#instructing me to plant it in the sun “anywhere”

[bethestaryouareradio]

[johaerys-writes]

Chapter 3: El Diablo En El Ojo

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

The western wind is hot and humid as it sweeps over the valley, drifting in through the half open windows. It brings with it the the smell of warm, freshly tilled soil, of hay and manure, the lowing of the cattle and the clop of hooves from the round corral where the horses train. Achilles heaves a great sigh, letting his gaze stretch far across the yellow-blue afternoon sky. 

“Abscesses, as our trusty compendium puts it, are a collection of pus or purulent matter among the tissues of the body, and are a result of acute inflammation; occurring in a weak or scrofulous person, they may last indefinitely, in which case… Achilles, are you listening to me?” 

Achilles reluctantly tears his eyes from the window to look at his tutor. Chiron is frowning at him over the rim of his round reading glasses, Dr. Hippocrates' thick Compendium of Maladies and Formulae open on the table before him. Achilles straightens in his chair, trying to look invested, and doubting very much that he’s doing a good job at it. 

“Of course,” he says. “I’m all ears.” 

“Oh yes, and they’re everywhere but here.” Chiron, of course, doesn’t look convinced. “Will you indulge me, then, by reminding me how to treat an acute abscess, in advance of a doctor?” 

Achilles takes a breath, trying to jog his memory. “When it forms near the surface, a poultice with flaxseed meal or bread and milk is preferred. Open and drain the abscess as soon as pus has formed, and keep clean with castille soap and water.” 

“Correct. And what if there are indications that the abscess is not near the surface? If it’s in, let’s say, the brain?” 

“Why, then, I think our fellow’s a goner, Chiron,” Achilles quips with a grin.

Chiron doesn’t seem to share his amusement in the slightest; he shakes his head and lets out a long-suffering sigh as he takes off his glasses. 

“I wish you would take your instruction seriously every once in a while, Achilles,” he tells him, setting down his now folded glasses on the lace tablecloth, and closing the big tome. “We’ve been here for the better part of the afternoon, and I doubt that even a third of that information has made it into that brain of yours.” 

Achilles stretches his arms over his head with a groan and arches his aching back. Though the chairs in his father’s old study are quite comfortable, it still doesn’t make it any more enjoyable to spend most of his day cooped up in the stuffy room, when he could be outside, working or training or riding until both his own and Xanthus’ skin are damp with sweat and glistening. The large clock on the far wall idly ticks away the time, an insistent reminder of how slowly it passes when he’s studying, and how fast it flows when he’s anywhere but here.

It's not that he doesn’t enjoy his lessons with Chiron. He does, a great deal. Chiron is a renowned teacher, with vast knowledge on pretty much every subject imaginable. There is nothing under the sun, Achilles thinks, that Chiron isn't at least a little familiar with. Every day, Chiron teaches him maths and language and science and philosophy, but his teachings don't stop there: his tutor often takes him to the stables, the pens and the fields to show him how to harvest plants, how to treat wounded and sick animals, how to read the signs in the sky, the clouds, the birds, the stars. 

There is no other tutor that could teach as much, and so effectively. Achilles is well aware of how lucky he is. But today, with the merry sounds of the ranch coming through the window taunting him, he simply can't sit still. His mind is elsewhere, miles away—or perhaps just a quick hop and skip away, where the stables are, where Patroclus is.

The mere thought of the boy makes Achilles all giddy and flushed. He's probably hard at work just now, tending to the horses or cleaning the stalls, his shirt sleeves bunched up to his elbows and the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. There is nothing Achilles craves more after a long day of studying or working than spending the rest of it with him, and he knows Patroclus feels the same. The bright smiles he gives him whenever he sees him are evidence enough, and although Achilles gets to see them everyday now, they still feel like a rare gift. It hasn't been too long since Patroclus regarded him with wariness after all, but over the course of the summer, something has changed. Achilles feels changed just by being around him.

Achilles' heart skips and thumps in his chest. It’s been happening more often of late that simply thinking of Patroclus makes something warm and fuzzy blossom in his chest. It’s thrilling, but it’s also scary in its potency. As much as he likes spending time with his other friends, never before has he felt such a visceral need for someone else’s company. 

His father’s words, however, are never far from his mind. 

In the Great War, after men got their first kill… this is what their eyes looked like.

Perhaps it is Patroclus himself that scares him, sometimes.

“Chiron,” Achilles says after a while. “Can I ask you something?” 

Chiron, who was flipping through the pages of the medical compendium again and muttering under his breath about poultices and grain-pills of Hepor Sulphur to help hasten suppuration, blinks up at him. “Yes, of course.” 

Achilles licks his lips, swallowing hard. He doesn’t know how to ask the question without sounding odd, so he just goes for it. “If someone kills another person… does that mean they’re a bad person?”

Read the rest on AO3!

[goblinpuppy35]

Paw Prints in Fresh Soil

(Previous Chapter) - Part 3 - (Next Chapter)

Professor Remus x Male Reader

Summary: While teaching at Hogwarts Professor Lupin tries his best to conceal his strong crush for the green fingered grounds keeper Y/N but soon a strong friendship blooms into something more.

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

Despite getting little to no sleep the previous night Remus had an energetic step in him which he had not felt in a decade. In the centre of his palm he could still feel the pressure from Y/N's thumb when they briefly held hands the night before. Remus was still replaying Y/N's story in his head as he approached the great hall for breakfast, he had a huge amount of respect for Y/N, as a muggle bravely working here against the prejudice of other teachers. Sitting down he ignored his plate of food and eagerly looked around for Y/N. After scanning over the tops of hundreds of heads however Remus was unable to locate Y/N anywhere. He had wanted to catch Y/Ns eye and give him a smile and a morning wave, alas after breakfast Remus went to his classroom still with the groundskeeper in his mind.

Remus' last class didn't finish until the sun was beginning to set behind the clouds. Teaching all day meant he had no free moment to journey to the courtyard and Remus was again disheartened at lunch when Y/N had not shown himself for a second time. The next morning Remus could only make it half way through breakfast and Y/N not showing for a third time for him to rise from the table and venture out into the grounds. Promptly Remus was able to locate Y/N outside the greenhouse nodding along to the herbology Professor, a short stout man with a bushy moustache, seemingly being given instructions while holding a number of heavy looking plant pots stacked in one another.

Remus admired the handsome man from afar, he enjoyed how Y/N always wore a smart shirt, tie and sweater vest under his worn in overall's and worker gloves, visible from the top half of the overalls which Y/N kept un-bottomed. Eventually the herbology Professor left Y/N, leaving him to gingerly carry the heavy pots towards the greenhouse entrance at which point Remus made his approach. The tower of pots reached up above Y/N's nose so he was startled when Remus made his presents known causing Y/N's hands to fumble and the pots slipped out of his grasp.  Both men shot down in an attempt to save them, reaching the bottom base at the same time they looked up at one another in relief. "I swear your just doing this now to torment me" Y/N said with a smirk, Remus was going to respond but as they both rose still holding the pots he became aware their hands were on top of one another on the base. Remus could feel his chest flutter.

"Can you help me get them inside please" Y/N asked and they both shuffled through the greenhouse door, placing the pots on the table with an exhaling sigh. Instantly Y/N began to pull the pots out and place them around the table, then he started to pour soil into each one. "I hope your doing okay" Remus said after watching Y/N for a moment "I haven't seen you at any of the meals in the hall this week". Y/N paused half way through pouring soil into a pot and grinned at Remus "Oh have you been missing me that much?" making the Professor chuckle. "Honestly. Yes" Remus bashfully admitted "I like talking to you Y/N". The groundskeeper looked flattered and embarrassed as he walked to a shelf of seeds and started looking through the packets. "I wish I could attend, I've heard the food is amazing! But with a mixture of the work needing to be done around the castle, errands I help Hagrid with and class prep for the herbology lessons I don't get time for a break. Plus now the herbology Professor just told me he's going away on a sabbatical soon meaning double the amount of work needs to be done around the greenhouse." Looking up at Remus Y/N suddenly paused, realising he had been rambling. "Of course I'm not complaining! Genuinely I love with job, there is just a lot to it" and with a tired smile he began to sew the seeds he'd found in the freshly potted soil. Remus carried on watching Y/N, his head tilted and hands in his pockets before he spoke. "Okay this is what we are going to do. At lunch time I will bring us both some food from the hall and I will help you with your work in the greenhouse... I don't know much about" and Remus waved his hands vaguely in the direction of all the hanging plants "but if I can be of assistance to you I would gratefully like to help". "You don't have to Remus" Y/N said awkwardly playing with his gloves straps, "I don't have to" Remus said moving closer to Y/N and leaning in slightly "I want to."

Y/N and Remus were resting against the table, their hands on its side, gently lifting his ring finger Remus placed it on top of Y/N's pinkie. "Is that okay with you?" he asked, the smaller man eyes were fixed on Remus'. "Yes, id really like that" Y/N responded, quickly looking up as the morning bell rang out and a wave of students could be heard making their way to the courtyard. "I'll see you at lunch then" Remus said in a charming tone as he parted from Y/N and exited the greenhouse.

For the next two weeks every lunch time Remus would make a brief appearance at the great hall to collect some food and then make his way to Y/N who began to use Remus' arrival as an indication in his busy schedule to what time in the day it was. Some days Y/N was still not able to eat much but Remus would happily sit nearby and observe him at work, asking questions and making pleasant conversation. Soon Remus learnt Y/N could never say no warm herbal tea or the never ending variety of desert pastries the great hall alway had to offer. As Y/N worked they would talk about each others lives, Y/N greatly enjoyed hearing about Remus' time at Hogwarts as a student and how his chaotic friends always found themselves in trouble. Equally Remus enjoyed Y/N explaining to him all he'd learnt from books of mythical creatures and plants. Later in the week they were thrilled to discover their shared love of Muggle music resulting in Remus bringing down his gramophone into the greenhouse from them to enjoy the melancholy beauty of David Bowie, The Cult and Joy Division.

While listening to 'Disorder' one warm Friday lunchtime Remus asked if he could help and Y/N began to show him how to repot the plants. While assisting Remus noticed several students walking passed and staring at them. A group of girls whispered to one another before giggling as they passed. Remus imagined students must have noticed how often they were in each others company and he was sure rumours must be flying around yet Remus didn't care. Being in Y/N's presents was so comforting for him all he wanted was for it to carry on even if both men were too nervous to go any further then light flirting and fleeting hands brushing over one another.

After two weeks of consistent lunch dates Remus was extremely frustrated when an unexpectedly large stack of essays to mark caused him to arrive at the courtyard late. He was rather baffled by the large amount of students piled in the courtyard along with the sound of raised voices. "Give it back!" cried out an upset sounding student, looking through the archway Remus could now visible see poor Neville Longbottom standing a few paces away from Draco Malfoy, a truly vile student in Remus' eyes. The young Malfoy had his wand high up and following its direction Remus saw the glint of a silver necklace flouting in the sky above them. It was a charm necklace Neville's parents had given to him when we was born. Remus had been members of the first Order of Phoenix with the Longbottoms, their demise still pained him to this day, along with all the others Remus had lost. Malfoy had maliciously suspended the necklace just out of Neville's reach and was certainly enjoying watching his classmate suffer. Remus was not going to take any of this.

While Remus was attempting his wade his way through the crowd of students he heard the familiar sound of work boots on the gravel. Y/N, who like Remus had walked upon this cruel demonstration of bullying, walked right up to Neville with his long steel digging fork in hand. Without saying a word he lifted up his tool and was able to hook the necklaces chain through one of the prongs, quickly pulling it down and returning it to Neville. "Just because you come from a self righteous egotistical family of privileged fools does not give you the right to belittle your fellow students Mr Malfoy. Please find another part of the castle to waste your pompous efforts on" and Y/N began to guide Neville out of the courtyard.

"How dare you speak to me like that! Who do you think you are?" spat Draco but Y/N continued to walk on ignoring him. "Actually I know exactly who you are" called out Draco which made Y/N holt and gradually turn around. "I think it's pathetic that Dumbeldore would allow someone like you in the school. It's an absolute embarrassment". The students around them mumbled in confusion which excited Draco, "Oh do you not know?" he asked spinning around in the courtyard, attracting everyone's attention before pointing viscously at Y/N. "He's a Muggle!", an uproar of gasps washed over everyone, some students were in disbelief others were shocked and they were all staring at Y/N. The groundskeeper for a moment looked as if he was about to run away but as Remus watched he saw Y/N take a deep breath and stand up straight. "Yes I am a Muggle. Your wanting to out me In front of everyone to make me feel ashamed Mr Malfoy but I am not. I know who I am and though I've walked a different path of life compared to all of you I have a right to be here and your feeble attempts to ostracize me will not hinder me from helping to provide the education to those here who actually deserve it". Draco's top lip was quivering with anger but he said nothing as Y/N continued to walk away. Remus watched in amazement with the other students, a mixture of tension and pure pride danced in his stomach.

Clutching his charm tightly to his chest Neville himself seemed to be filled with a new found confidence calling out to Draco, "your nothing but an empty family name". With this last remark Draco snapped, his pupils turning small and wild. Swinging his wand forward Draco screamed out a spell and many other students cried out in fear and fled. A sharp cold beam shot out of Draco's wand and cascaded towards the terrified Neville, standing still in fear. It wasn't until the spell was over that Remus was able to replay the sight of Y/N turning around and pulling Neville out of the beam's direction in enough time to save him but resulting in his own shoulder taking the impact of the blast. Y/N fell down hard onto the floor and Remus rushed through the archway, simultaneously disarming Draco, sending his wand flying into the crowd. "Someone get the nurse" Remus bellowed out as he tried to hold Y/N but upon placing his hand on Y/N's cheek it was freezing to the touch. All of the groundskeeper's body had a thin layer of frost and while Y/N lay there unconscious his limbs shivered. Draco and his fellow Slytherin students took this opportunity to cowardly run away from the scene as Remus anxiously waited, crawling Y/N in his arms.

[aishangotome]

Main Story Chapter 18-05: Among All of Nature (在萬物之中) | Light  and Night 光與夜之戀

Chapter 18-03

♡———♡

Today is Sunday, and most expert clinics at Guangqi City's First People's Hospital are closed. After noon, the crowd gradually thins out.

In the corridor, a nurse rushes by and nods at me.

Nurse: Miss Fiancée, you're here again? When will Dr. Zha be back at work?

You: He should be done soon, it won't be long.

Nurse: That's great. There have been a lot of patients recently, and I see Director He is so busy he's dizzy.

After Sun Taizhong's death, Dr. He became the director of the burn department. Charlie's patients were smoothly taken over by his colleagues, and the aftermath of the case gradually dissipated.

-

I push open the door, and the room is as bright as ever. Perhaps like attracts like, the dazzling Charlie has a considerable obsession with sunbathing and admiring his handsome figure in the light.

I open the window for ventilation, put down my bag, and wipe away a little dust from the edge.

Charlie is not wanted by society. To make it easier for him to return to work in the future, Dr. He made up an excuse that he went to another place to provide medical assistance.

And my coming and going is naturally regarded as a meticulous fiancée occasionally helping her fiancé maintain a clean office environment.

I tear off a few more old calendars, it has become a habit.

You: It seems... they're not wrong.

You: After Charlie comes back, should I blackmail him for a cleaning fee?

I sit in the swivel chair, thinking wildly.

The wiretap plan should be going well. Since then, bouquets of flowers have often been sent, sometimes placed at the front desk of Wan Zhen, sometimes at the door of my house.

Different bouquets, but all with cards bearing my name. Occasionally there are a few graffiti expressions on the card, which are obviously from Charlie's handwriting.

Gradually, I figured out the corresponding pattern, even without graffiti, I can guess his situation based on the type of flowers.

Next to the rose often stands a little man crying with his heart in his arms, which means he misses me very much.

The lavender Eustoma is wrinkled into a ball. Charlie only drew the corners of the little man's mouth once, and then, as if trying to save face, he never drew it again.

This is the flower he chooses when things are not going well for him. I sincerely hope that he will choose it less often.

There is also one, which is not exactly a "flower," but a dog's tail grass wrapped in rough paper.

It represents a little man with his head held high, a proud Charlie.

You: I didn't expect him to send dog's tail grass...

At first, I was a little surprised when I held it in my hand, but when I thought of his loose coat and unchanged behavior, I felt it was very suitable.

It can grow anywhere, and it grows densely anywhere.

I poured some water into the empty vase on the table and took out a bunch of fluffy dog's tail grass from my bag and put it in.

Although the bouquets established a connection between the two, it has been a long time since they actually met and talked.

I poke the bright green plant in front of me, and the fine hairs on the edge sway gently, reminding me of the few strands of hair on top of Charlie's head that take a lot of effort to press down.

You: I have a hunch that the final victory must belong to Dr. Zha.

You: But, don't try too hard.

Treating it as Charlie, I gave a few more instructions, closed the window, and left.

The office welcomed a moment of silence, but only a moment.

...

A few minutes later, the door suddenly opened, and a man stepped into the room, his face mostly covered by a mask and hood.

He didn't stop, but strode forward with his long legs, walking through the small office in just a few steps, and finally sat down on the chair.

???: As expected, this place makes me feel most relaxed.

Dr. He walked in behind the man, shook his head helplessly, and closed the door.

Doctor He: Your outfit doesn't make me feel relaxed.

Charlie: Don't mind it.

Charlie: I've shown my outstanding appearance too many times, and occasionally need to change my style.

Charlie tapped his heels on the ground, and deftly turned the chair around, but his back remained straight and tense.

Dr. He saw it, but didn't say anything, and just handed him the file bag in his hand.

Dr. He: This is what you mentioned on the phone.

Dr. He: The blood tests, ultrasounds, and all available reports for patients who have used DEA in clinical trials during this period are all here.

Charlie: Thank you.

