#they already feel so much better than my cane | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

velaryqns · 5 months

Note

Hii idk if you take requests but if you do could you write a fic where reader is married and pregnant with Wilson’s child and suddenly her water breaks in the middle of her work? This could be connected to the peds reader you did back then :) tysm <3

Mini Crown

Pairing: James Wilson x Reader

Notes: making this a sequel to “Glitter Crowns,” it seems quite fitting. So this is a head of peds reader!

Warnings: pregnancy, brief mentions of labor, House being House, brief mention of breastfeeding

You waddled walked around the clinic as quickly as you could, and that your husband would allow (lest he walked in and caught you walking at a rapid pace to help Cuddy in the clinic). You and James had already had a few disagreements about the idea of you working, but you told him you’d be fine for a few more weeks, it wouldn’t hurt the baby.

(You were wrong, at least the about you being fine part).

It was during lunch, you’d met with James while he flipped through the newspaper, picking at his meal sitting in mostly silence until you sat down across from him. He put his newspaper down and flashed his signature smile, taking your hand instantly.

“How are you two doing?”

“Fine as we can be,” you shrugged with a small smile and took a bite of one of your fries. You felt your husband’s eyes for a moment, but he accepted the answer and took a fry from you. You watched him for a moment, in a teasing way, and he only chuckled before he went back to his newspaper.

“Lizzie’s parents called,” he spoke.

Lizzie, the little girl you’d both helped when she was in the hospital under James’s care. After going through surgery, she was sent on her way. Even left you a small card.

“Oh yeah?” You questioned, sitting back in your chair at the slight twinge of pain in your back and going around your stomach. You ignored it though, bringing a hand to run along your belly as you smiled at him.

“They said she’s doing much better, and that she still wears that crown,” he chucked fondly at the memory of you doing crafts with his patience just over nine months back, an interaction that had encouraged the two of you to finally get a start at your family.

A few minutes passed of the two of you talking when you heard the familiar click of a cane on the floor.

“Aw look at the lovebirds,” House invited himself to the table, taking James’s newspaper and moving your food out of his way, but still managing to leave it within your grasp (he wasn’t that cruel).

“I’m trying to have lunch with my wife,” James protested, gesturing toward you with a frown; therefore missing the discomfort on your face.

“You live together,” House retorted, mocking James's gesture and admittedly making you chuckle softly. James playfully frowned in your direction, feigning anger at your "betrayal."

You chuckled at your husband’s face, then turned to House, “He’s not wrong, we’re trying to enjoy ourselves before the little one gets here.”

House looked unimpressed, and unable to take the hint given between both you and your husband. House began rambling, filled with his own complaints for the day. You stared at your food, more focused on the fresh fires and soothing the incessant pains you were feeling than paying attention to House.

“Honey?” James’s voice met your ears, filled with concern as he reached across the table, his warm palm covering your hand that was still resting on the table. He’d noticed the look on your face, and his brows furrowed as his large brown eyes scanned over your features, “Are you alright?”

Another wave of pain washed over you, and you flipped your hand over to take his in it, groaning slightly as you leaned in toward him and over your large stomach.

“You know, if you want me to leave you can just ask instead of faking contractions,” House looked over at you as he spoke, receiving a harsh glare from your husband as he stood to crouch next to you.

“Will you stop?” He muttered to the other doctor, then turned his attention to you, “Honey, come on. Let’s go…we can talk to Cuddy—“

“I’m fine,” you countered, shaking your head as you take a deep breath, “It’s early, Hon.”

“You knew it could happen any day,” James almost wanted to say ‘I told you so,’ but knew it would do nothing to help your situation. He instead placed a hand under your arm, letting you keep a hold of his other hand and helping you rise to your feet. His lips grazed your temple, and his voice was barely a whisper, “Come on…”

You breathed deeply, both you and your husband wanting to draw as little attention to yourselves as possible. But you were in the middle of a hospital, so you knew you could easily get help from someone else.

“Say bye-bye to sleep,” House called after the two of you, in a sing-songy way as he took your food and helped himself to what remained of the fries, his attention not leaving the newspaper as James guided you out of the cafeteria.

You didn’t even know how much time passed between your husband guiding you out of the cafeteria to your little boy being placed in your arms; the blue hospital cap sticking off of his head while James smiled down at your son from over your shoulder, his arm around your waist and rubbing up and down your side. He knew you were in pain, anyone with sense knew it.

You smiled at the little boy, his big brown eyes that matched his father’s looking back up at you. You hummed, dropping your head to James’s shoulder, “He’s so beautiful.”

“Just gotta hope he doesn’t look too much like his old man,” the sound of House’s voice almost made you jump. But it shouldn’t have surprised you. Your husband leveled a flare at the man, “What? I’m just bringing him his first cheap hospital teddy bear. We all know he’ll collect ‘em like crazy if he’s the child of you two.”

“House, I just gave birth, I’d like some time alone with my husband and son please,” you pleaded as House set the bear on the foot of your bed. You eyed it, then looked back up at him.

He held a hand up in surrender, “Fine, fine. Enjoy your time off.”

You rolled your eyes as he left. James chuckled and shook his head, then kissed your cheek, “You should get some sleep — I’ve got him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes honey, I’m sure,” he gently took your son and allowed you to lay down. You fell asleep faster than you ever had before.

A few weeks had passed, you were still at home with the new baby, but James had returned to work for certain visits with patients. One of them being Lizzie. She’d been excited about the idea of seeing you, bringing in her crown and asking if it was possible to do a craft. James was sad to tell her that you weren’t at the hospital at the present time, but he was glad to explain why. There was nothing as exciting to him as being a new father, not anymore.

The girl was glum, but she understood, and her parents congratulated him on the new phase in life. It was a couple of days later, when someone from the oncology team dropped off an envelope on his desk. He recognized the last name, it was Lizzie’s. He was curious as he unfolded the envelope, seeing inside that there was a small paper crown, similar to the one you made with your patients and that Lizzie had been carrying around.

He smiled at it, noticing that it was much smaller than the ones you and the children you worked with made. A chuckle passed through his lips and he noticed a note as well, but left it be for you to read when he returned home, which wasn’t too much further away.

The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside, minus the faint noises of the television and you humming. James toed off his shoes and followed the sound of your hums into the kitchen. You were doing dishes, the baby monitor clipped to the waistband of your sweatpants and a tank top (the easiest for you to wear as a new breastfeeding mother) that was covered in a few stains. His McGill sweater was thrown over the back of a chair, you must have worn it at some point in the day.

“Having fun?” You turned at the sound of his voice, and the corner of your mouth turned up as you shut the sink off.

“I just put him down a little bit ago,” you informed James, smiling proudly as you quickly (but quietly) walked in his direction. Your arms slung around his neck instinctively and one of his hands found your hip, squeezing gently as the two of you kissed. You hummed, smiling up at him, “Welcome home.”

“I’ve got something for you,” he lifted his briefcase as emphasis.

“I’ve got my own one of those,” you reminded him teasingly, then got yourself a glass of water as he pulled an envelope out of the briefcase.

As your husband slid it across the table, you could see that it had already been opened, likely by him. You set your cup down as you looked at him curiously, silently questioning what brought this on. When you opened the envelope, a small sob passed through your lips and you reached inside to pull out the small crown.

“Oh my God it’s so cute,” you crooned, eyes wide as you turned it over, unflattening the item so it could sit properly. James smiled at your excitement as you took in its size and then looked in the envelope once more, your eyes locking on Lizzie’s letter. You looked up at your husband, eyes big and wet with tears as realization dawned on you, “Oh my goodness.”

Your husband chuckled, walking over to you and wrapping an around your waist as you pulled out the letter, the both of you reading it together.

Dear Doctors Wilson and Wilson,

Lizzie is insistent that we write to you for her, we’ve tried to tell her that it isn’t necessary, but she really does like you pair. We hope the gift alongside this has reached you and your little one without any damage, and we send the biggest congratulations ever! We’re so grateful for what the both of you did for our little girl, and you deserve this step in life!

Again, congratulations!

You had tears running down your cheeks when James looked up at you again, and he chucked as he gently wiped them away, then kissed your lips, “You’re an amazing doctor honey, and you’re a great mother. Our little man is so lucky to have you, so am I, and all of your patients.”

“Don’t get me to soppy,” you chuckled at him, sniffling and waving a hand back and forth in front of your face. He chuckled, looking down when soft cries echoed through the monitor. Before you could act he snatched the device from your waist.

“I got him, go rest, I’ll be back in a minute,”

You nodded, still holding the letter in your hands as James took the small paper crown. He made his way to the source of the cries, smiling down at the baby as he lifted him in his arms and brought him against his chest.

“Hello,” he said softly, glad to finally be holding his son after a long day. He bounced him up and down as he walked over to a shelf in the corner of the room, photos of you and James lining it, as well as the day your son was born. A picture of him and House (which House tried to bribe you into getting rid off) also decorated the shelf.

James tucked the crown next to a photo of you and your little boy, taken by James when you first your son into the nursery, “There…your amazing mommy had that sent by a patient, a nice little girl.”

James hummed as he looked back down at the baby in his arms, who peered at his father in slight curiosity. It was like looking into a mirror, if the mirror only reflected one’s eyes. James smiled as he looked at your miniature, with the exceptions of James’s eyes. He smiled, “I’m sure you’ll be making your own paper crowns in no time, hm?”

Author’s Note: hi hi! I hope you enjoyed, I did find it super cute to write. Don’t be afraid to send more requests ( I’d personally love some Foreman ones ngl )

#fanfic #fanfiction writer #oneshots #reader insert #gregory house x reader #james wilson x reader #house x reader #gregory house #robert chase x reader #robert chase #pregnant reader #james wilson #eric foreman x reader #lisa cuddy

523 notes · View notes

hannieehaee · 6 months

Note

Can I request this? A wonwoo oneshot where they had a fight at the company which leads to the oc to storm out and later wonwoo finds out that on the way home she got really sick but at the moment the oc is in the library. So wonwoo mission is to get the oc out of there but she’s giving him the silent treatment somehow😁

content: established relationship, idol!wonwoo, afab reader, public argument, angst, fluff, etc.

wc: 987

a/n: i did my best to include all the main details of the prompt into a short drabble i hope u enjoy<3

masterlist

you knew you were being quite immature.

yeah, it was just a small altercation with wonwoo over some small thing, but that had just been what it snowballed into.

it had only been a few days since wonwoo got back from tour, having been gone for a few weeks with limited contact with you due to timezones and his packed schedule. you understood. you were no newbie at this. by now it had been a while since you had began dating wonwoo, so you were already an expert on the ins and outs of dating an idol. however, you still demanded some type of attention.

when wonwoo finally arrived, you had expected that maybe he'd try a little harder to spend time with you. while you understood that he was likely very tired from touring, seeing the way in which he isolated himself rather than dedicate at least a bit of his free time to you did hurt your feelings.

had he not missed you as much as you did him?

this led to a one-sided silent treatment. he, of course, didn't really notice as the two of you weren't spending much time together anyways. though you were still on speaking terms with him, you were very curt and short in your interactions. something which he, yet again, had no reaction to.

which is what led to an embarrassing argument just a few hours ago. at the company. in front of his members.

it wasn't anything too big. it was mostly complaints about his terrible time management when it cane to sustaining your relationship. already hurt and having made the mistake of not communicating your issues to your boyfriend, you snapped when you stopped by the company to get lunch with him, only to be told he already had plans with his members.

after an embarrassing rant in front of half of seventeen, you stormed out, leaving a very confused wonwoo behind and finally allowing him to realize that he had unknowingly iced you out.

it felt like shit, to be quite honest. you felt invisible to him. was picking a fight the only way to get him to react?

things weren't always like this. wonwoo had always been the most comforting person you'd known. maybe he was a little reserved and shy at times, but he was always showing you his unconditional love. whether it was through his words or through silent acts of affection, he had never made you feel unwanted or ignored.

even when he'd return from a tiring tour, he'd isolate himself with you. you'd lock yourselves away from the world and simply exist with one another, encompassing each other in the love you shared. this time around, wonwoo had somehow forgotten about you, simply sharing a living space with you rather than being your home.

the worst thing was that he was entirely unaware. the moment you confronted him, you could see the shock in his eyes. wonwoo hadn't even realized he had been withholding himself from you emotionally. the more frustrated your voice grew as you ranted, the more his confusion transformed into hurt. he was hurt at the realization that you'd been hurting because of him – all while he thought everything was fine.

this made you feel miserable as soon as you made your way out of the company. fully aware that you should've communicated your distress to him earlier, you still left, embarrassed at the scene you caused and hurt that he hadn't considered your feelings until you shoved them in his face.

was it so wrong of you to have wanted him to realize on his own? you thought he knew you better than anyone, so it shouldn't have been too difficult a task to realize. right?

and now you were alone.

upon leaving the scene, teary eyed and embarrassed that you had shown such a vulnerable part of yourself in such a public setting, – in front of some of his friends, at that – you went to the place that brought you most comfort. you needed silence, so you went to a secluded library in town.

you and wonwoo would sometimes frequent this place. as both a bookworm and the girlfriend of a popular idol, this was one of the only places you could really go with wonwoo. it was secluded and quiet, meaning that you could simply exist around each other while not being perceived by anyone else. the memory of your times together there made you feel unable to concentrate, so you simply sat in silence for a while.

it wasn't too difficult for wonwoo to find you there. he had assumed you wouldn't just go back home, so he searched from you in places he knew you loved. this had been his second guess, right after the han river, where you would sometimes walk together at night.

sitting in your usual spot, wonwoo quietly approached you, sitting next to you. neither of you said anything. the first contact between you two came in the form of wonwoo's pinky seeking your own, twisting it with yours in a sweet manner. there was no way for you to deny him, so you humored him, eventually holding his hand as his fingers graced your own.

