal. At least… that’s what he tried to remind himself.

Groaning, bellies full, everyone began to lounge back with ease. Ravamora leaned forward just enough to peer over the skillets and pans with interest, declaring with a color of shock in her tone, “Wow. No leftovers.”

“Guess some of you will be up early finding food for breakfast,” Penimra declared. “I’d prefer some eggs, I think. And bacon, if you’d like to get started setting up traps for a hog.”

“Shut up Pen, or we’ll cook your goose,” Adela threatened.

The group burst into a barking jolly of laughter. Only Amon remained silent, itching at his flesh and thinking of how badly still his chest gnawed and ache with hunger.

“I’ll be taking first watch!” Abe called out eagerly. “Who’ll join me?”

“I will!” Pri’cha elected, raising two of their arms with a delicate wave.

“I guess I’ll be taking second,” Sul reported.

As they delegated among themselves who would be taking watch for the evening, the nobleman clutched at his chest. There was an ache in his lungs. His mouth felt weird; like his teeth were too large for his jaw. As he shifted, he was certain he felt one of his cuspid teeth graze his tongue. Definitely sharper.

A soft voice cleared their throat beside him. “M’lord, it’s growing dark. Would you like to turn in for the night with me?”

He grunted, running his hand over his face. Quickly, he tried to hide it, horrified to see thicker hair peering out from beneath his cuff.

“I’ll join you in a bit,” he answered, feeling a growling vibration in the back of his throat. “I’m not feeling that great.”

The same cloud of concern hung over her once more, and stole the light from her eyes. “Is there anything I can do, or get you?”

Amon nearly groaned beneath her delicate touch, but swallowed it. He wasn’t sure if that was a reaction was from the bear, or from him.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, patting her hand. “I think I just need a bit of fresh air. Give me a moment to cool off and freshen up in the river.”

He took hold of her hand then, and removed it from his side. It tug on his heartstrings guiltily to glimpse her face at that last second. She looked surprised, and worried, and a little hurt as he placed her hand back on her knee. He slipped his cloak off his shoulders and folded it over once to place on the worn logging beside her as he stepped away.

Slipping past Sulhadur as he moved in to occupy his tent, and Adela and Rava as they went to organize their things and get changed, Amon slipped past the trees down the slightly overgrown path that lead in the direction of the river. The sound of water lapping grew louder and louder as he moved down a gradual embankment, careful not to tread any poison oak strewn about. The last of the branches and bushes parted way to reveal a small grassy bank, and the currents of the stream sluggishly moving and winding out of sight.

Sighing, he looked to the sky. Sure enough, the moon was rising, and the last rays of light had left only stains of red and orange fading out as the brightest starts began to bloom.

His limbs were shaking uncontrollably as Amon wrestled with his jerkin. He dropped on the ground hastily, and began to pull the hem of his tunic up. A groan echoed in the back of his throat, feeling a flare like fire in his aching joints ignite.

He snapped his belt out of the loops, perspiration dripping from his chest, his temples, his forehead. Amon gasped, dropping to his knees. He didn’t untie his boots, but helplessly and forcefully shoved them off. The cool, springy grass or cool breeze coming off the water did nothing to lower his body temperature, which felt like it was rising to inferno levels.

Collapsing, exhausted, he writhed. He gasped. He clutched at his chest, panting.

With a hideous snap, his spine cracked and popped. What cry he had was stuck in his throat as he flipped and turned; eyes rolling back in his head as he shut them. The pain was agonizing, immeasurable. He didn’t know where he was, who he was, what he was.

A carpeting of fur began to rapidly grow upon his chest. The nobleman clawed at the dirt, shocked to see that indeed instead of finding grassroots beneath his fingernails, he had elongated claws. He gasped for air once more, his back arching, his joints creaking like doorhinges, his jaw popping as it shifted unnaturally.

When he opened his eyes again, the world had taken on more hues of gray then color, but he could still smell the flora shampoo in Essie’s hair even from out here.

He lunged, trying to stand up, and his still-morphing legs fell out from beneath him, making the beast he had become cry out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear… what?”