Charlie stopped talking and his expression became calm. He flipped through the pages quickly, as if those numbers would be imprinted in his mind with just a glance.

The first few pages showed no problems until his fingertips stopped on a certain page. It was an electrocardiogram test report.

Charlie: Lao He, what happened to the patient with bradycardia afterwards?

Dr. He: The patient's family said that he usually had similar symptoms, such as dizziness, fatigue, and irregular heartbeat.

Dr. He: After stopping the medication, we found that this was indeed the case, but the symptoms were milder than when he was taking the medication.

Dr. He: Considering that DEA is a psychotropic drug, the hospital considered it a normal side effect.

Charlie nodded and continued reading. The last page was also turned over, and he found nothing else.

Charlie: Are there any discrepancies between the conditions of other patients after taking the medication and the reports?

Dr. He: Are you worried that the report has been tampered with?

Charlie didn't say anything, which meant he agreed. Dr. He thought carefully.

Dr. He: I don't know the condition of all the patients. But there should be no discrepancies in the burn department.

Dr. He: Charlie, what's wrong? Is there a problem with DEA?

Charlie: On the contrary, it will be officially approved next week.

Dr. He was stunned for a moment.

Dr. He: So suddenly? The hospital hasn't received this news yet, where did you hear it from?

Charlie: From a meeting of the Food and Drug Administration.

The old man seemed to have some doubts about this. Charlie deliberately ignored his expression and just continued.

Charlie: The approval went smoothly, the ingredient testing was fine, and the clinical data provided by the First People's Hospital was also quite complete.

Charlie: The price is about half of similar drugs.

Dr. He: If I remember correctly, the press conference mentioned the research and development and manufacturing costs of DEA, which was a very exaggerated figure.

Charlie gave a sarcastic smile.

Charlie: Not only that, my father also held a private meeting, and the participants included representatives from major hospitals in Guangqi City.

Charlie: At the meeting, he proposed that NOVATEN provide further subsidies to hospitals and patients.

Charlie: Every hospital willing to promote DEA will receive a medical fund.

Charlie: And every patient who uses DEA, after receiving the subsidy, only needs to bear 10% of the price.

Dr. He frowned. Not long ago, he participated in an internal meeting of the First People's Hospital, and the financial deficit exposed at the meeting was far more serious than expected.

Dr. He: In the past two years, including us, many hospitals, large and small, have been in a difficult situation, basically unable to make ends meet.

Dr. He: These conditions are very tempting.

Charlie: And for patients, an already low price, and also able to be "reimbursed" 90%, is equivalent to no burden.

The two looked at each other, knowing that under such a strategy, the selling price of DEA would definitely not be able to cover the cost.

Charlie threw the report on the table. After saying this, he seemed to relax a lot, leaning back on the chair, and the chair slid back a bit.

Charlie: When did the old man become a philanthropist?

Charlie: Lao He, do you believe it?

Charlie: Anyway, I don't really believe that NOVATEN launched DEA for no other purpose than to give back to society.

Dr. He: Then do you have any clues about his thoughts?

Charlie: No. In the past few years, I have doubted him, but I almost never investigated it to the end.

Charlie's gaze became distant, and the next second he returned to the present. He answered very simply.

Charlie: This is a loophole that needs time to fill.

Dr. He silently looked at Charlie. During this period of time, his halfway disciple seemed to have changed a lot from before. Before he had time to think about it, Charlie spoke again.

Charlie: But I have a hunch, that patient with bradycardia...

Charlie: The drug will affect patients with similar underlying diseases. This is a side effect that can be easily tested.

Charlie: But DEA claims to be widely applicable, and did not mention this at all.

Dr. He put his hands behind his back and paced slowly in the office. He walked to the window, looked at the sunshine outside, and when he turned back, his face was serious.

Dr. He: I have no right to interfere with the prescriptions of other departments, but in the burn department, I can choose not to prescribe DEA to patients.

Charlie: Lao He, do you trust me that much?

Charlie raised his eyes, with a faint smile in them, but soon he shook his head self-deprecatingly.

Charlie: This is just my guess, there is no evidence to support it.

Charlie: Looking at the report, DEA is indeed the psychotropic drug with the least side effects and the most significant effect at present.

Charlie: And there's the money--

Charlie: In my years as a doctor, I know that even saving a little on medical expenses is very important for some patients.

Charlie analyzed one by one, he was still searching, still thinking about whether he had missed anything that needed to be considered. Dr. He patted his shoulder.

Dr. He: Charlie, sometimes being too rational is not a good thing.

Charlie: When we were in school, we were taught that being too emotional wouldn't make a good doctor. Why is it the other way around now?

Dr. He looked into Charlie's eyes, and he suspected again that he was wrong. When he first met this young man, his eyes were like this, they hadn't changed.

It's just that there's something chasing him. This makes him want to be more and more foolproof, but also more and more restrained.

Dr. He: Not being too emotional means not letting doctors accumulate pressure because of the life and death situations in the ward.

Dr. He: But you, the result of rational thinking is still to keep the pressure on yourself, isn't that the same thing?

Charlie smiled but didn't answer. Dr. He sighed, took out a piece of paper, wrote a few words and a string of numbers, and handed it to Charlie.

Charlie: Drug Safety Assurance Association?

Dr. He: It's a non-governmental organization that was quite active three or four years ago.

Dr. He: They have repeatedly sent letters to various hospitals, requesting more detailed trials on some new drugs that have been approved.

Dr. He: They said they found cases of those drugs causing sequelae.

Dr. He: Of course, the hospital will not take care of these matters, they are all sent back to the pharmaceutical companies, and let the pharmaceutical companies investigate.

Charlie: Well, what about the results of the investigation?

Dr. He: The result is that there is no news.

Charlie curled his knuckles and tapped the table thoughtfully.

Charlie: Not surprising.

Dr. He: There has been no news from them for a while, but I still keep this phone number.

Although the possibility is very small, since they are paying attention to new drugs, maybe DEA...

Charlie let out a soft "hmm," carefully folded the note, put it in his coat pocket, his eyes solemn.

Charlie: Thank you.

Dr. He: If you have any news, just let me know, and I will help as much as I can.

Charlie was a little surprised. He still remembered the old man's expression when he talked about his wife and children, and that he said he didn't care about the truth.

Charlie: Lao He, this is muddy water, you said you wouldn't wade into it.

Dr. He touched the back of his head and smiled helplessly, his face seemed to be written with the words "Who told you to find trouble."

Dr. He: Charlie, I may have to prescribe a lot of DEA to patients in the future.

Dr. He: After all, I am a doctor. Even if I don't want to wade into muddy waters, I can't harm people unknowingly.

Charlie lowered his eyes, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Somehow, his voice was a little hoarse.

Charlie: When I was with my fiancée, she taught me a truth.

Charlie: Don't underestimate the power of others, and don't underestimate the determination of others, otherwise it will hurt them.

Dr. He: She taught you right, listen to her more.

Charlie: Okay.

Dr. He: You have to be careful yourself. A few days ago, your father came to the hospital a few times, but he didn't ask about you.

Charlie's movements paused, but then he stretched as if he didn't care.

Charlie: It should be because my eavesdropping on the Food and Drug Administration meeting was discovered.

Charlie: No wonder there was only noise in the receiver after that.

Dr. He seemed to be choked by something, his eyes widened slightly, and he turned to the side and coughed a few times.

Dr. He: This is too risky.

Charlie: It can be a little more risky, now it's time to let time catch up with me.

Charlie stood up, pulled out a dog's tail grass from the vase, bent it gently a few times, and carefully put it in the pocket on the front of his shirt.

Slender fingers lifted the edge of the sunglasses, revealing a line of deep purple eyes, sharp and bright inside.

Charlie: Otherwise, my fiancée will be impatient.

-

NOVATEN Pharmaceutical Building.

Zha Zhao Peng stood with his back to the massive window. His wife had loved the twilight glow. Even though she was gone, he still made it a habit to incorporate floor-to-ceiling windows wherever possible.

At this moment, he wasn't admiring the sunset. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the shattered black chip lying on his otherwise empty desk.

Zha Zhao Peng: Ji Xiu, Charlie bugged me.

The elderly man in a black tailcoat lowered his head and answered in a deep voice.

Uncle Ji: It seems so, sir.

Zha Zhao Peng: Did you know about it?

Uncle Ji: No.

Zha Zhao Peng: What about his fiancée, Miss Y/N Do you think she was involved?

Uncle Ji: I cannot say.

Zha Zhao Peng's eyes darkened, but the corners of his mouth lifted, and then he burst into laughter.

Zha Zhao Peng: What a pity. I thought Charlie was close to you.

Zha Zhao Peng: When he was six, there was a time when he preferred Uncle Ji's bedtime stories to his father's.

Zha Zhao Peng: And he told me that preference quite bluntly.

Zha Zhao Peng: That's my son. He doesn't lie, not one bit.

Uncle Ji: I watched the young master grow up, but I do not forget that it was you who employed me.

Zha Zhao Peng seemed disappointed by this answer and waved his hand dismissively.

Zha Zhao Peng: Two bugs. It's a childish and clumsy trick, but effective. I have to admit I was fooled.

He sighed and abruptly changed the subject.

Zha Zhao Peng: What's the word from the police?

Uncle Ji: The police are under pressure from the Lian Shan Society and are ready to close the case.

Uncle Ji: Chief Liao asks if we should issue a warrant for the young master under a different charge.

Zha Zhao Peng: Absolutely not.

Zha Zhao Peng's voice was sharp, like a venomous snake whose territory had been violated.

Zha Zhao Peng: Charlie did want to kill Sun Taizhong, so I issued a warrant for him.

Zha Zhao Peng: But why would I let others torment my son, an increasingly proud and good child, with fabricated charges?

.

.

.

.

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Chapter 18-07

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[thecranewivesrpf]

this is me manually tpying out what I remember from the history of the entire world by bill wurtz open at your own risk ig

a long time ago but also now, nothing is never anywhere, like I said, it didn't happen. that's why it's been everywhere. so everywhere you don't even need a where. you don't even need a when. that's how every it gets. forget this I wanna be something go somewhere do something I want things to change I want to invent time and space, and it probably already happened, but I just don't know when to start.

and that's exactly where it started. woah, I paused it. I think there's a universe now. what's it made of? quarks and stuff. here's a thing. in a place. don't like it? try a new place at a different time try to stick together because the world is getting bigger and emptier. but it's not empty yet it's still very full and about kdbjillion degrees. great news the quarks are now happily married in groups of 3 called a proton or a neutron and there's something else [electron] that wants to join in but can't because it's too [hot]

good news the protons and neutrons are now happily married to each other! (some of them even doubled up) the electrons have joined it and congratulations! the world is now a bunch of gas in space.

But it's getting closer together. and it's getting closer together.And it's getti

it's a star!

new shit just got made! some stars burn out and die, bigger stars burn out and die with passion and make some brand new, way crazier shit. space dust! then newer more interesting stars burn out and die and turn into even crazier space dust.

so now stars have stuff around them like rocks and ice and funny clouds like this ball of flaming rocks for example holy shit we just got hit by another ball of flaming rocks. And it kind of made a mess which is now the moooonnnn

weather update: its raining rocks from outer space

weather update: those rocks might've had water inside them so now there's hot steam in the sky

weather update: cooler temperatures today and the floor is no longer lava

weather update: It's raining

SEVERE FLOODING ALERTS THE ENTIRE WORLD IS NOW AN OCEAN. Insert something else here i Forgor something's in the ocean. what? something's alive in the ocean. oh cool like a plant or an animal? no a microscopic speck it lives at the bottom of the ocean eating chemical soup being served hot and fresh from when it was raining rocks or whatever. oh yeah and it can do that. it has secret instructions written inside of itself telling it how to build another one of itself, so that's pretty nifty I would say.

Tired of living at the bottom of the ocean? now you can eat sunlight! using a revolutionary technique you can convert sunlight into food

side effect now there's oxygen everywhere and the sky is blue. and then the earth might've been a snowball, maybe even a couple of times

it's a sponge it's a plant, it's a weird water bug and some strange fish. it's the Cambrian explosion! wow that's animals and stuff. can we go on land? no. why? the sun is a deadly laser. oh ok. not anymore there's a blanket ok we can go on land now hey animals let's go on land no can't walk yet. and there's not food yet so I don't care. well will you learn to walk if there's food up here. maybe said some bugs. and fish. *fish struggling noises for 50 million years*

well I can go onto land but I have to go back into the water to have babies

learn to use an egg. I was already doing that. no. use a stronger egg. baby in the egg. baby is on the land, in the water, in the egg. Works for me. byebyeee ocean

now everything's huge including bugs. wanna see a map of the land? oh fuck now everything's dead. just kidding here are the survivors keep your eye on this one because it's about to become the dinosaurs

that's all I remember. I love weird specific hyperfixations (free me from my hell)

[jose-a-perez]

"First of all, first you must know that a plant, the grass, the sun, the air are wiser than any that passes for wise, the reason is very simple, a wise person is not full of knowledge; a philosopher, a scientist, they are full of knowledge but they are not wise, knowledge is intellect, it is information and it is learned, you can read it, understand it, apply it and become an expert or an intellectual, but that is not wisdom. Instead, wisdom is not learned and can not be taught, wisdom is like love, no one can teach you to love, there are no instructions to love, or you feel love or you do not feel it and there is no more, that is wisdom. A wise man does not even know he is wise, because if he knows it, then he becomes knowledge and knowledge is not wisdom, he is intellect, therefore, wisdom is not the same as being wise, you can not be wise, you can be intelligent , cult, expert, etc., but not wise because wisdom can not be possessed, wisdom happens, it happens through you, in spite of you and, above all, in the absence of you. Wisdom comes when you have stripped yourself of everything you know or think you know, when you have stripped yourself of all that then nothing remains, that nothing is wisdom and you can not possess it, or achieve it, you can only be wisdom and only what you have stripped of yourself, of your I; without Me there is wisdom, with Me there is intellect. That is why a plant is wisdom, it lacks I, it lacks Ego, it is an immobile plant, without speech, without a name it is full of wisdom and it can teach you much more than all the philosophy books together, what can a plant teach you? If you observe it stripped of the Self, you will find emptiness and you will be that emptiness. Now substitute the word plant for the word God. God is wisdom, he is everywhere and at the same time he is not anywhere because he lacks I, God is empty, he is nothing and he is everything, he is wisdom in essence, God is nothing factually and all things potentially. That place of purity, of nadeza is called wisdom. To be wise, you even have to get rid of the word wisdom, that word does not serve to be wise, in fact, wisdom is the absence of words and meanings, is the absence of emotions, good and bad, positive and negative, plus If you want to become wise you should also get rid of the idea of ​​good and bad, because there is no such thing as good and bad emotions, positive or negative, that is nonsense, that is duality and duality is the acting and created by the I. Until you are nothing you will be wise and then it will not matter if you are already wise. "

[tojigasm]

your writing is incredibly comforting, i'm crying 😭😭 can you pleaaaseee write a pure fluff with toji? maybe a late night/very early morning sleepy one ?? but i'll take anything 😭 i love how he is in the x pregnant reader fics 😞😞

Ahh ty ty ty!! I'm so, so sorry this took so long for me to get to as this is one of the very first requests I ever got and its just been sitting and waiting for me in my ask box :( i decided to go with a pregnant reader since you mentioned you enjoyed those types I've written, I hope you enjoy!! <33

Cw: pregnancy, tiredness (its early as heck), toji cussing, fluff!!<33 toji being toji, toji refusing to learn how to use a waffle iron, bacon cooking king Toji, toji also being super protective + an alarm going off

Mornings with Toji are less than predictable. Either he's managed to some how create a full on 5 star 4 course meal or trashed the entire kitchen – he'd claim it's because of the waffles, saying: 'that damn machine's broken, it's out to get me.' You'd tried explaining the heat levels to him multiple times, even going so far as to print out the instructions and tape them to the top of the iron for him to follow; only to have the laminated paper disappear and when you asked him about it he had only shrugged and assured you that he knew what he was doing. And you knew he most definitely had no idea how to use that machine.

Toji did have one remaining quality in the field of food art, and it was his bacon skills. The man could cook bacon out in the wild – with nothing but nature and it'd still come out better than prepackaged slices.

It was early in the morning, still deep in sleep and rendered nearly immobile – by Toji's rules of you not being allowed to leave the house without him or walk anywhere due to your pregnancy. You were about six months along and the work of having to create a child was starting to catch up with you. Getting up at a reasonable time was no longer something that came naturally anymore, and today, with the smell of Toji's famous bacon, you were pulled from your heavy sleep, lulling you to venture from the warmth of you lavender-scented sheets and wander down to the kitchen.

slipping on your teddy bear slippers, you make your way down the stairs, hand following the railing as you struggled to keep your balance. You could hear Toji from the kitchen, frustrated grunts and harsh words of obscenity echoing out into the hall, struggling with what you could only assume was the cursed waffle iron.

Bringing a hand up to rub at your eyes, you yawned loudly; turning your head to the floor, eyes watered with sleep, focusing and unfocusing on the oak floors as your teddy bear slippers smiled up at you; the deliria of sleep forced a soft giggle out of your chest at the upturned embroidered smile of the bear - fogginess of sleep pulled you into another loud yawn.

Toji, prompted by the sound of you yawning, quickly made his way from the splattered mess of waffle mix in the kitchen to where you stood at the stairs, nearly falling asleep as you fought to keep yourself up.

"Hey, sweetheart," he reached out to you helping you down the remainder of the steps, "baby wake ya' up or was it the food?"

you could hear the smirk in his voice, too tired to tease him, you nodded. Resting your head against his chest as he walked the two of you into the den, hand planted on your back as he helped to support the weight on your back.

He'd obviously tried to hide the mess of waffle mix spattered along the granite counter and dripping down the sides of your olive green cabinets.

