#if my parents and brothers knew this was happening they’d be so angry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dumbass-tumbler-cryptid · 6 months

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Hello! So my little rant from the other day inspired a concept for a whole new fic and I just couldn't resist writing it! I have no idea what to call this which is why I'm posting it here before a03. If anyone has any suggestions let me know. (I was thinking sins of the father but i think there's already a Quaritch and Spider fic with that name)

Anyway the premise is that the recoms were grown on Pandora instead of Earth. Instead of just killing them it's decided that they'll just keep them comatose in their pods. Until a system failure wakes them up. Spider is only seven in this fic.

Edit: I have since named this fic. It's called Visited on the Son (thank you @nilnether for helping me pick the name) and you can find it on Ao3 here

Enjoy!

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He always felt calm in the tank room under the blue glow of the synthetic amniotic fluid. The only sounds came from the steady heartbeats of the sleeping Na’vi and the idol chatter of his best friend Kiri as she talked to her comatose mother. Spider sat, staring up at his father floating peacefully in his pod. He placed his hand on the glass, as if his touch could make the man wake up. But he never would. He wasn’t allowed to wake up.

“I went to the village today,” the seven year old said in a hush. “Me and my friends made bracelets! Until their sa’nu made me come back here. I don’t like here very much sempu. It’s….cold. But at least Kiri came back with me for a little bit. Until she has to go back home, to her family…..”

The door burst open making both children jump. “Miles!” Spider shrank in fear as his foster father stormed up to him. Mr. McCosker grabbed Spider’s arm, yanking him to his feet so hard he thought his arm would rip from its socket. “Did you go to the village without permission again!” The little boy whimpered, trying to avoid the man screaming in his face. “Answer me!” Nash shook him.

“Yes,” Spider cried.

“How many times do I have to tell you! No one wants you there!”

“I want him there,” Kiri yelled, “and so do my brothers!”

Spider smiled despite the tears in his eyes. Nash growled, “well the adults don’t want him there. And you know better than to just run off…”

“But you were busy,” Spider said timidly, “I just wanted to play…”

Nash roughly pulled on his arm again making Spider yelp, “oh you just wanted to play,” his foster father mocked, “you can play by yourself! Do you have any idea the trouble you cause every time you do this!” Nash spun him around to face his sempu. “You're just like your father. A wicked little beast. Why they even bother keeping these things alive is beyond me. It’s a waste of time and resources. Just like you.” Spider’s bottom lip trembled but he didn’t shed a tear. He was used to Mr.McCosker’s angry rants. “Now come on! I hope you like your room because you're gonna be spending a lot of time in there thinking about what you did. And you can forget about dinner….”

Spider locked eyes with Kiri as he was dragged from the room. He waved, giving her a sad smile, mouthing bye. He knew she wanted to fight for him. They’d been through this all before and so she knew that Spider would rather she stay out of it. Still she smoldered with rage, fist clenched at her sides. Spider spared one last glance at his father’s tank before being completely taken from the room. Bye sempu.

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That night as Spider tried and failed to sleep with his painfully empty stomach an alarm sounded through all of Hell’s Gate having the entire base up and moving in moments. Spider covered his ears burying himself under his blankets as red lights flashed. This had never happened before. What is this? What should I do? He could faintly hear his foster parents through the noise, Mr.McCosker stomping through the apartment and out the door, Mrs. McCosker pacing the living room as she made a call. But Spider didn’t want to go to them. He didn’t want to be anywhere near them.

He focused his attention through the small window above his bed. The floodlights were on outside as people ran back and forth. He knew deep down that something was seriously wrong. But it couldn’t be too bad if his foster parents hadn’t come to get him. They wouldn’t just leave him behind, right? Eywa help me, he silently prayed.

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The first thing he was aware of was the heaviness of his own breathing. Then came the sound of his heart beating slow and steady. Next was the feeling of floating. Finally as his senses returned he opened his eyes to a mix of soft shimmering blue light and harsh flashing red. What in the fuck, Miles thought as he took it all in. He was in a tank. He raised his fist to beat on the glass, making him see his body for the first time.

Ain’t this a bitch. He was na’vi now. Which only meant one thing. Focus he willed himself. First order of business was getting out of the tank. He’d deal with the rest later. Miles placed his hand on the glass, getting a scene of its thickness. Too thick to break. He looked towards his feet then above his head finding exactly what he’d hoped. An escape hatch. A few good twists was all it took for him to spill out of the container onto the linoleum floor of the labs.

His eyes roved his surroundings. The computers blared a message of system failure. No doubt the reason he woke up. To his right was the exit. To his left a row of familiar faces all wide eyed and banging on their tanks for release. Miles stumbled as he rose on unsteady alien legs. He persevered making his way to the other tanks, freeing his team one by one. “What’s going on boss,” Lyle said.

“Isn’t it obvious? We died. And now we're back.”

Lyle rolled his eyes, “I get that but this…”

“We weren’t supposed to wake up,” Z said, staring at the computer screen, “and if we’re only waking up because of a computer glitch….” She let the implication hang in the air as they all sprung into action, dressing in whatever clothes the avatars had left behind, making weapons from broken chair legs and glass shards, each looping a na’vi breathing mask around their neck.

“Alright people,” Miles said when they were ready, “for our sins in our past life we have been brought back as the enemy. In enemy territory no less. We don’t know what things look like past those doors so be ready for anything. Head on a swivel,” his team nodded, “alright. Let’s move out.” They made their way down the red lit hall in formation, Miles leading them. Aside from the alarm it was eerily quiet. All the personnel must have been off somewhere dealing with the system failure.

It only took a few quick glances for Miles to know exactly where he was. Hell’s Gate. Home sweet home. He knew this place like the back of his hand. He led his team not to the control center but to the living quarters. They’d surely be able to take some hostages there, grill them for more information. How long had it been? Who was in command? What happened to the R.D.A. His team's survival hinged on these answers.

The hallway of apartments was deserted, doors left ajar from hasty exits. They searched the rooms one by one, not a soul in sight. “Maybe we should just run while we have the chance,” said Lyle, “we don’t need masks to breathe out there anymore. We can survive…”

“I’m not runnin’ like a coward,” Miles growled. He needed to know what happened. Not only in the war but also to…

They entered the final apartment on the right hand side of the hall. Just like all the others the place had been fled in a hurry, all the doors left open. Except for one. Miles raised his fist signaling, hold tight on me. Cautiously he opened the door to find a child’s room. The furniture was small, made for a toddler but the few articles of clothing strewn about the room suggested a child in the age range of six to eight. Miles’ eyes zeroed in on a form, too big for its little bed, curled up in its sheets. “Prager,” he called, “kill that alarm would y’a.” Prager nodded, expertly having the wires of the screaming red light out and severed in seconds plunging them into blissful silence.

Who could leave a child behind like this, Miles thought as the form shifted. Big brown eyes peaked out at him, wide and curious, not an ounce of fear. Miles dropped down to the kids level, “hi there,” he said gently reaching out to pull the cover back.

“You're awake,” the child said in an awed hush.

That made Miles still, “you know me?”

The kid nodded under the covers, “they said you’d never wake up.”

“Who said that?”

“Jake, Norm, the McCoskers. Everyone. They said you were too bad to wake up. So if you're awake does that mean you're not bad anymore? Or was I bad enough to be put to sleep…”

A chill went up Miles' spine, “why would they put you to sleep? You're just a kid.”

“Because I’m bad. The McCosker’s tell me all the time. And Mrs.Sully says I’m a demon's son…

Miles sucked in a breath. Mrs.Sully. Jake’s little na’vi girlfriend, the one that made him turn traitor. He knew exactly who would draw her hatred enough to damn a son for their father’s sins. A dangerous hope flaired to life but he fought to push it down. It’s not him. They would have sent him back to Earth. “Can you sit up please so I can get a look at you,” he coaxed the boy.

He complied, wrapping the sheets around his shoulders. The boy reached out a little hand touching Miles face, “your real. You really woke up sempu.”

Miles hardly knew any na’vi but he knew that word for sure. He studied the boy in front of him knowing in his gut that he was his. He had his father’s brow and nose. His mother’s cheeks, her smile. Most importantly their son had the brown eyes of Miles’ lover, the woman he knew without a doubt was dead. She’d never leave her son behind like this. Wouldn’t let this little boy's long, dry, blond hair, start to mat in places. The kid's stomach rumbled. She wouldn’t let him go hungry. “Miles?”

He nodded, “yeah, but people only use that name when I’m bad. Most people call me Spider.”

Miles hid his scowl, masking it with a huff of a laugh, “why do they call you that?”

Spider perked up, giving him a sunny smile that melted his father’s heart, “because I like to climb!” Miles chuckled for real at his son’s clear enthusiasm. It’s just a nickname, he reasoned with himself. It would be easier than having two Miles’.

Spider’s smile slipped as his stomach growled again, making him wrap his arms around himself. Miles scowled. “Who’s closest to the kitchen,” he called.

“Me,” Mansk answered.

“Grab somethin’ for my boy to eat would y’a…”

“But…The McCosker’s will get mad at me. I’m in trouble for leaving and if I…”

“Who are the McCosker’s,” Miles asked with an undertone of malice. Who ever they were he already hated them.

Spider averted his gaze, mumbling, “they’re my foster parents…”

Miles lifted the boy’s little head looking him square in the eye, “well daddy’s back now. And I say you're gonna eat.” Mansk entered with a sandwich cut in half. “Come here.” Spider watched curiously as his father stood but clearly panicked when the man picked him up, sitting on the bed and settling Spider on his lap in one swift movement. Miles took note of his son’s clear distress. He was rigid in his arms, blank faced. The father bounced his son on his knee trying to calm him down. Mansk handed the sandwich to Miles who then offered a bite to Spider. Hesitantly he took it.

“Good boy,” Miles said gently, rubbing his son’s back. Whether it was the praise or the touch Spider slightly relaxed. “Is it good?” Spider gave a small happy nod. Miles smiled back. “Good. Now what do you say to uncle Mansk?”

Spider turned to the recom, “thank you.”

He sounded so sweet that the hardened soldiers in the room couldn’t help but melt. “You're welcome,” Mansk said.

“Spider,” Miles called, drawing his son’s attention, “how old are you now.”

“Seven,” he answered absentmindedly, enjoying his meal.

Seven. Making it roughly six years since the war. “A big boy,” Miles bounced his son again, eliciting a little giggle from the boy that made his father grin, his heart warming. “You know when you were little I was in charge around here. Do you know who’s in charge now?”

“Jake,” Spider said without a care. The rest of the room quietly took in this information. If that traitor was running things now then they’d have to play their cards right if they wanted to get out of this one alive.

“He’s quite the fighter. I know we couldn’t take him, or his army,” Miles said keeping his tone light hearted for his son’s sake. His team was smart enough to catch on to what he really meant. Spider nodded his agreement. “Say, why’d Jake keep us asleep?” Miles said while tucking his son’s hair behind his ear so he wouldn’t accidentally eat it as he devoured his food.

Spider shrugged, “I heard him say once that only a coward would kill a man in his sleep. That’s why I guess.”

Miles could respect that. If Jake was honorable enough to not strike when they were most vulnerable, Miles was willing to bet that Jake would at least put them through some sort of trial before executing them. And that would open up a whole world of possibilities. “That was mighty kind of him. I’d sure like to thank him for keeping us all alive and thrivin’.”

Spider’s eyes lit up, “you do?”

Miles nodded, “sure I do!” His team displayed a mix of emotions as his real intentions set it. They were surrendering.

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Jake led the recoms like dogs on a leash, their hands bound and bodies tied together in a line, avatars keeping them on track with loaded guns. “Quite the trek gettin’ to your little village,” Miles said.

Jake scowled, “don’t talk to me.”

“What’s the matter Jake? We can’t have a nice conversation together?” Jake pointedly ignored him. “You all really let my boy walk all the way to the village by himself?”

“He’s not your son,” Jake hissed.

“I beg to differ. You can’t call him a demon’s son then turn around and say he doesn’t belong to me.” Jake smoldered with rage but stayed quiet. “Unless you're saying that I am not in fact Miles Quaritch, in which case me and my team can’t be held accountable for the actions of our genetic predecessors…”

“Of course your Quaritch,” Jake snapped, “that body is nothing but a blank slate. It’d sleep forever without some kind of driver…”

“So that means I’m Miles Quaritch, father of Miles “Spider” Socorro….” Jake growled, walking faster, harshly tugging on his leads to make the recoms do the same. The recoms all snickered. “I should thank you though Jake for not slandering me in front of my son. He knows I’m “bad” but doesn’t seem to know how bad…”

“It wasn’t intentional. How the hell are you supposed to tell a kid his father is responsible for the deaths of hundreds.”

“Fair.” They quieted as they approached the village. The Omatikaya lined the walkway screaming and hissing as the recoms were led to the heart of the village. Their tsahik Mo’at waited there with her daughter at her side, Neytiri’s teeth bared and snarling. Miles inclined his head to her as the recoms were lined up, “Mrs. Sully.”

“Demon!” Neytiri lunged at him, knife in hand.

“Daughter,” her mother held up her hand, placating Neytiri. She backed down but still stood ready to strike. Mo’at fixed them with a hard stare that even Miles felt uneasy under. She walked around them picking at their ears and tails, analyzing them coldly. Once she was satisfied she stood before them, the entire village waiting with bated breath for her verdict. To the shock of all, the tsahik laughed. “Ah, the great mother knows what she’s doing. You demons who so brutally destroyed our home and slaughtered our people. With no respect for the great balance! Eywa has made you one of us so you could connect and feel the devastation you brought among the people!” The villagers all screamed their agreements. “I can think of no greater punishment than to make you learn our ways. Make you understand and feel what you have done until you are so remorseful that you weep at the foot of the Tree of Souls and beg the great mother for forgiveness!” The village roared.

Miles stood there in shock. He’d expected to have to plead his case. Argue that his team were clones of their predecessors. That they couldn’t be held accountable for what they’d done. “So…your not gonna execute us?”

Mo’at looked at him in confusion, not understanding his words. Jake said, “Na’vi don’t do executions. They banish their criminals to the ash lands. But I’d tried to convince Mo’at to make an exception for you.”

Miles grinned, “well it looks like you failed…” Mo’at raped him with her walking stick right between his eyes making Miles stumble back.

“Do not think you are getting off easy! If you want to live then you will learn our ways. If you refuse I have no issue banishing you from this land. Then your fate will truly lie with Eywa.”

“Yes ma’am.” Miles bowed his head to her, the other recoms following suit.

“You will come back here tomorrow and every day after until your insanity is cured,” they nodded their agreement, “good. Now away with you!” The clan jeered and hissed as Jake led them back towards Hell’s Gate.

When they were well away from the village Miles spoke, “well, now that that’s settled, let’s talk about my boy…”

Jake scowled, “no..”

“I want back custody…”

“Absolutely not!”

“Tell me Jake, what happened last night?” Jake paused. Knowing exactly where this was going he stayed silent. “I know Hells Gate better than anyone. If anything goes haywire the systems automatically reroute power to keep the control room and the cafeteria powered and oxygenated. That’s what happened last night and those damn McCoskers left Spider behind to die! How long do you think it would’ve taken for the living quarters to run out of oxygen….”

Jake sighed, “Where having a meeting with the McCoskers when we get back…”

“And I want to be there..”

“No.”

“He’s my son! They sure as hell don’t want him! Do you want him Jake?” He shifted uncomfortably, choosing not to answer. “How about you? Do you want my kid,” Miles asked Norm. Norm also stayed quiet. “Is there a single person on that base that could give my son a lovin’ home…”

“We’re going to work something out…”

“Yeah you're gonna give me my kid.” Jake clenched his jaw, choosing to ignore Miles for the rest of the walk.

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“We don’t want him anymore,” Nash said, “he’s too wild. We’re having our own baby soon…and now that his father’s back…”

“Quaritch can’t have Spider,” Jake said.

“Why not? We’re not executing him, we’re not really imprisoning him and he wants the kid. I say let him have his little bastard…”

“Don’t call him that!” Jake yelled, fighting to maintain some level of calm.

Norm gave his friend a sympathetic smile, “we can’t let Spider stay with Nash and Mary anymore. Not after last night…” Nash didn’t even seem guilty over leaving a child to die, “….and remember the last time we had to find a placement for Spider…” Jake most certainly did. No one had been willing to take the boy. They’d had to twist Nash’s arm just to accept Spider in the first place, which was now blowing up in their faces in spectacular fashion.

“I don’t want Quaritch to win here…”

“It’s not about that Jake. It’s what’s best for Spider..”

“How could that monster be what’s best for him!”

“It’s better than nothing!” Jake scoffed, “We’ll watch Quaritch like a hawk. If anything happens to Spider we’ll take him away in a second…”

“Oh come on now,” the man in question finally said, “i’m a lot of things but do you really think I’d hurt my own child!”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise,” Jake snapped.

“You put Spider in the custody of two people who left him to die! Who let him starve! What else have they been doing right under your nose?” Jake had the decency to look guilty.

Nash waved him off, “let him have his kid Jake. It’ll be enough punishment for him.” Jake had to stop Quaritch from lunging across the table to throttle Nash, the recom turning purple from how incensed he was.

“Fine!” Jack shouted if only to stop Quaritch from committing murder, “you can take custody of Spider! But if you hurt him I swear…”

“Pff..” Quaritch shook him off, “please. I couldn’t do any worse than you.”

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The recoms were locked into the avatar quarters for the night. Not that they minded. It finally gave them a chance to speak openly after their first chaotic day in their new bodies. “So we’re really just gonna go along with all this boss,” Prager asked.

Miles nodded, “the R.D.A is gone. For now at least. We hang tight, learn the savages way, worm our way into the rebels' operations. We’ll be sitting real pretty when the company makes their comeback.” Everyone grinned, a few cheering for their new found mission. Miles couldn’t help but smile back, “alright now get some shut eye. We got a long day tomorrow.” The others nodded agreements before settling into bed. Miles did the same. He smiled to himself thinking about tomorrow. First they’d have their silly ass lessons in the village. But then they’d start renovations on Miles' apartment from back in the day, getting it all ready for Spider to move in. A home for me and my son. He couldn’t wait.

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Hope you liked it! I do know how I'm ending this fic already but if you have any ideas for bonding/learning moments that you'd like to see I'll be happy to write them.💞

#miles spider socorro #spider socorro #miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #my fanfic

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aealzx · 5 months

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I was curious i stumbled upon your blog from seeing your fic the 03 crossover on ao3. I do remember seeing the art on here. Since he’s my personal fav i wanted to ask. What’s your opinion on Raph? I mean for both iterations ROTMNT and 03.

Yes I post CDK on both here and AO3 8’D

And oh boy, buckle up kiddo I have a lot of opinions on dear Raphie *cracks fingers*

(jk it's actually not that long even under the cut X'D)

TLDR:

2003 Raph: Summed up Raph is home, safety, and warmth wrapped in an awkward bubble that doesn’t word well but will absolutely fight for those who deserve it.

Rise Raph: An adorable puppy that I look up to when it comes to dealing with people and selflessness for the sake of others, and I would adopt him in a heartbeat and smother him with plushies because he's such a good boy.

More in depth thoughts in a scrambled mess below the cut.

First, since he’s older

2003 Raph:

I first watched TMNT 2003 when I was a youngish teenager I think, and I will fully admit I was a little afraid of Raph at that time 8’D I have a really bad tolerance towards anger, I get freaked out easily and afraid I’ll get hurt or yelled at even if I didn’t do anything wrong. So having Raph portrayed heavily as “the angry one” made it hard for me to get attached to him. BUT, after growing up and watching 2003 just before starting CDK I have gotten soooo attached to Raph. This guy is not “angry” all the time, he’s open, honest, and passionate. This guy is the reason the others get out of the house. He’s the reason the others live and get into the fun times. And while Mikey certainly helps with being the life of the party, Raph is also the shield of everyone who deserves it. This guy is the most dad/big bro out of the four, and while Don could probably take care of a kid the best based on technicalities, Raph is the one that would keep them safe. Raph is home. Raph is the safety net that keeps the family warm. Because while Don is the heart of the group and we know they fall apart without him, Don wouldn’t have a voice without Raph because Don is too soft to fight back when Raph will. Donnie is still my all time favorite of the TMNT 2003 boys, but just barely. If Don is 100/100 on the favorite meter, then Raph is 99/100. He kicked Leo out of the second favorite spot for me on my recent watch.