“That noise,” Essätha whispered, staring out into the forest.

“What did you think you hear?” Adela inquired, suppressing a yawn to the best of her ability.

“I don’t know how to describe it… a groan?” she helplessly explained. Her hand moved over her chest, feeling an unmistakable longing. But to what?

Grunting, Abernathy pushed himself to his knees and set aside the honing stone he’d been using on his axe. “There are many things in the woods, Essätha. You’re bound to hear something out there.”

Her burning gaze rounded on the half-orc. “M’lord’s out there, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“And he’s a capable man,” the elder paladin reminded her gently, readjusting his grip on the large weapon. “But you’re right, we should go check on him. Being near a water source, there’s bound to be plenty of creatures wanting to quench their thirst.”

Relieved, she hopped up from her seat to scamper towards the pathway. Her eyes darted back and forth impatiently, waiting for Abernathy to round up some of the others from the tent. In the end, not wanting to leave their gear open to wildlife or other roadside travelers, he elected on himself, Sulhadur, and Adela to join the one member of the party who would unquestionably be scouting out for the nobleman.

“Are the lot of you ready?” she inquired, her voice testy.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Essie,” Adela scolded. “Let Sul get his sword and shield from his tent.

She huffed, folding her arms. Busy glowering, and pouting, she didn’t notice Caesar come padding over until the dog was nosing her side, whimpering. Her gaze flickered down to those big, soft brown eyes pleading up at her, and his paw extending to lightly brush the bottom of her slacks as he lamented.

She rubbed the dog’s ears, but he remained looking positively depressed. “It’s okay Caesar, I’ll be right back with dad.”

“Arrrrwuff,” he responded, circling her to point down the lush covered path.

“No. You’re staying here. We need someone responsible to look after camp.”

Another whimper. The mastiff tucked their tail low and went to circle anxiously around the camp, like he wasn’t sure what to do and couldn’t sit still.

“What’s wrong with Caesar?” Sul rumbled, puffing smoke out of his nostrils as he joined her.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, “but I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Alright! Everyone’s ready,” Abe burst in happily, strutting over with a gleaming smile and his spike-bracers wrapped around his arms.

Sulhadur exchanged a look with her, questioning, but she shook her head. She’d rather not think about why the dog was acting up, while shoving vines out of her way and ducking below tree limbs to maneuver through the woodlands. Adela let out a quiet curse as she stumbled over some roots tangling up from the forest floor. Overhead, the sound of a crow; quite possibly K’varr themselves stretching their wings, let out a horrendous screeching.

Nerves weary, Essie slid down the embankment first. Her boot caught on something, nearly hurtling her to ground before she caught herself. She turned back to warn the others of whatever she’d nearly fallen over, and stared.

One of Amon’s boots.

Sulhadur came next, followed by Abernathy who was helping Adela down the slope.

“Amon!” Abe called out, brushing a few leaves from his clothes.

“Uh… Abe.” Adela visibly swallowed, pointing a finger towards the bank.

Following the Tiefling’s digit, Essie’s eyes rounded. They all hurried over, nearly tripping over each other in a rush.

“Those are Amon’s trousers,” Abe grimly reported, rubbing his beard.

“They’re torn nearly to shreds,” Sulhadur observed, softly.

No. No no no, this wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. Her breathing became more shallow and a vague lightheadedness swam over her as her eyes jerked and danced across the pool of water moving downstream, its surface glistening with the full moon’s brilliant glow.

A series of grunts and growls had everyone whipping their head towards the right. Fumbling along the bushes, a disoriented looking bear clamored loudly through the edges of undergrowth. It turned towards them, letting out a soft, almost cooing whine.

“Sulhadur, check the riverbank and water for evidence of Amon,” Torm’s follower directed, his orc-teeth bare at the bear in a challenge.

“Oh my gods,” Essie whispered, appalled. Her head was churning; her legs were shaking. She looked at the dirt; unable to distinguish anything.

As the grizzly backed the remaining distance out of shrubs, Abernathy charged. The bear somehow managed to fumble out of the way of the first swing, where the sharpened blade struck a tree instead. It backed up, nearly into the water, before turning towards them.