"It was the smell of the bacon actually," you yawned again, gesturing to the sun-lit kitchen, "ya' need some help?" your brows furrowed as you laughed

Toji only rolled his eyes before sighing, kicking at the carpet lightly with a grumble, "Wanted to do it myself, wanted to surprise you," his voice fades into a soft mumble and you smile warmly, linking your hand in his before leading him back to the mess of the kitchen.

"Here," you grabbed a paper towel and began to wipe the counter down, "Refill the iron, I'll help you with the settings."

"Yes, ma'am." Toji smiled, pouring the small remainder of batter into the netting of the iron before grabbing another towel to help clean off the now dried mix off the cabinets and counter.

throwing your soiled towel into the trash can, you made your way back to the iron, hand cupping the underside of your swollen middle as you waited for Toji to finish up. "Gimmie' just a sec, honey." he was kneeled next to the corner of the island, rubbing the towel into the crevice of the counter roughly.

"Baby, it's okay, we can just clean it later," you tapped your nails against the counter impatiently, "and m'getting hungry," your head rolled back in a whine.

"Okay, okay," the ruffled sounds of Toji throwing away the towel made you perk up immediately, lips pulling back into a smile as you giggle. "Brat." Toji flicks your forehead before pulling the lid of the iron up, "Alright, show me how it's done."

"Yes sir," you smirked, earning a pinch on your arm as you moved to take Toji's place in front of the machine. Toji stood beside you, running is middle and forefinger over the soft skin of your belly gently as you struggled with the various buttons.

Toji lifted a brow at your frustrated grunts, "Not so easy is it?" he smirked, leaned against the edge of the counter, elbow resting against the cold surface of the washed granite.

you only groaned, throwing a warned expression his way, "Shut up-" you were cut off by a shrill beeping noise coming from the machine; immediately Toji pulled you back behind him.

"It's okay, Toji- just gotta' turn it off probably"

"No, i don't trust it." he began to back the two of you up as the beeping increased and smoke began to bubble up from the back, slowly wafting into the air of the kitchen.

"Toji!" you tried to make your way past him only to be pushed back, "The things gonna catch on fire, we gotta turn it off!"

Toji shut his eyes briefly before nodding, "Yeah, okay, but you stay here. Don't need you inhaling any smoke shit" he mumbled, shuffling over to the iron. He turned to you with a smile as he flipped the switch off only to have the machine smoke up once again, this time the smoke was a dark grey cloud that ran to the ceiling of the kitchen immediately. Waffle mix ran over the sides of the machine and onto the counter, spilling onto the cabinets and over the floor before Toji picked the contraption up and threw it into the sink.

There were a few minutes of stunned silence, unsure of what to do, you slowly made your way over to your boyfriend. Opening your mouth to speak, the fire alarm began to ring loudly causing Toji to groan.

You could only giggle as you cleaned up the counter as Toji switched off the alarm before picking up another towel to help you.

"You still hungry?" He asked, cleaning the cabinet below you.

"Yeah," as if on que, your stomach growled lightly, "Baby's hungry too."

Toji stood up, throwing the dirty towel into the trash, he pressed a kiss to your temple genlty, "How 'bout some toast?"

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

��...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[theladyofdeath]

I’ll Be Seeing You {5}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @snelbz​​

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war, blood

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2429

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

“How do they look?”

Nesta removed the bandages, slowly, from Cassian's back. They didn’t look great, had looked far better the day before, but they had certainly been worse.

“A little discharge we have to keep our eye on, but nothing to worry about,” she promised. “How did you sleep last night, Major?”

“I can’t complain,” he said, sighing as she began to clean his wounds. “Only woke up a handful of times. I’ve certainly had worse nights of sleep. And you? How did you sleep, Nurse?”

“Well enough,” she said, as she eyed the book that sat beside his cot, the leather band that typically tied his hair back being used as a bookmark a few chapters in. “I see you’re enjoying the western.” 

Cassian’s back straightened. He’d been caught. “It’s….decent enough.” 

“Decent enough?” she repeated, amused, as she dabbed the wound with alcohol. Cassian hissed, even though it was quiet. “Admit that you’re a fan of Alexander Hillsworth.”

Cassian scoffed. “Alexander Hillsworth is a wannabe cowboy. It’s pathetic.”

“Mhmm,” Nesta crooned, continuing to work.

“Daisy, though,” Cassian went on. “She seems….nice.” 

Nesta suppressed her grin. “She-.”

Her sentence was cut off by commotion going on outside of the tent. Everyone’s attention swiveled to the tent flaps as they were thrown open, and a group of soldiers hurried inside, carrying a fallen man, Madja close on their heels. 

She stood there, frozen for a moment as she took in the gore covering the soldiers, the way the man’s arm hung in bloody ribbons. What was left of it at least. His leg hadn’t been as fortunate.

“Go.”

She looked down at Cassian, who was watching the scene unfold in front of them. She still had the bottle of alcohol in her hand, had barely begun to clean up his wounds, though she’d removed the bandage from his entire back. He jerked his chin towards the battered man they were carefully moving on a cot. “Go. They need you.”

“Your back—.”

“My back is nothing compared to that. That man might not make it the next hour. You need to go help him.”

Nesta nodded, her feet moving before her mind caught up with her.

It never got easier, seeing the blood, seeing the inside of a human being. Nesta didn’t focus on that, though, she focused on the man being laid on the table at the far end of the room. His eyes were wide open, glazed but panicked. 

Nesta stood above his head as Madja and another nurse began to look at his wounds. 

“Soldier, can you hear me?” Nesta asked, getting close to his face, so that she was all he could see. He met her eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Madja began working on the man’s arm while another nurse began stitching up his leg.

So much blood.

Too much blood.

He had already lost more blood than they knew. 

The man’s eyes began to fade, but Nesta shook her head. “You must stay awake, soldier.”

“Nesta, press this against his wound,” Madja said, then hurried away to get the tools she needed from the cupboard. 

Nesta pressed the already blood-soaked rag into the man’s arm, where his wounds were the worst.

It was no use, though.

It was too bad.

He’d already lost too much blood.

Nesta pressed the rag into the wound, though, minimizing the blood loss.

She could feel death hovering outside the tent. Glancing back up at his face, she found the man was nearly unconscious again, but the soldiers who carried him were still nearby. “What happened?” She asked, tossing her head to try and get the loose hair that had fallen out of her braid out of her face.

“Artillery shell,” the oldest of the men said. The other two looked to him, as if he were the leader amongst them. With how young they all were, she assumed he must be.  “Landed just a few feet from where he was laid out. He took a few bad shots to the chest before the shell went off.”

Nesta used her other hand, already covered with blood to move the man’s shirt out of the way. Sure enough, there were bullet wounds in his chest, and not in a place that would heal easily.

Shit. She couldn’t mutter the word out loud, couldn’t let the soldiers think it was something they couldn’t handle, so she chanted the word in her head. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Madja came back with a series of surgical tools and got to work. Nesta remained where she was, rag in hands pressed to the wound that was bleeding out. 

The soldier’s eyelids began to flutter shut again.

“No,” Nesta snapped and got in his face, once again. “No, no, no, no,” she repeated, her voice getting louder with each one that came out. “Madja, he’s fading.” 

But Madja wasn’t moving anymore.

She had stilled.

“Madja!” Nesta yelled. 

Madja slowly set the tools down on the table before her and said, “He’s gone.”

Nesta looked back into the face of the man to find his absent eyes staring at the top of the tent. Nesta’s hands were still pressed into his wound.

“Surely there can be something-.”

“He’s gone, Nurse Archeron,” Madja said, quietly. “You should go clean yourself and return to the patients.” 

She stepped back, nodding, and swallowed harshly. Hurrying towards the tent entrance, she wiped her hands on her apron, removing it and dropping it and the bloody rag into the soiled laundry bin. She heard Madja give the soldiers instructions on where to take the young man’s body, which the younger of the two tended to, while the eldest man filled Madja in on who he was, what battalion he belonged to. She blocked out the answers as Madja asked if he had any living family. She didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know.

Pushing through the tent flaps, Nesta nearly dragged her hands down her face, but she remembered that the dead soldier's blood coated her hands, even if most of it had been wiped off on her apron. She hurried across the camp, to the small area where fresh water was brought for baths every day, and grabbed one of the smaller pitchers, as well as a small pile of rags and a bar of soap that was no more than a sliver. The camp mothers said nothing as Nesta stalked off to a quiet tree and sat down, splashing water onto a rag. It was almost warm after having sat in the sun all morning, but everything felt cold to Nesta as she rubbed the soap over her damp hands and scrubbed. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the blood was gone and her hands were red and raw, but still, she kept scrubbing.

She didn’t stop until a tan, calloused hand wrapped around her wrist, making her pause. After it was clear she was done with the unnecessary scrubbing, he let go of her wrist. Cassian, wearing a loose, cotton shirt, dropped down next to her by the tree. 

“You should be in bed,” was her only words of greeting.

“I’m not tired,” he replied, simply, planting himself in the grass with a grunt.

“You should be in bed, anyway,” she snapped. “You’re injured, you’re in no condition to-.”

“Here,” he said, holding out a couple of cigarettes and one of the small bottles of whiskey that had come from the care packages sent to them a few days prior.

Nesta blinked, her anger fading, just for a second. “What is this?”

“You need it,” he said, outstretching his hand. “Here.”

Nesta stared at his hand for a moment before taking a cigarette and the bottle. She cleared her throat, “Thanks.” 

Cassian nodded and put the other cigarette between his lips. He took out a match and lit the tip, then lit Nesta’s.

“Thanks,” she said, quietly. She took one drag then coughed, quietly.

“Been a while?” Cassian asked.

Nesta repeated the motion, and blew a cloud of smoke. “Something like that.”

Cassian nodded and remained quiet for a moment.  

After a moment, Nesta asked, “What are you doing out here, Cassian?” 

“I’ve done enough battlefield patching up to know how hard it is to lose a man.” He took a longer drag, holding it in for longer than she would have suggested before exhaling. “It’s not easy. And you sure as hell shouldn’t be alone after that.”

She swallowed harshly, but nodded, fighting the tears filling her eyes. Clearing her throat, she said, “It’s something I’ve had to become used to. I suspect it’s something I’ll have to deal with quite a bit more before this war is over.”

He nodded, not saying anything. He knew she was right, no matter how much he wished it weren’t so.

She toyed with the cap of the whiskey bottle in her hands. “I’m surprised Madja let you out of bed.”

“She was a little bit preoccupied when I left. Though I didn’t exactly ask for permission to go anywhere,” he admitted, taking the bottle from her and opening it. The wax seal came loose and he handed it to her.

She gave him a look of pure disapproval before taking the bottle. “You know, there’s a reason we give you specific instructions.”

“You know how I feel about staying in bed,” Cassian muttered. 

Nesta took a sip from the whiskey bottle before handing it to Cassian. He looked at it for a moment before taking it and taking a swig.

His face contorted as he swallowed it. “I can’t wait for a decent glass of whiskey.”

Nesta snorted, even though there was no emotion behind it.

“I guess it does the trick though, doesn’t it?” He asked, handing the bottle back.

Nesta nodded, taking a bigger sip this time. “Yeah, that it does.”

Cassian looked down and froze before he slowly reached over and grabbed her wet, bloodied rag.

Nesta jumped back as he reached for her. “What are you doing?”

“You missed a spot,” he replied, softly, and when he reached for her arm again, she didn’t move.

He flipped her arm over and just below her elbow, Cassian began to wipe off a patch of nearly-dried blood, that cigarette dangling from between his lips.

Her throat felt tight, but she let him clean her up.  It was quiet between the two of them for a few minutes, as they passed that cheap whiskey back and forth between them. Finally, Nesta breathed, “It’s never going to get easier, is it? Seeing… seeing death?”

He looked over at her and for a second, she wondered if he’d even answer. “I won’t lie to you, I’ve been on the front since the day the war started. I’ve seen battles that ended in victories and some that I was lucky to walk off the battlefield. I’ve lost some good friends.” He paused at that and looked out into the trees they were camped in. “I still see the face of every man I’ve lost and every man I’ve killed. Death isn’t easy. I’d be worried if you told me it didn’t affect you. But the fact that it does tells me you’ve got a good heart, and that you’re even here, helping take care of us, tells me what kind of person you are.”

Nesta followed his gaze, over the rolling hills and the gemstone-colored treetops.

“I could see myself loving a woman like you.”

Nesta’s eyes jerked to Cassian, but his eyes were still fixed on the woods beyond.

“You hardly know me,” she said, quietly, even as her heart began to beat a little bit faster.

“I like what I know,” he replied, without missing a beat.

Nesta chuckled, and shook her head. “I think you’re a little drunk, Major. Between the whiskey and those pain meds.”

“You know what they say about the drunk,” Cassian said, and met her gaze, at last. “They say what’s on their minds and they tell the truth.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. “Well, I think you’ve been reading too much of that romance novel and your heart is going soft. Perhaps you’re lovesick.” 

Cassian’s grin was heartstopping. “Blame it on Daisy.”

Despite herself and what she had just endured, Nestas head fell back and she laughed. 

“You’ve only just begun reading it!” She protested. “How can you grow to like a character so quickly?”

Cassian shrugged, lighting another cigarette. “I like how she’s described.”

“Mhmm,” Nesta crooned, “and how is she described? Do tell.”

“Let’s see,” Cassian began, looking up at the sky. “Gorgeous, with the voice of an angel. And, apparently, she has quite the wardrobe.”

“She’s an entertainer at a brothel!” Nesta protested. “She’s going to have quite the wardrobe.”

“You just don’t like her because she pleasures men for a living,” Cassian argued.

Nesta laughed, shaking her head. “Oh no. There’s a reason I dislike her and that certainly has nothing to do with it.”

Cassian gasped. “Are you spoiling the book for me, nurse?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then it snapped shut as she realized that she indeed was about to spoil a few key details of the book. A laugh sputtered out of her instead. She very well may be a little drunk as well, since it had been quite a while since she’d imbibed in the slightest.

Turning to look at him, anything she was about to say died on her tongue as she found him already looking at her. There was something in his eyes, something aside from the glaze of the liquor and the pain meds, that made her chest tighten.

Clearing her throat, she stood, holding out a hand for him. “We should go. You need to be in bed resting.”

Rolling his eyes, Cassian took her hand. The rough calluses felt good against her skin, but he stood and grabbed what was left of the whiskey.

Nesta walked Cassian back to the tent, feeling something that closely resembled peace.

Not quite peace, but close.

She could at least carry on with her day, doing her duty with her chin lifted high.

Their hands remained touching each other’s, lingering, for just a moment after Cassian rose, after they began to walk toward the tent.

Nesta pretended that she hadn’t noticed.

But she certainly had.

~

Cassian had no idea what time he awoke, but it was dark, an oil lamp burning by his cot.

It wasn’t the only thing that was burning.

Cassian was drenched in sweat, his sheets soaked, his clothes sticking to his body. 

As he opened his eyes, a wave of nausea swept over him that had him quickly closing them, once more.

He was going to be sick.

He tried to roll over, tried to pull himself up, but couldn’t. 

His back ached, throbbed, burned as he moved against the sheets.

It had him hissing or groaning or something, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that a noise must’ve come out of him because he felt cool hands against his head a moment later, then hurried, hushed voices saying something that he couldn't quite make out.

He said something.

Her name.

Nesta.

Or, maybe he thought it, maybe his lips had simply moved, had formed her name but hadn’t quite gotten it out.

Either way, it was her face he saw behind his closed lids.

“He’s burning up,” a voice said, and Cassian heard it this time.

He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t quite muster it.

He heard someone curse.

That was her.

A filthy word portrayed beautifully from the woman who had captivated him.

He tried to say her name again, but wasn’t quite sure if he was successful or not as he faded into darkness. 

[bethestaryouareradio]

Dig and Divide

“There are no happier folks than plant lovers, and none more generous than those who garden.” Ernest Wilson

Many years ago, I was considering adopting two miniature ponies. When I visited the ranch where they were living there was a small pond surrounded by a flush of gorgeous pink blooms that I had never seen before. When I asked the property owner what they were, she told me they were Naked Ladies, a bulb that boasted bright green spear-like foliage in the winter. When the foliage died at the end of spring, it was necessary to remove the brown leaves, leaving the turtle- shaped bulbs slightly protruding from the ground. Indicating that her Naked Ladies needed dividing, she dug up a bulb, instructing me to plant it in the sun “anywhere”, irrespective of soil condition.  “Wait for next summer’s surprise,” she said. I followed her directions, and that one bulb has evolved into many hundreds that blanket my hillside in a sea of pink perfection. Over the years I have divided, dug, and donated bulbs to many friends, offering them a summer surprise. Dig and divide! It makes me so happy!

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This time of year is a perfect time to divide a wide variety of bulbs and perennials. Besides increasing the number of plants in your garden, divisions can be given to other gardeners. Dividing overcrowded plants will give the remaining plants room to grow, maintaining their health, and rejuvenating your beds.  

Before you begin, water the area well a few days before digging. With a shovel or garden fork, dig a large area to remove a clump with the root ball, bulbs, or rhizomes intact. Once out of the ground, shake off the excess dirt and cut or pull apart individual crowns. For perennials, make sure you have roots and leaves. Bulbs and rhizomes need roots attached. To avoid having the roots dry out, plant immediately in another area at the same depth and water deeply. To conserve moisture, add mulch to these newly divided plants.

Overcrowded and overgrown plants will not bloom profusely, however, not all perennials or bulbs benefit from dividing. It’s best to leave Baptista, goatsbeard, lupine, milkweed, Russian sage, peony, red hot poker, bleeding heart, Hellebores, lavender, verbena, and oriental poppies alone.

