#not to mention the bench. seating is always a pain to draw & detail but it looks GREAT omg

[maplecornia]

chapter 16

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.12K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: okay DAYUM i must've on something when writing this because BOOM is it SPOICY

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

He takes you to a gazebo, a secluded hidden porch behind a grove. You can't see much through the shower, but you can tell that it's exquisitely made. The faded paint on the wood adds an antique look to the strong structure. The wood is molded and manipulated to create designs around the gazebo. Designs, and curves that are heavily accented by the vegetation growing around it.

As you draw nearer, you marvel at the way the rain manages to make it look even more gorgeous, the fat drops joining together and dripping off of every side making it seem as though there were tiny miniature waterfalls made just for it.

The trees around the gazebo shield the wind and the rain, so it's warm here, a small shelter within the storm. The scent of wet wood fills your nostrils, mixing with the aroma of wet grass and bark from outside. It reminds you of days spent on the porch back when you were a child. On either side of the gazebo, secured immaculately against the walls, there are two long benches of mahogany.

Taehyung carries you to the one on the right side, setting you down softly. You let yourself down easily, your hands trailing off his skin and resting at your sides once you are secure. Taehyung tries to ignore the way it sends shivers down his spine, and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck before pulling away.

Luckily, you are too distracted admiring the bench beside you.

The wood isn't splintery like most; it's smooth, no doubt coated with a thin sheet of resin so that it would look nice and polished. You let out a small gasp at the gazebo’s amazing artistic structure, praising whoever created it.

Though simple, it’s very detailed and beautiful.

You run your hands over it briefly before reluctantly pulling away and removing the many things you carry on your back. Taehyung helps you out, taking your coat without a word and carrying it over to the left bench, where he lays it out to dry. You remove the backpack and satchel, setting them down beside you.

Turning to him, you open your mouth to try and catch his attention. But as soon as you catch sight of him, you falter, your mouth going dry.

With his back to you, Taehyung has removed his hat, shaking out his drenched hair before setting it down on top of your coat. He then proceeds to remove his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head, and plopping it down next to your drying coat. However, it sticks to the T-shirt beneath and he manages to pull that halfway over his head before it drops.

Giving you a perfect view of his toned back, slick with rainwater.

You swallow hard at the sight, the image of the rainwater accenting and highlighting those perfectly robust muscles annoyingly refusing to erase itself from your mind.

As he begins to turn around, you have to look away, praying to God that he doesn't notice how red you're turning.

Thankfully, he doesn't, but he does look at you in confused amusement before his gaze travels to his backpack you hold tightly in your lap. He smirks, glancing at you.

“Is that for me?” his question startles you, and you jump a bit before looking up at him.

For a moment, you have no idea what he’s talking about, and you look up at him with wide-eyed bewilderment. He widens his eyes too, a bit mockingly, before gesturing towards the backpack. Still confused, you look down at your lap and start with the realization.

He wants his backpack.

Damn girl, what did you think he was asking for?

Embarrassment rising with a hot flame, you nod meekly, holding it out to him. Smiling, he takes it out of your hands, turning around to set it on the bench as he rummages through it, making sure none of the rain got on any precious items or papers. As he does it reminds you that you should probably do the same, and as you turn to your satchel, you groan a bit at the thought. You know things are bound to be bad there, and at the thought the dread grows deeper in your gut, twisting like a cruel knife.

Sighing, you slide the satchel over to you and place it in your lap, before unzipping it and looking at the hell which befalls you.

There’s the shoe you put in the bag rather haphazardly, and you take it out now, beating off the dirt and dust gathered from the ground. You use the bench, making a hollow beating sound against the wood. Tae glances over his shoulder, a bit surprised, chuckling with amusement as he sees the sight. You don't notice the glance before he turns away, just continue your task until you feel satisfied that it is finished. Nodding a bit, you place the shoe beside you on the bench and turn back to the bag.

Taehyung sets down his backpack, and turns to you, letting out a soft sigh. You don't notice as he watches you with unveiled amusement, chuckling softly at each facial expression you wear so carelessly on your sleeve. He walks over to you and sits down softly on the empty bench seat. You're too focused on your task, so when he glances over your shoulder to peer at what you're doing, you have no recollection of it.

As your hands pass over your sketchbook, your stomach churns with despair. Heart pounding with foreboding, you set your satchel carefully on the wooden plated floor, pulling it out. You take a deep breath setting it in your lap before opening it into your world of wonder and creativity.

Beside you, Taehyung takes in every drawing, every sketch, struck silent by awe and amazement. He finds every single creation, every movement your pencil made, every line, to be beautiful. Almost exquisite. He can see how much care and preparation you put into every idea, even the ones you hardly thought about at all.

Each one holds a purpose, a story behind it.

He wishes that he could look through each one for a bit longer. He wishes that you wouldn't flip through them as though they were useless or too ugly to look at, mere pages you have already seen, already read. Because he hasn't seen them, he hasn't read them, he hasn't been able to experience this particular part of you.

He hasn't had the chance to.

You hardly notice the glance or the change in attitude beside you. You're too distracted by the next page you turn over.

Your recent sketch.

The one you've been working on this whole day.

Ruined.

It received the worst from the rain, fat blotches of dried rainwater seeping into the paper, mixing with the pencils' soft touch. Blending the light shades with the dark shades, and causing it to exude through the protective barrier the thick, constructive paper has and into the next page. It's still a bit damp and as you look at the distorted picture, you find it growing blurrier and blurrier by the second.

And this time, it’s not because of the rain.

As the first tear falls in disappointment, you give a slight start at the sight of it creating another blot on your page.

You hadn’t noticed that you were crying.

Frantically, you quickly wipe the trail off of your cheek and dab at the tear stain on the page before taking a shaky breath. It doesn't help. It just causes the lump in your throat to turn tighter and the tears to begin pushing at the backs of your eyes, longing to break free.

Maybe your real frustration isn’t about the picture at all.

Maybe it's about everything that you have kept inside.

Maybe it’s about him.

But you refuse to let that be the truth.

You said you were fine.

You have to be fine.

Anger and impediment rising behind your tears, you grit your teeth as they escape the cage you have hid them behind for so long. Hot tears of pain and vexation pouring over your cold cheeks, you take the page, wrapping your hands spitefully around the exposition as though that would exude your vendetta. Pulling it frustratingly out of your sketchbook, you shake with aggravation at the sight of it.

Blaming it for your fate, blaming it for your weakness when you know it’s your fault.

It’s always your fault.

Swallowing hard, you take a breath before crumbling it in your hands. Hopelessness gripping you like a parasite, you exhale shakily, more tears dotting your vision as they threaten to spill over on top of everything else.

“Stop!”

You freeze as his hands cover yours, immobilizing you. The cage closing once more, and your tears slowing their destructive path, you slowly turn to him in shock.

You had forgotten he was there.

Taehyung looks at you in concern. His eyes are filled with worry, pain, empathetic sorrow. He purses his lips together, carefully unfolding the tight grip you have around your crumpled-up paper, but never letting go of your eyes.

He uncurls your fingers one by one, his nimble touch careful and gentle against your skin, soothing. With just one touch, he erases any worries you have had before, making them seem like a far-off dream instead of a recent scar. He only looks away once and that is to see the crumpled up piece of paper in your hands, as he slowly takes it out, and removes his hands from yours. He begins to uncrumple it and you lower your eyes to it, your heart hurting at the sight of what you've done.

It was all for nothing.

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to let your tears spill over once again.

You watch as he uncrumples the piece of paper, smoothing it out on his leg. He sighs as he sees it, and you watch him with wide miserable eyes. Eyes that search for reasons why. Even now you're nervous as he stares at it, taking it in.

“Why did you do that?” he asks softly before turning back to the paper and giving it a small, sad smile. “It was beautiful.”

You sigh, looking away and at your folded hands.

Why do you still care? It shouldn’t matter anymore.

“It's ruined.” You say, coldly, and his head snaps to you. You swallow hard, giving him a small smile, but you know that it doesn't reach your eyes.

“It was all for nothing.” You whisper, under your breath, your voice breaking at the end. It doesn’t help that he is looking at you as though your words wound him. You take a shaky breath before turning away and leaning down to zip up your satchel.

“No, it’s not.” He says softly but firmly beside you. You scoff before rising and turning on him swiftly.

“What do you--” you falter as you raise your eyes to him, startled by how close he is to you. He’s not even looking at you, his gaze is completely focused on your drawing as he holds it almost devotedly within his fingers.

“Look.” He instructs you, giving you the smallest glance and you let out a small exhale of breath. You can see his slight smirk as he looks away, and you know that he saw your little panic attack at how close he was. You wait a bit before, almost reluctantly, you lean close, jostling his shoulder with yours.

“This might not be what you intended by the sketch, but it's what it made me feel.” He explains, and you nod slightly. He takes a slight pause, softly shaking his head before continuing, one thought churning in his mind.

She doesn’t know, does she?

“You made her look like she was in pain, as though she lost something, or was trying to save something and failed. The anguish and agony on her face can stir something in your heart, something that can't exactly be described. It was as though just looking at it...my heart was being torn out of my body, broken, and then put back as though nothing had happened. As though everything would be okay as long as it was returned to me, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Everything seemed worse. Now I knew her pain, now I knew her heartache, and there was no way to cure it. No way to fix what I had broken. But that’s not all. It was as though she were alone, as though she were lost. As though there were no one left to show her the way.”

He breaks off at the end, as though gathering his thoughts, or too overwhelmed with emotion to say anything else.

You glance at him as he pauses, an unspeakable expression on your face.

You made him feel that?

How could he know so much without knowing anything at all?

“I know you think that the rain destroyed it, but I think it needed that extra touch. I think that that’s what it was missing. It adds a faded look, a sort of detachment, something that expresses her self-hatred, her pain, her anguish. It's that one moment where nothing makes sense, where the whole world is completely and utterly messed up. Where you're….” He trails as though searching for the right words to say, but you already know them.

“Lost.” You finish for him.

Bewitched, you reach out and touch the soft paper as though seeing it through new eyes. He looks at you, a bit shocked at how you read his mind, but it quickly turns into a soft smile and he nods, looking back to the sketch.

“Yeah, and you’re lucky because the rain didn't get rid of the features on the girl's face, nor the pile of bones she’s kneeling on, so the message still comes across. Even after you crumpled the paper up, the texture still manages to add a sort of obscure and sinister look which deepens the agony she is experiencing.” He says, nudging you a bit accusingly, still not happy that you crumpled it the way you did. You nudge him back, chuckling softly before glancing up at him from underneath your lashes.

“Keep it. If not for yourself, then keep it for me.” He says, biting his bottom lip as he holds you within that alluring gaze.

“Why?” you ask, looking from it to him, still a bit unsure.

“Because…” He falters, finding it hard to explain his attachment to the drawing. As though he's searching for a way to voice his emotions.

You search his face, trying to find the secret and unveil it. It's as though he’s put up a shield to block all his emotions from you. A hidden mask over his face makes it near to impossible to read him.

“Does it matter? I mean I don't want you to throw away such a beautiful piece of work. Even through the rain, some things are still beautiful. Sometimes even more so than they were before.” He turns to you, offering you the ripped page. After a moment of hesitation, you take it from him, exhaling a small breath.

Maybe he is right, maybe these flaws, these damages are what make it special.

“Okay.” You agree, giving him a small mischievous smile over your shoulder. “But on only one condition.”

He nods, holding his hand over his heart and one in the air beside him as though he were pledging a promise. Smiling, you high five his hand, wrapping your fingers around it and smirking up at him as his eyes open and he looks down at you in amusement. He raises an eyebrow at your expression, tilting his head in mock interest.

“Well?” he asks, leaning his head down a bit to yours as if trying to belittle or intimidate you. “Name your poison.”

“You have to sign it.” You say, pulling your hand away from his and extending your pinky finger instead. "Promise?"

His hand hovers in the air for a moment at your absence before he links his pinky finger with yours and smiles.

“Is that all?” he asks, and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek with excitement. He chuckles softly before finishing your promise, touching the two of your thumbs together in a simple link. "Then I promise."

You look at him from above your linked fingers, and when his eyes meet yours you can't help but let out a delighted laugh. You pull away, holding the paper towards him, and raise your eyebrow.

"Well?" you inquire, and he chuckles, shaking his head slightly, as he whips out a pen from his pocket.

“Do you just have those wherever you go?” you ask incredulously, and he rolls his eyes. He quickly signs the back of the paper before handing it to you. You take and turn it over to look at his signature, still a bit wet from the ink. He pockets the pen before looking at you and tapping the signed paper.

“Now you definitely can't lose it, little Michelangelo.” He instructs with superiority, and you scoff a bit at the nickname before turning to look at him dubiously.

“Why not?” He meets your gaze with those mysterious eyes, eyes that could find the key to your soul if they tried hard enough, and you try your hardest to ignore the way they melt your heart.

“Because now there’s a part of me on it.” He says quite simply even when the words aren't simple at all. You stare at him, uncertain. Unsure of what to say, unsure of how to react.

So you stare.

Your heart is beating so fast, but it's like you can't even feel it at all. You hardly notice as the two of you seem to draw closer and closer to each other. As though you were two magnets who are drawn together by some invisible string which neither one of you can see, but can certainly feel.

At this moment, you notice everything about him.

The way his eyelashes curl at the corner of his eye, making them seem almost catlike in their almond shape. The way the rain has made his skin look even softer, even smoother, how he seems to radiate beauty. The way his eyelids have this soft shadow around them, so soft that you know it can't possibly be makeup, but still noticeable enough to make his eyes pop out. This close, you can see the small copper flecks, the ones that turn his eyes that amber color. The ones that sparkle in the sunlight every time it rests on his face.

You see the new things too, things you never realized before.

Like how his hair slowly curls around his temple.

Or how every time he looks at you, his eyelids slowly lower and he regards you with a hazy look. A look that makes your heart beat faster than you thought possible.

Or how whenever he does his silly habit of licking his lips, it turns them more red and noticeable and…

A honk of a car horn in the far distance startles you and you immediately break apart, the small connection vanishing as well.

You stand, dropping the sketch securely on top of your satchel, and wander to the other side of the gorgeous gazebo, the pain in your ankle almost fading completely away. You smile to yourself at the sight of the car there, narrowing your eyes as you try to identify it. You don't know much about cars, but from what you can see it looks small and black. Not small enough to be a sports car, but just small enough to be considered….a minivan perhaps. Maybe a Suburban….a car that reminds you of the ones that BTS use…

Your eyes widening in realization, you turn to look at Taehyung.

It can't be.

He’s not looking at you, he’s staring at the screen of his phone, mouthing a string of curse words. As he glances up and sees your expression, he swallows hard, almost guiltily. He opens his mouth to say something, but the car honks once more and you turn around as Tae stands swiftly, your heart beating fast at your newfound analogy.

He didn't tell anybody he was leaving….did he?

Well, why would he?

He was on the bus for heaven's sake, you should have known he was out there without anybody knowing. If any member of BTS wanted to go anywhere, they certainly wouldn't travel by community bus. They couldn't, for fear of being recognized.

You want to kick yourself for not thinking of this sooner. Instead of being rational, you were too distracted by the idol to think of anything else. What could the people at BigHit possibly be thinking right now?

That he's been kidnapped?

That he's run off?

Or perhaps it's something worse. Besides, how much trouble would you be in if they got the wrong idea? Especially considering your new position…

You're so stupid.

Taehyung brushes past you, hurrying over to the bench and quickly packing his stuff. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head and secures his cap as you give him a perplexed look.

“Taehyung--” you start just as he pulls your coat off of the bench and turns to you, his eyes intense and filled with urgency. He places the coat around your shoulders and stares deep into your eyes, his frantic panic clear on his face.

“We have to go.” He hisses, brushing past you and pulling your satchel out from under the bench. He gathers the stuff you had out drying, and places them into the satchel carefully, along with your sketch. Frustrated, you shove your arms into the coat and sigh.

“Go where? In case you haven't noticed, there’s a storm happening outside. Besides, who is that anyway?” you snap, annoyed at yourself and a bit at him as well. He shakes his head, zipping up your satchel and turning to you. You can see that he’s piqued as well, maybe even frustrated and you wonder why.

He’s the one who wasn't being safe.

Who knows how many people are out there that want to hurt him? Or how many fans he has that would notice him even with the cap on his head? He was putting himself in jeopardy and to what?

To ride on the bus?

That can't be it.

“I don't care.” He says, placing the satchel over your shoulders as well and taking you by the hand. “We have to go.”

You were right when you said his reason wasn't to ride on the bus.

He left without saying anything to anybody...

When he wasn't done with his day of work...

When he still had many things on his schedule...