"im sorry," he whispered, looking down at his lap.

"yeah?", you whispered back.

"i take you for granted sometimes. you wait for me here and you put up with my hectic life and i ... i forget that i should reassure you of my love. im so sure of how i feel about you that i forget to let you know every single day. it wont happen again," he finished, eyes now boring into yours.

"can you say it?"

"i love you. you'll never have to ask me again. okay? i love you."

"i love you too."

"let me take you home?" he asked, leaning into you as you sat side by side.

"yeah."

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagine #svt #seventeen oneshot #svt oneshot #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo oneshot #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo angst #wonwoo x reader

803 notes · View notes

murdockparker · 6 months

Text

Expectations

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: While the honeymoon may be well and over, the new Mrs. Bridgerton has yet to make her presence in the ton since the wedding. Anxious as ever, she listens to her husband and gives it a go.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, reader is not pregnant, reader does not wish to be a mother, illusions to sex but no smut, drinking and drunkenness, fluffy fluff

A/N: Given the setting and time period, not wanting children is rather taboo, I feel. But not everyone wishes to be a mom and that's okay! I hope I did Benedict (and reader!!) justice!

On a far too quiet night in London, candles were beginning to grow short, along with the patience of a newly made missus.

“Must I go tomorrow?” (Y/N) sighed, turning to face her husband in earnest, placing her hairbrush on the vanity.

“And possibly insult Lady Danbury again this season?” Benedict scoffed, looking up from his sketchbook. He had been making good on his earlier promise of the eve, giving his wife a worthwhile portrait. He had already made countless, of course, but this one was to be the best yet. “Darling you cannot keep avoiding her forever."

“Here I thought that was a Bridgerton specialty,” (Y/N) hummed, turning back to her mirror, keen to note Benedict’s crooked smirk in the reflection. “But if you insist that I cut our honeymoon short—”

“You know better than I that our honeymoon is well and over,” Benedict said, suddenly at his wife’s side, hands growing restless on her shoulders. “As much as it pains me to admit, and it does, truly, the rest of the ton is far too eager to make the newest Mrs. Bridgertons acquaintance.”

Kisses were peppered down her neck, just below her ear, warm and sticky enough to halt her thinking. “Life was much easier in the country,” she reminisced fondly. The lady was unsure if the fact her husband was making dutiful work on her skin was clouding her judgment, but her mind yearned for the weeks they had spent in bed, alone and carefree. “No need for this… fodder.”

“Ah to be a woman in the season,” Benedict jested, brushing her hair aside. “But I do think it’s a right idea to go to the soiree. If it makes you feel better, I do believe the duchess is planning to attend.”

(Y/N) groaned, pushing Benedict away. “Just as you begin to seduce your wife you find it fair to mention your younger sister?”

He could only laugh. “I was unaware I was seducing my wife, I merely thought I was helping with her hair.”

“And the fine work on my neck was helpful... how?”

His fingers brushed through her hair again, slowly, deliberately. “Well, considering I was partially to blame for it’s unruliness, I figured I could only offer my services. I fear it came across as unhelpful.”

She fought back a grin. “I will go to Lady Danbury’s soiree,” (Y/N) said, looking Benedict in the eyes through the mirror. “But only if you promise to assist with the rest of my… hair.”

“What kind of a husband would I be if I refused?”

—

The carriage ride was as uneventful as she could have imagined. Not only did she loathe the rocking of the cab, but to not have Benedict’s company across from her—or under her—made the entire ordeal less appealing. Still, she persisted through the boredom and arrived to Danbury House, fashionably on time.

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury greeted, flicking her cane towards the not-so-new bride. “How lovely you managed to pry yourself from your cottage in the country and rejoin proper society.”

“Lady Danbury,” (Y/N) bowed, smiling as politely as she could. “You think little of me, I would never dare to miss one of your illustrious eves. My mother always spoke fondly of them—as truthful as she decided to be with me, that is.”

“A shame your mother isn’t joining us, those nasty headaches of hers will surely do her in.”

“Father sent for a tea from France,” (Y/N) recalled from her last correspondence with her parents. “I believe it was a recommendation from you, if I am not mistaken?”

“Your parents would do well from listening to me from time to time, I should hope you take the same advice,” Lady Danbury smiled, looking directly at (Y/N), gaze narrowing. “Do enjoy yourself tonight, dear. One tends to forget oneself whilst in a marriage.”

A footman ushered her into the great hall, handfuls of married women of the ton flocked to the walls, drinks already in hand. A few familiar faces flitted her memory as she walked past. Lady Green and Mrs. Harrison, both far too eager to set her up with their respective sons in the last season, smiled kindly as she nodded towards them. Dowager Countess Fairbanks was eagerly replacing her empty glass with another, the loss of Earl Fairbanks was still fresh in the public eye, it seemed. Then, there was Lady Kent, smoking away in the corner, grateful no men were around to stop such nonsense.

“Mrs. Bridgerton! I did not expect to see you here!”

(Y/N) turned to the cheery voice, belonging only to the Duchess Hastings herself.

“Your Grace,” (Y/N) smirked, addressing her sister-in-law properly.

“Daphne,” the duchess corrected, as she had many a time during (Y/N)’s courtship with Benedict. “I must say, I hardly think anyone expected your presence tonight. Surely my brother couldn’t have found it in himself to allow you to escape for the evening easily.”

“I shall spare you the sordid details of my trickery,” (Y/N) said with a murmur, her voice laced with a secret. “Considering they involve your brother and whatever little clothing he possessed.”

“Oh please,” Daphne waved. “You are married, I hardly think it is much to guess you and Benedict have been in such a state thus far.”

“If I may be so honest,” (Y/N) giggled, accepting a flute of a bubbly drink from a server, “he was the one who begged me to attend this evening. I was more of the mind to stay in and continue to enjoy our library here in London.”

“I did not know Benedict’s bachelor lodgings possessed a library.”

“They did not, which is why we purchased a new estate not too far from your Mama’s,” (Y/N) said with a smile. “‘Bachelor no more’, I believe were his exact words when he showed me the deed. It’s quite a lovely place. If I did not prefer the country so much I think I would like to stay here year-round.”

“I expect an invitation for tea sometime, then,” Daphne cooed, clearly overjoyed at her new sister’s happiness. “I assume there’s an adequate number of rooms?”

“Enough for a proper studio for Benedict’s leisure, a modest library for myself, an enchanting dining room and…” Her glass raised to her lips nervously. “I believe that to be all.”

“No nursery, then?”

“You Bridgertons and baby-rearing,” (Y/N) said, nearly sputtering her drink. “I say, you’re already on baby three, is that not correct?”

Daphne nearly radiated with joy at the mere mention of her children—a doting mother in every regard. “Oh yes, number three will be joining us in due time,” her hand grazing over her apparent bump. “But I believe you neglected to answer my question.”

“I think I am in need of far more drink to even entertain the question, dear sister,” (Y/N) downed the rest of her drink, hoping the dim lighting did an adequate job hiding her growing flush.

“Very well,” Daphne conceded, still holding her small bump as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “I believe Kate has begun in the game room if you wish to join me in finding her?”

“Spending my night with my darling new sisters? Without my husband or your brothers to muck up our conversations and vex us? I must say, that might be your best idea yet, Your Grace.

The duchess merely laughed as she led present company into the ballroom—now outfitted with many tables to accommodate the games of the night’s festivities. (Y/N)’s eyes went wide, clearly taken aback by the sheer sight of it all. Wives and widows alike, smoking and drinking over every inch of the transformed ballroom.

“I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to come to many of these things,” she shuddered in awe, leaning closer to Daphne.

“I haven’t,” Daphne said truthfully. “I’m usually back at Clyvedon with my family, it just so happens I’m in town on other business this go around to not ignore Lady Danbury.”

While it was difficult to get the Bridgertons all under one roof—with each new marriage and child that task became even more daunting—the brood did get together recently to celebrate the christening of both Edmund and Belinda. Anthony’s first and Daphne’s second. It wasn’t much of a shock that Daphne shared the news of a third Basset at the christening, either.

“Regardless,” (Y/N) took her place at a game table, sitting beside the duchess. “I’d much appreciate the evening to move swiftly, lest I spend more time away from home than I need.”

“Eager to get back in the bedroom with Benedict?”

The new Viscountess Bridgerton, Kate, spoke up behind the ladies as she took it upon herself to be seated next to her sisters.

“I was thinking more along the lines of his study,” (Y/N) hummed, feeling herself grow warm with honesty. “Perhaps our library? We do have a handful of new rooms to enjoy and christen, I think.”

“I recall making a similar promise to Anthony after our honeymoon,” Kate reminisced, smiling wickedly. “Makes me miss such a time in my marriage.”

“Miss a time?” (Y/N) laughed, accepting a drink from a roaming server. “You and Anthony only have been wed a bit over a year. Surely the flame has not died out?”

“No, no, not died out,” Kate quickly corrected. “It’s just, now with Edmund in our care, our flame has dimmed a bit—exhaustion keeps us both at bay to get at it like we once did.”

“Simon and I had a similar take after Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne chimed in.

“Yet here you are, awaiting your third child in three years,” Kate barked with laughter.

“As you said, sister,” Daphne sipped her lemonade, “it merely dimmed.”

If her face had blanched, the dim lighting of the game room had the entire part of disguising her discomfort at the idea—the mere idea that her want for Benedict could possibly wane.

“Dimmed,” (Y/N) repeated.

“Say, it’s been a few months since your wedding,” Kate noted, “do you and Benedict have plans for children soon? I expect with your new house a nursery is just begging to be filled.”

A polite laugh escaped her lips, humor long forgotten. “We haven’t much discussed the matter of children.”

“Oh, come off it!” Kate admonished. “Surely you and your husband want to aid in the Bridgerton grandchildren numbers? I recall Anthony mentioning an old wager between them on who would have the most children."

“A wager—you’re not serious?”

“Oh, that was merely a jest between brothers, I’m sure,” Daphne said, placing her steady hand on (Y/N)’s. Even in the candlelight, she could tell her newest sister-in-law was having no part in this conversation. “And knowing my brothers, it cannot be held to any regard.”

“Anthony seemed serious enough about it when I was carrying Edmund,” Kate shrugged. “No matter! We are here to play cards, yes?”

It was hard to pay attention to the game at hand—literally. With doubt and endless thoughts swimming through the new Mrs Bridgerton’s head, her glass never emptied and her mind never ceased. She won a sizable amount of money somehow—Daphne mumbled something along the lines of ‘rotten cards’ as she pushed the notes and coins to (Y/N)’s pot.

“You’re sure you do not wish to spend the night here?” Lady Danbury offered much later in the evening, just as nearly every guest had left. Only the Bridgerton ladies remained. “I can have a guest room made up in a blink.”

“Ben will be anxious for my arrival,” (Y/N) slurred, trying to remain upright. “I shan’t keep him waiting.”

“I thought we intercepted enough of her drinks,” Daphne whispered, words only meant for Kate.

“She must have snuck a few on her way to the chamberpot,” the viscountess realized, albeit a bit too late.

“I can handle my drinks just fine,” (Y/N) said, trying to cross her arms. It only took her two attempts. “Honestly, I just want to get home to my husband, thank you.”

“I will ride with her to her estate,” Daphne offered, already getting in (Y/N)’s carriage. “My carriage will follow close behind and I will retreat as soon as I see her enter her home safely.”

“What a good sister you are,” (Y/N) cooed, hand cupping Daphne’s face lovingly. “I wish I had a sister like you.”