Rise Raph:My first exposure to Rise Raph was my sister sending me the scene of Raphie crying over not being able to figure out how to help his family after they’d just lost Karai, and I have to admit the only thing I thought was “oh that’s nice, Raph actually cries in this one”. And then I actually watched the show (because sis insisted I watch the movie and I knew I needed context to fully enjoy it) and omg the Rise bros (and April) have the unique case of all being just about equal in my favorites tier. But specifically about Rise Raph this boy is a puppy and also I would adopt him and his family in a heartbeat because he’s also the sweetest lil guy and so good at watching out for others without being smothering. And just like 2003 Raph, Rise Raph is the protector of the family. Not because he happens to be the biggest and therefore the tank class, but because he wants to. I think he finds comfort in others being safe - feeling safe- and having fun. He thrives off taking care of others even though he’s not perfect at it. But him not being perfect, not making the most amazing meals, not being prim and proper, maybe getting a little dirty and bending a few rules, is what makes him charming. He’s not “attempt at being the perfect parent” 2003 Leo, he’s big brother Raphie that will cuddle with you in a mound of soft teddy bears, or throw you across the room in a roughhouse depending on what you need. Sure Leo really knows how to annoy the crap out of him, but I don’t think it’s because Raph thinks Leo is irresponsible or a bad kid. It’s much more infuriating to know that someone can be amazing, but seeing them chose not to, and you don’t know how to help them see they can be so much more than they are. And it’s easy to see that regardless of any of his siblings being annoying there’s nothing they can do that will make him hesitate even slightly in helping them when they need it. I don’t think Raph became a parent to the others like some of the fandom does. I think he’s just an adorable, soft, warm teddy bear big brother that did really well in his part of the whole family keeping each other afloat.

If I had 03 Raph as my uncle and Rise Raph as my brother I would be a lot more outspoken and rather reckless because I would have the upmost confidence that they would have my back and would keep me safe.

#anon ask #mun response #about Raph #love him #best boy #2003 Raph #Rise Raph #opinion #scrambled thoughts

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figurativepieceoftrash · 8 months

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Avid supporter of avoiding your wips.

Not sure if you have something you specifically want to write but Fiend!Aki has been rotting in my own drafts with no where to go

There were so many ways I could've interpreted this prompt and I'm almost 100% certain I did it wrong but here's an Asa/War spin on the Aki and Gun Devil situation, for, y'know, funsies

Sorry it took so long, I ended up procrastinating on this just like I do my wips, so y'know, obviously this exercise worked out super well :P

Here you go regardless <33

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Aki doesn’t remember much about the incident.

The sound of gunshots. Scattered screams. A stinging, smokey smell thick in the air, as dense and inescapable as the aftermath of Obon. Cold metal smattered across his taste buds, rife with the selfsame rust-touched exigency as blood.

He’d been dreaming, or so Denji relates from the bedside of a maximum security hospital room. A dream he’s certain he could recall, if he wished to. He doesn’t.

Makima had called him lucky, as she’d studied him with those hypnotic, unblinking eyes. Unharmed, save a few noncommittally lingering scars.

She’d dragged a slow, lazy finger across the red band of his upper arm, and his heart had raced thrice as swiftly in his chest. Said something about them having to reattach it in the ER, about Denji having done quite the number.

Aki hadn’t heard a thing. He’d been far too busy staring into those eyes. They’d lit something in the back of his brain, a sharp, nagging spark of recognition, persistent and enduring. It was only then he’d thought to ask after the Angel Devil, only then that he’d been certain the two were conversing, when it’d happened.

The spark in the barrel. The moment of ignition. The suckerpunch recoil.

Makima had just smiled. Pressed a smooth, gentle fingertip to Aki’s lips. Somehow, after that, the question didn't matter. It still doesn’t.

“You’re a very unique specimen, Aki,” Makima had noted, head cocked and eyes alight with dark curiosity, “can you tell me why the Gun Devil has taken such a keen interest in you?”

He’d tried not to flinch at the name. He’s still upset that he’d failed. “No. Just that I wish it hadn’t.”

The corners of her mouth had twitched at that. Such a minute movement, so human, but Aki had found an impression of intentionality in it, somehow. The careful, premeditated performance of organic vulnerability.

“You’d rather it left you to die?”

He’d thought of Power, then. Of Denji. No.

The death count still rolling across the wall-mounted hospital television, the footage of a gun barrel protruding from his forehead, his brother, his parents, his commitment. Yes.

What he says is “maybe.”

She’d laughed at that, high and clear as a bell, and Aki isn’t even angry for it. He can’t be. It’s Makima.

“I’m glad,” she’d said, “that you’re mine.”

Aki couldn’t agree more. He just wishes the back of his brain would too. It’s still sounding off even now, muted as it is. Still doesn’t like the look of Makima, of her eyes.

Still thinks of Angel, even when Aki finds he can’t.

“This sucks.” Power’s complaints had been predictably ineloquent. “The apartment is trashed so I can’t see Meowy, this hospital is super boring, and Denji doesn’t even have enough cash to buy me stuff from the vending machine. I’m hunggggryyyyy!”

She wasn’t trying to be insensitive, Aki knew. If things had been difficult for her after their run in with the Darkness Devil, they were even more difficult now that she’d seen one of the few enduring constants in her life behave unpredictably. Dangerously. Lethally.

He’d almost killed Denji. Several times he’d almost killed Denji. So he’d offered her an arm.

“Here. Only take a little. If you bite too hard I’ll knee you in the stomach.”

She’d been quick to accept the offer and even quicker to disregard the warning, needle-sharp teeth breaking over his skin and digging straight into sensitive nerves. He’d forced himself to take his eyes off the river of stray blood that slid down his bicep. It resurfaced too many memories. Memories of gunshots and screams, smoke and metal.

“Yuck!” The exclamation had taken him completely by surprise. Doubly so when Power had withdrawn to spit the contents of her mouth down the front of his hospital gown. “Fiend blood can be so gross. This stuff tastes like steel.”

“Thanks,” he’d muttered darkly, thoughts turning over the heart of her complaint as he’d risen to visit the bathroom.

Fiend blood.

It was the first time anyone had said it aloud, in those terms. He's fine with amalgam. With anomaly. Even threat is alright, considering that it is, for all intents and purposes, accurate.

And the fact that it, like its equally vague, shapeless peers, places distance between Aki and the thing he's become. A thin wall of uncertainty to shield the was from the is. The familiar from the unthinkable.

Aki always thought he hated false comforts. Now, he's beginning to suspect he'd just never been introduced to a truth worthy of delusion.

It visits him sometimes, the Gun Devil, always in the dead of night and always terribly, gut-wrenchingly accusatory. Vaguely translucent, it positions itself in the corner of his room and stays there. Mute. Gleaming. Inhumanely still.

Power and Denji can't see it, of course, which means that one way or another, it resides in Aki’s head. This should be comforting, according to Makima, the fact that the Gun Devil is contained, and better, under control of the Japanese government.

There's no real control to this though, Aki thinks, the strange pseudo-peace between himself and the time bomb ticking within the fragile confines of his skull. Just the illusion of it.

He doesn't recall anything leading up to the inciting incident. Doesn't know how he died or what allowed the devil to take control. Why it lost it, following his concussion. When it might try its luck again.

This is why Aki has been forced to reside in the Commission’s headquarters, subject to intrusive levels of surveillance and constant physical surveys. Partial host autonomy isn't unheard of, in the case of fiends, but it is exceedingly rare, especially regarding beings of the Gun Devil's caliber.

Aki imagines he can't be as singular as Denji, but then again, Denji isn't quite so unpredictable. The Gun Devil can't be sated by the promise of simple pleasure, can't be reasoned with, or even communicated with, to Aki’s most meticulous observation.

It's as thoughtless as it is brutal, the epitome of action without thought. Maybe this is because it's technically incomplete, or maybe it's because the concept it represents is ultimately more tool than perpetrator. Aki can't say.

Can't force himself to care, either.

He glares at the thing when it shows its presence, hurling the occasional obscenity in the case that he's certain of his own seclusion. Nothing impacts it though, not really. It just stares, and stares, and stares.

Makima’s visits are sporadic at first, cursory and seemingly meaningless, but they grow with time, both in consistency and purpose. Oddly enough, most of her inquiries don't relate to Aki’s condition. They relate to Denji.

“Is he progressing socially with the staff?”

“How attached would you say he is to his new accommodations?”

“Is he happy?”

Aki doesn't question Makima's seeming obsession–in all honesty, he suspects he couldn't if he wanted to. He just nods along or shakes his head as required, answering swiftly and candidly as he's able.

Giving Makima the things she wants is second nature, simpler and more automatic than breathing. He never thinks to question it, if he even thinks at all.

The Gun Devil appears sometimes, just after she leaves the room. These are the only occasions in which it seems to display agency, or at the very least, some degree of behavioral variation. Because then, it doesn't stare at Aki. It stares at the door.

It stares after Makima.

“Does the Chainsaw Devil ever do that?” He can't help but ask over a tray of bland hospital food. Power and Denji already swiped up everything with flavor. “Manifest visually?”

“Like, can I see him? Nah.” Denji frowns, the expression oddly melancholic. “Wish I could, though.”

And Aki is just as lost as ever.

The doctors tell him his vitals are normal. That his brainwaves are consistent. Obviously his head isn't a gun.

“You can't transform at will?” One asks, eyebrow raised. “That's unusual, based on what we've observed.”

Aki just shrugs. What about his situation isn't?

He gets the impression that the commission is dissatisfied with his lack of control over the Gun Devil, presumably because it means they can't effectively employ it.

“We've lost more than we've gained here,” one surveyor whispers to another when they think he's asleep, though he isn't quite lucid enough to catch the rest of it. He does think on though, at least until Makima returns and his mind, once again, goes numb.

Things are consistent, for a good while. Predictable. Almost comfortable, if he ignores his midnight visitor. Power finds a hobby in harassing the hallway guards. Aki learns the weekly rotation schedule of his doctors. Denji is relaxed again. Contented, just like Makima seems to desire.

And Aki, too, is happy. Until one night, without warning or prior fanfare, something changes.

It's dark outside, far past one in the morning, and silent for it. Nothing distracts Aki from his mute, late night musings aside from Power and Denji’s soft, even breathing and the familiar background whirr of facility electronics.

And then, something speaks.

“You should run.”

Aki jolts up, ramrod straight, in bed, stirring, but not waking, Denji and Power with the motion. The voice is foreign, deep and grating like rebar dragging across concrete, and it sets every nerve in his body immediately on edge.

His gaze lands, immediately, on the figure in the corner of the room. His body with a full pistol for a head. The thing is stone-still. Expressionless, insofar as a gun can be.

But somehow, he's absolutely certain he heard it talk.

He wraps a protective arm around each form at his side, trying to ignore the persistent shaking that's overtaken his hands. “Are you threatening me?”

It cocks its head to the side, as if in contemplation. Waits for a moment. Makes an odd noise somewhere between a click and a whirr.

“She's coming. You should run.”

Aki blinks, perturbed. “She?”

“She.” It nods, slow and self-assured. “You won't like what happens after.”

“I– what the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

As if in explanation, the thing raises a hand, ring and pinky finger pressed to the palm, and points purposefully at first Power, then Denji, performing short, jolting upwards motions towards each. A firing fingergun.

Aki's blood runs icecold.

“You're going to make me hurt them again, aren't you?”

“No.” It somehow has the gall to sound offended. “She is.”

“She? Who the fuck is she? I don't–”

“Control.” It says the word with such fearful, adorant gravity. As if it's speaking of a superior. As if it's speaking of a god. “She approaches.” Then, in a sharp, purposeful whisper, a bullet from a barrel, it utters the word again. “Run.”

Aki doesn't trust the thing. Not even moderately. But hearing this thing, this vast, limitless, horrible, inhuman thing, express terror, of all emotions, is enough to light a fire under his ass. To force adrenaline through his veins. To break him from his odd, trancelike haze.

He shakes Power with one hand and Denji with the other.

“How dare you wake the great, indomitable Power while she's resting, you absolute–”

“Hey, what the hell, man? I was dreamin’ about tits–”

“Shut up.” And like dogs at a whistle, they do. “We're going out for a run. Get your shoes, we can't take anything else.”

There must be something in his tone, because neither protest. Just nod with varying degrees of enthusiasm and run to the mat at the doorside to retrieve their sneakers.

The halls are labyrinthine, and Aki doesn't know them well. Navigating them is a guessing game in broad daylight; after dark, it's an impossibility.

But Power seems to know where she's going, either by smell or by sound, and when she decides to lead the way through the Commission facility's winding corridors, Aki makes the bold decision to follow her lead.

Usually the place never sleeps, constantly outfitted and operated by federal pencil-pushers and devil-hunters alike, but tonight, it's completely and utterly empty. Even the guards outside of Aki’s room are absent.

“Somethin's off,” Denji voices Aki’s concerns between hastened breaths, “like, really off. This place feels… weird.”

It would be impossible to disagree. The difference may be strange and implacable, aside from the lack of personal, but it does.

“How'd you know?”

Aki tried to shrug. Tries not to look at the thing keeping pace besides him. It may look calm, but he knows that the truth is anything but. Fear is radiating off it in waves, fear and a cold, overpowering desire for liberation.

“Just did.”

The thing at his side offers updates, as they run.

“She knows you've left the room.”

“She follows, close behind.”

“It is likely she will catch you.”

They aren't particularly helpful.

Not until, the trio turn a corner, exit suddenly in sight, to hear a fourth tactile presence enter the hallway.

“She's here.”

And she is. The approaching clack of heeled footfalls confirms it. The sense of oppressive calm that washes over Aki, a blanket. The familiar voice that wraps around the walls to reach his ears.

“Stop running.”

And he does. How couldn't he? It's Makima.

Denji stops too, turning on his heel with a massive, world-spanning grin, but Power doesn't. She keeps running until she hits the doors, only turning to cast a terrified scowl over her shoulder.

“Not safe!” She growls, animalistic, “keep running! Keep running!”

“It's just Makima.” Denji sounds so sure of himself. And he should. All is right in the world. All is calm. Makima will fix things. She always does.

And then, she's in sight, cheerful and unblinking, and Aki can't help but grin in turn.

“Come here,” she orders him, arms outstretched. And the order is for him, he knows, he can feel it. “Not you,” she adds, likely to Denji, “just him, for now.”

So instead, Denji speaks. “Makima, something weird’s going on, the place is totally empty and–”

“Shhh.” Soft and gentle, that's how the sound escapes her lips. Like silk Like a sigh.

“You walk to your death.” The Gun Devil, again. Only this time, its words mean nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. “You readily embrace it. Do not be so foolish.”

As Aki draws near, her arms wrap around him like a cradle, head resting against her shoulder. The low, warning roar grinding through his mind fades to nonexistence.

“It wasn't supposed to happen like this,” she breathes in the crux of his neck, “so suddenly. You were meant to die then, you know. Now, I don't think I'll let you die at all. That might be more effective, hm? At least as a failsafe.”

Aki nods. Of course Makima is right. She always is.

“Makima?” Denji doesn't sound scared. Not yet. Just confused. “What's going on? Is this–”

“Denji?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Shut up.”

They're odd words, coming from Makima’s lips. Odd, and callous, and just upsetting enough that the Gun Devil's words are able to find an opening, one last time.

“Run.”

Aki would like to say he tries. But he doesn't.

“Transform.”

And then, Aki's world goes black.

#csm #my writing #ask tag #et tu Cyber #I'm sorry if this is like. really bad hchffhjvjg #I've never written for csm before so uh. fingers crossed #didn't want to disappoint you so I sorta just went for it lol

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fgfluidity · 8 months

Text

pincera (part 4)

Summary: pincera- Latin, ‘cup-bearer, one who mixes drinks’ || When one man goes off to war, a battle may still rage at home.

Pairings: Damien/DA, Celine/Mark, Celine/Will

Tags: Alcohol, Bootlegging, Adultery, WWI, Fights, implied Overserving, Abusive Parents, Autistic!Seer!DA

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

@opprose @statictay @volbeast @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp @hapikiou (and if anyone else wants to be tagged lmk!

Wil went off to war early.

They played games as children, when they didn’t each carry so much responsibility; under Wil’s-- rather loud-- command, they’d march up and down the back garden, scramble up the furniture on the back patio to keep watch, take point if Wil’s sweet tooth happened to rear up and he needed some kind of sweet treat from the kitchen without getting caught.

Damien didn’t think much of it, then. The world, as far as he knew of it, was at peace; Wil was playing at something that was better left to their fathers and grandfathers. Fun to play at, yes, but something they’d never really need to see-- did they really need to grow up quite so fast?

Then, they’ve graduated. Wil has a sponsor, and has to go all the way across the country to a military academy while they remain behind in university.

As brothers in all but blood, they were never apart for long before. Even with a friend to create a brand new trio in university, the ache remained; who could really measure up to Wil, boisterous and vibrant?

The papers declare all of Europe is at war, and just as Wil graduates with bars on his jacket and a brand new title, the United States declares itself at war with Germany.

It’s all he’s been waiting for, really, just perfect timing.

The patio has long since turned from war games and the child equivalent of basic training, becoming a central hub for talk of schoolwork and friends and family-- both positive and negative in nature. Now, it’s once again a war room, though not quite as it once was.

“This is exactly what I wanted!” Wil paces back and forth, full of manic energy. He hasn’t sat down from the moment he arrived, buzzing with the news of America’s involvement, fresh newsprint in his hand. “Well, not a war, exactly, but a chance to prove myself.”

“You could have fooled me,” Mark drawls. Sprawled over a bench he may be, long legs crossed, but his fingers tremble as they pick at the wicker.

“I think,” Damien cuts in, before either of them begin to pick a bigger fight over this, “what he means is… this is rather soon after graduating. I suppose we’d thought you’d come back home for a while before you were ever deployed.”

When people grow up together, any separation for longer than a few days is hard; Wil was across the country at the academy for years, and moving from that to a war zone…

“I know what I mean,” Mark snaps, with little heat. He sits up a bit better to finally take part in the conversation. “You’re our brother. I’ve known you all my life, and you’re going off to Europe to fight something we have no stake in, just like that. What did you think we were going to say?”

“That you’d support me, for a start.” Wil turns to him, jaw set. It’s too stiff, too easy to turn on his heel-- military training, Damien suspects, sadly. “It’s not so serious, Mark, really. I’m an officer, I’m hardly going to be on the front lines. You’ll get me back in one piece.”

“And if we don’t?” Damien takes a step between them; coming to blows is not an impossibility, not with these big personalities. “I’m not so angry, but Wil… it’s not a game. It’s not a training exercise. I know you’re called to duty, whether your own feelings or the government is the one calling, but… I can’t find my way to being thrilled. It is serious.”

Wil growls out a breath, throwing his hands up. “This is what you’re willing to fight me on! Not one word of a send off, not a ‘we’ll see you soon’, but a lecture, when neither of you are going, yourselves! I’m going to go, and that’s that. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Damien cries out in protest, in harmony with Mark, finally coming to his feet to defend himself.

“That’s hardly fair!”

“Simply because we’re worried you’re going into a war zone--”

It’s all for naught, however, their efforts swallowed up by the flowers and bushes; they can only watch Wil’s back as he storms out of the back garden, the wrought iron gate clanging behind him.

“Fine, then,” Mark spits, pushing past Damien and heading down the stairs. “If he wants to go off and throw his life away and enjoy doing it--”

“We have the option, while we’re still in school, but he doesn’t have much choice,” Damien replies softly, a sinking feeling in his stomach as Mark marches towards the gate. “At least, not in going. Are you going after him? I don’t know if he’ll want to talk right now.”

“No.” He swings open the gate, yet pauses before he steps through. It’s only a few seconds, but they stretch on before he speaks again. “Are you going to write to him?”

“Probably, yes. He needs someone to tell him to change his socks,” Damien jokes, albeit weakly. “We wouldn’t want him to ward off his fellow officers as well as the Germans.”

It seems to work, though, as Mark’s face softens, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Then you don’t mind if we send our letters together? It’ll save us on postage.”

It’s silly, the idea of saving a penny on a stamp. They both come from means-- some newer than others, but means nonetheless-- but it’s a show of solidarity. His brothers, both of them, thinking of him, whatever they think of his excitement.

“Sounds alright to me.”

He doesn’t exactly feel settled as Mark takes his leave, nerves still waging a war of their own on his insides. Wil’s still headed off to the front in a matter of days, and still upset with them, besides.

Was it really worth it to bring up his concerns? Was Wil right in telling them off? He can’t say for sure. At the very least, when he sits down to write his first letter a couple weeks later, he makes sure to include an apology.

Likely to Wil’s dismay-- and Damien’s and Mark’s combined relief-- the war doesn’t last much longer; their physical involvement was little more than some hardly-needed backup.

Whether or not that was truly the case, the paper gives the same thing: their troops are coming home. Finally, Wil’s on his way home.

There are parties in the streets, of course, celebrating the return of their men, but Damien doesn’t stop to partake in the joy. Rather, he hurries on towards his real goal: find Mark, find Wil, and find the closest bar that will allow them to get as drunk as possible.

He’s back. That calls for a drink.

It’s not hard to find them; Wil’s a tall man, and exuberant, besides, still dressed in his fatigues as if he’d just stepped off the boat from Europe. “Ah, there he is,” Wil exclaims, bright as ever, like it wasn’t a year but a matter of days. “We might have sent someone to track you down if you took any longer.”

“You’d think it was Decoration Day. I had a bit of trouble dodging the crowds,” Damien admits, shooting a glare in Mark’s direction when he smirks. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, what? I’m not saying anything.” The gleam in his eye doesn’t go away as he kicks off from the wall, coming over to grab them with an arm around each neck. “Let’s get a drink before everyone else has the same idea and it’ll be standing room only. How will Damien see anything, then?”

