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geekywritings · 4 years ago

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Rise of a Queen - Nikolai Lantsov x OC PART 8

When Taya opened her eyes the next morning, she wasn't sure if she was actually awake or had just started another dream. There were flowers right in front of her and as she turned, there were even more roses. Slowly she sat up, looking around in both shock and awe. The entire room was covered in flowers. Roses in all colors, lilies, sunflowers, and even her favorites, orchids. Nikolai, and she had no doubt it was his doing, had apparently raided the royal gardens or all florists of Os Alta for this. But there was no sign of him in the room. Instead, Taya spotted a letter in the bouquet closest to her, unfolding it eagerly.

"My beloved Taya,

I did not forget about the flowers.

When you wake up, I will most likely be on my way again. I want to check on our parents and try to persuade some of the Grisha to come back. We could use some good Materialki specialists here and I hope to bring back a Healer to look at your wounds.

Somewhere underneath those flowers, I also bought a few books for you to read while you wait. Please take your medicine and rest. And do think of me.

Your Nikolai."

Your Nikolai. It sounded too good to be true, but it was true after last night. They hadn't said a word about love, but the kiss had spoken more than 1000 words. She could still feel her body shiver pleasantly at the mere memory of it.

Suddenly the door opened, revealing one of the maids, who had been bringing her food during the last few days. She was having trouble navigating through all the flowers with her tray of food and medicine, grumbling about having told His Highness not to spread them on the ground.

"Good morning, My Lady. How are you feeling today?" It was the same greeting every day, which Taya returned with a smile.

"Much better Mrs. Podlak, thank you.", she said, allowing the elder woman to set the tray down before her on the bed. There was tea, the dreaded medicine, and her beloved Syrinki.

"Let me open the window for you. The smell of these flowers is overpowering.", she continued, now fighting her way to the tall window. "I told him a bouquet or two would be enough...", she muttered to herself and Taya had to stifle a chuckle. It was so like Nikolai to exaggerate. But she also had to admit that she was quite surprised. The sleeping potion she still took in the evenings really knocked her out for she had neither noticed Nikolai getting up nor the big surprise being set up all around her.

"I do actually love the scent.", she called to Mrs. Podlak, but the maid had already decided that fresh air was in order. And it did indeed feel good, as a warm breeze came through the open window. "Has Nikolai been gone for long?"

"His Highness set out just before sunrise with the two Squallers. He did not say where he went and when he would be back."

Taya nodded to the answer and began her breakfast. She knew where he was and if things went smoothly, he could be back within a day. Until then, she would actually try to follow his request and rest up. At least she had some reading material now.

_____________

In the end, Nikolai returned the following day, his first destination being his chamber, where Taya was still confined to his bed. But he did not arrive alone, being followed the young man in the damaged red kefta, whom Taya recognized from the Little Palace. He had been the only Healer among the group they had found and he was probably among very few Corporalki still present. Most others had either deserted or followed the Darkling.

The prince walked up to his beloved, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. "I see you enjoyed my surprise.", he began with a grin, before nodding to his companion, who obviously looked rather taken aback by the sea of flowers in the room. "Taya, this is Andrej Borisov. I'm going to leave you in his capable hands, while I quickly speak with the generals."

It was just a quick greeting, but Taya didn't mind. She knew Nikolai to be more than busy right now, being the one in command in his parents' absence. And there was plenty to do with city fortifications, repairs and the search for Alina. Taya was just sad that she couldn't be of more use. Though perhaps with Andrej's skills, she could be up and about much faster.

________

"Why did you stay behind?", she asked, after Andrej had started his work on her shoulder. She wasn't sure how he did it, but he placed his hands over her wound and she could feel her body pull and burn slightly, but not enough to cause extreme pain.

"Sonya, Gregori and Alexander are my friends. I could never leave them behind.", was all Andrej said. Taya didn't know who these people were exactly, though she vaguely remembered an Inferni in the group being called Sonya, but she did admire him for his loyalty.

"I hope the three of them are alright."

Andrej nodded. "They are. Sonya stayed behind at the Spinning Wheel. She found a way to be useful there with her skills. And the Twins are constantly flying back and forth or accompanying His Highness." Ah, so those were the names of the Twins, Taya thought to herself.

"And what do you want to do?", she asked Andrej, who stopped his work for a moment to check on the progress. A moment later his hand was back above her shoulder and she could feel the strange sensation in her flesh again.

"I want to help.", Andrej said simply. "I did what I could at the Spinning Wheel, but when his Highness told me I was needed here, I agreed to come. Besides, I wanted to see what it would feel like."

"And how does it feel?", Taya was genuinely curious.

"Strange... I grew up in the Little Palace. I thought it was the safest place for people like me. Turns out, it wasn't... But it is still my home and I think that I would like to return there."

Taya reached out, placing a hand on Andrej's arm. "We will make it a home again. For all Grisha. And while I can't promise that it will be the safest place in Ravka, we will take precautions this time."

For the first time since he came in, the ghost of a smile passed over Andrej's face. "We will see."

He went back to his work and a good half an hour later, he stood up again, allowing Taya to dress. "Your wounds are healing well. I could not mend them completely in one go, but give it another day and you will be able to walk around normally again."

She was immensely grateful for his help and even more grateful for the knowledge that she would only be confined to the bed for a short while longer.

______

A week later, Taya was already running around normally. She had put all her dedication into rebuilding and fortifying the Little Palace, even going as far as using all funds she had at her disposal. Compared to the fortune her family possessed as a whole, it wasn't much, but it was still more than enough to procure materials and pay people to help. A few of the Materialki returned from the Spinning Wheel to aid in the rebuilding of their former home, but they still relied on outside workers for some construction work.

During that time, Taya became closer to Andrej, Sonya, and especially the twins. While the Healer and his Inferni friend were constantly traveling back and forth between the Spinning Wheel and the capital, Alexander and Gregori spent more and more time in the Little Palace, only ever leaving to accompany Nikolai on some trip or another. At one point Taya revealed her own abilities to the twins and the two, after their initial surprise, agreed to train her.

Quickly, a routine had formed. Nikolai and Taya would wake up early together and share a quick breakfast, before going separate ways. She would work at the Little Palace and he would try to run the kingdom. In the afternoon the two would gather in the war room, where Nikolai devised strategies with his generals to prepare for another attack by the Darkling, while at the same time evaluating the messages he received from the search parties he had sent out in the quest for Alina and the others. Afterward, they would eat together again and then fall into bed, utterly exhausted just to wake up at sunrise again to begin the routine anew.

It meant that they didn't have much of a honeymoon phase, where they could explore and enjoy their newly discovered feelings for each other, but the brief moments they had were enough for now. They knew when other matters took priority and Nikolai was immensely grateful for Taya's understanding. Many women would feel abandoned or not graced with enough attention, but his love found ways to occupy herself and do her fair share of work. And it didn't go unnoticed either. The rumors about her being his mistress soon made way for gossip regarding the possibility of Taya becoming his wife and future Queen. Although he tried to pay the whispers no heed, it did make him proud to hear servants and nobles alike acknowledging her skills and potential.

What bothered Nikolai however was the lack of progress they were making. While the damages in Os Alta were quickly being taken care of, the building of more aircrafts and the search for Alina were at a standstill. They lacked materials to continue production and the sun summoner and her following were still swallowed up by the earth itself. It was frustrating, to say the least.

__________

One afternoon, Nikolai was leaning over a collection of sketches he had made for some new aircrafts, all light and fortified with the newest guns, trying to find ways to reduce their production cost, while also still sulking about the rather ineffective meeting with his generals just an hour ago. Taya had not been present, because she had been busy at the Little Palace. More Grisha had returned and she was making sure they were all settled in. It was a relief to hear that life was returning to normal at least a little bit and Nikolai knew that they needed the Grisha to keep the capital safe. They were mostly left with Etheralki and Materialki at this point, but a handful of healers had also rejoined their former little family along with two Heartrenders.

Suddenly the door of the library opened and his eyes went wide, as he saw Taya walk in, wearing a royal blue kefta, embroidered in the telling silver of the Squallers. She was smiling brightly, even doing a small twirl before him to show off her newest garment. "I got it as a gift today.", she announced. "The twins said I earned it." So it was official now. No hiding her true powers anymore.

Nikolai had tried to imagine what she would look like in the kefta once, but the reality was so much better. She looked regal in it, powerful and confident and absolutely perfect. He got up to examine her in detail, appreciating her from all angles, his mood instantly lifting. "You look beautiful.", he assured her.

He received a kiss as a thank you, before she joined him at the table to get a quick summary of what she had missed during the meeting. It really wasn't much.

"We need more funds.", she summarized all their growing problems into one simple sentence. They had to expand their search, buy more materials and strengthen their borders and production sites. Taya had used up almost all of her private fortune, and Nikolai was weary about taking too much from the treasury without his father's approval. He had his own fortune as well, but that was currently being invested into a secret project to assure a strong Ravka in the future. For a second both stared at the table, before speaking at the same time.

"I could do some business as Sturmhond."

"We need to hold a ball."

Silence again, as both blinked, before a chuckle escaped them. "I assume yours will take less time, but what do you plan to accomplish with a ball?", he asked curiously.

"The financial support of the noble families of Ravka. Gather them here, show them that the capital is safe again and that they can only keep their lifestyles if we manage to defeat the Darkling, find Alina and show military strength at the border."

"It was only a few weeks ago when you told me that I don't need the support of the nobles just yet.... How quickly times change.", he mused. "I will have to convince my parents to return as well."

"No, don't.", Taya said firmly, taking him by surprise. "The nobles need to follow and respect you. Their money will flow into your projects and you are the new hope for Ravka."

Nikolai felt a weight settle on his shoulders, that he had not known before. The weight of a crown he wasn't even wearing yet. His wish to save the country, however, was stronger than any fear of responsibility.

"What would I do without you?", he asked, reaching across the table to take her hand into his.

"Spent a few months at sea most likely, robbing Kerch traders in the name of the crown.", she replied with a smile. Nikolai felt his own lips draw into a smile at that.

"Probably.", he admitted. "It did work great before to amass a fortune." Turning more serious again he asked: "Do you think the nobles will return to the ballroom after what had happened there?"

"Eventually. But now might be a bit early. So we will hold the ball outside between the Grand and the Little Palace. Invite Grisha, spread some of your ships out. It will provide a sense of safety and a quick possible escape. At the same time, they can see where their money will go."

He was positively surprised by her wit and planning. Suddenly the thought of her as his Queen hit him. He had heard the possibility being thrown around for a while now, but hearing her plan to assure the future of Rvaka made it feel right. She was perfect for the role, no doubt. Her family name and fortune made her an adequate match and her intelligence and compassion would serve her well on the throne. The fact that he also loved her was just the icing on the cake.

But he would not offer now. Not until he was certain that there still was a country to rule side by side. And for that, he would have to face another dreaded ball.

__________________

The event took place a week later and had been a nightmare to organize. Sending letters to all the right families, getting varieties of his inventions onto the grounds, making sure there was enough food and drink and entertainment offered, as well as having the Palaces look even more splendid than usual was not what he had wanted to do in times like these. It even felt wrong to hold a spectacle like this while his friends were still missing and the Darkling still out there.

"If you pull a face like this all evening, nobody will offer you anything.", Taya said, drawing him out of his thoughts. She had come in without him noticing and got to work buttoning up his uniform. He would have to be the Prince again today. The charmer and the businessman, so he needed to look the part. So he was dressed in the royal red and gold his family loved so much and felt strangely silly in it.

Taya, on the other hand, was a sight to behold. She had opted for blue again, her favorite color, and the dress flowed on her like water, the silver embellishments adding to the magical effect. She had curled her hair again, putting it up in an elegant style and adding a silver tiara and jewels for good measure. They needed to look richer than they really were tonight.

"You look absolutely stunning.", he told her.

"And you look absolutely uncomfortable.", she just replied. "Smile and relax."

"I can do one of the two."

"Then smile." It was easier said than done. "Maybe the news I have will help. Everyone agreed to come tonight. Even Count Fedjor and his family. And I send word to my parents and they send out some invitations as well to their business partners."

Those were good news indeed and they reminded him once again how grateful he was to have her. "Well, then let's go and get our hands on their fortunes, shall we?"

__________

The ball was a great success. The nobility relished in the chance of holding a grand social event again and were easily susceptible to Nikolai's charm. Getting showered with attention and compliments from their future Tsar loosened their pockets and the presence of soldiers and Grisha alike gave them a sense of security. The aircrafts received ample amounts of admiration as well and especially the men were eager to invest in such technological advancements.

While the guests enjoyed themselves, Taya and Nikolai were hard at work. Always going from one person to the next, engaging in just the right small talk, and indiscreetly asking for financial support. He took care of the traditional families, while Taya used her charms on her father's long-standing business partners.

It was the early morning hours when the last guests began to leave, some of them even taking up the offer of being flown home on one of Nikolai's aircrafts. They didn't have enough Squallers to offer everyone the chance, but only a few were curious enough to try in the first place.

"I think that went rather well.", Taya said, sounding rather pleased. They were standing in the middle of prettily lit chaos, but they had accomplished what they had set out to do. "And I think this was the first ball that I didn't have a single dance."

"I distinctively remember you hating dance lessons."

"True, the lessons were a pain, but actual dancing is one of the few joys at every event."

They had shared dances since his return, but none as an actual couple. The idea came suddenly and he acted upon it right away. "Then would you offer me this dance, my lady?"

Taya laughed. "The musicians have already left."

"Show some creativity, my dear.", he bowed down like a true gentleman and offered her his hand. Still amused, she took it and allowed him to draw her into the first steps. To fill the silence, Nikolai hummed a random song they had heard that night and Taya eventually joined. Together they waltzed over the grass, elated by their success that night, getting completely lost in it. They didn't even notice as servants arrived to begin cleaning up, all looking perplexed or smiling at the sight of His Highness with his chosen lady.

Suddenly the first drops started falling from the sky, quickly followed by more. Within seconds, it was a proper rain shower and while the servants rushed for cover, Nikolai and Taya continued their dance. Their humming turned into laughter, as he spun her around before drawing her back close to him. They were absolutely drenched, but Taya had never enjoyed a ball more.

"I love you."

His words were almost drowned by the rain, but she heard them nevertheless. She wasn't sure where it had suddenly come from and it was unlike any declaration of love she had ever read about in books, but it was perfect. Because those words were coming from him.

"I love you too, Nikolai."

He pulled her towards him, his kiss almost desperate. They were pressed against each other, the rain still soaking their hair and skin, but neither cared. Taya's arms were around him, holding onto his jacket at his back. Their kiss got more frantic and they only broke apart when there was no air left in their lungs. Blue eyes stared into hazel and suddenly he pulled her along.

The way back to his room took longer than expected. Every few steps they were locked in a kiss again, with him pressing her against the closest wall or door. At one point they knocked over a vase with flowers but didn't even fully notice.

Taya didn't understand the fire that was suddenly burning within her, but she wasn't about to question or let it go. She wanted Nikolai close, wanted to feel all of him to show him how much she really meant those words she had said. And he seemed to feel exactly the same.

Once in his room, they began to tear at each others' clothes, trying to get them off their wet bodies. He was shirtless and working on her corset when he stopped for a moment as if his thoughts cleared for a second.

"Are you sure?", he asked. Taya's heart swelled with love at his concern for her, but she nodded. "Stop asking questions and kiss me."

He did, hungrily and passionately, his hands finally removing the corset. He slowed down only when she was fully nude before him, taking his time to take her in fully with his eyes. She was slender, but with just the right womanly curves, which he explored with his hands. He wanted to memorize every detail of her and get to know her body's secrets.

Soon they were on the bed and she was shivering against him, as he slowly learned just what she liked. There was a moment when he was about to ask her again if this was what she truly wanted, but before a word could escape him, Taya drew him into a kiss.

"No nonsense.", she said. "Make love to me, Nikolai."

The words alone were ecstasy for him and he wasted no time to fulfill her wish. They made love several times that night. Wild, slow, passionate, and intimate. And by the time the sun rose, both were exhausted. Stil entangled, they closed their eyes and sank into a much-deserved sleep.

_____

@imma-too-many-fandoms

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x oc #nikolailantsovxoc #grisha #grishaverse #shadowandbone #kingofscars

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

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We’re getting close to the end, folks! Chapter 17 of 20 is up. This one features some cuddles/comfort, a trip to NYC, a sparkling holiday party, and a romantic dance. Enjoy!

David x Patrick, A03, 5k this chapter.

Chapter 17

David is sitting outside on the lanai, drinking his coffee and ignoring Alexis’ texts. He doesn’t know how to answer her question. He’s not sure why she thinks that texting him about the same thing over and over will make any difference, when he clearly told her, three days ago, to stop bothering him about it.

The problem is that he’s running out of time to make a decision, although in a way that’s a decision in itself. He knows that the adult thing to do is to talk to Patrick about it, but if a little more time goes by, he won’t have to.

It’s only a few days away from one of his family’s most honored traditions, their annual holiday party, which has now become the Rose Motel Group holiday party. This year, it’s at a trendy club in New York City, and it promises to be even more spectacular than ever. David is expected to attend, whether he’s working remotely in Florida or not.

Of course, his parents would understand if he didn’t come… but he’ll pay the price, he knows it. His father will have that sad look of disappointment, and his mother will be hurt, but hide it under fancy words and an extra ridiculous outfit. And he really can’t stand the thought of upsetting Alexis.

It’s not only guilt, either. David misses his family. For better or worse, they have continued to be close since their days in Schitt’s Creek, and it’s not all due to concern about David’s mental health. David genuinely enjoys their company, most of the time, and he’s come to rely on them. Especially Alexis.

David had managed to put the holiday party completely out of his mind until Alexis started texting him about it. Apparently his father finally caught on to the fact that he hadn’t committed, and put her on the case. It’s been easy not to think about it, or anything to do with his old, sad, non-Patrick life, here in sunny Florida where the Christmas decorations look wildly out of place on the palm trees. Even Patrick’s thoughtful gift of a menorah hadn’t overcome David’s willful not-thinking-about the holidays, annual festivities included.

He’s so happy here, with Patrick and no one else, in their bubble of suburban domesticity. They pretty much do whatever they want, no one stopping in to put demands on them, no one asking questions. Sure, they spend some time working during the day, but they’re never more than a few feet apart, unless one of them leaves the house to run a quick errand. It’s not very realistic, and it might well have backfired, but so far it hasn’t.

Frankly David finds it comforting that Patrick is here, safe from all the demons that have been troubling him. Although now he has to rewrite that story a bit, seeing as Marcy’s heath scare happened here in Florida. But at least Patrick is far away from the site of his employment melt-down and his ill-fated night on the town with his cousin, cocooned in this little bubble where David can keep a close eye on him.

He worries about Patrick. Over the past few weeks the Patrick he used to know is making his appearance more and more, but he’s still not the same. Almost worse than the quiet sadness he sees in his eyes when he thinks David isn’t looking is the tentative surprise he shows when something goes right.

It’s ironic, David thinks, that now, more than three years after their break-up, Patrick is the more damaged one. It’s not what he ever imagined, when he thought about their future. In the hazy mist of his imagination, Patrick was always and forever steady, guiding David through the stormy waters of his turbulent life. (David acknowledges that his imagination is prone to purple prose.) But life didn’t turn out that way, and he can only thank the universe that fate and shitty weather in Milwaukee brought them together again.

David finishes his coffee and goes into the house, toeing off his shoes just inside the door. He makes a cup of deliciously scented jasmine tea for Patrick, and heads back into the bedroom.

Patrick is still in bed, curled up in a ball with the duvet almost covering his face. He hadn’t wanted to get up when the alarm went off, muttering to David that he didn’t have to do any work until the afternoon, and burrowing back down into the blankets.

David puts the tea down on the nightstand and slides under the covers, spooning up against Patrick’s back. He moves slowly, trying to gauge whether his presence is welcome or not. He knows Patrick isn’t actually asleep – his eyes flickered open when David entered the room. The fact that he’s still in bed despite this isn’t a tremendously good sign, but David knows all too well how sometimes just getting out of bed can seem overwhelming.

To an outsider, he thinks that Patrick probably seems fine. He is taking care of himself, doing what needs to be done in the house, and even starting a new job. He gives the impression to others that he is completely in control, friendly and capable – and David thinks that more and more, it’s not a façade. But David sees these moments, too, when it’s all just too much.

He curls his hand around Patrick’s arm, gently. “Hey,” he whispers. “I brought you some tea, if you want it.”

No reaction.

“Or you can just nap for a while.”

Patrick stirs, inching back towards David.

“Okay if I nap too?” David asks.

Patrick takes David’s hand and pulls it to his own chest, tucking his arm around David’s. David can feel Patrick’s heartbeat against his palm.

“Mmm.” David presses a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck. “Sweet dreams, baby.” David closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of Patrick’s skin. There are a lot worse things to do than cuddle his boyfriend through a difficult morning. David can handle this. He’s starting to think there’s quite a lot he can handle, when it comes to Patrick.

He knows Patrick was up late last night, going down rabbit holes on the web. At some point David had woken up and peered at the screen of Patrick’s laptop, so he knows he was reading about depression. He hopes it helped. The internet can be a scary place; he’d probably be better off talking to someone. David would talk to him about it, if he let him, but ever since their first few conversations Patrick hasn’t wanted to discuss it.

David has almost fallen asleep when Patrick turns over and squints his eyes open.

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” he says, blinking at David.

The sentence seems to carry more weight than he intended, and David shakes his head and puts his arm around Patrick, pulling him close. “I’m not going anywhere.” David shifts on to his back, and Patrick tucks himself against David’s chest.

“You have work.” It’s a half-hearted protest at best, mumbled against David’s sweater.

“I already told Rory to move my meetings to the afternoon. I’m fine.” David presses a kiss to Patrick’s head. “I’m exactly where I want to be. It’s a perfect day for sleeping in.”

Patrick is quiet, while David rubs his back and shuffles closer until they are entwined just right, legs and knees and arms all pressed together.

After a few minutes David feels Patrick’s breath slow, and his hold on David relaxes. He’s about to drift off himself, when Patrick jerks himself awake again.

“You okay, honey?”

Patrick nods, his chin digging into David. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s all right.” David strokes Patrick’s shoulder and back, making lazy circles, hoping it will help.

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers, his hand flat against David’s stomach. It’s the last thing David hears before he falls asleep.

When David wakes up, Patrick is gone, but the shower is running so there’s not much of a question as to where he went. David drags himself upright and checks his phone. Rory has indeed moved his meetings, one to this afternoon, one to tomorrow, and one he had taken care of all by himself. Maybe there won’t be coal in his Christmas stocking after all.

David is in the kitchen sniffing various take-out containers to figure out if he can stand eating any of them for lunch, when Patrick shows up. He’s wide awake and smells delightfully like David’s favorite body wash, so naturally David has to kiss him before anything else. When they separate, Patrick is smiling sweetly at him, and David feels his whole body light up. If there’s something better than Patrick’s fond attention, he has yet to discover it.

Patrick insists on making lunch, and they pull together a salad with some bagged lettuce, leftover grilled chicken and an overlooked cucumber.

“We have got to get something better for dinner,” David says, as they lean against the kitchen island and eat their food.

“There’s an Italian place in a new shopping center that I haven’t tried yet, but it looks good.” Patrick sends David the link to the restaurant’s menu, and David is checking out their desserts (they have cannoli, which is a definite mark in their favor), when Patrick’s phone chirps several times in a row.

“David?”

“Hm?”

“Why does Alexis want my measurements?”

David freezes, his good mood draining out of him. “What?”

“Alexis wants to know my-”

David yanks the phone out of his hand. “Let me see.” He scans the messages. The party isn’t directly mentioned, but there’s no getting out of it now. He’s going to kill Alexis for pulling this shit and going around him. “I can explain.”

“Okay, go ahead.” Patrick takes a bite of his salad, then looks up at David. “What’s going on?”

Time to bite the bullet. “This Saturday night is the RMG holiday party.”

“Okay…”

“And my parents want me to come.”

Patrick looks… disappointed. “Oh.”

David realizes his mistake instantly. “Us – they want us to come. But – you don’t have to. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

David stands up from his chair and paces, to the patio and back, wishing it wasn’t raining so he could go outside and pace there too.

“David? Is that a hard question?” Patrick is standing now, too, and there’s a tinge of anger in his tone.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to come,” David says, coming towards him and gripping his arms. “I don’t want to rock the boat. We’re good here. There’s no reason to risk it.”

“To risk what?” Now Patrick just sounds confused.

“Anything.” David tilts his head back. “I know I sound crazy, that’s why I didn’t bring this up.”

Patrick pulls them towards the couch, and they sit down. David leans his head in his hands.

“David. Tell me what’s really going on.”

He sighs. “What if you don’t like it?”

“The party?”

David looks up and rolls his eyes at him. “No, not the party. What if you’re mad, about why I didn’t say anything?”

“I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, David, but you might be overthinking things. Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Fine.” David straightens his shoulders and looks at Patrick. “I like being here with you. I like the us we have. I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” Patrick says, winding his fingers through David’s. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to go to New York without you, and have people… talk at me about it. Put thoughts in my head, about how it might not work. And I don’t want you to come and have the same thing happen.”

“So, you’re afraid that if we leave here, and see anyone else, they’ll be able to convince us that what we have isn’t going to last?”

“All right, all right, I know that’s silly.” David squeezes his eyes shut. “Also I don’t want you to get upset.”

There’s a pause, and when Patrick speaks, his voice is quiet, his slightly teasing tone gone. “Upset about what?”

David shrugs, his eyes still closed. “Things that might… upset you. Strangers. The city. A crowded club.” He can feel Patrick go still next to him. “I don’t know if that’s why we keep to ourselves down here. But if that was any part of it, if this is your safe space, I don’t want you to feel you have to leave. Not for something as dumb as a holiday party.”

Patrick breathes in and out, audibly, and David opens his eyes. Patrick’s looking down at where their hands are entwined, studying them, his lips pressed tightly together. David reaches over and cups Patrick’s head with his hand, bringing them closer. “I hope that was okay to say,” David says softly.

Patrick nods. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah. That was okay to say.” He looks at David, and his eyes are wet. “You’re right. This is my safe space, here, with you.”

David feels his chest clench, and he nods back. “I’m glad.”

Patrick inhales deeply, and blinks away a tear. “But I don’t think your family’s holiday party is necessarily a dumb reason to leave.”

“No?”

“No. I think it might be good for us. Especially since Alexis is apparently finding me a really nice suit.”

*****

It sounds easy – Patrick says sure, they should go to the party. But there are a dozen decisions to make after that, and by the next night, David is really wishing he had found a way to just say no.

When to leave is easy enough – there’s no way he wants Patrick to have to take Friday off, not with a brand-new job, so they’ll fly into LaGuardia on Saturday morning. But will they come back on Sunday – Christmas Eve? Or spend that night with his family and come back on Christmas itself? Spend yet another night to avoid traveling on Christmas? And how is it fair to Patrick’s parents, to make this special trip to be with David’s family, and not see them?

Add to that figuring out where they’ll stay (one night on Alexis’ pull-out couch is barely tolerable, but more than that, forget it), what social events David will agree to while there, and who is going to pay for the whole charade, and it’s a giant mess.

“Ok, I’ve had enough,” David says, when their dinner of take-out sushi has been completely dominated by debating the pros and cons of the various options, each of them trying to anticipate what the other wants and as far as David can tell, defeating the point of the entire conversation. “Let’s play rock, paper, scissors.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand it anymore. Whoever wins, chooses.”

“That won’t solve it.”

Patrick’s right, it still doesn’t mean whoever wins will actually pick something reasonable, and not just what they think the other person wants.

“But you might be on to something,” Patrick continues, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Please, tell me, and put an end to this so we can get on with our lives.” And pack, David thinks.

“On the count of three, put out a finger for how many nights you want to stay in New York. No more debate, no more thinking about it.”

“Each of us puts out a finger for how long who wants to stay?”

Patrick glares at him. “Don’t make this harder than it is. The conversation is over. Ready?”

David nods. Whatever happens, at least then they can move on.

“One, two-”

“Wait, do we put out a finger on three, or are you going to say one, two, three, go?”

Patrick smacks David on the arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m going to say one, two, three, go.” There’s a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes when they meet David’s. “Ready? One, two, three, go!”

Both of them put out one finger.

“Oh, thank god,” David says, sagging forward, his forehead against Patrick’s.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?” David didn’t want to stay in New York any longer than necessary; he didn’t want to have any other days to worry about what his parents might want him to do versus what Patrick might want to do, he didn’t want to have to manage any of it any longer than he had to. But he also didn’t want Patrick to feel like he was cutting David’s time with his family short, or that David was giving something up for him. Because right now, all David really wants is whatever is best for Patrick, and what’s best for him and Patrick together. And his gut is telling him that getting back to Florida on Sunday, and then spending Monday (even though it’s Christmas? Because it’s Christmas?) together, alone, with no work and no family for a whole day, is what’s best for them both.

Patrick laughs. “Sure. And you know what’s great about our decision?”

“That it’s done?”

“Yes, and now we can just stay at Alexis’ place, since it will only be one night.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

*****

They wake up at a painfully early hour Saturday morning and drag themselves to the airport, which is packed with Christmas travelers. But everything goes smoothly, and by noon they’re in an Uber on their way to Alexis’ place. When she opens the door she ignores David completely and envelops Patrick in a hug that goes on for so long, Patrick signals to David for help. It’s unbearably sweet, and David is suddenly, overwhelmingly happy that they decided to come to New York.

Alexis gives Patrick a tour of her tiny apartment, and Patrick appropriately oohs and ahs over everything. Alexis is especially proud of the little corner of her room that serves as an office, with its mood boards and tastefully decorated shelves.

“So this is where the magic happens,” Patrick says, and Alexis beams.

“Yes, Patrick!” She sits down at her computer and pulls up a file to show him her latest spreadsheet achievement, when David sees a glossy looking envelope on her counter with Patrick’s name on it.

“What’s this?” He picks it up, admiring the heavy paper, when he recognizes the ice blue logo. “Alexis, why do you have-”

She plucks it out of his hand and does a little shimmy. “It’s not for you, David.” With a flourish, she hands it to Patrick.

Patrick exchanges a “what can you do” glance with David, and opens the envelope. David crowds close, too excited to wait.

“It’s from your mom,” Patrick says.

“It’s a lil’ couples massage,” Alexis says, practically bouncing on her toes. “She specifically said to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself.” Alexis points with an impeccably polished nail to where it says that on the card, and David rolls his eyes, remembering the day Patrick reassured his mother that she wasn’t responsible for the dead guy in Room 4. He knew she was being purposefully obtuse about the scone.

“Do we even have time for this massage thing?” Patrick asks. “It’s for today.”

“Um, yes, we have time. We absolutely have time. This is one of the most exclusive spas in the city.” David grabs Patrick’s coat off the couch; his own leather jacket is barely warm enough for New York in December, but at least it’s appropriate, unlike Patrick’s down monstrosity. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alexis says, linking her arm through Patrick’s. “Maybe we can make it a trio.”

“Not unless you are ready to walk out this door in thirty seconds.”

“Ugh, David.”

Luckily Alexis takes only fifteen minutes to get ready to go, and they’re on their way. Despite the fact that David has never heard of a trio massage (and he shudders to think of how expensive that might be), he doesn’t dissuade her from coming along. He’s got barely twenty-four hours to hang out with her, and he’s going to soak up every one of them.

In the end Alexis drops them at the spa to do some shopping of her own, while David and Patrick are pampered to within an inch of their lives. During the initial consultation with the massage therapists, they are fed chocolate covered strawberries and cucumber water. They agree on the massage oils, and the music, and then are led to a dim room which smells delightfully like eucalyptus and jasmine. David tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch Patrick melting into jelly on the table next to him. It’s without a doubt the best massage David has ever experienced. He can practically feel the oxytocin swirling in the air between them.

Afterwards they are helped into fluffy white robes, and then collapse together onto a wide, padded lounger. “That was really nice,” Patrick says.

“Nice?” David asks. “Just nice?”

Patrick snuggles into David’s shoulder. “Mmm. I can’t think of words right now. Full review later.”

David noses at Patrick’s hair. “Okay.”

“Love you,” Patrick says muzzily.

“Love you too.”

They dose together, boneless and content, until a soft chime wakes them. Reluctantly they find their way to the changing rooms, and then out into reality.

Alexis is buzzing with excitement and wants to immediately go back to her place to get dressed, but David insists that they find something to eat first. It’s still hours away from when dinner will be served tonight, and as lovely as the chocolate covered strawberries were, he needs some real food or things will get ugly.

Luckily, they spot one of his favorite places to get a quick snack (it’s a chain with pretentious communal tables, but David has spent many hours here and he loves it anyway), so they load up on quiche and avocado tartine and mochas before returning to Alexis’ apartment.

When they arrive it’s fashion show time. Because Alexis loves dressing up, she had agreed ages ago to let David keep some clothes in her closet – just a few choice outfits for when they were in New York together and felt like going out. But David can feel Patrick hovering next to him, all the afternoon’s relaxing threatening to disappear, so he suggests they look at his options first.

Alexis beams and starts chattering about what she got for Patrick, and David leans in close, a hand on the small of his back. “You don’t have to wear any of that if you don’t want to,” he whispers, as Alexis pulls out a silver shirt with a shiny gleam. “You can wear what you brought. Or what you’ve got on right now.” David gives Patrick’s jeans-clad ass a little slap, and Patrick snorts out a laugh.

“What? You don’t like this one?” Alexis asks. “You’re right, it’s too flashy. How about this?” She reaches airily into the closet, and David can tell by the way she’s standing, like she’s posing for a photo, that she’s presenting her top choice. It’s a dark navy blue suit (Tom Ford? How did she get a Tom Ford suit for Patrick?) with a deep, rich purple shirt. She holds it up to Patrick, and he nods carefully, then looks over to David for approval.

David pets it, and looks inside for a label. The suit isn’t a Tom Ford, although it looks damn good. And now that he examines the jacket more closely, he can see it has its own distinctive style. “Where did you get this, Alexis? And who made it?”

Alexis preens. “One of my friends has a connection with an up and coming designer,” she says. “She’ll be at the party tonight. I’ll introduce you.”

“And we don’t have to pay for this, right?” David asks. The cut is classically elegant, and he thinks it’s going to fit Patrick like a glove.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’. “She’s just happy to have someone wearing her clothes.”

“I’ll try it on,” Patrick says, and Alexis shows him to the bathroom. When he comes back out, David can’t help but go to him, running his hands up and down his shoulders and arms.

“You like it?” Patrick asks.

“I like you,” David says, and presses a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips. “And you look amazing in this suit.” He unbuttons another button of the shirt, liking the way the open neck shows just a little bit of Patrick’s skin.

“It doesn’t need a tie?” Patrick asks.

“No, you’re perfect just like this.”

“Yay!” Alexis cheers, coming over and booping Patrick on the nose. “I knew this was going to work!”

David decides on his black and white Armani short jacket, with a sharp collared white shirt underneath and slim black ankle-length trousers. He likes the contrast with Patrick’s rich colored but still traditionally styled suit. Alexis twirls for them in her dress, a silky blush colored gown that makes her look like a 50’s movie star. They’re finally ready, and they pile into a waiting Uber and head uptown.

The back room of the club is already crowded, and David can’t help but feel a little swell of pride at how RMG has grown. Stevie waves to them from where she’s standing across the room with Ruth, but David doesn’t have a chance to get over to her before his parents descend. There are hugs all around, and when the wave of familial affection finally recedes, David can’t help but notice that Patrick looks a little overwhelmed.

He weaves his arm through Patrick’s and leads them away, finding an alcove where they can catch their breath.

“You okay?” he asks, a palm to Patrick’s chest. He can feel his heart beating a mile a minute. This is exactly what he was worried about, this is too much for Patrick, too many people. “We can leave anytime, we made our appearance, I’ll call a car-”

“No, David, I’m fine,” Patrick says, taking David’s hand. “Really.”

David searches his face. “Are you sure? Because you seem a little…”

“David,” Patrick says firmly. “I’m fine.” He slides his hands around David’s waist, under his jacket, and David can feel the warmth of his fingers pressing against him through the thin fabric of his shirt. David slings his arms around Patrick and leans his head against his shoulders. “Your parents are very enthusiastic, but it’s great to see them,” Patrick says. “Everything’s okay.”