“If you remember anything, let it be this, please just write to me in the morning,” Kate sighed, giving up hope on the cause. “Lest you want an angry visit from me tomorrow after you break your fast.”

“Get home safe,” (Y/N) listed, “write to Kate, do not make her angry. I think I got it.”

“Perhaps we should pin a note to her dress?” Lady Danbury laughed.

“I shall tell one of the maids to remind her,” Daphne said. “So she has no excuse.”

“You lot are being awfully nice to me,” (Y/N) said, stepping up into the carriage. The footmen were doing most of the work. “Nicer than I deserve right about now.”

“You’re family,” Kate said simply. “Besides, I reckon we have a part to play on just how much you’ve drank…”

“Quite,” Daphne nodded. (Y/N) began to look rather green. “Lady Danbury, I don’t suppose you have a pot or vase you don’t care much about?”

Wordlessly, a butler came running, holding a rather ornate bowl in his hands. After passing it off to the duchess, (Y/N) took it quickly and held it close to her head.

“Do make sure Mrs. Bridgerton cleans it thoroughly before returning it.”

—

The sunlight hurt.

In all of her years on this planet, the sunlight had never hurt as much as it did in this moment. A errant afternoon in the park, perhaps, leaving her skin a tad bit warm to the touch, but never did it sting like this.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Benedict sighed, walking over to her side of the bed. When had she gotten in bed?

“Unfortunately,” (Y/N) groaned, somehow managing to pull herself up to be seated. Her husband—doting as he was—had a tray of food and a pitcher of water waiting for her. “What’s this?”

“Charcoal,” Benedict tried his best to make it sound appetizing. By the look on his wife’s face, it had failed. “I had Cook mix it with some marmalade on bread to help with the taste. You need to sop up the booze somehow, love.”

“I didn’t drink that much,” (Y/N) lied, knowing full well she couldn’t fool even herself with it.

“I have never seen you in such a state,” Benedict nearly whispered, setting the silver tray on her lap. “I already sent correspondence to Daphne to thank her for insuring you got home safely.”

She took a hesitant bite of the bread. It wasn’t as awful as she imagined. Left much to be desired, sure, but it would do the job.

“I sent to Kate,” Benedict continued. “Told her you would meet her for tea later this week, as you obviously needed your sleep this morning.”

Another bite of the bread managed to go down before she reached for the glass of water in Benedict’s hand. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m still at a loss, however,” Benedict sighed. “What exactly went on at Danbury House?”

“I believe I need far more charcoal bread to entertain that conversation.”

“(Y/N).”

“It was a ladies night,” she chewed, trying her best to swallow her bite. “I cannot share what lewd gossip possibly came from it.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, beginning to wring his wrists mindlessly as he searched for the correct words to say. She hadn’t seen him do it since the day he proposed. Benedict Bridgerton was anxious.

“You said something, last night,” he finally confessed.

“I reckon I said a lot last night,” (Y/N) laughed lightly, polishing off her unfortunate breakfast.

“As I was trying to get you into bed, you kept mumbling a bunch of incoherent nonsense,” Benedict smirked lightly, “most of it made me laugh.”

“Glad to be a never-ending source of your entertainment.”

“You mentioned something about a baby.”

She didn’t dare look up at him.

“A few times, actually,” Benedict said. “Now, I don’t know what came of it, perhaps Daphne’s new addition sparked such an interest or you are with child now but—”

“But you wish for a baby,” (Y/N) finished for him, clasping her hands together. “Soon, yes?”

“What?”

“You purchased a new estate,” her hand motioned to their large bedchamber, “with various new rooms to fill with Bridgerton babies. A nursery already set up by our staff is only just down the hall. It’s only natural you expect that of me, given our honeymoon is over.”

“I bought our new home because my bachelor lodgings had nothing you loved,” Benedict corrected. “You yourself said you wished for an extensive library—I merely acted on those wishes.”

“Everyone expects us to have a baby soon,” (Y/N) groans, head in her hands. “All night I kept getting bombarded with questions and speculations about it! Most of it came from my very own family! Sure, I can handle a bit of gossiping from ladies who have nothing better to talk about, but my new family?”

“I had no idea—”

“It was the sole reason I had no desire to go last eve!” (Y/N) finally shouted, as if she meant to reach the heavens. “I know what is expected of me as a wife but what if—what if I don’t wish for that?”

“You do not wish for children?”

“No!” (Y/N) shook her head. “Well, maybe? Augh! I do not know!”

Benedict’s weight shifted on the bed, having now sat by his wife’s legs. “You do not need to know.”

“Of course I do,” she gasped. “I was raised for two things—to marry a respectable man and to have his respectable babies. One of those things I accomplished without much of a second thought—”

“I’m glad you thought so little about marrying me,” Benedict jested.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“It made you smile, so I think the comment was well worth it.”

It had made her smile, she realized. The near-permanent frown of the morning seemed to have eased away with her husband’s jest.

“Every time someone asked me about it,” (Y/N) finally admitted, “I found another drink to drown myself in. I don’t believe anyone but perhaps Daphne really saw what was happening.”

“Does the idea of children really cause you such anguish?”

“It’s just—we’re so happy now,” (Y/N) took Benedict’s hand in her own. “I don’t want to muck up the joy and elation we have in each other by bringing a baby into the mix so soon.”

“We never really spoke on the topic,” Benedict said. “In our courtship, I mean. Usually a topic such as that one finds its way onto the stage, but somehow we evaded it.”

She held her breath.

“Truth be told, I never really gave children much of a thought, if at all,” Benedict chuckled, “far too interested in other pursuits. But, that’s not to say such a topic hasn’t been on my mind of late.”

“Has it?”

“Well, with my new nieces and nephew running around—crawling, I suppose—it may have sparked interest in me, yes,” Benedict looked directly at his wife. “But, for all intents and purposes, having a child requires two people and if you have any hesitancy in the topic—no matter little or seemingly small—I do not wish to further the endeavor.”

“What if I am never ready?” Her voice was small, the sound nearly dissolving against the down of the bedding.

“Then we will live a perfectly happy life regardless. You with your books and me with my paint,” Benedict squeezed her hand. Full of love, full of support. “More importantly, we will live such a happy life together.”

Perhaps it was the headache, or the pain from the bright morning sun, but (Y/N) felt the tears she had been holding back finally spill down her cheeks. Without even a second thought, Benedict pulled her into his arms and allowed her to cry, rubbing her back with thoughtful circles. He had somehow already moved the tray out of the way, as if he was preparing for a reaction like this. He knew her too well, knew her better than anyone could ever plan to know her. This thought only made her cry harder.

“What did I do to deserve you?” (Y/N) asked no one in particular, sniffling as she tried to compose herself.

“I rather think I should be asking you that,” Benedict said softly, kissing her brow.

“You truly do not care if I never decide to want children?” (Y/N) asked again, needing to hear her husband’s answer one more time.

“You could decide tomorrow and change your mind a hundred times and I will always be in your corner,” Benedict said seriously. “That is what a husband does. That is what I do for you.”

She smiled.

“Although, I will need to take special care in ensuring you do not become with child accidentally—we’ve been lucky thus far, but I do not consider myself much of a betting man…”

“Were the races last week an oversight, then?”

“Ah, but that was a sure thing,” Benedict snuggled her closer, “what was merely a point to best my brother ended up with us having a healthy amount of spending money! More paints and books in our possession. A win-win if I ever saw one.”

“Kate mentioned something last night,” (Y/N) tried her best to look up at Benedict, but his tight embrace made it difficult. “Something about a bet you and Anthony had regarding children?”

“Oh,” his cheeks flushed, “that.”

“So it is true?”

“In the sense we made such a bet? Yes,” Benedict nodded. “But we made that bet years ago—back when the only idea of us having children regarded heirs for the title, never fathoming we’d do it out of love.”

“What did you wager?”

Benedict smiled, finally pulling away from his wife to look at her directly. “Five pounds.”

“That is all?” She nearly shrieked with laughter. “With such a serious bet I truly would have thought you would have put more on the wager.”

“I suppose I am still expected to pay up one day,” Benedict said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I shall gift it to him on Edmund’s eighteenth birthday?”

She smiled at the thought. “I think that would make an excellent present.”

“Because even if we are to have any children,” Benedict continued, “and that is still very much up in the air, surely Anthony and Kate will be constantly going at it to rival my dear Mama for the title of most Bridgerton babes.”

“Giving him a win regardless,” (Y/N) said. “I believe you’re right.”

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel this way about children,” Benedict said, “I never want you to feel as if your voice does not matter. We are equals in this marriage—partners—in every sense of the word.”

“I may one day change my mind,” (Y/N) amended, choosing her words carefully. “But as of right now, I think we’re perfectly suited the way we are.”

“Well suited, indeed,” he agreed, pressing another kiss to her cheek. “But, I do think this morning calls for a bath—as much as I adore your natural musk, my love, I already had the staff begin to warm water up for you.”

She took a moment to sniff herself. She smelled of sick, smoke and booze. How Benedict was not repulsed was beyond her. “Oh. I suppose a bath is… ideal.”

He rose from the plush bed, outstretching his hand for his wife to take.

“A bath for two, I should mention,” he grinned wickedly. A grin she had loved from the minute she met him. A grin that made her feel wanted and safe, all in the same breath.

She took his hand.

#Benedict Bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x Reader #Bridgerton #Bridgerton x Reader #reader insert #fluff #is this self indulgent? perhaps #I'm very much on the fence about children like reader is #children can be a blessing!! but not everyone wants one #anyway... enjoy!

573 notes · View notes

writingforatwistedworld · 9 months

Note

A request...

Dunno if this has been done already but A self aware Azul, Trey, and Lilia reacting to the player saying they "had a bad day but seeing them made it much better".

Let me know if this is confusing and you're free to not answer of course

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsessive behavior, unhealthy behavior, mentions of blood, mentions of war, death, bad cringe humor bc I haven't written for a while

Trey Clover/ Azul Ashengrotto/Lilia Vanrouge-"Seeing you made my day better!"

Oh, are you alright?

The second you returned to them, Trey could tell that something was wrong with you

A bad day perhaps?

If he could talk to you he would sit you down to talk about what (or who) ruined your day (whilst secretly planning their demise but pshh)

But then you suddenly stare at the screen and drop something like that at him? Whew... I-I think he is swooning

He almost forgets that you are having a horrible time before all of this until he finally sees you having a strained expression once more before going off

Oh ok. This is fine. This is totally fine. Haha... TOTALLY FINE

Like, imagine my mans expression

He feels honored that you feel and think that way about him but at the same time...

Bro over here can't really help

He tries to be as present as possible after that

(Toatally not like a cat throwing itself on your lap for attention)

In his mind, the more present he is the better you feel

(Not like peeps play games to escape reality but sure, if Trey wants to see himself as your emotional aspirin then sure)

But perhaps his attention really helped, perhaps something good just happened that got you in a good mood

So when you finally said that seeing him made your day so much better it felt like the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds after a long storm

Well, luckily he didn't need to conspire with Draconia to get you here anymore

But then again, if what you said was true then him being with you would keep you happy all the time, right?

Oh what he does for his go-I mean his uncrowned ruler

This brings back a lot of dark memories for him

And I mean that literally

His memories of these days are filled with him sitting in a dark corner of his little pot

Only with the difference that for him his ray of light was food, for you it… is whatever this is

It does surprise him though

You, the high scholar, wisest of the wise, were more human than he imagined you to be

Well, to be fair, it was easy to imagine you as that unfeeling being that hovered over all of them

Day after day did the octopus see you do whatever you came to do and then go again

Although… you always made sure to check on him whilst having that faint smile on your face

How sweet. Doesn’t make him worry any less though

Until one day you finally tell him that seeing him made your day better

Wow… how is he supposed to react to that?

His inspiration for everything he does sees him in that light

This totally won’t get to his now. Naw. I have no idea what you are talking about

Continue to tell him that. Tell him how much his presence makes you happy

And if you should look in the direction of some unfortunate NPC that unknowingly made you laugh he will see red

Interesting, his cane looks a bit red as well. The handle area should be cleaned again… why is it so sticky?

Lilia is not amused

Sleep deprived, yes, but not amused

Oh why that? Well, this father decided to pray even more to you in order to cheer you up

Now, if you know anything about Lilia in this au then you also know how religious he is, so him praying even more? Uh… perhaps he gets two hours of sleep at best

You are his god so surely you hear his words, asking you why your expression is always so sad, so exhausted

STOP SHARPENING YOUR SWORD YOU OLD BAT THERE IS NO NEED TO START A HOLY WAR IN THE OVERSEERS NAME WTF MADE YOU EVEN THINK OF THAT SOLUTION??!