He did all of that just so that he could meet you.

Just so that he could tell you that he heard you sing, give you the flash drive of your voice, the flash drive he still holds in his pocket. And yet...he still hasn't found the right way to tell you. The right way to give it to you, the right way to say what he wanted to say.

That when he heard you sing, when he heard your voice, he felt as though he wasn't alone. He felt as though there was someone else out there who understood. Someone different from Jimin, from BTS…

Someone who could feel what he felt, and understand who he was.

That your voice aroused those emotions in his heart, in a way that had never happened to him before.

How you have a gift, and it was the gift that brought him to you.

As he drags you behind him, darting towards the entrance, you give out a slight cry of surprise stumbling after him with your bruised ankle.

However, he doesn't get that far, stopping in his tracks after a few steps.

You don't notice, staring at your feet and begging them to cooperate, so you run smack dab into his back, letting out a small shriek. You pull back, rubbing your nose and glaring at him, but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.

He’s frozen on the spot, his eyes wide with panic. You furrow your brow, before turning to look at what he’s so fixated on and nearly pee your pants. You curse under your breath at the sight, looking up to the sky as though God could help you in this situation.

What have you gotten yourself into this time?

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: pretty spoicy no? (¬‿¬) the PART 2 version

chapter 17 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

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[animatedarchives]

Hey! I know this is a touchy subject so I completely understand if you'd rather not do this request❤ Could you maybe do headcanons for Izuku midoriya with an s/o who doesn't have a good relationship with her mom and feels like her mom hates her?❤

author’s note: hi darling!!! i’m sorry this took so long :((( i hope you’re doing okay!! i apologise if this isn’t what you were looking for ;-; i wrote this in a very positive light but i acknowledge that things aren’t always happy and that broken relationships aren’t fixed overnight. nevertheless, i really wanted to portray that even adults/parents don’t always know how to go about doing life and that they’re just as clueless as us sometimes. anyway, you will always be important, both to your family and to me so if you ever need someone to talk to, you’re welcome to hit me up any time :) sending you lots of love <3

S/O WITH A BAD RELATIONSHIP WITH HER MOTHER

— 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔

“You know what? I hate you! You don’t care about me and you’ll never understand me. You don’t even act like you love me! I wish you weren’t my mother!” you screamed

“Y/N!” she shouted after you, but her cries were cut off by you slamming the front door

Tears streamed down your face as you ran away from your house as fast as you could

Why was she always like this? Why couldn’t she just see things from your perspective for once? Did she hate you? Did she just not care about your feelings? She was being so selfish and unfair; she never looked at things from your perspective. You just felt so unloved and misunderstood

You finally reached the park and collapsed onto the nearest bench

You’d always come here whenever you needed to cool down after a fight; it was quiet and peaceful, a good place to escape from the constant arguing at home. It was your safe haven

Vision still blurry, you whipped out your phone to write a message to your boyfriend, sniffling between each word you typed

“at the park agaim… plwase come i need ypu”

Not even bothering to correct your typos, you quickly sent it to him

Drawing your legs up to your chest, you tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself as you waited, something Midoriya had advised you to do when he first started helping you with your family issues

“Y/N! I came as fast as I could!” he panted, drained from using his quirk to increase his speed

Your body was too numb to move, but you managed to mutter a quiet thank you to him instead

“Sorry I keep doing this to you… making you come all the way down just to help me with my stupid family drama,” you sighed forlornly

You felt like such a burden to him, to your family, to everyone, and you felt the tears starting to prick your eyes again

Midoriya’s expression saddened; seeing you so upset broke his heart and he wished he could just take all your pain away

“Don’t be sorry! You know I’d gladly drop everything just to be here for you. You are my number one priority, Y/N,” he reassured you.

“So… do you want to talk about it?” he asked cautiously as he took a seat next to you

You nodded slowly and began recounting the argument you had with your mother - it was the most intense one this week

Before you knew it, you were pouring your heart out, leaving nothing unfiltered as you recalled every detail of the fight

Replaying the scene and all the cutting words in your head finally broke something within you, and you started balling your eyes out again

Midoriya instinctively pulled you into his arms to comfort you and allowed you to sob into his chest

“Shhh, I’m right here,” he said soothingly as he stroked your hair and rested his chin on top of your head

Eventually, your crying simmered down to quiet sobs and Midoriya gave you some tissue paper to wipe your eyes and blow your nose

“I know you two don’t always get along very well, but she’s still your mother… and I know she loves you very much. I think she just doesn’t know how to express it,” he said encouragingly

“People don’t exactly get a manual on ‘how to be a good parent’; it really is just a learning process and I’m sure she’s trying her best to figure it out like everyone else,” he smiled

You contemplated his words, unsure if you believed them or not. Midoriya had always had a very positive outlook on things but you knew that the world wasn’t always that golden

Even so, you couldn’t deny that his words did make sense and held at least a little bit of truth in them

Seeing that you weren’t responding, he continued to comfort you

“In any case, whether you believe me or not, just know that I will always be here for you. We’re a team and I never want you to face your troubles alone. We’ll get through them together,” he said, gently pulling your body closer to his. “Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Izu,” you whispered

After taking ample time to cool down, you finally felt good enough to return home

Midoriya insisted on walking you back since it was so late, but he also wanted be there to provide moral support for you when you faced your mother again

Finally, you reached the front door and the anxiety within you began to rise

What if she was still mad? What if she was going to scream at you again? What if this lead to another argument? What if-

You thoughts were hushed when Midoriya took your hand and squeezed it with his large, scarred ones; a silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay

You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath, ringing the doorbell and bracing yourself to see her face again

The door immediately swung open and there she stood, nose red, mascara running down her face and lips trembling as she saw you

“Y/N! Oh my, thank goodness!” she lurched forward and pulled you into a tight hug. “I was so worried! I am so sorry for saying all those nasty things. I was just so caught up in my own anger that I wasn’t even thinking straight. But that is still no excuse for how I acted. I’m sorry I’ve failed to be a good mother to you but I promise I will try to be better from now on,” she sobbed

Her genuine apology shocked you and you couldn’t help but get emotional as you ended up crying in each other’s arms

Pulling away, your mother suddenly noticed your boyfriend standing behind you

“Ah, so you’re the one my daughter doesn’t stop babbling about,” she chuckled as she wiped her eyes, trying to look a little more presentable in front of your boyfriend

“Mum!!” you whined embarrassedly, earning a laugh from Midoriya

“I didn’t want her to walk back alone at this hour so I came to make sure she got home safely,” he said

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you for always taking such good care of my daughter,” your mother smiled warmly

“It’s fine, don’t mention it!” he replied bashfully. “Well, I should probably get going now. Have a good night!” he bowed. “And Y/N, text me if you need anything, alright?”

You nodded and waved as he turned around and left

“Wow, he really is as amazing as you say he is,” your mother’s voice sounded from behind you

You smiled as you watched his figure recede into the distance. “Yeah... he is.”

Your mother cleared her throat nervously. “Also... I hope you can forgive me, Y/N… I know I’m not the best parent but just know that you will always be my little girl, and that I truly love you so so so much,” your mother said

You turned around and looked into her puffy eyes with your own, sensing no deceit within them

You walked up to her to embrace her again and sighed

“I know. I love you too, mum.”

[sp00kymulderr]

The smoke's the ghost that keeps you close (Javier Peña x Reader)

Warnings: Angst, emotions, mentions of smoking, reader is a smoker, a couple swears, mention of blood, sad!Javi, i don’t know it’s just sad.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Request: Prompt - A desperate yearning to run away, to leave everything behind. Requested by @javierpenaspinkshirt​  a long, long time ago. 

A/N: Reminder I am not good at following prompts. Should probably point out that I have no idea when this is set within the Narcos timeline so please don’t think about that. Beautiful moodboard below by the ever talented @huliabitch​.

It’s one of those cold Colombian nights, a chill in the air coming earlier than usual. The park is quiet at this time of night, especially with the cooler weather, so it’s easy to spot him sitting on the bench alone awaiting your arrival.

In silence, you sit besides him and he offers you the cigarette that had been pursed between his lips. You accept and take a long drag from it, inhaling deep and blowing out a puff of smoke that surrounds you for a moment. It’s difficult not to get in to the habit, working with the people you do. With him especially.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show tonight” he mutters, taking the cigarette back. How many of those had you watched him smoke, rapt with his every movement? Even before the two of you had started this, you had always found some odd solace in this constant. He had told you once he thought about quitting, but how could he exist without the comforting smell of tobacco following everywhere he went? The familiar scent made it easier to feel like you were with him, when you couldn’t be, that’s probably why you hadn’t quit.

“I needed the walk” you tell him simply, pulling your coat tighter around you as a cool breeze passes through the trees surrounding you. He scoots closer silently, his body heat warming you slightly when you lean against him.

Of course you would come, you always did when he asked you to. And here too? On the bench in the park where you had first properly gotten to know each other. When you were new and couldn’t stand to be cooped up in the embassy all day long, taking lunches out here in the warmth. Your DEA colleague Javier would often be out too, somehow still dark and stormy even in the sunshine, cigarette perpetually hanging from his mouth. You offered him a seat, half a sandwich, and then a willing ear for his frustrated rants. And after a couple weeks you’d offered him much, much more.

Now the sun slowly sets above you, the sky growing darker gradually. It adds to the sombre mood, the unspoken sorrow in your heart and the unease in Javier’s. The week had been a shit-show on all accounts, one you knew he was still on edge from. Blood ran on the streets and it felt like no one could put a stop to it, hard as they tried

“Fuck this week” he sighs, “Are you alright?”

You nod, maybe something of a lie but he doesn’t need to know it.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. The guys in the office...they’re dicks, so am I. I should’ve told them to shut up. You shouldn’t have had to listen to that crap” He mutters, reminding you of the earlier conversation between Javier and some of the other men in the team, them patting him on the back for his sexual conquests. He was, after all, something of a legend in that respect within the agency. 

“It’s fine Javi, I’ve worked here long enough to be used to it. Besides we made an agreement, right? Clean and simple. No strings, I won’t get offended if you talk about fucking someone else” you squeeze his knee lightly, quietly adding “As long as they don’t know about me”.

He shakes his head, no one knows about you and him. You’ve been his best kept secret, he had made a promise to you. You watch as he drags on the cigarette again, orange embers lighting up his face as the colour fades from the sky above. He’s looking away, exhaling away from you for courtesy sake. With the slightest movement he covers your hand on his knee with his own, warm and rough skin filling you with a familiar comfort.

“You know that’s not what this is any more”

He’s right, of course. You had agreed to keep things simple, but the emotional attachment that had formed over the last year was getting impossible to ignore no matter how hard you tried. You’ve known this for months now; what he means to you, the way he makes you feel. The love, unspoken so far but true all the same.

“I know” you agree in earnest, feeling the mood shift. You watch him drop the cigarette and stub it out with his shoe. 

“Are you alright?” you repeat his question.

He just turns to you, brings up a hand to gently cup your cheek and gives you a smile that never reaches his eyes. He looks so worn, now you see his face fully, so tired and forlorn and it makes you want to cry. He leans in, offering you a surprisingly chaste kiss. When he pulls away you wrap your arms around him.

The wracked sigh that leaves him when you hold him tight could break your heart entirely. He’s given you a lot of himself, but this pain, this emotion that comes off him in waves now is something you think he’s been keeping to himself for far too long. He mumbles something against you, sounds like an apology but you can’t make it out, his hands holding on to you so tight it’s like he needs to make sure you’re really there. This is why he needed you here, not to say sorry for an overheard conversation you had already forgotten about. He needed to let out the pain.

And you feel it, every ounce of his suffering as he lets it go. The way it affects you, the sadness you feel washing over you at his anguish, that’s how you know. You love him. It makes you realise just how much you want to see him happy, make him happy. You love him and it hurts you to admit that now, because if you don’t it makes things so much easier - makes leaving him so much easier.

But you break and know that you can’t do that now. You love him, and rash as it may be, you have to tell him. 

“Javi, I need to tell you something” you whisper, pulling away from him to look him in the eye. There’s a glisten in his eyes, and your heart lurches painfully at the knowledge that he’s holding back tears. You feel the sear of anger within you at Escobar, the cartels, the DEA, and everyone else who made him feel this way. Your grasp his hands with yours and begin to finally tell him.

“I...I got offered a post in New York. A while back.” you tell him, breaking eye contact, “I accepted it”. Keeping this secret has been difficult with him, it’s become so easy to tell him everything, but you were in too deep now to just slip away without giving him a reason.

“They’re transferring you? Why?” he asks, confused for a moment.

“No. Well, yes, but only because I asked to be transferred” you admit, a shaky breath leaving you before you continue. “Javi, I can’t be here. I’m not strong enough. I can’t do it; Watching everyone around me die, watching on as innocent people die on the streets, never knowing if it’s going to be over. Watching you slowly kill yourself over this job” the last part is barely said, a whisper in to the cold night air.

He barely reacts, the single flicker of confusion crosses his features and then he’s drawing away. 

“I love you, Javi. I love you and I want you to survive. More than survive, I want you to live. For something other than this” you sweep your hand in the direction of the embassy and turn back to him, steady your quickening heartbeat before continuing “Come with me? I’m leaving in two weeks, I know it’s sudden but... Come with me, please. I want to be with you, but I don’t want us to be here any more. I love you.”

You know what this job means to him, the mission he’s put himself on to stop the violence and suffering in this country and beyond. You know in reality that this is more important to him than his own wellbeing. And you just want to scream at him to be selfish, for once. You ache with how much you want to leave, and even more with how much you want him to leave with you. It’s what you need more than anything. You want him to need it too.

He’s silent, for a longer time than you expect. He stares away, looking towards the city of Bogota, towards the embassy and everything past it. Grinding his jaw slightly as he seems to contemplate your words. He’s going to say no, you think, he hates me for giving up. You start to feel the tears prick in your eyes, they start to fall because you’ve never offered your heart to anyone before but you meant every single word.

And then he turns back towards you, pulls you to him and kisses you softly. You gasp when he pulls back, when he tells you “Yes” and then kisses you once more.

“Yes” he says, and it’s the most hopeful sound you’ve ever heard.

----

In the days that pass, you feel light in a way you haven’t in a long time. Although you barely get a chance to see Javier, passing him in hallways where your hands touch for a moment and then he’s gone for hours at a time. He’s busy as usual, but the way he looks at you now is different and it’s enough to keep you going.

You start to pack away your life, ready to begin it again in New York. You wonder if Javier is doing the same, but when you sneak upstairs to see him there’s no answer – another late night at work. You need to talk to him properly, make arrangements and discuss the details you didn’t get around to on the night he said yes.

It’s a shock then, when you come in to the office 10 days before you’re due to leave, and hear about the upcoming op in Medellin – due to take place the week that you leave, and lead by him. In the conference room he doesn’t look at you, and your stomach drops as you come to a realisation.

He’s not coming with you.

“Javier” you rush after him when you leave the conference room, trying not to draw attention. A hand on his arm to stop him, he let’s you pull him towards the empty kitchen. For a long minute you  are both quiet, the buzz of the office outside the only sound. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to say what he needs to.

“You’re not coming to New York are you?” you blurt out the question, the hurt in your voice making him wince.

He takes a long breath, then shakes his head, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”.

“But you said yes” it’s almost a whimper, pathetic and miserable, and he stands there awkwardly before taking your hand in his.

“I know. I know. I just- I can’t leave. I don’t blame you for wanting to, for getting out, but I can’t leave – not now.”

Part of you isn’t surprised, of course. Part of you can’t even imagine him away from here, doing anything other than this. But the rest of your suffers, a clutching pain inside of you that makes you feel nauseous and weak. You don’t even think about where you are, who might see, when he brings his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, holding you gently. His apology once again repeated against your skin.

“I love you, you know” he whispers, the unspoken words hang in the air between you – I love you but I can’t be with you

Maybe he’ll change his mind, maybe when you’re gone he’ll realise he wants to get out too. There are so many maybes. But the reality is that Javier knows how to live with regret, he’s been doing it for years. So maybe you’ll have to learn to forget him, however long that takes. 

Maybe one day you’ll be able to quit.

Permanent tag list:

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[scatterpatter]

15 w Corren!

15: What is your characters background story?

OHOHO, so I’m going to leave One Detail Out because there’s one part of his backstory I don’t wanna spoil for Jazz yet, but... >:3c

Also it’s under the cut because i totally infodumped and then some OOPSIE

oh also cws: serious illness, death, domestic violence, depression

Corren Hartwell grew up the youngest of 3 siblings, the oldest being his big sis Mila and the middle child being his bro Julian. Their parents were pretty detached emotionally, but that’s pretty par for the course where he was from, and they provided for the kids so it really wasn’t all that bad. Not a perfect family, no fam ever is, but they were happy.