“You’re fine,” David repeats, willing himself to believe it. Patrick really is. Nothing’s wrong.

“Could it be, maybe, you’re a little nervous too?” Patrick says, his voice gentle.

David wants to deny it, but realizes instantly that Patrick is right. He feels a little fizzy, a little unsteady. “Maybe.” Patrick isn’t the only one who has been enjoying their little Florida bubble.

Patrick hugs him closer, and then steps back, inclining his head out towards the party. “Come on. Alexis said there’d be crab puffs.”

“Crab cakes,” David corrects.

“Crab cakes, then. And baked brie.”

“I still don’t see any coherency in the hors d’oeuvre selection,” David gripes, back on solid ground.

“But you’re going to eat all of them anyway.”

“I am definitely going to eat all of them anyway.”

They’re grazing by the cheese platters when David sees a few familiar faces coming towards him. This is going to be fun, he thinks, a smile tugging at his cheek.

“David, hi!”

“Vanessa, you look radiant.” She does, her dark skin set off by a metallic pantsuit and glimmers of gold around her eyes.

“Most beautiful woman in the room,” rumbles her companion, a huge man with a barrel chest who towers over both David and Patrick.

“Patrick, meet Vanessa, my favorite gallery employee from back in the day, and her husband Rory, my current favorite employee.”

Rory laughs, his deep voice probably setting off small earthquakes somewhere. “I’m not your employee, Rose.” He holds out his hand to Patrick. “Nice to meet you.”

Patrick turns to David, and the reveal was definitely worth it. “This is your assistant Rory? The one you bother all day long about your schedule? The one you sent to pick out your clothes?”

“Mmm-hmm.” David knows Patrick thought “Rory” was some college kid, he just knows it. Instead he’s a thirty-five year old sculptor who wanted a day job for a steady paycheck.

“What, you don’t think I can be trusted with David’s clothes?” Rory asks. “I admit, I was surprised, too. But I guess he had a good reason to ask me to go through all of his drawers.”

“Drawers? My knits aren’t in drawers, where did you-” David sees the look on Vanessa’s face, and abruptly changes course. “You made Vanessa do it, didn’t you.”

Vanessa laughs, and tucks her arm through her husband’s. “I’m sorry, David, but come on – you send Rory an emergency text telling him to Fed Ex you extremely specific selections from your warm weather clothing, and you think I’m not going to get involved? I’ve known you for years and you never let me into your closet before. It was an experience I was not going to pass up.”

Patrick is giggling into his glass of seltzer, and David has had quite enough of this. “Fine. Tease me if you want. But I think we can all agree it was a successful mission.” He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, his arm snug around him.

“From the way you two look together, I’d say so,” Vanessa says.

“Here here.” Rory raises his glass, and they all follow suit. “To David and Patrick.”

“Oh my god, enough with that,” David says, and buries his burning face in Patrick’s neck.

Rory and Vanessa excuse themselves, but David has hardly had a chance to visit the buffet again when Patrick tugs at his arm.

“What?” he says, looking up from a particularly delicious egg roll.

“Come dance with me,” Patrick says, his eyes wide and warm, and David drops his plate on a table and follows him.

“What brought this on?” David asks, as he loops his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and starts to move in time to the music.

Patrick shrugs a little and pulls David closer. “My parents always dance to this song,” he says into David’s ear.

David feels his chest expand, and he presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “It’s a nice song.”

Moon river, wider than a mile I'm crossing you in style some day

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way

David listens for a moment to the bittersweet melody. “Is it a love song?” he finally asks. It’s not as if he’s ever given Moon River much thought before.

Patrick slides his fingers up the back of David’s neck, into his hair. “I think it’s love for the journey, rather than a destination.”

Two drifters, off to see the world

There’s such a lot of world to see

David glances around, and now his parents are dancing too, along with a handful of other couples. He nuzzles against Patrick. “Not to quote my sister or anything, but… I like this journey for us.”

Patrick turns his head and finds David’s lips, kissing him sweetly. “Me too, David. Me too.”

#david x patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek fic #Schitt's Creek #Alexis Rose

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kingreywrites · 5 years ago

Text

What obstacles fate may bring

Fandom: Tangled

Words count: 3326

New Dream Appreciation Week Day Five: Proposal

Summary: "I can't believe it," Rapunzel groaned, taking his hand to press it against her face, probably to feel the coolness of his ring against her skin. "I can't believe- this must be a curse. We're cursed, Eugene, cursed to never have a normal engagement."

"We're not cursed," he chuckled, ignoring her glare. "The doctor said it might not be permanent."

Read on ao3

@our-newdream

Eugene knocked softly on the door of Rapunzel's bedroom, more to warn her that he was coming than anything else. Actually, it was their bedroom now, he remembered with a goofy smiled, that immediately abated at the sight he was met with. The bedroom was completely dark which, these last days, wasn't unusual - with her headaches, Rapunzel was uncomfortable if it was too brightly lit. Considering her previous relationship with the sun, it was quite ironic, but she was too miserable and she missed seeing the sky too much for Eugene to even joke about it. No, what was unusual today was the fact that Rapunzel was not only laying on her bed, but was actively trying to choke herself with a pillow while Pascal squeaked comfortingly next to her ear.

"You okay Sunshine?" Eugene asked softly, knowing that loud sounds could also hurt her.

She moaned something unintelligible under her pillow and he frowned, unsure if she was sad or actually hurting. He went to sit next to her quickly, his hand going to her shoulder.

"Does your head hurt?" He might have sounded a tiny bit more panicked than he originally wanted, but who could blame him? Some days ago, his fiancee had hurt her head so bad that she hadn't woken up for twenty-four horrible hours. Rapunzel must have heard the genuine worry in his voice because she moved the pillow down, just enough for her forlorn eyes to appear.

"It's not that," she finally mumbled, "my head doesn't hurt that much anymore."

Eugene smiled but kept in a corner of his head the fact that it still hurt, even if it was a little bit. He wasn't taking any risks with that - he'd have to ask the physician about it. Said physician might end up asking for a restraining order in return, since Eugene might have harassed him a little the last four days but, joke's on him, Eugene was also the guy that managed restraining orders - plus, it was about the Princess' health, so he was right to go overboard.

Rapunzel stayed silent but, even in the darkness, Eugene could still feel the sadness she exuded. He glanced at Pascal but the frog was apparently as lost as he was, so he'd have to wait for Rapunzel to actually say it.

Or he could ask. He wasn't a patient man when it came to the health of the love of his life.

"Rapunzel, what's wrong?"

She sighed, pressing harder against the pillow as she lowered her eyes. "I'm cursed."

"Cursed? Sunshine, we talked-"

"No, I know, it's not a real curse, it's just… It feels like a curse," she bit out. Blindly, her hand seeked his and he was happy to help her find it, until she yanked it in front of her face without a warning. His yelp didn't faze her at all; she was too busy staring at his engagement ring.

Ah. Eugene understood, suddenly, what was the problem.

To be precise, it all started two weeks ago, on Rapunzel's birthday. It had been one of the best day of Eugene's life because he had proposed to the love of his life, and she had said yes, and honestly his heart still hadn't recovered from the sheer emotion he had felt that day. They had spent… an interesting night, to say the least, and Eugene discovered next morning that waking up in the same bed as Rapunzel was one of the greatest gift in life.

So, all in all, it sounded perfect. And it was perfect, really - they went to announce it to her parents, who were ecstatic and, together, they agreed to wait a little before telling the whole kingdom about it. At first, it had been Rapunzel who asked, because she wanted Cassandra to hear it from her first, and, for them to be sure that it was the case, they had to wait until they received the dragon lady's answer. Eugene hadn't minded at all, really, he was even quite glad for the relative privacy - and he took the opportunity to write to his father, so he'd be the first to tell him too.

So, how did it all go wrong? Well, considering that the Coronans didn't know about the engagement, they had started getting down the decorations they had put up for Rapunzel's birthday. Feeling a little bad that it would be tidied up only for them to send everyone into a frenzy again with their engagement, Eugene and Rapunzel decided to help clean up the decorations. Between chatting with citizens and going where they were needed, they had gotten a little separated during the day, which wasn't that unusual.

What had been unusual were the screams.

Immediately alert, Eugene had run toward the noise, not letting himself panic even when cries about the Princess had reached his ears. He hadn't asked to be let through but had been anyway, and then, the only thing he had managed to see was Rapunzel's prone form, and the blood coming from her head. The rest was a blur, honestly - he remembered going to her, remembered whistling for Max, remembered giving orders to panicked citizens with a calm his heart certainly didn't feel, and remembered rushing toward the castle… But it was all disjointed and out of focus, his memories tainted by his terror. He remembered the next twenty-four hours, remembered how scared he had been, how tightly he had held her hand, how long he had trembled with nervousness and exhaustion.

Honestly, he didn't care about much else than her well-being after that. He knew that she didn't share his opinion on the matter, but he wouldn't budge on it - she was alright, and the rest could be fixed easily enough.

"I can't believe it," Rapunzel groaned, taking his hand to press it against her face, probably to feel the coolness of his ring against her skin. "I can't believe- this must be a curse. We're cursed, Eugene, cursed to never have a normal engagement."

"We're not cursed," he chuckled, ignoring her glare. "The doctor said it might not be permanent."

"Might," she grumbled, "I still can't believe it. I can't believe I forgot our engagement."

"You had a serious head injury that resulted in a case of retrograde amnesia that made you forget the last three weeks," Eugene recited dutifully, in the exact same tone as Rapunzel's physician. "It's not your fault," he added, "and I'm very happy that it was the worse thing that came out of this. You scared me, you know."

Maybe his voice was hoarser than he had intended - maybe he was more vulnerable than he wished to be, but it was true. He had been scared, terrified that this was the end of their journey together and for what? A little fall? Rapunzel couldn't have survived their crazy adventures for her to… to… die like this. He remembered how happy he had been when she finally woke up, confused and bleary-eyes but thankfully okay - and, at this moment, every carefully constructed rants about climbing building without protection dissolved on his tongue, not important anymore. Nothing was more important than her, and if the engagement had been one of the greatest day of his life, Rapunzel was his life, easy as that.

"It seemed so beautiful," Rapunzel whispered wistfully, still holding his hand absentely while his other one was busy making circles on her shoulder. "I've seen it drawn in my journal-"

"How did you-"

"-that my mom brought to me because I'm under strict orders to not get out of bed," she answered without missing a beat. "Past me wrote detailed annotations, and drew it from multiple angles, and I- I just-"

"Hey," Eugene whispered, stroking her face as he snuggled next to her. "If you want, we can take our rings off and redo the whole proposal all over again once you're on your feet. Sure, it won't be your birthday, but you know Coronans - they'll be happy to have a second lantern ceremony! The cupcake won't be a surprise anymore, but-"

"That's not the same though," Rapunzel mumbled, closing her eyes. She looked exhausted, and probably was since she was still recovering from her concussion. "If I could just remember it, then…"

"Rapunzel," he said tenderly, kissing her cheek quickly in the hope to cheer her up. "if you want, I can propose to you a million times in a million of different ways. What's the most important to me is that you're fine because that's the only thing needed for us to make new memories. I want to make new memories with you all my life," he insisted, pushing a strand of her hair from her face, meeting her shining eyes.

She exhaled shakily, both emotional and in pain. "You're right, I'm sorry..."

"I- no, Sunshine, you have every right to be upset," Eugene rectified softly, seeing that she was getting too tired for the conversation - but it was important she understood. "You lost an important memory, anyone would feel bad about it. I would whine myself into oblivion in your situation," he smiled, drawing a laugh from her, "and you'd be the one to tell me that my health was the most important thing."

Rapunzel hummed, closing her eyes again, for longer this time. She would probably fall back asleep soon - and, as much as she missed going outside, rest was an important part of her recovery.

"As long as we're both okay, we can fix this," was the last thing she mumbled, before she fell asleep. She barely felt Eugene kiss her forehead as he fixed her blanket, leaving her with Pascal as her devoted guard, while he went to harass the physician some more.

-----

"Rapunzel?" Eugene called, pushing open the door of their bedroom, who was back to being sunny and brightly lit - once the sun stopped giving her headaches, it seemed that Rapunzel decided the window needed to be wide open all the time. However, right now, it was closed, and Rapunzel wasn't here.

Sighing, he went to sit on the windowsill, knowing that she would come at some point - until he saw a little note taped to the pane. It was undoubtedly Rapunzel's writing, punctuated with little hearts and a doodle of them kissing. (Eugene never managed to get rid of the notes. He loved them too much, and he had boxes full of them because Rapunzel wrote hundred of them that she always always personalised. Yes, he also re-read the notes quite often, because he was a sap and he loved her.) He took the note down carefully and started to read it, a little worried about her whereabouts.

Eugene,

I have a surprise for you! Go see Max and he'll know where to take you!

Love,

Rapunzel.

Eugene frowned, immediately worried, because it might be sweet but Rapunzel was barely out of bedrest, a week and a half after her accident. If she was all alone, who knew what- oh, there was writing on the other side too.

PS,

I know you're probably worrying about me already, but I asked the physician and my parents about it and they said yes! I have Pascal and Fidella with me, plus you and Maximus coming, plus a lot of people knowing where to come find me if we're not back in two hours. Now go see Max! I love you!

Well, what could he answer to that? He shook his head, smiling, and put the note on his nightstand, before going to see Max immediately. He wanted to leave her alone as little as was possible, uncomfortably aware of what happened the last time he did, and, seeing that Max was ready and eager to leave, it was apparently a shared sentiment. Eugene tried hard not to stifle her too much, because he knew that wasn't what she needed, but sometimes he wanted to bundle her up in blankets to be sure that she would always be safe. He didn't know what he would do if she wasn't.

Max led him through the forest surrounding Corona, looking proud and sure of himself when Eugene wondered where exactly Rapunzel intended to meet him. Why would it need to be so far away from home? Though, now that he was paying attention, it felt like he recognized some of the landmarks - it has been a long time since he really strolled through the forest but that tree looked sort of familiar, didn't it?

Maximus neighed, startling Eugene as his friend took a sharp corner and suddenly, there Rapunzel was, sitting on a fallen over tree in front of a campfire. Eugene dismounted Max absentely, his breath caught in his throat as the flames illuminated Rapunzel's face wonderfully - it wasn't even that dark outside but she was still glowing, her brown hair taking a fiery orange aspect which made her green eyes pop even more than usual.

"I remember this place," he said, chest warm as she nodded a little too excitedly - he could see that she was trying hard to stay seated, despite the nervous energy coursing through her.

Of course he remembered. For anyone else, this place was nothing more than another uninteresting spot of the forest, but for them both, this was where they made a campfire the day they met. It was where Rapunzel trusted him with her biggest secret, and healed his hand; it was where he trusted her with his biggest secret, and told the story of Eugene Fitzherbert the orphan.

It was where they both discovered and accepted each other for who they were, no pretense needed. He could never forget it.

Eugene went to sit beside Rapunzel, like they did that first day. Maximus made himself scarce, probably meeting with Pascal and Fidella somewhere, but Eugene paid him no mind. He only had eyes for Rapunzel - for the obvious joy in her own, the blush on her cheeks, her wonderful smile, and everything that made her the love of his life.

"Hi," he breathed.

"Hi," she laughed, eyes shining. "Do you like it?"

Eugene had been too taken with her to notice the other decorations she had set up around the campfire. There were flowers all around them, and a basket full of what seemed to be delicious sweets.

"I love it," he answered, his eyes not leaving hers as he took her hands in his. "But, though I'm not complaining, I'm wondering why you decided to come here today."

"Remember the letters Cass sent?" Rapunzel asked, apparently out of the blue.

Eugene frowned, puzzled, but nodded because, seriously, how could he forget? They had to send Cassandra another letter informing her of what happened to Rapunzel - and that their engagement was put on the backburner until she was recovered enough and, hopefully, got her memories back. Rapunzel hadn't recovered her memories as of now. However, they had received a response from Cassandra some days later. Yes, they had received something because, for the first time since she left, Cassandra addressed a letter to Eugene specifically, instead of making snide remarks in the ones she regularly wrote to Rapunzel.

Of course, when Eugene opened it, it was to discover that there wasn't a message, really - she had only wrote "ahahaha" on the whole page, mocking him from across the country for yet another obstacle coming in between him and Rapunzel being engaged. Oh, Rapunzel's letter had been "very sweet" and "full of empathy", his fiancee's words not his, but Eugene didn't believe Cassandra was capable of those things. (He still kept the letter. Bitterly, but he kept it.)

"Well," Rapunzel said when he nodded, "I asked her for advice on something-"

"And she told you to break up with me."

"No! I mean, yes," Rapunzel laughed as Eugene gave her an 'I told you so' look, "she did say that but she also added good advice. She told me that I needed to be blunt, and fix what I wanted to fix instead of dwelling forever on it."

"Fix?" Eugene echoed, suddenly worried - what would Rapunzel need to fix between them? He didn't think he had done something particularly wrong lately, except maybe be a little of a mother-hen because of her injury, but he couldn't help it! He tried hard to let her breathe but he was scared and-

Before he could continue his train of thought, Rapunzel got up, making him follow her movement gently. He opened his mouth, ready to ask her for clarifications, but she didn't leave him the chance.

Rapunzel went down on one knee and all the air left Eugene's lungs, his heart beating louder in his chest.

"This is me, fixing what is bothering me," Rapunzel beamed, her eyes shining. "You were right, Eugene - what matters most to me is that we're able to make new memories together, for all our lives. But we lived through so many moments together, and I treasure every one of them, because I treasure my time with you more than anything else in the world."

"Sunshine," Eugene breathed, unable to voice exactly just how much he loved her. He didn't think words were enough to describe the warmth in his chest overwhelming his senses, making his eyes water from sheer emotion as Rapunzel kept talking.

"This place… This campfire, that was the first time you let me in. This was the moment I really met you, Eugene Fitzherbert, my new dream even if I didn't know it quite yet. You make my life better, and brighter, and I feel so lucky to have you at my side no matter what."

"I'm lucky too," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion, "the luckiest man on Earth."

Rapunzel grinned and, carefully, she took his ring off his finger. "I know you've already done this… and that taking the ring from you may seem counterintuitive, but-" She took a deep breath, still on her knee, now holding his ring between her fingers, her own ring shining thanks to the fire's glow. "- Eugene Fitzherbert, will you marry me?"

"Yes," he answered, too quickly perhaps as he lowered himself and put his arms under hers, lifting her up in a hug. "Of course it's yes," he laughed, and she laughed too - he could feel her smiling against his neck and he never wanted to let her go. "It's always yes."

She moved her head back a little, to be able to look into his eyes. They were both breathless and grinning, cheeks hurting and an never-ending fondness that they didn't bother containing. Their lips met, almost against their will, love pulling them together like gravity.

They breathed, and Rapunzel took the opportunity to slid Eugene's ring back on his finger - which meant he had to kiss her again, because she was his everything and she wanted him to be hers, for their whole lives.

"Let's hope," she murmured after some time, "that our curse is over."

"Not a curse."

"Uh-uh. But let's hope, anyway."

"No more moonstone related incidents," Eugene suggested.

"No more retrograde amnesia," Rapunzel added.

"Sounds good to me," Eugene grinned, before kissing her again - he was certainly lucky. Who had the chance to be engaged twice to the most perfect woman in the universe?

Only him.

(They went back home to announce the engagement a second time to Rapunzel's parents, who were, incredibly enough, as excited as the first time. Rapunzel had to send another letter to Cassandra, to Eugene's despair - she would never let him live it down.

Some days later, Rapunzel pounced on him, startling him awake at an unlawful hour. He didn't complain, though; not when he saw the absolute delight on her face as she announced excitedly that she finally remembered their first engagement. One more than necessary, sure, but when had they ever done something the usual way?

Plus, twice the engagement meant twice the celebration, and Eugene was happy to provide.)

#the plot may be a tad... convoluted yes #I just want as many proposals as possible #and I struggled so much to write this that I hope you will like it anyway lol #tangled #New Dream Appreciation Week #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #New Dream

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soveryanon · 5 years ago

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Reviewing time for MAG169 (nice)~

- So, no cookie for guessing Desolation with this one, but big kudos to those who guessed that the episode would be reminiscent of the Grenfell Tower fire. Oh boy, what a domain it was ;; Desolation episodes have always felt extremely cruel and this one went veeerrry harsh on the torture and despair, even before the physical pain of it (as Jon said, “Some fears don’t need to be intensified; only manifested”). I really felt the nightmare-logic in this one, the feeling of being trapped and discovering/realising the rules and parameters as they became relevant; a little scenario that felt repeated, again and again, beginning badly (home as a prison, a toxic place that one cannot help but love because it’s familiar and theirs) and only getting worse, with Sabina losing everything (parents, possessions, physical safety), while at the same time… everything was rooted in something very concrete, very logical, very relatable, laced with poverty and the loss of agency.

- The edge in Jon’s voice for this one was terrifying (and so was the soundscaping, expressing what was being said), and it seemed… on point for The Desolation. Jude directly called him out about the fact that he himself was enjoying the fear but, even before that, the way Jon narrated Sabina’s nightmare really hammered in the cruelty and sadistic glee of the domain feeding on her ;; The mentions of the “landlord” were especially chilling, given a rhythmic, almost casually fatalistic c’est-la-vie tone to the whole ordeal (… while no, clearly, it wasn’t, and even if the fire had been accidental, there should have been ways and options to make it out… but no, due to an accumulation of negligence/neglect turning into something criminal):

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “But the door latch never really aligned properly, you see; the landlord always said he was going to get it fixed and… it refuses to open. […] The window frame never really opened properly, you see; the landlord always said he was going to get it fixed. […] But the fire escape was always really rusty, you see; the landlord always said he was going to replace it. […] Falling back into the inferno that is now her home, Sabina dashes over to the laughably small fire extinguisher the landlord begrudgingly provided; it is sputtering, and empty.”

(… Jon impersonating the parents’ screams sadly took me out of it on first listen, because the “We’re BURNING” immediately made me think of Jonny-playing-Galahad in HNOC’s “Hellfire” and the “We’re FALLING into the flames”, which was a bit of a mood-whiplash x”) It worked better on second listen, and again, WHAT is Jon currently feeding to the tape recorders…)

- Same as in other domains, memories were clearly rewritten or only made accessible to serve the dominant Fear at stake:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: “Next to him, Charlie saw Ryan, who he’d known since childhood – though the other details were hazy. Ryan gave him a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile – before his face exploded inwards to a sniper’s bullet, peppering the boat with shards of bone and gore.”

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: “There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where nobody could stomach to check, where good neighbours wouldn’t dream to speculate.”

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: “Its pace remaining as it ever was, it does not care for coming pains as you are torn. Doesn’t it know who you are? No… And soon… neither will you. […] You will be someone again, someday. […] “I’m still Hannah!” you try to scream, but are you? No. Perhaps there’s some Veronica as fragments there, or Julian, or Anya, but… no. You feel the last of names and “who” you might have been be torn away and borne towards new bodies. New pages, blank; determined to be people.”

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “When had the crushing pressure in his chest become literal? When had the empty promise of the horizon finally vanished completely, replaced by the pitch darkness of this “forever wall of earth”? Sam did not know. Time had no meaning here. […] His existence was static, and eternal. Immutable. “Sleep” was only a memory, because even the prospect of unconsciousness might have made his present state slightly more bearable. Food as well, he knew, must be a thing, for he could feel the hunger, but his imagination failed to picture it. The only smell he knew was the damp, and the dirt.”

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “How long as she lived here? How long have these cramped, dingy rooms in the back of this sprawling rundown tenement been the place her heart calls home? She cannot recall, but long enough for her to grow into love for it, to cherish every rusted appliance, every crumbling piece of plasterboard, every – flickering – lightbulb. […] Sabina cannot… picture their faces, but knows that should they wake to see the state of the place… their anger would be blistering. […] What floor was her flat on again? Surely, it can’t be this high. […] Limping and desperate, she turns to see her furniture in flames, the bookshelves full of memories, that she can’t quite place [STATIC RISES] but knows are precious to her, curl and float away as ash. The photos on the wall of her family whose faces seem indistinct but she knows that she loves, begin to blacken, as the glass pops out of the frame.”

For Sabina, memories were only useful to represent what she would lose. (;; It’s one of the things that still makes me the most uneasy with this season: the fact that regular people are deprived of who they used to be, the memories of who they were… while Jon&Martin are beaming with their Uniqueness. People are trapped in these nightmares but, by comparison, it feels a bit like they’re already “dead” and interchangeable, only allowed to remember things and be reshaped to better fear and feed the Powers…)

- I was wondering what would be the point of avatars in this new world (if they would still feed their patrons, or be absolutely superfluous, etc.). The fact that Jude’s death apparently didn’t perturb the Desolation domain very much tends to prove that they aren’t necessary, so it really seems like the keyword was what Oliver said last episode:

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “Sometimes, for some small variety, I will allow Danika to brush against another root: the final fate of someone she loves. […] And with each one, she knows her steps forward bring closer not only her own end, but all of theirs. Time walks forward with her, but she has not the strength to stop it. Her fate draws ever-nearer, filling me with the joy of watchful fear, but also my own concerns.”

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: It’s a maze in there, deliberately so. People running, desperately struggling for fire escapes only to find them blocked. … We won’t get lost, though. I know the route. […] “Do you smell smoke? Do you smell… the creeping ruin of a life, a stalking creature of unmaintained electricals, of cheap insulation, of cut-corners and missing fire alarms and unenforced safety regulations? Do you see it creeping under the door to your bedroom as you sleep, the burning coals of its eyes, regarding you in the supposed safety on your home; not indifferent, but hungry, eager to take everything from you, to burn down your life in any sense it can reach? Can you hear the crackling promise of kindled despair, that it whispers into your uneasy, dreaming ear?”

“Variety”? Creativity? Diversifying people’s suffering for the Powers’ enjoyment, and above all The Eye’s? I… wonder what that would mean regarding Jon, as The Eye’s favourite, right now… ;;

- I got genuinely surprised that Jon mentioned Arthur Nolan as still alive, because I thought he had been done for since March 2014 and the events recalled by Jordan Kennedy:

(MAG145) GERTRUDE: So. Now, Diego has taken over… Where does that leave you? ARTHUR: [SNORT] Slumlording over a nest. GERTRUDE: Oh. A nest of… what? ARTHUR: Found a mass of the Crawling Rot growing, a while back. Managed to get a hold of the property before it became too big. Gotta wait ‘til it blossoms before we can properly burn it. So until then… just playing landlord.

(MAG055) JORDAN: Time seemed to move slowly as he reached for the ashtray on the arm of the chair and picked up a pack of matches. He struck one and without even looking at me, he gently pressed the small flame to the centre of the scar. His flesh caught fire, immediately, the flames spreading across his body like rippling water. The armchair caught, then the floor, and then I was running out of the building before the rolling inferno could come at me as well.

(MAG169) MARTIN: Right… I just assumed this would be… Who was that landlord guy? ARCHIVIST: Arthur Nolan. He’s here, he has a… part of it, but it’s… huge. Bigger than you could believe. There’s so much fear in there…

It had felt odd to die from self-immolation, for a Desolation avatar, but we hadn’t seen him since then, and he had lived his time – given how Eugene Vanderstock was aware that he wouldn’t last forever (MAG139: “So, me? I was born in ‘36 – I know, I don’t look seventy. But burning the candle at all ends does have a few advantages. Until you burn out entirely, at least. It’s hard to say how much I’ve got left in me; how much longer my sacrifices can buy me. But when I go… you better believe I’m going big – and it is going to hurt.”), I had assumed that Arthur setting himself on fire was because his time has reached its limit and/or that his life had been tied to The Hive’s nest somehow by Gertrude, and that Jane becoming The Hive meant his final demise or something? But apparently, no, he was still around. I wonder what he was doing during the following four years? (If it was a matter of Desolation avatars respawning in the domain, I’d have expected for Agnes to be mentioned, but she wasn’t, so…)

- Speaking of Arthur, it’s hilarious how much this statement hammered in the confluence of Corruption/Desolation when it comes to one’s life crumbling, getting devastated:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “Maybe the dirt and grime builds up to such a degree that the stench begins to infect your soul, or an infestation of moths or ants or bed bugs stretches itself throughout the very structure of your home, until it feels like your skin is squirming with them. […] How long as she lived here? How long have these cramped, dingy rooms in the back of this sprawling rundown tenement been the place her heart calls home? She cannot recall, but long enough for her to grow into love for it, to cherish every rusted appliance, every crumbling piece of plasterboard, every – flickering – lightbulb. Even as the widening cracks and spreading mould fill her heart with dread, they gently, slowly, inch by inch, approach the mildewed room where her parents lie sleeping.”

… Given Arthur’s utter disdain for the idea that The Lightless Flame could be assimilated to anything Corruption-adjacent:

(MAG145) ARTHUR: Not like I can vent to the others about what a prat Diego is! Got a lot of funny ideas. Still calls The Lightless Flame “Asag”, like he was when he was first researching it. I just want to tell him to get over it – I mean, [FASTER AND FASTER] Asag was traditionally a force of destruction, sure, but as a church, we very much settled on burning in terms of the… face we worship, and some… fish-boiling Sumerian demon doesn’t really match up, does it?! Plus, there’s a lot of disease imagery with Asag that I’ll reckon is… way too close to Filth for my taste, but, but no, he read it in some ~ancient tome~, so that’s that– GERTRUDE: Well, I can’t say I– ARTHUR: –reckons he always knows best, ‘cause he’s read a few books, well. Big. Deal! Way I see it, if a writer can’t even save themselves, they probably don’t have a lot worth knowing! Find me one so-called “expert” on all of this who didn’t end up regretting all of it!

I hope your ego and convictions are shattering and that this is your personal hell, Arthur. Diego was RIGHT.

- Regarding Jon and Martin’s own domains, Jon raised the possibility that they were metaphorically trapped in their own quest, and it follows the comments about how they were outside of the box:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Are we safe, traveling like this? ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, sort of, we’re… I don’t know how to phrase it, we’re… something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them; separate, and untouched. MARTIN: [NERVOUS CHUCKLING] That’s not as comforting as you might think. ARCHIVIST: I like it better than the alternative…!

(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them. […] MARTIN: Jon, what are you talking about? NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: She can’t touch us. We’re so far beyond her now. NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: She’s just like everything else here, rules by The Eye.

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: Like I said, I can’t see the future. It wouldn’t free them, if that’s what you’re asking. “Free” doesn’t really exist in this place. MARTIN: Apart from us. ARCHIVIST: I suppose. I–in a sense, though… [CHUCKLING] how much of that is because we are trapped in our own quest to– MARTIN: Okay, let’s, let’s not dive into another… ontological debate right now, not here.

… and 1°) they’re still technically under The Eye – the whole world is its domain right now; 2°) Obligatory “WHAT IS MARTIN’S DOMAIN” (a fixed place? Web, Lonely? The Institute-Panopticon too? Jon as “the Archive”, having ~trapped~ Martin?), 3°) … big Oouft because if they were to consider their quest as the “domain” trapping them… a quest is made around a goal. Jon presented it as a “doomed quest” which was already worrisome, Oliver highlighted that the current system would ultimately collapse on its own, The Buried’s domain taunted its victims with constant hope, so… if the goal kept being unreachable, but still “almost” out of reach, Jon and Martin could be trapped a bit more literally than just on an ontological plane.

- ;w; Martin is afraid of fire…

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: … You said you were onboard. MARTIN: I was! I am; I just… thought… ARCHIVIST: It wouldn’t hurt? MARTIN: … That we’d be safe. ARCHIVIST: I never said– MARTIN: I know! I know, okay, I just… [SOMETHING SHATTERS] Look, I j–, I just don’t want to get burned, alright? It’s, it’s like my least favourite pain ever. ARCHIVIST: Is that… a joke? MARTIN: No, no! Okay? I… I legitimately hate burns, alright, they’re–they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just, it– It–it just makes me sick, I–I hate it. Hate it!

* Is it related to the fact that he had to care for his mom from a very young age, and that accidents happened…? That makes his decision to burn statements in MAG117-MAG118 even braver – fire that he could control on his terms, but still, in close proximity to him.

* … Actually, Elias implanting in his mind the truth of how his mother saw him, while Martin had just burned a few statements and was threatening to keep doing it, and when the smell of the fire might have still be floating around at that moment miiiight have added fuel (ha) to Martin’s own fear. Associating bad things and pain to fire.

* Wooft that he hates burns and what they leave, when he’s probably been walking kilometres holding Jon’s all-burned-to-fuck hand.

* YEAH ALSO, that line about how pain can leave a scar even if there is no physical mark to show for it? Is valid on its own but, given Martin’s past, resonates even more when keeping in mind his relationship with his mother and the way Elias inflicted his powers on him and Melanie (MAG118: “Do you want to know what she sees when she looks at you?”). It’s really not empty words, he knows from experience.

* … Same thing as the contrast between MAG117 (“This way I finally get to do something. It’s gonna hurt, but… I’m ready. And I want to. Also, I get to burn some stuff, so that cool!”) and MAG118 (“Don’t. burn. any more. statements.”) around fire: reality not as great as when plans were made, when it comes to the “smiting”, uh.

* … Obligatory “This Is How Web!Martin Can Still Win” since The Desolation and The Web were extremely at odds, and Martin… really was uncomfortable and panicking in this zone, when he had been keeping it together in previous ones (he got very afraid in the Slaughter’s, but it was the first and Martin was discovering the rules):

(MAG139, Eugene Vanderstock) “The compromise we came to… was Hill Top Road. We knew it was a stronghold of The Web, full of other children Agnes’s age. We would supervise from a distance, but were confident she would be in no danger. The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand – all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.”

(Though to be fair: Martin presented himself as a “luxury smörgåsbord” for Fears in MAG117 since he was “just afraid all the time”, was always the Assistant Of Many Fears throughout the series, so it doesn’t have to be significatively a Web indicator – it’s mostly that, well, alright, so Martin can still feel specific, personal fears.)

- … And meanwhile: we went from Jon really casually forgetting that he was using his powers and knew more than he mundanely should have (the beginning of MAG167) to taking a moment to remember that Martin is not omniscient nor a mind-reader, not processing that pain (even temporary and without long-lasting damage) is a genuine factor, and admitting blankly that he’s feeding from this world, which, oops:

(MAG167) [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Help us with what? MARTIN: ‘xcuse me? ARCHIVIST: Annabelle, help us with “what”? Our–our, our journey, killing Elias, vanishing the Entities – what? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] MARTIN: Please don’t do that. ARCHIVIST: Do what…? Oh! Oh. Right, I, I see, yes. [STATIC FADES] Well, I– … [FOOTSTEPS RESUME] Sorry. MARTIN: It doesn’t… feel great, having someone looking inside your head…! […] I mean, I don’t want to keep secrets from you, but– ARCHIVIST: You should at least… be able to. MARTIN: Basically, yeah…! ARCHIVIST: I–I suppose that’s fair. MARTIN: It’s just… It’s weird, knowing that you can… know literally everything I think and feel– ARCHIVIST: Right… MARTIN: –especially since you’re not exactly the most open of people. Emotionally, I mean.

(MAG169) MARTIN: … Seriously? You don’t– … It’s on fire, Jon, it’s– ARCHIVIST: Yeah, uh… MARTIN: It’s a burning building! ARCHIVIST: Yes, it is. MARTIN: That’s on fire! ARCHIVIST: Yes. MARTIN: … Right. You are aware that traditionally, wading into a flaming inferno is actually considered bad for your health? ARCHIVIST: Yes, Martin. It will be fine. MARTIN: Alright. I just wanted to check. So. Okay. We’re planning to go through… all this, so I’m guessing the fire can’t… actually burn us! Right? Jon? ARCHIVIST: Hum… MARTIN: … Jon? ARCHIVIST: Hum… Mm… MARTIN: Jon. ARCHIVIST: I–it’s complicated. MARTIN: Well, if you want me to go in there with you, then I suggest you find a way to make it simple. “Yes” or “no”, can that fire hurt us? ARCHIVIST: Define “hurt”. MARTIN: Will the fire feel hot to me? ARCHIVIST: Yes. MARTIN: Will it cause me lots of pain, if I touch it? ARCHIVIST: Yes, though not as much as– MARTIN: [SHAKILY BUT STRONG] Will it burn me alive, and kill me dead? ARCHIVIST: … No. It can’t do us any permanent harm; once we’re out, we’ll be fine. MARTIN: You are aware that intense pain can do you loads of harm, even if there’s no any physical injury! […] ARCHIVIST: I should have told you before, so… I leave the decision to you. You know my feelings on the matter. MARTIN: I do? ARCHIVIST: I… Oh, right. I–I want revenge on Jude Perry. I want to… “smite” her. Make her feel what… [SIGH] what all her victims have felt. But I’m not willing to force you to suffer for it. […] JUDE: Yeah, but you like seeing their pain, don’t you? Their fear? ARCHIVIST: … Yes.