Pulling her arm back, Adela howled the words of her ancestors, and sent a spiraling ball of fire at the creature. It sprang into the edge of the water, splashing water everywhere to avoid the embers that hurdled past it. The chuffing sound it created wasn’t one of fury, but one of fear.

There was no blood on the ground. No blood and in fact, no signs of a struggle. The grass was clean from signs of a fight; no smears from boots straining to stand firm, no sticks used to fend off the animal, not even mud along the banks like the nobleman may have tried fleeing into the depths. Even the trees seemed unscathed from conflict, when surely anyone would have tried climbing or escaping by weaving through the growth.

She looked to Sulhadur, scanning the riverbank, treading knee-deep through some of its lapping tide. He kept looking back at them all with confusion and worry that he was not initiating an attack.

Essätha turned to look at the bear. Its gaze, whipping from Adela to her, locked on to her eyes. Breathing heavily, it regarded with wide, intelligent eyes.

She narrowed her own suspiciously. There was something unnervingly familiar about the way it looked at her. As it moved, the bands of light and shadow across its pelt revealed hues of black among the russet and brown of its fur color.

Abernathy charged, shouting. With a startled bellow, the monster launched itself from the water and jerkily dove from left to right as if to avoid the carpenter. But no matter its tactic, it was too large and unsteady on its paws; not nearly agile enough to avoid Abe’s axe a second time.

The blade struck the beast’s side, and it screamed.

“… Oh, Jubata,” Essie prayed aloud in horror.

As Adela began to weave a pattern into the air, Essätha ran by and shoved her. The other sorceress shrieked, falling sideways and splashing into the water.

“Abernathy, stop!”

The paladin raised his axe, preparing to swing a second time as the bear staggered.

“No!”

He brought the blade around in a wide arc just as she darted between him, and the werebear.

Abe pulled the weapon in, terror in his eyes. The edge clipped through her cape, tearing through fabric loudly.

With a suddenness, the beady eyes of the bear seemed to lose focus. It nearly shoved Essätha over as it leaned over her, opening its jaws to show its teeth all the way to the gumline, and roared at Abernathy. The sound was like thunder crashing down from the heavens.

“Stop! Stop stop stop stop,” Essie insisted, gasping as she spread her arms out between the two. The bear, disgruntled, sluggishly stepped back. It turned its head, trying to reach the gash at its side to lick.

Abernathy, mouth agape and breathing heavily, glared at her.

“Essätha, I could have killed yo-”

“That’s not a bear!”

“… Essie. Dear Essie. Sweetheart. I think you’re in shock.”

“That’s. Not. A. Bear,” she gritted out, jutting out a finger to point at what was, obviously, a large grizzly. “That’s Amon.”

“Are you crazy?!” Adela coughed, clinging on to Sulhadur as he helped her out of the water. “You just pushed me in water to protect the bear that probably sent Amon’s body down the river. Or what remains of it.”

“Adela, there’s no reason to get nasty.”

“I’m not crazy!” she insisted, trying to bury that horrifying image Adela conjured beneath six feet of mental dirt. She turned fully towards the bear, circling itself like a dog trying to catch its tail, only to desperately try lapping at the wound in its side.

“This is Amon! Look, there’s no blood on the ground; not even claw marks or a scuffle.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Exactly!” she exasperated back at the Tiefling. Heaving a deep breath, Essie stepped closer to the werebear, causing it to freeze; eyes piercing at her and tongue hanging part of the way out.

“Twenty-two days ago, we fought a rogue werebear, banished from its tribe,” she recalled aloud, taking a step towards the bear. It rumbled, taking an uneasy step back as she continued pressing forward on foot and in speech, “We unfortunately had to kill the man, but not before he changed into his bear counter-part form. M’lord had said that he was fine; that only the claws had grazed him, but… I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Look at him,” she pleaded, sidestepping around the creature. It had silenced its rumbling and watched her as she slipped off her torn cape. She balled it up, gingerly pressing the material to the bear’s wound.