His race’s culture is super inclined to intelligence and studying technology, the mind, etc, so Corren spent his childhood being a total bookworm. Studying history, arcana, all sorts of stuff... he never really minded it, though. He was actually quite good at what he did! 

Mila was a spellcaster- I honestly forgot what school of magic she was in OOPS, and Julian dual-classed as a Necromancer and Bard! Jules and Mila were both pretty close in age, and they were like besties on top of being siblings, and they’d often team up to do small adventuring jobs: hit up the help wanted board in town and take care of short deliveries or a monster stalking a farm or something like that- both for the thrill and to also earn some extra gold for the family. They loved Corren, but they couldn’t take him with them because it was too dangerous for him since he was still just a little kid. Still, Corren admired them and wanted to be just like them(better, even?) when he grew up! ... Oh yeah I always forget this detail but Corren’s totally trans XD He came out pretty young but his family was chill with it so like... ayyyeee

Though one day, Mila started getting sick. Corren doesn’t really know what it was, but for whatever reason she wasn’t able to heal from it with simple healing spells. It was a slow process, but she was just getting worse instead of better, and one day she passed. The family was a wreck, understandably. The issue is... Corren and Julian had... different ways of grieving. Corr was still young, the equivalent of like someone 10-12 in human years, so he didn’t fully grasp the concept of death just yet. He retreated into himself a lot, had trouble grounding himself to the present and really struggling with depression. Julian, about the equivalent of someone 16-18, had a better understanding of what was going on, but he was wrecked. He wanted their sister back, and was so upset he couldnt do anything... but he wanted to try. He ended up doing something rash, and... well, spoilers ;) (dont worry he didnt hurt Corren or anyone else, but... he Fucked Up in what he tried doing)

Things quickly went downhill from there for the Hartwells. There was often a lot of fighting between Julian and their parents, or Corren would be chided for being unable to focus, like, at all, and... Corren and Jules never really fought, but there was a clear rift between them after what happened. They still loved each other, but it was so obvious their relationship would never be like what it was when Mila was still around, and that hurt both of them so much.

A few months later, things reached a boiling point and Julian was kicked out of their home. Before he left, though, he found Corren and gave him something: a small amethyst pendant on a necklace chain, something Julian used to always wear. They made a promise that this wasn’t gonna be goodbye, that they’d find each other again, and then Jules was gone. It was just Corren and his mom and dad.

Things were still strained, and Corren just did his best to keep to his studies to distract himself from everything. Not wanting Corren to end up like his brother, his parents forbade anything necrotic in the magic he learned. The problem was... Corren still loved Julian. And still wanted to be like him, to a point, so... he would study necromancy in secret. It was kinda like his little lifeline like “hey Jules is still here to an extent if I know the spells he does”, and things seemed to be going okay, for the most part

Well uh... one day his father caught him practicing his necromancy and... well, was far from happy about it. An argument quickly erupted between them both, a lot of yelling back and forth, and before Corr could react properly, his father grabbed something from the desk and struck him with it, giving him a pretty bad cut across his right eye(the smol scar I always draw? Yeah...). In a panic, Corren’s flight of fight kicked in as he cast a magic missile at his father in retaliation. Corren isn’t sure if his attack just stunned, knocked out, or killed his father, but the flight of fight-or-flight kicked in as he just ran from the situation. He had no idea what he was to do or where to go, but he just knew he couldn’t go back home after that.

SO this poor kid, probably the equivalent of a 14-15 y/o, is out on his own now... and he sure does his best. He mainly spends his time hopping from town to town, taking up small jobs to get some gold in his pockets, and is just... focusing on surviving. Going from this sheltered lifestyle to suddenly on the streets was a wake-up call and then some, but he found ways to make it work. Luckily his background of studying all the time gave him enough intelligence to take up tasks others weren’t as capable of, but it was still... far from easy. But he made it work!

One day he’s in a city known as Lilenthemar, just taking a break in one of the town squares, when an Elven man takes a seat on the bench next to him. They both sit in a comfortable silence for a while... but the elf then strikes a conversation. Corren, socially awkward like no tomorrow, tries to keep up the conversation... key word tries. The man introduces himself as Jethro, and I imagine the conversation took a turn like this:

Jethro: I don’t see many Marelienths around here, are you new in town?

Corren: Yeah, just passing through I guess. ... Gotta say, wasn’t expecting to see the Dragon Saint of the Green as I came here, though.

Jethro, laughing: Ah, yes, Raerose. Don’t worry, he’s a kind dragon. Though, it’s certainly surprising to those who are new to the city.

Corren: Oh, no, I know all about Raerose and his connections to this city and the Edgewoods. I just wasn’t expecting to... you know, run into his path as quickly as I did.

Jethro: Oh, so you’ve done your research, I take it?

At that point, Corren does what any neurodivergent would do when asked about his hobbies: Infodumps the hell out of what he knows. He’s far from a great scholar, considering he’s only the equivalent of someone 16-21ish at this point and spent quite a few years away from studying in favor of surviving, but he was still very intelligent and knowledgable about what he talked about. Jethro, picking up on this, decided to offer Corren a temporary position as a Family Historian. Jethro was actually a noble, something Corr somehow didn’t pick up on, and not only could’ve used the help... but also, he kiiiinda picked up on the fact that Corren looked like a kid who could use a place to stay for a while. Corren, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, immediately accepted the offer.

Now, Corren wasn’t intending to stay for long. A few months, maybe a year or two... but. He realized he was building a pretty stable life by having a consistent job for the elf- it didn’t make much sense to just leave that in favor of hopping from place to place with no purpose. Not to mention, he was actually growing quite close to his boss. They’d often spent time together during off-hours, sitting in a comfortable quiet, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. Jethro’s actually the only one Corren ever opened up to about his past, and over the years Corren really grew to love him in a strong platonic way. They both struggled with their own grieving, Jethro with his passed wife and son he hadn’t seen in years, and Corren with his passed sister and brother he hadn’t seen in years, which only helped them grow closer, since they understood each other’s pain, in a sense.

He still struggled with depression, but overall Corren was doing pretty damn well in life. ... Many years later, Corren being 44(idk which human-equivalent this would be. Mid-Late 20s? Early 30s?), actually gets to meet Jethro’s son, Jericho, and the party he traveled with... called the F.U.C.K.s. ... I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried. They needed help getting to a place called the Menoa Tree, which Corren happened to have studied for a long while, so he offered to help the party. ... They totally broke him with their antics. He proceeded to have a mental breakdown in front of them, and essentially went “FUCK THIS IM GOING HOME AND TAKING A NAP”. Jethro got a laugh out of the furious rambling Corren came home with.

... But despite that, something stuck with him. He just couldn’t quite get the party out of his mind. Something about them, as frustrating as they were, was almost... magnetic? ... Well, weeks later, word came to Lilenthemar about a war that had been raging on for years now... but specifically of a battle at a city known as Joshua, the forces being lead by Jericho alongside many others. Jethro was of course worried about his boy... and Corren... well, something in him changed. He wanted to know more about the FUCKs and just WHAT their deal was, and he wanted to ease Jethro’s worries, so... he grabbed a sniper rifle and decided that he’d go help protect Jericho and his friends as they fought. 

He eventually caught up to the party, convinced them to let him help, and after many battles... the war was won(Corren kinda came in at the tail-end of it all). The only thing is... after that, Corren didn’t really want to go home just yet. He actually enjoyed spending time with the party... and then it clicked: They were powerful adventurers who were totally crazy, stupid, and had no sense of self-preservation... they were just like Julian. And Corren loved it, even when they drove him crazy. He felt alive, which is something he realized he hadn’t felt in a long time... and quickly grew attached to his party, Alistair now taking the reigns as leader as Jericho retired from adventuring. And, well, he’s stuck with them ever since!

He still has Julian’s amethyst, as they’ve yet to reunite(yknow, assuming Jules is still alive even), but... certain events are causing some concern with the story I’m telling. Mainly... Corren is slowly facing Aboleth Corruption(he doesn’t know this yet, but is starting to suspect there’s something wrong with him), and that’s causing parts of his memory to be... patchy. Certain things aren’t lining up, and there could be more(or just different altogether) pieces of this story than what I’ve just told... but we’ll have to wait and see until we get to the quest that deals with that before we find out what’s REALLY going on ;)

... HEY UM I HOPE YALL DONT MIND THE IMMENSE INFODUMP IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR THEN THANK U FOR CARING ABT MY BOI ;-;

[taylart-x]

Whumptober- Day 7

Day 7: Isolation

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go!

Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy, John Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Alan Tracy, Grandma Tracy, Jeff Tracy, Lucille Tracy (mentioned)

Disclaimer:  I do not own Thunderbirds or any of the characters from the show (or from TAG). I just want to make cool stories :)

Also, this is a continuation from my previous story for Day 29, Numb. Enjoy >:)

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The funeral had been nice. There were flowers, and good music. Mum would’ve been happy with it. 

Yet he still felt nothing.

There had been tears as her casket was lowered into the ground, he had silently cried as his mother’s body disappeared forever. But his grandma already had her arms full with John and Gordon, John standing silently and watching with tears gathered in his eyes, and Gordon sobbing against her. Dad had stood next to Scott, his arm around the eldest’s shoulders, his other holding Alan up against his side. 

Virgil stood between them all, with only his own arms around him for comfort. 

It was fine, the others obviously needed the comfort more. Virgil shouldn’t be selfish.

As they travelled home, he silently stared out the window of the car, watching the landscape change as it rolled past his eyes. Alan and Gordon were both sleeping, Alan’s head supported by his booster seat, and Gordon’s head leaning on John’s shoulder. John had his headphones on and was watching some sort of documentary. Scott was also sitting silently, but he had headphones on too, blocking out the world around him, even though his cheeks were still stained with the evidence of his misery from earlier. 

Even Grandma and Dad were sitting silently, although Virgil suspected that Grandma was napping where she was seated. Dad was stoically staring out through the windscreen, hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

But Virgil’s heart had been emptied again. It was like the hospital all over again.

He had felt the pain, the heartbreak, the all consuming sorrow.

And then it was gone.

When they arrived home, Dad got out of the car and rounded it to open the side door to unbuckle a quietly snoring Alan onto his hip. John gently shook Gordon, startling the young boy, but he quietly told him where he was and helped him out of the car. Scott went around to Grandma and carefully roused her from her slumber too. She woke much more gracefully than Gordon. 

The family silently filed into the house, which seemed so much emptier than it had only a few months ago.

Dad went to put Alan to bed, Gordon following after him as he was shepherded by John. 

Only Dad returned from the hallway, John having also gone to bed. 

Scott followed Grandma into the kitchen, and Virgil heard the jug be flicked on, the water gurgling as it was heated. 

Dad breezed past where the young musician was stood frozen in the entryway. The Patriarch of the Tracy family didn’t even spare his second eldest a glance. 

No one had said a word to him since before the funeral, where Grandma had asked if he wanted anything to eat and had given him a hug.

Which also happened to be the only human contact Virgil had had all day. 

A new tar slipped down Virgil’s face, but he wiped it away before anyone saw it.

Not like they noticed him anyway.

No, he shouldn’t think like that. Everyone was grieving, he shouldn’t be so selfish. They needed to take care of themselves first. And the younger boys needed the comfort from the adults. They had just buried their mother. Virgil shouldn’t be so needy.

With a decision made, Virgil moved out of the entryway and to his room that he shared with Scott. The eldest would probably end up on the couch next to their father anyway. He liked to keep an eye on Dad, and he hadn’t told Virgil why yet. But Virgil knew.

He had smelled alcohol on his Dad’s breath in the past week.

And he had watched Grandma empty a few of the bottles down the sink.

He knew.

Upon entering his room, the young artist stripped out of his dress clothes and collapsed onto the bed. Without even bothering to brush his teeth, he crawled into bed and curled up beneath the covers. 

Tomorrow would be better.

It had to be.

-+-+-+-

He got up at sunrise after a nightmare fuelled night. Usually he would seek out Scott. It wasn’t unusual for Virgil to cross their room and crawl under the covers after a nightmare. 

But Scott wasn’t there last night. 

So Virgil ended up waking up early and sitting in front of his window that overlooked the farm for a few hours, watching the sunrise. A new day. Maybe it will be better.

As he entered the kitchen he immediately knew that his optimism had been ignored by fate. A thick grief hung over the family. Gordon was silently staring at the bench, his cereal sitting untouched in front of him. John was in the corner, cup of tea in hand and eyes staring off into empty space, lost in his own mind. Scott was watching Dad like a hawk, not letting the older man doing anything without the eldest’s knowledge. There was the faint scent of whiskey on Dad’s shirt.

Grandma was eating some toast and reading a magazine, though her eyes were flickering up and checking on the people around her before she returned to her magazine. Alan was curled up against Grandma’s chest, bright blue eyes wandering over the colourful pages in the magazine.

Virgil quietly made his way over to the toaster and slipped a couple pieces of toast in. No one said anything to him; he didn’t even think they had noticed his entrance. Usually his dad would give his hair a ruffle, and Grandma would give him a kiss on the cheek. There wasn’t even the usual grunt of acknowledgement from John.

It made the 13 year old feel very much alone. 

Isolated within his own family.

The toast popped and Virgil snagged it before someone else could claim it, as they usually would, but no one made any move to do so. He spread some Marmite on the toast, along with margarine, and headed out to the porch where he sat and ate his breakfast.

His stomach was still clawing at him after the toast.

And not in hunger.

His heart was in his throat as he reentered the kitchen a couple hours later.

It was empty.

Everyone had disappeared to go about their days. He knew he would e able to find Grandma in the garden, and John was probably on the roof. Dad had to run into the city today, and as Virgil remembered, he heard the car drive off. Scott as probably with him. Alan and Gordon he could hear in the living room, some sort of T.V. program on. 

Grandma would go and check on them and John in about 15 minutes, make sure they were okay, and eventually end up cuddling the both of them. It’s what had been happening for weeks now, ever since Mum got hospitalized. 

And she had been giving him these cuddles too.

So what happened?

Why did Virgil not deserve the love and comfort anymore?

No. He shouldn’t think like that. That was selfish. His younger brothers needed their grandma more than him. They were younger. They probably missed Mum more. He could deal with the echoing loneliness. He just needed to stop being so selfish. 

Without speaking a word to anyone, he made his way upstairs and back to his room. Once there he curled up back under his blankets, clutched his mum’s favourite jersey to him and cried. He cried for hours, raw sobs tearing their way out of his throat, his tears soaking into the cloth clutched in his white knuckled hands. One of the last things he had of his mum. 

Eventually, Virgil feel asleep, still holding onto Lucy’s jersey, cheeks red and splotchy from the crying, and eyelashes sticking together. He slept all the way through dinner and into the early morning, which is when he finally woke form his exhausted sleep.

On soft feet, he exited his room and climbed up into the attic using the ladder always left down for John so he could stargaze. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for Virgil, his next youngest brother wasn’t sitting on the roof tonight. That meant that Virgil could quietly sit and watch the world wake up. As soon as he heard each of his family members enter the kitchen, he made his way down from the roof and slipped back into his room.

He fell asleep again soon after.

-+-+-+-

“Have you seen Virgil recently? I need to talk to him about something,” Scott asked John a few days later. 

“Nope, I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages. He’ll be around here somewhere,” the red head responded, but there was a crease forming between his brows.

When was the last time he had seen Virgil?

The last he could think of was the funeral, but surely that wasn’t right? That was around a week and a half ago, almost two weeks. 

He had seen his older brother since then. Right?

Oh God. 

Scott had already left, moving outside to look around the trees. Virigil loved to perch in them to get a better angle on something he was drawing, or just to observe. No one else seemed to notice just how much Virgil took in. All the little details as he quietly watched on. 

The second eldest wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Hey Gordy!”

The seven-year-old looked up from where he had been playing with his aquarium lego set on the front porch, carnelian brown eyes shining in the sunlight. “Have you seen Virge anywhere? I can’t find him.”

“I haven’t seen him in ages. Maybe he’s in your room?” the young blond answered with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“I didn’t even think to look there. Thanks Gordon,” Scott replied, carefully stepping around the lego creations and bricks scattering the wooden deck. 

He quietly made his way down the hall and knocked softly on their shared room. The door was closed. The door was never closed.

Scott truly felt bad. He had realised he had been ignoring his next youngest brother over the past week and a half, in favour of supervising Dad and watching after the other kids. All of them were reeling after their mother;s death, and the little ones had been screaming themselves awake at night with nightmares, and in those moments of sheer panic had called out for their mum.

Who wasn’t there to give them kisses and hugs anymore.