Plants that need dividing every few years (two to five years) for peak performance include:

Agapanthus

Bearded and Dutch iris

Daylilies

Daffodils and Narcissus

Hosta

Lilies

Monarda

Phlox

Cymbidium orchids

Astilbe

Rudbeckia

Echinacea

Yarrow

Lamb’s Ear

Blanket Flower

Aster

Coreopsis

Naked Ladies

Agave

Thimbleberries

When dividing plants, follow these general guidelines:

Prepare the soil: Amend the new location with compost and choose a well-draining location for the divisions.

Water: Before dividing, water the plants thoroughly to ensure they are adequately hydrated.

Dig: Only divide healthy specimens. Be careful to not damage the roots or bulbs by gently digging up the plant clumps using a shovel or garden fork. Start at the drip line by creating a trench and work inwards.

Divide: The best time to divide is when flowering has halted. Once the clump is out of the ground, clip off the remaining stems at the base and trim any dead or dying leaves and roots.  Carefully separate plants into smaller divisions using your hands or a sharp knife. Make sure that each division has healthy roots.

Replant: Plant the divisions at the same depth as where the original plant was growing. Water deeply and mulch to conserve moisture.

Maintenance: To establish these new divisions, continue to water and watch. Remove weeds, leaf debris, and grassroots from beds and add a mulch of straw or wood chips. After the blooming season, spent blooms, as well as spent branches, can be removed carefully to keep your beds looking fresh and colorful. 

Bulbs should be divided when they are noticeably overcrowded. Bulbs produce offshoot bulbs and as they grow, flowers diminish although leaves flourish. This is when you know it’s time to divide. Let the foliage die back naturally as the plant needs that energy for next year’s growth. Although most plants can be divided in spring or fall, by dividing plants in September, the root systems are allowed to grow before winter arrives.  Sometimes when dividing in spring, the heat arrives before the roots have had a chance to develop. Ask for assistance from your nursery or gardening expert if you feel your plant has any specific needs. Follow best practices and you will be rewarded with a healthy garden with a plethora of flowers.

The agapanthus that I grow in my garden came from divisions. My favorite color is the midnight blue agapanthus followed by the pure white species. This season I will be dividing my agapanthus and my iris. The healthy green leaves of the iris will be left undisturbed until later this month, then I’ll trim the leaves to approximately six inches and start dividing.

If you are looking for easy-to-care desert-loving species that require minimal water, agave and prickly pear cacti may fit the bill. Agave is propagated by separating the pups from the mother plant and replanting in another location in sandy or gravel-filled soil.  If you enjoy eating the fruit of the prickly pear cacti, and admiring its pretty flowers, I suggest you plant one at the back of your garden so that the spines won’t interfere with your other gardening tasks. The fruit is delicious, the flowers are bold, yet the spines are ferocious. Make sure to wear heavy gloves when working with prickly pears. If you don’t want to cultivate a jungle of these cacti, make sure to pick up and discard any pads that fall on the ground. No need to divide a prickly pear…they spread on their own via dropped pads.

Gardening and sharing the bounty results in joy and happiness. I’ve been fascinated by the flocks of mourning doves that have decided to call my garden home. They do devour my mulberries, but they also eat enormous amounts of weed seeds. Each night I go to sleep to their calming cooing. These peaceful birds don’t seem to mind me photographing them, even in their nests. (See photo).

I didn’t adopt the adorable miniature ponies because the family decided to keep them (smart move), yet I am forever grateful for that single division of the Naked Lady as these belladonnas have brought such beauty to my landscape and the gardens of others. Divide, share, and be happy!

Mark Your Calendar:

On Saturday, September 30th, Be the Star You Are!® will host a booth sponsored by the Lamorinda Weekly Newspaperand  MBJessee Painting at the Pear and Wine Festival in Moraga. Stop by to plant seeds and pick up bags of free potpourri. More info at  https://www.bethestaryouare.org/events-1/2023-pear-and-wine-festival

Happy Gardening. Happy Growing. Divide and Delight!

For more gardening advice for all seasons, check out Growing with the Goddess Gardenerat https://www.CynthiaBrian.com/books. Raised in the vineyards of Napa County, Cynthia Brian is a New York Times best-selling author, actor, radio personality, speaker, media and writing coach as well as the Founder and Executive Director of Be the Star You Are!® 501 c3. Tune into Cynthia’s StarStyle® Radio Broadcast at www.StarStyleRadio.com. 

Her newest children’s picture book, Family Forever, from the series, Stella Bella’s Barnyard Adventures is available now at https://www.CynthiaBrian.com/online-store. 

Hire Cynthia for writing projects, garden consults, and inspirational lectures. Cynthia@GoddessGardener.com  

Read Lamorinda Weekly: https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1714/Digging-Deep-with-Goddess-Gardener-Cynthia-Brian-Divide-and-delight.html

©2023 Cynthia Brian. Photos and Text, All Rights Reserved.Subscribe

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[inkandpen22]

The Princess and The Pogue (Pt. 9)

Pairing: JJ x Reader / Topper x Reader

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: swearing, mild smut, angst, fluff

Part Summary: Y/N goes to see JJ after the party and she begins to think everything will work out

Masterlist

The Pogues are gathered around the bonfire, chatting over a couple of beers and joints. JJ keeps checking his phone every few minutes, wondering why you haven't texted him yet. You agreed for him to pick you up at your house at eleven, but he wants to wait for your text saying you're home. He's considered just going over anyway, assuming you're already there since dinner would've ended at least two hours ago. Before he has the chance to even rise to his feet to go, you and Topper roll up the driveway. None of the Pogues recognize the gray BMW, except Sarah. 

“Is that Topper dropping off Y/N?” She frowns in confusion as the car comes to a steady halt at the end of the gravel drive. 

Pope presses his fingers to his temples, wide-eyed. “Am I hallucinating?” 

“Okay, enough weed for me," Kiara declares, passing the joint to John B. 

Topper stops the car and turns to you. “You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you nod, collecting your bag between your legs. 

“Call or text if you need me,” he instructs, still somewhat reluctant to drop you off. 

“Will do,” you offer him a reassuring smile. 

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow," he complies, leaning over the divider and planting a quick peck to your cheek. “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” you return, granting him a kiss on the cheek as well. You climb out of Topper's car, walking toward the fire pit where JJ and everyone watch you utterly dumbfounded. “Hi guys,” you greet, slinging your bag over your shoulder. 

“Topper knows his way around The Cut?” John B pokes fun. 

“Did he drop you off to scope out the place?” Kiara grumbles. 

“He didn’t want me driving," you explain as you take a seat next to a silent JJ. "We went to Kelce’s for a little after dinner and I’ve been drinking." 

“What a gentleman,” Sarah mumbles sarcastically. 

“Hi Baby,” JJ greets you with a soft smile, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“Hi,” you grin, leaning in and planting a kiss to his lips to which he reciprocates. 

“I could’ve picked you up,” he whispers against your lips. 

“I know," you state, parting from him for a second. "I just didn’t want to make you do the drive." 

“I’m surprised Topper let you out of the car,” Sarah snickers. 

“We came to an understanding,” you describe vaguely. 

“Oh yeah?" Kiara raises a brow. "What’s that?” 

“We’re just friends,” you reply confidently. 

“I don’t just kiss my friends goodbye...” John B mumbles under his breath. 

“We’re just friends," you reiterate, starring the boy down warningly. 

“You bet you are,” JJ agrees, pulling you into his side. “I missed you today.” 

“I missed you too," you blush, peering over to meet his gaze. 

“Movie anyone?” John B suggests suddenly rising to his feet. 

“Yes!” Sarah bursts. 

“Comedy!” Pope votes. 

“Romance!” Kiara challenges. 

“Actually," JJ sighs, standing up next to you. "I was going to head to bed, wanna come?” He asks as he glances down at you.

You hum. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired actually." 

____________________________________________

You and JJ lay in bed, facing each other as you talk about everything under the sun. You could've watched the movie considering you've been up for hours talking, not once trying to fall asleep. Yet, spending hours laying in bed, talking to JJ, is a much better pass time. 

“Fish tacos from The Wreck,” JJ answers without a moment's hesitation. 

“Ooo, you know I’ve never been there,” you confess, intrigued. 

“Really?!" JJ's eyes grow wide. "We’ll have to go ASAP! Kie’s dad makes the best hush puppies,” he dramatically gestures with his hands. 

You giggle, “sounds amazing.” 

“Okay, now your turn." JJ's arm drapes over you and rubs his hand up and down your back. 

“Hmm," you hum, thinking it over. "My grandma’s chicken and dumplings. She always made it when I was sick and it’s like a warm hug.”

“Yum," he grins. “Dream vacation?”

“Anywhere with a beach,” you answer easily. “I love to travel, but I also love the ocean so can’t be too far from it. You?”

“Surfing trip around the world," he nods, clearly having thought about it before. "I’m talking Australia, Japan, Brazil, all over.”

“Surfing world tour. Very surfer Pogue of you,” you tease playfully. 

“Would a Kook Princess like to come?” He offers with a sly smirk as his eyes fall to the small space between you. 

“Sure I’ll follow,” you accept with a soft smile. 

JJ jokingly nudges you on the shoulder with a slight blush to his cheeks. “Stop," he chuckles. "If anything you pick the places and I follow. Follow you around the world.”

“You would?” You narrow your eyes at him with a smirk. 

“What’s that Carol King song?” He tries to recall and whispers some of the words. “Where you lead...”

“I will follow," you add in a sing-songy tone. 

“Anywhere!” You both say in unison to each other, causing you two to laugh. 

JJ exhales deeply, catching his breath after laughing.“Talking to you is so easy it’s scary," he confesses, taking your hand in his between you two. 

“I never felt so understood until I met you,” you tell him. 

His brows scrunch together as he watches your hands move around one another. “You don’t think Topper understands you?”

“I do... to an extent,” you shrug, not fully convinced. “He’s known me longer, so he knows why I am the way I am, but he’s not necessarily accepting of all of it.”

“What do you mean?” JJ wonders aloud.  

“If I told him that I don’t want to go to every party and rather stay in, he’d wonder why. If I said I don’t like the Club and rather spend a day on some remote island somewhere he wouldn’t relate. I could tell you that I want to move to Guam and you’d be game for it. Some days I don’t want to have any responsibilities or social obligations which confuses Topper. He’s satisfied where he is. He’s satisfied being stationary and though I’m told I have everything, I don’t want any of it." You pause, finding yourself coming to a hard conclusion. You peer up at JJ who's eyes have left your hands and pour into you. "There has to be more right? There has to be something different out there.”

“Life beyond the OBX?" He seek to clarify to which you nod. "Yeah, there’s an entire world outside of here!”

“That’s what I want..." You whisper. "Something entirely my own and somewhere where no one knows me.” 

“Maybe we should explore it together,” he smiles gently with content. “I mean, as long as it’s okay for one person to know you.” 

“You don’t count," you blush. 

JJ releases your hand, bringing his own to caress your cheek. “I want to see the world with you." 

You lean into his touch, his warmth making you feel safe, seen, and understood. “I think that can be arranged...”

JJ shakes his head, as though he's come to a profound realization. “You’re everything to me." His words slip by in a whisper as he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, sealing his statement. 

You run your fingers through JJ's hair, pulling him in deeper. He smiles against your lips, loving your reaction. He moves to hover over you, encompassing you with his body. You take matters into your own hands and press JJ down to lay down beside you. Swiftly, you move to straddle him. A grunt leaves him and you cower slightly. 

"Did I hurt you?!" You nearly panic. 

“No, no,” he’s quick to assure you, bringing his hand to your face and brushing your hair back. 

You hadn’t noticed when he got into bed, the bruises and cuts scattered across his torso. You remember them from the Boneyard and in the hot tub. You had thought perhaps they were from Topper. 

JJ can tell that your mind isn’t satisfied. "What else is troubling you?" He frowns. "Babe, look at me, please."

"If these weren't Topper, what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it,” he scrunches his face with a shake of the head. “Don't worry, it's taken care of,” he tries to change the subject, reaching up to kiss you. 

You gasp. "Did someone do this to you?!" You quickly realize. 

"Y/N..."JJ exhales deeply. 

"JJ, I have to know!” You argue. “If someone-"

"It was my dad okay!" He confesses. 

You heart sinks has the dark reality hits you like a ton of bricks. 

"He... he gets mad sometimes..."JJ describes, looking anywhere but you. He begins to fidget with the hem of your shirt. When... When things weren’t good between us... I picked a fight with him. It was stupid. I shouldn't have done it, but I did! I think I wanted it. At least then I could control the pain,” he explains, killing you.

You lean down and plant a gentle, comforting kiss to his lips. When you pull back, JJ stares at you, stunned by the action. You swallow hard as you slide down, keeping eye contact with him as you plant a kiss to his bruised peck. JJ’s heart begins to race as he watches you. You continue on your path to his multicolored rib. JJ’s hand brushes over the top of your head gently. Your fingers curl under the hem of his boxers as you leave a trail of kisses over his cut and bruised stomach. 

"Y/N..." He breathes heavily as his eyes fall shut. 

"Never again,” you tell him warningly as a demand. “You never go back there. Here, Kie's, Pope's, my place, anywhere else but there. Morning, noon, or night, you need a place, come to me. You hear me?"

JJ nods, too consumed in you to voice anything. 

"I see marks like these on you again, I'll kill him and they won't find the body. I've seen enough crime documentaries. I can be like Liam Nison in Taken,” you joke slightly. 

"I'm sure you could," JJ smirks, peering down at you. 

You lift yourself up to hover just above his face. You cup his cheeks, making him look you in the eyes. "I'm never going to leave you, ever! You never have to suffer alone again. I promise. Your pain is my pain. Whatever you inflict on yourself you also do on me."  

"I promise too. You're my world, Y/N,” he tells you and you know he means it. “You're my life now."

Suddenly, there's a ruckus coming from outside in the hall. The sound of the screen door slamming against the frame and shouting. 

“Hey! Hey! Hey! I’ll go get her! You stay here!” You hear John B yell. 

“Like I’d listen to you!” Another voice barks. 

You break from JJ, trying to listen. “What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know,” he frowns, peering over at the door. He climbs off of you and slips out of the bed. He grabs a t-shirt from the chair in the corner and pulls it over his head, his boxers still slightly exposed. 

“JJ, be careful!” You beg, worried that it could be someone looking for trouble. 

"I will, Baby. It's okay," he promises, heading toward the door to check it out. 

“Cool off Topper!” Pope shouts before you hear a bang. 

“Topper?” You mumble in disbelief, flying off the bed and toward the door.

“Y/N!" JJ grabs your wrist as you open the door. "Baby, wait!” 

Before he has the chance to stop you, you stumble into the hallway. JJ rushes out of the bedroom, nearly running into you. Standing at the end of it, in the archway of the living room, Topper turns his attention away from the Pogues. His eyes land on you and a wave of relief consumes him. 

“Y/N...” Your name falls from his parted lips faintly. 

“Topper...” You stand frozen. 

“There is almost an equal Kook to Pogue ratio in this house and I don’t like it,” Pope huffs from behind Topper. 

“I need to talk to you," the tall blonde announces urgently. 

You speed walk down the hall, despite JJ's efforts to stop you. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I just... I... uh...” Topper stutters, nervously avoiding your gaze, and focuses on the small floor space between you. 

“Have you been drinking again?" You question, coming to the conclusion he has. He smells of beer and weed, more than he did hours ago. "Did you go back to Kelce’s!” 

“I was losing my mind, Y/N!" He bursts, uncharacteristically, causing you to jump and JJ to step forward toward you. "I needed a distraction, but nothing was working!” Topper explains in a rush, all fidgety. “Can we just go somewhere to talk?” 

JJ immediately steps in, moving to stand between the two of you. “You’re not going anywhere with her!” 

“Oh shove it,” Topper snaps at JJ. 

“You forget you’re on my side of the island, Kook!” JJ barks, shoving Topper in the chest. 

“Enough!” You scream, pressing a palm to each of their chests. “For Pete’s sake!” 

“Back off JJ!” Kiara yells. 

“I just need to talk to you,” Topper pants. 

You exhale deeply, glancing between JJ and Topper. You know JJ won't approve and won't allow it without a fight, but you agree to speak with Topper. “Okay, let’s go outside.” 

JJ laughs, pacing around. “You can’t be serious-” 

“Ten minutes!” You shout at him, escorting Topper toward the door. 

“She sure told you,” Topper mocks JJ as he backs up to the exit. 

“Oh shut up,” you grumble, urging Topper through the doorway leading to the front yard. 

You and Topper settle down on the hammock, swinging back and forth on the edge, side by side. The sun has long since set and the lights in the large tree illuminate the yard. Unable to sit still, Topper rises from his spot and paces in front of you. 

“What’s going on Topper?” You ask worriedly. 

The boy stops, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck nervously. “I’m losing my mind, Y/N!" He finally breaks his silence. "I feel like there are weights strapped to me and I’m being pulled to the bottom of the ocean, struggling for air!” He rushes out in a pant. “I’ve been an arrogant ass and too scared to pay attention, but now I’m just scared and I’m afraid if I don’t tell you this now that I’ll never get a chance like this again!” 

You stand, taking his hands in yours. "Just take a deep breath!" 

He yanks his hands free of your hold, running his fingers through his hair as he paces away. "I'm about to be the most selfish person on the planet!" 

“Topper, just say it! It can't be that bad!" You try to reassure him, the pit in your stomach growing with each passing minute. You can only assume the worst. 

“I love you!” Topper bursts out, meeting your gaze pleadingly. 

A weight lifts off your shoulder. You thought it was something bad. “That's it? I love you too,” you laugh lightly. 

“No!" He stops you. "Not the way you mean it... it’s not the same! I love you!” 

Neither of you notice the Pogues hiding in the enclosed patio, watching everything go down. 

“I knew it!” Pope announces from his spot by the window. 

“Pay up!” Kiara holds out her hand to John B. 

JJ's heart sinks when he hears the confession leave Topper. He wants to run for the hills, but he can't help but observe you stand there in shock. 