Anyways, if Lilia is not in a good mood, so is entire Diasomnia. He is more or less the dorms old and wise fairy grandmother who hands out advice like lollipops so when he is not in a good mood, so is nobody else

No matter what the local group of non-violent military trained guys do, they just can’t cheer up their usually oh so happy teacher and guide

Lilia reminds the NPCs of the dorm of a certain general they read about in the history books (but there is no way that could be Lilia)

Until one day he walks in like he is in a romance anime, looking up with sparkling eyes to the altar and thanking your statue for your favor

If this was any other dorm, he would have been send to the school therapist (oh yeah, they have a shrimp instead of that)

When asked by his son what happened Lilia just looks up, still with that weird look in his eyes, tells him that “I have finally been noticed by our grace”

Malleus is telling Sebek in the meantime to call for a doctor because it seems like their general just lost his last few marbles

What really happened was Lilia heads down dangling from who knows where, perhaps the cafeteria chandelier, and asking himself what could have made you so sullen the last few days

Until suddenly you zipped in, looked at him (probably once up to his knees and then down to his head whilst saying “Mhm. Looks good.”) and were like “Seeing you made my day better.”

That was the moment when Lilia lost his grip on the metal and fell face-first, thankfully it was already late so no one was present but if I got a coin every time he fell like that I would have one, which tells us how rarely that happens

How about you go to whatever NPCs that govern the other countries and warn them that there is a high low-key mad general who would start would annihilation if you so much as feel slightly sluggish

You know those people who need to hear compliments constantly so they don't go bananas? Yeah

Whoops. Seems like you complimented the uniform of Octavinelles uniforms after seeing one of their NPCs. Wonder what happened to that guy. He isn't attending his classes anymore, that's for sure

619 notes · View notes

heartmix · 6 months

Text

Injury Prone - Andrei Svechnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x wife!reader

Word Count: 500+

Warning: Child injury, didn't care to proofread that much

A/N: I love this man so much. He and Freddie are why I love the canes to much.

Masterlist / Hockey Masterlist

"You know you're never going to hear the end of this right." You glared at your husband who slumped more into his seat, feeling the harsh glare you were throwing him.

Your son was at that age where he wanted to do everything his father was doing. Skating was the start of it. Turns out he had his father's skills because in no time he was skating with ease. The newest fixation was golf. Andrei constantly went golfing now that it was the off-season. It was only a matter of time before the mini version of him wanted to try golf also.

Golf was supposed to be the way safer option which is why you weren't worried about an all-day boys trip. Unluckily for the boys, the need to impress the 5-year-old was a priority during the trip. That top priority resulted in your son falling out of the golf cart while being taken on a joy ride up and down the hills of the course.

Normally a fall would have no effect on the little boy. The amount of times he's fallen while learning to skate and then getting back up one would think he wasn't human. That boy has been injuring himself since he could crawl. But when you saw the way he was favoring his arm when he got back home you knew something was wrong.

"Oh come on, did you see how excited he was to get an x-ray? Little dude is charming all the nurses and his doctor in there." Andrei tried to make you feel better, feel less angry but it didn't help. No one liked sitting in the hospital waiting room waiting for their child to get out of the x-ray room.

"I knew I shouldn't of had a kid with a hockey player." You grumbled making him groan. He knew that was a joke and that your grumbling was second nature, but he couldn't help but feel super guilty.

"Mr. and Mrs. Svechnikov?" The doctor called out to the both of you as you rushed ready to hear whatever news it was.

"Well, the x-rays came back clean. Nothing is broken. He just sprained it pretty badly, but other than that he is okay. We put a sling on him and we recommend to leave it on for a few days. After that, you can take him out of it. If it still feels a bit sore you can easily put him back in the sling. We also will be sending you home with some pain medicine if it gets hard to sleep at night."

"Thank you very much Dr. Johnson."

"My pleasure. I'll have the nurse get the discharge papers ready. He's back in the room waiting for you both. Have a good day." The doctor bid a farewell as you felt a sigh leaving Andrei. Of course for the fact that his son was perfectly fine (he knew that already) but for the fact that his wife wasn't going to kill him.

"You too doctor."

"See, our baby boy is perfectly fine." He smiled down at his wife whose glare didn't drop for a second.

"You're still sleeping on the couch. Not even the spare bedroom."

"Are you serious?"

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

289 notes · View notes

sorbetisfruity · 1 year

Text

Part twooooo to my Crowely fic!!

Oh Crowley, why can’t you get your lazy crow ass up and find us a way home?:(((

Also I’m sorry for such a late post!! I fucked up my ankle and had to be in the hospital for a lil bit!

Part 1 Part two

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

You awoke to frantic yelling. The person (people??? It sounded like more than one at this point…) sounded worried and scared.

“What did you do to them?! Why did we find them PASSED OUT on your office floor Dire Crowley?!” A voice screeched out.

Oh yeah, that’s what happened.

You went off on the headmaster of the school you were forced into. The school you were forced into because you were sent here on accident and that stupid mirror can’t send you back.

And that said headmaster hasn’t been looking for a way home for you.

Now, you have zero hope of going home.

And your body hurts.

Your body hurts a lot.

It feels like there’s a cauldron on your chest. It’s heavy. You can barely breath.

Your head feels as if Crowley hit you in the head with his cane a dozen times. You can’t tell if you’re about to throw up or pass out all over again..

“I didn’t do anything! They came in, and passed out on my floor.” Crowley defended himself, completely leaving out the whole “yelling and crying” part.

“It sounded like it was way more than that.” Someone chimed in, sounding tired and pissed off.

…was that Leona??

“It was more than that..” you croaked out, opening your eyes and trying to sit up. “Way more than that..actually..”

“PREFECT!!” A series of voices shouted. You could vaguely make out their blurry figures as they ran over to you.

“Prefect, are you alright?!” Deuce yelped as he was pushed to the side almost immediately by Floyd.

“Shrimpy!! We came as soon as we heardddd!! What happened? Do I need to squeeze somebody?” He said, winking as he pointed at Crowley.

You smiled weakly, admiring his efforts to make you feel better.

Your arms nearly gave out as you tried to sit up, you felt a hand land on your back to steady you.

“Take it easy. We don’t want you getting more hurt than you already are, Prefect.”

You looked to your other side, seeing Riddle in all of his glory.

God, was everyone here??

You looked around, seeing that, yeah, everyone really came to see you.

From Leona and Ruggie, to Malleus and Lilia.

You didn’t realize they cared so much about you..

God damnit.

This makes everything so much harder.

How were you supposed to go back home knowing these guys care about you?

“Hey Herbivore, you never answered us. What happened back there?” Leona spoke, sitting down on the edge of your bed and breaking your trance.

Were you in the nurses office???

“Oh..uhm..well..I went into Crowleys office to ask him if he finally found me a way home..” you said, seeing everyone’s expressions drop as you spoke.

Gazing at everybody, you realized their once concerned expressions now looked distraught and upset.

Especially Malleus’s. Who made eye contact with you before looking at the ground, not daring to look you in the eyes.

“As most of you know, we helped Vil with his overblot yesterday..”

“And I got hurt, everybody got hurt! I almost got poisoned, I am burnt and beaten, I LIMPED to Crowleys office. I didn’t walk, I limped because my leg hurts so fucking badly.”

You could see Vil flinch out of the corner of your eye, making you look down at the bed guiltily.

Everyone looked so sad. You’re making everyone sad.

God you feel awful..

“Listen, I’m only a student, okay? A magicless one at that. I don’t have any magic to fight like you guys do. I’m practically useless in fights and magic related classes!! Do you know how hard it is to tackle these overblots when you’re magicless? I have to rely on my strength to get through these fucking things. And when they’ve been happening back-to-back for WEEKS now?? It’s hard to heal. Mentally and physically.”

“And, I love you guys so much, I promise you. I don’t regret meeting or befriending any of you. I could never regret meeting or befriending any of you. Don’t get me wrong, you guys can get annoying!” You said, looking at Ace and Grim, who gave you an offended look.

“But I love you guys a lot. I couldn’t be happier to have friends like you all.”

After your little heart-to-heart speech, they seemed a lot happier.

Lilia came over to cling to you, grabbing your left arm as Grim jumped into your lap, nuzzling you lovingly.

Leona laid down at your feet, curled up. It almost seemed as if he was going to take a nap..

Malleus came over to your left side as well, joining Lilia as he held your hand.

Azul rubbed your back comfortingly as Kalim grabbed your other hand, an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

“But guys, I’m so tired. I’m in so much pain 24/7. I can barely get any sleep because I’m in constant agony.” You complained, frowning as you looked at your legs.

There were little colorful bandages placed on all of your cuts now. But the bruises littered around still remained. They popped out to you more than the neon bandages now.

“I miss home. I miss homecooked meals and my parents! I miss my old, warm bedroom and my bed! My bed at Ramshackle feels like I’m sleeping on concrete. The meals I cook don’t taste the same anymore. Hell I can barely afford food for both me and Grim because Crowley doesn’t give us enough money. There’s been so many nights where I’ve went to bed hungry because I didn’t want Grim to.”

You could feel everyone stare at you as you talked, making you feel embarrassed.

You’re really letting everyone know everything. All the bullshit you’ve went through since you got here.

“And it’s not like I can get a job anywhere around here because no one’s hiring! And I’ve already tried everywhere here. I’ve begged and pleaded with every shop owner here, but no one will hire me because they “don’t need any help” or “already have too much staff”! But I know the real reason is because I’m magicless. I can’t do anything if I don’t have magic!!” You squeezed Malleus’s and Kalims hands as you talked, gritting your teeth as you teared up.

“I’m just…I’m so sick of it guys. I love you all so much but..ever since I got here it’s been problems and battles and various accidents left and right. I’m exhausted. I’m homesick. I’m so burnt out!! Hell, I have no idea how I’m able to keep my grades up when most of these classes involve magic. I think the teachers just take it easy on me..” you trailed off, picking at a neon blue bandaid on your leg.

“I’m so sorry for causing all of this trouble. I never meant for any of this bullshit to happen, I..” you winced as you pulled a little too hard on the bandaid you were picking at.

“…I just wanted to see if he had found me a way home yet..”

The room was flooded with silence once you stopped talking.

No one knew what to say. And, really, what could they say?

Some understood how you felt. Others had no idea, as they have never experienced this before.

However, there was one emotion everyone in that room shared.

Sadness.

They could feel the sadness wash over them like waves as you talked about home and how you miss it.

Malleus’s hand squeezed yours consolingly, making you look up at everyone.

“..Prefect.”

You turned your head towards the voice.

It was Vil.

He never called you prefect. It was always Potato, or Spudling, or Kartoffel!

And Kartoffel is just potato in German..

“I am sorry you are in so much pain. And I am sorry I have caused you so much suffering. If you’d like, I’m quite sure there is some sort of healing potion I can brew for you. That way you are in as little agony possible.” Vil took your hand from Kalim, holding it gently as to not hurt you more than he already has.

This was out of character for Vil. You never saw a soft side of him during the VDC.

But you can’t say you didn’t like it. It has been a while since you’ve been nurtured and taken care of.

Hell that hasn’t happened since..

Since you were at home. With your mother.

“And me and Jamil can cook some food for you!!! A good meal will heal you up!” Kalim said excitedly, leaning against the bed to get closer to you as he talked.

“And you are always welcome at the Mostro Lounge if you ever need some time to relax and take a breather, Prefect.” Azul spoke, still rubbing your back comfortingly.

“As you know, you’re always welcome at Heartslabyul. If you ever want to play some crochet or cards, or simply just want to relax? We’re here.” Riddle spoke, gesturing to Ace, Deuce, Cater, and Trey.

“And if your bed ain’t comfortable, come over to Savanaclaw. My beds comfy and has room for two, Herbivore.” Leona chimed in, sitting up and smirking at you.

You teared up as you looked at everyone.

You can’t believe they care about you so much. That they’d stay here and listen to you talk and offer to help you. That they actually came to see you and are worried about you.

You can’t believe that they..

That they actually care.

Tears ran down your face like waterfalls, making you let go of Vil’s and Malleus’s hands to wipe them away quickly.

“I’m sorry it was never my plan to cry in front of you all..god this so embarrassing..” you sobbed, frantically wiping your tears away.

“Prefect no!! It’s okay to cry. It’s okay. You can cry. We’re here for you.” Kalim spoke calmly, climbing up onto the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

“Kalim is right. It’s okay to cry Prefect. Get it all out..” Riddle agreed, patting your shoulder.