Dad hadn’t even heard these pleas for help from the couch, so Scott had gotten up to sooth the boys, tell them it would be okay, and even rock back to sleep in Alan’s case.

He hadn’t done it for Virgil at all though. 

And he tended to get some of the worst nightmares of all of them.

Shit, he had been neglecting his brother. He hadn’t even said hello to him in a week and a half. Hadn’t seen him since the funeral. 

When no one responded to his knock on the door, he did it again, hoping to garner some sort of response. Virgil was probably mad, being ignored by his big brother for almost two weeks, and Scott couldn’t blame him. 

He would be pissed too.

“Virge, please open up, I haven’t seen you in days.”

Nothing.

“Please, V, I get you’re probably mad, and you have every right, but let me in, just yell out, let me know you;re okay.”

After once again getting no response, Scott decided to open the door, damn the consequences.

What he found caused him to pause.

The curtains were drawn, even though it was late spring and the mugginess of summer was starting to make itself known. The sunlight that did manage to filter through the curtains gave the room an eerie look. Dark, but in the middle of the day.

There was a lump on the bed, back turned to the door, and moving with each breath. Scott slowly approached the mass and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his feet.

“I’m really sorry, Virge. I haven’t been fair to you. I haven’t been here for you through something that has been hard for all of us. I’m so so sorry.

Still, Virgil gave no response.

Usually he would’ve said something by now. Either anger, or disappointment, or acceptance, but something would be made clear.

Virgil never gave the silent treatment. 

“Virge? You okay?”

Still nothing.

Scot reached out a hand and gently shook the boy’s shoulder. “C’mon Virgil, please, just talk to me.”

He managed to roll Virgil over and onto his back, which is right when his stomach dropped.

Virgil was pale and gaunt, deep hollows under his closed eyes, and his black lashes splayed over his cheeks accentuating this. His skin was waxy and had a greyish hue to it. His usually shiny hair was greasy and limp over his face. Scott tried shaking him again, trying to get any sort of reaction from the younger. “Virgil? Virgil!”

Someone came running into the room as Scott continued yelling and shaking the unconscious boy, desperately hoping for a response he wasn’t going to get. His arms were grabbed by someone behind him, and someone older than him sat where he was, trying to rouse Virgil themselves.

It soon registered that Dad was holding him, his strong arms a source of comfort for the panicking 15 year old. Grandma was sitting on the bed, feeling Virgil’s forehead and rubbing circles with her thumb into Virgil’s hand. She turned back around to Dad, tears in her eyes and her voice hoarse.

“He needs a hospital.”

[kyliehorsegirl]

Just a Sketch (Michael Langdon x Reader) REQUEST

A/N: This was a quick something i wrote up for a request I got today. I have a few other requests I’ll be working on as well as a prequel to Black Wedding and Ch. 3 of Snakes.

If you would like to read any of my other Lagndon Fics you can find them in the MASTERLIST 

REQUESTED BY: @artisticlales ‘reader is an artist before the apocalypse and she does not know why she is at the outpost. She doesn’t get along well with others so read draws and reads alot. When Michael arrives she is captivated by him and he approaches her. She doesn’t remember him because she had to move. He does and he is in love with her’

WARNINGS: FLUFF, FLUFF AND MORE FLUFF.

WORD COUNT: 2552

Please enjoy.

***********************************

In a small house, there was a young boy. He had bouncy gold curls. His eyes were soft. In a house across the way there was a young girl. She was kind and artistic. He always found her outside, sitting against a tree with her sketch book.

 “What are you doing?” He would ask her. She would smile up at him and close her book.

 “Just a sketch.”

 The two got along extremely well. Michael was the boy. Y/n was the girl. Michael didn’t understand how emotions worked, what he did know is he really cared for her. She was his best friend. Y/n knew she loved Michael. They were so young, it wasn’t a romantic love. She appreciated him for him. She thought he was talented and funny. He was so tender and caring to her. He wasn’t like that with anyone else.

 Y/n ran to Michael’s house. Her vision blurry from the tears pouring out of her eyes. She slammed her fists onto the door, hitting it over and over again.

 “Hey hey, Y/n what’s wrong?” Ms. Meade’s eyes were wide with worry. She grew to adore Y/n as a daughter. She saw the good she was for Michael.

 “I need Michael, please Miriam, is he home?” Ms. Meade did her best to understand what she was saying. Before Miriam could say anything, Michael appeared out of nowhere. Y/n threw herself into his arms. He instantly wrapped his own arms around her, holding her close.

 “Shh, what happened?”

 “My parents are making me move! I don’t want to be without you Michael. You’re my best friend.” She sobs into his chest.

 “What? Where are you moving to?” Tears started to swell in his eyes.

 “Montana. We are moving all the way to Montana. My dad had an affair and they want to start over. They are getting rid of phones, computers everything! They don’t want to have contact with the internet in this new life! I don’t want to leave you Michael.”

 “I’m so sorry Y/n. I just want you to know I love you.” He sobs into her hair.

 “I love you too Michael.” She looks up to him and holds him tighter. Ms. Meade get tears in her own eyes.

 “I will always love you Y/n.” He kisses her on the lips. She leans into the kiss. He gripped her shirt in his hands holding her so tight, that maybe she won’t disappear, but she would forget. With that kiss, he made her forget him, to free her from pain.

 5 years later*

 The missile fired. The world was in pieces. Y/n was now in a holding facility. There were two others with her. A boy named Timothy and a girl named Emily. Y/n had a small bag mostly containing her old sketch book.

 The three were forced into large military vehicles. They arrive at their destination. They were handed radiation suits before they make it outside. There was fog everywhere. They see two people get shot on their way in.

 Once inside they were greeted by Ms. Venable. They are escorted to their rooms. Y/n runs her fingers along her new garments. Victorian dresses in different shades of purple. Y/n sits on the floor holding her knees. She breaks down and cries. She is alone.

 Her time at outpost 3 was nothing to be jealous of. Everyone saw her as a weirdo. She was quiet and all she did was draw. No one cared to ask about her drawings. They had their own drama to deal with. Time that wasn’t spent sketching, she was reading in the library. She was thankful for all the books at her disposal, but she was alone.

 Days dragged on. There was no change to the routine. She was able to keep track of time by drawing a new sketch every day. She drew every single person in the outpost. Y/n was very observant.

 The days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and months turned into a year and a half. Y/n had several sketch books in her room all full of drawings. Not only did she draw people or aspects of the outpost, she drew things she tried to remember from the time on the outside.

 Just a sketch. A sketch of a boy. She didn’t know where she saw him. She drew a boy, with an innocent face. His hair curling down to his ears. She felt comfort drawing him. Y/n found herself sketching this boy every day.

 An intruder. No one knew who the intruder was.

 Y/n sits on the far side of the room, no one to talk to. Sketch book in hand. A picture of the boy haphazardly drawn on the thick sheet of paper. A man appears in the room. He is adorned in elegant black clothing. His hair cascades down his shoulders in golden curls. The face of someone in power. Hands laced behind his back.

 He’s beautiful. He’s terrifying. Y/n is intrigued by him. She notices the little details he put into his look. Red eyeshadow brushed along his inner lid. He’s beautiful.

 He gives a look to Ms. Venable, dismissing her from his spot in front of the fire. He takes a moment to look among all the occupants. His eyes stop at hers. She thinks she sees some sort of relief before his eyes are off of hers.

 “My name is Langdon and I represent the Cooperative.” She is enamored by his voice. Like silk ribbons dancing through the air. From that moment she tunes out what he says. He speaks to the rest of them. She allows herself a quick glance to the sketch on her page. There are uncanny similarities between the two. It’s just a sketch.

 The lot of them try to ask him questions, in which he quickly responds with ‘classified’. What gets her attention, is the mention of sanctuary. She still has no idea as to why she is here. The guards who retrieved her offered no information.

 From what she can hear, it seems like he will enact a rigorous interview process.

 “What is this the hunger games? This is bullshit, I paid my way to be here.” An uproar from Coco. The look of udder boredom on Langdon’s face makes Y/n want to giggle. She looks down into her lap allowing a small smirk.

 “You don’t have to sit for questioning.” Langdon states matter of factly.

 “What happens if we don’t sit for questioning?” Andre asks with genuine curiosity. Langdon throws his head in Andre’s direction. Curls bouncing with him.

 “Then you stay here, and die.” It’s sound so harsh, but Y/n can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

 “I volunteer to go first.” Mr. Gallant raises his hand like a kid in class.

 “And so you shall.” Langdon proceeds to explain how they can stay and allow cannibals to come knocking or down a pill that will kill them on spot.

 “I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

 Several hours later*

 Y/n made her way to somewhere with less noise. The whole lot began to complain about who would make it, who would not. It was too much to deal with. Y/n found solace in a quiet place.

 She made her way to her room, her nose in her sketch book. She looks up when she hits a hard surface. Holding the book tight to her chest she sees she ran into Langdon.

 “O, forgive me Mr. Langdon. I wasn’t paying attention.” She looks down with embarrassment.

 “That’s quite alright Y/n. I guess I wasn’t paying mind either and for that I’m sorry.” He speaks so genuine to her. The note of apology shocks her.

 “Of course, Mr. Langdon.” He holds a hand up to her.

 “Please, call me Michael.” She takes a small gasp. It strikes a chord with her, unknowingly. Y/n takes a step back. Looking him in the eyes. There is comfort in his icy blue eyes.

 “What do you have there?” He looks down to the small book in her hands.

 “O, its um, my sketch book.”

 “May I see?” It was a rhetorical question as he takes the book from her hands, brushing his fingers over hers intentionally.

 “Um, sure. I guess.” She looks down nervously, hoping he doesn’t notice the drawing that looks an awful lot like him.

 “What’s this?” He turns the book to show the image of the boy.

 “O that’s, just a sketch.” She looks to him once more.

 “It’s wonderful for being, just a sketch.” Rose colors her cheeks.

 “Thank you, I like to draw.” He smiles warmly at her. Handing her the book he brushes his fingers over hers once more.

 “Maybe you could draw me sometime.” He speaks kindly and knowingly.

 “Maybe.”

 Y/n truly was an artist. She made an effort to have her hand in everything. She makes her way to a small room. There’s a piano. Running her fingers along the keys, she closes her eyes missing the feeling of a piano. With the arrival of Langdon, it awakened her need to play but she didn’t know why. Moving her dress to the side, she allows her self to be seated at the bench.

 Y/n hovered her fingers over the keys. She takes a deep breath as a song instantly pops in her head.

 (Play I’ll never love again By Lady Gaga movie version)

Wish I could

I could have said goodbye

I would have said what I wanted to

Maybe even cried for you

 Her finger glide across the keys, like riding a bike she hasn’t forgotten.

 If I knew it would be the last time

I would have broke my heart in two

Tryin’ to save a part of you

 The occupants of the outpost follow the beautiful voice echoing through the halls

 Don’t want to feel another touch

Don’t want to start another fire

Don’t want to know another kiss

No other name falling off my lips

Don’t want to give my heart away

To another stranger

Or let another day begin

Won’t even let the sunlight in

No I’ll never love again

I’ll never love again

Oooou ooou oou

They begin to crowd behind her, enough distance where she doesn’t notice them behind her.

 When we first met

I never thought I would fall

I never though that I’d find myself lyin’ in

Your arms

Mmmm mmmm

And I wanna pretend that it’s not true oh baby

That you’re gone

Cause my world keeps turnin’ and turnin’ and

Turnin’ and I’m not movin’ on

 Even Ms. Venable and Ms. Meade stand with the group, listening to her sing.

 Don’t want to feel another touch

Don’t want to start another fire

Don’t want to know another kiss

No other name falling off my lips

Don’t want to give my heart away

To another stranger

Or let another day begin

Won’t even let the sunlight in

No I’ll never love

 The group parts like the red sea with the presence of Langdon. He makes his way to her.

 I don’t wanna know this feeling unless its you

And me

I don’t wanna waste a moment

Hoooo ouuu

And I don’t wanna give somebody else the

Better part of me

I would rather wait for you

Hooo ouu

 Michael leans into her.

 Don’t want to feel another touch

Don’t want to start another fire

Don’t want to know another kiss

Baby unless they are your lips

 He begins to sing quietly so only she can hear.

 Don’t want to give my heart away to another

Stranger

Or let another day begin

 She stops playing, he replaces her hands with his.

 Wont even let the sunlight in

Oooo I’ll never love again

Love again

I’ll never love again

I’ll never love

Again

 Y/n turns to see Michael’s eyes looking down to her. She takes a quick glance around the room to see, literally everyone watching them. Mr. Gallant starts off a round of applause. Y/n blushes with embarrassment.

 “You are as beautiful as I remember.” Michael whispers to her before taking he rises. “Meet me in my room Y/n.” With that, he makes his way elsewhere. The group part once more making way for Langdon.

 “I didn’t know you could sing Y/n.” Mr. Gallant states excitedly. Y/n looks down.

 “Yeah! You’re amazing! Where did that come from.” A small moment of selflessness from Coco. Y/n gets up and makes a bold statement.

 “You guys would know a lot more about me, if you would’ve got to know me.” She passes by all of them and makes her way to Michael’s room. Leaving everyone in utter shock.

 Y/n knocks on Michael’s door and opens when he grants permission. He stands to meet her. He gently takes her hands in his.

 “Y/n, I know this is hard to understand, but I know you. You know me. I had to hide your memories from you. I couldn’t bare to see you in pain. You are the most important person to me.” She furrows her brows and looks up to him.

 “I don’t understand Michael. You know me? You hid my memories?” He smiles longingly at her. He brushes her cheek tenderly. Cupping her cheek and snaking a hand around her waist, he presses his plush lips to hers.

 Her eyes snap open, memories coming flooding in like a movie reel. She sees a boy and a girl. She could feel the emotions, the amount of love the two felt for each other and the first kiss they shared before it all went away. He eyes overflow with tears.

 “Michael?” Her lip quivers and his own eyes become full with tears. She shoves herself into his arms just like the last time she saw him. Just as much raw emotion when she had to leave him. He holds her head, bringing her close to him in a tight grip.

 “It’s me my love. I’m so sorry I had to take your memories away. I was always watching you from afar. I always cared for you. I never wanted to hurt you. I knew, I had to bring you here. I am so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” He holds her face in both of his large hands. His rings nip at her cheeks.

 “Michael, I didn’t know what was going on. Before you came, I was drawing photos of this boy, I had a feeling I knew him, but I didn’t know where. That was you. The boy I was sketching. I never knew how much I missed you, but I feel it now.” Tears run over his fingers. Michael presses his forehead to hers. His tears falling onto her face.

 “I love you Y/n I love you so much. Now that I have you back, I will never let you go again.”

 “I love you Michael. I will always be by your side.” She tilts her head up to press her lips to his. A kiss full of longing, emotion, love and heartache. Michael rests a hand on her neck and another on her waist. She lays a hand on his chest and the other gripping one of his lapels.

 They would never love again, unless it was with each other.

 On his bed was a single drawing, a drawing of her, but it was just a sketch.

********************

I hope you all enjoyed this. it really made me happy to write I literally cried.

Langdon Taglist:

@artisticlales @creepy-jazzy @albeeox @shado-cat @skullchik89 @delicatefishtreedream @wth-trippy @teenagevampirebouquet @glamorous-without-the-guilt @first-son-of-finwe @aerite @no-salvation-no-forgivines--blog @homeschool-prom-queen   @majestichoechlin  @bryandechartisasmolbean 

[mmazzeroo]

Heartstrings, chapter 22:

DANY IV - It’s A Little Dragonwolf

I'm so very sorry for the long wait. OMG! Oh well, I guess this is a gift that just keeps on giving, right? Haha..ha.. *hangs head in shame*

Anyway, @helloimnotawesome, I know you're not feeling well at the moment so I hope this can maybe provide you a little bit of a respite. Much love!!! 

Without further ado: 

---

"Happy nameday, Jon," Theon uttered quietly, a trembling hand holding out a large, rolled up sheet of paper, held together with a bit of red string.

Like a timid animal, Theon had carefully approached her and Jon as the two of them sat snuggled up together on a bench in the lemon grove. My absolute favourite part of the garden. Smells like home - and next to Jon it feels like it too.

Dany was sure the festivities were still unfolding in the dining hall. Everyone knew Jon needed occasional breaks from social gatherings, so no one in the family batted an eye when the two of them went for an evening stroll in the garden.

This, however, felt like a moment between Jon and Theon so she moved to get up and give them their space.

"No."

The urgency in his voice caused both her and Jon to look up.

Theon took half a step to the side before stopping himself, immediately casting his eyes downwards and instead taking a large step backwards. As if frozen in place he kept is head down, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere near his feet. He looks like a beaten dog that just remembered defending itself would only ensure more beating.