His relation to pain is understandable as someone who got “used” to the concept of hurting himself by repeatedly getting harmed, getting marked, and accepting more injuries to reach his goals and protect/save people who were close to him (and it’s very ironic that Martin used to be portrayed as the one “always setting himself on fire to keep others warm” while Jon… selectively did and does that too). The fact he’s feeding from this world is not a new thing: Jonah had announced that Jon would be tailored for this world, Jon himself pointed it out in the trailer, Helen toyed with him by being implicit about it – what is new is the… reverence? with which Jon seemed to marvel at the Desolation domain, the glee during the statement, the deadpanness when Jude called him out on it. It felt like at the beginning of the season, Jon was expressing more guilt, more uneasiness when it came to his enjoyment of this world… and in this episode, those were absent. So is it that he’s gradually accepting it? Or that he was trying to make a point to Martin about himself, about the fact that he is also (objectively) a monster and needs Martin to keep him in check if he doesn’t want to turn out like the others? No idea, but I feel like something is happening and building up about it;;

(… Was Jon feeding from Martin, in the Desolation domain? Martin who was miserable and afraid, coughing and in pain?)

- I LOVED the effect of Jon being in his small “bubble” of pouring out the statement, only for Martin to fight his way to get him out of it:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “Limping and desperate, she turns to see her furniture in flames, the bookshelves full of memories, that she can’t quite place [STATIC RISES] but knows are precious to her, curl and float away as ash. The photos on the wall of her family–” MARTIN: [MUFFLED, DISTANT] Jon! [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: “–whose faces seem indistinct but she knows–” MARTIN: [MUFFLED, DISTANT] Jon! ARCHIVIST: “–that she loves, begin to blacken, as the glass–” MARTIN: [MUFFLED, DISTANT] Jon! [COUGHS] ARCHIVIST: “–pops out of the frame.” MARTIN: [MUFFLED, DISTANT] Jon, she’s here! ARCHIVIST: “Her home is being eaten alive by–” MARTIN: [CLOSER] Please come back! ARCHIVIST: “–this devouring Desolation–” MARTIN: JON! ARCHIVIST: “–and she–” [RESOUNDING SLAP] [STATIC FADES] MARTIN: She’s here! [COUGHS]

* … So, interestingly, Martin could actually get him out of it this time, while he had mentioned in MAG167 that he couldn’t stop Jon. Was it because the “statement” was different: given by the Desolation domain in this one vs. Jon giving a statement through his “knowing” in MAG167? Is it because Martin was outside of the statement mode, not listening to it (so able to break it, since he wasn’t enthralled by it)? Or is it because Martin has been becoming stronger by getting in contact with the domains? Or because he actually could have stopped Jon in MAG167… but didn’t, because he was curious, too, and preferred to think and say that he was entirely caught in the statement?

(* With MAG160, that’s the SECOND time Martin slapped Jon to “get him back” in some way. Gotta love how Jon shaking him off from The Lonely was by breaking out the violins and making an emotional confession and baring his soul to him vs. Martin, getting Jon back into focus by screaming and slapping him. Different kind of powers when there is an emergency.)

* … I’m very interested in the fact that the tape recorder was with Jon in that tiny statement bubble, while Martin was heard muffled from the outside. It wasn’t only Jon’s POV: it was, above all, the tape recorder’s, hearing the statement more distinctly than Martin. It illustrated the situation very well (Jon being unreachable and following the story, and the outside having trouble interacting with him), but I wonder what caused the bubble to exist in the first place: the Desolation domain contaminating Jon with his story? Beholding, focusing its attention on Jon because he was acting as a vessel while narrating Sabina’s story? Or the tape recorder, since Jon was feeding it?

- It’s noteworthy that so far, avatars have all been able to identify Jon as the one having provoked this apocalypse, and not “just” as an avatar beneficiating from it the most since The Eye is his patron:

(MAG164) HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all… you!

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “This report is being sent to: [STATIC FADES] The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself. […] Perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned.”

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: Hello, Jude. JUDE: Fancy seeing you both here. To what, exactly, do I owe the pleasure, the honour, of being graced by the great and powerful Archivist, harbinger of this new world, and his, uh… valet…? […] Sure, I moan about The Eye, who doesn’t? But, we’ve won! Both of us. And… that’s great!

Seems like they got a special knowledge or are able to feel his status in the new world? It’s still cracking me up that nobody ever mentions Jonah and his participation, and that he’s absolutely irrelevant (while he was the one to scheme and pushe and engineer this apocalypse in the first place).

- Gigantic dread as soon as Jon mentioned Jude, because y i k e s: technically, we heard about avatars who felt extremely ruthless and cruel, such as John Amherst or Arthur Nolan, but those had belonged more to Gertrude’s era. Jude Perry was the one who felt the most gratuitous and deliberate in her cruelty, in Jon’s era? And despite that, was mostly staying in her lane – Jon had to look her up to find her in MAG089, she never went after him? So the idea that he was trying to confront her and bringing Martin with him (… without warning him at first), that he sought her out and was planning to kill her, felt dangerous and worrisome.

- Gotta love, about the “valet”-thing, how:

(MAG169) JUDE: Fancy seeing you both here. To what, exactly, do I owe the pleasure, the honour, of being graced by the great and powerful Archivist, harbinger of this new world, and his, uh… valet…?

* It’s payback for Jon’s “I just… er, you were a friend of Agnes Montague, correct?” (MAG089). Opposite of mlm/wlw solidarity.

* ONCE AGAIN, after Elias, after Peter, after maybe Helen currently?, it’s an avatar underestimating Martin on sight.

- It felt to me like Jon was mostly seeking answers or a form of peace of mind than genuinely getting revenge, or helping Jude’s victims? He insisted on his questions all through their confrontation:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: I have a question for you. I’ve been wondering. MARTIN: [COUGHS] ARCHIVIST: Did you know what you were doing? JUDE: Excuse me? ARCHIVIST: When you burned me. Marked me with… Did you know it would lead to… all of this? [CRUMBLING] JUDE: You came all this way just to ask that? ARCHIVIST: Answer the question. MARTIN: [COUGHS] JUDE: If you want to know so badly, why don’t you just reach into my head and pull it out? ARCHIVIST: Because I want to hear you say it. Willingly. JUDE: What difference does it make if it’s– ARCHIVIST: Just answer the damn question…! JUDE: … No. I had no idea. ARCHIVIST: So why did you do it? JUDE: Why do you think? Because I wanted to hurt you. MARTIN: [COUGHS] JUDE: Because you were annoying, and I didn’t like you! So I hurt you. ARCHIVIST: And if you had? JUDE: But I didn’t. Look. I don’t care, okay? MARTIN: [COUGHS] JUDE: I just… I don’t. Raking over the past like it matters, like it means anything… The past is dead, Archivist; ashes in the wind. We’re – here – now. And that’s it! ARCHIVIST: … I suppose you’re right…!

And this time, it wasn’t a tug-o’-war of question/answer resulting in one’s death (Peter), or an impulsive murder (Not!Sasha). It was planned and controlled, and deliberate. And it didn’t feel good at all: it was really a horrible scene, with Martin coughing and coughing in the background (… and Jon not paying it any attention), the execution dragging out and taking time, because Jon was processing slowly and not… giving the final blow. I really wondered if he was going to just stop, or if it wouldn’t work, or if Martin would ask him to stop – but no, quite the contrary, it’s Martin who yelled for it to be done:

(MAG169) MARTIN: [COUGHS] [STATIC RISING: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] JUDE: Uh! Listen… Listen… [BREATHLESS CHUCKLING] You’re enjoying this, right? ‘Course you are! You want to use those powers of yours to hurt people, you want to murder everybody who can’t fight back at you now? I can help you…! [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] MARTIN: Just DIE already!! JUDE: You’re… not… better… than… me! [SCREAMS] [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES] MARTIN: [COUGH] [PANTING] Is it…? ARCHIVIST: It’s over. … She’s gone.

;; There was something very… child-like, in Martin’s scream? You know, the kind of absolute rejection because he’s hurt and because in his mind there is no other way than for the other person to disappear for him to feel good ever again? I hadn’t paid much attention with Not!Sasha, but technically, the distorted, glitching sounds before and during the ripping of both the Not!Them and Jude sounded very close to Peter’s own static (and Martin’s, when he disappeared in front of Georgie): is it possible that he might have contributed in both cases, or amplified it? Or was it “only” Jon all through it?

- There is something very fitting in the fate of avatars, lately: the Not!Them was forced to “know” the suffering of its victims before getting ripped away from existence; Oliver was not rejecting death and knew it would come from him at some point, and Jon fittingly decided to spare him (although he was aware of the irony); Helen-the-Distortion is an ambivalent case (Jon can threaten her, but they can talk, it’s a bit of an unstable relationship the balance of which could shift at any time); Jude was inflected the suffering of her victims (and desolated herself in a way). It’s kinda fitting, for The Stranger, The End, The Spiral and The Desolation? I wonder how much the Domains are influencing Jon’s behaviour towards their agents, regardless of his personal feelings about them…

- Regarding Jon&Martin, it’s really heartbreaking that they are trying to navigate around and with each other’s feelings, trying to find the “right” decision regarding choices and boundaries… and that it backfired so badly due to the circumstances and the fact that, right now, they can’t really make an ideal, non-harming decision:

(MAG169) MARTIN: Jon, is there another way? ARCHIVIST: I mean… sort of? M–maybe? [SILENCE] MARTIN: That turn…! You, you took a hard turn after the roots back there. I knew that was a thing! Why are we here? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] It’s just… [INHALE] When you said… [SIGH] MARTIN: Jon, why have you taken us here? ARCHIVIST: Jude Perry. … This is where Jude Perry rules. […] You said you were onboard. MARTIN: I was! I am; I just… thought… ARCHIVIST: It wouldn’t hurt? MARTIN: … That we’d be safe. ARCHIVIST: I never said– MARTIN: I know! I know, okay, I just… […] ARCHIVIST: … Alright. If you really don’t want to do this, we, we can go another way. MARTIN: Really…? ARCHIVIST: Really. My revenge… [SIGH] Well, let’s just say you’re more important. […] So are we going in, or not? MARTIN: You’re– … I, you’re asking me? ARCHIVIST: I should have told you before, so… I leave the decision to you. You know my feelings on the matter. MARTIN: I do? ARCHIVIST: I… Oh, right. I–I want revenge on Jude Perry. I want to… “smite” her. Make her feel what… [SIGH] what all her victims have felt. But I’m not willing to force you to suffer for it. MARTIN: Okay, so it’s… I have to choose, do I? ARCHIVIST: Or we could sit here. [SILENCE] [DISTANT SOUND OF SOMETHING COLLAPSING] MARTIN: … No. No, I–I’m not going to choose, I d–I don’t think that’s a fair decision to put on me. It’s your revenge; your choice, not mine. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … Fine. We go in. [DISTANT SOUND OF SOMETHING COLLAPSING] MARTIN: [SHAKY INHALE] Al–alright then…! ARCHIVIST: We’ll be fine. MARTIN: J– Lead the way. [BAG JOSTLING]

It was good of Jon to admit that he should ask Martin, and expressed reluctance at the idea of putting him in an uncomfortable position for his own revenge! It was good of Martin, to establish once again that he didn’t want to bear the burden of deciding for both of them (MAG154: “Don’t do this.” “Do what?” “Make it my decision.”), while it was explicitly about what Jon wanted! … But it also feels like Jon would have needed Martin to decide agree to go for him if the goal was for Jon to find some peace of mind with his revenge, and that Martin would have needed Jon to say that no, definitely not, his revenge wasn’t worth endangering and harming Martin.

(Though, I feel like Martin was the most hurt of them both, this time around ;; He sounded absolutely miserable at the end of the episode, and he had been the one to begrudgingly agree to follow Jon after making it clear that he wouldn’t like the experience… I’m really surprised that Jon stuck to the “revenge” concept while he knew what was at stake for Martin. Really hoping that they will talk about it soon ;;)

- ;; Technically, Jude made a lot of valid points regarding Jon-as-an-avatar:

(MAG169) JUDE: You’re not scared, though, are you, Archivist? ARCHIVIST: … I can feel the pain of every person you have trapped here. My own isn’t all that different. JUDE: Yeah, but you like seeing their pain, don’t you? Their fear? ARCHIVIST: … Yes. JUDE: You and that stupid Eye, god, you make me sick! Lording it over everybody like you own the place? You’re just leeches, voyeurs, parasites on the real monsters. […] Oooh, I see! I get it. You finally get a sniff of power, and the first thing you do is try to settle some old scores. MARTIN: [LOUDER COUGHS] JUDE: Play the big man, get off on good old-fashioned petty revenge~! […] I’m happy in this world. I belong here. And so do you. MARTIN: [COUGHS] [STATIC RISING: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] JUDE: Uh! Listen… Listen… [BREATHLESS CHUCKLING] You’re enjoying this, right? ‘Course you are! You want to use those powers of yours to hurt people, you want to murder everybody who can’t fight back at you now? I can help you…! [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] MARTIN: Just DIE already!! JUDE: You’re… not… better… than… me! [SCREAMS]

He presented it to Martin as “revenge”. He went out of his way to find Jude, first hiding it from Martin and then deliberately making the decision of going after her after he learned that Martin would be terrorised by the domain (but ready to follow him if Jon really wanted to go). Jude’s execution also exists in contrast to Oliver, whom Jon had decided to spare because he had “helped” him (… to wake up as an avatar), while knowing full well that Oliver had killed people too (MAG121) and that he was currently torturing victims in his domains (in creative, cruel ways for “VARIETY”…). Jude’s smiting didn’t feel like an application of justice, or as something fair; it just felt like personal retribution, because Jon has the power to do it. There is something reassuring in the fact that the whole scene didn’t bring any catharsis, felt so extremely anti-climatic and miserable (Martin was in pain and on the verge of tears, wanted to leave the place; Jon wasn’t triumphant), because Jon behaved as the plaintiff, the legislature, the judge and the executioner – it is terrifying in itself that he has the power to establish who would have the “right” to die or to keep torturing people following whether or not they’ve served his interests.

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: I just, I don’t think he’s… [SIGH] I don’t know, I don’t think he’s evil. MARTIN: Oh, yeah, sure, he’s probably a really kind, benevolent ruler of a hellish fear prison…! ARCHIVIST: It’s just… He helped me. Wh–when I was… He woke me up. […] But I’m not going to… seek him out. At the very least, he’s earned not having me hunt him down. MARTIN: Fine. I suppose that’s… reasonable. […] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] No. If Oliver will not seek me out, then… I will leave him be. [TINY CHUCKLES] The avatar of Death… shall live. Martin’s going to be thrilled…! [SIGH]

(MAG169) MARTIN: [COUGH] [PANTING] Is it…? ARCHIVIST: It’s over. … She’s gone. MARTIN: [PAINED] The fires are still here. Doesn’t look like much has changed. ARCHIVIST: … No. I suppose not. [CRUMBLING SOUND] MARTIN: [SHAKILY] … Let’s just get out of here.

Jude was indeed that one avatar we wanted to see disappear (since the was gleeful about hurting, that she chose to get involved in the cult and didn’t join it to escape another horrible fate, that she admitted she didn’t regret this world nor the hurt she had to Jon himself); but her accusations had some truth in them precisely because Jon had just decided to spare Oliver given their own relationship – while Oliver, too, had admitted that he was torturing and enjoying people for the fun of it. Jon’s judgement… doesn’t work. And since nothing changed in the domain, it just proved that avatars themselves weren’t the real problem at the root – the Fear-system is still in place, still working, with or without them, still hurting and feeding from people.

(… And it also highlights that, indeed, right now, Jon is “made” for this world, as Jonah had hypothesised in MAG160. He’s been shown grieving the old world, being eaten by guilt, refusing to embrace the fact that the Fears around him feel “right” at the beginning of the season. But he’s currently feeding from this world and still enjoying victims’ pain on some level – what would happen, if Jon&Martin managed to successfully revert the world back in some way? Would Jon still be able to survive?)

- We’ll see if Jon and Martin talk about it soon, but it sure feels like a conversation regarding the “smiting” is needed. Martin seems to have experienced first-hand that it’s nnooooot as good in practice as in theory (he was miserable, in pain, coughing his lungs out, witnessed Jon choose to willingly bring him into a discomforting, potentially triggering place in the name of it), but I’m not sure it will be enough for him to reconsider the idea, or to point out that… he had been wrong about it, and that the logic of killing avatars as an easy, evident, helpful thing… is actually not that simple, since it didn’t change anything. (Probably because they have to aim higher.)

I’m really not sure about their future stances regarding other avatars, because, really, who could feel as “deserving” as Jude? Jon might want his rib back, but he technically gave it to Jared as part of an agreement (and Jared honoured his half of the deal!); Daisy would “at best” represent an attempt at mercy-killing if Jon were to try anything (and it certainly wouldn’t feel good); Julia&Trevor… indeed caused the chaos in MAG158, which also led to Daisy snapping, but would it be enough to want to “smite” them? (Meanwhile, if Jon meets Simon: same as Oliver, given his relationship to his patron, he would probably just embrace his own death.)

Plus, if Jude’s execution felt unsatisfying now, I really doubt that doing anything to Jonah would feel satisfying either? It… wouldn’t solve anything or fix the world back.

- I really wonder what’s happening in Jon’s head right now, if everything was a conscious decision that more or less backfired (ha), or if there are once again influences at stake… Did he really go after Jude because, like Martin suggested, Jon thought it could free or at least relieve the people imprisoned in that domain? Jon can’t see the future, but he could have “known” what had happened to the Not!Them’s carousel to get an indication of what happens in those cases; it… didn’t sound like a genuine reason. Same thing with the concept of revenge: Jon was scared of it just a few episodes ago (MAG166: “Because I’m ashamed, Martin. […] Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on!”), and if it had been only about revenge, he wouldn’t have needed to ask Jude all these questions and to delay the moment when he would actually end her. Was it because he hoped that Jude would regret, would have behaved differently if she had known that it would lead to the apocalypse? Was it because he wanted to check with himself whether “smiting” her deliberately would feel good, fair and right? Was it because he thought that trusting Martin’s judgement and killing avatars would indeed be the best course of action? Was it because he wanted to prove a point to Martin – that he’s a monster too, and/or that killing doesn’t feel as great in practice as on the paper?

… His behaviour in this episode reminded me so much of MAG141, however, and how coldly rational he had sounded about what he was doing to Floyd, as if it was a logical and implacable course of action; so I can’t help but wonder if there is Eye-related influence at play. Pushing him to hurt other avatars for The Eye’s entertainment, to feed from the ones who are usually feared? For “variety”, too?

- … Regarding Jon’s powers, I had briefly wondered whether Jon was still able to compel, given what Oliver had mentioned, but mMMMmmm…

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “Please, Jon, do not interpret this report as a “plea for mercy” or a “call to action”. I would have offered it willingly, of course, but to do so is no longer an option. You cannot ask; you may only take.”

(MAG169) JUDE: You came all this way just to ask that? ARCHIVIST: Answer the question. MARTIN: [COUGHS] JUDE: If you want to know so badly, why don’t you just reach into my head and pull it out? ARCHIVIST: Because I want to hear you say it. Willingly. JUDE: What difference does it make if it’s– ARCHIVIST: Just answer the damn question…! JUDE: … No. I had no idea.

Since compelling Peter to death, Jon has never been shown forcing an answer out of someone again. He has been shown “knowing” things with alarming ability, being almost entirely omniscient at this point (MAG164: “Okay. So… how much can you see? What else do you know?” “Uh… Maybe everything…!”), whether it’s prompted by someone’s questions (as Martin demonstrated) or Jon just knowing things on his own accord. He has demonstrated a new way to deal with “statements”: getting filled with the Fears suffusing his surroundings, and having to “pour out” these statements into the tape recorder (MAG162: “This cabin. It’s not right. And, when I thought that, I–I felt… It, it all poured out of me down… into the tape.”). He has manifested his new Eye-related ability to turn the Feared into the Fearful, eradicating monsters and avatars (MAG166: “But The Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other.”). But compulsion as the act of asking a question and forcing an answer out of someone? Nothing since the beginning of the season. It might be nothing, but Oliver has always known so much about Jon and his situation, and Jude directly made a reference to that power when Jon didn’t use it, so… it could indeed be a thing.

(Or it’s also possible that, after Peter resisted compulsion to the point of dying, Jon fears that ability and what it could do, and purposefully stopped using it?)

MAG170’s title is… MmMMmm. If this an episode regarding a territory, I would say Spiral or Flesh (… and Jared in particular). It could also be about things outside of a domain, like what happened with “Curiosity” – and then, I’d see ways for it to be an outside POV (Jonah? Annabelle?) and/or other characters coming back (Georgie&Melanie? Basira? … stumbling upon/finding Daisy…?). And/or Martin talking about himself – we know so little about his pre-Archives life, I feel ;; (Same for Basira…) There could also be a way to connect with something mentioned about Agnes in MAG067…

(… It’s also making me think of Albrecht’s library / the Black Forest crypt and what Jonah did of the books…)

#mag169 #tma liveblog #tma season 4 #tma spoilers/#long post/#the magnus archives

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witchymarvelspacecase · 5 years ago

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Voiceless: Pt. 13

Summary: (Reader Insert) Reader is a mutant/inhuman with a powerful voice (works a little like a banshee/a little like a siren). She’s had it a little tough since discovering her powers. She is found and taken in by Tony Stark and the remaining Avengers after the events of Civil War

Word Count: 1545

Warnings: Cursing, some fluff and general emotions

A/N: I swear, I’m alive, though it may certainly appear as though I have given up. I have decided this is gonna get one more part after this and then it shall be complete. With any luck at all, I will get this done (thanks to enforced stay at home time… thanks weird virus… I think?)

Voiceless Masterlist

Once FRIDAY gave you the room, you had to tell her not to pass on any information about you to the team.

“If they ask, I am in my room, and my heart rate and respirations suggest I am in REM sleep. Got it?” you ground out as you finally manage to maneuver yourself to the foot of your bed. You weren’t sure who had left the pair of crutches leaning against the wall across from you, but you were gonna kiss them for sure.

“I think you’re getting very good at this,” FRIDAY responded.

“That wasn’t an agreement,” you said, pushing yourself to your feet. “Do you understand the instructions I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“And are you going to do as I asked?”

“I will do my best,” the AI all but sighed.

Knowing that was the best you could hope to receive, you thanked FRIDAY, and slowly crutched your way to the door.

It had been a while since you’d spent any time sneaking around the tower, but you knew where you were going. The real hinderance were the stupid crutches.

Once Tony finished giving you what was bound to be an epic lecture, you needed to nag him to make better crutches. Ones that didn’t make so much noise or bruise your armpits.

You planted yourself on a couch just outside the lounge Bucky and Tony were in. You'd managed to avoid being spotted by anyone, so you settled into the couch, keeping your head just below the back, and waited. The plan wasn't to interrupt the discussion, they were big boys, they could handle talking to each other without a moderator. But you wanted to be there, just in case. While you waited though, you'd rest your eyes, only for a second.

…

FRIDAY waited until a break in the conversation to inform Mr. Stark and Sergeant Barnes that Y/N was asleep, but no longer in her room. Neither man was surprised, but the both hurried to the door regardless. When they both stood outside the door, looking at Y/N curled up on the couch, crutches on the floor in front of her, Tony shook his head.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or not.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

“She clearly didn’t think we could have a conversation without her.”

“Well, she didn’t come inside,” Bucky said. “She just wanted to be here. I’m more concerned about who gave her the crutches. She shouldn’t be using those yet.”

“Knowing her, Y/N probably had a set stashed in her room for emergencies.” The smile on Tony’s face undercut the rupy tone he tried to maintain.

Bucky chuckled. “Should we move her?” The couch looked plenty comfy, but what if she rolled off?

“Y/N?” Tony called, crouching in front of her. “Wake up, little escape artist.” He ruffled her hair, tugging slightly.

...

You groaned before squinting one eye open. “Is it technically an escape if I didn’t leave the building?”

“Where’d’ya get the crutches, doll?” You shrugged, wincing slightly.

“They were leaning by the door in my room.” You opened your eyes wider, turning to Tony. “Tony, you need to make better crutches.”

“Oh I do, do I?” Tony looked exasperated, except for the smile growing in his face.

“Yeah, these ones hurt my arms, and make too much noise.”

“It wouldn’t seem like as much noise if you weren’t trying to be sneaky,” Tony shook his head, bending to pick you up.

“Excuse me, I succeeded at being sneaky,” you corrected.

Bucky picked up the crutches and followed Tony as he took you back to your room while you continued to defend your belief that crutches were too loud.

They both fussed over you when they put you in bed again. You stuck your tongue out at Tony when he snatched the crutches from Bucky.

“Don’t know where these came from, but you’re not getting ‘em back anytime soon.”

“That’s what you think,” you mumbled, causing Bucky to chuckle, and Tony to grumble.

“How likely are you to stay in here, doll?” Bucky asked while tucking you in.

“Is that even a question?” Tony replied. “I give it an hour before she’s out again.”

“How,” you grouched, “ya took my crutches.”

“Like that’s gonna stop you. I expect you have another pair hidden in here, or I’ll see you crawling down the hall if you can’t find any.”

You sniffed, trying to look offended, but honestly, he was right. You ended up pouting; Bucky was cackling.

“Boss, Ms. Potts is looking for you.”

“And don’t get me started with you FRIDAY. You were supposed to tell me if she moved, not after.”

“Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten. It’s not like I have many other things you have also asked me to do.”

“I regret giving you sentience.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, you don’t. I’ve told Ms Potts you are on your way.” The AI responded smoothly.

“No respect. I get no respect,” Tony grumbled. He bent and kissed your forehead. “Don’t subvert FRIDAY again, please.”

“No promises,” you grinned. It would have been much more threatening if you hadn’t then yawned so big your jaw cracked.

“Sleep, kiddo. I’ll see about redesigning your crutches tomorrow.” He ruffled your hair gently before turning to leave.

Bucky smirked at him and mouthed “pushover”, to which Tony wrinkled his nose, but didn’t correct him. He gave Bucky a squeeze on the shoulder as he passed. “You’ve got Baby Monitor duty first, Barnes,” Tony said just before he closed the door.

“Oh no he didn’t,” you said, mouth gaping open. “That’s it. I’m switching his coffee to decaf again.”

Bucky laughed at the blush on your cheeks. “How about if we wait until you can walk before we enact revenge?”

“Fine,” you sighed, relaxing back into your pillows, miffed.

“Aw, you’re cute when you’re mad, princess.”

“Oh, well I’m about to be fucking adorable,” your eyes narowed, your focus on Bucky. How best to fuck with him? You’d have to ask Steve, or maybe Sam; they’d know.

Bucky held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I take it back! I take it back!” he laughed.

You humphed, closing your eyes. “I will consider the terms of your surrender.”

“My surrender? Is that what that was?” Bucky asked, teasing tone still in his voice.

“If you want me to let your ‘cute’ comment go, yes it was.” You cracked an eye open to glare at him.

“Okay, okay. I surrender. What would you have of me?”

Well that question opened a whole new box of possibilities, didn’t it? Not that you could voice most of the ideas that immediately sprang to mind. Not only was your whole body all but screaming at you for your crutch stunt, you did not have the balls to actually say what you were thinking.

Daring a glance at Bucky, you opened both eyes and saw his teasing smile still in place, but beyond that, you thought you saw something else. Genuine affection.

Could you really let this opportunity pass by? Would you have another? Fuck, what if this went completely sideways? What if you were reading everything wrong and Bucky didn’t care for you? You’d lose him.

…

Bucky watched as a deep blush bloomed across your face following his comment with a stupid smile on his face. He liked that he made you blush, liked that he could get that reaction from you. But his smile slipped when your blush disappeared to be replaced by a look of terror.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked. He quickly moved closer, perching on the edge of your bed and leaning over to catch your cheek in his right hand. “Doll, what’s wrong?” he repeated when you looked away.

“Nothing,” you croaked, your throat closing. Clearing your throat, you repeated, “Nothing’s wrong, Bucky.”

“Uh huh, then why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”

“Cause I’m fucking terrified.”

“Of what?”

Shit, you’d said that out loud. Fuck.

“I- um…” you stammered. No idea what to say now. You couldn't say “Nothing,” again. No way Bucky let it go. But what was your other option? Lie? Make something up? Or- or could you tell him the truth? Did you dare?

“Okay, whatever it is, it’s freaking you out. We don’t hafta talk about it, sugar. But I want- I hope you know you can talk to me, about anything. You know that right?” Bucky’s left hand brushed hair off your forehead as his right continued to cup your cheek.

A deep breath. “I know what I want.”

“Huh?” That hadn't even been in the same universe as any of the responses Bucky expected.

“For your surrender,” you clarified in a small voice.

“Oh, okay. What is it?” Bucky was seriously confused, but you were talking instead of panicking so that was good right?

He had to ask you to repeat yourself when you told him what you wanted though. He couldn’t be sure he’d heard you correctly. You wouldn’t have said that, would you? It was his mind supplying that answer, surely.

“Wha- what was that, doll?”

“A kiss,” you said again, voice a little stronger, but your eyes still not fully meeting his.

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

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#Voiceless #Bucky Barnes #bucky x enhanced!reader

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foreverandalwayshttyd · 6 years ago

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So I’ve had this idea for awhile now and I’ve finally had time to sit down and write this. This is just like the second Hiccup and Stoick flashback scene when Hiccup finds his father crying downstairs. I️ wanted to write that with Hiccup and Zephyr but of course with a little twist. Enjoy this emotional father/daughter fluff that wrote itself :’)

The Blank Page

Hiccup stared at the crackling fire, his gaze getting lost in the dancing flames. His face was blank, a million thoughts racing through his mind all at once. An exasperated sigh escaped him as he slumped back in his chair and massaged his wrinkling temple. The whole house was quiet, the snapping flames the only thing ringing through the Chief's ears. He stroked his beard in deep thought, his eyes feasting on the strong orange glow.

He cleared his throat to break himself out of his trance and sat up more. He looked up at the stacks of books and papers above the fire place on a shelf, internally groaning at the sight of all the work he still had left to do. He squinted his eyes when he began to study the stack more carefully, a little leather flap sticking out from in between two disheveled books. There was a symbol on it that he couldn't quite make out, but something inside nagged at him. He hoisted himself up out of his chair and reached for the little flap. It was too dusty to make out. He removed the thick book and rolled up map on top of it, and moved them over to the side. He picked up the old little leather book cautiously, a layer of dust resting on top of it. He blew it off carefully, and instantly his eyes went wide. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, as he quickly collapsed in his chair.

The symbol was fading, but it was still there. A red Night Fury symbol. His old sketch book. "Oh my Thor..." Awe rang through his quiet voice, as he ran his hand over the withering sketchbook that he hadn't seen in years. It was so old and fragile, he was scared if he even turned the page it would fall apart. Ever so slightly he opened up the sketchbook and instantly a bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His eyes met old tail fin designs, the charcoal a very light grey now. He continued to turn the pages slowly, drawings and sketches of his former best friend making him smile sadly. Maps of old islands he had discovered in his youth made an appearance as well, them being slightly darker than the tail fin designs. He smiled warmly when a sketch of Astrid popped up when they were still young reckless teenagers, remembering the day she had finally caught him drawing her. He turned the page and instantly he froze, his eyes glued to the sketch. It was Toothless. But it wasn't just any old normal sketch of his scaly freind. No, this one made the corners of his eyes swell up.

The sketch was of Toothless flying on his own for the first time, with a big gummy smile and his tongue lolling out to the side. Hiccup remembered so clearly the day he had drawn that. It was right after Toothless had left to go see the Light Fury on his own with the new tail fin for the first time. The sight of seeing his dragon look so happy in the sky made his whole face light up. It was a moment he never wanted to forget.

Hiccup sniffed, and wiped at his eyes. He let a few tears slide down his cheeks not really caring. He missed his youth. He missed his old life where dragons roamed freely, where he discovered new lands with his friends, where he could feel the cold brisk air that made him feel free. He missed the thrill of discovering new dragons, or making new inventions that his dragon would have to save him from. He missed not having to be tied down, or having many responsibilities. Toothless had made him a stronger person, and gave him something to look forward to each day. He missed his best friend deeply. He missed his old life deeply. If only he could go back-

Creek.

Hiccup quickly whipped his head around towards the staircase where the source of the noise came from. In the shadows he could faintly make out a little figure in the dark that was quickly scuttling back upstairs.

"Zephyr?"

The soft footsteps came to a halt halfway up the stairs. The little girl slowly turned back around and hobbled down the stairs hesitantly, biting her lip nervously. Once she was in range of the glow of the fire, Hiccup could see she looked distressed and her cheeks glistened.

"What're you doing up kiddo? You should be in bed." He said softly as he quickly shut his sketchbook and wiped at his watery eyes. Zephyr looked at the floor, her big blue eyes glistening as she looked back up at her father.

"I can't sleep." She answered quietly, a slight break in her voice. Her banded pigtails were frizzed some loose pieces sticking to her wet face, and she wore a long white nightgown that fell just below her knees. She held a dragon plush in her arms, cradling it close to her chest. Hiccup realized something was wrong. She never had bad dreams, only Nuffink did. Maybe this was her first bad dream? His thoughts were interrupted by a little sniffle.

"Hey it's okay, come here." He held out his arms to her, and without hesitation she rushed over to him. He picked her up and cradled her in his lap, as she nestled her head under his chin. She hugged her dragon plush tightly making sure to cuddle as close as she possibly could into her father, and stared into the fire. Hiccup stroked her hair gently then looked down at the slightly shaking girl.

"What's wrong little lady?" He asked softly, peering down so he could look into her eyes. She tilted her head up and a couple of tears slid down her burning cheeks. Hiccup's heart clenched at the sight. He caressed her wet cheek with his thumb.

"I-I...I'm scared daddy." Her whimpering voice made Hiccup's heart break. He had never seen his daughter look so traumatized before. I mean sure, she'd get pretty shaken up after falling and scraping her knee once or twice, but this was different. She looked genuinely scared.

"I'm sorry I'm scared....you say I'm supposed to be brave." She wiped at her runny nose, her eyes continuing to swell up. Her voice shook when she talked. Hiccup furrowed his brow in pity, as he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"Zephyr, it's okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared from time to time. Even me and your mom get scared." He reassured gently, as she widened her eyes in surprise. "You and momma get scared? But mommies and daddies don't get scared." She replied innocently. Hiccup chuckled softly, hugging her tighter.

"Oh believe me, they do. It's nothing to be ashamed of. But what's causing my brave little lady to be scared tonight?" He tilted her chin up so he could look her in the eye. Her lower lip began to tremble, and she buried herself into her father's chest, drenching him in tears.

"I don't wanna be alone daddy! M-momma was...g-gone aa-and...Finn and you...and I was a-alone..." She wailed desperately, recalling the nightmare she had recently abruptly waken up from. Hiccup looked taken aback, trying to soothe and calm her so she wouldn't wake the whole house up.

"Hey...hey shhh shhh it's okay it's okay! Zephyr look at me." He helped sit her up in his lap, and continued to stroke her cheek. She was shaking with little sobs, fear radiating through her clouded eyes.

"It was just a dream, none of it was real. I'm here, see?" He took her limp hand and placed it over his heart. She looked into his eyes, her sniffling dying down. "Momma is here too, and so is Finn. You're not alone, and you'll never be alone. I'm not going anywhere." He wrapped her up in his arms and held her close, as she clung to him as if her life depended on it. He buried his face into her soft hair as she continued to silently cry against him. He rocked her back and forth soothingly, shushing her gently and telling her it was okay. So much sadness swelled through his heart. Zephyr didn't deserve to have a dream like that, she was only six years old. She was such a bright bubbly girl that brought a smile to his face every time she walked into a room. But as he held her close and comforted her, he knew he'd remember this moment forever. She was scared and she came to find him. They stayed like that for awhile. Until an idea popped into Hiccup's mind.