It groaned in agony, shaking its head.

“Shhhh,” Essie soothed. Pressing her weight into one hand to keep the material in place, she reached out to stroke the mane of fur along his head. The werebear closed its eyes into half-slits, much like a content cat.

“The fur has black mixed in with it. His eyes are smart. He didn’t even want to fight any of us; he tried to avoid confrontation. He didn’t hurt anyone, because only he was here. Only the trousers are torn up, and there’s no gore; his jerkin is lying over there, as are his boots, perfectly intact. And look at the moon, it’s full tonight!”

“The werebear must have bitten him,” she concluded. “A wild bear wouldn’t let me this close.”

“Those are all… wild stretches, Essie,” Abernathy hoarsely whispered, staring at the twinkling eyes of the bear.

She snorted. “If anyone knows a thing or two about keeping a part of yourself a secret; especially something like this, I think I’d know. I’m asking for you to trust me and to just… look.”

Offering a soft smile, she combed her fingers down the werebear’s spine. He huffed in response, turning to snuffle his nose against her hair, the nape of her neck, her ear. She tried not to laugh at the cool, damp nose against her skin, keeping a firm, steady hand to their bloody side.

Abe was the first to approach. Slowly, he placed his axe upon the ground and grew closer.

The bear turned to regard him. It shrank back, lowering its head.

“… Amon,” he whispered cautiously. “… My boy is that… really you?”

The bear snorted quietly.

“I am so, terribly sorry,” he muttered hoarsely. Reaching up, Abe placed his hand lightly upon Amon’s shoulder.

A stream of white-light emitted from his palm, and upon the fuzzy hair of the bear. Amon groaned, and the wound shimmered with a faint, pulsing light as it closed upon itself and healed over.

Relieved, Essätha reached for his face. Startled, Amon huffed as she grabbed hair from behind his ears, looking him in the eye.

“We are going to have words, m’lord,” she scolded. “Why on Earth would you keep such a secret from us, from me? Have you any idea what could have happened if one of us didn’t find out? Or if someone else found you?” Her voice cracked at the end, wavering as her lip did for a moment.

He whined, lowering his face. His head brushed hers, but what was meant to be expressed as a tender affection instead smothered her face in hair that left her sneezing and a few hairs on her lip.

“Gross, I got bear-hair on my tongue.”

“Urrnf,” Amon grunted, offended.

“I’ll gather his things,” Sulhadur cut in softly. “Now that we know what’s going on, and no one’s in danger, I guess we can go back to camp.”

“And get in fresh clothes,” Adela grumbled, passing a look towards Essie.

Abe placed a large hand on Essätha’s shoulder, making her jump. There was a knowing, warm light in his eyes, but also one of remorse.

“Thank Torm for your perception skills, Essie. I’m sorry I doubted you. I should have trusted you’d be able to see through Amon, no matter his form, with such ease.”

The blood in her face instantly grew hot. She swallowed, unable to do more then nod. She felt numb and unable to create a sentence, even if she tried.

“And Amon,” he turned towards the werebear. “I am truly, unbelievably sorry. I would have never struck you if I had realized, and known the story. I would never have unintentionally caused you harm.”

The bear bobbed its bulky head to the best of his ability, blinking.

Torn with regret, the paladin bowed deeply towards Amon. He still appeared deeply upset, the weight of his shoulders sagging and his face fallen as he dragged his feet over to Sulhadur and Adela, who were picking up Amon’s boots near the route back to camp.

Essie glanced back to Amon. He looked back at her, and tilted his head.

“Nu-uh. Not even cute bear eyes are getting you out of thisss,” she warned him in a hiss. “You’ve no idea how scared I was- I thought… For a minute I thought…”

She worried her lower lip.

“Rrrrr,” Amon attempted, pitifully, to apologize in a rolling rumble deep in his chest. He stepped closer, rubbing his head against her side.

Sniffling, the Yuan-Ti wiped at her eyes. “Let’s just get back to camp for now. We’ll talk about the rest when you have the chance to defend yourself.”