Viserys had warned them that Theon might not ever behave 'proper' human-like again. 'Might' being the most hopeful projection. It was like saying there might be world peace one day. It made Dany's blood boil with rage and simultaneously shattered her heart in a thousand pieces.

She still clearly remembered what state Jon had been in. He'd been all hurt, anger and outright rage. 'It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.' At the moment she couldn't remember where the quote was from but it sounded like something President Tyrell could've said. Jon would rather die fighting than not fight at all, but Theon..sweet Theon..had no fight left in him.

As a vet Dany had seen her fair share of neglected and abused animals. One thing they all had in common was how well they'd responded to some good old TLC - tender loving care - and she refused to believe that Theon's heart, mind and soul couldn't be mended, at least in part, by the same. 'You don't throw a whole life away just because he's banged up a little' - her husband's words still ringing in her mind years after he spoke them by the campfire on Dragonstone. My love, how I loved your big heart and your ability to see the best in everyone.

"Theon?" She spoke as softly as she knew how to, "please look at me, sweetheart."

He slowly looked up, staring back at her with dark frightened eyes. A deer caught in the headlights.

Dany gave him a warm, reassuring smile. "Would you like me to stay while you talk to Jon?"

A barely noticeable nod was the only response given.

"Ok, I'll stay. Thank you."

She sat back on the bench, leaning her head against Jon's shoulder who in turn gave her hand a light squeeze as they shared a small smile. Now all they could do was wait. They needed to let Theon control the speed of things.

As they sat quietly, patiently waiting for their broken friend to make a move she carefully watched Theon's face. It was clear his mind was racing. His face stoic, but those dark eyes of his were swimming with emotions. He looked as if he was on the brink of bolting, yet deep-seated fears from all the years of abuse kept him frozen in place. Dany had noticed how his eyes had gradually become more expressive over the course of the year he'd been living with them at Starfall. No longer the deep dark pits of emptiness; they were slowly beginning to show a little flicker of life in there. It was that tiny bit of life that now let her know that the haunted man behind the eyes were fighting to build up his courage.

He found it.

With a resolute look in his eyes, Theon took a daring step forward and held the rolled up sheet of paper out towards Jon. Again.

"Thank you, my friend."

At the mention of the word 'friend', Theon winced.

"You are my friend," Jon repeated emphasising every word. "You were then and you are now."

Theon jerked his head a couple of times in what appeared to be an attempt to nod. A ghost of a smile flicked across his face but was gone in the blink of an eye. Wait! Are those tears?

Quickly Dany searched his face for any other signs of emotions, but only Theon's quick swipe of his hand across the face told her she'd been right. She couldn't blame him though. Jon had confided to her how Theon used to treat him like his own personal punching-bag. At the same time though the two boys basically only had each other to depend on. Despite only being a boy, Jon had quickly understood that Theon merely did what he did to survive. He was the youngest of the Greyjoys, a family who took the 'survival of the fittest' quite literally.

The entire Greyjoy clan treated Theon anyway they wanted, the degrees of degrading and humiliating treatment increasing by the day. Jon had never given her details, and don't think I could ever bare to hear it now. The only one Theon had to take all his anger and frustration out on was Jon who, with a bastard's name, no one gave two shits about. Beating Jon saved Theon a sliver of dignity in the eyes of the remaining Greyjoy family; being beaten by Theon oddly meant Jon was considered Theon's property - his pet - and therefore spared beatings by the other, and older, orphan boys.

Thus, Jon and Theon developed their mutual messed up dependency on each other for the sake of survival. After being sent to Craster's Keep Jon had no idea what'd happened to Theon, but he'd confessed to Dany that he suspected it involved Theon's uncle, Euron. Her husband had labelled the Greyjoy captain 'a complete and utter psycho'. She could only imagine the kind of abuse Theon had suffered at his uncle's hands. His uncle, his own blood for fuck's sake!

Dany considered herself lucky for never having crossed paths with any of the Greyjoys as a child. There wasn't much all of Westeros agreed on, however the collective loathing of the Greyjoys - and Boltons for that matter - was one of the rare cases.

"May I open it now?" Jon smiled up at his nervous friend whose only response was a silent nod.

Carefully untying the string and tucking it in his pocket, Jon unrolled the paper and uncovered a black and white pencil drawing.

"Oh Theon, it's beautiful!" Dany marvelled at the masterpiece before her. Beautiful but heart-breaking.

"It sure is," her husband echoed next to her, voice thick with emotion, "did you make this yourself?"

Eyes full of uncertainty looked from Jon to her and back again. "Y-yes, I did," Theon mumbled, fingertips fidgeting with the seams of his pants. "Dr. Viserys said it'd be good for me."

He speaks! The few times she'd heard Theon speak more than a few words at a time, he'd sounded like a toddler stumbling its way through 'language-ing'. This however had been a full, grammatically correct sentence. The revelation made her want to jump for joy, but instead she settled for squeezing her husband's arm extra tight. Jon responded by handing her one edge of paper and snuggled her closer to him.

Now they could both examine the drawing fully. As she initially thought the drawing was a beautiful display of skill but the scene itself was harrowing.

At the centre was a large kraken. Surrounded by ships, it was clearly fighting for survival. There were spears sticking out of its body, a couple of severed limps sinking in the water, and blood gushing from a wound to the head where a large hook was attached - the crew on one of the ships pulling on ropes tied to the hook. From underneath the water, shadows were swimming up towards the struggling kraken, pulling at its arms, dragging it down. Oh sweet Theon! Once again Dany felt her heart break seeing this shell of a man attempting to convey his soul crushing pain.

In the sky a small group of dragons were swooping and setting the ships ablaze in the background. A pack of wolves stood on the shore - teeth bared, hind-legs dug in to the ground as they too were pulling on robes. Oh! The kraken had an arm intertwined with the rope the wolves pulled at. Another arm was digging into the sand, desperately trying to hold on to something. No mistaken the symbolism; he's reaching out to us.

Teary eyed Dany peeked over to her husband. Noticing his Adam's apple bop she knew she wasn't alone in battling a wave of emotions. Although I guess I could blame any momentary emotional instability on you, she bit back a smile while tenderly rubbing a warm hand over her protruding stomach.

"Do...it..," Theon abruptly stopped himself again.

"Sweetheart, you always have permission to speak here." He still avoided eye contact. "Please, go ahead," Dany gently prodded him. Jon pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

It took a couple of beats for Theon to muster up his courage one more time.

"It is ok?" He winced but continued, "d-do you like it?"

"It's amazing and I love it!" Jon took the drawing and handed it over to Dany as he got up. Two steps and he was toe to toe with Theon. "—and so are you."

Before their broken friend could respond Jon had him wrapped in a bearhug. There was a fleeting glimpse of panic before he eased into it and all but collapsed in Jon's arms. Besides the cinnabons, this was the first human contact Theon had had in years. Dany was amazed. He must be so tired, poor thing. He's taken huge strides today. Vis would be very proud of him. I know Jon and I are.

Her husband gently rocked a sobbing Theon who was clinging to him as if for dear life. She could hear Jon's calm voice quietly speaking to their distraught friend, "I got you. It's gonna be alright. You're safe now."

She remembered the night Jon had disclosed to her - laying in his arms, all tangled up in sheets - how he'd say those same words to everyone he rescued while in the Night's Watch. He'd repeat the words to them like a mantra, over and over and over until they calmed down; minutes or hours didn't matter to him - he'd keep speaking until they understood they'd been saved. My hero. If it wasn't for the sombre picture in front of her she would've giggled to herself for secretly thinking of Jon as a hero. Well, he's a hero to me and others whether he likes it or not.

Theon seemed to have calmed down. Only a few irregular sniffs could be heard now. His grip on Jon loosened but upon seeing Dany he tried hiding his face from her sight.

"No no, we'll have none of that now, young man," Jon gently coaxed Theon's head back up. "No shame in crying. No shame in having a heart. No shame in being human." Yup, definitely a hero.

Still holding on to each other, Jon took two steps back, turned around and eased Theon down on to the bench next to Dany. Jon dug out a handkerchief from a pocket, crouched in front of his friend and carefully wiped the tears from Theon's eyes and cheeks.

"Man to man; heart to heart, Theon - we're champions you and I. We made it out. We're finding our way through."

Quiet as always Theon listened to Jon speak, fingers picking at the shirt sleeves.

"I see you out there in that lonely ocean. Fighting for your life, your sanity, your humanity. Battling the demons and shadows all gnawing, scratching and eating away at your mind. I see you, my friend. I see you. I see you." Jon took a couple of deep breaths steading himself. I know this hurts you too, my love, but remember to stay calm for Theon's sake.

Silent tears rolled down Theon's cheeks once again. Dany was fighting her instinct to reach out to him and hold his hand, maybe a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It's a miracle he's letting Jon touch him and I don't want to push him.

"I'll fight for you, Theon. Till my heart is black and blue - and longer if needed. All I'm asking is you keep swimming. It's exhausting, I know-" he wrapped his hands around Theon's- "but I'll be right here with you to keep your head above water whenever you need a break, and you can rest for as long as you need. Just please keep swimming, Theon. We'll help re-attach your kraken arms—"

"I'm not a kraken," Theon hissed.

Taken aback, her husband sent her a crooked smile. So there's a sliver of fight left in the dog after all. Good!

"I'm not a kraken; don't want to be one," he confessed weakly, "not anymore."

"A wolf then?" Jon inquired.

"I'm not a Stark."

"An orca maybe?"

Both men looked at her puzzled.

"I just thought..," she trailed off. Think before you speak, Dany. Fuck's sake! She cleared her throat. "Orcas are also known as wolves of the sea. They have several traits similar to wolves: They're intelligent, curious, playful. They're loyal and fierce protectors. Loving and affectionate, and form strong family ties. Talented and ruthless hunters."

Theon had lowered his head again, back to staring at his hands in his lap. Shit! I pushed him too far.

Still crouching before him Jon was able to see his face though, and apparently it wasn't as bad as Dany feared because her husband gave her a small nod indicating she should keep speaking.

"They're survivors - known to live and thrive both as far south as the Summer Sea and as far north as the Shivering Sea. Passing knowledge from generation to generation. Adapting to their environment they utilise different hunting techniques depending on available prey."

Nibbling on a corner of his lower lip, casting frequent glances her way out of the corner of his eye, Dany could tell Theon was mulling over her words.

"—speaking of prey," she continued, leaning a bit closer to Theon lowering her voice adding a secretive aspect to their conversation, "there are interesting reports coming from the Cinnamon Straits, reports of sightings by both locals and scientists, speaking of a family of orcas who have specialised in hunting, killing and eating great white sharks."

Wide-eyed, both men turned to her. Dany looked back with a smirk on her face. That got their attention.

"I don't know about you guys but I think that's pretty bad-ass." She dared to place her hand on Theon's lower arm as she added, "-and so are you, sweetheart."

Drawing a shaky breathe, he muttered, "I'd like to believe that."

"Believe it," Jon urged, "all of it, and all the wolves and dragons you sketched-" pointing to the paper in Dany's hand- "will be right here to remind you whenever you need to hear it."

Theon was back to his contemplative silence, meaning Jon and her were back to waiting on their broken friend to decide where to go from here. He hasn't fully retracted into his shell though. Gods please let that be a good sign.

"Being an orca sounds nice," nodding to himself he added, "I'd like that."

Jon grinned, "that's settled then. C'mon let's get you two back inside - it's getting a bit chilly out here."

She's been so focus on Theon that she hadn't noticed she was shivering; no doubt her ever watchful husband had seen it from the second it began. My hero.

As they slowly made it up the path through the garden, Theon turned to her. "If I'm an orca now...," he trailed off, hesitating.

"—yes?" She smiled reassuringly at him.

"—then..what's..I mean.."

"Just breathe, dear, take your time and you can me ask anything."

Theon nodded slightly as he stared down at his feet. Glancing up nervously, he muttered, "what about your baby?"

She flashed Theon a smile before caching her husband's sparkling eyes as well. Affectionally stroking her pregnant stomach, voice filled with pride she replied, "it's a little dragonwolf."

[angelstrenchcoat-67]

Game Day - A Matchmaker's Story

Pairing: Alex x Reader

Warnings: Fluff for days

Summary: Going to the Whitecaps game to support Alex.

Author's note: This is a headcanon for my Matchmakers series but you don't have to read it to understand it (tho I highly recommended it because it's awesome). There are a few references but nothing to big.

Beta'd by @winchestersandco

"Looking good, girl" Kathryn smiles brightly at me as I take the seat between her and Katherine. Gen, Dee, and Vic couldn't be here today since they are back home with their families so the girls came to keep me company.

"Not hiding it anymore, I see" Katherine smirks as she stares at the back of my shirt where CALVERT reads in big blue letters.

"It's not like we've been secretive about it" I mutter, looking for Alex at the bench. He’s running his hand through his hair as the starting players move to the center of the field. "Besides, most of the fans have already figured it out"

"How did it happen? You haven't given us the details to your love story" Kathryn asks me as a loud whistle indicates the beginning of the game.

"I kinda knew that I liked him, I was just in denial about it and he says he knew he liked me and that he had always wanted to ask me out but never got the courage" I bite the side of my lip to hide my grin. "But when we went to the beach with the guys, they made it their mission to get us together so we ended up spending most of the time together, so it was impossible to pretend like nothing was going on between us"

"And who made the first move?" Katherine turns around to focus on me, more interested in the conversation than in the game.

"Mmm, Alex tried to kiss me first but I ran away but later I kissed him so, I don't know" I chuckle at the surprised look on both of them. "I did walk in on him when he was showering so maybe that was me making the first move.

"You saw him naked?"

"You ran away?"

They both ask at the same time, the noise of the crowd stopping the people nearby from hearing them. "I panicked when I saw him leaning in and no, I didn't see him naked. He was already walking out with a towel wrapped around him"

"Boring" Kathryn pouts before turning her eyes back to the game. "I bet he looks good naked, no offense”

"Non taken, I know what you mean" I blush, remembering all the times I've spent staring at Alex when he is shirtless or in a towel after he has taken a shower.

After a while, the game comes to its first break so I decide to get something to eat. Alex hasn't played yet but I think he is going on in the next part of the game. As I wait in line, I check for my phone only to find several tweets about how I came to the game to support Alex. There are a few hate comments but nothing too serious. I get them, I've been the fangirl with a celebrity crush before.

I get back to my seat just as the game starts again and I see Alex being called out as the camera points to him as he gets ready to enter the field. "Oh my god, he’s going in”

"What if he scores a goal and dedicates it to you?" Katherine giggles as she watches me looking at Alex.

"He’s playing defense so I don't think that's gonna happen" I smile as Alex runs for the ball, being completely focused on the game.

As Alex moves in to stop a player from scoring, the other guy hits him and he falls to the ground. A few players run to him so I cannot see what's going on.

"Is he okay?" I stand up to get a better look but I can only see his face and I can tell he is in pain.

"Yeah, I think the other guy kicked him" Kathryn stands up to watch too.

"I am going to kill him" I turn around, ready to walk down there but Katherine stops me.

"It was probably an accident. And look he’s already back on his feet" She points at Alex as he stands up, wincing a little bit as he takes his first steps. "He’s going to be fine"

"I hope so because if that guy hurt Alex, he is going to be a Hellhounds meal" I huff, flopping back into the seat.

"People are staring, Y/N" Kathryn smiles awkwardly at a girl who is frowning at us. "No more supernatural references, okay?"

The game went over pretty smoothly, Alex played really well even though it was his first time playing on such a big field. We are currently waiting for him to come join us, I even got him a beer so that he can cool off.

"Hey baby" I grin widely as I watch him walking over to us. He bends over to kiss me, a smile present on his lips. "You were amazing"

"Thanks" His eyes are soft as he watches me before giving me another kiss, deeper this time.

"Mhm" Katherine coughs, smirking when I turn to glare at her. "Get a room, Calverts"

"We are not married, you know right?" I roll my eyes as I wrap my arms around Alex.

"Yet" He winks at the girls and before I can reply, he gives me a quick peck. "So, let's get going"

"Wait, I want a picture" I give my phone to Katherine and then I turn around so I have my arms around Alex and his last name is visible in the back of my shirt. He wraps one arm around me, holding his beer in the other hand as he smiles to the camera.

"I love it" Kathryn giggles as she leans over Kat’s shoulder to look at the picture. "You guys are so cute I swear"

"I know, right?" Alex runs his hand through my hair as he looks me in the eyes. "I am one lucky guy"

"Stop it" I blush as he grabs my hand to guide through the stadium.