Maybe it isn’t decorous, but Damien squirms out of the hold to shove at him. Mark doesn’t fall, but he stumbles back into Wil, and that’s good enough for him.

As one would expect from such an auspicious day, the bars are full; with Wil still in his fatigues, however, people are a little more amenable to giving up a couple chairs. It still gets them squeezed into a corner, but at least they’re off their feet.

Wil, graciously-- and in the hopes of perhaps getting one on the house-- offers to go and get their drinks. Damien doesn’t bother with a shot, not in public, and not when there’s something worth savoring sober, though it’s funny; different as they may be, they have a trio of brown drinks before them: his Manhattan, Mark’s drink that looks oddly similar, and Wil’s, similarly-garnished but rimmed in sugar.

It seems a bit sweet for him, really, and like it wouldn’t balance out, but to each his own. “I can’t imagine you had anything like this out on the front,” Damien says, gesturing to Wil’s glass.

“No, not at all. You were lucky to get a real brand out there.” Wil shudders. “It was all swill unless you got in very good with an officer. A higher officer, I mean-- though I did get promoted. To Colonel.”

He takes a smug swig while Mark scoffs. “In a few months? No, you didn’t.”

“People were getting promoted left and right,” Wil protests. “With how awful it was out there--”

“Awful? You weren’t even on the front lines! You told us in your letters you stayed behind in your tent most of the time.” Mark gestures towards him with a free hand. “What’d you do to get promoted? Really?”

Wil frowns, eyes growing sharp as flint. “I don’t have to tell you anything of what happened out there. You don’t understand what it was like. Why does it matter?”

“I don’t think real Colonels would appreciate some private--”

It’s odd, really. They’ve always been a bit combative, Mark and Wil, a bit competitive. It’s just in their nature. Damien’s seen plenty of squabbles turn to roughhousing over the years, and it’s usually best to wait until they’ve both tired themselves out.

Wil hauling off and almost leaping over the table so that his fist can connect with Mark’s jaw is a new one, though.

It’s too fast for him to intercept, and soon they roll about on the floor, trading blows and both of them shouting over the surprised murmurs of the crowd.

Thankfully, they give Damien room, shuffling away and pushing back other men with their arms. He’s shorter, yes, but stouter than at least Mark, and he uses that strength to haul him up, pushing his body in between theirs. “That’s enough,” he says, channeling as much of his father into the phrase as he can. “What the hell is the matter with both of you?”

They’re panting too much to explain themselves, glaring at each other over Damien’s shoulder. Wil’s fatigues are mussed, his glasses askew on his face, blood bright on his knuckles. That same blood dribbles from Mark’s nose, perhaps broken from a punch, and his mouth, cut by his teeth.

“This is stupid. Do you really think this is the fight to go ahead and fight?” Damien takes them each by the shoulder, shaking them with his words. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve known each other forever, and this gets you to brawl? Out of everything?”

Wil’s jaw works, and he continues to glare when he tries to speak. “He--”

“I don’t care,” Damien says, firmly. “I don’t care who started or who finished. This is ridiculous. Both of you, apologize, and then we’re all going home. You want to have an argument, get in trouble? Tell your parents why you were fighting out here in front of everybody.”

He’s angry, and he wouldn’t deny it if questioned, but this is not the sort of hill to die on. Wil may be a Colonel, he may not be, but it’s stupid to come to blows over it, and even more so to do it in public.

There are bigger things in the world than a title. Things like your friend going off to war, or your friends turning on each other over something so very small.

Those may need a fight, but not this.

“You sound like my father,” Mark grumbles after a few moments of shamed silence. “Please stop.”

Damien can’t help a short laugh. “He’ll be worse, so I can spare you. Get home and try not to kill each other.”

He can’t chaperone. He’s busy sweeping up and paying the barkeep back for the damage. He minds quite a bit, but… it’s better than another brawl.

---------

Sidecar

50ml/2oz brandy

20ml/1oz fresh lemon juice

20ml/1oz Cointreau

sugar, for the glass

Shake all ingredients over ice and strain into sugared, chilled martini glass.

Born of a twist of mad joy, a sweet/tart beverage that carries quite the punch. Easily thrown off-balance-- especially with a shot or two.

#fg writes #pincera #actor mark #wkm damien #wkm celine #y/n da #wkm fanfiction #wkm fic #the colonel

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luverofralts · 1 year

Text

Arkhelios Adventures

“I think I can kinda feel something working. It’s stronger now that Ewan’s around. Can you feel it too?”

Theo rocked back on his feet and placed another cupcake in his mouth. Things were going slowly so far-too slowly. At this rate, they would never find out if Ewan was related to Adam and Remy. He’d be at home in bed for the night before any signal got back to his stalkers.

“Your dad makes the best cupcakes. Like seriously, these are amazing.”

After their encounter with Roman in the kitchen, Theo had “accidentally” liberated a plate of cupcakes intended for the dinner. The frosting was intricate, homemade and incredibly addicting. Adam would ask for the recipe if he thought there was an actual chance of him replicating the delicious treats, but only Roman it seemed had the skill to pull them off. Saturnia might learn it in time given her skill set, but for now, Roman was the only way to access the desserts he had become known for. Stealing a whole plate of them was so amazing a find that it almost overshadowed their important work.

Once they’d found a tea set stocked with expensive tea in the queen’s old rooms, the two boys began to relax. This clandestine operation was on track so far and aside from some slow magic slowing them down, things were going okay.

“So these were the rooms of Queen Celeste? The witch who tried to kill Death along with the Strangetown cult...er, I mean coven? This is an amazing suite! I wonder what else she had stored around here?”

Adam lowered his eyes to the floor, obviously distracted by Theo’s words. Far too late, Theo realized that he was speaking dismissively about the “restructuring” the Strangetown coven had had to undergo. The coven his mother was single-handedly keeping together because of her brother’s actions.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Adam,” Theo said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking. Are you okay being here where one of the leaders of the coven lived? I just assumed that because it was empty, we could-”

“It’s fine, Theo,” Adam reassured his boyfriend. He sipped his tea quietly for a moment. “That all happened before I was born. I never knew any of them, but my mom was devastated when they died. I still catch her crying sometimes when she thinks she’s alone. She probably couldn’t be here in this room, but it doesn’t really bother me. Well, actually no. It makes me sad. Sad and angry that my uncle and her friends could do that to her. The world can be a really horrible place sometimes.”

“You’re telling me,” Theo laughed awkwardly. “I get it. Thank god my grandmother is dead, or whatever did happen to her. At least I don’t have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for her in dark, secret corners. Having some closure makes things easier for your mom, I’d imagine.”

“Yeah, that definitely helps.”

After a long pause, Theo asked the question that had been plaguing him for a while.

“So what happens if this guy is your long lost brother? Does anything change?”

“I guess Winterfest plans change,” Adam sighed, picturing having to spend an extended period of time with the annoying Ewan. “We see him on family dinner night maybe? I don’t know. My dad’s not that hard to get a hold of, Theo. If his mom really wanted to let my dad know she was pregnant, then I can’t see why she couldn’t have done that. I mean, even Queen Claudia can be reached reliably through the right channels and my dad isn’t anywhere near as important as she is. This whole thing felts weird.”

“Ewan feels weird,” Theo agreed. “Can you sense some of what I’m feeling when he’s nearby? It’s like he’s empty, magically just nothing. I’ve never met someone like that before.”

“Hmmm, I can maybe feel a little bit of what you’re feeling, yes. It’s not as intense as I thought it would be.”

Theo nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, my parents always acted like blood connections were this horrible, dangerous thing,” Theo confided. “I think probably because their connection was so damaged and warped by the end that it was dangerous for them. If anything, this pact is barely a magical trickle of energy. It’s boring and ineffective. Next time we try a harder spell.”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

Adam chuckled while Theo flushed with embarrassment.

“Yeah, I mean maybe, if you want to...I’m not really expecting- well that is-”

“Relax Theo, I’m teasing you,” Adam laughed, easing Theo’s anxiety. “Maybe there will be a next time, maybe there won’t. I’m okay with either if everything is safe. We make a good team.”

Theo poked at the crystal that they’d brought with them and a suspicious amount of salt he’d taken from the kitchen when his father was distracted by the mystery of his missing cupcakes. Adam was obsessed with crystals, probably more than even a practicing member of the Crystal Cove coven was. He had an anxiety soothing crystal (which Theo thought was a scam for how useful it was at soothing Adam’s worries), a crystal to relieve headaches during exams, a crystal to find missing items in their dorm, a crystal he used to predict pop quizzes (which Theo was also skeptical of) and a crystal for enhancing spells. There were probably many other crystals that Theo had yet to find, along with stones from their many walks in the forest that he insisted were “special”. This crystal was supposedly going to enhance the blood pact and kick it into gear so they could finally get a clear answer about Ewan...if it worked.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

Theo flipped to a certain passage in his text book and read the latin inside, calling for their blood connection to be increased to solve the question their pact was formed to answer.

For a minute, nothing happened and Theo poked once more at the crystal in front of him angrily.

“Do you see anything? I think maybe I do. Is the room getting more blue to you? The walls look blue now.”

Theo paused to consider Adam’s words. The walls maybe did look oddly coloured all of a sudden. He could feel a strong pounding noise echo through his head. Almost like a drumbeat urging him into action.

“I have to go find Ewan,” he exclaimed, standing too quickly and faltering. “This is working, or at least I hope it is. Something is happening. I have to go!”

Adam stared nervously as Theo bolted from the room. His head did feel a little funny, but nothing like Theo was describing. If he were to write a paper on the experience for class, he would have to assume the pact was working as intended. Theo was using the spell on himself while receiving information on the bloodline that Adam was broadcasting, so it was reassuring that Theo was having the stronger reaction. If Adam had been as driven as his boyfriend to go find an answer to their question, he would have to assume that the connection made between them was faulty and that he and Theo had merged incorrectly. Not only did this information make him worry less about their spell work, but he was also incredibly proud of his boyfriend. Very few people could do blood magic and even fewer could do it correctly. Theo was going to be one of the standout students in their age bracket without any doubt.

“Can I have a pink one? I really like the pink kind.”

Victoriana stared at the collection of treats before her, her eyes lighting up at every selection. Roman had outdone himself, likely to impress the ruling monarch of the largest country and her family. Well, Victoriana was very impressed. She had already tried two different pastries and licked the spoons in the frosting mixing bowl clean, clearing a path to the cupcakes. Each one was a work of art with dazzling designs and specially designed toppings and if she’d been left unsupervised in the room, they would have all been eaten long before her mother had joined them.

“You don’t want to ruin your dinner,” Roman chided softly. “I worked hard on that too and I think you’re going to like it.”

“Does it have peas in it? I don’t like peas. I could just skip the peas and eat a cupcake now. I can’t spoil something I’m not going to eat.”

Roman smiled at the preteen, seeing so much of Theo and his girls in the young princess. If he had a dollar for every bargain Theo had tried to make to avoid eating vegetables, he wouldn’t be worrying about supporting his restaurant like he was.

“Sorry princess, but your mom’s the boss and she says no skipping dinner for cupcakes. You can help me start the cake icing if you want though. It should be- oh, goddamn it!”

Roman swore far too loudly for a dignified palace when he stumbled and watched the cupcake in his hands fly through the air, ruining a solid twenty minutes of work.

Theo ran down the stairs, not even hiding the fact that he was running from within the forbidden area of the castle.

“Remy! Remy!”

Remy looked irritably at Theo as he stormed into the room, thankfully sparing her the need to think of something mundane to talk about with their target.

“Theo, thank god. What took you so long? Were you and Adam making out somewhere when you know that you had a prior commitment? I can’t stand this anymore. It’s not even possible that I’m related to this guy, he’s an asshole.”

Ewan didn’t look surprised to hear Remy’s frustrated confession and ordinarily, that would have sent Theo spiraling to think up a new story. But now?

His heartbeat thundered in his temple as he tried to make sense of the scene before him. Remy and Ewan sat on a couch, barely hiding their disdain for each other. He blinked and saw an entirely different scene before him, one he could hardly fathom.

Blood pulsed through their veins and Theo could feel Remy and Ewan’s heartbeats as strongly as his own. Remy’s blood pressure was rising with her anger. She was born in Pleasantview, he could see her ties to the land, where she’d began. Her paternal great-grandmother’s name was Remy and they both had black hair and the same freckles. He could see both Remy’s in his mind as clearly as if they were standing side by side before him. Her maternal great-grandfather Adam Thompson stepped into view as well as her paternal great-grandfather Prince Adam Walter. Their names seeped out of them, ebbing into Theo’s mind. The two Adams joined hands and pointed at Theo’s now glowing hand that had been linked to Adam Darktide and suddenly an image of his own Adam stepped into view. Blood called to blood and names called to names; everything was connected.

He turned his eyes to Ewan, who was still eerily staring at him. His name was Ewan MacLeod and he’d been born in Pleasantview to Lynette MacLeod. Two Remys and three Adams turned to welcome him into Theo’s sight.

“Ewan.” Theo whispered the word into life and watched several new lights spark into existence like tiny beacons of flames. Prince Ewan and Ewan Jr Goldman appeared, but Theo looked past them. That wasn’t the branch of the Maricourt-Darktide family tree he was interested in. No, he wanted Ewan G Lind Maricourt, Adam and Remy’s father.

The Maricourts were a secretive family and several members had just a single G hung in their name, seemingly just to frustrate those who sought out their true names. If Theo concentrated, using his connection to Adam, he could get a sense of the vague shape of the G starting name, but nothing came clearly into vision. It was an interesting tactic for self defense, one that Theo envied. Adam didn’t know the name either, which just raised more questions for the teen. Did the children named with the mysterious G name know what it stood for? Did they learn it before they passed on the name to their children or had the true name been lost to the centuries? Was just “G” accurate enough to provide protection against blood magic if no one knew the actual true name or did “G” become the true name if no one remembered what it stood for? This was a question Theo vowed to raise with his teachers later on. There was so much to see and learn with blood magic and he’d barely scratched the surface of his abilities. Why had he never tried practicing his spells on this scale before? Surely this must be how Life and Death saw the universe, each little spark igniting a chain reaction until the entire universe revealed its secrets.

Theo somehow pulled himself away from the Maricourt naming dilemma to the Maricourt family dilemma. It wasn’t easy. He could stare at the interconnections in his world for centuries and still not learn it all.

He watched as Ewan G Lind Maricourt settled back into view, holding his hand out towards the burning brilliance of Adam and Remy. A spark floated by them echoing Miruna’s name and Theo let it pass. He was getting closer. His own voice called out to him, repeating the name he’d used to create the pact in the first place.

“Ewan, uh, Maricourt?”

It wasn’t exact. Every Ewan in Adam’s family tree rose again to obscure his view. He squeezed his eyes shut, focused as hard as he could and repeated the name. The blood in his veins boiled as the magic rebelled against him. A sharp pain burned its way into his mind, but it was becoming clearer. His target was Ewan MacLeod, child of Pleasantview, child of Lynette and child of Ewan G Lind Maricourt.

Theo gasped at the strength of the connections before him. Ewan MacLeod blazed beside his siblings with the intensity of a star. He had been telling the truth all along; he was Adam’s brother.

His teachers would tell him to stop there now that he had his answer, but Theo was hooked on the revelations before him. Curious, he turned his attention inward. He might never get another chance to see himself like this, or at least not until he was almost graduating school. It was eerie seeing his own existence stretched out before him.

Theodosius Ulysses Bellamy, born in Arkhelios in a small section of land surrounded by dark churning water. Darkness surrounded him. He could feel the weight of the curse he had been born with just as intensely as he remembered it. It tied him to Abraham Helios Sr and the death that awaited him by a demon’s hand, to the curse seared into the flesh of Romanus Bellamy. Death and hatred surrounded Theo, clouding his vision. He felt the slow burning hatred of his ancestors, ancestors who harboured this hatred for Theo as well. They wanted him dead. He was supposed to be dead.

“Theo? Are you okay? You’re kind of creeping me out here.”

Remy’s words of concern faded into the background, irritating the young teen but not penetrating the haze he found himself in. There was something strong pulling to him and he needed to follow it with every molecule in his body, safety be damned. An image of his great-uncle Hunter Bellamy floated towards him, slowing him down. Hunter had been born Theo Helios and Theo himself had been named to honour this fact. He never really saw Hunter Bellamy due to his terrible relationship with Roman, but Theo could still sense his connection to the man. Their true names were both Theo which joined them both in blood and by name. Theo didn’t know the first thing about Hunter or his life, but the connection between them was strong.

He could feel the warmth of his father’s light burning in the castle down the hall, calling to him. Just as Ewan and Adam and Remy circled their father, Theo was called to his. Pain jolted through him as the memory of his curse wrapped around his body, seeking re-entry. This wasn’t right, the curse had been broken years ago, or so he’d believed. This all consuming darkness hadn’t left him. It called to every part of him, longing to be reunited. He had developed as a fetus with the darkness pressing itself into his very being; he could feel the inevitability of its return in his very soul. It had been a part of him that was amputated, but a still a part of him all the same.

Theo removed himself from the room somehow, whether by walking or teleporting or even just magically floating away from the Darktide family, he couldn’t be sure. He could hear laughter calling to him even stronger.

The princess was laughing at his father, who now had cupcake smeared along the edge of his coat and a frustrated expression.

The words Romanus Bellamy called to him, intertwining with the brilliant light standing beside him that spelled Victoriana. Victoriana had many names and many titles, but she was young and unguarded enough for Theo to see past those, far closer to her true name than he should ever be. Through Adam’s connection to his newly discovered half-brother, Theo had learned more about Ewan’s identity. He had a devastating suspicion about why he could see through the titles of the crown princess of Pleasantview. Of why she shone so brilliantly next to his father. He had gone searching for an answer to Adam’s family mystery and revealed a crushing answer of his own by accident. Just when he thought that his respect for his father couldn’t get any lower.

Theo was the half-brother of the future monarch of Pleasantview. His father had been hiding this secret all this time; hiding this shame. When was Theo going to find out about this? Was his father ever planning to tell him? Did his other father know?

He could feel the darkness that surrounded him pull him closer. It brushed against his eyes, swirling in his nostrils as he inhaled the anger and hurt and fear he had been made for. Perhaps this was why his teachers urged him to not actively practice blood magic until he was older. He remembered vividly being overwhelmed as a child when he ran away from home and tried practicing blood magic untrained. He had almost died back then. Maybe the curse he’d spent his entire life running away from would kill him now. It didn’t matter, not really.

Theo could faintly hear the sound of his father’s voice call to him, but it was too late. He was underwater, drifting away into the comforting embrace of the curse that had been custom made just for him. He couldn’t feel the anger anymore; he couldn’t feel anything really. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the sound of Adam’s voice, calling him desperately back to safety.

#sims 2 #arkhelios #arkhelios adventures #adam darktide #sim: Adam Darktide #Ewan MacLeod #roman bellamy #sim: theo bellamy #theo bellamy #Victoriana Goldman #sim: Victoriana Goldman #Remy Darktide

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the-smallest-star · 2 years

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The fresh air was nice, and once they got to the beach Patch had been able to strip of his disguise. Funny trench coat combo... he could tell it was partly to make him laugh. The spa had been relaxing earlier, working out tense muscles that had needed attention for a while... now they were listening to the waves slosh against the shore, and sinners either playing in the waves or tanning on the beach.

“This was a good idea.” Patch broke the silence, Gritt’s attention drawn back to his twin with a nod. “Mhm.” Gritt made a sound of agreement, spending this time with his little brother was something he’d missed. It helped the hole they’d left in his cold heart, “gonna miss this.”

Patch hesitated for a moment, curling his outstretched prosthetics closer into his chest as he seemed to be deep in thought, “... Gritt... you know our childhood was fucked up... right?” The question caught the imp off guard, blinking at Patch in confusion, “You mean Mom and Dad kicking you out and breaking my horns? Yeah I know it was-” “No not just that... I mean... all of it.”

Noting the eldest’s confused expression Patch took a deep breath and slowly released it, tapping his claws on his arm as he tried to think of a way to explain it. “When I was disowned I thought the same as you, but Ma and Pa... Bones and Roz... Gritt Mom and Dad were fucked up parents the whole time.” Patch explained, “Bones and Roz never got mad when I fucked up, I still got punished if I did something wrong but it was taking away electronics and not going out with friends, not punching us and locking us in a basement. They spent time with me, loved each other. If they ever argued it was quietly and resolved by talking it out. Gillian and Peckrin just screamed at each other and nitpicked. They never told their kids they were getting fat, never told them they were fuck ups, never hit them... our parents weren’t normal. Thats why when I was sixteen I asked them to help me go home to take you with us. I’d been worried since you stopped talking to me and I didn’t want to leave you there.”

A look of shock crossed Gritt’s face, he’d been taking in all of this but the last sentence surprised him. “You-... came back for me?”