Topper's chest rises and falls rapidly. “I didn’t realize it fully until I dropped you off and saw you with him. I know what I said earlier, that I’m okay with this!" The words fly out of him like a freight train going full speed. “But I’m not! I’ve been in love with you for two years! Before Sarah, during Sarah, after her!” 

“Okay ouch...” Sarah mumbles from her spot on the patio. 

“I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, I’ve just been too caught up in everything else to notice!" Topper's voice cracks with emotion. 

"You tell me this now!" You shout, growing more frustrated with each passing second. 

He sighs, "I know, I know, I'm sorry-" 

"No! You don't get to apologize!" You snap at him, utterly pissed off and frankly hurt. "You could've had me! You had me, Topper!" You correct as your eyes begin to swell with tears. "You had every opportunity to change the status quo and you didn't! You let me feel like a toy, there to satisfy you when you needed company! Yes, it was fun! Yes, it was great sex! Yes, I fed into the holding and touching, even when you and Sarah were on a break because I thought..." You swallow hard, processing what you're about to say. "Because I thought that eventually, you'd love me!" You break, tears falling down your cheeks. You finally let go of a truth you've been holding in for years now. "If I kept sleeping with you that one day you'd realize that we were more than just friends! Everyone else thought it! But you were caught up on Sarah and then it became not letting Sarah be with John B! I had to break it off after Bermuda because it was killing me! I couldn't take it anymore! I had to begin to move on!" 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot!" Topper rushes up to you, taking your hands in his pleadingly. "Tonight, feeling you again, I saw the rest of our lives and I want it! I don’t give a shit about our friends or golfing or the Club or Sarah because none of it matters if I don’t get to experience it with you!” He begs, “so pick me! Be with me! Love me!” 

You whimper, unsure of what to do or say. Everything is happening so fast. 

"You slept with him?" 

You turn over your shoulder to find JJ standing just a few feet away. His eyes glisten under the lights of the tree. He swallows hard, taking your silence as enough of an answer. He nods his head, pressing his lips together to hold back his emotions.

“You’re exactly as everyone says!” He yells, pointing at you aggressively. 

In a second, he's sprinting away down the gravel drive. You step forward, ready to run after him, but Topper grabs your wrist. 

"Y/N, don't!" He pleads. 

You yank your wrist free, before running him. "JJ!" You call, "JJ wait!" 

"Y/N!" Topper shouts, running after you. 

"JJ!" You beg for him to stop. 

"Y/N, wait!" Topper grunts, sprinting. 

"JJ!" You struggle to keep up with the boy. Soon, he disappears into the dark woods across the street and you have no choice but to halt, losing all hope. 

You fall to your knees on the gravel. The sound of Topper's feet hitting the gravel quickly approaching. You slam your fists to the ground with a scream, hitting your boiling point. How much is a girl expected to take? 

______________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @starkeythinker @bethii1 @thegunnerkelly@cc13723things@hockeybabe87 @jolomez @plutooryectors

[lifeofkaze]

Fields of Gold

Neville Longbottom x Reader

A/N: Emoji ask game round 2 and you picked 🌾 @nevilles-top. Enjoy, my lovely wifey! Fluffier than I thought it would be, but you know… balance and stuff. 🤷‍♀️

Warning: NSFW, 18+ only, oral f receiving, fingering, unprotected sex (be responsible, lovelies!)

EVERYONE IN THIS STORY IS OF LEGAL AGE AND CONSENTING

Word Count: ~ 3.000 (oops)

Your head was spinning from exhaustion. You couldn’t remember how long you had been staring at the documents sprawled out on your desk, trying to force your tired mind to make sense of the words. The project you had been working on for the better part of the week had to be done by Monday and no matter how tempting the sunlight streaming into your workspace from the open windows was, it was no use; you needed to get this done.

Blocking out the sweet chirping of the birds outside in your garden, you were doing your best to concentrate on your work, but found your thoughts straying time and time again to the beautiful summer day outside. There was nothing more you wanted than lounging in the sun, a cool glass of wine in hand.

You were so caught up in your fantasies about white wine so cold it made the glass condensate, that you didn’t notice the door to your office opening. As a result, your heart almost stopped and you jumped in shock as the strong arms of your boyfriend snaked around you from behind.

“Still at work, dear?” Neville muttered into your ear, his nose nuzzling the crook of your neck.

Breathing deeply to calm your shaking hands, you turned around in your chair to give him a mock reprimanding look. “Are you mad scaring me like that?” you asked sternly, the smile on your face betraying your serious tone, however.

Neville just grinned wickedly and looked over your shoulder at the paperwork in front of you. “Doesn’t seem like you made a lot of progress since the last time I checked,” he mused.

“I’m in a bit of a rut,” you admitted.

Neville hummed in response and pulled you off your chair. “You need a break, love, and I know just the thing for you.” He leaned in to kiss you, but you stopped him by putting a hand on his firm chest underneath his white shirt.

“Tempting, but I really need to get this done,” you sighed wistfully.

The pout Neville put on display was enough to weaken any resolve you had and he knew it. “Trust me, you’re going to like what I have in store for you,” he beamed and suddenly you weren’t so sure you had guessed his intentions correctly.

He pulled you away from your desk and tossed you a light sundress he had held hidden behind his back. “Time to change into something comfortable, daisy. We’re going out.”

*

“Nev, where are we going?” you asked for what felt the hundredth time.

After you had changed, Neville had apparated you to the edge of the forest a few miles from where you lived and you had been wandering under the canopy of the trees for some time now. The path in front of you was speckled with the sun breaking through the leaves and the air smelled deliciously of warm earth and wood.

But the curiosity was eating you up from the inside, giving a slight bounce to your step that you couldn’t quite hide. The satisfied smirk of Neville, who was walking beside you calm as ever, drove you insane.

“Not much further, love, you’ll see,” he reassured you as he adjusted the giant wicker basket he was carrying in the crook of his arm.

Putting his words into action, he suddenly diverted from the trail you had been following, stepping into the thicket and vanishing from sight. With a sceptically raised eyebrow, you went after him, careful not to rip your dress on the protruding twigs and branches.

You already had a complaint on your lips when the scrub suddenly cleared and you found yourself at the edge of the forest. The sight before you took your breath away.

The ground before you fell in a gentle slope to form a shallow natural valley. At the bottom of it was a gigantic wheat field, the ripe, yellow ears swaying gently in the breeze. It seemed to go on endlessly, forming a sea of gold under the deep blue sky.

“Do you like the spot?” Neville asked apprehensively at your silence, but you were to busy taking in the beauty of the place. Flashing him a radiant smile, you grabbed his hand and pulled him along beside you to the edge of the field, your excited laughter ringing in the hazy air.

Poppies and cornflowers were blooming between the wheat plants; Neville bent down, picked a poppy flower and tucked the vibrant red petal behind your ear, planting a quick kiss on your lips in the process.

“Time for a snack,” he grinned at you, making your body tingle with excitement at the prospect.

But once, again, you had apparently misjudged him. Neville turned from you and set down his basket; with a flick of his wand, it opened and a red-and-white chequered picnic blanket, an assortment of fresh fruit and a silver bucket containing a huge, deep green bottle of champagne assembled themselves in front of you.

With another wave, the bucket filled itself with sparkling ice cubes and two crystal flutes appeared in Neville’s hands. He bowed teasingly to you, beckoning to sit down on the blanket; you complied all too willingly.

“I told you, you need a break,” he smiled as he pulled you in for another sweet kiss. “I found this place while I was herb gathering; I’ve been dying to show it to you for the whole of last week.”

He just knew you like no one else did; perhaps even better than yourself. As you enjoyed your picnic with your favourite guy, you felt all of the tension the stressful week had brought with it fall from your shoulders.

The fruit Neville had brought was deliciously sweet and although it wasn’t the wine you had fantasised about earlier, the cold champagne tasted even better, cooling your throat with the gentle tingling of its bubbles.

With the sun burning down on you and your head wonderfully light from the alcohol, you lay on your back and sighed contentedly. You felt a drowsiness wash over you and closed your eyes.

Before you could drift off, however, Neville gently nudged you. You opened one eye again and saw him waving your almost empty glass at you.

“Be a good girl and drink up first, will you?” he laughed.

You propped yourself up onto your elbows and quickly emptied the contents of the delicate flute inside your mouth. You had underestimated the amount of champagne still left however, and quite a few drops of it flowed from the corners of your mouth. They slowly trickled down your chin and finally fell onto the exposed skin of your chest.

You giggled at your clumsiness, but the laughter died in your throat as you became aware of Neville’s changed expression. His gaze had followed the way of the droplets, his usually bright green eyes suddenly dark with desire.

All your weariness instantly forgotten at his salacious gaze, you turned on your side, angling your legs in just the right way to accentuate your curves. Your eyes never leaving his, you brought a hand to your chest, slowly dragging the still lingering drops of champagne across your skin in a deliberate motion.

“Oh dear,” you cooed while innocently fluttering your dark eyelashes at him, “look at the mess I made. If only I had something to clean it up.”

Your teasing whine was enough for Neville. Within the blink of an eye he was on top of you, pushing you down on your back and sealing your lips with a searing kiss. His tongue brushed over your lips but to his surprise, you denied him the entrance he wanted.

He broke away from you for a second and it was all you could do not to moan at the lost contact of your lips. But you had something else in mind.

“Wrong place, lover boy,” you purred over the pounding of your heart. “Try again.”

Neville’s swollen lips curled into a wicked smile. You could feel the heat spread from your chest into the rest of your body as he assessed your face with a wild expression in his usually calm and loving eyes; it made you yearn for his touch even more.

“Very well,” he whispered with a gravelly voice that sent a set of shivers down your spine, “you asked for this.”

You fully expected him to kiss you again, maybe trail down over your neck to find the hot skin between your breasts, but Neville did nothing of the sort. Instead, he ran his thump of the wet trail glistening on your chest with a slight pressure, prompting you to arch your back in his direction.

Ignoring your begging, he licked the champagne of his finger, all the while looking directly on your eyes. He looked so forbiddingly sinful, it made you want to scream.

He grabbed your wrists and pulled you up to get you out of the flimsy dress that was clinging to your skin by now. After he had rid himself of his shirt as well, he pushed you back to the ground, not too gently, but still making sure you didn’t hurt yourself.

He bent over to whisper in your ear, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive spot behind your earlobe. “You think you can tease me, doll? I’ll show you who does the teasing around here.”

Your mouth went dry at his promise and you bit your lip in anticipation of what was to come.

“Close your eyes,” Neville instructed you. You did as you were told, every nerve in your body alert to the maximum. You gave a little jump as you suddenly felt his lips on your bare stomach, just above your bellybutton.

The touch was gone as quickly as it had appeared; you moaned in frustration but still kept your eyes closed, only to be rewarded with another surprising kiss at the base of your breasts. Another moan escaped your lips as Neville’s tongue traced the outlines of your chest, giving each of your erect nipples a teasing flick before disappearing from your body yet again.

You were burning with the need for his touch by now, but Neville took his time. When you didn’t feel his lips anywhere for longer that what you had expected, you started to fidget around, only to be met with a deep chuckle right beside your face.

“Is my girl growing impatient, huh?”

“Please, Nev, touch me,” you mewled, pressing your thighs together to create the friction you so desperately craved.

He gently pulled your legs apart again, however. “Just wait, darling.”

You groaned in frustration as his hands left your body altogether now. Your eyes were still closed, so you couldn’t hear what Neville was doing, but you heard a metallic clank and a rustle of some sort.

Before your mind could place the sounds, Neville came back to you. You could literally see the dirty grin on his face in front of your inner eye, as he kissed your jawline. His breath trailed down over your neck to your collarbone, where he placed another kiss; he continued that way downwards, his breath ghosting over your skin, only the occasional kiss on the places he knew you were especially sensitive at.

You sighed in relief as you felt his teeth pulling on the fabric of your positively soaked panties, eagerly lifting your hips up to let him pull them off you.

He placed lingering kiss on the inside of your thigh and you wiggled in anticipation of his skilled tongue where you needed it most. But instead, an audible gasp escaped you, as something smooth and almost painfully cold glided over the same spot Neville had just kissed.

Now you knew what the sounds from earlier had been; Neville had equipped himself with some of the ice cubes from the champagne bucket.

“You like that, doll?” he muttered against your thigh, the stubble on his cheeks deliciously scratching the sensitive skin.

The only thing you could manage was a feeble nod and another whimper that quickly turned into a breathy moan as you finally felt the tip of Neville’s tongue on your aching clit.

Good God, this man knew what he was doing; you buried one hand in his hair while the other went to your own head in the desperate need to hold onto something as Neville kitten licked your dripping folds up and down.

The coiled tension in your stomach quickly built up as he continued to lap at you, while he ran another ice cube down the insides of your thighs with the other. The mixture of the heat under your skin and the icy droplets running down your sensitive flesh were enough to drive you insane.

When the ice had melted away, your head started spinning as Neville shifted his head slightly and plunged two of his fingers into you, pumping in and out of you at a steady rhythm that made your hips buck against him. You put one of your feet onto his shoulders to give him better access and had to stifle a cry as he hooked his fingers upward to massage your sweet spot.

It didn’t take long for the knot inside you to burst into a wave of pleasure that took your breath away. Your legs were shaking against Neville’s touch as you relished the high he gave you. You covered your eyes with your hand as stars erupted behind your closed eyelids, painted red from the sun burning down on you.

As you slowly opened them again, you were met with a self-satisfied grin on Neville’s face. His chin was glistening and he casually wiped the traces of you off it with the back of hand; his gaze on you was positively scorching.

“You don’t think we’re done here, do you, flower?” he growled, as he quickly rid himself of the little clothing he had left on his body. “You look way too delicious, being totally wrecked like that by me.”

The combination of his authoritative voice and the hard cock in his hand was enough to replace any drowsiness you felt from your orgasm with the urgent desire to have him filling you up right here and now.

Still sensitive from your last high, you shuddered at the sweet pain as Neville leaned over you, teasingly circling your entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Are you ready for me, doll? Want to make me feel good?”

You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer for an answer; you were too breathless for any coherent words anyway.

A groan escaped Neville’s lips and his eyes fluttered close for a moment as he entered you and waited for you to adjust to him.

He started slowly rocking into you, his broad back blocking out the blinding rays of the sun. You quickly found a rhythm that suited you both; it wasn’t as fast and relentless as usual, rather slow and deliberate, but every thrust of Neville’s hips was strong and deep, shaking you to the core.

Your senses were reduced to your laboured breaths, only mixed with moans of pleasure and the feeling of his heated skin under your fingers as you dug your nails into his bare shoulders for support. The world around you started spinning as you felt your next high approach, a whirl of colours of golden wheat and blue sky.

It wouldn’t take you much longer to cum a second time and you clung your legs tighter around Neville, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Without another warning, the coil inside you snapped, flooding you with sweet agony as you trembled in his arms. You weren’t able to form any thoughts anymore, the only thing falling from your lips was Neville’s name over and over again.

The desperate sounds you made and the sensation of your muscles tightening around his cock proved to be too much for Neville as well. With a deep growl, he gripped your arm so hard it almost hurt as his own orgasm shook him; you felt his hips buck against yours as he rode out his high to the maximum.

When your eyes met again, the fire that darkened them before had died down and was replaced by a look of pure adoration and love.

Neither of you spoke for a moment; the way Neville’s lips lingered on yours as he bent down to kiss you lovingly spoke for itself.

He got off you after yet another gentle kiss, falling on his back with an exhausted but content sigh. You snuggled up to him, relishing in the feeling of ultimate closeness you shared.

The two of you lay there for a long time, watching the clouds float in the sky above you until it started turning red, the light of the setting sun igniting the sky into an explosion of orange, pink and red above the golden fields surrounding you.

You were on the verge of falling asleep in Neville’s arm when a sudden thought hit you; you jerked upright. “I got it!” you exclaimed in excitement while Neville raised a wondering eyebrow at you, “I finally know how to finish my project!”

The low chuckle he gave you as he pulled you down to him again filled you with the same explosion of butterflies that had never quite left you ever since you had met him.

“That’s good to hear,” he murmured against your hair. “I knew you just needed a proper break.”

[sabraeal]

All That Remains, Chapter 8: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 5]

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2021, Day 3: Strength Upright: Compassion, Courage, Self-Control Reversed: Weakness, Doubt, Discord

Once upon a time, a troll makes a mirror.

Is that not how we started this story, so long ago? How so many start: a vile creature forges an object. Who and what change in the telling; a troll makes a mirror, a god conjures a box, knowledge grows in a garden. In the end, it is all the same: what is once contained is opened, unwitting. Or lost, foolishly, in a heart so cold and cruel that it becomes bent to another purpose entirely.

But that is merely an allegory, a fiction composed to cover the raw edges we leave when we rub against each other. For that is the truth, is it not? There is no fell creature, no capricious and omnipotent beings to blame for our misery. There is only us, carving our place in our story by smoothing pieces off another. A snow queen is not made from frost and cold but by the blades of others, slicing slivers from her flesh until only ice remains.

That is the truth we cannot bear: the only monsters we face are the ones we have made. The only poisons we drink are those human hands have brewed.

And it starts like this, always: a girl in a garden, remembering the image of a rose, and wondering, how could I have I forgotten?

“You were quiet at dinner tonight.” Shirayuki hasn’t been at court long-- or rather, in court, privy to all its secret signals and capricious undercurrents-- but she knows that this is as close to an “are you all right?” as Haki can come. If confrontation is only allowed the glint of a knife, affection is stifled to a hint of warmth, a fire made in a room one is forbidden to venture. “I hope that the meal agreed with you.”