You could feel someone’s pointed nails running through your hair and scraping your scalp gently. It was relaxing, it felt so nice. It made you feel sleepier than you already did.

Azul rubbing your back so softly didn’t help either..

You yawned, leaning against Kalims soft shoulder as you closed your eyes.

“..thank you. I love you all so much…” you spoke sleepily, weakly raising your head to look at everyone.

“Of course Prefect. While you’re sleeping, I’ll go and make that healing potion.”

“And me and Jamil will make you some food while you’re sleeping as well. That way when you wake up, it’ll be ready!”

“Jade and Floyd will bring down some of our finest desserts from the Mostro Lounge.”

“And it can all take place at Heartslabyul. We can all play Crochet and relax together.”

“I’ll take you back to Savanaclaw for now Herbivore. You can sleep in my bed instead of this thing.”

You heard them converse and decide what to do as you slowly fell asleep, feeling lighter and sleepier than you have in a while.

You couldn’t be more thankful to have such amazing friends.

“Sleep well, Prefect.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

I’m so sleepy, and this is soooo longggg!! But I hope you guys enjoy it!!!!

1K notes · View notes

penelope-potter · 3 months

Text

Small Box~

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! Owl Hybrid! Reader

Summary: You and Alastor are about to renovate the Hotel after the Extermination, so you tried to repair what you could. Including the big wooden closet, Charlie got from her Dad. Since she's Incredible sad that it's broken you two decided to help her. Unfortunate that the closet closed you two up inside.