“Yeah.” Patch continued, “but when we got there Gillian said you’d ran away years ago, demanded we tell her where you were but... we didn’t know. I kept looking for signs of you but... its a lot of rings to cover. When I found your livestream I realised you were in Pride too, I felt terrible I hadn’t come for you sooner... but I was ashamed to tell you. I knew as soon as I saw your horns why you ran away, and you did the right thing. You were so different though; quiet... angry... Gillian and Peckrin did a number on you. But you never took it out on me. But you started to do better after a while, when you apologised for not standing up for me when they disowned me I knew I had to tell you I was sorry. I was planning on talking to you when... well....”

“When you died.” Gritt finished, Patch nodded shamefully, “Patch I didn’t know you came back for me, but I wasn’t mad you had a good life after. Jealous sure, but not mad. We... both wish we did some things differently, and when you put it all like that then... maybe our life with Mom and Dad was messed up long before we left.” “... whatever happens to me, will you get some help? I spoke to someone about it for a long time, I can give you their number. Will you do it, for you?” Patch asked, a pleading look in his eyes. The same look he’d give Gritt back when they were kids and he wanted something.

And it always worked.

“Okay... I’ll talk to them, but no promises other than that.” Patch’s face lit up, relief clear as day as tears welled up in his eyes. With a sniff he turned his head away, feeling the hand of his brother rubbing his back.

“... thanks for not giving up on me.” Gritt spoke softly, “I’ll do my best.”

#long post #tw: child abuse #tw: child neglect #hazbin!verse #GritttheImp #PatchtheImp #m!a: back again

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broadswipeslideshow · 9 months

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there’s something about growing up with parents who don’t give a shit. who treat you as the black sheep, who leave you out, who treat you like you’re stupid, who don’t care about your problems. i remember a time i tried to tell my dad something a former friend of mine had done, and why we weren’t friends anymore. i was trying to fill him in on my fucking life. and what did he do? he cut me off mid-sentence and said, “that sounds like a bunch of girl drama.” and that was that. i shut my mouth, swallowed back tears, and went to my room to be alone. like always. he never cared, or he cared way too much (as in, flipped out when i showed signs of mental illness and/or neurodivergency). then he’d complain that i never tell him anything, that i’m always in my room, that i don’t want to be a part of this family. like, are you fucking serious? i’ve fought to be a part of this fucking family yet i always get shut out. i get ignored or left behind in conversations. it’s so unfair to say that. especially when i was abused, as was my brother. which hurts to say, but it’s true.

point is, there’s something about growing up with people like this then being abandoned by someone who was supposed to be your friend. being left out, left behind. not giving a shit about your problems. it, uh, hurts! and this hurt has turned to anger, which has now turned to resentment, and at this point i don’t even want to talk to this person ever again. i can’t stand them. to even say that about them makes me want to die a little, considering who they are to me, but it’s also true. i’ve been hurt for three years and i can’t take it anymore. i can’t believe this happened to us, i can’t believe they’d do this to me, i can’t believe i’d be left behind for someone newer and better, but i was. how i would ever be okay with something like this, i don’t know. they seem to think i am. i’m not. and maybe i should’ve told them, but i thought it would end (eventually), and i thought it might ruin our friendship. the sad fact is that our friendship is already ruined. i’m not sure sending my feelings could ever repair what’s been damaged. i’m so angry and bitter. i don’t think this will ever change. lessen, maybe. but it won’t change. so, to this person, it really hurts that you did this to me. especially when i was abandoned by my mom and my dad and step mom left me out of everything. this is possibly my biggest fear when it comes to other people - being abandoned. left behind. and you did that to me. i can’t even begin to put into words how much you’ve hurt me, how you somehow knew to stab me right where it would hurt the most. i think only you could do this to me. you fucked me up. i don’t even know why you pretend to care anymore, because you clearly don’t. i wish you’d just stop.

#mine

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arthropoda-artistry · 2 years

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Nobody needs to know. Nobody knew for over a decade

Not even me, the brick walls of denial and misbeliefs hiding the truth.

What happened was wrong. What happened was wrong, and

According to my parents I should have known better

At age six, I should have known better, should have used words I hadn’t learned yet

Instead of the fists I had learned to use. I used my fists because

Words were ignored, words like “no,” “stop,” “don't."

Words still haunt my nightmares, sentences, declarations.

Nobody needs to know; not when the danger is over

The victim is presumed to not remember.

Nobody wants to know - ten years after

I find myself researching psychosis, wondering if I’ve lost my mind

As the brick wall of denial is dismantled, as fanfiction taught me the basic truth

Incest is wrong. He shouldn’t have touched me, shouldn’t still want to

But he does. He does, although he’s learned not to use his words,

Just his eyes, watching. Just insisting on seeing the ID card, the proof

I’m an adult, I can stop this at any time. This is my fault, I don’t think, as I hand

Him the card and don’t think. As he leaves for the bathroom, I don’t think.

As he spends too much time in the bathroom, I wonder, but I don’t let myself ask.

Nobody wants to know what I think. Nobody wants to know what I feel.

Nobody wants to know what happened, which is fine because

Nothing happened. I’m fine. Nothing happened yet

His eyes haunt me, everyone is watching, staring, looking at me sexually because

I’m prey and the entire world is a predator. I’m six years old in the backseat

And my parents tell me to stop torturing my brother. I’m torturing myself now

Twenty-two years old, with friends this has nothing to do with,

They don’t want to know. Please don’t tell them.

They’re lucky enough to have never had eyes on them watching that way, don’t give them my nightmares.

Nothing happened, which means they’re allowed to not care.

Nothing happened, so I should not be traumatized

Afraid of the fact I have to see him in two months, afraid of the fact

That nobody wants to know what happened because nothing happened this week

Besides looks and my own inference that he masturbated to the picture on my ID.

Nothing happened besides the fact that even outside of my family, I’m not

Supposed to talk about it, to tell anyone, to have anyone know enough to tell me

I’m not at fault. I don’t deserve this. Going home shouldn’t take courage.

Nothing happened, nobody told me they didn’t care. Nobody had to,

The implication was clear enough behind the statement

They can’t help. I want more than they can give.

I’m a bad person; I’m angry. I’m furious. I want to spite them

Tell them anyway, tell them they are nobody. They are nobody

And this is nothing, this is what nothing feels like, looks like.

I don’t exist because of them. It doesn't matter. I’m invisible.

I can’t exist beyond those eyes pinning me to the couch.

I’m nothing happened, I’m nobody caring, nobody wanting to know

Nobody terrified, nobody traumatized, nobody asking for more than he deserves.

I know what I deserve. Hands, eyes, an older brother’s love.

Nothing happened to me. Nothing happened that I didn’t deserve.

I’m tired of being nobody, of nothing happening every nightmare.

I’m exhausted, and I’m the only one who cares.

I’m writing because otherwise I’d tell them they don’t care

I’d make the quiet part loud and then they would have the opportunity to say

What I’m sure they’re thinking: I only talk about it because I want it.

I could stop this at any point. I could always avoid going home.

I only think they’d say these horrific words because I can’t

Stop myself from thinking the truth. They don’t care about me.

Only three people do, and they’re the three that let nothing happen.

I had an opportunity to make myself matter, to make this someone else’s business

And I threw it away because I was convinced that they were

Waiting for an opportunity for nothing to happen, to make me an object.

Nobody needs to know. Nothing happened.

I’m not an object, not objecting, nothing to see here.

I’m not asking for help. I know I outstayed my welcome.

#poetry #tw incest #dissociation #i want to not be alone

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years

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Wizards Stole My Brother

Summary: Being the Chosen One fucking sucks. That’s why Erika is furious when she finds out her brother got picked.

--------.

I find out my parents let the wizards take Ben an hour after I get home for spring break.

“You have to understand, Erika,” my mother says tearfully, “there was a prophecy! What were we supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to stop a group of ancient wizards from dragging off my fourteen-year-old brother to die,” I snarl at her. I dump out my small suitcase on the bed and leave it face open on the floor. I throw open my closet and start tearing all of the hanging things out of my way. “Or, I don’t know, maybe call me?”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” my father says. He’d be a lot more convincing if he stopped hovering around the doorway and avoiding my glare. He tucks his terrycloth bathrobe around himself. “You know what they’re like. We couldn’t say no.”

“That excuse is a little tired, Dad.” I flip the latch of the secret compartment at the back of my closet. It swings open to reveal my collection of swords. My mother gasps, but I’m too mad to point out that she knew I kept the weapons, just not where. “I let you use it when it happened to me because I expected you to never fail your children quite so spectacularly again.”

“We’re just normal people, Erika,” Mom wails. She’s dressed in overalls and has smears of dirt from ankle to knee. “We couldn’t stop them! We’re just as upset as you!”

“Are you?” I whirl around, three swords under one arm and a crossbow in my free hand. “Is that why Dad smells like a lavender bath bomb and you’ve been gardening all morning? Because you’re upset?”

“Yes,” Mom says.

“No,” Dad says.

They exchange quick, guilty looks.

“No,” Mom says.

“Yes,” Dad says.

“Oh my god,” I say. I throw my weapons into the suitcase, thankful for the expansion charm one of the fair folk gifted me with a few years ago. “I’m going to go rescue Ben from whatever insane, save-the-kingdom quest they’ve roped him into. If you’re lucky--” here I spin to point a finger at them “--if you’re lucky, he’s fine and forgives you both. If you’re unlucky…” I turn back to my suitcase, sure they get what I mean.

“You’ll… you’ll tell your grandmother?” Dad ventures tentatively.

My vision whites out as rage surges inside of me. When it clears, Mom and Dad are cowering on my childhood bed with the business end of my sword only a foot away. “If he has a scratch, I’ll tell Grandma. If he’s hurt worse than that, Grandma won’t be able to stop me.”

Mom hiccups with fear as I drag my case out of the room. Honestly. And they call themselves our parents.

-----.

I call Grandma on the drive over to the Magic Embassy.

“Erika, so good to hear from you,” she says. Her voice is quiet and raspy, a consequence from her own harrowing adventures with wizards in her youth. “I’m not sure if your mother told you, but I’m coming over--”

“My parents let wizards take Ben,” I interrupt. I weave around traffic, ignoring the horns and angry shouts my erratic driving elicits. I half hope someone hits me - I’m driving Mom’s Tesla. “I’m on the way to the embassy.”

The line crackles with static. “They did not.”

“They did,” I say. When I was a kid, Grandma’s commander voice used to scare me something awful. Then I had my own misadventure with wizards and knew where she learned it. “I need you to tell them I’m coming and they’d better have answers ready.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Grandma says. “I’ll meet you there.”

I’m already shaking my head. “Your hip replacement hasn’t healed yet. I can take care of it, but you know they don’t like me over there. You’re going to save me a lot of time by calling.”

I can tell Grandma doesn’t like it by the pause that follows. Finally she says, “Fine. I’ll text you who to ask for.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too,” Grandma says, softening. Then the steel is back in her quiet voice. “You bring back my grandson in one piece. I’ll take care of my son and his wife.”

If I wasn’t so mad at my parents, I’d feel sorry for setting Grandma on them. Now, I think they’ll be lucky if that’s all that happens.

The Magic Embassy is in one of those impossible buildings that people in the early 1900s used to dream about. From far away, it most closely resembles the Empire State building, but the illusion falls the closer you get to it. For one, the ground floors are actually smaller than every floor above it. For another, the structure is made entirely of glass and gold, plunging into the sky to a startling seventy stories tall. Like most things magic, it’s hard to tell if it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen or the most hideous.

I pull up outside, double parking next to a government-issued, black SUV. Hopefully there’ll be a juicy ticket waiting for my mom when she gets her car back. I haul my suitcase out of the backseat and jog up the marble steps to the huge, gold doors.

There’s a line of people milling behind a velvet rope, a man in a red bellman costume directing them inside one at a time. Most of them will be here to get their fortunes read so I don’t feel even a little bad as I swerve around the line entirely.

“Whoa,” the doorman says as I barrel towards him. The alchemical circles on the back of his gloves start to glow. “Ma’am, you need to be registered with the wards--”

I hit the wards in question before he can finish his question. They’re designed to keep out humans so that everybody who comes to the embassy needs to be specially let in by the doorman. I reach out with my free hand to throw the doors open and the magic pops! as soon as my skin comes into contact with it.

“--oh no,” the doorman says. Alarms blare and the doors slam shut behind me. They won’t open for two hours until the magic practitioners employed by the embassy are able to put the wards back up.

The lobby I’ve just entered is lined floor to ceiling with dark wood bookcases laden with grimoires and prophecies. Directly across from me is a large, marble staircase that clashes horribly with the styled tiles on the ground floor. Individual desks dot the floor, each one manned by a magic expert versed in prophecy, divination, or the general esoteric. For a beat, no one moves. Then there’s chaos.

“Stop!” multiple voices cry out. Wood chairs scrape against the tile as clerks lunge for weapons and runic circles. “Halt--”

“I was coming to let you in,” an annoyed voice says. I look past the forming defensive wall of enraged clerks to the woman coming down the stairs. She’s dressed in robes that shine like stars, her long, silver hair twisted into a braid that falls nearly to the floor. She looks like a Queen from a fairytale. “You’ve stalled our business.”

“Should have thought about that before sending wizards to my house,” I say. I eye one particularly jittery clerk as I make my way to the base of the stairs. My swords aren’t immediately accessible, but they do make my suitcase pretty heavy. If I need to, I can hit him with it. When I’m sure the clerk isn’t going to jump me, I turn my attention back to the real threat who has now stopped two steps above me so that I have to look up at her. “Madame Sangervasi.”

“As I told your grandmother,” Madame Sangervasi says, “I don’t personally vet every prophecy that comes through these halls.” She waves the clerks away and gestures for me to follow her upstairs. “It will be hard to stop the embassy from pursuing damage charges against you.”

I hum instead of answer because I know wizards like Madame Sangervasi. She’s warning me off from making any bigger disturbance in her building. Normally, I’d ignore that, but not when she’s the only one who can give me access to wherever they sent Ben.

I’ll decide whether or not I’m willing to test my luck further later… after getting Ben back.

There is an elevator in the building, but Madame Sangervasi doesn’t take it. Instead she climbs one story, then two. The walls on either side of us are unbroken by doors or windows so that it feels like we’re climbing through a chute. Finally, after the third story, a door appears. Madame Sangervasi stops in front of it and turns. She looks down at me with a cold look in her eye, long fingers playing with the chain around her neck.

“I want to make it clear, Erika,” Madame Sangervasi says, “that this is happening only because I enjoy your grandmother. The hall of prophecy is reserved for technicians and the prophesied. I am making quite the exception for you.”

You’re trying to cover up your mistake, I think. I smile. “I really do understand, Madame Sangervasi.”

Her lips thin. I don’t believe for a second that she doesn’t see underneath my words to the rolling anger waiting to come out. She pulls on her chain to reveal a key from under her robes. She turns to unlock the door.

The hall of prophecies isn’t nearly as exciting as it sounds. It’s a long room, only ten feet wide, stacked floor to ceiling with single sheets of paper. The pages at the bottom of the stacks are so old that they’ve turned to dust and spill out across the narrow walkway to the portal at the other end of the room.

Years ago, when I’d been kidnapped by wizards, I’d felt overwhelmed by the power in this room. It seemed to me like each piece of paper contained the power to change history, to save a world or to end one. I’d been hooked on the story the wizards had told me - that I was special and destined and the only one who could set things to right. This room had confirmed that with the way its magic pulled me to the very portal Madame Sangervasi is leading me to now.

“Your brother was called to Delta World,” Madame Sangervasi says. She stays in the center of the path where prior feet have cleared the ground of dust. “The powers there have been dreadfully unbalanced for a few years. It was only a matter of time before a new prophecy was made.”

I struggle to keep my cool. Delta World. I’d sworn to never go back there in front of every wizard I ran across and now they’ve dragged my brother there. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. “Seems like they should be able to control their own balance by now.”

“You know that’s not how it works.” Madame Sangervasi reaches the portal. She pulls out a focusing stone and starts to calibrate it for my departure. “He entered the portal two days ago and was met by representatives of Delta World’s monarchy. I’m sure he’s been well taken care of.”

Two days here can be anywhere between a month and three months in one of the wizards’ worlds. I go back to focusing on my breathing. “Do you know the details of the prophecy?”

The portal flares red and Madame Sangervasi steps back from it. The glow makes her look older, closer to the ancient wizard she is than to my grandmother. “As I said, I’m hardly involved in every prophecy that passes through this hall.”

“Maybe,” I say, “that’s not a very good excuse for negligence.” Then, before she can decide on how offended she’s going to be, I throw myself into Delta World.

----------.

Delta World consists of one monolithic continent, eighty percent of which is woods. Woods, I’d like to clarify, with only a few established roads and more than a hundred varieties of dangerous, demonic beasts. The presence of these carnivorous, over-powered animals means that even the paths that do exist don’t guarantee your safety. The only one that’s reasonably safe is the Royal Road which leads from the Capital to the southern port of Anstene where the main headquarters of the Adventurer’s Guild is.

Delta World is unique in that it requires a new hero every few years in order to manage the demonic energies running rampant from coast to coast. They’re one of the only worlds that actively cooperate with the Magic Embassy and allow their teleportation portals to be directly connected. It’d take real effort to switch the alignment of the portals to have anyone from my world end up anywhere but in the Anstene Guild Hall or the Royal Capital.

That’s why I know Madame Sangervasi drops me in the middle of the woods on purpose.

“Ooh, I hate her,” I say, half-impressed. The trees are as thick around as cars and the vines hanging from their branches are easily as wide as my waist. Behind me, something growls. “The Old Woods? That bitch.”

The giant demonic beast behind me lunges before I can get my suitcase open. I duck, rolling to the side as it sails overhead, claws easily the length of my forearm. From what I can see, it’s a feline-type with glowing red eyes and bioluminescent saliva. On Delta world anything bioluminescent is either magic or acidic.

The beast growls, the sound rattling through my bones, and a single drop of saliva lands on a felled tree. The wood hisses and blackens instantly.

Experimentally, I throw a rock at its head. It doesn’t even flinch when my aim proves true and the rock hits it directly between the eyes. I groan. “This is going to take forever.”

The beast spits in agreement and charges.

----.

Ben is tired. He’s tired of Sir Jameson who wakes him up at the crack of dawn for sword training even though they’re already traveling towards the Demon King. He’s tired of the light magic user Augusta who spends every waking moment telling Ben that he’s the only one who can save their world. He’s tired of trees and dried bread and sleeping for only an hour or two at a time.

He is definitely tired of having to kill all these messed up, mutated creatures that attack them almost every single hour.

“Good,” Sir Jameson says, yanking his sword out of the bear’s head. “We were almost out of meat.”

Augusta sighs and drags her feet over to the edge of the blood-stained clearing. For once, she moves like the sixty-year-old woman she is. “I’ll set a perimeter while you break it down. You’ve got 30 minutes.”

“Appreciated.”

Ben turns away from the house-sized bear carcass to stare unseeingly into the woods. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“Forever if you have to, Hero,” Augusta calls over her shoulder. “The whole nation believes in you!”

Ben mimes strangling her.

“We’ve been traveling for about a month,” Prince Rent says. He’s hunched over a rock, fingers trailing across their only map. “We should be nearing Mount Trilbia soon.”

“You said that two weeks ago,” Ben says. When he’d first met Prince Rent, he’d been relieved to have someone close to his age assigned to what they called the ‘Hero Party.’ Now he’s tired of Rent too. “I’m beginning to think we’re going to be in these woods forever.”

“Ben,” Rent says and hesitates. He bites his lip. “Look, I know my family sort of…”

“Kidnapped me?” Ben suggests helpfully.

“Coerced you into fulfilling the prophecy,” Rent says, “but I promised you I would get you back home in one piece and I meant it.”

Ben stares at him. “Coerced isn’t any better than kidnapped.” His brow furrows. “Do you-- do you think it’s okay that your parents won’t send me back unless I do this?”

Rent avoids his eyes. “We all must do what is necessary.”

Great, now Ben feels like a jerk even though he shouldn’t because he’s not responsible for kidnapping someone. He sighs and looks up at the canopy. “I should have listened to my sister.”

--------.

Luckily for Madame Sangervasi, I still remember the way through the Old Woods. The trick is to stay off the road. Though it looks like a good option through the thick brush, it’s only a trap. Clever beasts maintain it to keep the prey in one convenient location. Following the mushrooms growing on the sides of the trees leads you to the actual Royal Road.

The sun is setting by the time I catch sight of the cobblestones, casting the sky in reds and oranges that dye the trees around me. The berries on the brush lining the road shine when they catch the light, making it appear as if the road is glittering. When I was 12, it had seemed so magical. Like Dorothy’s road to Oz.

“Oh good,” I say, stopping to pick some berries, “I didn’t think to bring any poison.” The syrup left from boiling these berries can be applied to my sword. Depending on my enemy, they’ll either get nauseous or keel over completely.

I need information. While it’d be easy to assume my brother’s quest is the same as mine was, I can’t take that chance. Mine had culminated at Mount Trilbia, a good three month’s ride from the Capital. If I guess wrong, I could be adding six months or more onto my search.

It’s dark by the time I come upon a real village and not one of the false ones the will-o'-the-wisps like to set up. The gate is already closed, a small squad of knights in full armor standing in front of it with spears held at the ready. On a peaceful night, they’ll kill half a dozen beasts. On a violent night, four times that.