A flash of pharmacy white flutters at the corner of her vision, frustratingly out of reach. It’s been so long since she’s been there, since she’s thought of anything but silverware and schottische; when she tries it’s like a hundred voices shouting at once, each demanding to be heard. Just like being at Lilias, heads bent over a knotty problem--

“Shirayuki.” The consort does not crouch; it’s best, Lady Mihoko often remind her, to pretend one has no anatomy beneath the waist. But Haki does perch on a cushioned stool, her brows drawn tight over the elegant line of her nose. “You are not...indisposed, I hope?”

A solid shake dispels the fog mired around her. “What? Oh, no! I only...” It would be a mistake to speak of loam between her fingers, of the satisfaction of hearing a pod snap from its stalk. “I didn’t have much to say with my, erm, conversational partners.”

Royal brows raise to stunned arches. “Is that so? I would have thought you’d find much in common with Lord Kazunori and Lord Seiichii.”

They had both been older men, southern lords drawn to court for Seiran’s summit. Kind enough, but they spoke to her as they would their own daughters, which is to say: warmly, but brief. Not of any topics that one might sink their teeth into, lest it leaving lines around her mouth.

“I think they were more interested in talking to each other than to me,” she admits. In part because of her sex, and in part because-- well, her body may have been in that chair, obscuring the twining gods and goddess painted across it, but her mind had been a wing away, wondering if it was yet time to harvest the roku berries, or whether this year’s crop of apprentices knew akegi from yura shigure. “It seems there’s much to discuss before they all meet for, ah...discussion.”

Haki hands her a rueful smile. “There always is.” With a sigh, she sweeps to standing, as statuesque as any marble in Wistal’s halls. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it. I’ll have to ask the majordomo to find you some more scintillating seatmates tomorrow.”

“Ah..!” Tomorrow. Never had a day seemed so far away, so much more than a handful of hours between dawn and dusk. At Lilias, the nights had wavered between seasons, some so short she hardly slept between sun set and rise; and others so long that she woke in darkness, only to leave the lab in the same. But still, none seemed so long as this, and for no reason at all.

“Is something wrong?” Haki turns to her again, concern rumpling the curved lines of her mouth. “Do you have plans...?”

“No!” Shirayuki rushes to assure her. “It’s only...you mentioned dinner, and suddenly I felt so...”

“Weary?” Haki offers, when she won’t. Her eyes soften with mouth to match, smile turning her from heavenly to beatific. “I’m not surprised. You have been hard at work these last few months.”

And hardly anything to show for it, in Lady Mihoko’s learned opinion. Shirayuki bites back a groan. She would be sixty before that woman found her approaching passable, and even then, she still wouldn’t be good enough for a prince’s wife. Not when his children might have some chance, no matter how slim, of seating their sullied bloodline on the throne of Clarines.

“Perhaps you have earned a break.” Shirayuki blinks, staring up into the consort’s glowing face. “A private dinner seems in order. A night of no pressure of expectation.”

It sounds too good to be true. “Oh, no! I couldn’t--”

“Give me but a moment.” Haki hesitates at the door to her boudoir, lips lifted in an impish grin. “Perhaps my good brother might find himself available as well?”

Her mouth snaps shut. It’s been ages since she saw Zen, just the two of them. He came to dinner rarely-- understandable, with the summit only weeks away, and entirely under his purview, despite Seiran’s tacit position as host-- and where he went, Mitsuhide and Kiki went too. Haki had been her closest companion these past few weeks, the only friendly face, but Shirayuki longed for someone who didn’t look at her and see a princess, but--

Nervous energy courses through her, jolting her to her feet. Her hands itch, wanting for something to do, and with no plants to hand, they land upon the package on the receiving table. It’s wrapped in humble brown paper, folds clean and crisp, twine tightly tied. Haki’s medication, she realizes, dropping it from her numb hands. Made in the pharmacy. There’s a note on top-- instructions. She’d recognize them anywhere; after all, she’d written more than a few of them herself.

It’s curiosity that makes her pluck it from where it sits. It’s been ages since she’s been in the lab, but her knowledge hasn’t faded; there’s no harm in seeing whether there are any mistakes. An apprentice could have made this, after all. The dose does, as Garack was so fond of saying, make the poison.

She flips open the card, already flushed with the thought of being useful, but--

It’s not some apprentice’s writing at all. Oh no, she knows this spidery scrawl all too well. It was on every jar at her bench, every treatise she read late into the night.

It’s Ryuu’s.

Ignorance is bliss, they say. Always with a laugh, but stewing beneath it is envy and longing in equal measure. A pining for times past, for a childhood never quite as innocent as we remember.

For that is what we miss: innocence. Not the not-knowing, but state of not needing to know. The trust we felt towards those who always knew in our stead, who kept us safe from the dangers that pressed in around us. The ones who protected us with little lies; the small pauses to omit what might scare us, the careful editing to make our worlds the giddy fantasy we dreamed.

But there comes a day where all children must grow up. There is a day we must know these things for ourselves, so that we may see the world with clear eyes. For even innocence can be a cage, should some other hand try to lock you within it.

Ignorance is bliss, they say, but oh, only if they can keep you from knowing what it is you do not know.

May I ask you a question? the little girl asks, her gaze no longer on the garden, but the horizon beyond. It is bent in her vision, the glass made in such a way that each diamond blows out the edges, warping the world around it. She had never noticed when she looked only at the garden so near to it, but now...

Now the imperfection is all she can see.

Anything, the sorceress replies, her fingers wrapping around the caps of her shoulders. They’re cold, as cold as the glass beneath her palms.

The girl looks at their reflection, at the way the wave of the glass make those fingers bleed into talons. Where have the roses gone?

Shirayuki’s hands tremble, her eyes tracing every last loop, every hurried curve. “I didn’t...”

Haki peers around the jamb, letter folded in her hand. “Did you say something, my dear?”

This is the closest she’s been to Ryuu in months; even from where she holds it, the scene of lavender and akegi shigure waft from its paper. Not scented, not on purpose, but just from being left in a desk’s cubbyhole with his hastily tidied samples. His parchment smelt the same in Lilias, fragrant as the hothouses themselves.

Her chest can hardly contain her breath. “I didn’t realize that Ryuu was overseeing your treatment.”

A shadow flickers over the sorceress’s face, her grip painful for but a moment before she is her usual smiling self. A moment that could have been imagined, if only the girl was so sure it was not.

Roses? the sorceress asks airily. I’ve never grown any roses.

“Excuse me?”

“It only makes sense,” Shirayuki hurries to add, placing the card back atop the package. “He’s taken over for Chief Garack, and she always oversaw the royal--”

“Shirayuki.” Her name is firm from Haki’s lips, just shy of a scold. “I’m quite sorry but...who are you talking about?”

So many tales speak of trust as a blade, one that may be used to cut, that breaks when forged from brittle iron. A weapon, wielded and forgotten on the battlefield once the story is done.

But you and I know better: trust is a spell, woven to protect. It is a shield, unseen but always felt; sense by faith and not by fingers. And when it wavers, it does not break, does not shatter like a blade upon a stone; no, nothing so dramatic as that. Instead, it frays, unwoven one thread at a time, unnoticed until--

Until the hole can no longer be ignored.

She doesn’t leave the consort’s chambers meaning to break her curfew; oh no, when the door closes behind her, Shirayuki has every intention to head straight to her own. Her feet drag beneath her, weary from contorting herself into a mold that barely fits. There’s nothing she’d like more than to divest herself of all these courtly trappings and pass effortlessly into oblivion.

But she turns a corner, her mental map of the palace resolving, and she realizes: in one direction is her room, and in the other, the pharmacy. It’s late, but Ryuu would still be there, committing his last-minute thoughts to page while the offices emptied around him. She misses him, a longing so intense it aches.

It would only be a short visit. If Izana brought her before him in the morning, trying to act as both judge and jury-- well, Ryuu would be her physician, once she and Zen finally managed to make it down the aisle hand-in-hand. It only made sense to keep a cordial relationship with the man who would bear the next branch of the Wisteria tree into the world.

And if she missed him, the boy who straddled the line of friend and brother and son both-- there was no need to explain that to the king. It wasn’t as if Izana made a habit of confessing his ulterior motives to her. Though strangely, she thought he might understand that better than anyone.

Or all but one. And he...

Well, if there was a single person who might know where he went besides her, her feet were carrying her to him now/.

Were you to ask the girl, she would say she had not chosen night on purpose. The sorceress had housed her, fed her, loved her in her way; even with the image of the rose burned behind her eyes, she trusted her still, in the desperate way one does when one knows they should not, but cannot bear to contemplate why.

Opportunity chooses for her; the late afternoon sun burns hot, and when they finish their dinner, the sorceress excuses herself to lay down in the dark, to merely rest her eyes-- and does not wake, not even when the door creaks as the girl slips around it. The moon guides her steps when she walks into the garden, bright as the day itself, but she does not need it: her feet carrying her better than memory could.

There is one there, just as there was this morning: a petal, pink and sweet, fragrance so familiar she knew it even without sight.

Come out, she murmurs, digging her hands into the earth. Come out my lovely, my dear. I have been searching just for you.

A tendril spirals up from the ground, tentative. It flips and flaps, and oh, she is too shocked, too awed to help it. Even still, it finds her, wrapping around her finger, and with a single drop of blood the bush emerges, whole and dirt-smeared, from the soil.

What, it murmurs, impatience tinging its words, took you so long?

In the day, the pharmacy is all rush and chaos: apprentices burning tinctures and ushering patients to their rooms; masters emptying drawers as soon as they are filled, only for other herbalists to hurry to replace them. Guards arrive with injuries and nobles with ailments, no moment ever dull while the doors are open.

But at this hour, when the lords and ladies are all tucked in their beds-- or are at least pretending to be-- and the work is done, the pharmacy sleeps. There is no herbalist at the front desk, only the push bell Ryuu despised when she was his apprentice, since it always meant she would be pulled away from him or he away from his project.

A necessary nuisance, he called it once, and Obi had laughed. Just like me, eh, Miss?

She no longer remembers what she said-- it was early enough when he was one still, though she’d like to think she was too kind to say it-- but now she wishes, even if just for a moment, that she could tell him how much of a gift he was to her. How much he had made tedium bearable, even when she hadn’t known it for what it was.

Instead she bites her lips, rubbing at the ache in her breast. It’s hardly the first time she’s forgotten to say what matters, but-- but this won’t be her last chance. Obi might be away now, but he will be found, and she will tell him...

Everything. Every last thought she had since the moment they last spoke; her apologies and her worries, her failures and her triumphs. Because Obi hearing them-- that’s what makes them real.

Her hand wraps around the third door’s knob by habit; even now she expects to open it and see her projects spilled across her desk, to see a curtain closed beneath the other, and a window open between them. To see it waiting for her the way her heart waits for them, empty and waiting to be filled.

But there’s nothing of them there anymore. Nothing besides memories that no longer fit over the space it has become.

Her feet carry her onward, down to the last room, a sliver of light slipping across the hall where it’s been left ajar. She still expects to see a curled mass of blonde hair bent over the desk, long tables sprawled with books and half-finished studies, a bottle of roka medicinally sitting in the corner. But instead--

Instead it is a dark one, a riotous shrubbery of walnut and teak in desperate need of pruning. That had been her job in Lilias, along with Yuzuri’s helpful hands, but is seems no one here has yet talked the Chief Herbalist to task.

Give it a few years, Garack would tell her, and he’ll have herbalists as eager to get into his hair as you three were with me.

She leans against the jamb, a sigh slipping past where her heart clogs her throat. Ryuu had once fit beneath a desk half this size, and now he towers over it even seated, looking more and more like Shidan with each passing day, a man overgrown by time and deadlines.

“Ryuu.” It’s a palpable hit when their eyes meet. Everything else about him might change, but that gaze, so wide and thoughtful-- that never does.

Until now. One moment they spark, a fire lit behind blue glass, and the next...

It gutters, his gaze slipping away.

“Shirayuki.” His voice is so much deeper than in her memory, so much older. And colder too. “Excuse me, Lady Shirayuki. Is there something you need?”

“No.” She clings to the doorway, too aware of how fine her dress is, of how little it belongs in this place, his sanctum sanctorum. How little she belong here, now. “I saw a card you wrote to the consort, and I...wanted to see you.”

“A card?” His eyebrows twitch; she can no longer tell if it’s in surprise or confusion, not on this stranger’s face. “Ah. The powder for her migraines. Did you want some as well?”

“No, I’m-- I’m well.” It feels like a lie, even as she says it. It wouldn’t have, only hours ago. “I just...I’m here for you.”

His knuckles blanch where he grips his pencil. “Well, you’ve seen me. I trust you know your way out.”

You’re too late, too late, the roses say, their sing-song jangling in her ears. I’ve been hidden away for so long, and even now I cannot find him. The betrayal in their voice is thick when they ask, How could you forget us, your flower and your boy, when we have always grown together?

“Ryuu.” It leaves her lips cracked, broken; her mouth no longer knows how to form the shape that calls to him. “I know it’s been...a while, but please don’t think that I didn’t want to-- that I wasn’t thinking about you. I just...”

His pencil pauses on the page, but he does not speak. He just looks at her, the way he would at a stranger, and this room is suddenly a desert and ocean both, too far and deep to go by foot alone.

Still, there is nothing she will not brave, not for him. “It was hard to come,” she admits. “I’m not allowed in the gardens, and I’m not allowed to take patients. Coming here, watching everyone working the way I always have...”

It would have been like watching someone eat a feast while she was starving. 

His eyes soften, even if they don’t precisely thaw. “I know that you’re marrying the prince, and that you don’t have time for m--” his lips press tight-- “this. I’m not upset because you’ve set your career aside.”

“But you are...” Her words limp as she says them, wounded fawns searching of an elusive mother. “You are upset.”

His hands flex as he places them on the wood, utterly silent. “I knew...” he breathes, so harsh it scrapes her own throat too. “I knew you’d have to give things up--important things. But...”

Ryuu had always spoken slowly, thoughtfully. But still, these moments when he meant what he said, when he composed rather than conversed-- it had never taken him to long to tell her what he meant. He trusted her, knew that even if his words came out garbled or his message was lost in a sea of ellipses, she would salvage it, gluing it back together with his intention.

So when he sits silent, it wounds her almost as much as his words.

At last his gaze lifts again from his work, but the glare he fixes on her-- “But I never thought you’d let one of them be Obi.”

Her mouth works, but the well from which she draws her reason is empty, leaving only pain in its wake.

“I didn’t...I didn’t let him leave,” she murmurs, more wind than whisper. “He never told me he was going. He just left without even...”

Saying goodbye. As if all these years had meant nothing at all.

“There’s a guardsman,” she says instead, her voice trembling toward something approaching even. “He said he saw Obi leave with--” a woman-- “someone.”

Ryuu grunts.

“He ran off with Torou, once.” She wants the words to come easy, but each one emerges from her trembling, the way her fingers are against her skirts. “On the way back from Tanbarun. That’s...that’s probably what this is. An old friend that needs help, and then he’ll come right back--.”

“He won’t.”

Each breath is a stab, deep in her chest. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He stands; a production with how much of him there is now. Cautiously, his hand extends, a fist hovering over the knotted wood of his desk.

It takes all her courage to take the first step, and all of it again to take the next. On and on until she’s crossed the room, hand outstretched, quivering beneath his own.

His palm opens, and into hers falls...a seed. Tiny. Blue. As clear as glass.

“An orbia seed?” Shirayuki lifts it up to the light, the plumule a hazy bead nestled in its luminous cotyledon. It’s impossible to tell by sight, but still, she’s sure-- it would germinate, if she planted it. “I was collecting these before we left.”

“I know.”

“It’s funny,” she murmurs, a smile lifting her mouth. “I never did find a blue one.”

“I know.” His explanation comes in fits and starts, a path never worn in the telling. “I had one. I gave it to Obi.”

“You...?” The thought catches in the light, just like the seed between her fingers. “Oh. Oh. But...” Her mouth curls, a silent question: why?

“I don’t know. I thought he might...” Ryuu’s shoulders twitch, as narrow as Obi’s when he first blew in with the wind. Before he settled into the man he became. “When he was ready...”

Of course. Her hand closes tight around the seed. Obi had what she needed all along. And she’d never known, not until...

Not until he was gone. “Where--?”

“I found it on my desk.” Ryuu’s fingers flex, falling by his side. “The morning after he left.”

Where did he go? the little girl asks, desperation choking her as surely as her tears. Where can I find him?

How should I know? the roses reply, thorns in their words as well as their stems. You are the one who left me buried under the ground. How could I watch him when you let us be trapped together?

“Did you...” Her mouth works, cutting itself against her question. “Did you tell Zen’s men, when they came? Do they know that he...?”

Said goodbye, she cannot say, to someone at least.

“No.” Ryuu blinks, his eyes as round and innocent and blue as ever. “They never did. Come by I mean.”

This is not the first time we have spoken of betrayal, is it? Of the wound that never heals, the jagged cut that scabs over only to be ripped open anew. The injury that teaches one to be wary, lest one be inflicted again.

But that is only after the wound is made. When it is first done...

Well, it is strange how long a heart can bear a blade through it without ever feeling the killing stroke. 

“You are thinking,” Haruka remarks, with no small amount of disapproval. “I can tell.”

Shirayuki blinks down at her place setting, expecting to see broth dripped across the tablecloth, or perhaps the edge of her sleeve dipped in yolk, maybe even her tea dribbling over the edge of her cup--

But there is nothing. The white linen is pristine beneath her gold-rimmed plate, her sleeves and elbows tucked up and off the table, and if anything, her beverages of choice are picturesque in their vessels, juice beading with moisture and tea gently steaming. “What am I doing wrong?”

It, historically, has been the wrong question to ask the marquis, sure to send him into a silent huff that will stretch from first course to fifth, disapproval deepening with each sorbet. In his vaunted opinion, the fact her inexperience might cause her to trespass the unspoken rules of good manners is bad enough, but to not know precisely when and how it was done-- now that was truly unforgivable.