Part two

~~~~~~~~~

♥♥♥

"It's all broken..." Charlie looked at her old closet, close to tears. The other residents and you watched her quietly as she went around the wooden doors and tried to push the broken hooks back in the right place. She looked so sad. "Charlie-" "It was from my Dad..." Charlie didn't let her girlfriend finish her sentence. Instead she turned around to look at us. "...I always hide in there as we played hide and seek." She wiped a tear from her cheek. "I'm sorry it-it's stupid. It's just an old closet-" "No i'ts okay." You said, stepping closer. "I know how it feels when something what's important to you got crushed." You gently stroke her back and smiled. "We can try to put it back together if you like. We have so much material left. With a few new screws this will look like new." Charlie smiled, her eyes all watery. "Really?" "Of course." "Well my dear don't you cry no more. I'm pretty sure that (Y/N) and I are perfectly capable of repairing this old...fond thing of yours." Alastor suddenly appeared behind you as you turned around, and froze. It was something in his presence that leaves you thrilled. His appearance screamed 'stay away from him' but all you could feel was the desire to come closer to him. The only thing what was not as terrifying as anything else, is his voice which was somewhat soothing. You know about his 'no touching' rule better then anyone, but as someone who was very touch starved, this was hard to control. Especially when you were so close with everyone else.

But you liked him, so you stay away from him as far as possible, only admiring him from afar. Only when he's talking with you you jump in, but you never found the courage to talk to him directly. That he's now dragging you both in this boat is more than nerve wrecking than you could have imagined. You stood there awkwardly, while the others came up with excuses to not help you both. You glared to Angel who was only grinning like an idiot as he shut the door behind you two. You sighed. "Alright dear! Any ideas how to start with this old thing..." He lifted the door with his cane and raised an eyebrow, his smile never fading. It bites on your tongue to tell him that he basically could just miracle the damage away, but you remain silent. It wouldn't be right for Charlie. You wanted to repair it the real way. "Well, How about we do something about the shelves first? They are loosen and look like they're about to fall every second." You said and walked in the direction already, he still stood there and watched you as you tried to pull them out. "Shit." You cursed as you couldn't found the grip to pull them out. They were smashed into the back wall and as you already were about to come up with a solution how to fix that, you could hear footsteps behind you. "Here, let me help you sweetest." You could feel the flush of your cheeks as he leaned against your back and grabbed the shelve with both of his hands, incredible close to your own. His back was pressed against you and you froze as you could feel every muscle of him flex. You was used to his touch when he wanted to. But this was something new. "Come on pull!" You jumped a bit but pulled, as at the same time you could feel his breath against your neck. You tried your best to ignore it but this whole situation made your hands sweaty so you lost grip of the shelve and bumped into him once more. He held you at your arms, steadied you for balance as you jumped away from him. "Sorry!" You said in a high pitched voice and turned your head away from him. The heat unbearable in your head. "I-I think we should try to rip them out from underneath it...o-otherwise we won't be able to pull them out." You babbled and took a step into the surprisingly huge closet. You looked up and tried to figure out how to push the shelves out as you could feel him next to you again. "It's alright dear. You look kind of nervous. Is everything alright?" You hit your head as you wanted to come up again. "Y-yes! Of course..." "Then tell me, why are you so nervous right now?" He titled his head like a freaking dog. "I'm not I was just careful. I know that you don't like to be touched. That's all. I don't wanted to make you uncomfortable..." You said embarrassed- suddenly very aware of how awful kind of a joke you made of yourself.

He laughed, which made the whole thing not easier for you. "Oh darling don't be silly. It's alright when it's you." He leaned forward and you stepped back until your back hits the back wall. "Very funny..." You smiled crooked and turned around to get a hold of the doors. "Well maybe we should-" "Is that the reason you are avoiding me dearest? Because you are scared of me?" He teased. "I'm not scared of you, I just don't want to cross your boundaries that's a way of showing respect!" You snarled back at him, he still smiling and looking like he was enjoying all of this while you still fumbled over the door. "How adorable...but it makes me kind of sad to see you being so touchy with the others but me..." You tried to ignore him as he stepped into the closed next to you, you letting the axes swung back into place. "I did it-" Your sentence broke as the doors of the closet swung back, pulling you two inside. "Shit!" You cursed and could hear Alastor fall back on the side and you tripping over his feet. The next thing that happened was that the closet fell back with you two still in it, and you two collapsing and ended up tangled with each other on the floor. "Outch..." You said, he groaning. You needed a few seconds to bring the picture into place, and the shock ran through you like a thunder. You fell directly on top of the demon, the doors right above you keeping you both shut in itself like a cage. "Oh fucking hell, I'm-I'm sorry I'll get us two outside of this thing..." You apologize and tried to push you up finding a spot for your hands other than his chest, but failed miserably. You knocked your elbow against the doors but nothing happened. "I think it won't open..." He said, but instead of anger in his voice, it was calmness. "Yeah I see that..." You sighed and blinked. The little gap between the doors let a bit of light in so you could see him smile teasingly. "Well, since we're stuck in here, this is a great opportunity to get along with each other." You only hovered a few inches above him, trying you best to bring so much distance between you as possibly as he grabbed your hips pulling you onto him again. You were glad that it was so dark in here so he couldn't see the red in your face. "You're shaking. God you are such a sweet thing..." He sung as you only gripped the collar of his coat tighter. "Stop teasing me!" You said, he chuckling. "You like hugging don’t you?" He sung and let his claws wander over your tights. It brought shivers down your spine. "Alastor..."

"You don't need to be afraid of me. You are far too dearly to me to kill you. I grew fond of you dear." He let go of you, spreading his arms as much away as possible in this little space you got. "No false formality's. Go ahead, we will stuck in here for a little while until they find us.” You started at him in this almost completely dark box and hesitated a bit before you raised an eyebrow but slowly placed your head on his chest. “You could just do one of your magic tricks and get us out of here.” You said, ignoring the fact that your head is burning and you were suddenly very aware of where your body’s touching. His chest rose relaxed up and down, but his heart pondering in his chest. You could feel the vibration from his laugh as he lay a hand on your back. “Oh yes I could. But I think the King of Hell layed a little magic trick on it, so it’s blocking my powers.” You raised your head to look at him. “Really?” You asked surprised as you could feel his nose was just a few inches away from yours. “Sorry…” “No need to.” He sung and his grin grew wider. Fucking tease. “And yes dear, so I think it takes a bit of time for the others to find us.” “They will ask us why we didn’t called for help.” “Oh we tried but nobody heard us, so we just waited…” He let it sound all so easy, when in reality every inch of your body was heating up as he shifts slightly to change into a more comfortable position. His legs were spread to make way for your own, and you could feel his hip bones against yours. You tried desperately to ignore the fact of feeling every body part about him right now and just tried to steady your breathing. “Oh so stiffed up. Tell me dearest why do you act so nervous around me? What’s the matter? Do I frighten you so much?” He asked and you let out a shaky breath. “No. Like I said before I just wanted to respect your boundaries. Plus I don’t know if you’re just playing with me and now I went straight into your trap and I’ll regret it once we get out of here…” You muttered the last part but it was enough for him to hear it anyway. Even though you were right about it, he was shocked that you thought he would do that to you too. He sure was teasing you and invaded your personal space often, but this was just the way of showing you he cares. Somehow. You couldn’t know it, he realized now. “I’m offended that you think so low of me…” He started, as his hands wandered to your hips again. You gasped and he chuckled. “I guess since nobody’s going to hear us I can say it to you directly.” He started and his gaze wandered over your face, taking every inch in his view. The bit of lights which falls in, was enough to let you appear like a holy thing that got lost in hell. Some gem he found in a rotten place and now he’s going to pick it up, not letting anyone who ever dare to lay a finger on it go away with it. You were far too pure, too kind and far too good hearted to let anyone else find you. He would keep you close to him. If you would only let him. “Don’t you see it in the way I’m always close to you dear?” He titled his head as far as he was able to.

“...you were just too busy trying to make up space for me that you couldn’t see that I was just asking you to come a bit closer.” His words slapped you like a brick. He actually wanted you to touch him? Be close to him? “Why didn’t you just told me?” You asked offended. “Why didn’t you just asked either?” You sighed and dropped your head on his chest again. “So you don’t mind my presence like the others?” You asked, a slight smile appearing on your lips. He grins mouth closed while he trailed his nails down your spine, which makes you shiver. “No, not at all. You just have to ask and I’m yours.” You laughed a bit. “What’s so funny?” “I don’t know. I desperately search for intimacy in others, but no one really felt this right like this one.” Silent was filling the space you were in and you already thought you did something wrong as he gentle took your head in his hands for you to look at him. “Oh dearest…” He started, his claws wandered over your cheek. “Although I despite physical touch, I might catch myself liking it a bit more now.” You eyes widened as his own started glowing. Your heart starts to race as the wrinkles on each side of his eyes started to get deeper as he laughed. “Only when it’s you of course.” You couldn’t do anything than just stare at him. “Uhm...I don’t know if I can believe you Alastor.” You said, he shook his head. “Why, of course you can. Let’s make a deal…” You instantly pushed away that your back hit the door. “I won’t make a deal with you.” “No not with your soul silly.” He waved it off and grabbed your hips again to pull you down on him. His voice suddenly very close to your ear. “I assess that words will be enough to keep your promise.” You almost forgot how to breath. In which kind of situation did you brought yourself in for fucks sake? Despite the strange atmosphere you couldn’t deny the fact that he had this effect on you. You would let him do anything in this moment, but you were still aware that making a deal with him won’t be on the list today. “And what kind of deal should that be?” You asked, still uncomfortable to use that word in front of him. “Let me think...you have the allowance to touch me every day. It must be a different spot and the time how long it last will increase each time. You don’t have to ask me for that.” You raised an eyebrow, his eyes lost the shimmer of red and you scanned his face in the darkness, in hopes to find the wrong intention. “And what will it bring to you?” You asked, he raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me-”

“I mean: you don’t have to do this. Where is the ‘But’?” He laughed a bit before pressing you against his chest, so that you could barely breathe. “My advantage is, that I’ll have you close to me for a little while without you running away anymore.…” He smiled softly and it made your head swirl. Was he serious? “You’re lying.” “I’m not darling. I adore you but I think you got the wrong picture of me.” He titled his head. “I would never do harm to you, so you don’t have to worry. I just want to know you better.” He looked at you for a while until his gaze lowered to your lips as you could made out in the dark. “I guess I’m not very good at courting…” For the first time there is something in his acting that just don’t make sense. Suddenly he’s all flustered, you could swear he even blushed a little, and his expression similar to a little boy in front of his first crush. You were amazed by him in every way possible and you were sure that you wanted to find out more about him too. How his real self was. Because you are pretty damn sure that there is another version of him he just doesn’t show to anyone. “I like that.” You said, he caught you smiling genuine for the first time since you were stuck in here. “Like what?” “Your true self.” You said, leaving him speechless for a moment. His hands innocently fiddling with the end of your shirt. “Oh but this is my true self dear.” You smiled crooked. “No it’s not. You may be smiling all the time, but I’m able to read eyes Al. You don’t have to pretend that you don’t have a side you just don’t want to show everyone. And that’s okay. Totally. I get it. Because...when we’re already about telling the truth to another… I want to learn more about you too.” You titled his head and allowed yourself to admire him and his startled gaze for a moment. “There is a reason I respect your boundaries. And I don’t know if you know this, but it’s because I really like you. But when it’s as important to you as it is for me to trust you more, then you might as well show me the real Alastor. And I will show you my true self too of course. But only if you let me.” He looked at you bewildered and came up to fully hug you. “Alright. I wonder how this will work out for us dear. It’s a deal.” You smiled. “Yeah it’s a deal then. Sadly I can’t shake hands right now…” “Oh there a many ways to seal a deal sweetest…” He raised his head and as you were about to ask him how, he already pressed his lips against yours. Your eyes snapped open as green light flashes the inside of the closet, so bright it brought you to close your eyes. You could feel him licking your bottom lip and the vibrations running wild inside you so you let him in. Your hands were shaking as your tongues danced together, and he could feel it so he took your hands into his and pressed them on his chest right there where his heart sits. You let go of each other, panting and the green light only a mist left. “I look forward to our little deal.” He winked at you.

“Now dearest, make yourself comfortable.” Your head dizzy from the kiss and speechless, you saw how pleaded he looked, dreamily placed his head back and his hands stroking yours a last time before wrapping his arms around your body. You lied your head on his chest again and relaxed. He sighed, almost in relief as you slowly relaxed. Even if you wanted to say something you wouldn’t have brought it over you right now. Suddenly you felt tired and his warm, soft body against yours was like a piece of heaven in this old closet in hell. It was the thing you always wanted to feel. The intimacy you needed. And he gave it to you. You only hoped he was serious and not just wanting your soul. But you trusted him. And if this would be your downfall, then you might as well accept the hell you grew fond of. The loud exciting voices which rang through the thick walls of the closet were only a distance sound for you both as you felt yourself slowly drifting into sleep. You never manage to fall asleep this fast and you couldn’t care less, because you only heard the demon’s fast beating heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finished! You wanted the small space trope, so you got the small space trope! This turned out a bit shitty so I'm sorry if it's not like you thought it would turn out. :(

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #fanfiction #alastor #penelope write's #I took so long for this I'M SORRY #actually I hope you like it

177 notes · View notes

ashessonfire · 1 year

Note

Hi, I just gotta say I really love your stories and how detailed and eloquent your writing is.How about a Kaz Brekker x reader angst where a heist gone wrong results to Kaz (temporarily) losing his memory and reverting back to old Kaz, who is not in a relationship with reader, and he keeps pushing the reader away 'til reader gives up 'cause of something Kaz said or a scenario where they think Kaz is better without them♡♡♡thank you for listening HAHAHAHA

'Forgotten' - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Prompt - Kaz Brekker's plans rarely fail, but what happens when a heist goes incredibly wrong, and the Bastard of the Barrel forgets you completely? - Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader (established relationship) - Warnings: Depictions of violence, gunshots, Kaz's trauma / memories, Kaz being an asshole but not really his fault??? ANGST ANGST ANGST Part two found here! A/N: Thank you all so much for the amount of support and love i am getting for my first few posts! I will definitely write a part two if you want it, its a massive cliffhanger but would be WAY too long to do it in one go. JUST PURE ANGST IM SORRY T-T

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz’s plans often fell victim to unseen circumstances, however, small hinderances to his meticulously planned out schemes rarely affected the outcome. Yet even Kaz himself had to admit, that this plan had gone spectacularly wrong.

From incorrect blueprints for the building, to four times the number of armed guards than initially expected, all the group could do was try and escape relatively unharmed. The crows were splintered into six breathless individuals, winding their way through narrow streets to try and loosen their attackers’ grips. Sprays of bullets and the glints of knives rushed past each one of them, only narrowly missing their targets.

That was until Kaz felt a searing pain in his leg, a sudden slash just under the back of his knee, sending fire trailing throughout his body. He groaned deeply, internally damning the attacker for not only striking his target, but also managing to hit Kaz on his already bad leg. The pain from the wound caused it to buckle, giving him a clear path straight towards the glistening cobblestone of Ketterdam’s streets.

Before he could fully feel the impact, a hand tightly gripped the roots of his hair, pulling his face parallel to the grinning pursuer, evidently pleased with his achievement of apprehending the Bastard of the Barrel.

Before Kaz could use his cane to fight back, it was violently ripped from his grasp, another set of hands clutching his own behind his back, rendering him completely immobile. Suddenly, the knife was yanked out of his leg, earning a surprised growl from Kaz, his leg leaking onto the stone beneath him a deep ruby shade.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I’m afraid to say I am more than a little underwhelmed, Dirtyhands,” The leader of the group sneered, earning a howl of laughter from his gang, who seemed to be forming from the shadows of the abandoned street, emerging in staggering numbers.

Despite his predicament, a thought flashed through his mind, calming his increasingly alarmed state. “Perhaps they abandoned the others in favour of catching me,” Kaz silently contemplated, feeling a light sense of relief at the possibility his crew would make it back to the slat alive.

Especially you.