Carefully he reached for his sketchbook tucked beneath his cloak, and pulled it out as Zephyr began to pull away and sit up. She wiped at her eyes and looked down at the little book with wonder. "What's that?" She asked curiously as Hiccup smiled.

"Let me show you." Zephyr shifted around so she was leaning her back against her father, and he held the sketchbook in her lap as he began to show her the sketches from his youth. Zephyr gasped in awe as soon as he opened it up and he smiled warmly. With each page came a story, and each story made Zephyr's fear slowly disappear. She started to smile again as she studied her father's drawings and enjoyed listening to the stories that came along with them.

"Is that momma, daddy?" She asked as she pointed to a sketch of Astrid when she was younger. Hiccup blushed faintly and smiled cheekily. "It is. That's the day when she chased me around the whole village when I said I had to draw her cause she looked cute." He softly chuckled when Zephyr giggled. She ran her finger on the edge of the sketch, looking at in wonder. "Momma's so pretty."

Hiccup smiled and kissed her hair. "She is isn't she? And so are you." She giggled once more, as his breath tickled her face. She urged him to continue to turn the pages, which he gladly did so. He pointed to each one with emphasis, making her laugh when he would make silly faces to make the story come to life. "Is that Toothless!?" She squealed excitedly when a sketch of Toothless caught her eye, finally a visual representation of the dragon her parents talked so much about. Hiccup's face lit up in response to her excitement. He nodded with a smile, and she turned her attention back to the drawing, mouth agape and eyes wide. There was his little girl that he knew.

"Do you think I'll ever get to meet him daddy?" She asked hopefully, and Hiccup smiled. "Maybe one day." She gasped excitedly at his response, and turned her attention back to the sketchbook. She turned the page, and a frown emerged when she noticed it was blank. Hiccup pursed his lips in disappointment when he realized they had gone through everything. His mind clicked and a cute little idea popped into his head. He opened his little satchel on his belt and pulled out a charcoal pencil. Zephyr noticed and her face lit up in excitement. "Can you teach me how to draw, daddy?" She pleaded and Hiccup couldn't resist that face she made.

"Of course. Here..." He handed her the pencil, and took her hand in his and began to lead her hand along the parchment with the charcoal pencil. She watched in awe, a bright smile on her face as she watched her hand being led by her father's. The outline of a little girl began to take shape, and Zephyr couldn't peel her eyes off of it. Hiccup smiled as he worked and held her hand in his.

"That's me!" She gasped excitedly, looking at the rough sketch of her, cuddling her dragon plush. "Yeah and in no time you'll be able to draw all kinds of things." Hiccup encouraged, as he admired the look on his daughter's face.

"Even Toothless?"

Hiccup's heart melted. "Even Toothless."

He shared a warm smile with his little girl. She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around her father's neck, squeezing him tightly. "I love you, daddy." She whispered and Hiccup hugged her back. "I love you too my little lady."

She pulled away with a smile, and then looked back down at the sketch. A slight yawn creeped in, making her eyes droop. Hiccup noticed and shook his head playfully. "Alright miss, time to get some shut eye." He stood up and gathered her up in his arms, making her giggle as he nuzzled her nose. He tucked his sketchbook in his belt and made his way up the stairs with the dazed girl in his arms.

As he walked to her room and tucked her back in, all of his nostalgic feelings had melted away. Sure he missed his old life, and of course he'd continue to miss Toothless everyday. But this was his world now. Being a father to two children that he adored more than anything. He wouldn't trade being a father for the world.

Especially now that he has a new page to sketch on.

#*happy tears*#my writing #hiccup #zephyr #dadcup #haddock family #httyd fanfiction #httyd 3

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charlieism · 6 years ago

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Touch A Star, Touch A God

Bruce is having a bad day, so he goes to find Thor, and discovers that it's surprisingly easy to hug him.

AO3

Bruce has had a very long, very tiring, very upsetting day. The thing is, he hasn’t even done anything wrong, the reason his day is so terrible doesn’t even technically have anything to do with him, he just…

Well. He’s supposed to be a hero, to save the innocent people of the world from danger. And sure, he’s an Avenger, and the Avengers are kind of the big guns. They’re pulled out to fight aliens, robots and wizards--all kinds of freaky, global-catastrophe type dangerous stuff! They’re not there for everyday things, he supposes, not there to break up fights between civilians or stop petty crime. And besides, he’s the Hulk! Hulk is a last-resort kind of thing, he’s destructive and unruly and unsafe; he can beat up big monsters just fine, but he can’t exactly help the little people.

Bruce wishes they could’ve helped the little people today.

Because a lot of civilians died today. It was unexpected and tragic, and though it’s far from the highest death-toll the world has ever seen, it’s still too many. Too many lives taken. And by just some random person, too, not a threat that Bruce could’ve ever prepared for, nothing he could have predicted in time to save all those people. It happened very far away from him as well, there was nothing he could have ever done to help. And that sucks. He heard about it on the news in the morning, and he’s felt sick to his stomach ever since, the knowledge and thoughts of a single disaster he couldn’t prevent weighing on his mind as if all the souls of the dead were resting on him, pulling him down with them. He feels guilty, and upset, and angry and sad, and there’s nothing he can do about it, nothing he could do, it’s too late now and people are dead and it’s not his fault but he just--

He feels like shit.

Bruce pulls his glasses from his head and digs his knuckles into his eyes, rubbing them as they sting. It’s cold in his lab, and the loneliness of it all just makes him feel worse.

He abruptly realises that he wants somebody to comfort him.

Which is weird, because he’s Bruce Banner, the Hulk, he’s dangerous, and for years he’s never really… had anybody to comfort him? Nobody to talk to about the innumerable issues he has, no close friends or family to provide support or help him through his bouts of anxiety, or self-hatred, or guilt. He could swear he’s almost forgotten what being comforted even feels like. Except some deep part of him, something instinctual and ingrained so deep he’ll never be able to scrape out out, longs for another person to be close to, for someone to be there for him, for somebody too--

To what? Hold him? Hug him? Tell him everything is going to be okay?

Can he even have that? And who would that someone even be? Sure, Bruce can admit that nowadays he has more friends than he has since the gamma radiation incident, but is there anyone he’s particularly close to? Tony, maybe, but as normal and somehow at ease as the eccentric other man can make him feel, they’ve never been close enough to even touch beyond jokingly poking each other or a patting of the shoulder. Steve? Ha. Natasha? No, not anymore, never again, if he’s honest with him. That ship sailed a long time ago. Thor?

Well, actually, now that Bruce thinks about it, he and Thor have gotten pretty close since the whole saving-each-other-from-evil-and-gallivanting-through-space-together thing. After all, Bruce was the only one around who knew everything Thor had been through in a short amount of time, who’d witnessed just how much the god had lost and seen how much his life had changed in such a short amount of time. And Thor was the one that saved him from being stuck as Hulk as a gladiator on an alien planet for the rest of his life, who returned Bruce to Earth. He’s the only one who somehow managed to befriend both Bruce and the Hulk. Before Brunnhilde and Thor, Bruce hadn’t even been sure that Hulk had the capacity to make true friends, and he himself certainly hadn’t trusted anybody so fully for a long time.

He supposes that there’s certain things you go through together that mean you can’t avoid becoming friends, though. Like comforting each other after destroying one’s ancient home planet and evil sister, and guiding one through waking up disoriented and two years out of time on an alien planet designed to stress one out, and being stuck on a spaceship together travelling through the universe for weeks afterwards. So, yeah, Bruce supposes that Thor is his friend. The closest friend he has. Bruce likes Thor a lot, actually, which is kind of surprising because although they’ve always been amicable, a few years ago Banner would have never dreamed of being this close with Thor, blonde prince of Asgard and God of Thunder.

Thor is actually really nice, though. Bruce would almost go so far as to call him the kindest avenger, just from what he’s seen since Sakaar. He’s watched Thor interact with all the remaining Asgardians with the utmost care and respect after Asgard was destroyed, saw how he genuinely listened to their problems and interacted with them devotedly as he figured out how to properly lead them. Many times Bruce and Thor had sat together when everyone else was asleep and stared at the vast expanse of space as Thor hesitantly unloaded his worries about being king, and Bruce heard how important this was to him, how vital it was that Thor made a good king and a good person, who treated everyone right and fairly. It had made him smile even as Thor fretted, because staring at the trillions of glowing stars Bruce had more than once realised how gigantic the universe was, and how great a person Thor managed to be despite having seen corners of the galaxy Bruce could never dream of. And then, after Hela and Thanos, he’d seen Thor cry over losing his family and cry over regaining them, he’d watched as Thor tenderly helped his people rebuild and witnessed Thor’s mind race as he figured out the best solutions to any problem somebody came to him with.

That’s another thing, too: Thor is, like, really smart? He’s headstrong, impulsive and reckless, sure, but he’s intelligent. Bruce knew he was smart beforehand, of course; he’d listened to Thor chip into the discussions and plans of the Avengers back when they were more of a close-knit team, had known that the god had a strategic mind and thousands of years of knowledge, but until recently he hadn’t fully realised what that meant. The realisation that he could have long, in-depth conversations about science, astronomy, astrophysics, history, language and any other number of subjects with Thor, who would not only comprehend what he was saying but be able to reply and enthusiastically carry the discussion in full, was a delightful one. Thor just knew so much, he was able to keep up with Bruce completely and even add to his knowledge, and sometimes Bruce was sharply reminded that Thor was, for all intents and purposes, ancient. He probably knew more things than Bruce could ever hope to remember. Thor was always so amiable about it though, casually talking about complex subjects with full understanding of them and Bruce could barely believe that they’d never discussed things like this before, couldn’t figure out why Thor had never engaged in conversation with them like this a few years ago. Maybe they all had preconceptions about him, because of the stilted way he used to speak or look or whatever. He doesn’t know, but it’s nice now. Thor is kind, and he’s smart, and he’s so powerful, and he’s Bruce’s friend. Bruce knows that logically Thor would never turn him away, that he’s always going to be friendly enough to listen to Bruce’s troubles, or comfort him if that’s what Bruce needs.

Bruce kinda really needs that right now.

He looks around his pristine lab, his cold and calculating and empty, empty lab, and his mind is already made up. Pride, embarrassment or weakness be damned, suddenly all he can think about is going to Thor and just… being around him, sitting with him and calming down in his presence. So he methodically packs up his supplies and takes off his coat, before leaving the lab and walking to where he knows Thor’s room is. He reaches the door quick enough, hands fidgeting with a creeping anxiety that he tries to ignore, and knocks on it before he can second-guess himself too much.

“Come in,” a familiar, muffled voice calls from inside, and something in Bruce’s chest immediately loosens just at hearing it. He opens the door. Thor is inside, sitting on his bed and wearing that soft khaki jacket he’s apparently become attached to since returning to Earth. Thor looks up, and his expression immediately softens when he sees Bruce standing in the doorway, a warm smile pushing at his lips.

“Banner!” Thor calls jovially. “How are you, my friend?” Bruce smiles weakly at him.

“I’m fine,” he says, then winces at the automatic response. Damn it. “Can I come in?”

“Of course!” Bruce steps into the room and closes the door gently behind him, and suddenly realises that he doesn’t have a plan from here. What’s he going to do, suddenly start to rant about all his problems? His main problem doesn’t even have anything to do with him, he’s just upset, so how is he supposed to justify that? Or is he meant to just play it all off and pretend he just wants to, like, hang out with Thor as usual, and hope that acting okay makes everything magically better? He dimly sees Thor’s smile fade and his gaze sharpen, flickering down to where Bruce is anxiously tapping his knuckles together, sleeves tugged further down his hands, and then back up to his stressed, vacant expression. Bruce can feel the ol’ panic bubbling in his chest again, which is stupid because there’s no reason for it to be there, but whatever, his mind is racing so fast he can barely hold onto a thought.

“Bruce?” Thor asks, voice softer now. “Is everything alright?”

Bruce kind of can’t stop staring at Thor’s green jacket. He knows it’s soft, because he’s picked it up before when Thor left it lying around, and it’s unzipped so Bruce can see the white shirt Thor is wearing underneath, and it looks really warm. Thor looks warm. He looks cosy, and comfortable, and safe. Bruce wants to snap himself out of the line of thought, but it’s the truth: he really, really wants to hug Thor right now. Christ, he can’t actually remember the last time he hugged anybody. How sad is that?

“Bruce,” Thor repeats. He sounds worried now, like he’s about to stand up and check if Bruce is injured. Bruce swallows and looks at his face.

“Yeah,” he says, but it’s more like a whisper, his voice strained. He clears his throat, but he can’t stop moving his hands. “Yeah, sorry. Hi.”

“Hi,” Thor says, and smiles cautiously. “Are you feeling okay, Banner? You look… Pale.”

“I, uh... “ Bruce sighs shakily. “No. Not really? Everything just feels bad right now. Sorry if I’m bothering you, but I thought--I thought--ugh, I don’t know what I thought,” he struggles, then sighs in defeat, clenching his fists. Thor watches him carefully, but his expression is open and kind.

“That’s alright, Banner, we all have bad days. Especially with all the things that have happened lately, I think you’ve almost earned a bad day,” he jokes quietly. Bruce releases a puff of air that could almost be interpreted as a laugh.

“Do you have bad days?” he asks, still hovering by the doorway.

“Of course.” Thor’s answer is immediate and honest. He’s still sitting on the bed.

“Oh.” Bruce’s voice feels like it’s redundant and echoing. “How do you deal with them?” He desperately needs to know. But Thor just stares at him, blinking sedately, taking in Bruce’s nervous posture, anxious movement and strained voice, and then slowly raises his arms.

He moves like Bruce is a skittish animal, one who’ll run off at the sign of any sudden movement, but Bruce almost appreciates it because at this point, he feels like he just might. For a minute he’s not sure what Thor is doing, but the blonde man just waits patiently with his arms outstretched until it clicks.

“Oh,” Bruce repeats dumbly. Thor is offering a hug. This is… God, that is exactly what Bruce wants, but he doesn’t know how to accept it. His mind is still going a mile-a-minute, but apparently those deep down instincts take over as soon as the offer for a hug registers because his feet take a lurching step forward before Bruce can stop himself. But Thor smiles at him, small and soft and encouraging, and that tight knot in Bruce’s chest unwinds just the tiniest bit more. Maybe it is okay for him to just walk over there and let himself be comforted. Maybe it really is that easy.

So he does.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t speak. He just shuffles across the room to where Thor sits on the bed, and though he’d like to say he hugs him with some kind of dignity, that’d be a lie. It’s like all the strength just disappears from Bruce’s body and he kinds of falls limply into Thor’s open arms. It’s a little awkward, because he’s not entirely on the bed, but his head rests near Thor’s collarbone, just below his shoulder as if it was made to fit there, and Thor’s arms immediately curl around him and bracket him in. He was right. Thor is so warm. Bruce might let out a pleased noise, he’s not really sure, but the horrible feeling in his chest is immediately starting to ebb, and it feels so good to finally be able to relax slightly. He feels Thor move backwards a little, until his back is resting against the wall and he can hold them both upright, and everything is suddenly far more comfortable. Thor is a lot bigger than Bruce is, so Bruce just kind of curls up again him, arms wrapping around Thor’s waist and slipping under the jacket. From where Bruce’s head lays on Thor’s chest he can faintly hear the strong drum of the god’s heartbeat, and he can feel the unwavering strength in Thor’s stomach and arms, but he holds Bruce with the perfect balance of gentleness and tightness that Bruce just closes his eyes and lets his mind stop whirring.

He was right about the jacket, too: the material is soft where it drapes over his hands and arms, and he was correct about the warmth and cosiness. It’s like being tucked up against a heated blanket. Thor is warm and alive under his palms, radiating heat with every breath Bruce feels him take in. He’s secure in the best of ways, his arms holding Bruce in place and supporting him, his chest soft but firm at the same time, and Bruce can’t remember the last time he felt this safe. Thor smells nice, too. Not really like anything in particular, just whatever washing powder his clothes are cleaned with and a constant hint of ozone that Bruce can detect, and something that’s implicitly Thor, but it’s familiar and relaxing, amplified by their closeness. Gradually the tension flows out of Banner’s body, his muscles relaxing and his fingers curling gently into the material of Thor’s shirt, his breathing slowing along with his thoughts, and the panicked jumble in his chest smoothing out completely. His eyes are shut, now, and his head is practically nestled against Thor’s collarbone, but their breathing is in sync and Thor seems perfectly content to just hold him. Bruce, for once in his life, feels calm. It is so fucking good.

“Thanks, Thor,” he mumbles against the other man’s chest without opening his eyes, and he’s glad that this is so easy. He’s glad that they don’t have to talk, that he doesn’t have to explain how he feels or justify why he needs to have a goddamn cuddle session. He’s glad that Thor is just here, hugging him close, and it’s fine. It’s simple, and it’s easy, and it’s okay. Thor’s arm’s tighten fractionally around him, and Bruce just curls closer in return, pleased at the warmth and the cosiness, at the feeling of being so close to another person.

“Any time, Banner,” Thor assures him, and he can feel the baritone rumble of his voice in his chest. Bruce smiles, and for once, it feels real.

#thorbruce #gammahammer #mcu #marvel #thor #bruce banner #hulk #fanfiction #fanfic #bruce x thor #bruce/thor #jay rambles #jay writes #hurt/comfort #vent fic #thor ragnarok #infinity war #thruce

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i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend · 6 years ago

Text

Sexiled (Part 7/23) ~ Steve Rogers x Reader College!AU

A/N: Hi lovelies! More Sexiled! :) Hope everyone has a great week.

Summary: Getting to know the important people in Steve’s life. Aka parent’s weekend with your not boyfriend

Rating: T

Warnings: Nothing really, probably language

Word count: 1798

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Looks like traffic from Brooklyn to Boston on a Friday afternoon was worse than they thought. They’re still in Connecticut,” Bucky reported at 5:30. “Becca says it’ll probably be two more hours.”

Steve frowned but nodded.

“I’ll call and see if we can move our reservation.”

“Good plan, but I’m starving. I’m going to go to the dining hall. You two coming?”

“I ate after lab. Sweetness?”

“Not that hungry,” you yawned.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I ate a ton after the exam.”

“Alright. Well I’m going to head down there then.”

Steve was already dialing the restaurants number so Bucky waved and left. You hopped down from the bed and he looked at you questioningly. You mouthed “bathroom” at him and slipped out of the room as the host answered the phone.

When you returned Steve was sprawled out on the bean bag chair flipping through his phone.

“Did they move the reservation?” you asked as you kicked your boots off and shrugged out of your sweater.

“Yup. We will now be seated at 8:30.”

“Perfect.”

You settled yourself between his legs, leaning back on his right thigh so you could look at him. He smiled softly as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

“You look tired, love.”

“I am. The labs were killer today.”

“Yeah, this week was bad,” you agreed.

“Do you want to watch some more supernatural?”

You weighed the options, grimacing slightly.

“I’m taking that as a no,” he chuckled as he rubbed circles into your lower back.

“I’m just not really awake for it. Something less mentally taxing?”

“Scooby Doo?”

“Perfect.”

“Witch’s Ghost?”

You nodded excitedly and shifted on the bean bag so you were leaning fully against him. He reached for the remote and turned on the movie before settling his arms around your waist.

Neither of you had realized how much the three almost all-nighters had gotten to you, and soon you were fast asleep.

You woke to a bright flash.

“Becca,” someone hissed as you rubbed your eyes trying to get your bearings.

“The flash wasn’t supposed to be on,” someone whispered back.

As you blinked away the blurriness your eyes widened and your stomach dropped. You scrambled to your feet waking Steve in the process. Bucky seemed to be unsure whether he was amused or apologetic. You fiddled with your dress and tried to discreetly smooth your hair down.

“Oh hey everybody.” He grinned, unfazed as he hopped to his feet and hugged his mom. “I’m so glad you could come, ma.”

“Me too, sweetheart.”

When he let go of her, he reached out and slipped his hand in yours tugging you closer.

“Everyone, this is y/n. She’s my best girl.” You hadn’t been sure how he was going to introduce you, but the term had a warm feeling settle in your stomach. “Y/n, this is my mom.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Sarah,” she corrected. “Please. And I’m so glad I finally get to meet you. You’re even prettier than your picture.”

You bit your lip as you glanced up at Steve. His cheeks were pink and he nudged you towards Mr. Barnes.

“And this is Bucky’s dad.”

“George,” the older gentleman supplied with a kind smile. You could see where Bucky got his looks from.

“You can call me, Winnie, dear,” Bucky’s mother offered as she took your hand and squeezed it in both of hers.

“And I’m Becca. We’ve heard so much about you,” Bucky’s little sister gushed surging forward to hug you, making you drop Steve’s hand to embrace her.

“Bex, chill,” Bucky laughed.

She pulled back, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Sorry.”

“Oh be quiet, Bucky. I’m really excited to meet you too,” you told her with a genuine smile.

Your nerves settled fairly quickly once you got to dinner. Sarah and Bucky’s family were so kind – hardly a surprise knowing their sons, but it still put you at ease.

“So you’re studying biology as well?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And are you premed too?” George asked.

“No, I ruled that path out a while ago. I do want to be in the medical field just on the other side of it.”

“Injuring people?” Bucky teased and you rolled your eyes, but smiled good-naturedly.

“Research,” you explained. “Regenerative medicine, to be exact. But even that is still broad so I’m still trying to figure out my future.”

“That’s very impressive, Y/n. Now what exactly is regenerative medicine?”

“The area I’m interested in basically strips something like a skin cell back to its most basic state where it can become any cell type. It hasn’t made what are called cell fate decisions.”

“And how does that help?”

“Well, by itself it doesn’t really. But the goal is to discover what specific factors cause these cell fate decisions and induce them in the pluripotent cells to create whatever type we want. The end goal being to recreate tissue and even organs that won’t be rejected by patients because it’s their own DNA. But that’s a long way down the road.”

They asked a fair amount of questions and you ended up spending the next twenty minutes explaining the research you someday dreamed of doing. You were so engrossed in what you were talking about that you didn’t notice the slightly awed look Steve was giving you. Bucky didn’t take much notice, that was how Steve always looked at you when you weren’t paying attention, but the rest of the family certainly did.

“How do you choose something like this? I’ve never even heard of it,” Sarah wondered.

“I sort of fell into it. I was reading for bio class junior year about cell fate decisions, and I had this thought – what if we could decide which cell type something would become? We could do so much. I thought I was so original, and then I found out there was a whole field dedicated to doing just that.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It was a welcome discovery if I’m honest. I thought I would end up in medicine, but the prospect of working directly with patients was a bit daunting. This way I’ll get to stay in the field and focus on the science. Assuming everything goes to plan."

“So you want to save the world?” Winnie deduced.

“As much of it as I can,” you announced proudly.

“You two really are well matched,” George chuckled as he looked between you and Steve.

“There’s a reason she’s my best girl.”

“Thanks again for letting me stay with you tonight, y/n.”

“Of course. I’m glad we get to hang out for a bit.”

“Sorry if I was kind of overzealous earlier. It’s just the way Bucky and Steve talk about you, I knew you’d be really cool,” she mumbled as she played with the end of her braid.

“You weren’t at all. I promise. It was actually a relief. I was super nervous about meeting you guys.”

She cocked her head in confusion. “Why were you nervous?”

“I wanted to make a good impression. Though I probably didn’t do a great job of that.”

“Because you two were asleep when we came in?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“It was honestly really cute. And from what we could tell, totally innocent.”

“Of course,” you rushed to confirm.

“You have nothing to worry about. You completely live up to the hype.”

“So do you.”

“So, since I’m not sure we’ll get any other time alone together, is there anything you want to know about the guys?” Becca offered with a mischievous grin.

“Is there anything juicy I should know?”

“Well…”

The two of you spent a couple of hours gossiping and getting to know each other. Becca was so endearing, you two were fast friends.

That was how the whole weekend felt. You managed one on one time with all of them, and you grew very close to Sarah. She shared your love of music and the ballet and you fell into easy conversation. On Sunday, after brunch, the seven of you were walking through the park when you noticed one of the public pianos was open.

“Would you like to play a little?” Sarah asked when she noticed your preoccupation.

“I wish I knew how. I can pluck out Mary Had a Little Lamb and that’s about it. Do you play?”

“I used to. I can show you a little if you like?”

“Please.”

The two of you sat on the cold wooden bench and she ran her fingers up and down the scale.

“Surprisingly well tuned for an outdoor piano. So place your hands like this,” she demonstrated and then fixed your hands as you attempted to mimic her. “Good.

You fiddled around playing a few little snatches of things.

“Maybe I’ll stick to singing.”

“That is always an option,” she laughed as she absent-mindedly played a soothing tune. “Y/n, darling. I am so glad that Steve has found you.”

Her words twisted in your gut and you felt like you had been deceiving her.

“Sarah, I have to be completely honest with you.”

“About what?”

“Steve and I aren’t dating.”

The crinkle of worry that had creased her forehead disappeared as she laughed.

“I know that, sweetheart.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Then why…”

She continued playing but looked over at you.

“Steve has had Bucky his entire life. Even when he had no one else. When he finally got healthy and grew into his handsome self,” you glanced over at Steve, smiling at how he held himself as he spoke to George and Winnie. “People finally noticed him, but they didn’t care about him. It’s obvious that you do.”

“I really do.”

“Do you feel better now?” She asked, blue eyes twinkling just like Steve’s.

“Much.” You finally recognized the song she was playing and began to hum the opening chords. “I love this song.”

“It was always one of Steve’s favorites when he was little. His father and I would put the record on and dance to it, and he always loved it.”

Your eyes drifted shut, imagining dancing with Steve as you began to sing along.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper I love you

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

You sang quietly, not wanting to draw to much attention to yourself. But it felt good to stretch your vocal chords.

“Wow.”

Your eyes snapped open at Steve’s hushed exclamation, and you twisted around to look at him.

“I could listen to you sing forever.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, caught by his intense gaze.

“Well, that’s very hard on the vocal chords, so you’ll have to settle for special occasions,” Sarah teased, breaking the moment, allowing you to breathe.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I’m sorry the A/n are like barely there on this one. I’m half asleep.

Sexiled Tag List @yourspecialcrush @part-time-patronus @impala-with-wings @shitty-imagines-95 @zlixlle @peter-parker-steve-bucky @encounterthepast @holygaygal @hista-girl @steves-on-a-plane @juliagolia87

Steve/Chris Tag List @isaxhorror @peachykeen3502 @patzammit @wordlesscaptain @coffeebooksandfandom @hereisanapplepie

Marvel Tag List @hdthdthdt @sophiatomlinson23 @misty-panther @supermusicallee @scarlettsoldier @acupofhotlatte @slender--spirit

Permanent Tag List @iamwarrenspeace @jayzayy @bexboo616 @neoqueen306 @santheweird @rowenaravencalw @buckitybarnes @prxttybirdz @sergeantjbuckybarnes @sebsunshinestan @broitsmydick @ailynalonso15 @nyxveracity @queenoftrash97 @walkingtravesty97 @lamia-maizat @memyselfandmaddox @lowkeybuckyb @whiskey2011 @averyrogers83 @lovingpeterparker @buckybarneshairpullingkink @beansparker @unicornblood4ever @xxashy999xx' @thisismysecrethappyplace @ravennightingaleandavatempus @paintballkid711

#steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fic #Sexiled #Part 7 #Ongoing

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vex-bittys · 7 years ago

Text

Only Blue: A LamiaSwap Story

This is the third place fic raffle prize for jezziconvair, who asked for a yandere lamia but left most of the details up to me. I hope the finished product makes up for the long wait!

Contains: murder, yandere behavior, hypnosis,drugging, captivity, mentions of abuse

(There is no sexual content in this story. It is under the cut for length only)

Since you were a child, since the first time you heard about the breaking of the Barrier, since you first watched monsters emerge from the Underground to stand in the sunlight once more on your television screen, you dreamed of having a monster friend, and Blueberry, or Blue as you frequently called him, was a dream come true.

You met the rare skeleton lamia at a community center which held events to promote human-monster relations. Blue possessed an irresistible personality, coupled with blue, star-shaped eyelights and an ever-present grin. He fascinated you from the moment you laid eyes on him, and from his exuberant greeting- a tight hug that lifted you right off of your feet- you guessed that he felt the exact same way about you.

Blue referred to you affectionately as Human, and after your first meeting, you got together time and again to go out for food or coffee, partake in hikes and other outdoor adventures, and stay in to binge watch shows and movies. Blue answered all of your questions about monsters in general and skeleton lamias in particular, and you did your best to explain life as a human living on the Surface to him.

You trusted Blue completely, so when your significant other turned violent, you placed a tear-filled call to him in the middle of the night and ended up as platonic roommates. You were too shaken by the attack to talk to the police, but Blue assured you that he handled the situation, and your ex never called or bothered you again. The whole ordeal strengthened your friendship with Blue even further.

Blue, ever the vigilant protector, visited you every day at your job, dropping you off and picking you up and even stopping by for spontaneous check-ins just to set your mind at ease. When you and Blue went out, he often playfully put his arm around you to prevent potential suitors from approaching. If they didn’t get the hint and flirted with you anyway, a warning hiss usually scared them away.

You were grateful to Blue for his big brother tendencies. After your last dating experience, you weren’t ready to put yourself back out on the singles’ market quite yet. Nothing would change your mind until a stranger gave you a shy smile one day. You recognized the person; you’d seen them around town at many of the same restaurants and events that you and Blue frequented.

You struck up a conversation with them, and the connection between the two of you sparked to life in that moment. They seemed to like you, and you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for them. You gave them your number, and they promised to call you that very night.

Their calls became a nightly ritual, and you spent hours talking to them every week. You couldn’t help gushing to Blue about how happy it made you every time you saw a text from them or fell asleep to the sound of their voice. You asked Blue if he minded if they joined you for a movie over the weekend, and he gave you a curt head shake. You thought nothing of it until the day of your date-and-a-half arrived.

Blue’s behavior could only be classified as odd. He acted like they weren’t even there, answering any question directed at him with icy silence. The movie ended with the three of you standing awkwardly in the lobby. Blue glared at your crush, and your crush rubbed the back of their head awkwardly under his scrutiny. You wondered what the lamia’s problem was, and you confronted him about it when you got home.

“Why were you being so rude?” you demanded. Blue never treated anyone that poorly. Did he know something about them that you didn’t?

“I don’t trust them,” replied Blue smoothly. “They creeped me out. I just want what’s best for you. I just want you to be safe.” Blue’s eyelights radiated sincerity, and the longed you locked eyelights with him the more his words made sense to you. Maybe you weren’t thinking clearly after your last relationship? Blue just wanted you to be safe. You trusted Blue. When they called you that night, you didn’t answer the phone.

Your mistrust faded away overnight, however. Your crush called later, apologizing for imagined scenarios, and you relented, accepting their offer of dinner and dessert for tonight, just you and them. They promised to pick you up at seven, and you found yourself actually looking forward to the date. You shared your excitement with Blue,and he smiled, a sweet and genuine smile.

“I’m so happy that you found someone,” he congratulated you, setting your mind at ease.

You were ready for your date by six, picking out a flattering casual outfit for what you hoped would be the first date of many. Seven o’clock came and went. Eight o’clock passed by as well. Around nine, Blue slithered through the door, brows raised in surprise at seeing you still waiting in the kitchen where you’d been when he left earlier.

“No date?” he asked innocently.

“No,” you told him, barely holding back tears. “They didn’t call, and they won’t answer my messages. We made our plans today, why would they cancel?”

Blue wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against his ribcage and coiling his long, ecto-flesh around you, surrounding you in his comforting presence.

“Shh,” he soothed, “It’s alright. There’s nothing to worry about. I suspected they might do something like this. You’re better off without them.” You felt so tired. Blue was right. Blue wouldn’t lie to you.

“I’m better off without them,” you repeated softly as the tension left your body. Blue lifted you gently into his arms and carried you into your room.

“I’m here for you. I always will be. It’ll be just you and me,” he murmured as you kicked off your shoes and pulled the blankets over your still-clothed body.

“Just you and me,” you repeated his words again. It sounded so safe and comfortable. Just you and your very good friend Blue, who would never let anything happen to you. Your head nestled into your soft, downy pillow and you drifted off into a dreamless sleep immediately.

You awoke well-rested, but the sadness from being stood up the night before lingered. You checked your texts and voicemails, but your crush hadn’t contacted you at all. You left a vague voicemail for them, asking them if they were ok and telling them that there were no hard feelings over the missed date. When you finally left your room, dressed for work and starving for breakfast, you discovered that Blue wasn’t even home to give you one of his famous hugs. It was going to be a long day.

Fortunately, you shared your shift with your favorite co-worker and high school partner in crime. As soon as you came through the door, she embraced you. With a happy sign, you leaned into the gesture. How had she known you needed this? It took you a moment to realize that she was crying. You pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length while you absorbed her puffy eyes and the streaks of eyeliner and mascara running down her face.

“What happened?” you asked, your own problems forgotten in the wake of your friend’s misery.

“You didn’t know?” she asked in shock. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” You must have looked as utterly bewildered as you felt because she led you into the break room, waving at the TV where news anchors covered a breaking story that held the other workers captivated.

You stared at the TV with an open mouth. Photo after photo flashed across the screen. Over a dozen faces of apparently unrelated men and women slowly filled the screen. You recognized two of the images- your abusive ex and your recent crush. Your eyes darted to the news ticker, attempting to catch up with the words marching across the bottom of the screen.

Anxiety thrummed through your entire body as you picked out words and phrases, putting the story together as different images appeared on the TV. Bodies found. Mass grave. Secluded area. No suspects. No leads. Just victim after victim being exhumed.

How could this be happening? You’d seen your crush yesterday! You collapsed onto the sofa in the break room, processing the information sluggishly. They were dead. They were gone. They were murdered. Numbness swept through your body, chasing away the energy of a restful night’s sleep. You friend shook your shoulder, repeating your name until you regained enough mental fortitude for an eloquent “Huh?”

“Are you ok? Do you want to go home? I can drive you.” You considered it, then nodded. Blue must surely be home by now. He would know what to do. He would take care of you, he had to because you couldn’t function right now. Not after this.

Your friend dropped you off at Blue’s house, waiting outside and watching you through the windshield to make sure you got into the house alright. You fumbled with your key before simply turning the knob in frustration and finding it unlocked. You’d locked the door behind you when you left for work that morning, and that meant Blue must be back from his early morning errand.

As soon as you stumbled across the threshold, you heard the sound of the shower running. You didn’t think you could drag yourself through the house to the bathroom in your shaken state, so you called for him, just him name, but it was enough. The shower noises ceased, and Blue hurried to your side, toweling himself off as he went.

Distress must have been written all over your face because he let the towel fall onto a pile of dirty clothes on the floor- an unusual sight in the tidy lamia’s house, but not noteworthy enough to distract you from the horrible newscast you’d witnessed. Blue held you close to him, stroking your back in soothing circles. He didn’t even ask what was wrong; you’d tell him when you felt ready.

Breaking away from the hug, you sat on the couch and wordlessly patted the seat next to you. Picking up the remote, you flipped through channels until you found the same news story as before, although they were all reporting live coverage of the same event. More pictures had been added to the list of victims, and your stomach twisted as you remembered meeting some of the other victims before as well.

The man in the top left square made beautiful silver filigree jewelry. Blue had purchased a necklace from him for you at a local art fair. After Blue fastened the necklace, with its butterfly shaped pendant, around your neck, the man had kissed your hand and called you exquisite. Blue’s hand laid on top of yours on the couch cushion, and as if he could read your thoughts, he brushed his thumb along the back of your hand where the man had placed his kiss.

A young woman two pictures down on the same side had laughed at a joke you told when Blue took you out for ice cream. She’d even given you an extra scoop for “making her day a little brighter.” Fresh tears welled up in your eyes to join those that had already trailed down your cheeks over the untimely and unexpected death of your crush earlier. In the lower right corner you recognized the face of another person who had held a door open for you and waved you into a restaurant like royalty. How was it possible to be familiar with so many seemingly random strangers? More importantly, who had done such a horrible thing? Someone committed these crimes, and they needed to be found and held accountable!