However, today he merely settles back in his seat, rubbing his fingers against the cloth tucked over his lap, and fixes her with his unerring gaze. She doesn’t shrink beneath it; oh no, instead something in her chest shifts, almost as if-- as if it grows.

His lips twitch, just the slightest upward tremor. “Nothing.”

Her mouth opens, then closes, stymied. “Then how did you know?”

A single, noble arch lifts. “Because you have never once stopped.”

It is to the tiger-lily the little girl turns, after the roses. They are a pompous flower, no doubt, as proud and self-important as any big cat, but despite their bluster, they are honest. The noblest flower in this garden, hearty and constant, and though they sniff when she kneels down upon their bed, dirtying her hem, they listen.

Have you seen him? she asks, heart lodged tight in her throat. Have you seen my precious boy?

“So what is it,” Haruka murmurs into his glass, “that has you so engrossed, young lady?”

Her lips press together, teeth plucking at the scar. “You told me once that I should know who is my ally, and who is my-- Zen’s.”

The rim has hardly touched his lips, but Haruka sets down the crystal, hands folding behind his plate. “I did.”

“But those are not the one two options, are they.” It’s not a question, not anymore. “Sometimes they may seem to be one or the other, or both at the same time, but really-- it’s their own, isn’t it? Everyone is just trying to do what they think best.”

“That is...” The marquis takes in a steady breath. “A very mature way to see a frustrating problem.”

“The consort has said that she is my friend,” she says slowly, each word shaken loose from her heart. “But she is also lying to me.”

“Is she?”

Haruka, she had said once, these long skirts tangled around her legs, binding fast as any chain, he’s hard to read.

Is he? Zen’s hand was cold against hers, like touching marble. Izana’s had been the same so many years ago; she wonders if it might be a problem with their circulation, perhaps passed down from a parent, but this doesn’t seem the time to ask about his mother’s medical history. He’s always seemed clear as crystal to me.

Though, he continues, mouth set in a rueful grin. After a childhood of lectures, maybe it’s easier. I can tell how stupid he thinks I am just from the degree of his eyebrows.

His brow is furrowed now, a tight knot over the bridge of his nose. There’s no angle, no lift, and Shirayuki isn’t quite sure what that might say about his perception of her intelligence. If it were anyone else, she might even call it concern.

“Is she lying to you,” he asks, posing it like Lata when he wants to ask something particularly perverse as a rhetorical. “Or are you not asking the right questions?”

Her fingers clench tight on her lap, linen rucking up between her fingers. She likes this far less than Lata’s. “Your Grace...”

Now his brows raise, shock stark on his face, “Yes, Miss Shirayuki?”

“Do you...?” The words stick in her mouth; to ask them is to admit defeat. No-- distrust. That the best interests everyone has been working towards are not her own. “Do you know where Obi is?”

I have seen no precious boy, the tiger lily trumpets, as proud as ever. Only a little girl loved by all who see her. How lucky she is to garner such attention!

I care not for me, the little girls mutters, impatient. Where do you think he has gone?

Away, away. The flower bobs beneath its own self-importance. He has been taken away. Down and gone and buried with the roses. Perhaps you are the better for it.

“No.” It’s the truth; he wouldn’t bother to lie to her. “As of now, his location is unknown, even to the king himself.”

She licks her lips, nails biting into her thigh. The orbia seed burns a hole in her hip. “Are they looking for him?”

A shadow ripples over his face, gone before she can follow it to its source. “Someone might be.”

“I mean Zen,” she clarifies. “Or Izana.”

“I know,” he replies, voice impossibly gentle from such a forbidding mouth. “I think we’re ready for the next course, don’t you?”

Innocence and ignorance, truth and illusion, trust and betrayal-- we have meditated upon each, as if they are but separate concepts that can be held to the light and have each facet revealed in turn. But surely you seen that they have all brought us here, to this part, to this singular place: a knife buried in a breast, a garden made into a cage. A girl in each, who has finally seen the truth beneath the illusion.

We should rejoice, should we not? For these girls who might free themselves, might heal themselves? But yet you do not, do you? For you know the trick of it:

A wound does not truly begin to bleed until the blade is removed. And a girl like this--

Ah, her hand is already at the hilt.

For once, Shirayuki is relieved that it is her round-faced guard that awaits her and not a more experienced one. Or worse yet, Kiki, who would anticipate her before she could get a word in edgewise.

But luck is on her side; this dear boy springs from his place on the wall, every muscle tense with anticipation, quivering to do his duty, and she-- she is ready to take advantage of it.

“Ready, my lady?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, a hound eager to be given his leash. “It’s off to the ballroom next, isn’t it? With Master--?”

“Not today,” Shirayuki informs him swiftly. “I need you to take me to the king.”

The color leaches from his face. “The...the k-king?”

She nods, tight, officious. The sort Lady Mihoko gave her maids; the sort that belonged alongside a command obeyed.

“But, my lady...” He shuffles on his feet, loath to disappoint her. “Don’t you need an appointment to see His Majesty? I don’t think you can just go right in and--”

She’s already walked past him, chin held high. “He’ll see me.”

It may seem humble before the dawn, its petals as rumpled as bedsheets, drawn over its head like a child-- but when the sun casts its fiery crown over the garden, it is the convolvulus that is ascendant. It needs no dazzling pattern, no fanciful pinwheel of petal and sepal to make itself stand above its floral brethren, but only purity of color. For there is no other here that is so purely white, that has a color so simply blue. The tiger lily might roar among the plots, but it is to the convolvulus it bends, when it rises from its nightly slumber.

The little girl watches as the sleep falls from its petals, witness to its splendor. What, it asks, ruffling its delicate mane, could have made you seek me out, girl?

There is a not-insignificant portion of her life that has been spent waiting; not in the way of most of her colleagues-- for water to boil, or a titration to drip, or even for a letter of acceptance to arrive-- but for men with nothing else to recommend them but birth to decide they’re bored enough to receive the royal pharmacist. Shidan had called it fundraising and Kazaha glad-handing, but Shirayuki can admit now, as she flies past Izana’s steward, leaving him and her guard in her wake, what it really is:

Insulting.

The view always arrests her when she enters the royal solar, and this morning is no different; the sun setting, finishing its bright arc through the sky, but the angle of it, with the windows as they are-- it sets the king’s hair alight, a halo burning.

A target, she names grimly; and she the arrow. With his steward calling her name behind her, she takes a determined step toward him.

“Have you not heard then?” Izana asks, hardly bothering to look up from his papers. “I already approved your request to be excused from dinner.”

Shirayuki hauls up short, skirts swishing around her ankles. “Dinner?”

“Yes.” His brows raise, as does his gaze, already bored. “My brother already spoke about at length this morning. So if you seek to move me as well, please note that I have already stepped aside.”

“I...” She blinks. “I wasn’t here for that.”

Interest sparks in his eyes, quick as a struck match. “Then by all means, scold away. At least--” his mouth quirks, too amused-- “I assume that is your intention, marching into my office unannounced as you are.”

“Forgive me.” The steward presses a hand to his heaving breast. “Mistress Shirayuki--”

“It a force of nature,” his master replies, mouth curling like parchment corners. “So I have often had occasion to find out. You may leave us.”

“Your Majesty--” Izana merely lifts his brows, and the man stutters to a stop. “Of course. As you wish.”

“Now,” he hums as the doors close. “Just which wind sent this storm spinning into my office?”

Bound here you might be, but I know the trick of this place, the girl says, kneeing at the bed’s edge. What roots grow here touch the roots of all the morning’s glory. And you who wake with the sun-- you keep the closest watch on the horizon.

If there are any in the garden who know of my precious boy, she continues, the breeze rippling the convolvulus’s ruff. It would be you. So tell me, please...have you see him?

“It’s Obi,” she admits, heat stinging her cheeks. “I want to know the, er, status of the search.”

Izana blinks.

Oh, how kind it would be if this confusion was feigned, if it were all just a show to drag out her loyalties; to force her to admit that even if Zen was her heart, she could not turn her back on her home. That this was simply another moment where she would show him that friendship was strength, and the walls he erected himself were merely a folly.

But there is no smug satisfaction buoying his words when he asks, “The search? Didn’t Sir Obi leave my brother’s employ months ago? The beginning of the summer, I believe--”

“He didn’t quit,” Shirayuki insists, even as the seed weighs heavy between her skirts. “He disappeared, and Zen said he had put men out to search for him.”

A flower has no face, but the girl need no smile, no hooded eyes to discern the sorrowful bent of its stem.

I am but the morning’s glory, the convolvulus sighs, and when the night comes, I fold myself tight. Your boy does not pass me in my waking hours, so perhaps it is that he travels in the night.

But what does that mean? asks the girl. Why would he only travel at night? He is but a boy, a boy, and he walks in day.

The convolvulus is quiet, swaying in the garden’s eternal summer. I do not know, he admits. I do not know at all.

“Ah.” His eyes soften, no longer the unrelenting velvet of the night, but the waves of deep water, and Shirayuki finally has cause to find out: to experience Izana’s pity is a thousand times worse than his disdain. “I am not privy to the movement of my brother’s men, so long as I do not need them in attendance. He must not have put in his last report...”

“Please.” Her hand flies up between them, earning her an incredulous lift of a brow. “It only makes it worse that you are being decent about it.”

His laugh surprises her. “So you’d like me to gloat?”

“No.” Her breath saws out of her, great heaves that shake her shoulders. “I want you to grant me leave to find him.”

“You?” His brows raise, even his eyes widen, but to his credit, he does not ask, but what could you do? Instead his mask settles back over his face without a ripple, the king staring out from behind it. “It would be a waste. I have heard from your tutors that you are making good progress. Lady Mihoko even ventured to say you might make a passable princess, if you pushed out an heir fast enough.”

Her mouth twitches. Only yesterday, she would have nearly fainted with relief, but today-- “What praise.”

There’s a stern tilt to his mouth, a forbidding set to his eyebrows; if she didn’t know any better, Shirayuki would call it concern. “As I recall, our agreement did address this.”

“Then you mean...?”

“Yes.” He nods, splaying his palms across his desk, almost as if he were bracing himself. “If you leave the palace grounds, you forfeit your chance to be the one at my brother’s side. A princess leaves such things in the hands of her guardsmen--” his mouth twitches-- “and her husband.”

You want her to go, do you not? Even now you quiver at the edge of your seat, begging this little girl to open her eyes, to keep them open, to see through the illusion and run as fast as she can. You want her to leave the garden, to break through the last of this enchantment and leave safety behind.

But tell me, what would you do, with the knife quivering it in your chest? To forget it is to live with the pain. To remove it is to be free.

An easy choice, you might say. Who could live with a blade in their breast? Ah, but do not forget:

There is no way to know if the wound is fatal until the knife is removed.

“There is something I wonder, Mistress Shirayuki.”

His musings shatter the brittle silence between them; that fragile bulwark that has kept her in his skin. Now that it’s gone, she trembles, every muscle in her body fighting the urge to cross the king’s study and shake him until decency falls it.

A hopeless quest if there ever was one. “Is there something else you could possibly say to me?”

She says it sweetly; most would hear only that-- the tone rather than the content. But Izana has not sat so long on his father’s throne by being that sort of man; no, his mouth curls, amused.

“No. It’s only...” he hums, gaze lifting from his paper. “I wonder when you started to think Obi left.”

Then what do you know? the girl says, anger and bile rising in her tone. What good are you?

A flower cannot smile, but she feels teeth when it replies, I know that it will cost you, and cost you dear.

Izana might as well have struck her. Shirayuki rocks back on her heels, only just catching herself before she trips over her own hem. “I-I...what do you...?”

“When you came in here, you first talked as you had before.” Long fingers knit beneath his chin, though he does not deign to rest on them, not alert as he is. A cat before a kill, still toying with with the prey between his paws. “You insisted on his disappearance-- the implication being, of course, that you deny his own agency in his departure. Kidnapping or coercion, one might say.”

She cannot see its teeth, but Shirayuki isn’t so foolish to believe there is no trap. “Y-yes..”

“But now you come to me and ask after my men.” His mouth quirks. “You ask for my permission.”

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?” she asks, fingers clenching in her skirts. “A princess wouldn’t depart without the approval of her liege.”

“Of course.” He waves a hand, as if all those rules she spent late nights learning mean nothing at all, as if they were worth less than the paper on which they had been printed. “A princess would. But you, Miss Shirayuki, you--” his eyes spark, the way she only saw that night in Lilias as he closed the gates-- “you jump from windows. You follow a flower into a cave. If you truly believed your companion in danger, I doubt there is a single promise that would keep you by my side.”

She cannot breathe, let alone hazard an answer. Not when even a flutter of an eyelash could give her away.

“Which begs the question, doesn’t it?” His gaze fixes her to where she stand, pins through a moth’s wings. “Just what reason would make him leave?”

Me? the girl cries, already thinking of her lovely red shoes, of the boat they bought her down the river. Why me?

Because my dear, the convolulus hums. It is your fault that he has left.

The doors swing open, and the steward steps inside, sparing her an infuriatingly smug glance. “Sir Lowen, Your Majesty.”

“A moment,” the king tells him, “Mistress Shirayuki and I are nearly done her.”

The man nods. “I will tell him to await your will.”

Shirayuki blinks. “What--?” It’s trial to catch her breath, to make her heart stop pounding in her breast. “What is Mitsuhide doing here?”

“You need an escort to your dinner, do you not? I thought he would be the most palatable option for you.” Izana fixes her with a meaningful look. “I do hope you find your answers, Mistress Shirayuki.”

You don’t know me. Obi’s gaze is raw in her memory, too gold. You don’t know anything about me.

You know how he is. Zen’s smile curls at the edges, brittle, like parchment pasted to vellum. Obi has always come back on his own before.

Zen will take care of it. Mitsuhide won’t meet her gaze. I’m sure Obi will be back any day now.

“Don’t worry.” It’s a miracle that the words don’t catch between her teeth, the way she’s clenching them. “I will.”

A hand wraps around a hilt. A breath shudders. And with one, swift tug--

The blade moves but an inch.

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt 25

hellO!! thank you so much for reading :) sadly we’re nearing the end, but it is okay!!

pt1

pt24

pt26

He put two scrolls into her hands. When she unraveled the first one, it was a painting of the two of them as children. They couldn’t have been older than twelve and eleven. Zuko’s arms were wrapped around her shoulders, their faces squished together as they smiled. She remembered when this photo was painted. It had been at one of their summers at Ember Island. Zuko had never been a fan of family photos, but (Y/N) had been able to convince him to get one painted with her. She had forgotten all about it. 

The messenger hawk arrived late in the day, after (Y/N) and Zuko had finished dinner. They lay on the chaise in Zuko’s room that overlooked the balcony. His head rested in her lap as she ran her fingers through his black hair. It had been a long day, just like every other day for the two of them, and (Y/N) felt her eyes becoming heavy. She tried her best to stifle a yawn. 

“You should sleep here tonight,” Zuko said quietly, turning over to make himself more comfortable. (Y/N) chuckled. 

“In your dreams.” 

“You’re right, almost every night.” He gave her a big smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. (Y/N) punched him gently. 

“I’ve seen you sleep in a sleeping bag. You kick all over the place.” Zuko sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I was sleeping on the hard ground! And I had to be prepared to fight in case someone wanted to attack me in my sleep.” A knock came to the door before she could defend herself. “Come in!” Zuko called out, sitting up fully. A servant entered his bedroom, carrying a scroll on a platter. He offered it to Zuko before hurrying out of the room. (Y/N) scrutinized the scroll. 

“Is that a Water Tribe insignia?” Zuko nodded as he unrolled it. She looked over his shoulder as he read. 

“Hakoda is asking me to come to the Southern Water Tribe to discuss reconstruction.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but sigh. Throughout his time as Fire Lord, Zuko had left to go on many different trips, whether that be for personal reasons or political. She always missed him when he left, but now that they were together, the pit that formed in her stomach at the thought of him leaving became much bigger. It was exhausting, not only being apart from him but running the country in his stead. 

“When will you leave?” She asked, her voice quiet. She fiddled with the sleeves of her robes. 

“Tomorrow.” She cleared her throat and stood. 

“I’ll have the servants start making preparations.” Zuko grabbed her hand before she could walk out. 

“Come with me.” 

“Zuko...” 

“Please? All of our friends will be there!” 

“Who’s going to watch the Fire Nation?” 

“Any other advisor I trust.” He stroked her hand with his thumb. “You’ve stayed home every other time I’ve left. You haven’t given yourself a break.” 

“I take breaks!” 

“Sitting by the turtle duck pond isn’t a break.” She pursed her lips. “I want you to come with me.” 

While it made her nervous to leave the Fire Nation unattended by her, she knew that Zuko was right. She hadn’t gone anywhere in over two years and her visits with her friends were few and far in between. It would be a nice break from the monotony of everyday life. 

“Okay,” She conceded. The smile on Zuko’s face lit up the whole room. He pulled her close to him and kissed every inch of her face. 

“Thank you!” Zuko cheered, planting a final kiss on her lips. (Y/N) smiled brightly. 

“That means that we have to get rest.” She slipped her hand out of his as he gave a pout.

“Stay here tonight?” He looked into her eyes, and how could she say no? Zuko was her one weakness and sometimes she thought that he knew that. She let out an exaggerated sigh before nodding. “I promise I won’t kick.” 

---

(Y/N) was falling asleep as she sat next to Zuko on the air balloon. They had to leave early in the day, before the sun had even risen, and neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before. They had both enjoyed each other’s company perhaps a bit too much, and had only fallen asleep a few hours before they were supposed to be up. So as hard as she tried not to, she was still finding herself resting her head on Zuko’s shoulder. 

“You can go lay down for a bit,” He said quietly as he kissed the crown of her head. “We won’t be there for a while.” She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his. 