Whining, the nobleman plodded after her as they headed after the others. They made their way up the gradual slope without much difficulty, although Essie felt her face grow embarrassingly hot when a bear snout helped push her back to help her get up the last few feet. Amon lumbered nervously behind them, lingering wearily in the shadows to let them go ahead. It was an opportunity for them to explain the strange events they’d uncover, and for the others to absorb the information before Essätha waved him to join them from hiding.

Slowly, Amon’s bear-form lumbered into camp.

“Oh,” Penimra murmured, “I always thought Amon was more of an otter.”

Essätha swatted him on the arm.

“Cool,” Rava stated in her usual go-with-the-flow tone. “If we put Amon and Essie together now, we have a really cruddy druid.”

“Shut up, Rava.”

“I was just saying.”

“Krrrr, you look very soft, Lord Anon,” Pri’cha encouraged, dipping their head respectfully.

This time, a smile tugged at Essie’s lips. “Regal, as always.”

Amon shuffled in place as though he was… embarrassed?

Essie cleared her throat. “I’m going to respectfully ask everyone to go about their usual business now. It can be a bit… overwhelming, for people to be staring at you when you’re… not in your usual flesh,” she offered. “Let’s give m’lord some peace and space.”

There were a few grumbles from a few of the more curious, but they all begrudgingly began to slip back off to what they had been doing. Questions could wait another day or two.

Essätha turned, smirking to see Caesar circling beneath and around his master. He whimpered, nosing at the werebear’s fur and sniffing every inch of him. When Amon lowered their head, inspecting his companion, Caesar wagged his tail, albeit a bit nervously, and licked the nobleman on the snout.

“Phhu!” Amon sneezed, shaking his head.

She snickered, shaking her head.

As the evening waned a little further, everyone finally stopped gawking as openly at the bear sitting far from the campfire, and began to head into their tents. Essätha disappeared into the one she shared with Amon, hearing his distant and quiet coo of sorrow. She returned, carrying three blankets.

The first, and largest, he watched as she threw out over the ground. She pointed at him, then upon it. He looked at her for a minute, grumbled at her in some bear-ish gibberish that she could probably was him telling her to stop fussing, and circled the spot. He flopped down, huffing.

Caesar, eager, bounded over with his tail wagging enthusiastically. He pressed himself against Amon’s side, rolling around and groaning with pleasure.

Giggling, Essie snapped open another blanket over Amon. It barely draped over a quarter of his size. He looked from the blanket, to her.

“I’m trying.”

He breathed out, slowly. Closing his eyes, Amon nuzzled his face against the side of her head.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed gently. A rumble moved through him, and he sighed.

Taking the final blanket, she wrapped herself in a cocoon, and laid against the free side of the bear not taken by the overexcited canine.

Amon turned to nudge her. He looked to their tent, and then looked back to her. It was hard to describe a bear’s face as looking ‘stern’, but that was the impression she was getting.

“Nu-uh, I’m staying right here with you,” she defended. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Huff.

“Consider it part of your punishment,” she grumbled, rolling up into a ball. She rubbed her cheek against his plush fur. He was quite comfy.

Amon tried to shift and push her off three times, each time ending in failure. He huffed, looking to the tent and back to her. She blatantly ignored him, closing her eyes and waiting for him to give up so she could get some sleep.

With finality, Amon snorted at her, and rather loudly sprawled out to lay his head down, defeated.

Essätha patted his side, cuddling up against him. “Goodnight, m’lord Amon.”

“Arrrgg,” he acknowledged with begrudging acceptance.

She drifted off slowly, vaguely aware at some point that his eyes were upon her. It gave her the same feeling it always did, that of safety, of warm happiness, and of peace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Essätha woke up, blinking in the early morning light. She shifted, wincing at the creak in her spine, and turned over.

She was�� on the ground?

Snoring greeted her. A wide grin spread across her face at the habitual morning ritual of the sound, and she forced her aching muscles to guide her in sitting up.

Sprawled out on his back, Amon lay snoring.

A slow, reddening color rose to her cheeks.

Rising clumsily to her feet, Essie stumbled over to the nearest tent. The residents inside groaned as she pulled back the flap.