However, the relief was knocked out of him as swiftly as it came, along with all the air in his chest. A brutal kick sent him reeling backwards into the chest of the man behind, followed by a series of punches which Kaz was defenceless against. The assault continued, blood pouring into his eyes from an open wound on his forehead, blinding him to the onslaught of attacks that followed, as he rapidly tried blinking to wash away the crimson from his vision.

The ambush subsided, giving him enough time to throw his head back and remove some of the steadily flowing substance from his sight. Murmurs sounded around him, but Kaz couldn’t decipher what was being stated, the ringing from the punches obscuring the sound around him, leaving him underwater, drowning in his own blood.

Despite Kaz’s senses becoming increasingly obstructed, a flare of panic welled up within him, as he spotted something brassy glinting through the sheet of red, catching the light from the street lanterns surrounding them. The unknown object began its descent towards him, the glint becoming a beam which shone through the curtain of crimson, until it was just close enough for Kaz to make out the flash of a crow’s eye, and the curve of a beak.

“How ironic,” Kaz thought to himself, “Being killed by my own cane.”

The scarlet curtain closed on Kaz, the blow ending the performance the gang was putting on, leaving their victim in a world full of darkness, the feeling of the waves washing over him and pulling him deeper into the abyss.

The last thing he heard was the sound of a voice.

Jordie’s?

The concern that radiated from the sound brought him back to memories of the farm, where Kaz would climb too far up a willow’s branches, and his brother would have to call him down. Or perhaps when they had arrived in Ketterdam and Kaz had thought it comedic to hide in a dimly lit street, blissfully unaware of the dangers that lurked in its gloom.

However, as Kaz slipped deeper into the ocean, the voice getting further away with each of his slowing heartbeats, a tinge of warmth hit his chest, signalling that this wasn’t Jordie.

It was you.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Your adrenaline had served you well, since shortly after you were separated from the crows, familiar edges of buildings and glints of neighboring signs entered your vision. Using this to your advantage, you utilized your familiarity of the area to hide, slipping into the shadows, melting into the gloom of Ketterdam's alleys. Soon, all five of your pursuers had bullets lodged in their throats unable to pinpoint where they were being shot from. Each fatal blow perfectly central just as Jesper had taught you.

Whilst your mind began to settle at the lack of immediate threat, something burred within your core pulled on your heartstrings, pointing your unsettling fear towards Kaz.

You had taken great care to note which routes the other crows had disappeared down, for insurance if they did not return to the slat within the agreed time. However, as you fled, your heart had plummeted at the sight of at least ten men chasing down your boyfriend.

Before your mind could register your actions, you were sprinting back in the direction you had come, weaving through the bodies littering your path. You quickly reached the alley Kaz had fled down, and you bolted through the streets you estimated Kaz would take.

As he was your boyfriend, you had become accustomed to imagining what he would do, or how he would act in certain situations, helping you decode his behaviour when he barricaded himself from you on troublesome days.

The sound of bone cracking and pained grunts pulled you away from your thoughts, turning a sharp corner just in time to see the head of Kaz’s precious cane colliding with his temple, the light visibly fading from his eyes due to the blow.

Rage swept through you, controlling your actions as your mind failed to synchronise with your body. Rushing forward, you shot wildly, achieving at least three separate screams from the men before you. Before the others were made fully aware of your presence, you had a serrated knife plunging into a further two, leaving fatal wounds which would slowly bring about their demise. Once every one of group were flooding the streets with their blood, your gaze shifted to Kaz.

Lying in a growing pool of blood, your boyfriend’s face was swollen, covered in deep gashes that littered his sharp features. The dim light from the lanterns overhead cast murky shadows over the wounds, highlighting the gruesome fate Kaz had endured. From somewhere far in the distance, you heard your voice screaming his name, begging for him to wake up, at some point you had even rushed over to him and began caressing his fractured face to wake him.

Allowing a deep inhale of Ketterdam’s air, you collected yourself, imagining that Kaz were conscious and scolding you for your slow reactions and the ‘weakness’ you were portraying. Laying your head against his frigid chest, you held your own breath, only releasing the growing tension when a faint heartbeat pounded against your ear.

Silently apologising for your next actions, you hooked both of Kaz’s arms underneath your own and used all your force to haul him back to the Slat.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

For several days following the attack, the group had come to a collective conclusion that their boss was severely concussed, so much so that he was barely conscious for more than a few minutes at a time.

Throughout the harrowing days, you never left his side, constantly aiding his body in a frail attempt to bring him back to the conscious realm, and to you.

The crows stopped by often to assist you, compelled to keep at least one half of the pair in a decent condition, Nina bringing hot food, Inej wiping down your face with a warm cloth, and Jesper or Wylan keeping you company for an hour or so, brightening the mood wit =h jokes or stories.

Time seemed almost to cease its movements, with even the smallest of things, like the rain rolling down the frosted glass in Kaz’s room, or the flickering of the candles illuminating the slat, appearing sluggish to you.

That was, only until Kaz woke up.

A bout of coughs awoke you from a light sleep, sending alarm bells ringing through your head, echoing off the walls and overwhelming you. Upon seeing the straining eyes blinking against the intensity of the candlelight, the roar swiftly subsided.

“Kaz,” you breathed out, barely audible to both you and him.

You gently reached out to feel the heat from his forehead, an action not dissimilar to the gentle brushes of his locks you would often settle on when he was too engrossed in scheming to provide you attention. However, your movements were stopped dead in their tracks when a voice sliced through the air.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kaz seethed.

Although his voice was hoarse from his absence over the last few days, a clear threat laid deeply within his sentence, piercing your chest with a thousand knives. “Kaz, I’m just checking your temperature, my love,” you offered gently, praying to the Saints that whatever malice behind your partners eyes was due to his condition, and not a genuine fury.

Instead of removing the knives from your heart, he twisted them painfully, glaring directly at you as he warned lowly, “I am not sure how long I have been out for, but I severely doubt it would be enough time for a word like ‘love’ to be directed towards me. Especially by the likes of you. Go and get Nina, you are of no use to me.”

Your breath hitched painfully in your throat, blocking the air trying to travel both in and out, glittering eyes locked directly with his as your mind struggled to process the disgust that laced his voice. Your body battled as it tried to force another ‘Kaz’ out into the world, but he intruded before the sound escaped.

“Leave now, or I will dismiss you for insubordination. Go,” Kaz stated, bitterness being the only discernible emotion portraying through his words, his chest filling with an emotion so strong he couldn’t name it, deciding to settle on disgust. Your eyes welled up, clouding your vision as you cautiously left the room, shock coursing through your body and stiffening your every movement, causing shivers to wrack your body as your blood froze to ice.

Your mind seemed to leave your body, taking little note of going to Nina and sending her up to Kaz, or the other crows fawning over your broken state, clearly panicking further when your only form of response was a stiff silence. It seemed safer to hide behind glossy eyes and blank looks, than to decipher what had caused Kaz’s reaction.

It was only an hour later when Nina came downstairs, shaking you out of your daze with words that did a far more agonizing job than Kaz’s knives would.

She downright shot you point blank in the heart.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, it seems like the blow has affected his memory. I can’t tell the severity yet, but it seems that he has no recollection of you two as, well you know. ‘You two,’” Nina bit out, voice cracking as her heart shattered for you, who now stood shaking before the group, the slightest breeze threatening to barrel you over.

You dismissed them with a fractured smile, barring yourself within the confines of your room, knives drawing blood within your heart, twisting excruciatingly each time a shuffle or a creak would sound from the room above yours.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Your perseverance impressed not only the rest of the crows, but yourself too. You didn’t allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for long, determined to regain Kaz’s memory despite his protests and frustration with you. You had already molded a loving relationship with the deadliest man in Ketterdam, you figured that you would be able to withstand doing it once more.

Enduring the blade-like words was the simplest part, however it was the emotion behind them that faltered you each time you were faced with him. He always his behind a face of insults or harsh syllables, but you had decoded their meanings long ago, the sentiment behind each radiating through in a way in which only you could detect.

As he recovered, you remained vigilant to his every need, bringing him herbal tea infused with medicine or offering fresh bandages to change when the blood seeped through the last.

Each encounter ended with tears streaming drearily down your face, matching the raindrops that hit against the pains of the slat, each impact slamming against your heart. As you persisted, the feeling Kaz felt towards you grew, the emotion intensifying with each glimpse at you.

He couldn't stand it.

Rage bubbled within him at your attempts at kindness, the insults increasing in harshness and malice each time you dared to provoke him.

Yet you bounced back, offering him delicate smiles, compassionate gestures, and kind words. However Kaz couldn't bear it any longer, the weight in his chest obscuring his breathing and brooding for too long, consuming him from the inside out.

Despite his unbroken hatred that radiated towards you, he seemed to gradually be regaining his memories, allowing Jesper's jokes or Nina's teasing to go as far as they would before the accident. It caused you great anguish, and shamefully jealousy, at his return to every one of his crows.

But you.

The door to his office was given a light few taps, before Kaz permitted you entry, knowing from the weight of the knocks it had to be you. Although the others seemed far more wary of him than usual, there was something almost gentle about how you acted towards him, making it easier for Kaz to single you out from the rest.

You entered with a stack of papers, a vast collection of work that had accumulated whilst he regained his health. Biting back his usual snarky insults and remarks dripping in poison, Kaz watched you intently, deadly intentions practically radiating from his gaze.

Setting down the pile, you stepped back silently, too exhausted to bear the weight of another one of his lashings, each word cutting you and leaving you bleed out, not dissimilarly to how you found him that night.

The silence in his office was impenetrable, the air becoming impossible to breath through the tension that radiated between you, with only one of you being able to decipher what it truly was. Your mind was so focused on the intake of air, you almost missed the hand that extended towards you, the closest he had allowed you since his memory had stolen you from him.

Clutched in his grasp was a simple white letter, signatures coating the outside of the envelope, and something folded, protruding from within the packet itself.

The silence became deafening, the pounding of your heart like a bird trapped in a cage infinitely too small for its prisoner, crashing into the walls in an attempt to escape. As your hand made contact with the offering, Kaz spoke in a tone you had never heard before.

He simply stated, "From tomorrow, at four bells, you will be gone. A job in Ravka requires someone of your skillset, so you will go. If you fail to comply then you will no longer be welcomed here. I have tolerated your incessant troubling for long enough, you have no true place here until you finally realize how burdensome you truly are."

Your heart stopped.

The air around you liquified, slowly filling your lungs with fluid and choking you, drowning you silently as Kaz looked on with an indifferent scowl, an eyebrow raised in question at your astonishment.

The tears streamed, your body screaming for air, for comfort, for him. But it couldn't seem to attain any one of them, instead pushing all its strength into forming the the right words to pierce Kaz Brekker's impenetrable façade.

"You still don't remember?" you coughed out, "After the incident who was it who rushed back to you, dragged your half-dead body across the Barrel and into the slat. Who stayed by your side until they were forced to leave each night? Do you not have any recollection, not of the memories, but of how you felt for me? Surely I didn't mean that little to you," your voice wavered heavily whilst you gasped out the final line.

The tears formed rugged streams across your cheeks, glinting in the dim candlelight from Kaz's desk, highlighting the pain you had hidden from him for weeks. It was now his turn to be stunned, the words echoing around his mind but not seeming to form into coherent meanings.

Despite Kaz's astonishment at your outburst, it wasn't enough.

Wasn't enough for him to stop you from walking away, or enough to whisper your name louder in confusion and uncertainty as your form dissolved into the hallway .

Surely this was what he was supposed to do?

Yet deep inside his plagued heart your words resounded, filling Kaz with a sense of dread, the waves that usually consumed him began to swell, drowning him in his seat just as he had done to you earlier.

He was certain on one thing, that the gaping pain in his chest which he had presumed was disgust, or perhaps even hatred, had not disappeared. Had not lightened as he had prayed it would if you just vanished.

No. Instead it had intensified into something that swallowed him whole, dragging him further into the bitter ocean than ever before, waves crashing fiercely above his head.

The emotion consumed him as his breathing deepened, heart both simultaneously stopping and racing into oblivion, as it finally dawned on him. Somewhere within that feeling a small spark remained glowing, something that felt warm and familiar which he had repressed.

Something that resembled care, or affection, or...

Love.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Tag list: @animalistic00 @whos6claire

Click here for part two <3

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader imagines #shadow and bone season 2 #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone imagine #kaz brekker x reader fluff #ashessonfire

1K notes · View notes

maruiin · 1 year

Text

description: everyone knew that Y/n was Kaz girl

Warning: jealous Kaz

It was funny because any possible 'suitors' for Y/n magically disappeared but no one said anything. Of course, they didn't, if they wanted to keep their lives then they wouldn't dare.

That was fine, everyone just kept to themselves and prayed to the saints that they weren't a possible threat to Dirtyhands. What frustrated the Crows is that neither Y/n nor Kaz would admit their feelings towards each other.

The Crows (for once) were all down in the crow club not planing one of their evil heists that usually mess up the world, today they were just relaxing.

Well, maybe not Kaz. Kaz never really fully relaxed, at least not with so many people around.

He saw Y/n laugh with Inej and Nina and he couldn't help the way his eyes travelled down her body or the way that he wanted to keep hearing that laugh on repeat for the rest of his life.

He also couldn't help the fact that he wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that.

Kaz sighed internally, even he knew, the bastard of the fucking barrel is head over heels for Y/n L/n. The girl who would make him dance in the rain with her, the girl who he would gladly kiss if it wasn't for his touch aversion.

She perched her head up a bit and scanned the crowd seemingly looking for something.

Or someone.

Kaz felt something boiling bubble up in his gut but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Why would Y/n be looking for someone? It better not be for a date...

Okay, maybe he did know what he was feeling at the moment because he felt it almost every day when another person was around Y/n that wasn't him.

And fuck, he knew it was because he was no good. She deserved so much more than someone who couldn't even brush his hand up against someone without getting near to a panic attack. But he couldn't, he really couldn't get out of the mood he was in now till the situation was over. Trust him he tried.

A man who was fairly good-looking comes up behind Y/n and tackle's her into a hug. He nearly goes up to stand but she starts laughing and embracing the boy like they haven't seen each other in years.

He grips onto his cane harder than he ever has in his life. Don't make a scene, don't make a scene. Please, don't make a scene.

Y/n giggles and kiss's the boy on his cheek and all his self will goes out and dies in the harbour.

He shoots up out of his seat and walks faster to Y/n and the terrible man than he should with his bad leg and slams his cane in between the two. He glares his worst glare basically seeing red when he looks at the man and all of him wants to bash his head in as an example to everyone. His mind doesn't even think it's a bad plan but he knows Y/n would not like whoever this was to die like that so he would have to somehow come up with another plan.

"If you dare look at her again you won't ever see again," Kaz says lowly and icily calm contrasting to what he's really feeling inside. Red hot rage burst's inside him becoming an ugly green that grows and infects him.

"Kaz!" Y/n semi-yells trying not to make a scene, but he was sure eyes were already on him. He was Dirtyhands after all.

He turns to her sharply knowing his expression isn't one that even a spider would want to see but it sits on his face all the same.

"What." He growls out trying so hard to not snap at the angel before him.

Without thinking his gloved hand goes to lightly touch her neck and he doesn't feel nausea and sickness. He only feels the warmth of the girl that he loves even with the gloves on. Fuck he loves her, and he had to admit it to himself right now?

She visibly shivers at his touch like she enjoyed it but her face quickly turns back to the angry one that she was wearing before.

"He's my brother!"

Now that he thinks about it he did look similar to Y/n, and the context of everything looked more sibling-like more than anything. How the hell did he not see it? He groaned on the inside, he was never doing anything without thinking it through first again. He guessed that plan was shit though because he could barely think around Y/n.

Speaking of Y/n...

The young woman growl and he feels his eyebrows raise. Oh shit. She balls her hands into fits and stomps off. He tries not to run after her but because of his leg,he can't go nearly as fast as she can and he quickly falls behind.

"Y/n!"

He gets to her room and she slams the door in his face.

Great.

He picks the lock of the door for a few minutes as he curses himself for letting her use one of the harder locks to get into. But after just under a minute he hears the familiar click and he slides open the door.