"Do you really want me to stop complimenting you and admiring you?" He pulls me to his side so he can wrap his arm around my shoulder as we walk, the girls following close behind.

"Okay maybe not" I turn around to look at the girls which makes them hide their phones since they were taking pictures of us. "Thank you so much for keeping me company today"

"We loved coming here" Kathryn beams at me as we say our goodbyes. "We need to see each other more often"

"Yeah, let's meet up for coffee before shooting starts again" Katherine suggests so we all nod along.

After a lot of hugs, the girls go their way, leaving Alex and I on our own. We walk hand in hand, bumping into other actors as we make our way to the car.

"Did I mention how much I love that shirt on you?" Alex pushes me slightly against the side of the car, placing on hand on the hood and the other one around my middle. "That's all I've been thinking about"

"I am glad you liked it" I whisper as he leans in to kiss me but then pulls back slightly when I reach for his lips. "Don't tease me, Alexander"

"We are in public, buttercup" He rests his lips against my forehead, holding me in place. "Whenever I kiss you, I lose track of what's happening"

"I don't mind it" I hug him against me, not caring about the fact that minutes ago he was sweating like crazy. "I actually love it"

"I know you do" He gives me a wink as he pulls back, creating a distance between us. "But I don't think the other people do, besides we don't want to end up on E! news because I couldn't keep my hands to myself"

"You take the fun out of everything" I pout as he opens the door of the passenger seat for me.

"Trust me, I'll show you fun as soon as we get home" He gives me a quick kiss, not even letting me react to it.

-

"Can you put your phone away so you can pay attention to me?" Alex pushes my phone away from my face as his head is resting on my lap.

"I am writing the caption of our photo, just give me a second" I quickly type the words before uploading the picture to my instagram. "I tagged you so you have to like it"I give him my phone so that he can look at the picture.

"Y/i/n: He might have played defense but he is a keeper. Love you, my angel 💙"

"God, you are so cheesy" He bites his lips as a smile creeps over his face. "C'mere"

I lean in to meet his lips halfway, placing my hand over his chest. He bites my lower lip, I open up my mouth so he can deepen the kiss. He sweeps the tip of his tongue over my lower lip just as I slip my hand under his shirt, feeling his muscles tense under my finger tips. He groans under my touch, running his hands through my hair to pull me closer. The position is getting a little uncomfortable so he moves to sit next to me but instead of just turning my head, I decide to straddle his hips. He brings his hands down to hold my hips as his lips move from mine to my cheek then to my jaw and finally to my neck. He knows my neck is the way to make me melt in his arms so as soon as his lips are on my skin, a deep groan escapes my mouth.

"God, you are killing me" He breathes out heavily, digging his fingers into my skin. I grab the hem of his shirt, he takes the hint and brings his arms up so I can remove it.

"Have I mentioned how much I love your abs?" I ask him as I run my hands through all the lines marked in his abdomen.

"They are all yours, babe" I can feel his breath getting harder as he reacts to my touch. Before I know it, I’m placing kisses over his shoulder then down to his chest.

"Do you want me to take the jersey off?" I ask him as I move my lips back to his face, biting him slightly under his jaw.

"Tempting, really tempting" He groans as his fingers move under my shirt. "But there's something about you in just that shirt and underwear"

"Why?" I pull back to rest my arms around his shoulder as his fingers draw lines in my back.

"I don't know, I just-" He breathes out before looking me in the eyes, a little more serious now. "I love seeing you with my last name on your back, it reminds me that I finally have you"

A silence falls between us, and I don't dare to move, I just look into his light blue eyes. I feel a lump in my throat as he reaches his hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that, I probably scared you, I-"

"Shut up" I place my hand over his mouth. "You are ruining the moment"

"Okay" He mutters when I remove my hand to place it over his cheek.

"You didn't scare me, Alex. It shows me you love me as much as I love you" I hide my head in the crook of his neck, hugging my arms around his middle. "I am keeping this shirt forever"

Half an hour later, Alex is snoozing next to me, completely exhausted by the game. I quickly snap a pic before looking at the comments on the picture I posted earlier.

"@danneelackles512: You two are killing me, I swear😍"

"@nowandgen: in love with your love❤️"

"@jaredpadalecki: You guys are adorable, I want to throw up"

"@jensenackles: I see Alex found someone just as ridiculously cheesy as him"

"@mishacollins: I am still waiting for you to properly ask for his hand"

"@kathrynnewton: Favs💕"

"@katramdeen: Adopt me please"

I laugh at all the comments, liking them before noticing one that immediately makes my heart feel like it's going to explode.

"@alex8calvert: I could watch you forever and it would still feel like the first time. I love you"

————————————————————————

Matchmakers is my baby and I don’t want to let it go so when I saw the picture Jenna posted on her instagram story, I knew I had to write something. Hope you like it:)

Also, I wrote 'Claire' insteand of Kathryn and when I was fixing it I realized that I had Kathryn and Katherine so I hope that is not too confusing. For those of you who don't know, Kathryn is the actress that plays Claire and Katherine is the one that plays Alex :)

General Tag List:

@fallenangelsneverfade @waywardwboys @thesoundofme @i-hear-crazy-calling-my-name @randomstuff-idontwannatalkboutit @josephineasting @mypassionsarenysins @bitchfacesammy @franchisefan14

Matchmakers Tag List:

@mahalaraewolfe @typicalweirdbookworm @xostephanie @sam-winchester168 @theoraeken9 @dustycelt @winter-moons @sillydecoy @in-my-heart-and-on-my-sleeves @mannls @spnjerks67 @madxhttr22 @ahopelessshipper @hortonhearsahoeblr @spnimpalaimagines @literally-just-for-fanfics @allison-rosewood-maximoff @beepbeepanna @l4life @caswinchester2000 @spn-obession @expectosel @morgannope @dpaccione @oliolioxiclean @mallorydoesstuff @meghanamrhein @s11041104 @tearsforhan @chevycastiel1967 @babydollbunny99 @maariaa-xoxo @ivyohmy @multifandomizer @fandom-menace @love-faith-and-alittle-blood @thecuriositydoorlocked @creamxpuffxchan

[diningpageantry]

Jealous

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343617/chapters/41256620

Chapter 6/11 of Of Wealth and Leisure

Word Count: 3883

Summary: The Wellbeloves take a quick visit to the Grimm-Pitch manor to assess Mr. Pitch's injuries, stirring the pot of unease between Mr. Pitch and Sir Snow.

By the late evening, we get word that Doctor Wellbelove is on his way, and he decided to be accompanied by Agatha as well. I, for one, am thrilled to have a taste of my home back once again, but Mr. Pitch turns sour at the notion that we are to have extra company.

Peculiarly, following his injury, he began to somewhat cling to me (or, perhaps, I clung to him). After he was carried up from dinner, he requested that his door would be left ajar. As I walked past his chambers, he called upon me from the crack to keep him company.

“It’s a bore to lay alone with my pain,” he complained as soon as I’d arrived, carrying a few books to keep myself occupied for the time. I hadn’t thought I would ever be much company for him, as he sees me of not only lower intelligence but poor in interest overall. Nonetheless, he demanded that I read aloud to him as we awaited news from the telegram.

Before I closed off to retire to my own bedroom, we were interrupted by a servant, bowing at the doorway and rushing over the card. I scanned over it, then nodded at Mr. Pitch. “Doctor Wellbelove will be taking the railway in the morning. He’s expecting to be here by no later than the afternoon.”

I watched as he exhaled, nodding and resting his head against the downy pillows before he waved me off, mumbling something that I barely made out into, “Go away, I’m tired now.”

At first, sitting in my room in the day’s exhaustion feels as though it should lull me to sleep, but as time drags on, I find my mind growing more and more curious as to the situation at hand. It occupies me, drawing me towards alertness and restless pacing.

The teasing. The closeness. The unmistakably soft turn that Mr. Pitch took while we found ourselves completely alone. And, not to mention, his distaste for any company regarding my other life at home. It makes me wonder what his intentions. Is he trying to keep me here for some devious plot and now acting kindly as a distraction? Is he jealous of my social life, no matter how small it is in reality?

I wear myself down with clouding thoughts, overworking my mind until the day wears heavy enough on me that I fall asleep, curled up on my side and facing the steadily crackling fireplace.

When I rise, the sky is only just creeping up.

I hear no noise of waking from Mr. Pitch’s room, and when I peer inside, he’s still fast asleep with his leg elevated and hands folded upon is breast. They rise and fall with the gentle rhythm of his chest.

I hate to admit that I'm guilty of standing and staring for an extended moment, lingering by the doorway and watching him rest peacefully. Magically, he's remaining comfortably quiet for once in his life.

I don’t think much of my actions until I’m caught by a wandering servant, who startles as she reaches the top of the stairs and sees me peeking inside Mr. Pitch’s room.

“Is he alright, Sir?” she asks, voice twisting with concern as she begins to rush over.

I raise my hands up, shaking my head and holding my finger to my lips before mouthing “He’s sleeping.” The servant then stares at me curiously, nodding her head slowly as she backs off, curtsies, and continues on to whatever task she was sent off to fulfill.

The morning draws on as much more unsettling than the day before. No one quite knows what happened to lead to this attack, and I cannot shake the guilt gnawing at my intestines, making me feel lightheaded. I nearly don’t eat a full serving of breakfast.

By half past noon, as they’re sweeping away the last bits of lunch, I hear the sound of hooves against the gravel path up to the main house, accompanied by the gentle rattling of a carriage. In carefree excitement, I send myself running out front with a smile plastered across my face. As I’m jogging out, Doctor Wellbelove and his daughter make their grand reveal. They look proper, as alway; especially Agatha. To my surprise, she has her hair up in a bun, which is quite a rarity, but there’s the minute details of white flowers tucked among the milky yellow locks and ribbons twisted around them. Her dress is a soft, rosey pink, with a slightly dropped collar and thick necklace laying around her neck. As she spots me, she curtsies, raising the hem of her dress and revealing heeled white shoes.

I dash over, grinning ear to ear as I bow and take her hand for a light kiss to her knuckles. “Miss Wellbelove, pleasure to see you again.”

“Oh Simon, you know you don’t have to go through such proper manners,” she laugh out despite the hand she’s kept out for the courtesy kiss. “Pleasure to see you again.”

Dropping her hand, I turn my attention to shake Doctor Wellbelove’s outstretched palm. “Pleasure’s all mine. I’m more than grateful that you’d taken time to arrive so quickly.”

“Yes well,” he says, firmly grasping my hand with both of his and giving a tight shake. “Always there for close friends.”

Doctor Wellbelove has a glorious, thick moustache that takes up his entire upper lip, as well as carefully cared for mutton chops. They’re the envy of my dreams; I wish I could grow stronger facial hair, but it always tends to grow thin and unimpressive, somewhat like Lord David’s. Some say he and I look similar, yet I struggle to see the resemblance.

The servants escort Doctor Wellbelove and Agatha inside, settling them inside guest rooms in the same wing as Mr. Pitch and I’s private chambers. As I've been told, they only plan on staying a night or two in order to give time to properly diagnose the injury and treat it as quickly as possible.

Back in the city, Doctor Wellbelove runs quite an impressive practice. Frankly, it’s a wonder he managed to escape it for even one day.

I take the lead to show them to Mr. Pitch’s room, knocking before pushing the door further open. As we step in, his head draws up from his book, eyebrows raising before his eyes lock onto Agatha. I watch his gaze tightens into a bitter squint, nose lifting in the air while the three of us approach.

As Doctor Wellbelove introduces himself and Mr. Pitch returns the favor, Agatha and I stand a few respectable feet away from Mr. Pitch’s bed. She subtly takes the bottom cuff of my sleeve, tugging my attention aside while she whispers into my ear. “Is he always this frightfully cold?”

My lips upturn as I shrug, gaze drawing back onto him as he shoots daggers in our general direction. “Yes. Sort of.”

She head tosses back in the slightest as she laughs, her arm snaking around my elbow and resting casually against my bicep. “Shall we leave you to work?” She speaks up, directing it at her father in disregard to Mr. Pitch entirely. I’m the only one focused on his tight lipped, grim expression.

It doesn’t serve as a total surprise when he speaks, but it’s interesting enough when Mr. Pitch clears his throat. “Sir Snow can stay.”

That, to which, deserves him a laugh from Doctor Wellbelove. “It’d be easiest, Mr. Pitch, if they both left the room. Silent, uninterrupted work is the best work,” he says dismissively, waving a hand towards the two of us. “I shouldn’t be terribly long.”

Agatha gleams, tugging on my arm as I stay starring at Mr. Pitch. She gives me a pinch, throwing me off my trance and dragging me away from Mr. Pitch’s quarters.

Once I’m of a clear mind, I lead her off into the garden for an afternoon stroll, my own hand resting atop hers as it keeps locked against my arm. “It must be ghastly to live with him,” she remarks quietly, eyes scanning over the flowers. “He seems like quite the hateful human being.”

I ponder on it, letting my focus dig into my stepping feet as we make our way around. The brief, thoughtless answer is yes, it’s a difficulty to live in such a proximity him. Yet, that isn’t the entire truth; the complexities of our relationship dive deeper than head butting. It’s all half-hearted snippy discussions now. He’d asked me to read to him in a room all alone, illuminated by his fireplace and the moon. There was something I cannot shake about the way he looked at me, eyes tracing my features and I went on about the wonders of the story in my hands.

“It’s an indescribable experience,” I say softly, head turning to face her. She tilts hers up, golden brown eyes washing over me curiously.

As she studies me, I feel a stark contrast as to when Mr. Pitch observes me. For her, it feels more of concern; as if it’s in the way one would check for an injury after a fall. When Mr. Pitch drags his eyes over me, I feel raw and opened; exposed to him and any thoughts milling around in his head. I’m on the butcher’s block for him.

Her hand holds me tighter as she responds. “How is it indescribable? Is it the actions?”

“Somewhat,” I say nonchalantly, finding a bench and taking a seat facing the setting sun that overlooks the fields of crops. It’s such a beautifully picturesque landscape. “It’s more of his instability. There’s a back and forth between clashing and a somewhat manageable tolerance of one another, and I’m not quite sure how to take it.”

I feel her head dip and settle against my shoulder, hand stroking my arm as we sit silently. It takes a little while before she speaks up. “Do you fancy Mr. Pitch?” She whispers, barely breaking the planes of my hearing.

As much as I would have been shocked to hear those words months ago, now I simply stare onwards and think. I mull over it all; each little interaction. Each word he speaks without poison spitting from his tongue. He’s beyond a puzzle, but am I as complicated as he? The question stuns me, leaving me wordless. Do I have feelings for Mr. Pitch? Surely not...

“It’s quite alright if you do, Simon. I’m not quite sure I’m interested in anybody. At all.”

Without thought, my lip pulls into my mouth while nervous energy washing over me. The words floating among my thoughts tumble out nearly as if an admission of questioning. “Are we broken, Agatha?”

She hesitates before shaking her head, face tucking into my shoulder as she holds me tighter. To an outsider, we’d seem like a couple; to be wed in months and married for a lifetime. But, to us, we’re still children, forcing our way through the world that wants us to be adults. “I don’t think so,” she murmurs, fingertip tracing the stressed pulled cloth on my sleeve. “I think we’re just not what we expected of ourselves, and it feels disappointing to be unfulfilling of other’s wishes.”

Her words settle, swimming around my head and sinking to the bottom of my heart. My body goes silent as my mind runs around in circles, trying to keep itself aware as we make our way back inside for tea. On Mr. Pitch’s request, I leave Agatha and go spend the time with him. On my way in, Doctor Wellbelove stops me out in the parlor. “It’s fractured, but not fully broken. He has to stay elevated, and it has to be kept well wrapped, but I believe it’s not too severe.”

I nod and thank him, carrying platter with a teapot, a covered plate of scones with butter, and teacups into Mr. Pitch’s private room. He perks up at the sight of me, or perhaps the goods I carry, and pushes himself up to a more upright sitting position. “Ah, brilliant.”

We settle together, me at his bedside as he tucks away two scones and a full cup of tea. The both of us remain relatively silent, not seeking conversation but rather keeping a slightly disdained company. I take notice that he, on occasion, cautions a glance at me before looking back down and sipping at his cup again.

“Why do you ask me to spend this time with you?” I risk, cautioning a look at him. “I… are we not rivals?”

His hand lifts and waves to dismiss it, sending me further into my confused state of mind. “You saved me. This is the least I could do.”

“Well, if I knew your company would be my gift for saving your life, I think I should have left you in those woods,” I quip, giving him a smile as a reminder that I only tease. I finish off my third (perhaps fourth) scone while he attempts to appear offended, but it quickly falls flat.