“I’m not a nymph,” I call out as I approach. I make sure to keep my hands in sight and step loudly enough so they can hear me. “Or a spirit, or a demon. I’m only a traveller caught out too late.”

“Yeah, we kind of figured,” the knight in the center says.

“How’s that?”

“Spirits usually don’t drag around hellcats like that.”

Ah. I’d nearly forgotten about the corpse of the first beast to attack me. My hand’s almost completely numb from the grip I’ve kept on the beast’s tail. The body thuds dully when I drop it. “Its scent kept anything smaller from attacking me.”

“That’d do it,” the knight says. As I get closer, I see that he’s wearing the mark of a Captain on his shoulder. “There’s not much bigger than a hellcat on the Royal Road. Unfortunately, the town’s closed for the night. Your business will have to wait until dawn.”

“And if my business is with you?” When that puts them on guard again, I wave my hands frantically. “Not like that! I just need to know about the prophecy.”

“The prophecy?” The Captain’s head tilts to one side. “If it’s just that, that’s public knowledge but… How long have you been in the woods?”

“Too long,” I say with feeling. “But I don’t plan on wandering through them much longer.”

----.

Ben stares up at Mount Trilbia. “So you’re telling me you have a mountain that just grows a demon castle every couple of years and you haven’t blown it up yet?”

The castle does look like it’s sprung up from the summit. Sharp and wicked spears of rock bracket it on each side and twist into spiraling towers. The front door looks like a cave and, even from the foot of the mountain, Ben imagines he can hear the howls of the demons inside.

“It’s a sacred mountain to our kingdom,” Prince Rent says. Like Ben, he can’t take his eyes off the castle. “If we can just get the energies of the land in balance, then it’ll stop appearing. Or so our best scholars have said.” He swallows. “It’s bigger than I thought it’d be.”

“It is,” Jameson says. He rubs his grey goatee. His hand trembles. “I’ve seen my fair share of demon castles and this might be the most wicked.”

“I sense great evil from within,” Augusta says. Her worn hands are white around her magic staff. Her eyes are just a touch too wide. “I--I think we might be too late. I believe the Demon King has already been born.”

“Oh,” Prince Rent says. His face is so pale it looks grey. “Oh no.”

Ben backs up so he can see all three of them. “Wh-what does that mean? We’re just here to destroy the crystal, right? That’s what the prophecy said!”

“And we still are,” Augusta says. She shakily lowers herself onto a fallen log. “Only now the crystal is Demon King shaped and will probably fight back.”

“Maybe he’s still asleep,” Prince Rent says, looking between the two adults with increasing panic. “The prophet said we had until the summer solstice--!”

“No,” Augusta says. “I see the shape of it now. The reason so many creatures have been attacking us despite my barriers...he knows we’re coming for him. He’s been trying to weaken us with the constant attacks.”

“There hasn’t been a fully manifested Demon King in decades,” Jameson says. He laughs without any humor. “Of course my last mission before I retire takes a turn for the worse.”

“Guess my brother will inherit the throne after all,” Prince Rent says weakly and sits next to Augusta with his hands clasped as if in prayer.

“We’re not going to continue,” Ben says, incredulous. When none of them answer, his hands clench into fists. “You just said the crystal’s a Demon King now or whatever. That’s not my job! You said all I had to do was destroy the crystal and you’d let me go home to my family!”

“The crystal is the Demon King,” Augusta repeats. Her eyes glisten. “I’m so sorry, my dear, but the prophecy does not change. You are the Hero and--and to save us, you must fight.”

Ben is shaking his head before she’s done speaking. “You’re insane. Look at you! The most powerful magic user in the country and you’re terrified. Jameson’s the strongest knight in the kingdom! What am I supposed to be able to do that you two can’t? I’m fourteen--”

“You won’t be alone,” Jameson says. He strides up to Ben and clasps his shoulder. “You’re right. Augusta is the strongest magic user in the kingdom and I am the strongest knight. We have the best chance of winning this fight if we strike now before he gains more power.” His eyes slide over Ben’s head to the prince. “Your highness will stay here.”

Prince Rent jerks to his feet. “I’m coming with you, I’m part of the Hero Party the same as Ben--”

“You’re the future of our kingdom,” Augusta says. When Prince Rent spins to glare at her, betrayed, she meets his eyes evenly. “Your life can’t be lost here.”

“I promised Ben--!”

But my life can be lost here? Ben wants to ask but his mouth is dry. All of his thoughts are spinning faster and faster in his head. They’re all convinced the Demon King will kill them - kill him - and they’re arguing about whether or not the prince will join them. Nobody cares if Ben dies, they’re not his family and he’s not even from this world--

And that reminds him, he’s nothing here. They talk about national holidays for heroes but none of them have ever chosen to stay for a reason. His family isn’t here and they won’t ever know what happened to him. His parents will cry and his grandmother will try to find his body and his sister--

“Well, this is beyond my expectations.”

No way. Ben jerks out of Jameson’s hold, spinning to find the source of that voice. Surely, it’s his brain hallucinating in the last hours of his life, but if it isn’t--

His sister emerges from the treeline, hair twisted into a bun, blood on her cheek, with a worn suitcase in one hand and a bare blade in the other.

-----.

Ben looks thin. My jaw clenches as I take in the, frankly, ridiculous scene in front of me. The knight trying to convince my baby brother to lay down his life for a kingdom that can’t even feed him properly. The prince trying not to cry as he pleads with the adults to let him die beside the Hero. The elderly woman trying to convince the prince to save himself reeking of light magic powerful enough to at least have sensed me coming.

“Yeah,” I say, “this is ridiculous.”

“Who are you?” the light magic user raises her staff. An ethereal white glow pulls at her hair. “How did you get through my barrier?”

“If you’d stayed off the Royal Road, you might have made it before the Demon King manifested.” I shake my head as I look up at the castle. It seems smaller than I remember. Then again, I’m not a child anymore. “Only fools stick to the Royal Road longer than a day-- oof!”

Ben throws his arms around my neck. When did the kid get taller than me? He buries his face in my shoulder and shakes with sobs. I drop my suitcase so I can return the hug with at least one arm. I can’t drop my sword.

“Ben?” The prince edges around the light magic user, ignoring her hissed protests. Now that I can see his face properly, he looks pretty young too. “Do you--do you know her?”

“It’s my sister,” Ben says into my shoulder. He pulls himself away from me, sniffling, and scrubs at his eyes. He beams at me through his tears. “I sure am glad to see you, Erika.”

Of course the other three are questioning him now. How? Sister? What are you talking about, your sister can’t be here. I ignore them and take a closer look at my brother. “Where’s your sword? I know they didn’t drag you all this way without giving you a sword.”

“I--”

“Nevermind, it’s probably garbage anyway, I brought yours from home.” I rummage through my suitcase and pull out the single-handed blade my brother prefers. “Freshly sharpened.”

“Is that spatial magic?” The light magic user has a complicated look on her face. “Only those blessed by the fae…” She meets my eyes. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” I retort. “Besides my brother’s kidnappers of course.” I eye the prince when he flinches. “Seems like you all should introduce yourselves first.”

“I am Prince Rent,” the teenager says. He breathes in through his nose and holds his head up high. “These are my kingdom’s strongest fighters, Mage Augusta and Knight Jameson. We were chosen to assist the Hero in his quest--”

“Right,” I say, looking back at my brother and then up at the castle. “The quest.” I sigh and ruffle his hair. “We’re going to have to take care of that before we can go back. I learned the hard way that the prophecy’s magic on you prevents interdimensional transport. I was hoping to get to you before you got in range of the castle, but…” I sigh again. “Well, we have to take care of it.”

“I don’t want to,” Ben whines. Still, he backs up so he can take a couple swings with his sword. “I didn’t agree to be part of this.”

“I know, bro.” I pull out our shields from the suitcase and set them on the ground. “The people of this world are super inconsiderate like that.”

“Hey!” It’s Prince Rent. He storms past his guards to get right in my space. “It’s not like we have a choice! Do you think we like relying on outsiders to save us? My family has done its best over the centuries to solve this crisis on our own--”

“Not very well,” I whisper to Ben. “That mountain is still standing.”

“That’s what I said!”

“--and if my power alone was enough to end this curse, I would spare poor heroes like Ben from it all. It doesn’t work like that! So who are you to come in and judge us for simply doing whatever we have to do in order to save our world from destruction?”

“I’m Erika, the lady that’s going to kill your Demon King for the second time,” I say. I roll my shoulders and start heading up the mountain. “And this time, I’m going to blow up this mountain whether you like it or not.”

“Wait for me!” Ben scrambles up after me.

“Did she say Erika?” Mage Augusta asks.

“I’m sure it’s a coincidence,” Knight Jameson says.

“Second time? What do you mean second time?” Prince Rent jogs after us. “You were a hero?”

“They sure ask a lot of questions,” I say to Ben.

Ben gives me a look. “You have no idea.”

----.

Prince Rent’s never been ignored before. Even his parents, the King and Queen of Delta World, always make sure to listen to what he says. Even when he argued against being sent along on this mission they listened, if only to convince him to go.

Ben and Erika aren’t even pretending to pay attention to him.

“--then there was a troll,” Ben tells his sister. He hops over a rock and takes the next steep incline at a jog. He’d always kept pace with Rent before, taking care not to leave the prince behind. Now, he doesn’t even look back when Rent starts to wheeze. “It had a cave filled with gold and everything.”

Erika grins. “You get anything good? The troll I fought only hoarded rocks--”

“Prince Rent requested a break,” Mage Augusta interrupts. She’s lucky that her magic allows her to sort of float up the mountain. She hovers in front of Erika’s and Ben’s path. “We’re stopping.”

Erika looks over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised. Prince Rent gives up on trying not to look too out of breath and braces his hands on his knees while he gasps for air. His face burns at the distinctly unimpressed look on Erika’s face.

“We need to plan anyway,” Jameson says. He’s doing a little better than Prince Rent, but not by much. His face more and more resembles a tomato the higher they climb. “We can’t walk through the front door. There has to be another way--”

“You sure are saying we a lot,” Erika says. “The way I see it, it’s just Ben and me that need to get up there. You all can stay down here.”

It’s the dismissal in her voice that snaps something inside of him. He’s been trying, okay? He’s spent months telling himself that it’s his duty as a royal to support the hero. He’s given up so much to be here and she’s making it seem like all that effort was for nothing. He draws himself up to his full height. “You are not in charge here.”

The siblings stare at him. That’s his first warning that he’s crossed a line.

“Rent--” Ben starts, but Erika steps in front of him.

“Yes, I am,” Erika says. She’s looking him directly in the eye thanks to the slope, but she seems taller all of a sudden. “I’m in charge so why don’t you run away, little prince?”

Rent’s jaw drops.

-----.

Is it smart to antagonize the prince? No. But I’ve been angry for days - weeks - now and he’s making himself an easy target. I stare him down as he slowly turns beet red.

“The disrespect!” the light user cries out. Her feet finally touch the ground as she drops beside the prince to brandish her staff at me. “You will address Prince Rent with full respect--”

“No.” I say. I switch my attention to her. Andrea? Aurora? “Why should I? He’s not my prince. Wasn’t he planning to run away? The situation hasn’t changed. He should still do that.”

“I won’t run.” Prince Rent does his best to meet my eyes, stepping in front of the light mage to do so. The effect is slightly ruined by his lack of breath, but he doesn’t falter. “This is the royal family’s responsibility. I’ll see it through to the end, regardless of what Mage Augusta and Knight Jameson suggest.”

“Great, awesome, very princely of you,” I say. “You’ve got your priorities, I see. Have you ever thought about what those family responsibilities cost others? People who aren’t part of your kingdom?”

“As a future monarch, my duty is to my people.” Rent waves a hand back the way we came, towards the capital. “We are given the gift of prophecy to protect them. To save them. I will do anything to save my people.”

“But you won’t do anything to save Ben.”

“Ben became one of my people the moment he landed here.”

“You mean got kidnapped–” I start to say but get interrupted by Ben sliding between me and the prince.

“Thanks,” Ben says to Rent. He’s got his puppy dog eyes on which means he believes the other boy, for what it’s worth. “Don’t yell at him, Erika, he really has been here this whole time. It’s not his fault I got sucked here.”

“How could it be? He’s a kid.” I look between my brother and the prince. Ah, hell. I run a hand through my hair and meet Prince Rent’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”

Prince Rent blinks. “Thank…you?”

“But,” I start and stop to glare at Ben when he groans.

“Just apologize and move on!”

I ignore him. “But it’s not fair for you to demand to be in charge. I know that you feel responsible for saving your world, but you can’t do that alone. You asked Ben to help you. He should get some say in how he helps.”

Miracle of miracles, the prince seems to be listening. “I didn’t think–”

“Don’t you dare condescend to Prince Rent!” Knight Jameson bellows. He stomps his way between Rent and I so that he can jab a finger in my face. “The Prince has sacrificed more than any other Royal in his pursuit to support the Hero–”

“That’s right!” Mage Augusta jumps in. “It is Prince Rent’s right to lead the Chosen One! Who are you to stand in our way? We’ve trained the Hero, we’ve led him here, it is our right to save our kingdom now in the last hour!”

“Oh my god.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Ben, like I thought, there’s no point in arguing with these people–”

“I’m sorry.”

The mage and the knight freeze. Even Ben looks behind him as if searching for another person who could have spoken those words.

Prince Rent’s face is bright red as he repeats the words. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” I snap before I can think better of it.

His lip trembles. “I am.”

Oh fuck, there’re tears in his eyes. “Uh, but, you know, we share the same goal now - kill the Demon King - so no harm, no foul–”

“I’ve been calling myself your friend,” Rent says to Ben. A tear rolls down his cheek. “I–I haven’t been a very good friend. I know you didn’t want to come here, but I…I prioritized what I wanted without ever listening to what you wanted.”

Ben is just as bad with tears as I am. He steps towards the prince in a panic, his hands fluttering in the air like he can’t decide if he’s going to hug Rent or pat him on the shoulder. “I, er, really want to kill the Demon King now! Isn’t that what you want? We should go do that.”

“Let’s do that,” I agree. I look to the adults for help and flinch when I see their eyes are suspiciously wet as well. “Oh no.”

“Your sister is right. I need your help to save my kingdom,” Prince Rent says. He swipes at the wetness on his cheeks. “I’m sorry. The wizards should have asked before they brought you here. But you’re here now and I am asking you to help me. After…afterwards I’ll do anything you want. Even die.”

“Whoa now,” I say, “let’s dial back the teen angst a little.”

“That is all I can offer you now,” Prince Rent says. He drops to one knee and bows his head in front of Ben. “Please help me save my kingdom, Hero Ben.”

Ben squeaks. “No, no, no get up, Rent–”

Mage Augusta falls to her knees as well. “As Prince Rent says, we have done you wrong, Hero Ben. Please. Help us.”

Ben lets out a quiet moan of distress.

“I will accept Prince Rent’s punishment in his stead,” Knight Jameson declares. He takes to his knees as well. “I am an old and foolish knight, swept up by duty and prophecy. I wish to atone for my sins. But, until I can, I ask you to fight for us.”

It’s moving. It’s everything that should have happened when Ben first got summoned here. It’s the least of what they owe him.

Ben looks at me helplessly.

I clap him on the back. “Your call, little bro.” The display is making my skin crawl. I’m never going to forgive the people of this country, but that doesn’t mean Ben can’t. “I’m not the one they’re apologizing to.”

Ben looks down at the crowns of the people who helped kidnap him. “I…I can’t forgive you,” he says finally.

Rent flinches and doesn’t look up from the ground. “That’s understandable.” He nods to himself and starts to stand up. “In that case, I’ll head up the mountain myself–”

“But you are my friend.”

“What?” Rent freezes in a crouch, halfway between kneeling and standing. He looks like he’s drowning and just spotted land. “Really?”

“Really,” Ben says. He stares up at the Demon King’s castle. “It’s shitty and awful what your kingdom does to people like me. I know you’re just trying to save your home. I would if I were in your shoes. It doesn’t excuse anything. I have a life too. A family and dreams that I can only realize in my world. In a way, this prophecy has been the Demon King in my life.”

“Ben, I…”

Ben meets Rent’s eyes. “You’ve hurt me but I…I understand. So I’ll help.”

Rent gasps. “Ben!” He throws his arms around my brother.

Mage Augusta sniffles. Then Knight Jameson.

I start power walking up the mountain.“You heard him! We’re going to kill the Demon King, let’s get going! No time like the present!”

“Sorry about her,” Ben says from behind me. “She’s really bad with emotions.”

Just for that, I make him jog to catch up.

—-------------.

It takes longer than I’d like, but we do make it to the Demon King’s castle. I have to stop twice to let Ben coddle the Delta Worldians when they really do insist on making a plan.

“It really does make them feel better,” Ben whispered to me while Rent drew an approximation of the Demon King’s castle in the dirt. “And it works. Sometimes.”

“There is one entrance to the castle,” I hissed back. I pointed up the mountain. “One. Which they know since it’s normally a tourist spot or something.”

“Holy monument.”

“Whatever.”

Then they wanted to stop again a little later.

“We should decide who goes through the door first.”

“Oh come on–!”

And finally we ended up exactly where I knew we would. Standing in front of the castle entrance, swords in our hands, and ready to charge in to fight some demons without any expectation of what might be lying on the other side of that door.

“Like we agreed, I’ll go first,” Knight Jameson says. “One. Two. The–”

“Now,” I say.

Ben and I come up one either side of him and kick the door in.

The doors slam open with a bang that reverberates through the stone hall beyond. Two goblins, both about the height of my waist, stare at us.

Rent doesn’t notice them right away. “I told you to stick to the plan!”

“Sorry,” Ben says and sweeps his sword across one goblin’s neck before it can lunge for the prince.

After that, it’s like riding a bike. One never truly forgets how to forcefully invade the Demon King’s castle once they’ve done it. We duck and roll through the first level and push a troll down the stairs once we get to the second.

“I’m going to be sick,” Prince Rent says when the creature hits the bottom with a crunch.

I wipe blood off my cheek. “You can,” I say benevolently. “It already smells like troll in here.”

“You didn’t show, er, quite this aptitude while training with me,” Knight Jameson says to Ben. He chops the next creature - a vampire - neatly in half. “Why?”

“Wrong sword,” Ben says. He twirls his so that the blood flicks off the blade. “I’m more of a rapier guy.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that–”

“Break time over,” I say. I gesture for Augusta to take the lead with her mage’s light. “Less talk-y, more slaughter-y.”

Augusta gets tired of the vampires within thirty seconds. She calls the power of the sun to her hands and, just like that, we’re on the way to the third floor.

By the sixth floor, Ben is panting. “You…never…mentioned… how many…floors…”

I kick a wolf-lizard-thing in the jaw. “Excuse me if I skipped some boring parts.”

“Boring–”

It takes us another three hours to fight our way up to the top of the castle. Even Augusta is run down, walking alongside Prince Rent rather than hovering over him protectively. Her mage light flickers and then strengthens as we finally find a door.

“Ominous magic,” Augusta says. She’s leaning heavily on her staff. “Right through there.”

“Great,” Jameson says and collapses against a wall. “Let me just..get my breath back.” He wheezes like a horse.

I stare at the door to the throne room. Or what I hope is the throne room. If it’s another floor… “I say we kill him and take a nap.”

“Please,” Prince Rent says. He’s lost the fear and caution he had at the beginning of our journey. He steps forward and opens the door himself. Both Augusta and Jameson are too burnt out to even protest.

A sinister laugh echoes out to us, evil and rolling. It’s dark enough to send a chill down my spine, my fatigue washing away as the sound builds, louder and louder and louder.

The doors creak open without Prince Rent’s help, revealing that it is the throne room.

And the Demon King is waiting for us.

He’s alone and seated at the other end of the room, partially draped in darkness. His cloak is torn at the hems, his posture careless and unconcerned as he lounges against the arm of his throne. “I suppose it is impressive you’ve made it all this way, Hero. Too bad you’re too late.”

“Oh brother,” Ben mutters under his breath.

“Maybe I’ll leave one of you alive,” the Demon King muses as he stands. He’s giant, nearly eight feet tall including the horns twisting from his head. His first step towards us feels like an earthquake. “It would be a shame if tales of your stupidity died here with all of you.”

“We didn’t come to die,” Prince Rent says boldly. He steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Ben. “We’ve come to fulfill the prophecy.”

“The prophecy never mentioned a foolish prince,” the Demon King says. His gaze falls on each member of our party as he speaks. “Nor does it speak of an ancient magic user or a washed up knight. Even the Hero is but a child! It is not a prophecy you’ve come to fulfill but a death sentence–” His voice dies as he takes one more step into the light and he sees me, still out in the hall.

I point at him. “AAAAAAH!”

“NO!” The Demon King shouts at the same time. “No, it’s not– it can’t be!”

I double over from the force of my laughter.

“What,” Ben says, “the fuck.”

“You’re dead,” the Demon King says. He starts to take a step back and then squares his shoulders. “O-or her daughter. Surely this is impossible?”