The newscast cut to a press conference with the chief of police. The shuffling of papers sounded deafening in the pregnant silence as the press waited for an update on the victims or information about a potential suspect. The police chief inhaled deeply, preparing to drop a devastating statement to those gathered around, hoping for swift justice for all of the lives lost.

“We have no suspects at this time.”

The conference room erupted into startled gasps and worried hushed discussions. It took a moment for the reporters to compose themselves and start launching questions. The police chief wore a harried expression as he sifted through the cacophony to answer specific individuals.

“Is there a connection between the victims?”

“At this time, the murders appear to be random and unrelated, spanning over the course of at least several months. Currently, we are only able to theorize on how the perpetrator has been selecting their victims.”

“Does this mean that anyone could be targeted if the killer strikes again?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

You didn’t even notice when your body started shaking, but the warm security of Blue’s muscular tail encircling you with gentle protectiveness made you realize how badly the story was affecting you. Your crush had been murdered while you waited for them to pick you up for a date. You stood in the kitchen, calling and texting them, and at that very moment, they might have been fighting for their life. What if you were next? The killer could be anyone, and their target could be anyone as well.

Everything suddenly felt so unstable and unsafe. You slumped against Blue as alternating waves of anxiety and numbness washed over you. Your eyes fell on Blue’s discarded clothing, and you stared at it, unseeing. It only caught your focus because it was out of place. Blue never left a mess. He even picked up after you sometimes.

“It could’ve been me,” you whispered. Blue chuckled, the sound jarringly out of place considering the circumstances.

“You’re safe. The killer won’t hurt you.” Blue’s words instantly calmed you, the way they always did.

“Safe,” you murmured. That’s right. You were safe. Nothing to worry about. Except you still felt unsettled. You couldn’t put your finger on it right away, but something was definitely out of place. You concentrated, continuing to stare at the clothes strewn across the floor. It dawned on you slowly. The shirt and scarf and the floor around them were smeared with bright red mud, the same color mud you’d seen when the news cameras panned over the mass grave.

“Blue, how did you get that mud on you?” you jerked away from him before he had a chance to answer you, but his coils tightened around you, preventing you from escaping. You struggled, but he overpowered you easily. “Blue, what’s going on? Did you murder them? Did you kill those people?” Hysteria crept into your voice.

Blue’s tail tipped your chin upwards until you were forced to look him directly in the eyelights. The fathomless depths of blue threatened to swallow you whole, but you couldn’t summon the willpower to blink or avert your gaze.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he intoned. “Everything is fine.” Your body sagged; you suddenly felt like you weighed a thousand pounds, as if gravity had somehow increased on you specifically. Blue kept on talking to you, purring reassurances that vibrated through you, right down into your bones until your panic finally subsided. Fatigue tugged at you, and your eyelids, previously reluctant to so much as blink, could barely stay open.

“Nothing… to worry… about,” you managed to murmur, words slurred by exhaustion. Blue’s assurances made sense; they always made so much sense, especially when he stared right into your SOUL with those dazzling eyelights. You didn’t remember going to bed, but you woke up late into the afternoon the next day wearing your favorite pair of pajamas.

You checked your nightstand, your floor, under your bed, and even in your laundry basket for your phone, but you just couldn’t find it. You gave up and stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast, which Blue had thoughtfully prepared for you. You shoveled down forkful after forkful of Blue’s delicious cooking, wondering why you were so hungry. Did you miss dinner last night? Your memories of yesterday were foggy and distant. You lifted a hand to your forehead to see if you were coming down with a fever.

You couldn’t get your hand to obey you though. It hung limply by your side despite your best efforts to move. You tried to explain your plight to Blue, but you couldn’t get your mouth to form coherent speech; all that came out was a garbled groan. Shadows crept forward from the edges of your vision until everything went black and you collapsed forward onto the table.

Blue made a tsk-tsk sound as he picked you up and carried you back to your bed. As much as he hated using hypnosis on you, he hated drugging you even more. He couldn’t let you leave the house though, not anymore. You obviously didn’t understand the dangers of the world around you. Blue needed to take care of you, to protect you from your own poor decisions, like the possibility of you leaving him for another mate or making accurate by unwanted accusations to local law enforcement.

The lamia had already reported you missing. He’d disposed of your phone in a dark alley already overflowing with trash. He claimed that your whereabouts after you left for work a few days ago were a mystery to him, but he feigned concern like a professional actor, even summoning up some crocodile tears for the officer who interviewed him. Now two officers were planning to visit the house to look for evidence.

Blue sighed, slinging your unconscious form over his shoulder. It was so much easier to hide dead bodies. You could toss them around without fear of harming them, not that he cared about harming those foolish humans when they were alive either. You belonged to him. If they didn’t understand that fact, they deserved to die. Nobody would ever take you away from him. He just had to hide you in his storage unit for a few days until the police lost interest, then he could have you all to himself forever.

The manacles on the twin size bed fastened with a satisfying click. Now you could sleep safely, away from the watchful eyes of nosey neighbors and investigators alike. You flailed listlessly for a moment after he put the blanket over you, but you settled soon enough. Blue padlocked the door behind him with a serene smile on his face. With enough hypnosis and the aide of powerful sedatives, you’d learn to accept him, and he wouldn’t need the restraints anymore.

You attempted to claw your way free of the sludge that clogged your mind. You were trapped, but you kept forgetting where you were and how long you’d been there. You lost track of the passage of time. Dreams became muddled with reality, and all you could truly comprehend were the two mesmerizing blue eyelights that haunted your perpetual twilight.

Your struggles weakened. You saw no reason to fight. You were safe here. Blue protected you. Blue took care of you. Blue knew what was best for you. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

Just you and Blue.

You and Blue.

Blue.

Endless blue.

INDEX

#vexy writes #underswap #lamiatale #lamiaswap #yandere blueberry #yandere trope #hypnosis and drugging #forced captivity #fic raffle prize

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starbuckcissou · 7 years ago

Text

The Genuine Son

Ok, this is a short fic I’ve written right after the last episode... because I needed this. It takes place several days after the end of S11.

Rated G. (no sex, sorry!) but hold on to my twisted mind! I came up with some shit!

I’m sorry if it sounds silly sometimes but it’s only my second fic ever ! Also, I’m french and my english can be bad... anyway, I hope some of you will like it!!

Please tell me what you think and reblog if you like it.

The Genuine son:

Jeffrey Spender was sitting at the kitchen table.

Scully gave him coffee and joined him and Mulder at the table. It was weird having him here, in their house, their home. For Scully, Jeffrey was someone from the past, from a former life.

They had been through so much lately. So much had happened.

Since Jeffrey had called Mulder and asked to meet them both because he had “important things to tell them about their son”, she was worried: what did he want now? Why did he need to talk to them? About what exactly? Couldn’t this whole thing be finally over? Couldn’t they just be left alone, together, and able to focus on the baby to come?

She stared at his deformed face while he was taking a sip, thinking that repair surgery had done pretty well with him: except for the long scars, you could barely tell his whole face was burnt.

Jeffrey put the mug back on the table and started to talk, with the dark look of a man who has a lot to say.

I don’t know where to start. I’m so afraid you might not understand…

Mulder was getting nervous and eager on his chair, Scully could feel it. He rushed Jeffrey:

You said on the phone you had something to tell us about our so…n… (he stopped and corrected himself, making Scully want to cry)… about Jackson?

Jeffrey took a long breath before answering:

Jackson is not your son.

Mulder looked at Scully, probably to make sure she was taking it, but he was starting to get pissed.

We already know that!

No… Mulder… what I mean is… Jackson is not William…

Mulder almost jumped on his seat:

WHAT?!

Scully sighted and took her head in her hands and whispered:

God… I’m so tired of this…

Jeffrey moved his chair closer to the table and started his speech, making sure that he wouldn’t be stopped. He was staring at Scully because he wanted her to listen carefully and understand him well.

When you made your decision, 18 years ago, to give your son to adoption, Monica Reyes called me. (he took a pause) She must have understood I was only trying to protect your baby when I gave him that shot… She called me to tell me about your decision… and she said we had to do something about it…

Scully was now looking at him intensely in the eyes, trying to understand each word. She didn’t try to stop him. Mulder was not moving anymore on his chair and remained quiet, but he was ready to speak up to protect his wife if necessary. Since they let him speak, Jeffrey went on:

At the time, I knew all about my father’s sick and twisted agenda. I knew all about his little experiments on pregnant women, embryos and babies in his crazy search of a perfect alien-human hybrid that my mom had to die for.

He was started to get emotional, probably thinking about Cassandra. But he kept talking:

I knew the location of one of the facilities where they kept the children for the Crossroads Project. So after Monica’s call, I went to take a baby there, and I gave him to Monica. Then, Monica managed to exchange the boys during the night, before the adoption agency took William to the Van De Kamps’s house the next day.

Scully was starting to understand what Jeffrey was saying. But she was in disbelief. Mulder realized he had to speak for her and start asking questions:

So… what you’re saying is that… this baby, you took at the facility, was Jackson?

Yes.

So you’re pretending that Jackson was born there? And we don’t know who his real parents are?

Yes. Jackson was the result of an experiment. He was made for a life of medical tests until they decide to “terminate” him, and trainings to become a soldier in my father’s little army of freaks. I took him out of there, and Monica and I placed him in a nice family, offering him a chance to have a normal childhood and a free life. I wish I could have saved more kids like him, but I only chose him because he was the same age than William and looked a little bit like him where they were babies… It was fate… I kept an eye on him, all these years: making sure he was still safe, but also watching the development of his powers…

Mulder dared to ask the question he knew Scully wasn’t able to articulate:

And… soooo… what happened to William…?

Even before Jeffrey started to speak again, there were tears in Scully’s eyes. She could feel she was about to find out everything about her son, and she had this strange feeling that she was finally about to know the whole truth she had been expecting for 18 years. Jeffrey looked at Mulder to answer his question:

I took him with me. And… I kept him…to take care of him... I raised him… like my own son… I hadn’t planned that… but that’s what happened…

He took a pause to give them some time and take the information in. Then he looked at Scully again and addressed to her:

My intention was not to “steal” your son from you, Dana. I only respected your will of taking him away; protecting him and making sure he had a normal and safe childhood. That’s what you wanted for him when you decided to give him up for adoption… Monica and I only made sure that nobody could ever get back at him… ever!

Scully was crying now. So Jeffrey looked at Mulder:

William knows I’m not his father. He knows I’m only his uncle. I told him when he was around 6. He knows a lot about you two: I talk to him about you. And he understands the reasons why you decided to let me raise him.

Mulder was still skeptic about this craziness he was hearing, so he asked, on a strong tone:

So you want us to believe that our son… was with you this whole time? … OUR SON?

Yes Mulder. And he still lives with me today… and… he’s really YOUR SON! I checked! I tested his DNA when he was still a baby: I compared it with mine, and we have too much in common not to be related.

Scully, who had been awfully quiet, seemed to wake up and suddenly joined the conversation:

But… Jackson… !? … I tested his DNA with mine !!!

Jeffrey cut her short:

And did you get the results?...

Scully sat back on her chair, confused:

No… I didn’t…

Mulder looked at her with surprise:

You didn’t??!

No!… You came in the morgue with this file about him… and you told me he was our son, because he had been adopted and his name was William before his adoption… I just believed that! I was so sure! … but I never took the samples to the lab…

Jeffrey concluded:

If you had gotten these results, you would have found out Jackson was not your son… And that is actually what I thought would eventually happen when I came to you at the hospital and gave you the name of the adoptive family… I wanted to put you two on the right track… I knew they were after Jackson, so I sent you to help him… thinking you would get to discover the whole truth about him… but that’s not what happened… And I’m sorry you ended up believing he really was William, only to be disappointed afterwards…

Scully, frustrated, kept on asking questions:

But I have a link with this kid!!! He sends me visions! We do have a connection! How can I not be his mother?!

Jackson has many powers and abilities… the truth is he’s probably always known you were not his real parents: I’m sure he knows exactly where he’s from and what he is… He must have seen his past in his dreams the same way he sees the future! Jackson can send visions to anybody… He actually shared some of them with Monica at some point. And William too… He must have heard about you or dreamt of you, and for some reasons, he got to like you and trust you, so he decided to send you these visions so you would help him… and stop the project. Or maybe he doesn’t do it on purpose: he just thinks of you and the visions strike you… The truth is, because Monica and I chose him 18 years ago, he DOES have a connection with you, and William…! It’s a fact, we created that connection…

Scully was starting to understand and believe Jeffrey’s words:

Oh my god… I’ve always known…she said to herself.

Mulder didn’t sound so sure, and almost laughed at Scully’s reaction:

Scully…? Come on…!

Scully looked back at him, with a defiant tone:

Mulder… Think about it: the dates aren’t right, they’ve never been! I mean, even if the smoking man managed to reverse whatever they did to me during my abduction, and made me able to conceive again somehow, the IVF I had didn’t take! And I got pregnant months later! They may have planned this for me, tried to make me pregnant with the product of their experiment, but it didn’t work!!! They failed!

Her face darkened as she continued:

I’ve always know it Mulder! I KNOW that we made this baby together! You and me! I’ve always felt it, in my guts! That William WAS your son! Think about it: they didn’t take him when he was born! Because he WASN’T what they wanted him to be! He’s never been! I gave birth to OUR son, Mulder, to a normal baby!

Mulder nodded quietly at her to show he’d heard her: he was lost, but he didn’t want her to get too upset. He looked back at Jeffrey and asked, in a tone of reproach:

Why tell us that, now?

Jeffrey looked down at the table:

Because Monica is dead. And I owe it to her to tell you the truth. Tell you that she did everything she could to protect your son. She has devoted her life for him these past 18 years. She sold her soul to the devil: getting close to the smoking man, she could make sure he would never find out about William, and she also tried to keep him away from Jackson as long as she could…

Scully looked at Mulder, with shame:

I thought she had betrayed us…

Jeffrey was still talking:

And also, that smoking son of a bitch is dead too. And the child that everyone wanted, was Jackson. Even if the real identity of William is revealed today, I don’t think anybody is interested in him anymore! William is just your son: he’s a normal teenager, with no power! The smoking man believed he had succeeded in making you pregnant of the perfect hybrid… But he was wrong! William has never been what he thought he was. Also, let’s face it, if that bastard wanted to get to William so bad all these years, it’s also because he was your child: he just wanted to hurt you! The same way he hurt your dad when he took Samantha from him… Now that he’s dead, nobody is gonna care about William anymore if they find out he’s normal! It’s over…

Scully suddenly remembered:

But…? William had… abilities…when he was a baby… he could move things with his mind! I saw it!

Yes… these abilities… came from his parents in some way… from you two.

Mulder looked at Jeffrey with incomprehension… so Jeffrey explained:

You both carried the virus at some point. You were both abducted, and infected. Even if you don’t carry it anymore, there’s probably traces of it in your blood. And Dana still has that chip in her neck… It must have had effects on William’s body. He must have carried a small amount of the virus in his blood. My theory is this feature could have remained completely dormant, but your enemies tried to wake them up when they gave you these pills while you were pregnant. They do that with all the surrogate mothers they use for the project: they manage to give them a treatment to enhance the foetuses’ future abilities.

Jeffrey saw that Scully seemed worried now, so he tried to reassure her:

That’s why I had to give him that shot when he was a baby. And the shot was efficient: William has never developed any abilities again, and I’m pretty sure he never will… the amount of virus that may have been in his blood at some point was too small…

Scully was gradually realizing… When she took her hands off the table, they were shaking. And when she started talking again, her voice was trembling:

So… we DO have a son… OUR son… and he is… out there, somewhere?

Yes…

And… he’s… normal…? And… he’s happy?

Yes…Well, I tried my best… I hadn’t planned on raising a kid, and I sure wasn’t prepared for it! I hadn’t thought this through when I took him in my arms the day Monica gave him to me… I really had to learn how to take care of a baby, and he gave me hard times!… But, after days, and months, I came to love him, we came to love each other. I’m just his uncle, but I did raise him like a father. And he became like a son to me, even though I’ve always kept in mind he was yours. He’s a good kid. He’s very smart… you two can be proud…

Scully was crying again, so he tried to comfort her:

I’m sorry Dana, sorry I never told you… But we had decided not to. It was important you didn’t know. We knew you would want to see him and you could bring danger to him. We thought you would never be able to reveal where he was if you didn’t know… There are so many times I felt like taking my phone and tell you the truth! But I convinced myself that you two were making your life together, that it had been hard enough for you to learn to live without your son… And I couldn’t go back on this promise we had made with Monica to keep him safe… I kept telling myself that if William had been really placed in an adoptive family, like you wanted, you would have never been able to meet him either… I was just hoping that one day, things would change and get better, and you could all be reunited…

Jeffrey stopped. When he went on again, he looked sorry:

I have to apologize to you. If I’m completely honest, I have to admit that taking William and keeping him with me was not only because I wanted to protect him … In the beginning, there is also probably a part of me who did it to get back at my father. He always thought William was his own son, his masterpiece, his success… And after what he did to me, his real son… and what he did to you, Fox… I have to admit keeping William away from him, and making sure he’ll never know, was the best revenge I could ever get… a way of getting justice and making things right...

Scully was getting overwhelmed by emotions, she reached for Mulder’s hand on the table, this was too much for a pregnant woman! Jeffrey grabbed a briefcase he had left on the floor next to him, and he took a heavy file out of it. He put it on the table and kept a hand on it, then looked at Scully again:

This is everything I gathered about William since he was a baby: his medical file, some school papers… I’m giving them to you now so you can check he really is your son… and get a chance to get to know him a little.

He took a pause to make sure Scully could handle what he wanted to say next:

And I brought some pictures…

He slid a file to Scully on the table:

If you’re ready…?

Scully was crying so much she had to dry her tears. She left Mulder’s hand to take the file, but she looked at him before opening it. She realized Mulder was almost crying too, but he nodded to show her he was ok. However, when she opened the file, he looked away, like he didn’t want to see him yet… He heard Scully crying out:

Oh my god… Mulder… I recognize him!

She was looking at the pictures, taking some to analyze them closely, then putting them back in the file, and taking them again, they were now all over the table in front of her.

Look Mulder! It’s him! There are pictures of him as a baby: he looks just like he did when I gave him up!

Mulder started to look at the pictures on the table, then looked at Scully, with love and mercy.

This is my son Mulder! He’s the baby I held in my arms, the baby I gave birth to! I recognize him: he’s our son, Mulder…

Mulder started to take some pictures to look at them.

Mulder… Look! He looks like you, when you were a child! He also kind of look like my brothers somehow…

Scully was now holding a picture of a tall smiling teenager, in the stands of a base-ball game. She turned to Jeffrey to ask:

Where does he live?

We live together in Canada. I crossed the border with him right after I took him, and we’ve been living together there, in a small house, kind of like this one, this whole time.

He looks good… he’s cute…

She turned to Mulder again:

Don’t you think?

Mulder didn’t answer… he was still thinking about this whole thing. He looked at Jeffrey instead, and asked:

You and Monica were the only persons to know about this?

Jeffrey wanted to answer, but Mulder kept on going, with an accusing tone:

And now, she’s dead… so really, there’s only you left now to tell us this story?

Scully knew this tone: she tried to calm him down, nicely:

Mulder…

But Jeffrey answered:

Actually, John Dogget knows too…

Scully looked at Jeffrey with surprise:

What? John knew about this?!

Yes. Monica and him were dating at the time so she told him. And John agreed on the exchange. But he wanted to tell you… We disagreed about this point. After a while, it actually became a fight between him and Monica and eventually the main reason why John left Monica and never came back. He went away, he left the city so he wouldn’t have to lie to you anymore, because he couldn’ take it. The secret was too heavy for him to bear. But he could testify… and confirm I’m telling you the truth.

Scully couldn’t believe it:

Oh… my god… I had no idea… I didn’t know William’s birth would have such an impact on so many lives…

Mulder still had questions:

What about Walter Skinner? Did he know?

No. Walter Skinner never knew. Walter Skinner has always been a pawn for my father… He’s always been kept in the dark about everything and he was told only what they wanted to tell him so he would obey their orders… He didn’t betray you. He’s really been trying to help you find your son during these years and he really thought Jackson was William…

Scully was still talking to herself:

He almost died... and he lost his legs to protect Jackson, because he thought he was our son… He killed Monica…to protect the boy he thought was William! He didn’t know she was fighting the same fight! Oh my god...

Jeffrey tried to calm Scully a little:

Monica knew that having secrets could be very dangerous… she had made that choice. Nobody’s responsible.

Mulder was still thinking:

Do you know where Jackson is now? If he’s alive? Have you heard anything?

No… I don’t. I kept an eye on him during his childhood but now he’s not living at the Van de Kamps anymore, there’s no way I can find out… All I know is the visions people were having seemed to have stopped… But they only found the smoking man’s body in the river… not Jackson’s… Maybe he is dead… maybe he’s just gone…

Scully looked sad again, thinking about it:

Poor kid… He didn’t ask anything… He’s alone, out there… he’s lost his parents…

If he’s alive, I think Jackson will be fine Dana… I’m pretty sure his powers can take him out of any trap and help him hide for the rest of his life. I’m actually hoping he won’t get too dangerous…

Mulder seemed to agree:

Yeah… and if he needs our help, I’m sure he knows we’ll be there for him…

He looked at Scully:

Even if he’s not our son, I think we both agree on that, right?

Yes, of course. We will help him. He’s a good boy, he doesn’t deserve this… And… I got attached to him.

There was a silence. Each of them was thinking about all that has been said these last 30 minutes.

Nothing was moving in the unremarkable house, in that kitchen where they could still smell coffee.

Then, Mulder broke the silence. And Scully noticed emotion in his voice:

When… hum… Do you think we can… meet… William… eventually?

Jeffrey looked at him to answer:

Well, actually, that is another reason why I’m here today. I’m telling you all this because of Monica’s death and the end of my father’s projects, but there’s that too… William is 18. He’s becoming a man, you know, an adult… so he’s at a point of his life when he’s wondering a lot about his origins… he’s trying to figure out who he is. He’s been asking more and more questions, and… I can’t answer all of them… He’s asking a lot about you: he wants to know who his parents are, what they do, what they like… So I think it’s time… yeah…I’ll talk to him and I’ll call you back, okay?

Mulder looked at Scully before answering: he needed to make sure she was ready for this. She smiled at him in return, but he knew damned well she was holding tears. She was touching her stomach and Mulder knew she was probably realizing that, against all odds, there was a chance that maybe one day, their son William, the same one they had lost 18 years ago, the REAL one… might get to meet his little brother or little sister that Scully was bearing… Mulder took Scully’s hand to let her know he knew what she was going through. Then he looked back at Jeffrey:

Okay. We’ll be waiting for your call.

Then he tried to make a joke to break the ice:

We’re unemployed now, so, we’re available anytime!

#fanfic #x-files #William #justice for monica reyes #jeffrey spender

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imagineclaireandjamie · 8 years ago

Note

Any chance of more a hundred lesser faces soon?

A Hundred Lesser Faces: Ten

Section One {A Hundred Lesser Faces} what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? : [(One) (Two) (Three) (Four) (Five) (Six) (Seven)

Section Two {A Hundred More}, the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together [(Eight) (Nine)]

“Mind yourself, laddie,” chided the cook from behind as she passed by the doorway. “Pay heed to that blade, or ye’ll be cuttin’ your throat along wi’ the beard!”

He answered with something lighthearted and offhand, for she was a kind woman and he greatly appreciative of her generosity. Whereas the innkeeper had shuffled sleepily off to bed as soon as he’d paid for their lodging, she—a lady of advanced years who bade him address him as Flora— had ushered him to her own chamber off the kitchens and settled him before the glass with soap, water, and razor, ‘at no charge, laddie, dinna fash yerself.’

Jamie saw to his surprise that the face in the reflection was nearly smooth. He’d been shaving mindlessly, it seemed, only the skill of long habit guiding his hand while his mind wandered—raced.

God in Heaven, did I not survive all those years of loneliness only by dreaming of being in Claire’s bed? And yet here he was, about to walk up the stairs and enter that very place, that sacred, hallowed place, and damn him, his hands were trembling.

Thank God they’d managed to exchange those few words after their hasty meal. She knew for certain now that he wanted her. That worry had weighed on them both, he thought; a natural insecurity given their age and long absence. But even as he’d left her standing there at the table, he’d known she was still hesitant, that something about the impending intimacy between them still troubled her. Damn his eyes, he ought not to have left her side until he’d discovered what it was, that nothing might be between them. As it was….all he could do was wonder.

Did she take other men in our time apart?

…Apart from Frank, he supposed he meant. She had gone to be the bastard’s wife again, after all, and certainly there would have come a day when they resumed—when they likely would have— Well, and they had loved one another before Claire had fallen into his own life, had they not?

But after the Englishman died? Did she seek out comfort in other lovers? Were they on her mind, tonight?

Though it made his blood heat and boil to consider it, he could hardly cast the first stone with regards to that possibility. He thought of Geneva, of Mary, and despite the accustomed pangs of shame, he couldn’t truly regret those nights, after all. Mary, in particular, had given him the gift of touch, something for which he’d starved himself for seven long years. Her tenderness, her softness with him had kept him feeling human for a long time after. If Claire had felt such emptiness in her time, if someone had offered her the same gift, that ounce of sanity, his most reasonable self (not to say the loudest of the voices in his mind) could hardly begrudge her for having taken it.

If that’s indeed the case, though….what will she be thinking on, this night? About��.how those other men were good to her? Or because they were cruel? Jesus, what if—

“I must say,” came Flora’s voice again as he finished and set the razor down, “we dinna often get folk hereabouts that care so verra much about how they look.” Glancing up at her in the mirror, he saw that she was examining him appreciatively—not lewdly, but as though taking genuine pleasure in the sight.

He gave a gracious bow, grateful for the interruption from his uneasy thoughts. “Then I’m all the more grateful, Mistress Flora, that ye were able to accommodate the needs of a poor, vain wretch so down on his luck.”

She hummed graciously and dipped her head, wiping her hands on her apron. “Bound somewhere important in the mornin’, are ye?”

“Nay, it’s only that I’m here wi’—” He cleared his throat. “Wi’ my wife, this night.”

“The brown-haired lass? Well, an’ I should ha’ HOPED she was your wife, a ruiadh!” she snorted. “We’re no’ runnin’ a house of ill-repute!”

Jamie wondered what she would say were he to divulge that he was, technically, willfully engaging in bigamy. Technically only, thank God. “Aye, she’s my wife,” he said firmly, to reassure both Flora and himself. “We’re reunited, this day, after a long separation.”

“Separation?” she repeated dubiously.

“We…” He needn’t say anything at all, of course, for it was no one’s business but their own; but even despite his worries, he couldn’t help but grin (and feel the prickling of tears in his eyes) to share their news, even with a stranger. “We each thought the other dead for many years, and found each other again only hours ago.”

“Oh, how GRAND!” Flora beamed, clapping her hands together, then coming over to clasp his own warmly. “And what a blessing! God was smilin’ upon ye, and no mistakin’ it.”

With a startling flood of both affection and grief, he realized that it was Glenna Fitzgibbons she minded him of. Corpulent of body and cheery of feature, she moved with that same indomitable energy, certain of her domain and any that chose to enter it, and yet warm and lavish in showing love and care to those in her charge.

She took a step back to look him over again, then gave a derisive pfft. “Well, in THAT case, a shave isna goin’ to be enough. I’ll draw ye some hot water so ye can wash up a bit wi’ a cloth. I’ll fetch some of my best chamomile soap for ye, too.”

“That’s most kind, Mistress Flora, I thank ye,” he said in genuine gratitude. With sudden inspiration, he asked, “Will ye offer the same to my wife? Not—” He flushed. “Take care that she doesna think I’m insinuating that she—ah—”

“She already requested a basin and got it, dinna fash, though I didna ken the grandeur of the occasion.” Flora was already bustling about, and he could hear the sounds of water being ladled into a ewer from the hearth. “We’ll reserve the insinuatin’ for comment on your own person. Beggin’ your pardon, a ruiadh, but ye stink to highest heaven and back.”

“Canna just say that you’re wrong,” he laughed.

“A long-lost wife…restored….” Flora murmured contemplatively as she returned and walked about, gathering the bathing supplies. “All the more reason to scrub the road off ye, then, for as bonnie as ye are, I dinna think I’m wrong in observin’ that she’s a good sight fairer, even on yer best day.”

“Aye, she is certainly that,” he said, laughing at the spirit of Mrs. Fitz present here, that could make him feel warm and happy even while being fussed and picked over like an unruly bairn that’s fallen in the manure pile.

Ten minutes later, he was wrapped in linen towels, shivering from the icy drafts of night air on his wet skin, but clean for the first time in weeks. Flora had left him be as he bathed, but as he was casting about for clothing, she reappeared, tsked, bade him ‘Be still, wee gomeral. You’re far from done,’ and plunked him down onto a stool with surprising force. A moment later, a warm, woolen rug settled around his shoulders and she took up a spot behind him, beginning to work through the snarls in his hair with a comb.

After a time of sitting tense and ramrod-straight, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the calm of it, to the soothing sensation of the tiny tugs at his scalp. His mother had brushed his hair just so, when he was a wee one prone to snarls from rough days at play. Years later, his Claire had done the same, her touch light and soft. She had always brought his face around, when she had finished, to kiss him, sometimes melting down into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck…

God…

Claire.

That very woman, his beloved wife….She was upstairs, waiting for him. He could still scarcely comprehend the joy of that simple truth. She was whole. She was here.

She’s expecting me…

Expecting a man that can please her.

And therein was the greater part of the worry that had caused his hands to shake. Jamie wanted so badly to give her pleasure as he used to, and yet he hadn’t satisfied a woman—not in that way, not to his knowledge—in over twenty years. With Mary, and then with Willie’s mother, it hadn’t felt the time or place for that kind of passion. With Laoghaire—God, how he’d tried, but with no success. Try as he might to justify himself by insisting that she had been cold long before they wed, and there naught HE could have done about it, the icy fingers of doubt gripped at him, now.

I wasna able to please one wife. What if it wasna Laoghaire that was the problem at all? What if I canna—

“There, laddie,” Flora interrupted with fond finality, smoothing the back of his head tenderly before moving to the table. “That’s much better, aye? And here’s the fresh shirt. Tis many years old, but clean and sturdy, and should fit ye well enough.”

“You’re verra kind, a nighean,” he said, touched by her care and not a little hoarse from it. He examined the shirt. “‘Tis extremely well-made,” he commented appreciatively, seeing the fine, strong stitches, the linen showing hardly any signs of wear.

“Made it for my youngest….Tàmhas,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “…Drumossie, ken?” He gripped her hand. He knew.

A long time after she’d excused herself, Jamie stood before the mirror, staring at the man therein; and, unbidden, the vice around his heart eased, a calming peace flooding inward in its wake.

Even if he made a grand mess of this, even if he couldn’t please her the way he used, or made himself to look a fool, this was still a day of miracles. Here he stood, in the garment of a man who had died on Culloden field—died as and where he himself should have died—and yet, he had his sight, his freedom, the use of his hands and legs, a home, and a living…and Claire had been restored to him, beyond all reason and all hope.

He brought his hand up and kissed the scar at the base of his thumb, pressing it to his heart, as he had done for twenty years. It was theirs, now, this world, to do with as they wished, and though he didn’t know what those wishes might be, he knew there was no fear greater than the hope he had in his wife. In them.

As she’d said herself only hours ago, ‘we’ll manage with the rest. All the rest.’

“Come in,” came her startled answer.

The candlelight danced beautifully around the walls, bathing all in a warm, red glow. Claire was already underneath the blankets, but they fell away as he entered, showing that she’d a sheet wrapped around her, tucked under her oxters like a garment. “Sorry,” she mumbled as he stared at her bare, elegant shoulders framed by the dark curtain of her curls. Her cheeks reddened and she dropped her eyes. “I—didn’t have a shift or anything.”

“No, dinna be sorry,” he said hastily. Lord, there ought to be no sense of forwardness between them now. They were married, after all, and in fact, the very notion that she’d undressed for him made his heart lighten even more than it had downstairs. If he had had any doubts, still, that she truly wished him to—

“You shaved,” she said. She was smiling, weakly, nervously, but with real happiness across the dim room. “Let me see?”

He set his things on the table by the door and came to her, kneeling beside her on the mattress. She came up on her knees before him and took his face between her hands, gasping a bit as she ran them up and down. “God…you’re just the same, too.”

“A bit worn ‘round the edges,” he murmured, following her touch with his cheek, savoring her.

“But beautiful,” she whispered. She traced the lines around his eyes, the crooked knot—yes, that would be new to her—that now shaped his nose.

They knelt there, knee to knee for a long time, clothed in their linen wrappings, just drinking in the sight of one another.

She swayed precariously of a sudden and he reached out a hand to catch her round the middle but she fell backward onto her hand. Her eyes went wide with shock as she realized what she had done, and she covered her face with both hands, shaking. “Oh, Jesus…”

It was almost like being back on the hill, that shock and hurt. “Mo ghraidh….?”

No, she hadn’t just fallen. She had recoiled from him.

“Mo ghraidh?” he implored, reaching out a hand but not daring to touch her. “Claire?”

She was crying. He thought she wouldn’t reply, and she didn’t, but she did reach out blindly and grab onto his hand, hard. He clung to it, nudged closer and pressed it to his lips, then his heart.

“I’m sorry—” she was whispering, hanging her head. “I’m so—so sorry—”

“You’ve naught to be sorry over,” he said intently, keeping her hand pressed tight to his chest. “What is it, lass? Is it— same as was troubling ye below? Over…going to bed wi’ me?”

“I want this—” she gasped out, “I want it—Want to touch you—want you to touch me— but I’m so—just so—”

“…what, Claire?”

“—afraid,” she gasped out at last, her voice a strained whisper between quick, shallow breaths. “I’m so afraid.”

He forced himself to speak softly. “….Of me?”

“NO!” she breathed at once, shaking her head, hard. “Jesus Christ, no….Just—Damn, I don’t—It’s just—FRANK, and—”

“Fr—?” Jamie felt rage boil up within him, revising his conclusions from those earlier speculations and feeling them burning through his mind. “Did he hurt you, Claire? If the bastard forced—”

“NO,” she moaned, vehemently, “NO, Frank would never do that. No. Not his fault. It’s me. My fault.”

His chest eased, but the thought of what else the bastard Englishman might have done to her for all those years—MUST have done to her to make her feel these things, to be ‘afraid’ in a man’s bed—was enough to make him wish to slash his way through the goddamn stones and kill him… were he not already dead.

“Claire, hear me,” Jamie said with decision, squeezing her hand in both his own. “We dinna have to do this, tonight. We shall—”

“I’ve wanted you every day these last twenty years—” she interrupted, her eyes squeezed tight shut as she laid one hand on his chest. “And I want you now, Jamie, I do. God,” she moaned, “more than I can—” She took a deep, shuddering breath and trailed off.

“Mo chridhe… you can say anything to me. Anything. Ye ken that, aye?”

“It’s just been so long,” she whispered, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Frank was the only man who touched me since you and I parted, and I—I can barely wrap my mind around what it’s supposed to be, anymore.”

Christ, it shouldn’t matter to him—and he cursed himself roundly for a shameful, wretched hypocrite—but he silently rejoiced and shuddered in relief. Only Frank.

“I don’t know the way, anymore, Jamie,” she was saying; so mournful and heartbroken, that voice. “Something—It took something from me, to be…to be without…to not…Damn…Fucking, fucking damn….”

He remained kneeling beside her as her breaths stayed shrill and strained, waiting, trying to think. Frank hadn’t forced himself on her, and yet their intimacy had left her with fears and doubts, had her struggling to look him in the eye.

Could it simply be that they never found the secret of one another after she returned? Just as Laoghaire and I did not?

“It’s…maybe no’ precisely what ye mean, Claire…” he began slowly, very quietly, “…but I can say in truth that I havena felt— joy in a woman’s bed since ye went away…. Is it anything like that?”

She stilled and looked up at him, then nodded, whisky eyes glassy. “Yes.”

A pulse of relief and love filled him and he grasped at it, reaching out and cupping her cheek, holding onto her lest she slip away again. “To be hungry and desperate?” he went on, holding her eye with such sadness in both their hearts, “and to get something of it, to crave it again and again because ye think that this time it will be better, but to always leave the bed all the emptier in your heart? And feel that emptiness hardening ye into someone ye scarce recognize?”