“I suppose it is lovely to know that the blame of my death would have been laid upon in the end,” he shoots back, a smirk playing at his lips and his hand reaches across the empty space and nudges my shoulder. “A humorous last bow on my part.”

“Ah yes, and then a hanging for me.”

“How delightful.”

We smile at each other. I don’t quite know why.

He yawns as I finish up my second cup of tea, and with a raise of his wrist, I know what he’s to say next. Thus, I clean up quickly and pull up his blanket for him. “Rest now. Do you wish to be brought up dinner, or will you be joining us?”

He sniffles in sleepiness, dragging the throw up further. “I would like to have dinner with my company, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Why would I mind? “Of course. I’ll send up servants to fetch you at dinner time.” I drag the curtains shut and halfway close the door, taking the platter with me as leave him alone in darkness.

By dinnertime, the Wellbeloves had taken their tour and settled nicely onto the grounds.

They look well put at the dinner table, a clear contrast to me. Of course, I’ve always felt out of place at such events. No matter how long I’ve had money, it feels displaced and awkward to be near others with so much of it, and those who have had it for so long. I’m their outlier.

In a grand sweeping of servants carrying him, Mr. Pitch joins us, taking his usual seat across from me.

For the first time in months, a lively chatters sparks around the dinner table.

Baron Grimm and Doctor Wellbelove roll quickly into conversation, going over politics and money, ranging their discussion social classes to travel. All the high society discussions that seem inescapable when there’s two older gentlemen of wealth in the same room; there’s never any speak of hobbies. Instead, it’s simply a flaunting of wealth and knowledge.

For Agatha and I, it’s quite the opposite. We discuss home and books. She mentions Penny and how she’s been faring during my time here. Apparently, she’s been set to marry next summer; the American who she has been writing for years and met with a few times before had came to her father in efforts to court her, and he’d somehow succeeded. A miracle on his part, really. To separate Penelope from her family feels like it should take an army’s worth of strength, but it apparently only took an American’s wealth worth, in the end.

As we speak, exchanging the occasional laugh and joke, I catch the watching eye of Mr. Pitch as he hovers over the conversations silently. He seems to glare at Agatha with distaste, and sometimes me with such an equal look that it makes my stomach swirl. Does this mean he feels equally for her as he does for me? Perhaps his efforts to push others away are his own efforts of courtship. If they’re anything akin to his means of friendship, I should have all the reason to be worried over any sort of matrimonial feelings that Mr. Pitch could hold over her.

I run my mind in circles over his gaze, feeling ill by the time dinner ends. I worry myself dizzy, thinking over his possible attractions and stress over how far his efforts to seek her interest could push us apart.

This grows especially worrying, given the anticipation that everyone believes that I should be wed to Agatha. What is this to make of my social status? My wealth line? Mr. Pitch can have any lady in the land, but if he picks my chosen destiny…

“Was that a piano I saw in the parlor room, Mr. Grimm?” Agatha perks up as the servants start sweeping away our dishes. The scraping of our chairs echo around, my feet pressing down a bit aggressively into the wood floors as I rise myself up.

“It, in fact, was. Do you wish to use it?”

“Oh that would be marvelous,” she muses, eyes glimmering as she grins. “Would everybody care to join me for a song or two? I’ll play Sir Snow’s favorite.”

Everyone agrees in a murmuring, overlapped unison. Servants spill back out to carry Mr. Pitch over, laying him upon the sofa as Agatha takes a seat at the pianos bench. She pats the open space beside her, finding my gaze and urging me over. I reluctantly take the seat, fearing that she’ll make me play with her (I’m quite terrible when it comes to music; I could not keep a rhythm if my life depended on it). Luckily, she simply leans her side towards me for comfort while she presses her elegant, thin fingers down onto the ivory keys.

The room remains a respectful volume, holding an occasional chatter behind us as she plays. I can’t help but steal occasional glances at Baz, who seems growingly focused on the proximity between Agatha and I. It makes me swallow my mind as my skull fills with a slow thumping of rage. He’s jealous. I can’t believe he’s jealous.

Granted, Agatha is stunningly gorgeous. Any man would be lucky to have her company, but why him? Why Is it that he gets everything he wants, and what he wants now is my friend? It’s revolting. It’s intrusive. It’s--

Agatha plays her last note, fingers lifting off the keys as she grins mirthfully. “You have quite a lovely instrument here, Mr. Grimm,” she says, voice as pretty as her music. “I must ask you later where you’d acquired this instrument, for I simply must get one of my own.”

He laughs, sipping liquor and waving a hand. “I’ll gladly send details along your way. It’s a shame my son is injured; he should have joined you on his violin.”

In his festering state, Mr. Pitch raises his head and shakes away his thoughts. “Hm? Oh, yes. It’s a pity,” he monotones.

I watch as his father sends over a disappointed glare, and I feel the room run cold. If there’s a time to rescue a situation, it would be now.

Therefore, I yawn. It’s easiest to make a show of it, stretching my arms and dragging out my pocket watch. “It’s about time to retire, don’t you think?” I ask Agatha softly, trying to help her make her exit as well. For the second time today, it’s Mr. Pitch who answers unexpectedly.

“Yes, I do think it’s time for me to rest,” he says clearly, waving to servants for help. “Sir Snow, may I speak to you privately upstairs?”

My jaw lowers, eyes squinting as I consider acting in protest. Instead, Agatha’s hand falls onto my arm as her knowing gaze hits mine.

If only she recognized that he had been longing after her all night.

I reluctantly agree, sweeping up the halls after him and standing by his closed door. We rest in his shut bedroom, all alone with just each other. It’s frightfully disturbing; we had been in the same situation only the evening before with vastly differing feelings. Now I only feel the soft bubbling of rage. “What is it that you wish to speak to me about?” I ask shortly, hands locked behind my back and head leveled with care. In attempts to sound intimidating, I lose any sort of sentimental friendliness to my voice.

That startles him, making his eyebrows narrow as he stares across at me. “Lower your aggressions, Snow. I’m not going to attack you.”

I pause, swallowing down any caring words. “You seemed to wish to make advancements with Miss Welbelove. Is that what you wished to speak to me about? Courtship?”

He blinks a few times and I study his mouth hanging open from across the room before a loud, snorting laugh rips through him. “Good God man, do you truly believe I wish to approach her in such a way?”

“Why yes,” I protest, arms folding.

“I should be offended,” he laughs, hand pressing to his chest. “I may not be the kindest man, but I don’t attempt to steal women from men attempting to court them already.”

“But, I…”

“Quit your blubbering, Snow. I sent for you for a simple request.”

All reasonable answers to him have flown out the window, along with my rational thinking. Of course I should be answering him how one would be expected to respond; accept and continue, but my mind has been cut short by our conversation. Fast flowing and dizzying. He doesn’t wish to court Agatha? He truly believes I wish to court her?

As I stare, open mouthed and wide eyed, he sighs exasperatedly and nods towards his couch. “I wish for you to stay here for the night, Snow.”

“What?! Why?”

“Only for the evening--I worry that I’ll wake in the night, and if I need to fetch anything, I’ll be immobile.”

“Don’t you have a bell? Another means of communication? Why hadn’t you seeked my company last night?”

After a beat of his usually cool expression, his eyes drop and his hands fold before pressing to his temples. For the first time today, I see the exhaustion of his injury on full display. In fact, I see the exhaustion of time taking over him; dark eyes, pulled hair. A lonely man in a lonely bed, fearful of his night and the woods. “Please, Simon?” he asks quietly. “I was afraid yesterday in those woods, and I’m afraid again. Are you not one to protect others?” The last biting remark hits me, making my stomach lurch.

My words scramble then reconnect, puzzling together as I swallow back my earlier anger and fears. I don’t quite believe I’ll fulfill his wishes for him entirely, but rather for the guilt within myself. It was my fault that I’d left his fears disregarded earlier, and now he asks for more help. I can’t turn him away.

“I’ll set up over there,” I say, voice dropping to a gentle hum as I gesture towards the couch. “Just… don’t speak of this.”

“Would never dream of it.”

[athyrabunlord]

Daydream [VI] Hanamaru & Ruby

Reminder: This is based off of Daydream Warrior and this fanart I did Warning: Profanity, violence and sex. Ships: You>Chika>Kanan>Riko>?; with mentions of YouMari & KanaMari, and implied DiaYoshi & Maruby Words: 2,823 [concept doodle]

[I. Mari] [II. Chika] [III. Yohane] [IV. Kanan] [V. Dia] [VI. Hanamaru & Ruby] [VII. You] [VIII. Riko] [IX. ???]

VI. Hanamaru & Ruby

“But I want to go back” “To that day, the day we met” “My one wish goes ungranted”

“You’re not asleep, are you?”

You’s arm remained draped over her closed eyes. She felt the weight of someone sitting down beside her head as well as the pleasant floral scent that always seemed to accompany the speaker. She refused to budge from where she was sprawled on her back across the bench with her legs dangling over the edge.

A quiet sigh, though there was a hint of exasperated fondness. “Still, don’t sleep here in the open, you might get sick.”

You’s lips twitched in humor. “Isn’t there a saying that says bakas don’t get sick?”

She grinned behind her arm when the newcomer playfully ruffled her hair. “Don’t call yourself a baka, silly.”

“Hey! You’re messing up my hair!”

“It’s already messy to begin with though?”

“How mean,” You growled and sat up abruptly, batting the hand away from her head. She chuckled at the startled squeal and laughed even more so when the other girl punched her arm. “That’s weak, y’know.”

Another punch, this time more forceful, though nothing compared to the fist fights she was used to. Even then, she rubbed at her abused arm and whined. “Ow~! I’m gonna have a bruise tomorrow.”

“Baka…”

“Ah, so I really am a baka?”

Okay, she deserved that pinch, but her bandaged cheek was still sore from the brawl yesterday and she couldn’t suppress the urge to flinch. The same hand then gently caressed the injured area, as if apologizing for inflicting further pain. She closed her eyes briefly to relish the sensation before opening her eyes and turning to face her companion at last.

“Hey.”

“Hey you.” Amber eyes were filled with concern as the burgundy-haired girl lightly brushed her thumb over the bandage. “Why do you always get into fights-?”

“Now now, I don’t start them. Trouble comes looking for me, not the other way around,” You smiled wryly as she slouched in her seat. “They’re not that bad, and overall it’s good exercise, Riko-chan.”

“No, it’s not. One of these days you’ll get really hurt, and I don’t want that.” Riko said sternly, her fingers curling near You’s cheek as if threatening to pinch it again.

You backed away and pouted. “I know I know. Geez, you and Chika-chan won’t ever stop nagging at me, will you? Be proud, I stopped the fight before it got too bad, and came here to rest.”

“I see. Good, there’s improvement at least.”

Airily, Riko straightened and pulled out a familiar sketchbook from her bag. She ignored You’s questioning gaze and began to doodle the scenery. You’s blue eyes swept over the park, noting the few people strolling along the path, a kid playing with his dog over there, some flying their kites beyond the pond, and an old couple seated at a nearby bench and simply enjoying the nice weather. Everything seemed so picturesque, the tranquil atmosphere so good that it almost felt fake, especially compared to the frequent fights she’s gotten herself involved in.

Nevertheless, this wasn’t bad. This wasn’t bad at all. She could get used to such peace.

She listened to the quiet scratching sounds of the pencil as Riko sketched, smiling at the occasional pauses when the latter wasn’t pleased with the lighting or the composition.

“You’re not mad me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Aha, you are mad at me,” You peered at her friend and scooted closer. In response, Riko scooted away and resumed drawing like she wasn’t even here. Pouting again, You repeated her action and received the same reaction. The cycle continued until Riko was barely seated at the edge of the bench.

Huffing, she set down her sketchbook and scowled at the grinning You. “What?”

“Finally made you look at me.”

Riko raised an eyebrow and exhaled deeply. “Look, I’m not mad at you. Like I said, I’m just worried. Stop getting into fights so often. Chika-chan’s worried, Kanan-chan too.”

You rolled her eyes. “I can handle myself. Kanan should know that better than either of you.”

“Just promise us… promise me, okay?”

It was really difficult to say no, not under such pair of piercing, pretty eyes. You shrugged, holding her arms akimbo. “Alright! I’ll try to stay out of trouble. In exchange though, I wanna see this!”

Before Riko could react, You snatched the sketchbook out of her lap and flipped through the pages. She hummed in appreciation at the detailed drawings, some still life and some of animals. The recent pages, however, were filled with portraits of a ponytailed girl. Jogging, stretching, napping, drinking a bottle of water, or just smiling at the viewer.

Snickering, You wasn’t surprised to see Riko’s face turning beet red. “Does Kanan know?”

“Of course, but that doesn’t make this any less embarrassing. Can I have it back already?”

Taking pity on the blushing girl, You held out the sketchbook and chuckled again when Riko hugged it protectively against her chest. Silence fell upon them for a while, long enough for You to shuffle uncertainly. Was that too much teasing?

Just as she was about to apologize, Riko spoke up in a muffled voice. “Do you believe in true love, You-chan?”

For some reason, the question stung her more than any physical injury ever did. She immediately thought of a mikan-haired girl and her beautiful smile. This thought alone pained her just as much as it made her happy. Self-conscious, she scratched the back of her hair and mumbled. “… yeah, I do.”

Riko giggled at her response. The soft sound tickled inside her heart, yet she didn’t feel insulted or annoyed.

“Why do you ask anyway? You’re the happy couple, not me.”

“Just curious, that’s all.”

“Riko-chan…”

“It’s true, I just wanted to know your thoughts.”

You folded her arms, trying to read the soft smile on Riko’s visage. Was that bliss? Would she look like that too, if Chika were to accept her feelings? But that wouldn’t ever be possible, would it? After all, Chika loved someone else, someone who was also her friend.

And that person happened to be Riko’s girlfriend as well.

“Okay, now that you know, what’re you going to do?”

Riko turned away and looked into the sky, not smiling but not frowning either. Her whispered reply drifted with the breeze, so quiescent that You almost didn’t catch it.

“I’m going to set things right.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Don’t fall asleep here, you’ll get sick.”

You grunted but did not move to acknowledge the speaker. Her arm was draped over her face, shielding her closed eyes from the sunlight as she remained sprawled on her back across the bench. Her mind was a mess, chaotic even long after she had left the hospital. She’s wandered back to the park and found herself reminiscing her time with Riko.

Truth be told, she missed chatting with Riko. She didn’t remember what happened after that, though she did recall avoiding her since that puzzling conversation.

Why though?

You gritted her teeth and turned to her side, resting her arm against the cool and rough surface of the bench’s backrest. Ah, she didn’t want to be prodded about her feelings for Chika or talk about love, as subtle as Riko had been. Sometimes, You admired how Chika and Riko remained good friends under such circumstances, while she and Kanan…

Deep exhale. She clenched her fist and tried to ignore the throbbing pain from her wounds. That Dia may have cleaned and bandaged them, but her words had torn open something more painful. Perhaps she should go back to Chika now, as she promised she would. She couldn’t find her phone, which was prolly broken and still back at Chika’s place, and that was the excuse she kept telling herself to delay facing Chika again.

Again, she recalled Riko’s soft smile when the latter spoke of true love. How could Matsuura fucking Kanan betray her? Dragged Chika into this?

Someone to share your joy and pain, someone to talk to… someone to hug.

Only Mari understood You. She didn’t want to see either Chika or Riko. She wanted to see Mari at this moment, desperately so. In spite of whatever Mari had with Kanan, You still wanted to be with her. It wasn’t just about screwing each other senseless, or just having someone period. No, it wasn’t something as paltry as sex.

It was so much more than that, You was certain of it.

Her thoughts were rudely jostled out of her mind when petite hands pushed her further along the bench to make room. You’s legs dangled awkwardly over the edge while her face was uncomfortably squashed between her arm and the backrest. Growling in annoyance, she sat up and glared down at the short brunette and her pigtailed friend.

“What the fuck?”

“Language please,” Hanamaru was unfazed, her thick novel open in her lap. She didn’t even glance in You’s direction. “You were in my seat, so I moved you.”

You pulled back her fist, fully intending to at least punch the spot beside the girl’s shoulder to scare her. She stopped in mid-motion however, when her glare found Ruby’s green eyes. They were unnerving, emotionless and severe.

It was the same way Dia looked at her, back in the hospital.

Deep breath. In and out. In and out. You clenched her eyes shut and slouched in her seat. The tense silence was intermittently interrupted by the rustling sound of Hanamaru flipping the pages of her book. She should just leave and save herself from this inexplicable stress, but her pride refused to give in. Why should she get out of the way? She was here first!

“… there are so many other benches available, why this one?” You looked around the park, noting the lack of passersby, empty benches and the dried up pond.