There is dawning comprehension on the Delta Worldian’s faces.

“Ben,” Rent says slowly, “when your sister said she dealt with a prophecy before, she didn’t mean here, did she?”

“Of course she did,” Ben says. He frowns. “Didn’t she say that?”

“Erika,” Augusta says. There’s something that sounds a lot like horror in her voice. “Erika.”

“Time moves differently in their world,” Jameson realizes. “It’s been over a century. How could we have known?”

“It’s IMPOSSIBLE,” the Demon King roars. He throws a bolt of magic at me, but it fizzles and dies before it lands. I’m immune to magic. By the look of dread on his face, he remembers.“That magic nullification–!”

“Stand back, Ben,” I say when I get my laughter under control. I grip my sword with renewed vigor. “Change of plans. This one’s mine.”

Ben looks between me and the Demon King. “Wait…seriously? That’s your Demon King?”

“Sure is,” I say. I grin when the Demon King throws another blood-red curse at me. “You still only know how to use magic, huh?”

The Demon King screams when I lunge for him.

—------------.

“A long time ago,” Augusta tells Prince Rent, “a Demon King was born.”

Prince Rent is trying to ignore the screams coming from behind him. “I thought they were all manifested?”

“That’s what we tell heroes,” Jameson says. He winces as a particularly wet sound comes from behind Rent. “So they don’t lose hope. Evil that is born is always more powerful and more dark than that which is manifested. It has connection to the earth below is in ways regular evil doesn’t.”

“Born, manifested,” Ben says, “it’s all the same.” Unlike Rent, he’s facing the action. Unlike Jameson, he doesn’t look disturbed by the fight. He looks bored. “Or so Erika says.”

“The King called a Hero,” Augusta continues. “A strapping young man from a world with technology you can’t imagine, your highness. He came and he promised us salvation. He gave us hope.”

“He died,” Jameson says. “On the Royal Road only a day’s ride from the mountain. The knights suspected poisoning.”

“Erika says it was dysentery,” Ben says. He shrugs. “Apparently your ancestors were pretty haphazard with army rations back then.”

Augusta clears her throat. “By the time another Hero could be summoned, half the continent had fallen to the Demon King. Floods ravaged our shores and our cities burned. Imagine the despair of our people when the next Hero the wizards found was a girl. A child.”

“She’s sort of always been violent,” Ben says. “She used to chase me around the house with a fake knife. I thought it was real–”

“Luckily,” Augusta says, speaking over Ben, “this girl was more than they thought. As fierce as our strongest knight. As intelligent as our King. As determined as the Hero before her. And she had a strange power that no Hero before had. The power to nullify magic.”

“It seems colossally unfair that I didn’t get a cool power.”

Rent pats Ben on the back consolingly.

“She saved us,” Augusta says. “Our country offered her every riches she could imagine. Titles and fame. Money and accolades. Our King himself offered to marry her and give her Delta World as a wedding gift.”

“Gross,” Ben says. “Remember she was like 13, okay?”

“That is a little gross,” Rent admits.

“It was a different time,” Jameson snaps. He waves to Augusta. “And you haven’t heard what she did.”

“The Hero laughed,” Augusta says. Her lip curls. “She turned her nose up at all our world had to offer. She took the trust we had given her and turned on us. She set fire to the castle that night.” Augusta lowers her eyes. “The King was lost in the blaze.”

Ben cheers.

Rent stares. “She killed my great great great grandfather?”

Ben stops cheering.

“Your great great great uncle, actually,” Jameson says. “Your great great great grandfather had to take the throne after his death. He pardoned the Hero but said she would receive no more rewards from Delta World. He ordered she return to her own world.”

“But the Hero wasn’t done with us,” Augusta says. She shivers. “The young girl vowed to destroy all that was sacred to us. She moved to set fire to Mount Trilbia. Fortunately, the new King was wise. He called the wizards to send her back. He knew their magic would not be enough to stop her, but they could expel her from Delta World. In the end, he could not bring himself to harm a Hero who had saved us all. They were successful and the Hero was banished from our world.”

Rent shakes his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why wasn’t I told this story? I should have known about a tale like this!”

“It is a closely guarded secret,” Augusta says gravely. “It is feared that other Heroes will be dissuaded from helping us should this information be available to them. Your father himself asked us to not teach this to you or your younger brother. The story of Hero Erika was always supposed to die with him.”

There’s the sound of a sword against flesh and then a gurgle. A body falls to the floor.

With dread, Rent finally turns to face the room.

Erika raises an eyebrow, sword still lodged in the Demon King’s throat. “Do you want to know what really happened?”

Rent swallows. It is an effort to nod.

Erika begins.

—-.

“I wasn’t stolen from my bed,” I say. The Demon King’s corpse is beginning the slow process of turning into a crystal. I’ll need to break the crystal once it’s done forming. I settle back on my heels. “My parents gave me to the wizards willingly. Can you imagine? It was a school night.”

Rent frowns. “What is a school night?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben says.

“So I got kidnapped here and made a Hero,” I say. “It was hard. It sucked. But I did it because I wanted to save people. And to go home,” I add as an afterthought. “I stopped being mad at my parents after the first time I almost died. Then I just really wanted to go home and see my grandma. See, she was a Hero too. She told me stories like I’m telling you. She said if I won, I’d get to go home. So I tried really, really hard to win.”

“Is everyone in your family a Hero?” Rent asks.

Ben shushes him.

“I won,” I say. “I was pretty traumatized by all the blood and stuff though. I didn’t have Ben’s stomach. So when the King so graciously told me that I had to marry him instead of going home I…snapped.” I shrug, unapologetic. “I was a kid. I didn’t realize the fire would get so out of control.”

“You admit you set it,” Augusta snaps. “You are a criminal!”

“It was supposed to be a distraction,” I tell Rent. “Sorry about your great great great uncle, I guess. He was a pedophile though, so…”

Rent meets my eyes evenly. “Why did you set a fire as a distraction?”

“To escape,” I say. I’m liking this kid a little more now that the Demon King is halfway done crystallizing. Ben and I will be able to go home soon. “I needed to get back to our world. He wasn’t going to let me. So I used the fire as a distraction and ran away to the other portal in the Guild.” I frown. “But I couldn’t get through.”

“Why not?” Rent asks. “You completed the prophecy, right?”

“Not quite,” I say. I kick the Demon King with my foot. My steel-toed boots tap against the stone part of him. “You need to break the crystal. Not kill the Demon King. I came back here to finish the job.”

“And set another fire,” Ben chirps.

I ruffle his hair. “You bet. Who wants a mountain that keeps growing those things, anyway?” I point at Rent. “Total overreaction on your great great great grandpa’s part to send wizards after me, by the way. Even after I explained why the mountain had to go, he was still mad! I barely made it through the portal back to my world before the knights could hunt me down. But I knew it’d be a matter of time before another Hero got summoned. I could feel the mountain’s pull on me even as I made it back to my world.”

“It’s a sacred mountain,” Augusta retorts. “You’re a criminal and a murderer. You should never have come back–”

“You kidnapped my brother,” I say. “How many times am I going to have to say–”

“My sister saved your world and got nothing for it,” Ben interrupts. He folds his arms and glares at Augusta. “And she just did it again. Maybe this time you can try thanking her for it instead of marrying her off to a creepy old king.”

I sigh as the Delta Worldians fall silent. That’s another problem with these people - they never know when it’s time to say thanks. “Right, well, no thanks needed, I guess, don’t rush to say it.” I pull my sword out of the Demon King before he calcify around it. “Is anyone feeling the heroic urge to stop me from setting the mountain on fire now or should I tell my story again?”

Immediately the elders start arguing.

“I don’t think you understand what holy is–”

“If you try, I’ll pick up my blade–”

“Do it.” Prince Rent doesn’t even look at his advisers. He nods. “No, you should do it this time. I’ll even help you. Mount Trilbia needs to go.”

“Prince, you can’t!”

“Prince Rent, the cost to Delta World will be enormous if you assist these criminals!”

“The cost is already too high,” Prince Rent snaps. He gestures angrily to the room, to the demon king, to Ben. “Look! Look what our devotion to this place has brought us! Evil that persists across generations, fear and destruction, a legacy of child abductions and deaths of those we coerced into servitude! No, no longer. It ends here. It ends today.”

I’m so moved that I start to clap.

“Stop,” Ben hisses and hits at my hands until I stop. “They’re having a moment.”

“They should have it faster,” I say. “The Demon King is just about ready to get smashed.”

“Shut up.”

“Prince Rent,” Augusta says. She grapples for an argument. “You can’t make such a decision on your own. Your father is the King.”

“My father,” Rent says evenly, “sent me here with full authority to support the Hero however he needs support. That now includes destroying this mountain.” He looks at Jameson. “I know you have detonation spells. I order you to use them. Now.”

Jameson stares at Prince Rent for a long, long moment. Then, slowly, he reaches into his belt pouch.

Augusta gasps. “Jameson, you can’t be serious! This is madness!”

“It is madness,” Jameson agrees. He never takes his eyes off Rent as he pulls the detonation spells out. “It is old madness, Augusta. The Prince is right. It needs to end today.”

This is so dramatic. “Totally,” I say. I make grabby hands for the detonation spells. “Let’s put one on the Demon King’s head.”

“Oh, fine,” Augusta says and snatches a few detonation spells from Jameson to set out herself.

The mood is somber as we set the detonation spells. That’s why I only giggle a little when I put one right between the Demon King’s eyes.

—----.

“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?” Prince Rent asks. He glares at the portal before turning puppy eyes on my brother. “Just for the celebration feast?”

Ben smiles at the prince and takes the prince’s hands in both of his. “Rent. This has been an unforgettable journey. Our friendship means so much to me. So, please, don’t take it personally when I say fuck no.”

I cover my mouth to hide the laugh that wants to escape.

“Don’t come back,” Augusta says from beside me. She’s watching the portal with interest, waiting for it to turn green once it connects to our world. “Seriously. I’ll assassinate you if I have to.”

“It was a mountain that grew demons,” I say incredulously. “I did you a favor!”

Augusta glares at me. “My children were born on that mountain.”

“It’s not like it’s no longer there.”

“It’s a smoking hole in the ground.”

“You can visit that hole!”

“Augusta, quit arguing with the girl,” Jameson cuts in before Augusta can say anything else. He sighs looking over the boys. “We all blew up the Holy Mountain. We will all pay the price equally.”

“It’s extra hole-y now,” I observe. I don’t bother to duck when Augusta throws a spell at me. As usual, it fizzles out before it can even touch my hair. “Oooh, do it again, maybe it will work this time.”

“I. Will. Assassinate you.”

“Try using a knife.”

“You–!”

“Erika!” Ben shakes Rent off of him. “Look! Time to go!”

The portal sparks green and settles.

I grin. “You think Grandma is waiting for us?”

“If they haven’t banned her from the premises yet,” Ben says. He grabs my hand when I offer it to him. “Together?”

“Together.”

We jump through without looking back.

_END_

OH MY GOSH THAT WAS SO LONG. If you stuck all the way until the end, thanks for reading! If you’d like to read stories like this or any of my 2nd person stories a week before I post them here, come check me out on Patreon (X)! New story already up. Thanks for reading!

#my writing #long post #wizards #the chosen one #I love Erika #Ben is a cinnamon roll

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Note

how about when they first noticed ezra was a nervous and anxious baby ?

Seperation

prompt: the moment when h and yn decide that Ezra needs to see a therapist.

warnings: angst

if you like the fic - please reblog, like, comment, or come talk to me in my inbox!

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enjoy 😊

—

It’s late at night, like 3 in the morning, and Harry was down in Atlanta for three games with the Braves.

Easton and Cash had long adjusted to their father being away for short spurts of time - doesn’t mean they don’t miss him but they know he’ll come back to them.

Ezra was another story.

YN felt dread anytime he went away for a game because her youngest got so anxious and had trouble sleeping.

He was usually okay during the day (Harry was gone for practice and obligations during most mornings and afternoons).

It was at night time.

She really didn’t want to call and bother her husband because he had just played a game that went into three innings of overtime and had gotten a gnarly bruise on his thigh from a ball hitting him as he batted.

When they’d FaceTimed after the game, about eight, he had been so exhausted in his hotel room that his eyes were nearly closing as he spoke to her.

Now at three, three in the morning, Ezra still hasn’t went to bed because of how fussy and tearful he was - babbling about his father.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” He was whining into his mother’s neck, his hot tears rolling down his cheeks and onto her skin.

“Ezzie, baby. We have to calm down. Mama’s here and daddy is okay, he’s just working,” She murmured to him for the hundredth time that night.

YN was sat in the den with him because she didn’t want him waking up his brothers or his little sister who just begun to sleep through the night for the most part.

At one point, she did stir for a night feeding, and as YN sat on her bed - Briar latched sleepily, Ezra was nestled tightly into her other side.

When it hit three-thirty, she began to feel herself get frustrated because she couldn’t fix the situation - no matter what she did.

She knew once tears began rolling down her own cheeks that she had to call Harry.

It was never that she was worried he would be mad that she called, she just felt guilty because he had worked so hard already that day.

YN reaches for her phone, taking a deep inhale before pressing his contact for facetime.

It rings three times before it’s picked up, completely dark in his room, and he rasps out drowsily, “Wha’s going on, mama? Y’alright? The babies alright?”

“I-I can’t get him to settle,” YN takes a deep breath, the sleep deprivation making her want to just break down and sob.

“Daddy? Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Ezra just chants, eyes wide on the screen, searching for his father to just appear but all he sees is darkness.

That causes him to just start bawling his eyes out when he can’t will his father onto the phone like he wants.

“Whoa, Ezzie. Sweet boy, c’mon. Y’gotta breathe s’daddy can understand you,” Harry coos, stirring to turn on the light and illuminate his pillow-creased face.

“Daddy!” His voice is shrill, high-pitched and it makes YN’s ears ring.

“Ezra Duke,” Harry says a little more firmly, “Daddy can’t understand you when you scream, okay?”

The little boy sniffles and tries to catch his breath, leaning into where YN is rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“Miss you,” His son whimpers sadly, bringing his voice down a notch, “Come home, please.”

“I am flying’ home tomorrow, bab. Daddy will be home around noon but you have to be good for mama,” He says, voice still smooth and calm.

“Now!” Ezra screams in a way he usually never does and then continues, “Now! Now daddy! Now!”

Both parents are taking aback, Harry with wide eyes and parted lips as he watching his son through his phone and YN just squeezes her eyes shut, exhaling out of her mouth.

“Mama, breathe,” Harry directs towards her, can tell how overwhelmed she is getting from all the chaos of his screaming.

“Daddy, daddy,” Ezra blubbers, green eyes angry and anxious at the same time, “Please, home!”

YN hears noise from behind her, to see her eight year old padding into the room with his unruly curls poking every which way.

“Mama, is Ezzie okay?” Easton wonders, knuckling his eyes sleepily and then Cash follows right behind him in his dinosaur pajamas.

“Fuck, he woke up the boys,” YN informs Harry tearfully, “I just…I don’t know what to do. I can’t do anything to make him feel better.”

The older boys peek into the screen to smile at their dad and Harry gives them a tense smile, “Hi boys, I know Ez is being loud but can y’two be good f’your mama and go back to bed?”

They agree, giving their upset brother a kiss and then their mom before talking quietly to each other as they walk up the stairs.

“Daddy? Home, please! Hold me!” Ezra wails, clinging to his mother’s neck tightly enough to hurt as he tantrums.

“This is the worst it’s ever been, he’s normally stopped before I’ve had to call you,” YN groans, rocking him swiftly against her for lack of a better idea.

“Wait…” Harry sits up, scrubbing a hand over his puffy face, “Has this been happening’ every time m’away?”

“It just started two to three months ago but he’s always been able to be calmed down within an hour or so,” YN replies, shushing Ezra as he babbles over and over again daddy, daddy, daddy.

Harry’s jaw tightens and his frown settles into a deep crease, “Well why a’ve you not told me that m’baby has been cryin’ for me when I’m gone? Do y’not think that’s important?”

YN recognizes his irritation and is running on less than five hours of sleep over two days and may he’s it back with an even sharper tone.

“We can’t change that you’re gone. I’m trying to handle it, Harry.”

“Y’not doin’ a bloody good job at it!” Harry bites back in frustration, heart pounding in desperation as he hears his son cry for him.

“Daddy, daddy, come on.”

Then YN looks at him with watering, hurt eyes, “I’m doing my best. You’re not here, I can’t make you appear. I’m trying to calm him down without having to wake you up.”

And Harry shouldn’t but he’s angry and misses his babies - all of them but especially the one who needs him the most right now.

“Y’dont think I deserve to know tha’ Ezra’s been acting like this?” Harry snaps before adding, “In this situation, y’best isn’t good enough because he’s still crying and y’still haven’t been able to settle him.”

And wow, those words hit her like a ton of bricks. It was instilling all the insecurities that she had bubbling in her chest.

In this situation, y’best isn’t good enough because he’s still crying and y’still haven’t been able to settle him.

Harry automatically knows that he spoke before he thought and he let his stressed out mind say untrue hurtful things.

He part his lips about to speak before YN cuts him off.

“If you can do it so much better than me, fucking good you. Then come home and fix this because I give up,” YN laughs without humor, finger finding the red button to hang out and disconnecting.

Harry tried calling back over and over and over but YN just hangs her head, sniffling, as she watches her tired, anxious little son finally drift off to sleep.

At some point, her phone stops ringing when he’s given up and it doesn’t ring again until for another thirty minutes.

She knew he was going to keep calling until she picked up - had been that way since they first started dating.

By now, Ezra was asleep in his room and YN was sat against their headboard - having tossed the tear soaked shirt she had on off and was feeding Briar once more.

The millionth facetime request comes through and finally she swipes to answer, he’s furious right as they connect, “D’you have any idea how worried I am? Y’cant ju-“

He stops himself when he sees his baby girl pop her head from her mother’s breast with puffy lips and look at the screen, “Dadadadada.”

“Oh, hi lil’ mama,” Harry changes his tone completely, face softening - “Did I interrupt y’eatin’? S’mama being so nice and feeding you?”

Briar just smiles with a gapped baby tooth smile, a dimple pushing into her left cheek as she does so.

“Guess I’m good for one thing, right? A fucking milk-maker,” YN scoffs at her husband’s opposite tone as she guides Briar gently back down to finish her meal.

Harry frowns, “Y’know tha’s not anything near the truth and tha’ I think you’re the best mama to our babies. M’just upset.”

“You told me my best wasn’t good enough, I can’t believe you would say something like tha’ to me,” YN begins to sniffle again.

“Sweetheart, m’sorry. I ju-“

“What did you call for, Harry? It’s nearly four-thirty in the morning and I haven’t slept for nearly two days now. I want to feed her and go to sleep,” YN’s voice is disconnected and exhausted.

“To talk, I didn’t say how I was feeling correctly-“

“When you come home tomorrow you can fix everything and I’ll let you because I’m not doing a good enough job,” His wife cuts him off again.

Harry starts to feel a ball of worry form in his throat as he hears how unemotional and distance his wife sounds with him.

He had totally said the wrong things as his wife was just trying to do her best at balancing four babies while he was away.

“Please, let me apologize-“

“I would like to go to sleep. Please don’t call back,” YN responds before ending the phone call and leaving the screen dark.

They rarely ever fought. Especially like this.

He’s man enough to admit that he cries after he tries calling back (even though she said not to) and it went straight to voicemail.

He tries facetiming in the morning, at around nine right before if flight takes off - surprised when it actually was picked up.

Harry only sees YN for a brief moment before she’s propping up the camera on the kitchen table so that Easton and Cash are in view eating pancakes and Briar is in her high chair with blueberries staining her chubby cheeks.

Ezra must still be in bed.

“Hi bubbies,” Harry greets with a smile as they’re curls shake as they look up with excited smiles.

“Daddy! You comin’ home?” Cash squeaks excitedly through a mouthful of food.

“Hi dad!” Easton chimes in, waving.

Briar is only half-interested, more taken by the fact that if she squishes the berries between her fingers they turn mushy, babbles out a, “Daddadaa.”

“I’ll be home in like three hours, ‘kay” Harry informs them - his heart aches to be there right now with theme

“Ezzie cried all night,” Cash let’s his father know.

“Mama cried too,” Easton whispers, like it’s a secret that he doesn’t want her to hear, “I think she is really sad.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, “I know. Ezzie was sad last night. Can I talk to mama?”

Easton looks to his mother off camera as she must say something to him to repeat to Harry, “Mama said that she is busy and she’ll see you when you get home.”

He clenches his fist off camera, trying to smile but he knows it’s terse as he says, “Alright, I love you all. See y’when I get home.”

Meanwhile, YN gets all the children settled after breakfast.

Easton, Cash, and Ezra in the backyard - the two older ones digging holes for bugs and the younger playing in the sandbox.

Briar was snoozing in the cradle of YN’s elbow as she sat on a chaise - watching the kids.

She hits the number she was looking for, waiting for it to ring, and then she hears, “Hillside Pediatrics, this is Jess.”

The office knew the family well because Harry is Harry Styles and they have four children who visit there.