“Twenty years—of—”

It was a long time before she could manage to finish. When she did so, it was so faint he couldn’t understand her.

“Heat,” she repeated in a whisper as desolate as the winter wind outside, “without light.”

…Heat without light….

Aye, that was just the way of it. Need and hunger and the fire rousing to slake it, but no accompanying brightness, no beam of light in which to bask and be soothed in one’s heart. No relief or comfort: just rippling scalding, choking air that suffocated, rather than sustained.

“And it used to come so easily, with you, the heat and the light together,” she whispered, trying not to fall apart, “I need it again so badly, and yet I’m afraid… of what I’ll do if I can’t give you that same—”

“Sorcha.”

The word fairly burst from him, breaking his face into a smile of pure joy without his bidding.

“W-what?” she croaked.

“Sorcha,” he said again, brushing the hair from her eyes. “’Tis your name in Gaelic, mo chridhe. Did I never call ye that, before?”

“Not that I can recall.”

He’d thought of her by that name for so long a time: her very self in his own language. His forehead pressed against hers, he looked deep and long and lovingly. “It means ‘light.’”

She inhaled sharply and gasped out something like a laugh. “You’re making that up.”

“Even in English, the root of your name has to do wi’ light, or brightness, or clarity….Et en Français, aussi.”

“Au clair de la lune….” she recited. By the light of the moon.

“Aye, just so.” He had her face in both his hands now, and he thumbed away her tears, kissing the tracks left behind. “You are my light, Sassenach. Ye always have been, in name or no.’”

Her lips trembled as she smiled. “And you’re mine.”

“Then we’ve everything we’ll ever need.” He kissed her. “We can love, and never fear.”

Claire fell slowly into him, then, wrapping her arms around his neck, weeping, not in despair, but in the sweet surrender of trusting, of loving.

“When we wed,” he whispered into her ear, kissing the dear, warm spot just behind, “we barely kent one another. Ye didna want me for your husband, that was clear enough, and I had resigned myself to what ye could and couldna give me…. And yet that light was upon us even that first day, aye? Even wi’out your willing it, ye felt it, that—that— rightness between us?”

“Yes.” She was nodding, hard, her hands gripped tightly in the back of his shirt, her lips softly caressing his neck. “I felt it.”

He held her tight, rocking them gently. “We didna earn or deserve it, that day. We hadna prepared for it or practiced it as to be ready or worthy. It was a GIFT, that joy and ease between us. I believe it shall be granted us again, just as freely.”

And in saying it, he, too, believed, the last of his own fears and insecurities loosening their grip and floating away.

He kissed her neck, her hair, then tucked her to his chest and laid them down, holding close around her back as they lay facing one another. “Tell me what’s in your heart, Claire.”

“Thought I had been,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes, though he could hear the hint of a smile.

“Nay, but if we were to stay just like this until morn, only sleeping in one another’s arms, and leaving the rest for another—”

She made a frustrated sound. “I’m not saying I don’t WANT—”

“I know,” he cut her off gently, half-laughing, “I ken, Sassenach, but there’s nay hurry, aye? There’s the two of us now, and I’ll not let ye go.”

She touched his face and exhaled, trying to smile.

“Aside from any fears, what is in your heart right at this moment?”

“….Happiness….” she said at last. “…such unfathomable happiness.”

“Aye…”

“I…I can hardly believe you’re here. That I’m here.” Her voice cracked. “I’m still reeling from relief and joy from the hill….and I’m…overjoyed….” She ran the back of her knuckles down his cheek, staring intently into his face. “…that you finally know about our daughter…that you’ve gotten to see her face and learn that she’s safe….. that I’ll have the rest of my life to tell you about her.”

He kissed her hand, pressing it tight against his lips. She kept on, the sorrow and abating from her voice with every word, replaced with warmth and joy. “I’m grateful that I know about Laoghaire…and the girls….and William…. I want to know more, in time, but there are no secrets between us, now, and that’s—You are who you appear to be….as I remembered you to be…..And Jamie, I’m so happy you’re alive,” she choked out as she pressed her forehead to his, her voice trembling, “and I can’t believe we finally get to keep one another this time…. To have you and hold you… I couldn’t ask for anything more….Nothing.”

“I have two hands,” Jamie said hoarsely as he held her, “and they’re yours…. I have a body, and it is yours….. Anything that I am, I give to ye freely again today, Claire Fraser.”

At hearing her name, that name, she let out a tiny, broken sound and pulled him down to her mouth. Almost at once, the kiss changed, became harder, urgent. His mouth and his hands and his body responded to hers without conscious thought, seeking her with every movement, every breath.

His arousal was strong, violent, but he forced himself to pull back enough to look into her eye…..and at last, there was no fear written there.

With a ferocity that startled and ignited him, he captured her mouth and slid his hand beneath her head as she rolled onto her back. With the other, he untucked the sheet from beneath her arms and bared her, sliding his hand down her length. She moaned into his mouth as he cupped her boldly, felt the warm, wet fullness of her there between her thighs, and that sound was honey to his soul.

She moved with him, the two of them joined by the trailing of his fingers through the slick center of her; her gasps when he moved up toward that small, precious spot; the exquisite pain of her fingertips digging into his flesh as he circled and caressed it. Claire was coming alive for him, moving against his touch to double every sensation. He could have wept only to feel her rouse to him so, but to watch her face breaking again and again with that beauty, to hear against his neck the same sounds that he’d treasured in his heart all those lonely years—He felt as though he were running up a mountain and down it again all at once. “Claire,” he could only groan into her hair, her skin, scarcely aware of his own body, enthralled to hers, “Jesus, Claire….”

“Jamie—” She was mounting and gathering under his touch, her legs and hips moving languidly, her cries becoming more urgent and and more frantic with every stroke.

“Aye, Sassenach,” he moaned, circling and pressing harder, feeling the throbbing wetness of her. “Now—please—”

“Wait,” she panted, slipping out from beneath him and pushing him back onto the pillows. It didn’t cross his mind to question her. He obeyed by instinct, pulling off his shirt and emerging from the cloud of white to see her straddling him, poising her body—Jesus, her exquisite body—just above him. He was half-sitting, hard and aching for her. Her legs trembled with wanting, too, but she reached slowly forward to pull him up, to kiss him, to press herself against his chest and twine her fingers in his hair. Their eyes locked and the world vanished for a moment in a burst of breath and light as she sheathed him to her.

He grasped her tight, hands gripping and holding as the two of them gasped and shuddered from the shock and wonder of being joined and naked; ONE. Her breasts were so full, begging for him to put his mouth on them, but he couldn’t look away from her face.

“Jamie—Love—” she moaned, settling him still more deeply within her body.

“Claire—”

He could see tears gathering in her eyes even as her entire body trembled and shuddered with the growing tension. She gasped and rolled her hips, her hands shaking and her breath catching, eyes fluttering. “I’m going—to—”

“Please,” he begged, “please—let me feel you—” He moved within her, and she upon him— And almost instantly she cascaded around him, pulsing and rushing and crying out with that sound—THAT SOUND— “Sorcha,” he moaned, her release nearly taking him, too. He couldn’t hold her close enough, couldn’t treasure her deeply enough. “Mo sorcha….”

“More,” she moaned before he could say more, grabbing his face and moving along his length with a ferocity that tore from him a feral sound to match her own, “More.”

He lost all speech and all restraint. He plunged up into her, his mouth on her neck, her breasts; his hands raking across hips and thighs and arse. They moved together, he taking her and she, him, joined in a fury of need and love that had them both gasping and snarling and moaning and near-weeping.

At one pass, she thrust down upon him such a way that he nearly lost himself, and in a flash, he was throwing himself forward with a growl so that she was beneath him, his hands under her buttocks, pulling her to him fiercely with every movement. Claire cried out, a sound of both need and satisfaction that echoed around the room. They were on fire, the two of them, thrusting and seeking with such wild energy, it was like nothing he had ever felt before. Every inch of him burned for her.

But there WAS light along with the burning. Even as they raced and tore and pounded, her eyes were in his and she was shining, smiling even as she destroyed him. As they each neared the end, they were beaming, glowing with such the most glorious joy. The most glorious light.

After it was over, after she had come around him and he within her, there had been no slumping of exhaustion, none of that immediate, selfish isolation of the mind and body in adapting to the altered state. He had pulled her at once back up and knelt; knelt so that she could hold him as much as he, her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and cupped his head in both hands, touching his hair, his face, saying his name again and again like a prayer, as he was hers. They were both crying, hard, but they were tears of joy, a cleansing of all fears and all sorrows.

“Thank you,” he gasped out suddenly, broken with it, “for coming back for me.”

She had left everything. She had left EVERYTHING she knew, the entire life she had built, on the mere hope that he still needed her. He did need her. He always would.

She held him, body and soul. “I always will.”

#Anonymous #;mod Bonnie #A Hundred Lesser Faces

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loveinthebones · 7 years ago

Text

can’t you see i’m falling apart, love (want to fall together?)

Word Count: ~15, 082 (Make yourself a drink and get settled, it’s a long one.)

Chapter Summary: His friends are worried (and they shouldn't be, he thinks) but Phil is starting to crack slowly but surely. He's also growing fond of Dan.

Warning for this chapter: Nightmares and mentions of blood and broken bones (in those dreams). Just in case you need them!

Read on AO3

Check out the art and the artist for this!

Also our lovely beta.

Part Four: Bargaining (Phil)

He was sitting in his old biology class, facing the whiteboard, as his sneakered feet squeaked along the tiles. Phil sighed, adjusting his glasses nervously. He could feel his stomach churning around the breakfast his mum had prepared, and he hoped that he wasn’t going to be sick on the first day of Year 10.

It couldn’t be as bad as the start of Year 7 when he had walked into his class with bright neon orange hair.

Never again.

Phil vowed silently to himself.

“Hey!” An excited but perturbed boy suddenly slammed his hand into the black topped table and Phil reared back, quickly forcing his weight back to the front of his body to keep himself from tipping the stool back and throwing himself off.

His alarmed gaze met fierce pine-coloured eyes warily and Phil squeaked, “Yes?”

“This is my seat!” The boy groused at him, tossing his head back like a wild horse to dislodge the block of hair that seemed determined to irritate his eye. “I had my bag here but I’m sure that prat, John, took it!” He snapped his head left then right before muttering, “He’s in for a row when I get him, stupid…”

The rest had lowered to an inaudible but irritated drone and Phil couldn’t help but regard him with an entertained but unsure quirk of his lips.

“I...uh…” Phil began, tugging on the weird reddish mousey brown his hair had morphed to after his terrible dye job. “I like this seat.” He told the other quietly, eyes lowering shyly, as his cheeks flooded with heat. “I was hoping…”

“What’s your name?” The boy piped in, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Phil let a wide, genuine smile spread across his face at the rough but interested query before he responded, “I’m Philip. I like Phil better, though.”

“Aiden,” The boy supplied before he let both his hands lift from where they had been resting on the table and brought them to his chest, “Since we both like this seat- why don’t we play fair?”

“What?” Phil’s voice went to a higher octave with his confusion, cracking in the middle of the exclamation embarrassingly.

“Rock-Paper-Scissors!” Aiden puffed an exasperated sigh at him but his stance thawed slightly at Phil’s unthreatening and even-tempered countenance. “You want this seat. I want this seat. Winner takes all.”

“So…” Phil clarified, “All or nothing?”

“All or nothing!” Aiden screeched in hyped agreement, starting to bounce on the tips of his shoes. “This will be my seat!”

Phil’s tongue was wedged between his teeth seconds later as Aiden spluttered indignantly, invading his space without a thought, “Alien does not count! You’re such a cheater, Phil!”

Phil ached to reach out a hand to ruffle this Aiden’s hair with playful but slightly irked fingers… He couldn’t help it, Phil knew, because the Aiden in Year 10 was untamed with never ending energy and hadn’t discovered an outlet yet.

He was dreaming, he knew that he was dreaming, but that didn’t make the want in his chest lessen.

He didn’t fight the weightless, floating sensation encasing his body as he was tossed from one scene to another.

Aiden looked absolutely terrified, pushing back the vibrant lime green piece of fringe he had decided to dye.

(“No, please, no, no, no.” Phil tried to wail, beg, plead but he couldn’t stop his body from reclining as he did then because it might be a dream but it was also a memory.

He didn’t have any control here- and no matter how much it tore apart the glittering, reflective shards of his heart...he wouldn’t trade this particular remembrance for the world.)

“However you’re imagining I’ll react,” Phil lifted the bottle of apple cider to point its long neck at Aiden to emphasize his words. “It won’t be that bad, Den-Den.”

“No,” Aiden groaned in his direction before snatching the bottle so he could take a swig. “I vetoed that name when I turned fifteen. I forbid it.”

Phil giggled, leaning his head on Aiden’s shoulder, before letting his eyes wander around the rugby pitch. He admired the healthy green of the grass for a moment then he angled his head to take in Aiden’s pinched brows and trembling lips.

“Seriously, Adey,” Phil hummed, body sinking further into Aiden. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” Aiden confirmed immediately, sloshing the cider in his grasp, as he closed his eyes. Phil waited quietly, letting him take a few steeling breaths, before a flurry of determined but shaky syllables strung together into a single hesitant coherent sentence, “I’m gay.”

“Okay,” Phil replied without any judgement but with mild surprise, “Did you think that would chase me away?” He raised his head from its comfortable resting place with the corners of his mouth pulled down by gravity to focus on his friend.

“No,” Aiden snickered, smacking his thigh with the bottle. Phil’s brow unwrinkled with Aiden’s confident answer. He accepted the drink, wrapping his lips around the opening, and tilted his head back. “I know there are plenty of guys and girls who would have told me that... had I asked.”

Phil spat out the alcohol unceremoniously, grimacing at the dribble sliding down his chin and the stickiness on his outstretched legs.

“Aiden!”

“It’s not my fault you’ve left a trail of broken hearts in your wake!”

Aiden looked completely unrepentant, falling on his back to roll on the ground as he clutched his stomach. Phil growled and pounced on the other, digging his fingers with force into the vulnerable spaces between Aiden’s ribs. He howled and suddenly, they were wrestling- tossing each other off when they could, hands tugging harshly at clothes to try and gain an advantage, and-

Phil was (unsurprisingly) pinned but Aiden was huffing and puffing enough to make him snark,

“Am I too much for you?”

Aiden’s grip on his wrists tightened briefly before he released his hold. Phil blinked as the weight pressing down on him pleasantly disappeared. Aiden laid on his back beside him, trying to regain his breath.

“Sometimes,” Aiden murmured, lifting his hand to the night sky. “Sometimes, you are, but that’s because I love you. I’ve fallen in love with you, Dibbit.”

Phil quickly sat up so he could collapse onto Aiden, smashing their lips together. The slight sweetness of the cider mixed pleasantly with the natural spiciness of Aiden’s tongue as they kissed and Phil cuddled closer as Aiden slung an arm across his back securely.

“I love you, too.”

Phil got thrown to reality for a moment, fingers slipping clumsily across the sheets for his phone that was going off with the chirpy tone he had set for his text messages. His groggy, sleep-addled mind barely registered the name, “Ellie” before he dropped it, drowning under the crashing waves of slumber despite his efforts to fight against it.

“I can’t do this.” Phil’s shoulders were hiked up as he snarled at the woman regarding him with understanding swimming in irises that mirrored Aiden’s. “I can’t, and I won’t, Ellie.”

“He’s made his decision, Phil,” Eleanor pointed out, slowing her speech as if talking to a frightened child, and her tired, red-rimmed eyes caught his own puffy, sore gaze. “You knew this.” She ran her fingers through his mucked up fringe, combing the strands straight back. “He chose a doctor in Luxembourg for a reason. You knew this, honey.”

“I know,” Phil’s eyes were watering, and he didn’t fight the constant trickle of water starting to stream down his cheeks. “I-I-”

“He wants to say his good-byes. He’s asking-” Ellie interrupted herself with a weak shake of her head before continuing, “He’s demanding to see you. The doctor is worried that he’ll pull out his breathing tube with his thrashing.” Her hands were leaden as they fell to his shoulders. “This is it.”

“It-he-” Phil started and stopped uselessly. “I-Just-”

“He’s ready.” Phil watched as Ellie’s cheeks started to glisten under the harsh fluorescent lights. “He loves you, Phil, and he’s scared. The last thing he told me he wants to see,” She turned away from his face as she stifled a sob, “is you.”

Phil shot upright with a strangled cry, fingers tangling in his sheets as he clutched them to his chest as a flimsy makeshift shield. His whole body was drenched with sweat- pajama bottoms coiled around his legs suffocatingly, sleeping shirt plastered to his chest- and Phil kicked his legs to get some air as violent sobs tore through him.

He forced the fabric in his hand against his mouth to muffle the sounds threatening to splinter his sternum apart, collapsing on his right side. He curved his legs close to his body.

The utter hopelessness that usually slept nestled somewhere buried in his heart wrenched even more high wails from his throat, and Phil could almost feel the throbbing tenderness that would overtake his throat later but he continued to cry. His mind was bubbling with the emotions he had become so adept at hiding and they were churning, twisting, mixing into a painful mess of cosmic dust that caused his eyes to sting and overflow without his permission.

Phil remembered hearing, somewhere, that there was always something beautiful that came in moments of suffering.

As he let the pain consume him, Phil couldn’t help but think that whoever said that was a damned liar because he cried and hurt and there was nothing poetic about the way his voice gave out along the way or the way his eyes were pulsing agonizingly from the salt of his soul or the grossness of tasting the runny mucus clinging to his lips but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the sudden outpouring of everything that had been festering and growing since he had held Aiden’s hand as he had drifted away.

So he whimpered and shrieked and bawled until he sank into a (thankfully) blank and dreamless sleep.

Phil woke up with a throat begging for water, eyes raw as if sandpaper had been rubbed over them, and a painfully full bladder. He moaned as he unravelled himself from his compact position before standing and teetering on stiff legs slowly, trying to work out the cramps by pressing his heels firmly into the floor as he made his way into the bathroom to try and make himself feel at least a little bit more human.

After a steaming hot shower and armed with a strong cup of coffee in his favorite mug, Phil sat on his bed with his laptop resting beside him and his phone in his hand.

You have to look at your messages. It’s probably not that bad.

It could be worse.

You feel like shit- it’s probably not that bad.

Phil sighed before tapping on the little speech bubble icon stamped with a small circle containing the number “6”.

Ellie

It was good to see you, honey. Just remember what I said.

December 3 4:30am

Phil couldn’t help but give an affectionate scoff at the ridiculously early message. Ellie had always been one to go to bed when there was still light out and wake up before the sun.

Aiden had definitely not taken after his mother.

Phil bit his lip as he closed the thread with a decisive stab of his thumb.

He could respond to her later because they had caught lunch together at a cozy cafe while he was in Luxembourg. Phil couldn’t help his lips from lifting in a relieved smile as he remembered how her eyes had regained some of their spark, the new caramel highlights streaking through the dark strands of her hair, and how the dark bags that had perpetually clung to the skin under her lower lids had lightened until they were barely noticeable.

She had looked good- if not happy, then… in the process of healing.

“I’m just asking you to think about it.”

Phil clicked on the next glowing thread.

Chris

I am not responsible if Lou goes tearing through London. Just saying.

December 3 11:20am

Oh, god.

Phil groaned, sliding his glasses up as the flat of his hands rested against his aching eyes. That had been sent a little over five hours ago and if Chris was giving him a warning in his own dismissive, jokey way then Lou wasn’t just simmering with irritation… she was livid and ready to act.

I’m too tired for this.

He removed his right hand to skim under the tan rubber band encircling his left wrist, lifting it and settling his finger against his pulse point for a bit, before he clicked the phone to dial Chris’ number as a thought struck him:

I hope Darcy is okay.

“Phil!” Chris greeted him cheerfully and Phil couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s infectious buoyant attitude. “Nice to know you still love me!”

“Just a little,” Phil teased and he took a sip of his coffee to try and ease some of the hoarseness of his voice, settling it safely on the white nightstand after so he could lean back into his blue and green pillow. “What’s wrong with Lou? Is Darcy alright?”

“Darc is peachy,” Chris chattered carelessly. Phil could hear some clanking in the background from what sounded like pots and pans. “It’s Dan you have to worry about.”

Just the sound of Dan’s name unfurled a pleasant warmth in the pit of his stomach and a restless spasm made his fingers close briefly. He had missed the witty boy while he was away. Texting could only do so much.

Phil lifted his mobile from his temple to switch ears as he flipped to rest on his front to interrogate Chris calmly, “What did Dan do? I told Lou not to be too hard on him. He doesn’t know about how Adey-” Phil cleared his throat, pulling the rubber band back until it snapped back with a sting, before carrying on, “What Aiden chose. It’s a very hot topic and most people are not for it here-”

“Relax, Phil,” Chris urged him in a gently calming murmur before he uttered: “You know we have your back. We won’t tell anyone anything if you aren’t ready. But,” Chris’ went on with a humored lilt. “That’s not the problem.”

“What’s happened, then?”

“Haven’t you been on Twitter?” Phil could just picture his friend’s slight pout as he tossed the question at him with a slight whine. “Get with the times, mate!”

“So says you,” Phil jested right back, eying the drink that was just a bit out of his reach now. He contemplated whether he wanted to sit up to get it but Phil gave a mental shrug as he merely propped up on his elbow and stretched for it. “Before Dan tagged me in that post, your Twitter was a dead zone!”

“I’m taking a break, remember?” Chris reminded him with a coquettish lisp, and Phil paused in his cautious pawing to locate his mug’s handle to snicker. “I have a reason!”

“Right,” Phil deadpanned.

“That’s not the point! The point is you and Dan are one of-if not the- top trending tags!”

Phil brought his hand down suddenly at the unexpected news, hissing as his skin cells sizzled underneath the coffee that flooded his hand.

“Shit!” He cursed as he snatched his hand back to cradle against his chest, scooting forward so he wouldn’t disturb his computer, so he could put his feet down…

“Are you okay?” Chris sounded only somewhat concerned. “Did you walk into your table again?”

“No-” Phil started but yelped as hot liquid seeped through his sock and ignited a sharp pain in his foot. “Fuck!” He tumbled back on his bed, ripping the sock with little printed fox heads off his foot, crushing the phone under his cheek and depressing some numbers with his chin.

Chris was howling with laughter, and Phil let out the best guttural growl he could give in response as he rubbed the tender flesh on the underside of his foot.

Today is just not my day.

He sat for a moment, listening to Chris trying to pull himself together. His friend blew out a couple of loud exhales before inhaling and...promptly dissolving into more unstoppable giggles.

Chris, you’re such an asshole.

Phil leaned into the receiver with a tilt of his head, eyes radiating with a sweet but strained glow, as he took in the sounds of Chris’ momentary happiness.

“You look good.” He tells Ellie sincerely because she does. “Sorry that I haven’t been by since last Christmas…” Phil trailed off, bending his knees to bring himself closer to Ellie’s height, before he started to ramble. “Maybe I’ll come up for Thanksgiving…”

“Thank you, love.” Ellie pressed a kiss to his forehead as she stepped back from the hug they had been sharing. “I’ve been feeling good. Must be the autumn vibes and bright colors.” She tapped him on his cheek dotingly before clicking her tongue at him disapprovingly, “Nonsense. You’ve kept in touch plenty. Besides,” Her lips stretched into a small, contented smile. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah…” Phil agreed guilty, pulling out the dark metal chair for her. “I’m sorry I took so long to come by…”

“Thank you.” Ellie squeezed his shoulder consolingly before she sat down, fluffing out the loose sea green skirt over her lap. “I can’t take you away from Cath for Thanksgiving. She misses you and your brother more than you think.”

Phil merely smiled as he took his own seat across from Ellie. He really had missed her.

“How about New Year’s?” Ellie suggested, “If you are adamant about wanting to stop by and catch up, Sammie will be done with her A-levels by then.” Ellie grinned at him, obviously proud of her daughter and her tentative plans for the future. “I bet she would love to see her adopted older brother before she starts Uni.”

“That’s an idea!” Phil enthused, trying to keep his excited bouncing discreet as he fought to stay seated.

“Now that that’s settled…” Ellie’s eyes narrowed as she focused on him, laying her hands neatly over each other and the menu resting on the table. “How are you doing?”

Phil stilled, licking his lips, before forcing another smile- making sure to move his tongue to rest between his teeth.

“I’m…okay.”

“I don’t know what I am going to do yet,” Phil uttered finally, rising to his feet out of the reach of the brown puddle. “But I am going to have my revenge. This coffee is going to take forever to get out of the carpet!”

Everyone but you seems to be on stable ground.

“You spilled coffee on yourself?” Chris wheezed and his voice lowered, worry bleeding through. “Are you okay? Really?”

Just smile. You’re fine.

“Yeah.” The word caught against the walls of his throat but he managed to force it out. Phil padded to the kitchen to snatch the bright green dish towel from its resting place on his oven’s handle, popping the band against his skin in three quick successions. “I was just taken off guard.” He disclosed sheepishly before going back to the news that had caused the minor disaster in his bedroom. “What was this about me and Dan being a top tag?”

Chris went quiet. All Phil could hear was the hushed sizzling of whatever was being prepared on the other end of the line.

“Chris?”

“Remember that vlog you were in?”

“Yeah?” Phil recalled distractedly as he bent to start mopping up the coffee from the carpet. He would have to make sure to clean it with some soap and water later so the stain wouldn’t be as prominent. “What about it?”

“Did you watch it?” Chris demanded impatiently. Phil had moved on to trying to soak up the sticky trails that had slipped down his table and he paused.

He hadn’t watched it, in truth. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to but with the increase in various individuals stopping by his flower truck after its release and the (usually) shy and unsure requests for selfies...he had been busier than usual for the remainder of October and then, he had made a hasty decision to go down to Luxembourg to check on Ellie.

They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year and Phil had felt the need to correct that- immediately- following Alex’s unexpected and abrupt journey to London.

“I haven’t had a chance,” Phil revealed, picking up the now leaking towel with a crinkled nose. “Should I?”

“You can try,” Chris commented dryly and Phil’s eyebrows shot up. He stared at the mess in his grasp before depositing it on the nightstand without a second thought, rubbing his gummy hands on his jeans. “Though you would have to add ‘deleted’ to your search.”

“He deleted it?” Phil plopped down on his messy sheets to sprawl on his back, pinching his glasses between his fingers so he could squeeze his nasal bone tightly. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t think it's deleted,” Chris mused. Phil felt a sudden sleepiness tug at him and he sank into the mattress with a little tuneless hum to signal he was still listening. “Just private, and not available to the public. He could have done it at a better time, though.” Chris finished in piqued mutter, sharp raps echoing over the line.

So, Lou isn’t the only one with ruffled feathers.

“What do you mean?” Phil coaxed, blinking slowly at the blurriness of his ceiling.

“His fans, they, uh-” Chris faltered for a moment before letting out a forced cough. “They ship you guys.” He then gave an indulgent but vexed giggle. “They want you guys to fuck so bad. Not that I blame them… you both are hot and-”

“Chris,” Phil groaned, breaking into the mindless stream of consciousness babbling Chris tended to fall into. “One, that is too much information. Keep your fantasies to yourself.” The easygoing taunt had Chris snorting in mock derision and Phil stuck out his tongue even though the other couldn’t see the action. “Two, they ship us?”

“Like-whoa,” Chris drawled, stretching out the consonants and vowels slowly and pointedly. “You don’t even know, Phil.”

Phil stared unseeingly at the blur that was the roof of his room. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being shipped with Dan. He couldn’t deny that Dan was...unfairly, breathtakingly gorgeous with his downy hair and the way his lips would push together when he was trying not to laugh, eyes bright with a kittenish quality that never failed to have him smiling, even if he didn’t want to.

Like this moment.

Phil brought his fingertips to skim over his mouth before closing it deliberately, ignoring the pleasant buzz of comfort spreading through his chest and out to the tips of his limbs.

“I thought you would have known,” Chris’ words broke through the not-quite-there thoughts swimming in his mind. “-with all the replies that mention you.”

“I have my notifications off since I was visiting with Ellie and-” Phil cut himself off as his eyes widened as a possibility he hadn’t considered clicked into awareness. “Wait- Mentioning me? Like, by name?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris sounded unsure and Phil heard the agitated raps of something sturdy once more. “And Sunshine’s handle, of course.”

This could affect my business. It has been positive so far but what if people aren’t getting through with relevant questions?

“How many mentions are we talking?” Phil mumbled, more to himself than Chris, as he situated his glasses where they needed to be. He forced himself up, crossing his legs to make a perch for his computer, and opened the lid.

“Um…” Chris hedged. Phil’s fingers clacked as he typed his password carelessly. “Well…”

“Chris,” Phil pleaded with a sharp note on the last consonant, moving his cursor to his browser. “Just tell me! Are we talking about a hundred? Two hundred?”

“That’s the low part of the range.” Chris coughed. Phil’s heart dropped into his stomach as his Twitter feed loaded, gaping at the unassuming “886” surrounded by blue sat on his monitor. He froze, listening to Chris breathe steadily, before he gave himself a little shake.

“Eight hundred…” Phil began, tapping on his mouse pad to open the Tweet at the top of the long list.

“It could be worse!” Chris quipped unhelpfully and Phil knew he was trying to be supportive but didn’t quite know a better way to express the sentiment.

“...and eighty six notifications.” He finished and Chris let out a low whistle. “Hold on. I’m reading one of the most recent ones…”

“Phil, that may not be a good idea…” Chris warned but Phil’s pupils were already darting over the black lettering.

@NotYourAverageFan tweeted: @danisnotonfire @pocketPHILofsunshine Can we talk about the major heart eyes Dan has?? He looks so v soft & Phil is absolutely adorbs. #Phan

Phil gave a small noise of surprise at the compliment and felt his cheeks flushing at idea that Dan would be staring at him with eyes brimming with barely concealed devotion. A brief flash of those eyes shimmering above him with smouldering embers assaulted him and Phil bit the inside of his cheek harshly until the taste of copper surged across his taste buds and pain pinged along his nerves, wiping the image away.

“It’s not that bad, Chris.” Phil tried to put his friend’s mind at ease, reaching up to press the tip of his thumb between his teeth as he continued to read.

@LemmeRainOnYourParade replied: Why has this become a thing? We all know that Dan isn’t gay! Get over yourself. #Ruthiel

Phil grimaced at the reply before he sighed, “I spoke too soon.”

“There’s always going to be assholes hiding behind their keyboard,” Chris spat and a loud crash reverberated over the line. “Do you want me to jump in?”

“That isn’t necessary.” Phil smiled at Chris’ unhesitant offer. “It isn’t an insult to me… just people being heteronormative.”

“You know what I say to that?” Chris jeered before a series of lewd slurping and gagging sounds infiltrated Phil’s ear drum.

Phil screeched, “Chris! I’m trying to read!” before the airy bubbles in his chest escaped him in hysterical giggles.

@TeenageDerpBag replied: @LemmeRainOnYourParade Fuck off. Let them ship what they want if it isnt hurting u why do u care?? And FYI not gay doesnt mean hes straight

Phil settled into a thoughtful silence, licking his lips. It was true that not being gay didn’t necessarily mean that a person was straight.

Phil had never felt the pressure to adopt a label but the term “bisexual” stuck after he had used it when he had been too tired or wound up to explain the reasoning about why he refused to classify his fluid sexuality, and after a while… it felt like it fit. It reminded Phil of the multiple never-been used controllers he has bought over the years and how each one refused to yield to his fingers, sticking stubbornly, until it followed his lead without any resistance as time went on.

He remembers that Aiden had been the one to encourage him to use it.

“It could be your label by default.” Aiden snuffled sleepily into his hair, fingertips resting just under the waistband of Phil’s pajamas as he spooned the other. “It’s just something to say to people who are being nosy pricks.”

“I know, but I don’t want a label just because people expect it of me.” Phil paused, enjoying the way Aiden’s body surrounded him, before twisting around until he was eye to eye with his boyfriend. “I should be the big spoon! I’m taller!”

“You don’t have to use it, love. It’s up to you- it was just a suggestion.” Aiden chuckled, pushing his lips against Phil’s nose before swiping a slobbery tongue against it impishly. Phil shrieked but didn’t roll away, ramming his nose into Aiden’s clothed shoulder to smear his saliva away. “Not tonight, Dibbit. I want to hold you- shhh! Are you trying to wake up my mum? She’ll kill us. It’s almost four in the morning and I have to get up for practice in two hours…”

“I don’t mind them being curious,” Phil hoisted his computer up to stretch out his legs, discarding it beside him. “Or having the ships-” Phil demurred, frowning slightly.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Chris broke in with a troubled edge to his words. “Shipping real people can put a strain on relationships. Fans can get crazy-”

“It can, but they don’t mean any harm,” Phil went on, words sympathetic but dripping with compassion for the people that had been brave enough to tweet at the people they admired, as he tapped his fingers in thought. “I just don’t want them on Sunshine’s account. Maybe I could give out my Twitter? I hardly use it and it would keep everything separated-”

“Nope, nu uh. That is a horrible idea, Phil.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure Lou will back me up on this,” Chris noted faintly, trying to dodge the inquiry with his trademark lack of subtlety and delicacy.

“Why?” Phil repeated, not letting Chris distract him.

Why are you not answering me? You usually barrel right in with what you think… what’s different this time?

“Because you are not ready for the invasiveness that comes with engaging with fans,” Chris retorted bluntly. Phil’s lips parted to argue but Chris steamrolled on: “They will ask about everything, Phil. Even Aiden.” Phil flinched, trying to instinctively get away from an enemy that wasn’t physically there.

I take it back. I don’t care. I don’t want to know.

“You can barely talk about him with me and Lou and we’re friends-” It seemed as if a dam had been broken because Chris’ words picked up fervor at Phil’s stunned silence. “-which is fine. Completely fine. It takes time to heal but you aren’t helping yourself-”

He doesn’t realize that he’s yanked on the rubber band until his mind slows, centering on the piercing sensation on the side of his wrist. The brief clarity allows Phil to draw in a shuddering breath.

“Chris-” Phil croaked, imploringly.

Stop.

“No! You need to hear this!” Chris barked with a frenzied edge and Phil squashed his eyelids as close together as he could, fighting the tears starting to boil under their surface. “You aren’t in a good place and I can hear the rubber band, Phil. Just because I- or anyone else for that matter- don’t say anything doesn’t mean we aren’t aware!” Chris was almost yelling now, sniffling. “I know you don’t like to worry people but it’s a little late. We are worried. We are worried because we love you.”

“I think you need to look into therapy. Or a support group at the very least, Phil.”

“I’m fine, Ellie.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Phil sat on his bed numbly, tears zig zagging down his cheeks as he listened to Chris’ laboured breathing and the wet sound of him clearing his throat.

“I-” Phil articulated in an aborted breath before the words came spilling out of him, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Phil, but you aren’t coping. At all,” Chris commented with an exhaustion that Phil felt in his own bones.

He was tired. So, so incredibly, unbelievably tired.

“We won’t force you to do anything, but we can’t help you- if you don’t seek out support. It doesn’t have to be me,” Chris clarified at Phil’s violent but feeble inhale. “Or Lou. It could be Martyn. Or your mum.” Phil let out an audible cry, shoving his wrist against his mouth to muffle it. “It could be anyone.”

“Okay,” Phil sobbed, at a loss for words. “Okay.”

“I really care about you, man. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t.”

“I know.”

Louise called him within the hour.

He should have expected it but Phil just didn’t have the energy to put up a front so when he answered, he could only manage a weak mumble.

“ ‘Ello?”

Louise didn’t speak for a moment before she exhaled as if there was an unspeakable weight on her shoulders. “He could have gone about it a better way...”

“He’s always been truthful to a fault…” Phil addressed the train of thought that was balancing on Louise’s tongue, ducking his head lower so his nose was warmed by his duvet. “It’s not a bad thing. Just…” The mane of his stuffed lion tickled his skin as he slid lower under the comforting pressure. “It can be painful.”

“I know, but I think you needed to hear what he had to say,” Louise insisted gently. “Phil, we love you, sweetie, and we are worried. Especially,” Louise broke off and Phil could hear the nervous swallow she took. “If you’ve started with the rubber band snapping, again. Have you-”

“No, I haven’t,” Phil interrupted pointedly with a burst of energy before he deflated, the volume of his speech dampening as he buried himself deeper into the scrap of sanctuary he had claimed. “I can promise you that.”