“I’ve never been to the Southern Water Tribe,” (Y/N) said. “It was the one place we never went back to when I was traveling with my friends.” 

“It’s not much,” Zuko said. “A few igloos and huts here and there.” 

“I’m excited to see it regardless. It’s where Sokka and Katara grew up.” She smiled up at Zuko. She realized that she had been doing that a lot more lately: smiling. 

“It’ll be nice to see them again.” 

The trip was long, but they made it to the Southern Water Tribe around lunch time. (Y/N) made sure to put on a big, fluffy coat, as the last time she had been in the Northern Water Tribe, she had been ill-prepared for just how cold it was. She offered a coat to Zuko, but he shook his head. 

“My firebending will keep me warm,” He said. 

“It didn’t keep you warm when you got stuck in that blizzard,” She mumbled. Zuko gave her a playful glare before taking her hand and walking off the the air balloon. 

Almost as soon as (Y/N) set foot in the snow, she was knocked over backwards. She let out a warbled scream as her back hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, they were met with Katara’s bright blue ones. She let out a squeal and tried her best to hug her friend through their thick coats. Katara laughed and helped (Y/N) back up to her feet. 

“We had no idea you were coming!” Katara exclaimed. Soon Sokka and Aang joined them and squeezed (Y/N) in their arms. 

“We only received your father’s invitation yesterday, and me joining was a last minute decision.” 

“We’ve missed you,” Aang said. (Y/N) smiled at him. 

“I’ve missed you guys too, like crazy. We have a lot to catch up on!” 

“GranGran is making lunch if you and Zuko want to join us.” (Y/N) nodded eagerly, but exchanged a look of disgust with Aang. She walked over to Zuko and invited him to lunch, but he shook his head. 

“I have some things to discuss with the Earth King and Chief Hakoda.” 

“Oh, do you want me to come with you?” Zuko shook his head. 

“You go to lunch, I’ll see you in a bit.” They exchanged a kiss before (Y/N) rejoined her friends. 

“What was that?” Sokka asked, absolutely shocked. (Y/N) felt her face get hot. 

“Like I said, a lot to catch up on.” 

Over lunch, (Y/N) told her friends what had happened in her and Zuko’s lives since he returned from finding his mother. They were shocked at the ups and downs, but overall were very happy when she confirmed that she and Zuko were finally together. 

“I’m not one to say I told you so,” Sokka started, and the entire group groaned. 

“Finally, one thing Sokka was right about,” Katara joked. 

“Where’s Toph?” (Y/N) asked. 

“She didn’t want to come,” Aang said. “It’s all snow and ice, so she wouldn’t be able to see.” 

“She’s back in the Earth Kingdom, training others on how to metalbend,” Katara said. (Y/N) smiled. 

“Good for her! I wish I could’ve seen her, but I know she would’ve hated it here.” She ate a small bit of her sea prunes and tried to hide the gag that formed. “Are we too old to go penguin sledding?” 

“You’re never too old to go penguin sledding!” Aang cheered. He grabbed (Y/N) by the hand and dragged her out of the hut, Sokka and Katara following closely behind. They ran to where the penguins were, and spent the rest of the day penguin sledding and playing in the snow. When she had visited the North Pole, they hadn’t had time to enjoy themselves. Life had always been very serious for the four of them. Sokka and Katara had to grow up quickly after the death of their mother. Aang was forced out of childhood and into his Avatar training as soon as he was freed from the iceberg. And (Y/N) had grown up with a life full of expectations and standards that she had to strictly adhere to. So it was fun to be kids, just for a little while. 

When (Y/N) returned to Zuko, her cheeks were rosy from the chilled wind of the South Pole. A big smile was plastered on her face as she walked back to him with her friends at her side. 

“Did you guys have fun?” Zuko asked, wrapping his arm around her as soon as she was at his side. (Y/N) nodded eagerly. 

“We went penguin sledding and built huge ice sculptures! Sokka’s was the worst.” 

“I resent that!” Sokka grumbled. 

(Y/N) and Zuko only spent a few more days in the Southern Water Tribe before they had to return to the Fire Nation. As she hugged her friends goodbye, she felt the tears welling behind her eyes, but wouldn’t let them escape. Part of her wanted to remain strong, but she also feared that they would freeze on her face.

They boarded the air balloon and traveled back home. (Y/N) stared out the window sadly as her friends grew smaller and smaller. Zuko came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. 

“We’ll see them again soon,” He said. (Y/N) nodded. 

“Maybe sooner rather than later.” 

“Do you get lonely, being in the palace?” She turned to look at him. His face looked sad. She kissed his cheek and shook her head. 

“As long as I have you, I’m never lonely. I just miss our friends.” 

Zuko knew she was lying, but he didn’t say anything. (Y/N) spent every day showing Zuko how much she cared about him. She took on extra work that he didn’t have time for, ensured that he ate all of his meals, and even scheduled breaks for him when he became to enthralled in his work. She was a selfless person, so he decided that he needed to show her just how much she meant to him as well. 

When they returned, unbeknownst to (Y/N), Zuko began the preparations for her eighteenth birthday celebration. The past two years he had let her birthday fall under the rug, but he wouldn’t do that again. He wrote letters to their closest friends from across the globe, instructing them to come to the Fire Nation for her. Her birthday was only in a few days, so their travels would have to be swift, but he hoped that at least some of their friends could make it. 

---

On the day of her eighteenth birthday, (Y/N) woke up to find Zuko standing at the foot of her bed. She jumped, holding a hand to her chest. “Were you watching me sleep?” 

“Only for a few minutes!” Zuko defended himself. He held his hands behind his back, an eager smile etched across his features. She sat up in her bed and rubbed at her eyes. Zuko sat at the side of her bed and held out a small box in his palm. “Happy birthday!” 

She smiled and took the box. Inside was a fresh fruit tart. (Y/N) laughed, immediately taking a bite from the sweet treat. She laughed. “Thank you,” She gave him a kiss. 

“That’s not the only gift I got you,” He said. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow as she ate her fruit tart. “It’s waiting outside.” She jumped out of bed and threw on a pair of flowy maroon pants and her long-sleeved maroon crop top. It wasn’t often that she was able to dress so casually at the palace, but it was her birthday and she was dating the Fire Lord, so she figured she could do whatever she wanted. 

She and Zuko walked to the front of the palace hand-in-hand. Right before they stepped outside, he covered her eyes with a blindfold and let her carefully into the courtyard. “Are you ready?” He asked. (Y/N) nodded eagerly. He pulled the blindfold off, revealing Aang, Toph, Katara, Sokka, Suki, and Ty Lee.

(Y/N) gasped, running into the throng of her friends. She wrapped as many as she could into a hug and squeezed them as tightly as she could. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“Zuko invited us!” Suki said. (Y/N) turned around to smile at Zuko. 

The day was everything that she could have ever wanted. She spent it laughing with her friends and enjoying herself. This was the first time that they had all been together in years and she was enjoying catching up with them. She was especially happy to see Toph, as it had been the longest since she had seen her. The small girl was as feisty as ever, but still hugged (Y/N) every chance she got. 

She was happy to find that her friends would be staying the next few days in the Fire Nation. Once they had all been shown to their rooms, Zuko pulled (Y/N) in the opposite direction of yours. “I have one more surprise for you,” He said as he tugged her to his room. 

He put two scrolls into her hands. When she unraveled the first one, it was a painting of the two of them as children. They couldn’t have been older than twelve and eleven. Zuko’s arms were wrapped around her shoulders, their faces squished together as they smiled. She remembered when this photo was painted. It had been at one of their summers at Ember Island. Zuko had never been a fan of family photos, but (Y/N) had been able to convince him to get one painted with her. She had forgotten all about it. 

The second scroll was a more serious painting, of the two of them as teenagers. Zuko wore his traditional Fire Lord outfit and (Y/N) stood at his side. Both wore bright smiles on their faces. This had been painted a while ago, right when they had begun rebuilding the Fire Nation. 

She looked up at Zuko, the smile on her face as sunny as the ones in the paintings. “Thank you,” She said before kissing him. “Thank you for today. And everything, always. I love you.” 

Zuko hugged her tightly. “I love you too.” They remained like that for a few moments, before he spoke again. “Remember when we were kids and our parents had arranged for us to get married when we got older?” 

(Y/N) nodded as her head rested against his chest. 

“Would you still want to do that?” She pulled away, furrowing her brows. 

“What?” 

“Will you marry me?” 

---

Tag List! 

@afxndommess , @xapham , @thanosismybitxh , @outerxorbit , @thenerdiverse , @himawarichild , @welovediaaxx , @justahockeylover , @loganrwebb , @awesomelupe , @cirtruss , @eridanuswave , @aroyaldarknessblr , @theinfernalmemes , @akariblue , @julietvsanchez05 , @harryisthesunshine , @prospekt-42 , @kindxrjcy , @lunariasilver , @lovepsychicbitch , @mcallmestiles, @simply-stanning , @helbreajs , @shephard17895 , @astroninaaa , @leiaofthestars , @miskwaadesiwag , @art-flirt , @musicalkeys , @aangsty-sokkasm , @we-lucky-few , @vgirl-10123 , @ella-solei , @davnwillcome , @valiantprincessthea , @errrrca , @hahaimstoopid, @kamahriii , @michelletc , @unseasoned-emo-bitch , @maybe-a-fangurl , @niramoon , @hyluas , @youneedmemanidonotneedyou , @luleck , @toasted-crispy-emo27 , @lolaywrites , @swagdaddycam , @itsivyberry , @royahllty , @ramen-hair-denki , @bucky-blogs , @damianwaynerocks , @beew , @lozzybowe , @anonymousbambi , @duh-dobrik , @beifongsss , @lammello

[helaintoloki]

A Little Tenderness

pairing: Ben Hargreeves x reader

notes: this is a 1.5k long shameless self-indulgent comfort piece because I am in need of some tlc from my ghost boyfriend

warnings: lots of fluff, slight angst, subtle mentions of depression, etc.

Featherlight kisses brush against your goosebump ridden shoulders and rouse you from your unrestful slumber. It had been a very difficult night, and you’re not sure how you had managed to pull through it, but here you were with the sun shining in your face and Ben’s gentle smile being the first sight to greet you as you wake.

“Hey,” he says gently, pressing another careful kiss to your forehead before carefully nuzzling his nose against your own in a manor he hopes comes off as comforting and not creepy— he’s still learning, but he loves you, and you have to appreciate that. “How are you feeling?”

You let out the quietest of groans before yanking the covers over your head and shielding yourself from the outside world. You really don’t feel like getting out of bed nor do you feel like you have the energy to do anything other than sleep the day away. Unlike those who’ve sat in the very same position before him, Ben does not walk away nor does he scold you for being childish. In fact, his kind smile still remains as he ever so gently peels away the linen shield you’ve wrapped around yourself and gives you a pointed though understanding look.

“I know you’re feeling bad, but it’s only going to get worse if you just stay in here all day,” he says gently. Gentleness is the only way to get through to you, because though you may be stubborn and though you may insist that you can take care of yourself, you still crave the affection and compassion from a lover who can treat you with tenderness and care. That’s why you chose him after all, and that’s why you’re both still here together. “We don’t have to go anywhere or do anything if you don’t want to, but at least get up. You can take a nice warm shower and I can make breakfast. We can take it slow today, step by step, does that sound okay?”

There’s a long moment of silence as you stare at him, throat beginning to sore and eyes beginning to water as you struggle to get the words out, but Ben is patient as ever as he awaits your response. With his warm hand cupping your cheek and calloused thumb brushing away the single tear that manages to escape, you finally utter the quietest, “yes,” he’s ever heard.

“Attagirl,” Ben praises fondly, and without another word he’s helping you up out of bed and scooping you gently into his arms before carrying you into the bathroom. You accept the display of strength and affection with open arms, burrowing your face into his shoulder and clutching tightly to the fabric of his pajama shirt until he sets you back on your feet and turns on the water so that it can warm up.

“Arms up,” he says quietly, and with your arms raised over your head Ben is able to carefully slip off his own shirt from your body and toss it aside into the hamper. When he undresses you like this there aren’t any underlying intentions nor erotic desires floating about in his head. It’s tender and gentle and pure, it’s him devoting his energy into making sure you’re taken care of, it’s his quiet way of showing you how much he loves you without having to put it into words, it’s something that’s very Ben-like and it’s something he knows makes you feel seen and safe.

“I’m going to get started on breakfast, alright? Come see me in the kitchen when you’re done,” he instructs once you’re undressed, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head before excusing himself from the room and allowing you the privacy you deserve.

The water is warm and soothing against your aching muscles, and though your troubles won’t instantly wash themselves away down the drain, it does help improve your mood just a little bit. It’s harder to feel bad about yourself when you’re clean and refreshed.

Ben is waiting in the kitchen for you just like he said he would be, a glass of apple juice— your favorite— and a bowl of strawberries sitting at the center of the table for you while he works on making you pancakes. His cooking isn’t the best, and the pancakes are often lumpy and somewhat undercooked, but you appreciate his efforts and can never bare to tell him otherwise. He had told you offhandedly once that his mother used to make the best pancakes, but you didn’t ask questions nor try to pry any more information out of him. He’d lived a different life before he met you, and he liked to keep his new life with you separate from the one he’d lived in the past.

“Feeling any better?” He asks from his place at the stove, removing his gaze from the pancakes to glance over at you for just a second. Water drips slowly from your poorly dried hair and onto the black cotton of his sweatshirt you’ve stolen for your own comfort but he doesn’t mind it in the slightest. You look absolutely precious in his eyes, and sometimes he can’t help but wonder how a monster a man like him could ever be lucky enough to have someone as special as you.

“A little,” your murmur over your cup of orange juice whilst carefully picking the leaves from the strawberries. A plate of mushy pancakes is set in front of you and you offer Ben the best smile you can muster, immediately taking a big bite of the lumpy breakfast food and swallowing it down without any trouble. They’re the best pancakes you’ve ever had in your life, and maybe that’s a biased statement considering the fact that the chef is your boyfriend, but you don’t really care. As corny as it sounds, they’re made with love and they’re made just for you, and the food begins to fill the empty pit inside of you with some much needed warmth.

Ben insists on doing the dishes afterward, but you stay planted beside him in front of the sink and watch with tired eyes as he cleans up the mess. There’s something comforting about the domesticity of it all, and your heart hurts from the undying, unconditional love it holds for the man in front of you. In your eyes he is the perfect partner, Ben can do no wrong— not that he ever has— and you wish every day could be as peaceful and serene as this one. When he looks to you with that same adoring smile of his you know you’ve found your safe place, and after putting in the effort of standing upon your tip toes does he gift you with a sweet, soft kiss. His lips taste of syrup, plump and sweet and graceful as they glide along your own before pulling away so that he may return his attention to the work at hand. You love him, and you can never say it enough nor truly ever be able to express the extent of your appreciation for the man beside you.

When all is said and done you find refuge together on the couch, curled up in the corner with your weight laid upon him and your head resting against his chest as the rhythmic beats of his heart and careful comb of his fingers through your hair begin to lull you to sleep. He holds a book in his unoccupied hand and reads aloud to you for he knows that sometimes too much quiet can make you feel unsettled. But you’re safe now, you’re protected and cared for in the arms of a man the world had once deemed the Horror, but you’re not afraid of him nor do you care about the secret creature hidden within his chest. Just as he gave you peace, you gave him acceptance and understanding. It was easy to say you’d both been through bad times, but there had also been good, and now together they would always be nothing less of spectacular.

The day is nowhere near over, and you still have a long way to go before you can even begin to feel completely sane again, but with Ben’s arm lazily draped over your waist and his steady heartbeat drumming in your ear you know you’re going to be okay. Because you have your anchor, the man you love, and what could be better than that?

[lowlights]

Laura I’m so happy for you!!! You really do deserve all the follows! I know I said it in a previous ask but I truly just love all of your content. You’re so kind and so creative, I’m so happy that you reached such a following!! It is so deserved!

If I can participate in the follow celebration, could I ask for a character pairing?? I’m in law school right now so I run around doing a lot of random things for school. But when I’m not doing that I bake a ton, l love reading and trading books with my friends, taking care of my plants, and going out with my friends. I love traveling but my favorite things to do when I travel is go to art museums and the beach. I think I could live at the beach.

I don’t know if that was too much information! Anyway thank you for all the amazing content you give all your followers! We are rooting for you and we love to see it all!!

Mo, you sweet angel! You're so kind.

As I was reading this, only one man came to mind.

It's our sweet man Javi G. Am I mostly basing his character off of the stories like Cat's and Adira's? Yes. They are canon to me and I shan't be convinced otherwise.

Javi would be endlessly supportive, and deeply proud of you for getting through law school. He would make sure you were supported in all ways, taking away all other responsibilities so that you could focus on your studies. That means instructing the private chef to keep you well-fed and hydrated. He would assign staff members to make you take breaks and have a massage and spa team ready for you at any time of the day. You would want for nothing. He also brings your friends in for visits, forbidding you from entering your study for at least 72 hours while you go have much-deserved fun.

In between your studies, Javi wants to know about all of your interests. He will ask questions about all the plants in the massive greenhouse he had built, and you'll catch him reading books on the topic. He makes sure that you have special time out there alone as well, so that you can recharge and rest your mind. He loves your mind, your sharp wit and keen intellect, and tells you often as he kisses you on the forehead.

And oof, there is no one better to travel with than Javi. It is five stars all the way, and he will take you anywhere you want to go. You'll see every museum on your bucket list, eat at every bakery you pass (he loves your baking more, and compares everything to what you make), and always knows where the find the best views in the city to watch the sun set. You'll help his mind to quiet down on the beach, shushing his chattering with soft kisses. Javi feels everything so deeply, and as a Pisces you're the perfect person to empathize with him and love him with the tenderness he deserves while helping him work through it all.

You two are a great match- I hope you agree! <3

Requests still open for my 500 followers celebration!