YN inquires about therapeutic options for him, resources, and if they had any recommendations for where to take him.

Like the super mom she is, she manages to set up an intake appointment that evening (which was a miracle on its own), call Anne and ask to watch the other children, and then take a deep breathe.

Harry steps through the back door, dressed in his usual Yankees hoodie, Nike shorts, and trainers looking tanner than before.

“Hi bubbies!” He greets, basking in when all of his children look up and squeal excitedly at the sight of their father.

Easton and Cash are the fastest, racing to cling to each legs and nuzzle into his thigh with a tight hug.

Ezra is slower, by the time he’s arrived to his father - there was no room for him to shuffle in and he automatically lets out an earth-shattering wail.

Just like before.

“Daddy! Hold me! Daddy, hold me please!” His youngest son begs desperately, stretching up his arms, and letting hot tears stream down his cheeks.

Harry tuts, reaching for him and popping him on his hip but Ezra has other ideas - scrambling until his nose is pressed into the curve of Harry’s neck with his arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Ezzie, c’mon now,” Harry titters softly, reaching down to give both of his other boys a kiss on the head before they dart back off to play.

“Daddy, miss you,” Ezra blubbers sadly, Harry wincing when his son yanks a bit in his longer curls by the nape of his neck.

“Y’okay, daddy’s got you. Relax, breathe bubba,” His father reassured him, swaying softly back and forth until he’s just sniffing.

“We have an appointment with a children’s play therapist for him later at five,” YN tells him, shushing Briar who’s squeaking from the noise.

Harry takes a deep inhale, “Okay, that sounds like a good idea. Can we talk now since y’been ignoring my calls?”

YN bristles at the attitude in his tone, “Excuse me if I’d rather not be critiqued on my skills as a mother when I am sleep-deprived and stressed out.”

He clenches his jaw, speaking lowly with firmness, “Y’bein’ absurd! I didn’t critique to you, y’blowing things out of proportion! Y’the one who didn’t tell me this was going on!”

“It didn’t get that bad until last night! I could handle it - he would just be upset for a little before bed but he’d never got that anxious before,” She justifies, returning the glare he’s giving her.

“Didn’t think y’could mentioned it to me? I have a right to know, he’s m’baby too. I could have fix this yet you were letting him suffer,” Harry bites out but know as soon as it’s out of his mouth that he wishes he could swallow the words back down.

You were letting him suffer.

YN doesn’t even argue back, just starts bawling because of how hurtful those words were and how could he even say that?

“Mama, fuck- I didn’t, I’m just-“

His wife gets up without a word, using Briar’s blanket to wipe at her wet cheeks, and vanishing through the sliding back doors.

Ezra was snoozing peacefully on him and he couldn’t leave the boys outside alone so he resorts to sitting down on one of the outdoor couches and curse internally.

He couldn’t believe he was being so cruel. He just felt so….betrayed that she hadn’t told him what had been going on and he felt like he was letting down Ezra.

It was a nasty feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach because he was away so much from his family and it was stressful for everyone.

He wanted to cry at the idea of his son crying for him every night.

Harry starts to get anxious when YN isolates herself in their bedroom with Briar for the next upcoming hours.

He knocks softly, opening the door to YN turned on her side away from him, under the covers, with Briar asleep in her bassinet asleep.

“Mama? Y’awake?” Harry murmurs cautiously with a sandwich and chips since she’d disappeared and hadn’t been down once, water in the other hand.

“Are the boys okay?” YN asks quietly, not bothering to turn over to face him.

“Yes, babies are fine. They’re watchin’ Toy Story right now, eatin’ lunch,” Harry replies, eyes falling in his beautiful little daughter.

“If the boys are fine then I don’t want you in here,” YN tells him with an angry tone but low enough that it won’t disturb Briar.

Harry nearly whimpers.

“Baby, please. We need to talk-“

“If the boys are fine, I want you to leave me alone.”

Harry hesitates by the door, feeling helpless as he slips the plate onto the dresser in case she is hungry but he doubts she’ll touch it.

“Alright, I’ll leave y’be. Call me if y’need anythin’ or help with Briar,” He offers, trying to buy time in the room.

She laughs sarcastically, “Yeah, I’ll make sure you’re notified because I can’t do a good enough job myself.”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair, trying to conjure up the perfect words to fix this situation but it’s interrupted.

“Daddy? Daddy? Where? Hold me!” Ezra screeches as Easton stands outside the door with him, holding his hand.

“Dad, he won’t stop,” The oldest complains with annoyance as Ezra scurries to his father and up into his arms.

“Daddy daddy,” He chants into his father’s skin with relief.

“Thank y’East, Ezzie’s been sad lately. Huh?” Harry replies, thumbing at Easton’s cheek.

The oldest shrugs, “Not always. Mama cheers him up all the time with kisses and hugs.”

Harry gazes back to the lump under the blankets and feels himself getting choked up. He really really regretted his words.

He didn’t regret being upset with her. He regrets the cheap shots he took at his wife who’s just trying to be a full time mom to his babies.

“Mama?” Ezra squeaks at the word, realizing he hasn’t seen her recently and then he’s back to tantruming, “Mama, mama, mama. Where’s mama?”

“M’right here, Ez,” YN murmurs, flipping to her other side so that her youngest could see her. His face lights up and he scurries to the bed, scampering up until his mom is tucking him under the blankets with her.

Harry’s heart aches when Ezra whimpers quietly and burrows into her warm chest with happiness that he found his mother.

“Y’got him?” Harry asks, hand raking through Easton’s curls as he leans into his father’s side.

“Can we go play now, dad?” Easton asks impatiently, tugging his father out of the room and down the staircase.

Anne shows up and the two older ones are so excited, bouncing up and down as they tug her into the backyard to show her the holes they dug with Briar popped on her hip - gnawing on her shirt collar.

YN brings Ezra down the stairs, curls tamed with a bit styling mousse and a little adias x disney outfit that was the cutest thing ever. ***

Harry reaches out to take Ezra off YN but he whines and shakes his head, clinging to his mother like it was life or death.

“No daddy! Mama!” Ezra pouts angrily, glaring at his father with protectiveness.

He puts his hands up, “Okay, okay. Y’can stay with y’mama.”

The car ride is silent, Harry doesn’t know what to say and YN isn’t giving him anything to work with. He feels like he’ll just say the wrong thing again.

When they pull up to the building and Harry puts it in park, he’s startled when his wife just starts bawling into her hands.

Harry freezes for a second with wide eyes before rumbling, “Mama, sweetheart. Please don’t cry, it breaks m’heart, darlin’.”

“I’m…I’m no-not a good mom,” YN cries, “I wanted to tell you but I was scared. I don’t want you to think I can’t handle raising our babies.”

Harry pries her hands away from her face, cupping her cheeks and firmly staring, full conviction in his voice, “If I didn’t think y’could handle four babies then I wouldn’t have put them in you. I wouldn’t talk about putting more in you.”

YN’s eyes are watering, letting Harry swipe the tears away with his thumbs as she inhales deeply, “I am so so sorry I didn’t tell you. I don’t want you to worry when you’re away.”

Harry leans forward, kissing her harshly before whispering against her lips, “I don’t give a fuck about baseball in comparison to you and the kids. I’d give it up this second if y’asked. I want to worry because you’re the love of m’life and I’m y’husband - I’m here to support you and support our family.”

He continues, “I am a bit frustrated with you. I want you to tell me everything I miss when I’m gone even if it stresses me out or upsets me. Okay? But I shouldn’t have said hurtful things. You’re the best mama on this planet and y’treat our babies the best.”

YN nods, willing herself to stop crying as their appointment starts in ten minutes as she takes steady breathes.

“I forgive you. I’m sorry I let my pride get in the way. I just…I feel like you do everything for us and the least I could do is manage the kids,” She sighs with self-deprecation.

“Mama, just because one of our bubs needs therapy doesn’t mean you’re not doing a perfect job. We’ve always know Ezzie was an anxious baby. This is going to be good for him and for us, right?” He encourages, nosing at her cheek before she offers up her lips once more for a short kiss.

“I love you,” YN tells him, running a thumb of a light dusting of stubble on his jawline.

“Love y’more than anything,” He replies instantly.

Ezra is nervous as they step into the calming, peaceful office where there are neatly organized buckets of toys and shelves of books.

Patricia was a middle-aged woman with a kind smile who welcomed them in, she observed how Ezra had himself wrapped around his dad with hesitant green eyes peeking at her.

As they sit down, Patricia says softly, “This must be Ezra?”

They all wait for a moment before the toddler turns around to look at the woman and says timidly, “m’Ezzie.”

“Hi Ezzie,” The therapist greets and he gives her a cautious smile before nuzzling back into his father’s neck.

The discuss what has been going on. How Ezra has always been very nervous, anxious, cautious in a way that none of his other siblings are.

How he struggles when one of his parents is away from him, how he can get upset if he can’t find one of his siblings, or how much he worries about things most kids his age don’t worry about.

Patricia does an excellent job in calming down the parents, assuring them that it was nothing out of the norm, and that therapy would be beneficial for him.

She states that they’ll work a lot of feelings - being able to describe and recognize them. That will be one of the most important things.

Also working on his ability to calm down and cope with stressful situations, recommending once a week which of course his parents agreed to.

By the end of the intake, Ezra had ventured to take one of the baby dolls from a bin and bring it back to his father.

“Look daddy, s’a baby,” He lisps proudly, holding it up to show him.

“Good job, bubs,” Harry laughs, leaning to kiss his forehead - watching him toddle off to find more dolls to play with.

That night, after all the kids go to bed, and YN is finishing her final feeding with Briar in her nursery before putting in her crib.

Harry runs a nice, steaming bath with lavender bubbles and a candle burning with the lights dimmed low.

When she finds him, he slowly undresses her with warm kisses and praises of how good of a wife and mother she is.

They lay in there together, YN between his legs with her head rested on his chest, as his hands massage at her tummy and hips lovingly.

And yeah, everything is okay after that.

They get up the next day and everything is back to normal except now Ezra goes to therapy once a week with his parents.

(Ezra ends up working with Patricia until he’s in about sixth grade.)

2K notes · View notes

rubysunnday · 3 years

Text

reluctant caretaker

A/N: this is a very self indulgent fic, lol. it’s a comfort one for me right now

summary: having three younger siblings often meant Y/N was put in charge of looking after them. But sometimes her older siblings need some help too.

Aka, eight times Y/N did Anthony's job for him and one time he became her father

The trouble with having three younger siblings was that Y/N often got waylaid with looking after them and keeping them occupied. She didn't mind it - it was actually quite enjoyable to watch Hyacinth attack Gregory and to help Francesca with her pianoforte.

But sometimes, Y/N found herself becoming an older sibling to her own older siblings. When the weight of their responsibilities became too much, Y/N was there, like a rock that survives countless storms.

Hyacinth

Hyacinth and Y/N were two of the closest Bridgerton siblings in the entire household. They'd been close ever since Hyacinth's birth - the two becoming thick as thieves despite the years between them.

Hyacinth's beautiful, angelic face often helped Y/N escape the wrath of Anthony whenever Y/N snuck out the house and Y/N returned the favour by helping Hyacinth hide from the siblings she upset and by supporting her chaos.

It was a quiet day in the library and Y/N was minding her own business, organising the books and cleaning the room in general. The library had become a special place for her - her safety room,

“Y/N, hide me!” Hyacinth squeaked, skidding around the corner and running directly into Y/N’s legs.

“Wait, what?” Y/N asked, frowning, stumbling at the force of her little sister running into her. She grabbed

“Just, help me!” Hyacinth repeated, her eyes pleading.

“Hyacinth!” Anthony bellowed, his voice bouncing off the walls. Y/N could hear him marching up the stairs towards the library.

Y/N’s head shot up at the bellow and looked down at her little sister with wide eyes. “What did you do?”

“Please, I’ll tell you afterwards,” Hyacinth said, begging.

Y/N sighed and looked around for somewhere to hide Hyacinth. The library was big and didn’t have any decent hiding places. Y/N lifted her long dress up.

“I swear, Hyacinth, you owe me,” she replied as Hyacinth crawled under the fabric, pulling it over her body. Y/N arranged her layers of skirt over her little sister and then pulled her shawl around too.

“Hyacinth!” Anthony bellowed again as he stormed into the room. He spotted Y/N organising the books and turned to her. “Y/N, have you seen Hyacinth?”

Y/N shook her head and shrugged. “No, I have not. Sorry, brother.”

Anthony growled. “If you do, send her to me.”

“Why, what has she done?” Y/N asked innocently.

“She put a frog in my desk drawer,” Anthony snapped. “It’s hopping around the house, Colin is trying to catch it.”

Y/N tried not laugh, pressing her lips together. “Oh. Of course, if I see her, I shall send her to you.”

Anthony stormed off, out of the library. Y/N lifted her skirt up and narrowed her eyes down at Hyacinth.

“A frog, seriously?” She asked as Hyacinth crawled out.

“He took my book away,” Hyacinth replied, looking like an innocent angel.

Y/N rolled her eyes and shoved Hyacinth towards the door. “Shoo, I do not want to get in trouble with Anthony.”

Hyacinth rang off and Y/N resumed looking for her book.

“Hyacinth!”

Y/N burst out laughing as she heard Anthony bellow at Hyacinth, his yell quickly followed by Hyacinth’s shriek and the sound of someone charging down the stairs. Y/N shook her head and smiled, laughing as she heard more yelling and shrieking from her sister.

Gregory

Y/N walked past Gregory’s room and glanced in as she passed. She paused and walked back, taking a look at Gregory and noticing him crying.

Y/N knocked on his door. “Gregory, what’s wrong?”

Gregory sniffed, wiping his eyes as he looked up at his big sister. “My mouse died,” he said softly, hiccuping.

Y/N’s eyes softened and she walked into her brother’s room, crouching down on the floor next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh, Greg, I am sorry, darling,” Y/N said, stroking his hair.

Gregory had found the mouse lurking in the kitchens one night and - despite the rest of the family telling him to get rid of it - Gregory had kept it, named it and given it a home.

And it had stayed in Gregory’s room for the past three months. Y/N had grown accustomed to checking in on the mouse whenever she went into her brother’s room and knew how closed he’d gotten to the rodent.

“Colin took him away,” Gregory whispered, more tears leaking out his eyes. “And I do not want to leave him but mother is insisting on everyone going to the party -”

“Hey, Gregory, calm down,” Y/N said gently. “We do not have to do anything with your mouse until you are ready. And I will stay by your side this entire party, alright?”

Gregory nodded and gave her a watery smile. “Thank you, sister.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to his head. “Always.”

The floorboard outside Gregory’s room creaked and Y/N turned and looked to see who it was. Anthony stood outside the door, dressed in his waistcoat with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and gave her a smile, mouthing a thank you to Y/N.

Y/N nodded and gave him a returning smile.

Francesca

Y/N eyed Colin. “Brother, that waistcoat is beginning to look a little snug.”

Colin let out a gasp and turned to face her. “How dare you!” He said, hand flying to his chest. “I was not going to say anything but your dresses are beginning to look a bit tight.”

Y/N gasped and whacked Colin’s arm, dodging the shove he aimed at her. “Colin!”

The front door slammed shut and Y/N looked up as Francesca stormed towards them.

“Hey, Franny,” Y/N greeted, smiling.

Francesca didn’t acknowledge her. She shoved past her and Colin and Y/N got a glimpse at her tear stained face as she ran past.

“Francesca!” Colin called, brow furrowing in concern at how upset his sister was.

“Leave me alone!” Francesca yelled, running up the stairs. A few moments later, her door slammed shut.

“Oh, I will go,” Y/N muttered, heading up the stairs after her sister. “Maybe run around the block and work off the bacon you ate at lunch.”

Colin gasped and let out a stuttered mess of insulted sounds as Y/N laughed and walked up the stairs.

Francesca had shut the door behind her but didn’t lock the door. Y/N knocked gently on the door but when she didn’t hear her sister reply, she opened the door and walked inside.

Francesca had dramatically flung herself face down on her bed and was quietly sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

“Oh, Franny,” Y/N said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her sister and putting a hand on her back, rubbing it gently.

Y/N had no idea what was wrong or what had happened to upset Francesca so much, but she didn’t need to know the specifics. Her sister was upset and needed her big sister on her side.

“Anthony is horrible,” Francesca sobbed. “He said such horrible things about the Earl of Kilmartin and he knows I like him, Y/N/N, he knows.”

Y/N sighed, stroking Francesca’s hair, twirling it around her finger. “Anthony is... well he is Anthony. He is very protective of us, Franny - he had to become a parental figure to all of us when he was barely an adult. I do not blame him for having his reservations about the Earl but know that anything Anthony says is... the majority of the time out of love.”

Francesca rolled over onto her side and looked up at her sister with teary eyes. “Can you talk to him?”

Y/N smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind Francesca’s ear. “Of course I can, my love. I shall tell him how ridiculous he is being and that you do not want to hear another word out of him until he can say something nice.”

Francesca giggled and sat up, hugging her sister tightly. “Thank you, sister. Truly.”

Y/N returned the hug. “Anything for you, Francesca.”

Eloise

Y/N concentrated on walking down the stairs, holding the hem of her dress up so that she didn’t trip over. She still wasn’t use to heels.

“You look like a newborn foal, Y/N,” Benedict called, eyeing her with a laugh as she gripped the bannister tightly.

“I detest these heels,” she muttered, taking Benedict’s offered hand and letting him guide her down the rest of the stairs.

“Do not let Eloise hear you say that, she will go off on a rant,” Benedict teased.

It was if mentioning her twin sister’s name summoned her. Eloise suddenly burst out of Anthony’s office in a flurry of expensive silks and tears and ran past Y/N and Benedict. Both siblings stared after her, wincing when the door slammed loudly, shaking the walls.

“What is it with my siblings and running past me in tears?” Y/N asked, despairing. “This is the third time in as many weeks! What did you say, Anthony?” Y/N asked, turning to face her eldest brother with a hefty sigh.

“I merely mentioned her debut again and she got upset,” Anthony replied, shaking his head. “I shall talk to her.”

“No, do not even think about it,” Y/N said, halting Anthony by stepping in front of him. “You will make it worse. I shall go.”

“Wait, Y/N, I’ll come too,” Benedict called.

Y/N paused on the stairs and raised her eyebrows at him. She snorted. “Oh, this will be entertaining.”

Benedict gave her a confused look but shrugged, following after Y/N as she walked up the stairs and to Eloise’s room. Every time Eloise’s debut was brought up, she was bound to get upset or angry. It was the one subject that made her loose her judgement and her cool exterior.

Benedict knocked twice on Eloise’s door. “Eloise?”

“Go away, Benedict!” Eloise yelled and something hit the door with a hefty thud/

Benedict looked vaguely offended and took a step back from the door with a frown.

Y/N smiled to herself and chuckled. “That is exactly what I thought would happen,” she said, crossing her arms and looking up at her brother. “She thinks you’re going to gang up on her.”

“But I’m not going to.”

“Yes, but try telling that to an emotional teenager who’s big brother has upset her,” Y/N replied. “Go downstairs, I will be ten minutes.”

Benedict grumbled but trudged off down the corridor. Y/N waited for him to disappear and then gently knocked on Eloise’s bedroom door.

“El, it’s me,” Y/N called.

There was silence and then the door was unlocked and Eloise appeared, her eyes red.

“How do you do it?” Eloise asked, sniffing.

Y/N frowned. “Do what?”

“Be perfect. Be the perfect daughter and sister all the time,” Eloise elaborated. “I cannot do it and it is so difficult to pretend.”

Y/N smiled at her. “I have been practicing for years, darling Eloise. It is all an act. I am not perfect and certainly not perfect all the time. I am merely perfect enough that mother and Anthony forget about my flaws.”

“How did you get through your debut?” Eloise asked and Y/N could see the genuine fear in her eyes. “How do you cope with all those people looking and watching.”

“For my debut, I relied on Colin,” Y/N replied honestly. “He never left my side unless I was absolutely certain I could manage on my own. Unlike Anthony, there was no judgement or constant interrogation of the suitors. He just listened to me. And after a while, the constant watching and looking does not bother you. It becomes background noise.”

Eloise dropped her head onto the edge of her door and closed her eyes. “I have hardly even begun and I am already exhausted.”

“I know.”

Y/N reached out her hand and grabbed her twin sister’s. Eloise squeezed her hand in return and gave her a tired smile.

“But I will be with you every step of the way, sister,” Y/N promised.

Daphne

Daphne and Y/N had never been particularly close. They were complete opposites growing up - much like Eloise and Daphne were now - and were constantly arguing with one another. But ultimately, they did love each other.

As Y/N grew up, she looked to Daphne for help and guidance and her sister had provide it. But Y/N could tell that her sister was struggling. With her new life as a duchess, as a mother and as a wife.

“Daphne.”

“Yes, Y/N?”

The two were enjoying afternoon tea in the sprawling garden of Hastings House, watching the swans in the lake nearby.

“Are you alright?”

Daphne set her tea down and looked at Y/N. Y/N reached out a hand across the table and gripped Daphne’s, rubbing her thumb over the back of it and giving her a smile.