“That’s goo-”

“Lou, I’m really sorry. I just...I’m not up for this right now,” Phil rasped, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he closed his eyes. “I’m exhausted...Can we talk later?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Louise gave in without a fuss but sadness permeated the atmosphere travelling across the distance between their apartments. “Get some rest.” There was a pregnant pause and Phil could hear Darcy’s muffled singing, though he couldn’t make out the exact lyrics she had chosen. “I hope you aren’t angry with him. He’s just looking out for you and…we really are worried.”

“I know.” Phil promised, letting fresh tears slid down his face. He didn’t have any desire to move, let alone to force them off his skin. “Bye, Lou.”

From: Dan

the apartment is looking a bit drab. where are my flowers, you spork.

December 3 1:45pm

From: Dan

phil? phiiiiil

December 3 3:15pm

From: Dan

i was watching a documentary. learned that a group of tigers is called an ambush or a streak? did u know that?

December 3 5:23pm

From: Dan

peej is in town for a couple days between shoots. he wanted to get some flowerinos. when are u going to be back?

December 3 7:44pm

From: Phil

I won’t be selling until the 7th.

December 3 8:31pm

From: Phil

And I did know about the tigers! :D They also snuffle to let you know when they are being friendly.

December 3 8:31pm

From: Dan

boo philly boo. where have you been all day?

December 3 8:32pm

Phil

Sleeping. I wasn’t feeling well.

December 3 8:33pm

From: Dan

do i need to bring u soup? i think we have some…

December 3 8:35pm

From: Phil

Dan. XD I’m fine.

December 3 8:37pm

Phil stared at the phone in his hand, squinting at the too bright flashing display.

Why is Dan calling me?

He rested the phone against his chest, darkening his room once more, before drawing in a long breath. He tapped the button to accept Dan’s call.

“Hello?” Phil’s voice was a gravelly baritone and it seemed to give Dan pause. There was the distant echo of music droning in the background and the breeze caused the line to buzz with static before Dan’s precise way of speaking overpowered everything.

“You would know about the tigers. Why am I not surprised?”

“I know a lot about animals,” Phil informed him without much inflection, rotating onto his left side, as he slid a foot into the cool open air of the room. “They are very interesting.”

Dan didn’t jump to poke fun at the known tidbit like he normally would and Phil didn’t rush to fill the emptiness between them. He closed his eyes and simply took in the sounds of the world where Dan was and the minute popping caused by the wind. He felt...faded- like if you looked too closely at him, you would notice droplets of color clinging to his fingertips from where they bled out of the dull monochrome shell he was inhabiting.

He just wanted it to stop for a moment. He needed it to stop.

It’s not going to...is it?

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring soup?” Dan’s voice was hushed and calm as he offered once more and Phil was mortified to find that his tear ducts hadn’t run dry.

“No,” Phil denied him again softly, trying not to sniffle too loudly. “I’m...just tired, Danny.”

I’m okay. I’m fine.

“Tired or...tired?” Dan stressed the second utterance before he broke in: “Hang on, Phil.” and there was a sudden crackling like the crumpling of a piece of paper. Phil could hear Dan’s familiar timbre before a pleasant, feminine tone joined him. They seemed to be chatting and Phil didn’t move, letting the white noise lull him into a semi-awake doze.

Dan returned with an apologetic, “Sorry about that.” and Phil hummed languidly in acknowledgement. He knew that he should probably try and reassure Dan that it really was fine but his mouth refused to cooperate, burdened with not-quite there sleep.

“Are you okay, Phil?” Dan fretted. “Honestly.”

Don’t worry him. Say it. Say what you always say.

“...I don’t know.” Phil whispered instead, lips loosened in the suspended state his consciousness seemed to have drifted to after this long day. “I don’t know anymore, Dan. Honestly.”

From: Phil

Sorry about last night.

December 4 8:54am

From: Dan

for?

December 4 11:47am

From: Phil

Good morning to you, sleepy head.

December 4 11:49am

From: Phil

For falling asleep. I was more tired than I thought.

December 4 11:51am

From: Dan

it’s all good philly. i learned that u snore.

December 4 11:55am

From: Phil

I DO NOT DANIEL.

December 4 11:57am

From: Dan

if u say so.

December 4 11:58am

From: Dan

how are you feeling though?

December 4 12pm

Phil stared unseeingly at the blinking line at the end of his newly composed Tweet, cursor hovering over the button to post it. His mind raced with snippets of conversations.

Some were recent and tied directly to the choice he was about to make.

Some were carried from his younger years and didn’t have anything to do with the potential aftermath of this single click.

All of them featured those who had become dear to him.

“They will ask questions about everything, Phil. Even Aiden.”

“I don’t think you need that kind of stress, sweetie. Being the center of attention for fans is a commitment and...you are not in the right headspace to take that on.” Louise had explained in one of the most maternal tones she had taken with him since they had met. “Maybe wait a bit?”

“If it makes you happy, son.” Phil’s father’s hand was firm on his shoulder as he met his father’s apprehensive but earnest gaze. “Then...go for it.”

Phil took a breath, holding the pad of his mousepad down.

“Sometimes,” Aiden’s heel was balanced on the sliver of chair edge he had available. Phil’s senses were pleasantly numbed by the sugary tasting beverages he had been indulging in all night so he merely giggled at his boyfriend, red-faced and cheery. Aiden crowded him to press a chaste kiss to his nose before biting his plump lower lip seductively. “You have to jump into the deep end. Are you ready, birthday boy?”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, Philip, but the people around you have made their stances clear. Whatever you decide, I’ll support it.” He could almost feel the crushing hug his mum would give him if she were with him. “Just be ready to face the consequences.”

@pocketPHILofsunshine tweeted: Hi guys! If you have questions that don't have to do with flowers, direct them to @AmazingPhil please. Keep this account Flower-PHIL! :)

December 4 6:47pm

Phil had his headphones in, staring at the two choices in his hands indecisively. He lifted the box of Shreddies up to peer at the blue container with an unenthusiastic twist of his lips.

I should get this one. I had sugary cereal the last time…

He brought the Honey Nut Cheerios box to rest against the other and continued to argue with himself about the merits of having a less healthier option two times in his cereal rotation.

As long as I go back to Shreddies the next time, it’ll be fine. I think I deserve a bit of yummy unhealthiness in my belly for a bit longer.

I need to make sure to eat some healthy cereal, though… I need to make sure my diet is balanced.

He didn’t hear the shocked gasp or the rapid squeaks of thrilled converse-clad feet over the warbling guitar riff strumming in his ears so he wasn’t prepared when slim, dainty fingers curved over his shoulder with a playfully firm grip.

Phil jumped. He fumbled with the boxes that slipped from his hold and watched helplessly as they crashed to the floor. The pressure on his shoulder disappeared as he removed both earpieces, reaching in his pocket to flick the jack out of his phone to pause his playlist with a soundless breath of annoyance.

Phil let the wire fall so it dangled from his zipped red jacket before he turned around to face the person who had approached him, loosening his pursed lips and relaxing his jaw into a more neutral but open expression.

She was already kneeling, propped on one knee, to pick up the cereal he had dropped with a startled but lively laugh.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Phil.” The woman apologized before standing with the boxes held against her chest like a student carrying a stack of textbooks. She blew a lock of straightened, vibrant amber-red hair and Phil couldn’t help but think of how the style suited her.

It was chopped into messy tendrils that were forced flat and brushed her shoulders with even the slightest dip or rotation of her head. She shot him a wide smile and the next statement forced Phil’s wandering mind to focus. “I wanted to meet the boy Dan has been telling me about!”

“It’s okay,” Phil reassured courteously, wracking his brain for the names of friends’ Dan had mentioned the most frequently.

The two that came to mind were Ruth and Sophie because Dan had told him about the chaos the trio found themselves in regularly and how their differences in personalities made for some hilarious outcomes.

Phil didn’t want to take a shot in the dark as to who the friendly redhead was because if he guessed wrong, this already awkward encounter would become unbearably awkward. He shrugged his shoulder good naturedly and gave an abashed giggle. “I’m naturally clumsy so they would have ended up on the floor at some point. I’m sorry.” Phil cleared his throat. “You are…?”

“Oh! You would think that I would’ve gotten better with introductions.” She smacked the side of her head with her right hand before extending it to him. “I’m Ruthine, but you probably heard Dan call me Ruth- which is preferred.” She chattered with a vitality that Phil wished he could sustain and the fond way her lips caress Dan’s name let a joyful but closed lip smile spread across his face. “Pleased to meet you.”

So, this is Ruth. She certainly seems high-spirited and ballsy like Dan said.

It also looks like she and Dan are close. That’s good.

“It’s nice to finally put a face with your name, Ruth.” Phil shook her hand before moving it to scratch at the back of his head self-consciously. “How’s filming coming along? Dan mentioned you were really excited for it.”

“It’s fun!” Ruth gushed, crushing the cereal closer to her body as she bounced from foot to foot excitedly. There was a faint crunching with each motion but she didn’t notice. “I mean, it’s tiring, sure, and my feet are always dying at the end because of the shoes but I really enjoy it. I just need to let everyone know on Twitter,” Ruth’s eyes flickered with unflappable joy and contentment. “-but I’m waiting until filming is close to being finished. It won’t be too long now!”

Phil gave Ruth an exhilarated smile and his heart filled with pride for the woman standing in front of him. This woman who was giving off her happiness in a tangible aura and who had accomplished something that meant a lot to her.

“You should be proud!” Phil burst out, bubbling with the positivity exuding from Ruth and his own delight at how well she was doing. “You should tweet as soon as it’s done so everyone can hear about it.” He encouraged, rocking back on his heels. “I’ll favorite and retweet it when you do!”

Ruth’s eyes widened as she considered him with a slight agape mouth before she marvelled, “He wasn’t kidding when he said ‘the embodiment of sunshine’- Wow.”

“I’m sorry?” Phil couldn’t help the way his voice climbed a few octaves within his register, eyebrows shooting up.

“Well,” Ruth began, extending the box of Shreddies to him, and Phil accepted it. He laid it in the handheld basket he had placed on the ground, only sparing the Honey Nut Cheerios a second of silent longing. “I asked Dan to describe you in three phrases.” Phil couldn’t help but tilt his head at Ruth with a crooked grin. She raised a single brow at him, shifting to place a hand on her hip. “It’s something that we do since we meet a lot of people all at once. Anyway,” Ruth sang, sticking the tip of her tongue out at Phil briefly. “The three phrases Dan gave me were: the literal-” Ruth broke up the syllables and put stresses where Dan normally did when he spoke the phrase himself. “-embodiment of sunshine, clumsy as fuck, and ‘my best friend.’ “

Phil could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks and the dampness starting to cover his palms at the words.

I’m Dan’s best friend?

He stood motionless as Ruth turned to place the Honey Nut Cheerios on the shelf before he realized that he should speak.

How do I even respond to that?

“Well,” Phil’s fingers came to twirl around one of his earbuds listlessly and Ruth waited patiently as he paused, a half-smile playing across her lips. “Dan’s very sweet. He’s told me about you too.” Phil recounted, still recovering from the onslaught of praise. “I believe he said you are ‘the sweetest person. Oh my god.’ “ He couldn’t help but chuckle. “And he warned me that if I became your friend, I may have to prevent some fights and,” Phil hesitated, uncertain if he should disclose this particular descriptor Dan had used for Ruth, before letting it slip. “-that you were cute. He’s right.”

Ruth laughed, fully and unrestrained. “Of course, he would say that. That prat.”

The words were tinkling bells ringing with golden notes of endearment and for a moment, Phil felt his chest seize, but Ruth, thankfully, rolled into her next thought. “I’m sure the words ‘impulsive’ and ‘hot-head’ made an appearance too.”

“...maybe once or twice,” Phil affirmed, smile spreading until his teeth were exposed.

“That little shit,” Ruth quipped before giving an exasperated shake of her head. “See if I help him manage the fans next time he decides to pull a video.”

“They certainly seemed riled,” Phil agreed, bending to grab the list he had scribbled to keep himself on track to hide the nervous jiggle of his knee. “It shows that they are invested in his content.”

Ruth’s eyes flashed with an unreadable glint. “I guess so.” Phil’s brows knitted together as Ruth quieted, top teeth trapping her lip gently. She blinked after a moment, clearing away the cloud of emotion. “It’s different being on the other end.”

“I think I’m starting to get it,” Phil put in quietly, flicking the page in his hand, as he stood. “Lou and Chris always told me that but I didn’t really understand.”

“That’s right! You made a Twitter account for questions, right?”

“Er… I didn’t make it for questions…” Phil ran his hand across his chin, feeling the scratchiness of the stubble he had yet to shave. “It’s actually my personal account.”

Ruth gaped at him, slack-mouthed, before spluttering skeptically, “You can’t be serious?”

Phil simply shrugged in response and Ruth clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her groan.

“You are serious!” Ruth lamented before letting a partly perplexed, partly vexed, “Phil.” ring through the air.

“What?” Phil tilted his head at Ruth who laid a hand on his shoulder solemnly. Phil couldn’t help but notice how she and Dan shared the shallow creases around their eyes that betrayed the amusement buried beneath their quick wit and irritated tone. He relaxed at the familiar sight.

“I am adding you on Twitter,” She vowed, the dark navy of her irises determined. “You’re going to need back up.”

“I have Lou and Chris,” Phil giggled, picturing the two in question posing back to back in matching black suits, grumbling all the while. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime,” Ruth sang, letting her hand fall away to run down the smooth fabric of her jade skirt. “How are you enjoying the spotlight, though? The fandom is intrigued by you.”

“I don’t see why- I’m not very interesting.” Phil gathered his lips into one corner. “They are just curious because I’m a new face.”

“And,” Ruth canted her head before starting a slow saunter down the aisle. Phil gathered his basket, following her lead. “Dan has a horrible poker face when he has a soft spot for someone and people like to jump to conclusions.” She skipped ahead of him, shoes protesting with high pitched cries on the tiled floor, before she spun around with a flourish and a wink. “I have to give it to them...Phan is a very cute ship name.”

Phil knows that it is impossible to feel the Earth rotating beneath his feet but he swears that it suddenly stopped because he stumbles, feet skidding with the momentum that has to be lost somehow. He corrects his faulty equilibrium before he can properly embarrass himself but his breath is caught in an icy lump somewhere in his lungs.

Phan is a cute ship name rings through his head in a chorus and without warning, there’s heat flooding his cheeks, darkening the tips of his ears, and if his hair wasn’t layered in darkness from a bottle...he’s sure it would be crimson as well. His heart jumped in an irregular rhythm as he rubbed his arm, giving a short, half-suppressed jitter of a laugh.

“You really are clumsy,” Ruth observed dryly, hands outstretched as if she was preparing to catch him. She dropped them with a silvery giggle. “Nice save.”

“Yeah,” Phil choked out, silently imploring his heart to ease into the stable bassline he was used to.

He probably shouldn’t press the subject with how his nerves were crackling like a live wire but he had always been too curious for his own good. “Aren’t most YouTubers against shipping?”

“I’m not a YouTuber,” Ruth reminded him, tucking her hair behind her ear and sweeping it behind her shoulder. “I’m an actress. Shipping comes with the territory but,” She tapped her lips with a single finger. “It is nice when it’s your partner you’re shipped with. Plus, being able to share that part of yourself with your audience…” Phil watches as the muscles around her eyes seem to relax and a simper spreads across her lips. “It’s nice.” The tender expression doesn’t fade even as she snorts. “Dan thinks a bit differently, but I still love him.”

There’s something dark stirring in his chest and Phil feels it slicing down his torso, snarling and demanding to be let out, but he forces it back.

He straightened his posture and slipped into the mask he had come to know almost as well as himself over the last couple of years.

I’m just tired. I just need to take a nap when I get home.

“So,” Phil nudged Ruth with his elbow, giving her his own cheeky wink. He ignored the sudden weariness weighing down on his body and mind as he prodded her again. “Do you ship it?”

“Phan?” Ruth clarifies, bumping him with her hip in retaliation.

“Mm-hmm.”

The mask is shuddering, barely clinging to him and Phil pretends he doesn’t feel his heart sinking. He pretends that there isn’t envy trailing through his veins as Ruth taps a single finger against her chin, lips pressed together as if in deep thought. He pretends that he doesn’t wish it was him with the glittering eyes and a content, secure smile.

He pretends that he hasn’t seen this same expression in old photographs from what seems like a lifetime ago.

“I ship it,” Ruth concludes finally, fingers skimming over the strip of leather around her neck, playing with the four leaf clover charm in the center absentmindedly. Phil presses his arm closer to his body, basket brushing just under his thigh. “But, it’s got nothing on Ruthiel.”

Phil plays his part. He laughs through lungs threatening to collapse under their burden and delivers his line flawlessly.

“Of course not.”

It doesn’t click until Phil is scrolling through Twitter, controller set aside after a sloppy race, that the sluggish synapses of his brain make the connection.

@danisnotonfire followed you

December 5 2:32am

@RuthineHayes followed you

December 5 5:43pm

Ruthine Hayes. That tweet that had been adamant had not been gay with the hashtag Ruthiel.

Phil pushes his fringe off of his clammy forehead with a quiet groan before he flicks through his feed slowly, taking the time to read the comments and questions people have sent him in the past twenty-four hours.

@danisnotonfire tweeted: @RuthineHayes met a wild @AmazingPhil today. what’s the verdict?

December 5 5:50pm

@RuthineHayes replied: A lot less flowery than expected but lovely nonetheless. I’m keeping him. @AmazingPhil @danisnotonfire

December 5 5:55pm

@Addicted2Stucky replied: @RuthineHayes @AmazingPhil @danisnotonfire I need #Phithine fics yesterday.

December 5 9:45pm

@NotYourAverageFan replied: @RuthineHayes @AmazingPhil @danisnotonfire #Phan or #Ruthiel? Or #Lestowell #Haster And I agree!!! More fics!!!

December 5 10:17pm

@LemmeRainOnYourParade replied: @RuthineHayes @danisnotonfire The REAL question is which do YOU guys prefer? Ruthiel, Phan, or Phithine?

December 6 12:23am

It is four thirty in the morning and Phil is not equipped to handle this after a night of restless tossing and turning and an uneasy sleep plagued with turbulent dreams that leave only the echoes of terror and loss behind. The menu screen of Mario Kart burns his eyes as he stretches out on the floor, making his way down the thread.

@RuthineHayes replied: People will ship what they ship regardless. Though, nothing beats #Phithine, eh, @AmazingPhil? @danisnotonfire? ;)

December 6 12:28am

@danisnotonfire replied: i see how it is. i will take my carton of ice cream and enjoy a movie by myself. maybe i’ll read some phanfiction? who knows.@RuthineHayes

December 6 12:32am

Phil chuckled sleepily. He hadn’t been aware there was fanfiction about them. Was this going to be one of those things that fizzled out?

@RuthineHayes: Jealous, @danisnotonfire? XD I told you I’m keeping him. @AmazingPhil

December 6 12:35am

@danisnotonfire: i think @AmazingPhil should get a say. what do you think, phil?

December 6 12:37am

Phil taps the bottom of his screen, muddled mind tripping over itself to string together an appropriate response and he is carried away by the current of sleep, still covering the glowing letters of his phone’s keyboard.

From: Martyn

You really need some sleep, Phil. You looked exhausted today.

December 6 3pm

From: Phil

It’s probably the quality of my laptop’s camera. Makes me look even more pale. I’m fine. :P

December 6 3:04pm

From: Phil

I think you’re right about hiring more drivers for deliveries but I’m not sure if we have enough of a budget to buy out some more vehicles.

December 6 3:05pm

From: Martyn

We could buy some used but with repairs and the repainting of the bodies that will definitely need to happen, it might not be feasible in the long term.

Decmber 6 3:07pm

From: Martyn

You and that ugly yellow.

December 6 3:08pm

From: Phil

Hey! It’s a good color!

December 6 3:10pm

From: Phil

So, hold off for now?

December 6 3:10pm

From: Phil

And Cor approves. You just don’t appreciate the amazing taste in colors I have.

December 6 3:11pm

From: Martyn

Yeah, we’ll wait but it needs to happen. You’re setting up tomorrow, right?

December 6 3:15pm

From: Martyn

And pffft. Cornelia is just being sweet and lying to you.

December 6 3:16pm

From: Phil

Actually shut up and yeah. I’ll be out tomorrow.

December 6 3:18pm

There was a cold, quiet fury in Phil’s eyes as Aiden met his gaze unblinkingly. He brushed past Phil without a word, the plastic of his foot brace clicking on the hard floor of their kitchen, and Phil followed him into the lounge.

Aiden’s reusable water bottle was wedged into the crook of his arm and Phil set it down on the low coffee table while its owner threw himself onto the couch.

Aiden ripped the two velcro fasteners secured across his lower leg open with more force than necessary.

Phil chewed the inside of his cheek before he tangled a hand in his fringe.

“Aiden,” He sighed, twisting the strands in his hold apprehensively. “I know you don’t want-”

“You’re right,” Aiden seethed as he swung his left leg upwards, grabbing his now bare ankle to prop it on his opposite knee, and started to knead the belly of his calf in quick, sharp jabs. Phil caught the disgruntled grimace that Aiden tried to suppress as his bullheaded boyfriend spat, “I don’t want. End of discussion, Philip.”

The blatant and direct barb stung and it stoked the fire boiling Phil’s blood. His stomach clenched with the intensity and he sucked in a loud breath, letting it out in a serpentine hiss.

“Aiden,” Phil echoed, keeping a tight reign on his volume. “Seriously. We-”

“I said no.” Aiden was still massaging his tensed muscle resolutely, refusing to glance at Phil. “You are not changing my mind.”

Phil could understand why Aiden was evading the subject, could see the slight vibrations travelling along the length of his fingers as he moved to smooth a flat palm down the bunched up fibrous tissue to soothe the persistent ache Phil knew was there. His eyes lingered on the way Aiden’s palm was nearly level with his thumb from this view and remembered that there used to be a pudge, flicking his eyes away as bile churned in his stomach.

He knew that Aiden was trying to put on a brave face but he was also being obstinate in his denial that things might (“Will certainly,” The part of him removed from his dream self’s turbulent thoughts whispered with a weary resignation. “He wasn’t the only one in denial.”) spiral out of control faster than either of them were prepared for.

They needed to talk about it.

“It’s been two months,” Phil’s rushing blood had his feet wearing a small path in the carpet as he paced in the space between their table and television. “Your symptoms are progressing and even with the foot brace-”

“The benefits are only going to last while I still have decent muscle mass and strength,” Aiden interrupted him in a high mocking tone, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. “I know. I was there, Phil. She’s my physical therapist.”

“Still-” Phil insisted, forcing his hand away from his tender scalp.

“You’re worrying too much.”

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Phil doesn’t mean to yell but Aiden’s dismissal of his condition caused the anger that had been simmering to blaze, snapping the frayed thread of his control. “You can’t act like nothing has changed forever! Because it has!”

Aiden dropped his leg to the floor with a sickening dull thud as Phil wrestled to even out the angry huffs of air his breathing had become.

He made a beeline for Phil. He was walking deliberately, raising his foot and setting it down carefully, with a violent storm evident in his eyes.

“Say that again,” Aiden challenged and Phil’s shoulder blades tensed at the somewhat indistinct murmur, warning bells chiming in his mind. Aiden was hardly ever this quiet, this deadly calm and his eyes were frigid with a barely restrained glint of rage.

The mosaic of emotions Phil was used to seeing play across Aiden’s eyes were wiped away by this single, overpowering feral reaction and it rendered him speechless for a moment.

“Do it,” Aiden commanded through gritted teeth and Phil registered that he should fall back, create some space for the both of them, as the air was charged and ready to spark.

“Stop. Acting. Like. Nothing. Has. Changed,” Phil growled and stepped in to Aiden’s space until they were toe to toe, drawing back his shoulders and elongating his spine to tower over Aiden with the couple of inches he had at his disposal. “We need to talk about the possibility that you will need a wheel-”

“Fuck off!” Aiden snarled, grabbing a handful of Phil’s purple Gengar shirt, as he yanked him forward. Phil dug his heels in to keep his balance as Aiden wobbled. “You are not the one who is dealing with this!” Aiden’s arm jerked and Phil let out a grunt as his back was forced to bend so he could drop his torso with the involuntary motion.

A flicker of alarm widened Aiden’s eyes and he loosened his grip. He, however, refused to relinquish his hold entirely and Phil could feel Aiden’s breath ghosting over his cheeks, could see the way his nostril were flaring, and-

“You’re not the one seeing your running time drop.”

Phil’s hands fell away from where they had shot up to encircle the wrist of the hand trapping him. Aiden’s line of sight followed the motion. The waves of his hair hid his eyes but his tongue darted out to lick his shaking lower lip.

“You’re not the one who can’t clean animals’ teeth at work.” Aiden’s volume had weakened but there was still an edge in the way his vowels tore through the air. “I just completed my veterinary nursing degree, Dibbit. You don’t know how that feels.”

“Adey-” Phil whispered, reaching a hand out to the other without any conscious input.

(There was something off about the scene. He could sense it- there was an eerie feeling hovering around his dreamscape and Phil didn’t like it, mind scrambling to try and pinpoint the danger.)

“You aren’t the one dying.” It wasn’t Aiden’s voice that answered him this time and he took a step back in alarm, heel skidding over the carpet uselessly. He toppled backward, dragging the person still clutching his shirt with him and he was met with frightened glistening cinnamon eyes.

“Dan?” He gasped. “What-”

Dan was crushing his ribcage and Phil’s hands tugged at any available surface to try and get him off, throat clenching at the panicked shrieks of his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe.

Dan didn’t react to his scrabbling fingers and only repeated, “You aren’t the one dying.”

“I-” Phil coughed before he tried to beg, eyes watering. “Plea-I-Dan-can’t-hel-”

(Was this what it was like to suffocate?)

Dan’s eyes caught his own unfalteringly as he struggled, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and Phil had to be imaging things because as blackness spread across his vision...he could have sworn a few teardrops splattered against his skin to mix with his own.

(He needed to wake up.)

Dan was lying in a hospital bed that was all too familiar and Phil reached for him hastily, only to yelp in pain as his hand smashed into glass. He cradled it against his torso, watching helplessly as Dan rocked his body with as much force as he could with the dead weight of his unresponsive arms and twitching legs.

“You’re okay, Danny,” Phil promised the terrified boy, laying both of his palms on the barrier between them. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

Dan didn’t seem to hear him, heart monitor climbing with shrill screeches, and Phil banged against the glass to try and get the attention of Ruth who was curled on the lumpy cot provided to visitors.

She was sleeping deeply even with the chaos surrounding her.

“Wake up, Ruth!” Phil shouted, battering the glass with closed fists desperately. His knuckles were already starting to ache and swell but he continued his seemingly impossible mission. “RUTHINE! Fuck! C’mon!” There was a crunch and agony careened through the network of his pain cells but his mind was too overloaded with agitated desperation and terror that the awkward angle of his bent fingers didn’t register. “He needs you! PLEASE.”

Dan’s eyelashes fluttered against his blotched cheeks and the panicked beeping slowed and Phil saw the peaks of the lines get lower and lower and lower…

“NO!” Phil cried and the glass shattered, wedging itself into his hand and wrist- flaying his skin open- ruby beads bubbling from the slices before they gathered and slid down his skin…

He felt none of it as he hauled Dan up by his shoulders to crush the boy against his chest, engulfing him with his body as if he could use himself as a shield from the long single note filling the room.

“Wake up,” Phil whispered, resting a bloodied hand on the back of Dan’s skull gently. “Daniel.”

The continuous line showing Dan’s motionless heart didn’t change and…

He didn’t answer.

“Wake up,” Phil repeated hoarsely. “Wake up.”

A hand slammed on his shoulder and Phil lifted his head numbly to meet Aiden’s sad, calm eyes.

“Eventually, I want you to move on, Dibbit. It’s okay. I’m sure they’ll love you more than I do.”

Phil managed to throw himself to the floor just he was flung into awareness.

He didn’t cry out as he crashed against the carpet with a galloping heart and flooded cheeks. He only raised his hands to his pulsating eyes and rotated the heels of his palms over them with a muted, shuddering sigh.

Phil resigned himself to an early start. He just needed to gather up the shards of his chaotic, worn out, and jaded mind and arrange the pieces into some semblance of stability first.

Phil bolted before his mind could properly catch up-grogginess clinging to its buzzing emptiness in a fog. His environment was a smear of hazy, unfocused and too-bright colors and fear thrummed in his veins as he whirled around so his back wasn’t exposed to the presence behind him.

The unmistakable sound of pots shattering pierced through his alarmed and addled brain and he blinked rapidly to rid the sleep clinging to him until his vision sharpened.

Dan was gawking at him. His hands were raised to show the flat of his palms and a hesitant but mischief-making smile had his lips jumping as recognition washed over Phil. His muscles went lax as he welcomed the hasty, snide company he had grown accustomed to instantly.

Oh. I missed you, you freakin’ brat.

“I didn’t expect you to try and take down the table,” Dan coughed as he lowered his arms slowly, the indentation in his cheek appearing as he fought to suppress the urge to flash his teeth at Phil in a mock growl. “Be ready at all times, Philly.”

Phil scowled at Dan for a moment, lips turned down enough to be noticeable, before he gave a lopsided, forgiving smile.

“You’re an ass.” He smoothed his palms down the crinkled fabric covering his chest then brought a fist to his eye to rub it with a yawn. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep...it just happened.” Phil grumbled at the dry scratchiness of his cornea that always appeared after he slept while wearing his contacts. “What time is it, anyway?”

My eyes shouldn’t be this irritated. I probably have only been asleep for half an hour at most…

“It’s half past three,” Dan clarified.

Or not. Holy shit.

Phil groaned as he came to the conclusion he had been out for the better part of three hours. He turned away from Dan’s quirked brows and innocently curious eyes to wander the invisible path he routinely used to check on his plants- poking carefully at leaves, maneuvering hanging vines slowly to check for any blemishes, and pattering his fingertips against soil to check if he needed to add water to any of them that were soaking in the sun.

Dan followed behind him lazily, shadowing his movements.

“Everything is here,” Phil breathed out in relief before frowning at the shards of glass and clay littering the grass around the table he had been napping on. “Not untouched, but here. Oh,” Phil cooed as he kneeled beside the fallen purple calla lilies. “I’m sorry, guys. I cut you up all nice and pretty for a bouquet and now you’re on the floor. Hold on-”

Phil’s thoughtless but loving rambling was interrupted as a thick white vase filled his vision without warning. He followed Dan’s arm upwards until he was met with the juxtaposition of his boisterous laugh and the quiet consideration that his eyes exposed.

“The vase fits their aesthetic,” Dan pointed out, giving the vase in his hand a jiggle. “I bet they’ll be happier in here.”

Phil couldn’t help but note the way his top lip tended to lift higher on one side as he talked (probably a sign of his near constant amusement) and the way one dimple appeared and reappeared on his right cheek while the one on his left was always present. He realized that he had zoned out when the cool surface of the vase grazed his cheek.

“Earth to Phil? Are you going to take it or what?”

“Yes,” Phil murmured, still dazed, before his eyes widened. “Oh! Yes! Yes- sorry.” He finally grabbed the vase from Dan to start placing the lilies in it. “I’m still a bit out of it.”

“A bit?” Dan goaded as his pointer finger rapped against the top of Phil’s head. “I think that’s an understatement.”

“Some of us have to wake up early, Danny boy.” Phil retaliated, swishing the lily in his grip towards Dan slowly, grinning when his hair stirred as the other pulled away. There was an insistent tugging as if there was a very thin thread coiled around his heart that tightened so gradually...he only registered the tension when his breath caught at the indescribable something dancing through his bloodstream and it left him aching in a way that he felt he should know and yet...

Ignore it. His inner voice directed sternly.

So, Phil fixated on the grass kissing his fingertips, on the roughness of the dirt beneath his nails, the solidness of the stem that brushed against him, before a lightning bolt of inspiration struck him. He stifled the smirk threatening to give him away.

Revenge will be mine and oh, so sweet.

Dan hadn’t moved from his convenient position. His concentration was zeroed in on Phil as it tended to be when they were conversing, and Phil guessed that Dan had taken his pause for one of those moments that Phil wracked his brain for a clever insult or tried to unjumble said insult from his uncoordinated tongue.

It is perfect. A perfect moment.

Phil crushed said tongue against his teeth to keep the obvious tell under control as he steeled himself, cataloging the spaces where he was least likely to severely injure himself while he put his plan in action, before springing at Dan with an ear-splitting, “BANG!”

Dan’s shriek was instantaneous, high-pitched, and almost unbearably loud. He leapt away from Phil, bug-eyed, and plunged backwards. There was a moment of hopeless struggle as Dan’s muscles bunched in fear before he threw his arms back to try and cushion his fall with another yelp.

Phil’s ears were ringing as he descended into an out of control bout of laughter, clutching his stomach with one arm.

Dan splayed his fingers over his beating heart and forced his palm against the area to try and take back the decade of his life he had just lost. “What the actual fuck, Phil?! You nearly gave me a heart attack, you nutter!”

“Your...face-” Phil gasped, inhaling quickly to refill his straining lungs and some saliva got dragged along with the motion.

He gagged as it hit the back of his throat but he couldn’t help giggling even more. His uninterrupted chortling at the baffled and mildly affronted squint Dan was sporting was breathless and painful as he continued to cough. He smacked his chest forcefully. “I can’t-”

“Serves you right,” Dan grumbled but he was already reaching for Phil, scooting until he could easily maneuver his hand around his friend’s side to slap his back forcefully.“Breathe, Phil-”

Phil was sent into a fresh wave of his slightly nasally sounds of lively amusement, leaning forward into Dan’s chest. Dan lifted his eyes skyward with an affectionate sigh to smother the way his lips were beginning to stretch across his face, letting the tremors of Phil’s slowly dying exhilaration rumble through him.

“Are you done?” Dan deadpanned after it was obvious that Phil had calmed a bit.

“I-” Phil was deliberately breathing in and holding the oxygen in for several seconds before exhaling. “I think so.” His tongue wagged from one side of his mouth to the other rapidly. “Be ready at all times.”

“You-” Dan growled, jabbing his pointer finger into Phil’s side painfully. Phil squeaked but chuckled, flinching away. “No, Phil.”

“I’m sorry!” Phil cried as Dan poked him again, shying away from the ticklish jolt that travelled down his spine at the invasion of his neck. “I’m done!” He smashed his chin against his shoulder to guard against Dan’s relentless assault. “I promise!”

“If you say so,” Dan hummed without any hesitation, letting Phil catch his breath, before engulfing him in a light brief hug. “How was your trip? I was going to ask before I was so rudely interrupted.”

Phil relished the brief warmth surrounding him, patting Dan on the back softly. “It was good,” He answered automatically but the flow of his words slowed to a hesitant crawl as he kept on. “I visited with Ellie and she had some...interesting things to say.” Phil fought the impulse to squeeze his wrist, settling for rubbing away the unexpected chill skipping along the surface of his arm. “I also saw Sammie for a moment. I still can’t believe she’s eighteen,” Phil murmured, talking more to himself than Dan at this point.

“Dilip?” Sammie rushed to tackle him, dropping her paint spattered backpack by the door carelessly, and wrapped him in a constricting hug that had him wheezing. Her chestnut blonde hair spiralled in loose billowy locks to tickle Phil’s nose as he swayed from the impact of her landing, chuckling.

“I see you’ve missed me.” Phil goaded and Sammie released him to slap his upper arm with a huff.

“I did,” She agreed as a joyous sparkle danced in her irises as her painted ruby lips quirked in a single corner in a sly smirk. “That doesn’t mean you can act like a right twat when you walk in the door. I can still kick your ass in my cheer skirt,” She tacked on with a sassy flip of her ponytail.

“Samantha!” Ellie’s voice rang out from the kitchen where she had been preparing dinner. “Be nice to Philip!”

“I haven’t heard that in a while,” Sammie snorted, ripping the tight elastic band holding her hair back and scrubbing her fingers across her sore scalp. She called back to her mother with an exaggerated whine, “I’m not six anymore, Mum! Dilip can handle it!” She elbowed him pointedly as she went to retrieve her fallen backpack.