“I always read my book with Ruby-chan here, and I don’t intend to change that,” Hanamaru’s gaze remained fixated on the novel’s small print. Ruby appeared to be reading over her friend’s shoulder as well.

“A stubborn one, aren’t you?”

“Not as much as you, You-san.”

“Ha! You think you know me?” She angrily recalled their encounter days ago, also here at the park. “What, you want me to wake up? Is that it?”

The brunette shrugged, her voice flat with nonchalance. It was clear that she didn’t give a fuck. “Awake, asleep, daydreaming, does that matter? You remain the same no matter what. Why do I even try?”

Again, You was seized by the violent urge to hurt the smaller girl. Not out of desire to cause her pain, but rather to solicit some sort of emotion out of her and her friend. Any other girls would have fled or screamed in fear if You were to glare at them like this, but not these two. It wasn’t as if You enjoyed terrifying younger girls, but such reaction would have been normal at least.

Hanamaru and Ruby’s lack of expected response was unsettling.

You covered her face and chuckled sardonically. Did she just wish for normality? What a fucking joke! She thrived in chaos. Only in bloody fistfights did she feel alive. Peace? What peace? She will never know peace.

It was not meant for her. Fact.

“What’s that book? Is it really that interesting?”

“Oh it is. Riko-san recommended it to us. We would like to finish it.”

You pursed her lips, unsurprised by their acquaintance of the artist. They came to the park often enough, they might have even bonded over common interests. Literature was a form of art too. Riko used to mention her friend Dia preferring classic literature, while her other friend enjoyed fantasy and in particularly the occult.

Right. Yohane and Riko were good friends, and that was how she came to know the eccentric gothic girl.

“Where’s your friend?”

Neither Hanamaru nor Ruby answered her.

“I was looking for her.”

Hanamaru turned a page, her expression unreadable as able. “Then keep looking.”

“Smartass,” You rubbed her chin. “Odd, I swore you used to speak in an odd accent or dialect of some sort, at least around her. Yohane-chan I mean.”

“Is that so?” There was an indiscernible tremor in her voice.

“Yup. Well, I don’t give a shit how you speak, just pointing it out.”

Silence again.

“How about you?” She shifted her attention to the pigtailed girl. “Say something. You mute or what?”

Ruby blinked and stared at her with those disturbingly blank eyes again. Her lips remained sealed.

“You are mute then.”

Ruby returned her gaze back to the book.

“No seriously, I was looking for your friend. She was talking to me but then she disappeared out of the blue-”

The book was slammed shut so abruptly that it made a cringe-worthy thud. There was something ugly and abhorrent in Hanamaru’s brown eyes. It was fleeting, but the intensity of such emotion had You tense defensively.

“Dia-san is with Yoshiko-chan.”

Ruby started trembling so Hanamaru gently held her hands, the gesture so drastically different than her vicious glare towards the older girl.

“Yo…shiko?” You was distinctly aware of her own heart pounding within her ribcage, like a trapped beast frantically trying to break free. Yohane… Yoshiko… Tsushima Yoshiko?

“Yoshiko-chan is still in a coma,” Hanamaru whispered darkly. “So perhaps you’ve been hallucinating, or you just have a sick sense of humor. Whatever it is, please stop it. It’s just us left now, Ruby-chan and I. The moment you even attempt to hurt Ruby-chan, I swear you will be begging for death the moment I’m done with you.”

Such savage words sounded so uncharacteristic and outlandish from a petite girl, let alone someone like Hanamaru. Yohane’s friend was usually smiling, playfully berating the gothic girl’s antics and cuddling Ruby.

That Hanamaru would never hurt a fly. The brunette here though would follow through with her threat, word for word.

You felt sick.

Back at the warehouse, back in the hallways of the hospital, and countless other times, she has been talking to thin air? But Yohane had replied to her. Or was it her own conscience, taking the form of the girl she considered trustworthy?

“Onee-chan is wholly devoted to Yoshiko-chan now.”

Both Hanamaru and You’s eyes widened as they looked at Ruby, whose expression was serene and somehow that sent a chill down You’s limbs.

“I loved her, you know? Yoshiko-chan. But I’ve been useless and I’m scared of facing her again,” Ruby was smiling. “Maru-chan too. Maru-chan loved Onee-chan, ne?”

Hanamaru cringed, her carefully controlled expression crumbling to that of pain. “That’s-”

“It’s okay. I know. That’s from before. We have each other now and that’s all that matters,” Ruby held up the brunette’s hand and interlaced their fingers, the gesture full of tenderness that it inexplicably frightened You even more. “Even then, I still wish we could go back, back to the way everything used to be.”

“That’s the one wish I cannot help you with, Ruby-chan,” Hanamaru pulled her hand away, her eyes churning with raw emotions. “Like what Kanan-chan said, it’s just a nightmare, one that none of us can ever wake up from.”

Ruby nodded slowly, her lips pressed in a thin line while her expression returned to that unnerving, vacant one like before.

It took a moment for You to realize she was covered in cold sweat. She wiped at her damp brow with her forearm and almost tripped in her haste to stand up.

“I-I’m going to g-go see Riko-chan. She… She can help me, yeah. She always has.”

Hanamaru stared at her coolly and gestured at the trees on the other side of the field. “We just went to see her. She’s over there.”

You staggered away as fast as her failing legs could bring her. She knew there was a hidden entrance to the park in that direction. She didn’t usually take this path, as it was covered with undergrowth which made it annoying to walk through. However she used to be familiar with the area, as it granted its visitors privacy and a natural veil of filtered lights from the canopy tops. Riko loved sketching here.

And this is where I…

She stumbled out of the woods and found the small gate that faced the intersection of a busy street. Gasping for breaths, she stood still and stared at the ponytailed girl crouched beside the dilapidated fence.

Kanan was holding a bouquet of roses, tears sliding down her cheeks and raining upon a withered wreath against the corner. She gingerly placed the bouquet beside a photo frame, her lips moving with whispered words.

You found it excruciating to breathe, her heart aching like someone had clenched it tight in their grip.

Kanan stood up listlessly and looked at You with dead eyes.

“I’m going to set things right.”

[ecotone99]

[RF] Cappuccino

Hi! I'm Greg from Hungary! This is my first story in english. Enjoy!

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Now I understand all of it. I could not have wished for better. I don’t miss anything now. Well… maybe some aspirin. I’ve probably slept too much, I feel a little dizzy and have a headache, which is rather surprising considering my condition. Earth gently waves below my feet, and she’s with me and will stay with me. She leans toward me; she seems worried and tries to read my eyes as I’m waiting there breathless for the recognition in revealed in her eyes. She has to feel it, she can’t do it otherwise everything is pointless.

And yes, her lips move and I see the recognition in her eyes. Just like in her hands. This is strange again – I’m blinded as she puts the light toward me but it doesn’t hurt – and I’m overwhelmed by heat because her body is next mine. I want to reach out for her cheeks but I refrain. We have plenty of time – it’s a nonsense thought, however, it doesn’t seem to be impossible now.

I can hardly believe that she only came in the café the day before yesterday. On a rainy Tuesday morning. With the third coffee I try to overcome fatigue that waits for me in the service entrance each morning. I’m making a hot chocolate; the flat milk foam emerges in the cup whirling in a spiral, I make a nice heart out of it in the end. The older ladies are enchanted by that and sometimes the younger ones like it too. I also have my regular favorites – the meek blond who always looks above my head as if her tall boyfriend stood behind me. The French beauty, I assume she’s French because of her accent, who likes it sweet (mocha and pain au chocolat) and who can be as rampant as a rainforest under her sweatshirt. I handle their chilling detachment with the tactfulness of a espresso machine. My namebadge, in accordance with the cordial permission of my boss, reads coffee rapporteur and foam specialist. A small present for those who notice me.

I’m done with the chocolate, and the dragging working hours cast shadow on me. My workmate is mad, however, he doesn’t even know that this job can be a real challenge after earning two degrees. I’m making a face to this fact while wiping the counter, when I hear a considerate and low female voice asking for latte. Latte this time of the day? Have you ever been to Italy darling? You should drink espresso in the afternoon, cara signora. “Good choice,” I murmur the usual sentence and then I look up. A female physician about age 28 in a green surgical apron is standing in front of me. She must have jumped in from the hospital next door. Her reddish brown hair in a ponytail, her eyes grayish blue like the Irish Sea, her lips purple as she is shivering with cold. Her gaze locks with mine as if it was an underground atomic blast; as if an invisible hand slapped my forehead, I turn away and hide behind the espresso machine. This helps me; I realize why I’m here and I look up. My acoustic memory fails, I have to ask. “I’m sorry, what would you like to drink?” “Latte,” she says smiling and the information is lost again. I stare at her and she stares at me. Someone drops a teaspoon before the situation gets out of hand, and I wake up from my dream and set about heating up the milk. My face is red and I’m sweating, I see it in the reflection on the shiny espresso machine. What is going on here? The response to this question is the static noise compiled from the background noise. Transmission failure. The foam is too thick, it won’t be good for a latte, just for a cappuccino. It doesn’t matter though, those two are almost the same in this shop as we are far from being a decent café. I’m about to pour it when I realize that I’ve forgotten to make coffee. I only dare look up again when the brown fluid is slowly flowing from the machine. She was slow, I caught her eyes. She was looking at me! I should be more tactful while being clumsy.

The lights of the shop immersed in the blind spot and the girl’s silhouette becomes clearly separated from the background. The reality content of the 1.5 m meters distance between us has risen above the health threshold limit, at least based on the beat rate of my plunging heart. Love at the first sight? The bubbles of dried foam on the steam wand burst aloud. At forty years old? How could that be? It would be a miracle if I could cast anchor. Not to mention that pretty girls come in in every ten minutes and I’m in love with all of them for that two minutes during which they stand in front of the counter. What the hell is going on with me?

The coffee has been ready for a while, I pour in some milk and refrain from drawing a little heart on it. She thanks it with a curious gaze, I don’t say a word as I know I could only cough up some pathetic sentences. She sits down, almost turning her back to me; I only catch her sight scarcely, she looks out the window, no cell phone at all. Maybe she’s having a break between two surgeries and wants to have a good coffee. She’s got it, more or less; I calm down and turn to the next customer who has been begging for my attention for long seconds. I pay twice as much attention to serve the customer and the next time I look toward the girl I see that her seat has been taken by someone else. She has taken something with her though. It seemed as if the shop had been subject to slow decay; I felt the fresh plaster peeling off, the souring of the milk and the advancing mold on the sweets. The remaining three hours takes a heavy toll on me, I’m unable to do my job properly. At closing time, twenty euro is missing from the cashier; I throw in a twenty euro bill when nobody sees it and I go home. Fresh air wakes me up a little, I read about frequencies and resonance on the internet at home. The entire shook when I saw her, our resonance was fighting each other so fiercely that would lead to collapsing bridges elsewhere. I feel this strange vibration at night while I have a splitting headache; I have not drunk coffee since noon.

The following day I drink a double shot, my heart kicks back wildly. I get in work with unusual joy. I totally forgot about yesterday – the French girl wore no bra under her sweatshirt. I’m overwhelmed by strength and vigor, just in a rustic way. In the lunch break, I remember the vibrations I read about yesterday in some lady magazine. If it’s true, I’m already dead. According to the article, I don’t do what I like. Well, if it’s true, only the radio waves vibrate in a proper manner on this planet. There are exceptions of course, such as the author of the article and not to mention the female physician. Devotedness holds man together at the end of a long day, when a simple barista falls apart like a figure on a Picasso painting. Well, it is not right to expect a lot more from a person who gets up at six in the morning. In the morning, I’m able to do everything after my first coffee, it always occurs to what I should do with my life at lunchtime, I would read until dawn at two in the afternoon and I can only make it home at six if I drink my last coffee.

And then she comes, even smiling at the door. Latte. Suddenly all thoughts seem so inappropriate, however, they are not replaced by new ones. My heart is one drum solo, my movements are masonry work from a block of marble, while my common sense is able to climb that block and read out the name tag of the girl. Kyra. Kyra!!! Kyra…??? Now I realize that I’ve kept thinking about her as Elizabeth. It throws me off balance, so I’ll be able to make her drink. Too much foam again, but it will make a latte if we are not too hard on it. She sits down, turning her back halfway again; service is out of order and the outer world refrains from entering the café with unusual delicacy in the next fifteen minutes.

Upon seeing the arch of her mouth, I suddenly realize that I know how she kisses. Her lips are like Anette’s whose taste has just started to fade away. I make further investigations. Her hair is like Irene’s, my palm still preserves the silkiness of it. Her nose is like Norah’s, resembling the storms of our quarrels, her jaw is like Catherine’s whom I adored so much with words yelled in vain. Her eyes… it can’t be, I smile, but they are truly Martha’s whom I fell in love when I was six. This love was unrequited and beyond hope and I was already sixteen when I let myself be tempted by reality. The latte-drinking girl resembled all of them. Now she’s gone, I can hardly recall her face. It is in the corner of my eye but when I try to look at it, it disappears. Only the well-known details remain - and memories.

On the way home, I feel giddy, so I have to sit down on a bench. I drink way too much coffee. No matter what is happening to me, it came at least twenty five years later as it was supposed to. Now it seems that all my experience is useless, my heart was secretly turned on behind my back and it wants more than making me run. It wants to rule my world by a totally stranger who only told me these two word, “Latte” and “Thank you”. The city around me looks like a setting made of paper; shadows seem more real than the objects that cast them. I feel that I’m fighting for the sanity of my mind but I’m not sure whether I’m on the right side or not. Maybe I should submit to this ecstasy and then everything would be straighten out, like when you get back to the highway from a dirt road. But where does this road take me? I know a beer and a good talk would bring me down to earth, but I don’t feel like meeting with anyone. I’m like Voyager – I left the Solar System and I have to see the next star that would attach meaning to my existence, no matter how long it takes.

I managed to sleep eight hours. I feel good in the morning, only one flat white is enough. I’m waiting for the French girl or the meek blond. I’ll ask one of them out for a date. I don’t care what they reply, but I won’t be mad if they say yes, of course. But they aren’t here, instead Kyra is standing in front of the counter. Damn! I thought she would come later. “Latte?” I ask her in a broken voice. She nods smiling. I commence making her drink, while the ceiling of the café is being lowered. Alright then, I submit to my faith. I had different plans though… I ask her out. It will work. I set up band earlier because of some violinist girl. I want to open my mouth but my lips got stuck together. I clear my throat. I want to speak but she says hello to a friend of hers who is about to leave. I look down and realized that the foam is too thick again, it will be another cappuccino again. What should I say? Dear Kyra, we don’t serve latte today but I know a place where they make excellent latte. She is looking at me and I see expectation in her gaze. I have to say something, maybe confess that I’m not a barista, I just haven’t found out my next move. It is pity that my right arm went numb because of her stare.

She draws her brows gently, but that makes her more beautiful; she’s celestial. After this setting made of paper is blown, it’s only two of us on the scene, as it always should have been, in the original state. It was unnecessary to create time, space and other nonsense around us. My frequency is high in the skies, the journalist would probably be stunned; I would be able to spin the entire planet around its axis. I know that Kyra also perceives my strength – I’m king and she’s my queen. She might be a little afraid by that as I see signs of anxiety on her pretty face. Certain parts of the world appear, people gather around us, maybe to take part in the miracle. Even the chandelier on the opposite was moves toward us intrigued; I totally forgot about that it is there. Strange. Then everything is moved away, only she and I remain. Light comes out of her hand. I’m blinded but it doesn’t hurt, I see her face anyhow, and I don’t care if don’t see anything else anymore.

Nothing is missing. Only my head aches a little. I slept for long but I’m awake now. Nothing happens though. As if I was waiting for the punch line of a corny joke. Hahaha, very funny, I murmur into the light as a test but nothing carries my voice. What direction should I take now? I’ve never felt so well-rested before but I had something on my mind. Not always, just sometimes. On a regular basis. It just nails me to the ground. I hear muffled noise and feel two hands on my chest. Then some light is directed into my eyes. I’m blinded. The light disappears and I saw a familiar face, I’m sure I know this face from somewhere. This is beauty itself! It lifts me up to a place where similar ideas are born. It will be always with me. I know where I’m headed. I just would though as the manifested beauty pushes my chest back to ground with its palm. Then on and on again. What does she want? Push back the toothpaste to the tube? Deep and decade-long disappointment springs from the direction of my stomach. The forehead of the beauty is covered with sweat, her face is disfigured by determination. I would be very grateful if she stopped what she is doing and would smile again. If I succeeded, I would use my first breath to shout at her ear with the power of a newly born baby – I’m ineffably, desperately and irrevocably bored.

Dublin, 1 December, 2018

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