“Ssssulhadur,” she hissed. “Get up. Come help me with something.”

“Nnng… right now?”

“Yesss, right now!”

“Alright alright, I’m coming I’m… getting up.”

She allowed the flap to fall and waited, tapping her boot on the ground. After a few seconds, the Dragonborn slipped out.

“What d’you need?” he yawned, revealing a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

She pointed over to where the nobleman lay, Caesar still asleep at his side, also upon his back.

“Could you please pick up m’lord Amon, and help get him to our tent?”

Sul blinked. “Ah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

The Dragonborn shuffled over, and scooped the nobleman up from the ground. Caesar gave a gruff good morning bark, and Amon’s head lulled, slurring drowsily.

“Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Relax, m’lord. We’re just getting you to our tent.”

Running ahead of Sulhadur, Essie parted the sides of the tent for him to duck into. It was darker in here. The Dragonborn deposited him gently to the ground. As Sul stepped out, yawning yet again, Caesar came crowding inside to flop himself down near Amon’s feet.

“Nnng… Essätha?” Amon groaned. He flinched, resting a hand against his side, where the red faded line from where the axe had struck him lay.

“Shhhh,” she whispered, sitting down beside him. “I’m right here.”

He grunted, growing still and quiet. She hummed to him leisurely, combing her fingers through his locks.

“… You’re not yelling at me,” he rasped, his eyes closed.

“I’m not going to yell at you. But we will be having words, when you’re fully awake, fed, and feeling a bit better.”

He grunted, prying his eyes open. The nobleman tried to shift.

Swiftly, her cheeks bright pink, Essie sprawled her hands out over his chest, stalling him.

“I-I don’t think so,” she stammered. “You’re q-quite nude beneath that blanket.”

The tired half-mast of Amon’s eyes grew wide and round. He looked down at the material draped over him, and wrapped it a bit more tightly around his waist.

With a cheesy, half smile, Essätha joked, “Once is a peek, twice is a show.”

To her surprise, Amon’s face grew equally red. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably against the bedroll beneath him. It was little protection from the cold, hard ground beneath.

“Lay back for now, and get some rest,” she reassured him in a compelling, adoring voice, lightly pressing a hand to his chest. He obeyed, looking from where her hand touched him up to her face. The light of the sun was beginning to lighten the top of their tent, piercing through with just the right angles of faded shafts.

He breathed in and out raggedly.

“Are you… feeling alright?”

“Yes,” he strained, reaching up to hold her hand. “I-… I mean in some ways, I am.”

She smiled at him, puzzled. Allowing him to hold one hand, she slowly laid down beside the nobleman, reaching over to continue combing through his hair.

“This alright with you?”

“Yes.” He sounded breathless. He closed his eyes, immersed in the experience. A shiver passed over him.

“… You know you could have told us,” she murmured. “You could have told me. I would have kept your secret. I could have tried to help you.”

“… I’m sorry,” he rasped quietly. He opened his mouth to continue.

“Tsssh. Nevermind; not right now. It can wait. Forget I said anything. Rest right now. Yesterday was… a lot to take in, I’m sure. Just rest right now.”

“Okay,” he grumbled, not sounding too thrilled with the idea. He curled his hand over hers, cradling it over his heart as he breathed, in and out, slowly and deeply.

She continued threading her fingers through his hair, looking upon his facial features. He looked tired; the circles a bit darker beneath his eyes, but he also looked positively peaceful.

Leaning in closer, she rested her hair against his side. Amon’s arm wound around her, rubbing her side.

A tug on her heartstrings.

She sighed gratefully, curling in to his open side, allowing her eyes to close.

She had utterly no idea the nobleman cracked his eyes open to stare down at her, a loving glow in his gaze. Positively clueless that the longer he stared, the more he wished he could pull her into a full embrace and kiss those inviting soft lips.

But this tender moment would do just fine; his hand rubbing circles along her side, and their intertwined fingers resting to his chest as she caressed his scalp.

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written #ft: Noisy Bastards #Werebearmon AU #It gets its own tag now Ammy!

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