Phil didn’t doubt that there would be tangles when she tried to brush out the puffy mop that her hair had become. He touched the still flat and hairsprayed portion that stopped at the crown of her head with devilishly purposeful fingers.

“Don’t,” Sammie warned him but Phil twisted a chunk of her hair and tugged on it with a moderate amount of force. Her nose crinkled with annoyance but when Phil grinned, she mirrored the action.

“Nice mane.”

“Actually shut up.”

“Who’s Sammie?”

“Oh.” Phil mentally scolded himself for his oversight- Of course, Dan doesn’t know who Sammie is- and he inclined his head in a silent apology. “I haven’t mentioned her, have I? She’s Aiden’s younger sister. I’ve pretty much known her all her life since she was six when Aiden and I shared biology class.”

“Six?” Dan parroted in disbelief, eyelashes framing his open eyes owlishly before stressing the word once more. “Six?”

“Yes, Dan.” Phil couldn’t help but jest, nudging the other with a stabilizing palm against his sternum. “Sammie was six when I met her for the first time.”

“How old were you?” Phil could practically see the gears spinning in Dan’s mind as the words cascaded from the other’s lips in a rush. “You’re twenty-six and she’s eighteen which makes her eight years your junior. If she was six when you met, then you would be…”

“I was fourteen,” Phil contributed in an unperturbed and level inflection, entertained by the riled energy that was always lurking beneath the detached and calm front Dan liked to put on leaking through his rapid and exasperated speech. “It’s basic arithmetic, mate.”

“Shut it,” Dan parried without a beat then lapsed into a single breath of silence before bursting out: “Fourteen? Really?”

“Yup,” Phil shifted to stretch out his right leg from underneath him, being mindful of the glass still scattered around them, while he relocated the vase of lilies to rest next to his hip. “She was much shyer back then. Just as much of a brat but she was quieter.”

“And she knew you and Aiden were…?” Dan trailed off, letting the tail end of his timid question hang between them.

Phil pinched the fabric of his jeans between his fingers quietly, trying to ignore the unpleasant fluttering of his pulse at the base of his throat where his heart had decided to nest itself, making him uncomfortably aware of his need to draw in air.

Dan is your friend. You need to open up… even if it is just a little bit.

I don’t want to do this…

You trust him, don’t you?

Those five words caused the invisible strings of the mask of his persona to come undone and as Phil caught Dan’s gaze...he couldn’t bring himself to care as he took in the reserved curiosity reflected in the depths. There wasn’t any hint of judgement or any inkling of Dan wanting to push Phil past his comfort zone and the unspoken acceptance that a nonanswer wouldn’t be met with any resistance and taken as a reply in and of itself...

The tension that had gathered at the base of his neck drained away as he took that leap of faith.

“Of course, she did.” Phil closed his eyes as he spoke, letting the image of a Year 10 Aiden leaning into his personal space coalesce behind the darkness of his eyelids. “Imagine if you will,” Phil raised his hands, squinting into the sunlight, and gestured as he talked. “A nine year old Sammie- who is 150 centimeters now, mind you- threatening to hide my body if I so much as made Adey shed one tear.” A gritty chuckle escaped him without warning and Phil stuffed his arms under his apron. “She was in her princess phase and was wearing a flower crown littered with roses. She was adorable and trying to scare me. I can’t say that it worked but…”

The framing of her flower crown was bent and uneven causing it to slip over her eye but Phil had schooled his features to match the pursed lips and furrowed brows of the young girl blocking his way.

He was seventeen and had just broken six feet of gangly limbs so Sammie raised herself on the tips of her toes to try and lessen the two foot height difference between them. She was a flawless replica of her mother as she refused to budge from the kitchen doorway, fingers wrinkling the baggy shorts she had donned to romp around in the garden that she, Aiden, and Phil had joint custody of.

“I heard you kissed my brother.” Sammie didn’t beat around the bush and moved with him as he tried to sidestep through the gap between her and the wall.

“If you want to get technical,” Phil sighed with a small dopey smile as he swivelled his head at Sammie’s antics. “He kissed me first.”

“It doesn’t matter,” She dismissed with a wave her hand before stomping forward with a demanding jab of her finger towards the tiles. “Come here, Dil-Philip.”

Phil sunk down to one knee without a fight, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to keep his composure. He knew that Sammie adored her brother and was adamant about protecting him. If this was what she needed to feel comfortable with the shift of his and Aiden’s relationship, he would listen to what she had to say.

“You remind me of your mum.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Sammie muttered before laying her hands on his shoulders uncertainly, obviously not quite comfortable scolding who was essentially her second older brother but wanting to make her stance clear. She was relying on how she had seen her mum handle serious conversations, and Phil was treating her with the same muted respect as he had for Ellie. It gave her the courage to square her shoulders and jut out her chin. “You know the garden? Make Den-Den cry and I’ll bury you underneath the daisies.”

Phil could only nod or he wouldn’t be able to control the way his lips were jumping at the corners with the explosion of hilarity he was reining in.

“I mean it, Dilip. I’m pretty sure Papa would help me,” Sammie grumbled, miffed by his lack of a proper response and her lower lip started to tremble. “He’s my big brother. I hate his face sometimes but I don’t want to see him cry, okay? He was so upset when you were with that girl last year! He didn’t come out of his room for days and-and-”

Phil opened his arms and even though she had been trying to be strong, Sammie accepted the tranquility that always washed over her when Phil gave her a hug. She sniffled, hiding her face against his neck, and he hoisted her up to rock his weight from foot to foot before making his way out of the kitchen.

“ ‘M not a baby.” Sammie didn’t move from her spot as she protested weakly. She hit him with kittenish swipes against his chin halfheartedly.

“I know,” He passed through the lounge, keeping his words hushed. “Let me tell you a secret?”

“What secret?”

“You’re a good sister and,” Phil let his voice become a wisp, able to nearly be carried away by the whir of the air con through the house. “I won’t hurt Adey...I really care about him, Sammie.”

“I will still bury you in the garden,” Sammie broke in even as she draped her other arm around his shoulder. “Are we going to Ade’s room?”

“Good to know Aiden has such a scary sister in his corner.” Phil’s vocal cords were strained with his unexpressed delight at his boyfriend’s charming sibling. He rubbed her back mechanically and groaned affably, jostling Sammie as he made sure to keep his hip dragging along the wall as he placed his foot on the bottom most step to keep himself (and Sammie) safe as he trudged up the rest. “I guess you can come for a bit but don’t cry if I drop you on accident- you’re heavy!”

“Hey!”

“She sounds like a handful.” Dan chuckled and Phil took a moment to soak in the little nuggets of nostalgic joy the memory of Sammie had dug up. There was something bubbling in the cavity of his chest with the bite of freezing carbonation but the sweetness of cola when he had spent the day craving it and Phil smiled as it frothed and rose to give him the tranquility that had gone astray for the past week.

“You have no idea,” Phil stressed before adding thoughtfully, “She once put mayonnaise in the conditioner bottle. It may be good for hair but the smell. Ugh.”

“So you knew that you liked only lads when you were fourteen?” Dan clapped a hand over his mouth in horror, grinding his teeth. Phil had become well acquainted with the wince Dan wore when his mouth overrode his mental filter. “I didn’t mea-”

“It’s…” The tip of Phil’s tongue was in the process of wetting his suddenly dry lips when Dan’s word choice seeped through the spike of anxiety clouding his brain. “Wait- ‘only’ lads?- have you seen Sarah Michelle Gellar? I’ve had a celebrity crush on her since I discovered Buffy.” He couldn’t help cracking up, pressing his arms against his stomach, and let himself slant backwards before he corrected his position. “I like girls, too, Dan. Even lost my virginity to one. Her name was Angela.”

Dan stuttered, “Oh. Well, then, that-um-that’s…” and Phil watched as the roundness of his cheeks steadily gained vibrancy until he was positive they couldn’t get any more crimson. “Um?”

“It is what is,” Phil shrugged nonchalantly as he swung his legs so he could rest on his heels. “I don’t care much for labels, honestly. I never have but if it helps: I’m bisexual.”

“You-uh-don’t have to label yourself for me.” Dan seemed to be reeling- brain scrambling to find his usual clever but meticulous way of speaking and failing horribly.

The tweet that had insisted that Dan was straight came to Phil’s mind and his face dropped slightly.

Perhaps…

That little niggling inner voice started to whisper and Phil rushed to shut it down.

No, no. Don’t jump to conclusions. You have only mentioned Ade as a partner and he probably thought you were purely into guys. Remember you haven’t been with a girl since...geeze, was Angela really the last?

What if it’s a problem? Liking guys and girls? That voice interrupted his wandering thoughts insistently and Phil couldn’t help but hate the worry that never dissipated whenever his romantic inclinations were brought up. It was tiring, irritating, and unfair to Dan.

Dan hasn’t don-

“It’s fine. All fine.” Dan clarified in a rush and relief washed over Phil. Phil sighed and Dan fiddled with his earring for a second before he cleared his throat. “I...uh...I have a celebrity crush on Harry Styles so like- same.”

Phil’s heart soared at the shy way Dan’s pupils flicked to him and that unknown, indefinable sensation tumbled together with the serene blissfulness still filling his chest. He peered at Dan from beneath his dark lashes with a demure, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dan ran his thumb over the curve of his nails since he couldn’t conceal his fidgeting with the cover of a jumper. “J-Law is pretty rad too.”

Phil let out a breathy chuckle because Dan was immersed in so many fandoms and he knew that once Dan settled in the knowledge that he knew about his celebrity crushes… there would absolutely be a stream of texts gushing about their greatness and screenshots of various tweets with commentary.

Oh, how he adored Dan- who was definitely working himself up, judging by the way he had started plucking at an imaginary thread along the seam of his jeans.

“Come on,” Phil chided, grabbing the vase of lilies he had nearly forgotten about. He expected the little crease that appeared between Dan’s brows and the impatient flick of his wrist that urged Phil to elaborate. “You should help clean up this mess that you created.”

“You were the one who tried to take down the table and,” Dan sassed as he squatted next to a cluster of sweet peas, thumb caressing over some of the crushed blooms mindlessly. “You’re the one who fell asleep.”

“You’re the one who startled me!” Phil argued before he caught sight of the ruined flowers, frowning deeply. He let out an unhappy gush of air before he rested his hand over Dan’s wrist to stop his movements. “Leave those.”

“Why?” Dan’s fingers coiled more securely over the fragile stem. Phil let his hand lift from Dan’s so he could sit on his bum, continuing to place the dark lilies still strewn about in their new holder.

“The stem is snapped and the blooms are squished. It’s not aesthetically appealing,” Phil explained, trying to pinpoint the emotion underlying Dan’s surprising query.

He didn’t sound angry exactly, but there was a definite acidity lurking beneath the single word. It was common sense as to why Phil couldn’t sell damaged wares but Dan had a tendency to jump from the surface level of a situation to metaphysical ponderings of how his, society's, or Phil’s ways of thinking translated into reality. Sometimes, Phil would catch on and others he would have to wait until Dan was ready to reveal the chaotic state his thoughts would twist themselves into at times.

(Sometimes, the way Dan flipped from their lighthearted bants to the serious demeanor that came with his philosophical musings left Phil’s mind pirouetting confusedly on its axis...like this instance.)

“I know,” Dan whispered and he laid the sweet pea back on the ground. “I just…it’s still pretty, you know? And it’s just going to sit here and rot…”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s not? I thought you couldn’t sell it?”

“I can’t,” Phil pushed himself up so he could stand, dusting off his jeans. The glint of his metal cash box caught his eye and he lifted the arrangement of lilies with a quiet, “There’s a better option for them.”

Previous Part: Anger, second act/ Next: Bargaining, second act (WIP)

#Phandom Reverse Bang 2017 #PRB2017 #Phan #Phanfiction #Florist! Phil #YouTuber! Dan #Kat's writing #Ambrose's writing

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shiningamongdarkness · 5 years ago

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Chapter 22 . A miracle

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 22 A miracle

When Lily Sullivan received that intense blow in her head, she felt as if everything was shaking inside her, and that hospital room began to spin around her. She only felt pain for a few seconds. Then it quickly dissipated, or possibly her body simply became unable to feel anything. The space around her became blurry, her eyes closed slowly without her being able to prevent it, and then everything dissolved and disappeared.

She would not know until later the total hours she had been unconscious, but she sensed from the beginning that had been several. In all that time, she dreamed nothing, or at least nothing worth perpetuating in her memory after waking up. This moment occurred first with a penetrating smell of alcohol that entered to her body through her nose, causing it to be irritated and then also her entire throat. The girl's blue eyes flew open, and that was followed by a moderate cough as a reflex act. Her first instinct was to pull her hand to her mouth and nose, but she found herself surprised that she couldn't move either of them, and when she tried, her wrists hurt.

It took a second or two before her mind cleared enough to be aware of her condition. Turning her head, which was slowly starting to hurt but for the moment was tolerable, towards her right hand, she saw that it was handcuffed to the old headboard of the bed tubes in which she apparently lay before waking up. She then turned her gaze to her other hand; this one was also handcuffed in the same way. She pulled with a little of violence, but only ended up hurting her wrists more.

The pain in her head, especially on the side of her face, became much more intense.

"You woke up, little princess," she heard a little voice singing along the side of the bed, making it turn in that direction.

The person who had spoken, the same one who had taken her out of the hospital and very surely had placed her in that place, put a piece of cotton on the bureau, bathed in some medicinal alcohol so intense that even from her position she could smell it. Surely with that, she had woken her up. The other thing that was in the bureau was not unnoticed by her, next to the used cotton: a black gun that seemed quite familiar.

That girl who had presented herself as Esther before her, then turned also in her direction, smiling broadly. Although in the beginning, Lily was totally defensive, her condition changed when she saw her captor, so much so that she had a strong start that was impossible to hide. It was the same girl, of that Lily had no doubt: her features, her eyes, her complexion, even her voice, everything agreed... but something had changed. Her face had several wrinkle marks on it. Under her eyes, she had a pair of marked dark circles, and traces of makeup still not completely removed. And when she smiled... when he smiled at her, she showed a series of yellowed and old teeth ... She had her black hair in a ponytail, and was wearing only a white tank top, something loose that exposed the white skin of her arms, his thin neck (with strange and nothing graceful scars on it), and part of her flat chest.

It was her, the same girl from the hospital... but at the same time, she seemed to be a totally different person. She didn't even look like a girl.

All this unbalanced her too much, especially because she had just woken up, and the pain in her head was increasing, already touching the intolerable limits. And she may add another hurt that suddenly became present: her leg. She tried to remain calm as much as possible and looked quietly around her. She was still wearing the hospital gown, although, underneath it, she could tell that her right leg, the one that caused the pain, was wrapped in tight bandages. The bed she was in was for a single adult, and had a relatively clean white sheet, except for some blood stains under her leg, which she supposed were hers. Behind her back were two individual pillows against which her body rested.

Lily paid more attention to the rest of the room. It was small and square, with an old tapestry with floral pattern. In front of the bed was a table with an old-fashioned television of enormous size, turned off. On each side of the bed was a bureau with a night lamp, which at the moment were the only source of light on the room. Over her head, she managed to see a ceiling fan hanging, turned off, just like the three bulbs it had included. To the left was a semi-open door that she assumed was facing a bathroom. And to the right, another closed wooden door that was surely the exit. There was not a single window in any of the four walls. There was an armchair in a corner, and a chair next to the bed, and that was basically all.

"What is this burrow?" The girl in handcuffs muttered disgustfully. It seemed to be some kind of old hotel because everything looked form pas years, but not careless or dirty.

"It's a safe place," the other girl, or whatever she was, informed him, sitting in the chair beside the bed and crossing her legs. At that moment, Lily noticed that she was not wearing pants. Under her baggy shirt, pink panties appeared, apparently new, because of her bright colors. "Safe, secluded, and, above all that, discreet. Look: Help!" She shouted suddenly with great force, raising her face to the ceiling. Lily was startled by the sudden scream. "Help me! They are killing me! Aaaaaaaaaah!!"

Esther screamed with such intensity, apparently using all the power that her throat was capable of producing, and enough to make Lily's ears hurt. As abrupt as she had begun to scream, she stopped the same way. Then she got silent, her eyes looking sideways around, and a mischievous smile on her lips. Once the echo of her shout left... nothing replaced it. The whole room, all around them, was utterly silent.

"You see?" Esther snorted, letting out a small laugh. Lily's gaze hardened. She immediately understood what she wanted to show her with that unfortunate act. Esther leaned fully against her chair and crossed her arms. "It's incredible what you can get in this world when you have enough money. And for some reason, someone is willing to pay a very, very good to meet you."

"Who?" Lily released sharply. "Who sent you for me?"

Esther shrugged, not erasing her smile. She enjoyed being in control, that was more than evident.

"I'm not sure. Well, I know his name, and with a little investigation, I discovered more about him. Still, I don't really know who he is…" Esther hesitated a little as if she had forgotten what she was going to say. She looked thoughtfully to the side for a moment and then turned back to her as she stood up from the chair and leans on the bed. "But that is a boring topic. Let me see how you go..."

At that moment, she extended her hand to Lily's face, and the girl deliberately wanted to take it away from her. But, because of her position, it was not something simple to do, so Esther managed to take her chin and turn her face entirely to her side. Esther took a careful look at the purple and red spot that encompassed the area of Lily's left temple and eyebrow, part of her forehead, and even a little of her cheek. It looked ugly, but in the afternoon, it looked much worse.

"Yes, the blow of your face is going good," Esther pointed out calmly, further altering the little girl.

"My face?" Lily snapped, confused. "What did you do to my face?"

"Nothing we can't solve with a couple more days of ice and makeup," Esther replied wryly.

Suddenly, Lily yelled and tried to pull her body completely towards Esther, and if she hadn't been stopped by the wives, she would have finally thrown herself at her. While her wrists clenched and irritated, she faced her captor a few inches from her face. Her eyes are filled with a rage so genuine and voracious that she had never been allowed to actively demonstrate, even in front of her parents. Possibly, she had never met someone worthy of deserving it.

"You have no idea of the great mistake you have made," Lily murmured, her voice resonating gravely and inhumanly, and like a loud echo echoing in the walls. Esther looked at her calmly, without a blink to this action. It won't help you to have me in handcuffs. I don't need my hands to torture you a thousand times in unimaginable ways until there is nothing more than an imitation of you. And the only thought you can formulate congruently in your mind will be the desire to die..."

Even when she stopped, her voice continued to rumble for a few more moments as if it made the walls tremble. Esther watched her silently during that entire period before. Then, out of nowhere, she let out a loud laugh of mockery that perplexed the Sullivan girl.

"I'm sorry," the stranger murmured as she contained her laughter. She then extended her left hand and placed it on Lily's forehead, pushing her back so that she was again against the bed. Later, Esther walked to the table where the television was. On one side of it were two white plastic bags. She took one of them and returned to the bed, all with a rather casual and uninhibited bearing. "Yes, from what I saw, I guess you could do that. But let me point out some implications

That you may not have considered, dear."

Esther placed the bag on the mattress, next to Lily's injured leg. She rummaged with her right hand in it, taking out after a while a red and white pack of cigarettes, and a disposable lighter. She opened the square packet, took out a cigarette from it, and placed it between her lips.

"One, you are handcuffed, and the key is not in this room, for safety," she said confidently, making four unsuccessful attempts before the lighter managed to keep her flame burning, enough to light the tip of her cigarette. She gave a small mouthful of smoke, which she let out almost immediately with a much more relaxed expression. "Two, you have no idea how to get out of this room, or where exactly we are. And three," she extended her hand with which she didn't hold her cigarette to Lily's leg, squeezing it just a little but enough for the little girl to let out a scream of pain "you have a bullet lodged in your leg, and this wound really looks ugly. How long do you think you can walk with that until someone finds you? If anyone finds you, because, as far as you can know, we could be in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, in an underground bunker, or across the street from the police headquarters; who knows?"

She approached the bureau on Lily's right side, where the gun was. Lily couldn't avoid looking at that sidelong gun, and Esther also noticed.

"Sure, I almost forgot," her kidnapper exclaimed with an almost overreacted surprise. She took the weapon with her right hand and leaned back over her hostage, sticking the tip of the weapon's barrel against Lily's soft cheek. Lily looked at her sideways, totally silent. "And four, another thing you can get with money is many, many bullets. And as you saw, even with your tricks, I know how to use them, especially now that I have you entirely still on one site. And don't hesitate it for a second: I don't care about the money or the information you worth; I won't restrain myself at the idea of make some pretty holes in that pretty little head. You would not be even the first naive girl to whom I do it."

At that moment, she smiled at her, with that grotesque way and those dirty teeth, causing her entire face to take on such an intimidating aspect that she was possibly not even aware of. It was as if it were merely natural.

Esther turned the revolver off her face. With her other hand, she took the ashtray that was also in the bureau and approached again where she was only a second ago. She placed the gun and the ashtray on the white sheets and dragged the chair so she could sit right front Lily's thigh.

"So, summarizing the issue," Esther muttered as she settled down and dropped some ash from her cigarette on the ashtray. "If you try something like what you did on the hospital, you'll end up dead or rotting in that bed for weeks before someone finds you. So, shut up your fucking mouth, stop pretending to be so rude, and let me heal your leg."

Before Lily could completely process that last comment, she noticed how her captor began to take more things out of the white bag. She did not recognize everything, but could see gauze, bandages, alcohol, iodine, a package of surgical gloves, a new scalpel, a cotton package (seemingly open), long and pointed surgical tweezers, among several other things.

"I would have wanted to let you sleep longer, but I need you awake for this," Esther commented with amazing naturalness.

"Are you crazy?" Lily snapped, scared and indignant. "I've to go to the hospital."

"And where do you think I just got you out with so many troubles? I'll just take out the bullet, clean the wound and bandage it. If I had damaged something important, you would have already bled to death. So, in addition to be a little bitch, you're a lucky one."

Lily took a deep breath, staring at Esther and totally corroded by anger. She tried to analyze her situation as quickly as she could. With her shouts, that girl showed that they were far from anyone who could listen or help her. Or the site, despite its appearance, was somehow anti-noise. Without being sure, she had to assume it was the first option. Yes, she could try to use her powers and manipulate her to release her and get out of there. However, it was right: she wouldn't go very far with that leg. She also believed her when she said that at the first sign of using this tactic, she would use that gun in her. She already did it once, what would stop her from doing it again? She could assume the risk and think she was boasting when said she wouldn't mind killing her if necessary, based on the fact that she hadn't done so until then, and is even worried about healing her injured leg. However, Lily didn't know how far she was willing to go without necessarily having to kill her. If her captor was half determined like her, it would be quite far.

From any side, everything seemed to indicate that she was in her hands. That didn't mean there wouldn't be a way she could manage, but she simply didn't see it at the time. The situation did not frighten her if she was able to feel such a thing. What it caused in her is anger, much anger, and frustration. Lily could not believe that anyone, whoever they were, could have reduced her to that condition: a helpless girl in her absolute mercy without having any control over it. Only someone else had caused her that uncomfortable and overwhelming feeling: Emily, when she started driving her car as deranged without caring to die herself to finish all. But now she seemed to be in a much more precarious situation than the day before, because Emily, until a certain point, was still predictable. But now, not even try to read her thoughts was enough to understand what that lunatic thought, as if her entire head was filled only with static from an old television.

Esther sat on the chair, and with small scissors, she began to cut the bandages that wrapped Lily's thigh, causing little pain.

"At least you've done this before?" Asked Lily clenching her teeth and looking away. Esther looked at her sideways with a mischievous smile.

"Sure, but never to another person," Esther answered, and Lily released a small silent curse upon hearing that. "But it should be easier. But I also bought a saw, so we can finish it faster if you want."

The girl turned to see her totally alarmed, her eyes wide. Esther laughed slightly mockingly.

"I'm just kidding," she said somewhat mischievously. Apparently, Lily was possible to feel a little scared after all.

Esther finished removing the bandages. Under them, against the wound, she had placed a rectangular dressing, which apparently had done its job well in stopping the bleeding. When she removed the dressing, Lily felt small pulsations of pain as she exposed the wound. It was practically a circular hole in her white skin the size of a coin. Her leg was so thin that it seemed strange that the bullet had not crossed it entirely. Some blood came from the wound, although lesser.

It was time to get to work.

Esther took two pillows from the floor and placed them in a pile under the injured leg to keep it somewhat elevated. The movement, again, caused the girl to exclaim a groan of discomfort, although she tried to hide it more this time.

"I really think we started off on the wrong foot, Lily," Esther said. "Can I call you Lily?"

"Screw you," the girl said without looking at her.

"It does not matter." She then took the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured part of it right over the wound area, causing Lily to almost jump out of bed. Then, with a clean cloth that she took out of new packaging, she began to clean the wound and all around it. "I'm afraid that we'll spend a lot of time together in the next few days. So, it will be better to start over. As I told you, my name is Esther, and that's how I like to be called. And I'm not your enemy, and I wasn't looking for you to hurt you. All this was your fault. If you had been a good girl, we would have left there without a problem, and I could even have bought you an ice cream."

Lily grimaced at her comment. Esther then took the iodine bottle and, with cotton, began to place the dark liquid around the wound. Again Lily winced a little.

"While I do this, what do you think if I tell you a story?" Suggested Esther with good cheer.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You'll like it, it's a funny story. It's a long, long time ago, about a girl like you, but born a little differently." Once she finished placing the iodine, Esther opened the package with the latex gloves and began to put them on; they were obviously too big for her small hands. "Her mother died just the day she was born and was taken care of by her father, a mean, ruthless and heartless man, who also hated her. He beat her tirelessly during the day, and at night... he did worse and more painful things with her." Lily suddenly put more interest in the story, though she tried to hide it. "She should hate him for all that, but she didn't. In fact, she developed a very special fixation for him... a fixation that no one else could understand, but which for her was pure and good."

Lily made an image in her mind of what she might be referring to, and it was hard for her to know if it disturbed her or indeed seemed... interesting. She had always had a particular fixation with that kind of thing, not very typical of a girl of her age.

Esther took another breath from her cigarette and then placed it back in the ashtray next to her. Once with the gloves on, she took two surgical forceps, some to keep the wound open and others to explore and find the bullet. She placed the first ones on the left hand and the others on the right. Inserted the tweezers and opened the wound as much as possible, causing an uncomfortable sensation in her "patient."

"As the years went by, this girl noticed that her body wasn't developing like the other girls. Her height had stagnated, her breasts didn't grow, and she never had her first period." Esther introduced the second clamps slowly into the wound. If Lily had had her hands free, she would have pressed the sheet tightly between her fingers. She really hoped she knew what she was doing. "And it was then when a doctor, among so much irrelevant medical talk that just gave a shit, dared to tell her on his face like a spit, that she would never grow up, and that she would never be a woman. That…" She suddenly gave a wry laugh, "created a certain short circuit in the head of our protagonist, which in fact was not quite right before that anyway."

Her tweezers touched a specific point inside the wound that made Lily's body shiver, and the kid let out a loud scream of pain. She quickly turned to see her, remarkably irritated.

"That must have been a nerve," Esther commented with notorious normality, without taking her attention from her work. "I think I'm close... What was I saying? Oh, yeah. A little after that, her father stopped being interested in her. Apparently, he was bored by her childish body, squalid, and without grace. He no longer even had an interest in hitting her. And then he got another woman; tall, voluptuous, wide hips, breasts like melons, thick red lips... everything she would never be. The little girl had to listen every night how his father fucks that whore in the next room, who groaned like a hungry bitch and shouted obscenities like prayers to heaven." Her tone took a grim feeling that even Lily had to admit that it intimidated her a little. "Until she could no longer. One night, while they both slept, naked, sweaty, and dirty, wrapped between the sheets, she entered her room with the sharpest knife in the kitchen and... Well, let's say the whore would not groan again with her throat sliced."

Lily's eyes narrowed a little. Was that "story" real? Or was she just trying to scare and bend her? Her instinct told that it was the first option, but more than scaring her, she was really unable at that moment to hide the fascination that all this caused in her. Of course, she would have preferred her not to say such things while doing all that with her leg.

"She didn't want to hurt her father," she continued, "but he looked for it, just like you. He woke up, tried to take the knife away, and she defended herself... one time... and another... and another until her hand got tired..."

Suddenly, a small metallic jingle was heard. Lily didn't really listen to it but felt it. Esther smiled, satisfied. He moved the clamp a little groped until she thought she had it. Then slowly removed the clamp from the hole. If perhaps the bullet was covering an artery, then she was about to receive an abundant stream of blood on her face, and then there would be nothing she could do for little Lily Sullivan, other than leave and let her bleed in peace; maybe she could be a bit pious and blow her brains and do it all faster. But again, luck was on the qualities of the little girl, because as soon as Esther took out that piece of the lead, whole and almost without losing her form, no more blood spilled than expected.

"Good, here's the little bastard," Esther exclaimed triumphantly, raising the bullet a little above her head to see it against the light. Lily also sighed in relief.

Esther placed the bloody bullet over the sheet to the side. She then took the hydrogen peroxide (but not before taking her cigarette and sucking it again) and cleaned the wound again.

"The story just gets worse from here on out. She had to wander everywhere to avoid ending up in jail, or in an insane asylum. At that time, she had to survive with the only thing she knew how to do: satisfy the most disgusting and vomiting desires of the perverts, who had no qualms about venting them on a little girl... or on someone they thought was one." Once she cleaned the wound, she placed a new dressing over it, covering it completely, and then went on to bandage it, also with a clean new bandage. "In the way, she had to use a knife, gun, or her own hands again to get rid of more men, including some clients. But in the end, she was found and put in an asylum."

She tightened the bandage, although not in an uncomfortable way, and secured it with two clasps.

"With this, you'll be fine for now," she said eloquently. She then took a rectangular box of pills from the pharmacy bag, and a more similar one, but red. "Take these every twelve hours for infection, and these others every eight to deflate and cushion the pain."

"Untie my hands, and I do it," Lily replied neutrally, which gave Esther a small smile.

"Nice try."

Esther walked to the bathroom, and Lily could hear the faucet in the sink opening for a few moments. A second later, she returned with a glass of water in one hand and two pills, one white and one pink, in the other. She sat on the bed next to her, and without saying anything, pushed the two tablets in her mouth before she could even think of refusing. Then approached the glass to him, and the girl had no choice but to accept the water to pass them, causing a sharp attack of cough, and part of that water was poured on it. Her caregiver ran a cloth over her lips to dry it.

"Surprisingly, she was calm in the asylum for a while. She even felt safe and comfortable there. There was a very handsome doctor who she liked. He reminded her so much... to his daddy." A smirk smiled on her lips, revealing her battered teeth again. "He was very kind to her, and she felt butterflies in her stomach every time they talked. But when she tried to show him what she felt for him, getting between his legs to apply all her mastery of the streets with no cost, the scoundrel rejected her. And she didn't take it very well. I don't know who comes up with a pen when interviewing someone... you know, a little crazy. Rookie mistake, I guess. But it looked very well stuck in his neck."

"My God," Lily said, not precisely frightened by the comment, but somewhat surprised.

"Don't play to be the little saint, that at ten years old, you aren't a candidate for the honor roll, are you?"

She stood and walked to the TV table, more specifically to another bag that was next to it. Apparently, it wasn't from the pharmacy, but Lily could only see that it had a green logo on her side. Esther took something elongated from the bag wrapped in colored paper. She returned to the chair on the side of the bed, and sat down quietly, crossing her legs. Upon unwrapping what she had in his hands, she revealed that it was a sandwich of white bread, apparently turkey breast, lettuce, and tomato. She took a small bite, noticing much satisfaction for that act.

"Our protagonist fled from that place," she continued, telling between bite and bite of the appetizer, "and then was picked up by a kind family who thought, like everyone else, that she was a helpless girl on one side of the road. They decided to help her, welcome her, and make her pretend to be her daughter to bring her here, to America. Not to make the story so long, that didn't work out very well either. Her new daddy also did not willingly accept her affection, so it all ended with some fire... no, let me fixed it: a lot of fire." She let out a loud, almost unhinged laugh, though it was cut almost immediately. "The third would be the charm... or, perhaps fourth? It doesn't matter. Eight years ago, the girl managed to be adopted by another lovely family, with a beautiful house, a handsome new dad, and two lovely siblings. But the mother was... quite suspicious and jealous. She didn't like the idea of sharing daddy's affection, so our protagonist wouldn't either."

"Let me guess, did she kill them all too?" Asked Lily wryly.

"No, but she tried," Esther replied between chuckles. "Are you hungry? I know you are."

At that moment, she placed her half-eaten sandwich right on Lily's chest, in a position she could see it with trouble, much less reach it with her mouth. The girl simply looked sideways, but Esther remained indifferent to this and concentrated more on finishing her story, as well on her cigarette.

"And that ended even worse than the previous times," she muttered slowly, exhaling smoke as she did so. "Have someone broken your neck? No, of course not. It's a funny feeling. You hear a loud crack. But not in your ears, but in your whole body, as if all your bones vibrate. And then there was the water, the cold water as you have no idea, going through every inch of skin as if it was hundreds of needles. But this feeling was appeasing as she sank deeper into that lake. Until everything was silence and darkness..."

Without even turning to see her, Esther retook the sandwich, and now she brought it close to Lily's lips enough. The kid was disgusted with the idea of eating that thing, but the truth was that she was hungry. She didn't know how much she had been unconscious, but it had definitely been enough, so she just ate a little while listening to her.

"And the story would end there, but suddenly... the light came back," Esther exclaimed in an almost melodramatic tone. "Her lungs filled with air, and she could feel again. Her body was out of the lake, lying in the snow. Even her own blood and mucous were frozen in her face, her neck barely hurt... But she was alive. And yet her mind was a little more lucid, you know?" A wide illuminated smile was drawn on her lips as if she was seeing the most beautiful gift under the tree in Christmas morning. "She could see things with a little more clarity. And for a long time, she was convinced that God had forgiven her, and had been the recipient of a beautiful miracle. She could imagine Him extending his omniscient hand from the heavens, to get her out of that ice because He loved her... like all her daddies."

She kept smiling for a while longer, but as the seconds went by, the smile faded. Now her expression was more similar to as if she had opened that gift, and inside it had only socks, shoes, or anything else except the toy she longed for so strongly. Esther breathed once more of her cigarette and then raised her hand a little to the front to contemplate it. It was the same hand in which a few days ago she was stabbed with scissors, and yet there was no mark on her skin."

The tone of the story became somewhat more somber, even more than during any of the past moments that merited it.

"But our protagonist very soon realized that this had not been precisely a divine miracle. And that perhaps it was not God who pulled her out of that lake that night, but something… more…" She pulled the sandwich from his hostage's mouth, and she ate again from it. Her eyes pointed at that moment towards the wall, but in reality, they looked at the absolute nothing. "I have always wanted to know what happened at that time, and because now I am as I am." Apparently, she had stopped expressing herself in the third person, what Lily supposed meant the story was over. "And everything seems to indicate that you'll be the key to discover it, you and the other girl that I must also find. Thanks to you, I can finally know the truth... so in one way or another, I will have to take care of you a little more."

She turned slowly toward her and smiled broadly in a way that perhaps in another kind of circumstance, someone might consider "sweet."

"Don't you think it's fun?"

Lily looked at her stoically and calmly. She no longer looked annoyed, at least not on the outside. If she had to guess, she would say that she was possibly analyzing in silence, either herself or everything she had just said.

"How old are you exactly?" Lily suddenly asked in a stern voice. Esther smiled funny.

"Really? Of all I just told you, is that the only thing you can think of asking?" Lily shrugged impassively, and Esther laughed again. "I think you and I will get along very well."

"I don't think so," Lily replied hoarsely.

"You'll see. I can be much nicer than I look." Then she leaned against the chair and took another bite of her sandwich. "I can only give you a couple of days to rest that leg. After that, we must go."

"Where?"

Esther thought a little while chewing her last bite of appetizer.

"To the north," she replied simply, "to an island called Moesko. To look for the other brat."

END OF CHAPTER 22

Author's Notes:

—A significant part of Esther's background story narrated in this chapter is based on what was seen in the movie Orphan (2009). However, some additional data were given about it in interviews but were not added to the film either due to lack of time or to be quite raw. Here I also gave a personal interpretation to these events, which I hope has been well.

#Lily Sullivan #case 39 #Esther Coleman #orphan #shining among darkness #resplandor entre tinieblas #wingzemonx #fanfic

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