And that was all it took for Daphne to break down crying at the little table they sat at.

Y/N moved her chair to sit next to her sister and put her arms around her, comforting her as she cried. She didn’t have a clear idea of what Daphne was going through - being a mother was hard in its own right. But Daphne was also running an estate, being a duchess and also trying to navigate high society.

“You know, I am not a mother - or a duchess, for that fact - but what I do know is that I do not know anyone who is stronger than you, Daph. Mother does not count,” Y/N added quickly, noticing Daphne lifting her head up to object.

Daphne gave her sister a watery, emotion filled smile and sat up, taking a deep breath in. “Thank you, sister.”

Y/N smiled, picking her cup of tea up again. “You are welcome. Now, do we have anymore of those biscuits?”

Colin

Y/N was having deja vu.

What was it with her siblings and locking themselves in their rooms whilst crying?

“Someone should go talk to Colin,” Anthony said quietly, setting his newspaper down.

There was an obvious empty space at the breakfast table in between Benedict and Y/N where Colin usually sat. Ever since the Marina incident, Colin had hardly spoken or come out of his room. Wisely, no one had said anything about it. Violet was engrossed in Lady Whistledown, Hyacinth and Gregory were, for once, behaving themselves, and Eloise was quietly cutting her pear up into thin silces.

“He won’t listen to me,” Benedict replied quickly, taking a bite of his toast.

“I am the last person he will want to speak to,” Anthony added, sighing.

The two older brothers both turned to look at Y/N.

Y/N, who was mid bite of her apple, turned to look at them. “What?”

“Well, you are good with crying siblings,” Anthony began.

“Only because you are normally the one who has upset them,” Y/N countered, turning back to her breakfast,

Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Y/N.”

“Oh, fine,” Y/N grumbled, shoving her chair back loudly. “I should really be getting paid for this, honestly.”

Colin’s room was next door to Y/N’s. She paused outside it and sighed.

“This is deja vu,” Y/ muttered, raising a hand, knocking hard on the door. “Colin?”

Colin didn’t reply. Y/N dropped her head on the door and sighed. She grabbed the handle and twisted it, hoping it was open. It swung open with a creak and Y/N poked her head around the wood.

Colin was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with red eyes. He lifted his head and looked at her.

“Hi,” Y/N said quietly, closing the door behind herself and walking further into the room. “You left me on my own at breakfast.”

“Sorry,” Colin muttered.

Y/N walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, nudging Colin to move further over to let her lie down next to him. Colin shuffled over and Y/N laid down next to him, not caring that she was crinkling her dress or ruining her hair.

Colin didn’t talk. Y/N wasn’t expecting him to. But she also wasn’t expecting him to lift his arm up and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Y/N let out a surprised noise but returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his side as best she could.

“Just so you know, they all practically drew straws as to who would come and talk to you,” Y/N said, her voice muffled by Colin’s waistcoat.

“Well, you are an expert now,” Colin replied, his voice a little croaky. “Four siblings now?”

“Do not even get me started, Colin,” Y/N replied, laughing softly. “When I eventually have an emotional break and lock myself in my room, you all better take it in bloody turns.”

Colin laughed, hitting her shoulder as she swore. His laughter faded and he tightened his arms around her but Y/N didn’t mind. It was often the two of them had a moment just them with no one watching or staring.

“Listen, if you come to breakfast I will not throw my orange peel at you,” Y/N said, lifting her head up. “I will happily give you the bits of my bacon that I do not like.”

“Will you give me your extra sausage?” Colin asked.

“I will give you all of my bacon if you give me a sausage,” Y/N countered.

Colin unwrapped his arm from around Y/N’s shoulders and held his hand out to her. “The deal is the deal.”

Y/N snorted. “You did not just quote my favourite book at me,” Y/N said, widening her eyes.

Colin shrugged but his eyes were twinkling for the first time in a few days. Y/N giggled and dropped her head on to a pillow.

“I hate you,” Y/N groaned.

“No you do not,” Colin replied, all but shoving Y/N off his bed. “Now, you have promised me your bacon.”

Benedict

Y/N looked up as another ball of paper whizzed past her head, missing the bin and landing behind it. The bin was beginning to disappear underneath the numerous scrunched up balls of paper. Y/N wisely didn’t say anything, turning back to her book.

Benedict growled, ripping another piece of paper out his sketchbook and launched it at the bin. It missed the bin entirely and smacked Y/N in the head, landing in her lap.

“Sorry,” Benedict called.

Y/N raised her eyebrows at him but said nothing. She picked up the ball of paper and opened it, smoothing it out against the front of her book. “What’s wrong with this?”

Benedict looked up. “The shading is all wrong, the body looks weird...” Benedict sighed and ripped another piece of paper out. He threw it at the bin but it hit Y/N again.

“Alright, do I need to move or are you going to stop hitting me with balls of paper?” Y/N asked, closing her book and raising her eyebrows. “I can move the bin closer.”

“Sorry,” Benedict sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his head back.

Y/N looked at her brother. She unfolded her legs and stood up, walking up to him. She took the sketchbook from his hands and flipped through it.

“What is wrong with these?” Y/N asked, frowning as she perched herself on the arm of the chair her brother was sat in, leaning on his shoulder.

“They do not look... right.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“The angle is weird -”

“Then move the object or move yourself,” Y/N said simply.

“It isn’t just that,” Benedict said. “Every drawing I do I find myself comparing it to other works of art.”

“But they’re not your style,” Y/N replied. “You cannot compare a Van Gogh to a Holbein because they are completely different styles. You just have to find your own style, Benedict.”

“When did you get so wise?” Benedict asked, looking up at her with genuine admiration and curiosity.

“Oh, I think it is due to the constant pep talks I have to keep giving my siblings,” Y/N said, smiling, pretending to ruffle her imaginary feathers.

Benedict smiled. He nodded to the chair opposite him. “Go sit over there.”

“Why?”

“Just sit over there,” Benedict insisted, shoving her off the arm of the chair.

Y/N sat down on the chair and frowned at him. “Are you going to draw me?!”

“Well, you said move the object.”

“Wait, you were drawing me?!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Hush, you,” Benedict called, pressing a finger to his lips. “I am concentrating.”

Y/N giggled but didn’t move, just smoothed her skirt out and picked up her book again.

Anthony

“Y/N!”

Y/N looked up with a frown, trying to work out if she had heard her name or not. Deciding she hadn’t, Y/N returned to the pianoforte, plonking the keys with no real intention.

“Y/N!”

Anthony stormed into the room and came to a sudden halt as he spotted Y/N sat at the pianoforte. “Y/N, did you not hear me yelling?”

Y/N frowned and looked up. “Did you yell for me?” She asked.

“Yes!” Anthony exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “How did you not hear me?” Y/N looked pointedly at the pianoforte. “Yes, alright, point made, now come with me.”

Anthony turned on his heel and marched off. Y/N quickly stood up, almost tripping over the leg of the stool as she ran after her brother.

“Anthony, slow down a moment!” Y/N called, barely keeping up with her older brother’s long legs. “Anthony!”

Y/N ran down the stairs, somehow skipping the last three, and following Anthony into his office. He stopped suddenly in the doorway and turned to face Y/N.

Y/N, who hadn’t lost the momentum she’d gained running down the stairs, ran full pelt into her brother’s chest and squeaked as she lost her balance.

“Carefully!” Anthony exclaimed, grabbing her arms and holding her up.

“You are the one who stopped!” Y/N yelled back. “What on earth is the matter?”

Anthony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, there is just an awful lot happening, I did not mean to panic you.”

“Anthony, just take a minute to breathe,” Y/N said. “What do you need me for?”

“We have been invited to the Queen’s garden party, and I wanted to know if you were interested in coming,” Anthony said, turning and walking up to his desk. He pulled out the invite from amongst the rest of his paperwork and handed it to her.

Y/N ran her eyes over it and shrugged with a nod. “Yes, I suppose.”

Anthony nodded but Y/N could see that he wasn’t paying her any attention. Y/N sat down in front of his desk.

“Anthony, what is wrong?” Y/N asked softly, nudging his foot with hers when he didn’t reply. “Anthony?”

“There is just a lot going on with the estates, the land, your debut, Eloise’s debut, Benedict and Colin.” Anthony sighed and dropped his head. “I do not know how father managed it all.”

“Well, in all fairness, Anthony, our father was raised and taught how to do it. He had years of practice you were not even out of Eaton when you had to take over,” Y/N replied, folding her hands into her lap. “All of this stress is understandable, brother.”

Anthony looked at his sister with a wistful gaze. “When did you get to be so wise?”

“That is exactly what Benedict said the other day,” Y/N replied, smiling. “And all I did was tell him to stop throwing paper at me.”

Anthony chuckled. He stepped around his desk and came over to Y/N, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Oh, what would we do without you, Y/N?”

“Well, I would imagine that the house would be on fire by now and Eloise would have ran off to anywhere else in the country,” Y/N replied, smirking.

Anthony shoved her gently and Y/N giggled, resting her head on his arm.

Y/N

Her hands were shaking. She could feel the panic overwhelming her like a tidal wave and her stays felt suffocating even though Y/N knew they weren’t tight.

All she had to do was get through tonight and then everything, should be, fine. All she had to do was get through her first ball and then everything would get better.

Y/N felt her eyes begin to sting and her throat close and took a shaky deep breath in as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like herself but also didn’t look like herself. An imitation of herself looked back at her.

She had never been this nervous before. It was unusual for her to be this panicked and scared before a big event. Y/N let out a little sob and sank down into her chair, burying her face in her hands to try and control her emotion.

Someone knocked on her door and Y/N quickly tried to make herself look presentable and not like she’d been crying.

“Y/N, come on,” Anthony called, walking in, the floorboards creaking under his feet, “we are all waiting.”

“I will be down in a second,” Y/N called, frantically trying to touch up her make up.

Anthony walked around the corner and stopped. He knew Y/N and could see when she was putting a mask on and pretending. He could see her red eyes, her shaking hands, and instantly knew something was wrong.

“Y/N, what is wrong?” Anthony asked softly, slowly approaching her.

Y/N turned and looked at her brother over her shoulder. He gave her a soft, comforting smile, and she instantly broke down, her shoulders shaking and her hands hiding her face.

Anthony rushed over and knelt down in front of her, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her into his chest as she sobbed.

“Alright, calm down, you’re ok,” Anthony whispered, rubbing circles on her back.

“I don’t think I can do this, Anthony,” Y/N sobbed, clinging onto him tightly. “I don’t know if I can be perfect like Daphne was.”

“You do not have to be perfect,” Anthony said, taking her face between his hands and making her look at him. “You just have to be you. And we will be with you every step of the way.”

Y/N nodded and sighed tiredly. She took a deep breath in and straightened up as Anthony wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Ready?” Anthony asked, standing up and offering her a hand.

“As I will ever be,” Y/N replied with a smile, taking his hand.

#Bridgerton #colin bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton!sis #sister reader #platonic #platonic imagine #bridgerton sister #imagine #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines

2K notes · View notes

pies-writes-and-more · 3 years

Text

haikyuu boys as expecting fathers

characters: TimeSkip!Tsukishima Kei, Bokuto Kōtarō, & Ushijima Wakatoshi, all with a Fem!Pregnant!Reader

warnings: pregnant reader and mentions of having a baby so pls be mindful if this makes you dysphoric or if you’re not in a good headspace for it. But otherwise, it’s all fluff so I hope it makes you guys smile!

a/n: everyone around me irl is having babies so here is the result of that LOL i love cute stories about expecting families and shit. All of these are obviously with TimeSkip! characters! And none of the following gifs are mine so credits to the original creators! Hope you guys like it :)

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Tsukishima loves to tease the shit out of you, and that hasn’t really changed since you started getting bigger. But now, he’ll hide your cravings in the top shelves of the pantry so you have to make him come get it. He can’t help it, it’s that angry pouty look in your eyes - he’s so in love with you, even when you look like you’re about to murder him.

But despite him hiding everything you could possibly crave, he is an absolute sweetheart. He calls his mom every now and then to update her about you and the baby, probably asks about what she liked when she was pregnant. She tells him stories about liking to read to him and his brother, or how she enjoyed a nice bath if she was particularly sore that day. She even joked that she found it really hard to put her shoes on so typically she just wore slippers or easy to slip on shoes.

Cut to the next day, you wake up to Tsukishima reading a book of dinosaur facts to your belly. He’s not so much reading it as he is disputing and/or explaining further the facts that are written in it. He doesn’t notice you wake up while he waves away the book and states, “It’s fine. When you’re here, I’ll just bring you to my museum and I’ll show you in person. I can sneak you out of daycare, just don’t tell your mom.”

You had hoped to be able to keep your independence for longer than this, but found yourself struggling to properly put on your shoes. You huffed, muttering something to your unborn kid about how you’d hold this over their heads forever, and just waddled about with the backs of your shoes folded under your heel. Tsukishima raised an eyebrow as he noticed, waiting for you to sit down in the car before holding the door open and bending down to properly put your shoes on.

“Kei, what’re you doing?” You laughed, watching him swiftly tie up your laces. “They’re fine, they’re old shoes anyways.”

“If you wear your shoes like that, you’ll fall and hurt yourself,” he shrugged. “I can’t have you hurting the little Tsukishima just because you can’t put your shoes on.”

His expression was the same plain emotionless face as usual, but you smiled anyways because here he was, kneeling in front of you and helping you with what is supposed to be a simple task.

The day went on as usual, but you definitely weren’t prepared for your husband to call you into the bathroom and display the little bath he had drawn you with your favourite candle lit.

“Did you do something?” You asked him with narrow eyes, making him scoff.

He rolled his eyes, helping you out of your clothes gently, “Am I really such a bad husband that you think I’d have to be feeling guilty to be nice to you?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding playfully, “Yup. So what did you do?” You laugh and he just flicks your forehead before helping you into the tub.

You watch as he smirks a bit, holding your chin for a second and watching your eyes, “Well I’m the reason you got knocked up so I supposed I have to take care of you don’t I?”

He doesn’t hold that sultry teasing look on his face for too long, especially when you splash him with water, drenching every part of him you could reach 😂.

Bokuto is in a PANIC the closer you get to the due date. You once just felt a bit tired after vacuuming and the boy thought you holding your front meant you were going into early labour.

“I’VE GOT THE CAR KEYS BUT I CAN’T FIND MY WALLET!!! BABE HAVE YOU SEEN NY WALLET? I CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE I PUT IT. OMG WHAT IF THEY WONT TAKE US IN. WHAT IF THERE ARE SO MANY BABIES BEING BORN WE CANT GET IN. I KNEW I SHOULD’VE TAKEN A CLASS ON BIRTHING BABIES!”

You let him run around because he honestly is so entertaining to watch while panicking. He pouts about it later, talking shit about you to your belly, “Your mom’s a big meanie. You need to be born quick so we can team up on her okay?”

“Kōtarō! Don’t you dare try to turn my baby against me!” You laughed, swatting at his head.

Man is overly prepared for any sort of situation. He already set up all the safety baby measures, like corner cushions and outlet covers, though now he’s considering locking up all the knives into a cupboard.

“Kōtarō... how am are supposed to cook like this?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at the lack of your sharp cooking knives.. and the butter knives.

The grown man just poured some more, “I gotta keep both my babies safe alright? I’ll cut everything for you so you don’t cut yourself.”

Except for the fact that Bokuto is definitely more accident prone than you are and has a few bandaids on his fingers now.

As an expecting dad, Bokuto found himself getting more and more teary eyed at any situation that involved a family or a baby. Whether that was just seeing kids and families play in the park that the two of you walked past sometimes, or seeing a commercial for diapers with happy bouncy babies, you would turn to see a misty-eyed Bokuto who would then turn to you and wrap you in a tight squeeze.

He was beyond excited at this point to meet your little baby - he wanted to know what they would look like. The perfect mix between the most perfect woman in the world and him, who was pretty cool thank you very much. This baby was going to be the cutest most amazing kid ever, who would definitely play a really great game of volleyball, Bokuto was sure of it.

Let’s be honest though, pregnancy is not an easy journey. Bokuto loved seeing you grow the baby but he knew that it was a difficult process for you. You were always sore and at the beginning you were always sick. And there were some days where you literally didn’t feel attractive or beautiful at all, but Bokuto would praise you as high as he always did regardless.

“You are the most perfect lady I have ever laid eyes on. The most gorgeous being to ever walk this universe!” He told you one day, pressing kisses all over your face as you laid across a couch.

“Thanks,” you tried to give him a smile - you always appreciated his compliments, even if you didn’t necessarily agree.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you with a small frown, noting your forced smile.

“I just… feel bleh. Not at all like how you’re saying I look,” you admitted with a small smile.

Bokuto’s eyes grew wide in shock, jumping over the couch to sit down on the floor next to you. He clasped your hands in his, pressing kissing to them gently as well. “I know you might not feel it… but I hope you know that I still think it. I don’t even have to force it. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and that hasn’t changed even though your body is changing a bit. I don’t need you to wear the most perfect makeup or the best dress for me to think you’re gorgeous. You’re perfect just laying here in my old sweats and I’m happy that I get to come home to see you like this every day,” he grinned, touching your cheek affectionately.

You loved this man. He was so sweet to you in every way possible. But sometimes…. sometimes his sweetness just went a little too overboard. You tried to insist to him that you were pregnant but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything. Man refuses to let you do anything for yourself. No lifting boxes, no lifting anything in fear that you might hurt your back.

“Kōtarō, it’s just my purse,” you tried to point out in a laugh, trying to reach it as he held it above your head.

“Nope! Not happening. What if you hurt yourself?”

“... with my purse?”

“Ya!”

“Kōtarō, I have to go shopping for food or we won’t have anything to eat. And baby needs to eat!”

“Well I’ll come with you then!”

“You’ve got practice!”

“It’s fine, I’ll tell them I’ll practice another time! My perfect wife and baby come first,” he’d grin at you and insist on opening all the doors as you two made your way to the car. You fall in love with this man more and more every day, even if he keeps stealing things from your hands.

Ushijima is a really nervous new dad, even if you can’t really tell from his stoic expression. He listens intently to all of the parenting advice people give, bought a few books about newborns, and has hundreds of tabs on his laptop of ranging topics from baby products people insist are necessary, mommy blogs about what is important to do when pregnant, and research that he doesn’t quite understand but feels is important nonetheless.

Ushijima isn’t necessarily a man of words all the time, so you were surprised to find that he started to talk a lot more after finding out that your child could hear him.

“You don’t have to play volleyball if you don’t want to,” he told them quietly one day while the two of you were on the couch. It came so out of the blue that you actually thought he was talking to you.

“Hm?”

“... do you think they’d want to play volleyball?” He asked you sheepishly, glancing at you with a shy expression.

You thought about it for a moment and slowly started to smile, “Well they’ll be attending every single one of your games so I’m sure they’ll be at least interested in learning!”

Ushijima nodded and you watched as a soft smile graced his face. You kept your eyes on him for just a moment longer, seeing a flicker of uncertainty on him.

“Wakatoshi, don’t you dare think for one second you’ll be a bad dad,” you warned him, poking his side and making him jump from surprised.

He stared at you for a moment, blinking, “You know what I’m thinking?”

“I know that you’ve been worried about being a good dad ever since I told you I was pregnant. I know that you’re nervous about being the kind of dad you always wanted to have growing up. I know because I’m terrified of being a good mom too,” you admitted with a nervous sort of smile, interlacing your fingers together. “We’ll be okay together though.”

Ushijima nodded and hummed softly, “We’ll have to take them to France.”

“France??”

“Satori wants to meet them too. He said he would make them chocolate.”

It wouldn’t just be the baby that Satori is constantly trying to spoil, but you as well. He sends over packages of his chocolate for you to try, grinning ear to ear when you call him for a catch-up call.

“Do you like them?” Tendō asked, and you could hear him humming to himself as he moved around a kitchen.

“I love them! But you’re going to make us fat if you keep sending them! They’re much too yummy for me to stop eating!” You laughed, eyes wandering to the kitchen where you knew you still had a few bits of his chocolate left.

“No no no no. I’m just trying to make sure your baby is a cute healthy plump baby! They’ll grow nice and strong!”

It always made you smile, knowing that all these people who loved your husband wanted to love you and the baby as well. Even Ushijima’s new teammates would come by and bring snacks or anything they thought might aid you in your pregnancy. Though, Kageyama wasn’t really sure what pregnant people or babies liked, so he just brought a whole bag of the milk boxes he liked.

“You’ve got to grow big and strong so that I can defeat you in volleyball one day. I can’t defeat your dad right now… cause he’s on my team. But I’ll defeat an Ushijima one day for sure,” he muttered to your belly with a fierce intensity in your eyes that made you laugh, making his ears turn red as he realized that you also heard him (Kageyama, the baby is attached to her, of course she heard you lol).

As it neared your due date, Ushijima prepared himself mentally every passing day. He wanted to be 110% ready so he went over your birthing plan mentally at least 10 times a day and reread over all the articles and information he had gathered over the months. He wanted to be the best father possible, but you insisted to him that you weren’t worried about this at all. After all, he was already the best husband you could ever have asked for.

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