Luckily the girl is in her room and he's happy that she didn't run off right away. Though her arms are crossed around her chest and even someone standing two buildings away could tell this girl was pissed beyond hell.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" She says lowly trying not to yell at him.

He wasn't thinking, all he could see were his arms around her and her lips on his cheek. Kaz was surprised he managed a sentence when he decided to make a 'scene'

"I haven't seen him in years! Kaz, years! All I wanted was a happy reunion but you had to screw that up too!" She throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

Kaz knew that she wasn't planning on staying in Ketterdam at first and he didn't even know why she did stay, but his friends (or the closest people he could call friends) told him it was because of him. Brushing off that topic before was easy, but now look where it got them.

"I wasn't thinking." He finally finds the right words and breaks the silence that was washing over them both.

Don't screw this up Brekker.

"I didn't think he was your brother."

"So what? I was just another investment you had to protect because you thought I was stupid." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He swallowed trying to find the right words. But he couldn't, there were just no words how he could describe how he feels for her.

So show her dumbass.

Slowly taking off his gloves he place's a hand on her cheek. It's feather-light and barely there, but he doesn't feel the cold or the waves and he doesn't feel like he's drowning. Her skin feels warm and it makes him feel alive, he hasn't felt like that in what seems like forever.

"Oh." Is the only thing that comes out of her mouth and she smiles a bit?

He rolls his eyes at her and takes his hand away. "Ya, oh." He rasps.

Y/n reaches out and carefully takes his left hand in hers and slowly but surely they intertwine their hands together.

Her smile slowly fades away as she looks at their hands.

"What are we?" The question hangs in the air creating more space in between them than ever before. Kaz close's his eyes for a second and lets that hungry feeling wash over him. The feeling of jealousy and the feeling of possessiveness when he thought she was with another man.

But then he lets the little moments warp him in their warm embrace. The moments when she offhandedly mentioned that what her favourite flower was, so then those flowers would just appear in her room. Or when she saved him and he couldn't think of any moment where she looked more beautiful, more saint-like, more like herself than ever. He sucks in those moments never letting them go.

"You are mine." His other hand goes to her neck again. "And I am yours." He lets his eyes rake her body committing every single little detail to memory and he sees her blush faintly a bit as he drinks her in.

They stand there in silence just enjoying each other's presence till Y/n looks un at looked more beautiful, more saint-like, more like herself than ever. He sucks in those moments never letting them go.

They stand there in silence just enjoying each other's presence till Y/n looks up at him an oh shit look in her eyes.

"How the hell are we going to explain this to my brother!?"

#kaz brekker smut #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows #freddy carter smut #kaz brekker x reader smut #kaz being kaz #jelous #kiss #jealousy

413 notes · View notes

nicole-alt-delete · 2 years

Text

It was a hot summer day in Hawkins and the kids had dragged them into helping with some game once again. Eddie was more than thrilled to help, Robin had managed to escape with Nancy on a "supply run" and Steve was currently taking orders from Max, the only one of them who'd remembered to say please.

Eddie wasn't really sure what the end goal was but it seemed like they were one step away from LARPing- just changed the name so Max and El would still play. He was helping Will by carving this big fuck-all stick into a cane for him when the gravel behind him crunched under someone's feet, and a second later Steve was saying "Hey, I'm borrowing this- Thanks-" Not stopping for the answer before Eddie felt a tug at his back pocket.

He instantly whipped around, spluttering, "Absolutely not-" and before Steve could even take a step he was fiercely gripping his black bandana taut between them like the world's saddest game of tug of war. Steve loosened his grip a little, making a point of not tugging on it or ripping it, just looking confused as he waited for an explanation.

Eddie blushed for a moment, realizing the position he'd put himself in, how protective he got over a little piece of fabric. He stammers for a second, "I- you can't just- I need that man,"

Steve quirks an eyebrow at him, clueless. "What do you mean you need it? It's been in your pocket every day and I've only seen you actually wear it once. C'mon just for today- the girls don't have any hair ties and I need to put my hair up, it's killing me,"

He sighs a little, fully aware there's nothing reasonable he could say to Steve here. He very much cannot tell him that he *needs* it just in case some hot guy walks by and happens to know what it means. That's ridiculous- especially when the guy he most wants to see it is the one tugging it away from him in the first place. Steve has no idea what it means and Eddie doesn't expect him to but it still drives him insane thinking that it could happen.

Alternatively, the idea of Steve putting his hair back with Eddie's bandana drives him a little insane too.

So he blushes, sighs, and lets go of it. Points at Steve firmly, "You better give that back Harrington, or I swear-"

Steve smiles and starts walking backwards with it, already rolling it up into a hairband as he cuts him off, "Yeah, I know Eds, you can hold it against me forever, promise,"

He runs off back to the other kids and Eddie shakes his head at him, flustered and annoyed, and forgetting himself until Will clears his throat behind him.

He doesn't say anything but he's smiling and making this little face as he looks away from Eddie, like he knows something.

"So uh. The stick?"

"Right- yes- stick- cane- it's a cane for a mighty wizard, let's go,"

He didn't think he'd notice it so much, but the empty feeling in his pocket is driving him crazy. He'd been wearing that stupid thing since he learned it was a thing people do- a stolen trip up to the city on a bus he snuck onto, a weekend as a runaway before he sucked it up and went back home.

Someone had called him queer and he turned expecting a fight only to see a group of freaks who stood out more than himself. They had smiled and asking him why he was all alone, and been worried. One wanted to make sure Eddie hadn't been kicked out. Another wrapped her scarf around him, and before he knew it he was in the back of a gay bar with people he'd never met and felt like he could tell anything to.

The idea of proudly wearing something that singled him out- but only to the right people- made his hart light up. It was like a new language, like thieves' cant, something secret and magic.

He'd spent hours asking about colors and being confused and rightfully embarrassed by more than a few of the answers. Some sounded better than others, some made his face flush. At the end of the day he felt better than he had in ages and he had the courage to go back home to Wayne.

Before he got back on a bus he stopped into a second hand shop and grabbed the first black bandana he could find. He debated the whole ride home which side to put it on. When he walked back up to the trailer door ready to apologize, it hung proudly out of his back left.

Eddie had let Steve wear it home and it was killing him, but they had stayed out late and he half forgot anyways, and Steve's hair did look pretty cute pushed back like that. Steve had promised to give it back anyways, and Eddie trusted him fully.

He just also really, really, really wanted it back as soon as possible.

So for once he got up before noon (barely- just after eleven,) and made his way to Family Video and hopped Steve had left it in his car or something so that he could get it back then and there.

What he wasn't expecting was to walk in and see Steve bent over behind the counter with the damn thing hanging out of his right pocket, as if he had any goddamn idea what that meant.

Eddie nearly had a heart attack and was thankful the store was empty like it always was so he could sprint over, jump the counter and yank the thing out of his pocket immediately.

"What do you think you're doing wearing it like that?!"

Steve had barely registered the jingle from the door, let alone Eddie launching himself at him, and was thoroughly surprised to say the least, nearly knocking over a display as he reacted.

"Hey! Jesus man- you can't be- what's the big deal??? That's exactly how you wear it all the time- I was just keeping it safe til I saw you again,"

He stared at Eddie properly confused, a little on guard still from how suddenly he had leapt over and how worked up he seemed.

Eddie took a deep breath and sighed, folding the bandana up in his hands and just holding it for a moment, debating what to tell Steve.

After a second Steve makes this little head movement like 'well? go on?' clearly waiting for an explanation and Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs.

"It's- Look, Stevie, you can't wear it like that, you're not- I mean it's. It's like- a symbol, okay?"

Steve leans on the counter and frowns, confused.

"A symbol?"

"Yes- yeah, like- like those little cross necklaces moms wear or Dustin's star wars shirts. They're symbols....for the same kind of people to pick up on,"

He struggles with the words, trying hard to insinuate just enough without giving it all away, still hesitantly afraid of Steve's reaction.

But Steve just looks thoughtful. Nodding a little, putting a finger to his lip as the gears turn.

"So- okay, what's it symbolize then?"

He'd been hoping Steve wouldn't make it that far.

"It's- uh. It's really not..."

Steve stares, "Man I'm not gonna judge you- just- why's it such a big deal that I can't wear it like that too?"

Eddie can't help but laugh, "If anyone who knows what it means saw YOU with it- you would- no, you'd set yourself on fire I'm sure of it,"

He shakes his head, holding the bandana tighter in his fists.

Steve only frowns though, "Eds, what's it mean? If you don't tell me I'll just get my own and wear it until someone else does,"

Eddie looks mildly terrified by the idea but laughs at it all the same. "No- No, god do not do that Harrington-"

"Then tell me,"

"I can't, it's really-"

"Eddie, I'm gonna steal it back,"

And he does, reaches for the bandana in his hands as Eddie pulls away, the two of them starting to bicker and wrestle for it, each equally stubborn until the point that Steve actually does manage to grab it.

The tension gets to him and Eddie can't help it anymore, he just blurts, "It means I'm gay, Steve!"

It makes Steve pause and Eddie uses the moment to grab it back and quickly shove it in his back pocket again, blushing furiously and hoping Steve doesn't take it too badly.

Steve's mouth opens a little to say something in response, but the door jingles and his head snaps to it, Eddie instantly hitting the floor because he's still behind the counter where he most certainly should not be.

A man comes in and asks where the new releases are and Steve happily helps him, leaving Eddie plenty of time to crawl out from behind the counter and sneak out. He almost gets away with it too, but the door opens again, jingles and Steve twists his head.

"Eddie, wait- We're not done- I'll talk to you about this later!"

Eddie doesn't look back at him as he runs out the door past Robin who had been bringing lunch back for her and Steve. She tries to greet him but he just blurts "Gotta go, Buckley," and darts past.

If he'd looked back he would have noticed how red Steve's face was. Part 2

#Nico's writing #ficlet #steddie #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #st4 #Stranger Things #i found this in my wip docs and realized i forgot about it???#so i figured i'd post this much and see if it convinces me to finish part 2 👀#also uh i did not beta read this so #be kind

2K notes · View notes

interstellarsystem · 2 months

Text

Disorder Differences in Systemmates

Systemmates share the same brain, which often leads to the assumption that they're all affected the same by the brain itself. Its wiring, its abilities, and its disabilities. But symptom holders or those with intra-disorders are fairly common--at least in circles we run in--and they're not often talked about for fear of fakeclaiming or appearing ableist. We have headmates who are affected in all sorts of different ways by our disabilities. Some find things harder than others, while others actually find some tasks or symptoms easier to manage. It absolutely varies from headmate to headmate, which makes certain headmates better suited for fronting during certain times than others.

Merlin is more affected by our psychosis, particularly hallucinations, and xe tends to be more susceptible to paranoia. Mystery is a psychosis holder too, and has more positive symptoms like hallucinations than the rest of us, but is less affected negatively by it. It often hallucinates and falls into delusional thinking, but it's not really too bothered by it. So Mystery is a good choice for someone to front when we're having a psychotic episode. Sometimes, having Merlin cofront with Mystery makes it easier for Merlin to not be so susceptible to xyr symptoms.

I (Martin) have more obvious anxiety than the rest of us, and struggle much more in social situations. I'm much better at hyperfocusing on tasks, though. So I'm better suited for staying home and working on whatever the current project we have at the time, or keeping our to-do lists in check. Vince on the other hand is calm in most social situations that are more professional--so he's good for business meetings and such. In more casual conversation though, Vena and Merlin are much better at it and better suited to non-professional social groups.

Vince is an intra-NPD holder and also holds stronger symptoms of our BPD. He struggles immensely with percieved rejection, much more than the rest of us. But he also almost completely lacks empathy, which makes it much easier for him to be calm and logical in stressful situations. He finds it easier to help friends and those he cares about during stressful times because he's not weighed down by feeling their emotions--whereas the rest of us might break down from stress.

We talk a bit about mental disability differences in headmates more than those who differ physically. Somehow it seems more controvertial to mention that we have headmates that differ with physical symptoms while even in safe system spaces. It seems like most people (us somewhat included) mainly think of symptom holders as a mental disorder thing--a line of thinking we're trying to dispel. Headmates can have different disabilities and symptoms of all kinds, and it's not ableist or "harmful" to know that and speak about it. Headmates with different conditions to the body need to be recognised more.

Mike needed a cane in his memories and he absolutely needs our cane when he fronts more than the rest of us. He feels more at home and like himself having a cane by his side here, though, so it's good we already had one. I (Martin) need it more too--my joints are just more prone to pain. But our cane folds up nicely into our bag, so if we switch out in public, it's always with us just in case. Even if it's silly, we feel safer having a cane too--I mean, it's a metal pole. We're out as trans and clearly not your Regular Society Member, so it provides some feeling of safety to have.

Jayfeather was blind before, and since coming here he sure can see now, but he's much more light sensitive than the rest of us. The feeling of being able to see was nice at first, even if it was foreign, but sometimes he feels it's not worth the hassle. He needs to wear sunglasses when fronting because his eyes just end up hurting from even small amounts of light. Crowley is the same, except he wasn't blind in his memories--he just got used to always wearing sunglasses in his life to hide how his eyes looked, and needs them here now. They're both more prone to migraines due to this.

Merlin is more shaky on his feet than others who front often. His legs are digitigrade and in headspace he has his wings and tail to balance him there--but in the body, he doesn't have any of that. His legs are the wrong shape and he has no counterweight to his posture. Even with our cane, he's more prone to tripping than most.

Mystery was a godlike being that didn't need to eat human food, or any physical food at all. It often forgets that eating, sleeping and going to the bathroom are things the body needs to do, because it doesn't often feel the need to do them. That can be good if we're running low on food, or if we can't eat for a while such as before a medical procedure though, so it's useful in its own way. Mystery is also not used to using its hands for intricate things like tying shoelaces, as it's hands before we're longer, bigger, and mainly nonphysical. It didn't need to be intricate, so it's hard for it to do things others in here can.

There's so many more examples in our system. The thing is, there can be positives and negatives to any disorder, really--and headmates are no different with that. We don't necessarily assign headmates "roles" or "jobs" based on their symptoms or lack thereof, but for us to function better as a collective, people tend to gravitate toward doing certain things they know others can't. It's important for us to know how we differ with our disabilities, and work around them together as best we can.

Systemmates with different symptoms aren't uncommon, and they're not mocking disabled people, or lying for some benefit. I'd argue that for some systems with symptom holders or intra-disorder holders, it's increcibly important to know about how you differ and how to work together to be functional--whatever functional means for you.

118 notes · View notes

rel124c41 · 14 days

Text

NARC. floyd leech

It’s a chance to prove yourself again … and to ignore this godforsaken craving for a burger.

tags: mafia au, blood and injury, mild sexual content, organized crime, emotionally repressed, food issues, nonconsensual kissing, & post-betrayal

word count: 9436

You pluck a glass of red wine from a tray. Shoulders gliding past a humanoid Cthulhu, you pour the blood-hued liquid down your snorkel and sample the taste of dry wine. It is a Pinot. Gratefully for this, you take care to pour a bit more in your snorkel. Though, just as you duck under the wayward stretch of a shark’s gesturing, cigar-holding hand, – smoke from a White Russian cigar furling out of his rubber lips like crisp, morning fog that a ship must part through – Jesus asks, scandalized, in your ears, “Are you drinking on the job?”

The wine halts its descent down your throat. Holding (almost choking on) the liquid in your mouth, your eyes momentarily widen in surprise. You throw your head back and down what is left in your snorkel, because it is necessary to communicate with an empty mouth. “I thought you said you didn’t have any eyes in here.”

No one can really blame you for how your own eyes start to flutter around the room, like tracking an energetic butterfly.

“I took the precaution of sending Rook to plant S.T.Y.X. cameras in the ballroom. I, however, did not know I would have to take any precaution against one of my spudlings being inebriated,” Jesus chastises.

Caught red-handed, you feel heat crawl up your face. “ …It’s just one drink, boss.” Even though it is soft, you can still clearly hear that admonishing huff of breath come through your ear-piece while your personal Jesus – your boss, Schoenheit – breathes with affront. You decide that you will hold the cordial glass for the rest of the night as decoration rather than drinking it.

“One too many.” The words are so cold that you feel a shell of frostbite coat your earlobe. “I expect your greatest performance, Potato. The audience is very bilious tonight.”

Bilious, as in bad-tempered. For a moment, it feels the weight of the world socks you in the ear. That you know too well. Whether they are actually watching through the S.T.Y.X. footage back home or are simply holding up an ear to tomorrow’s whispering grapevine, the audience is upset with you.

If tonight’s performance does not go well, there will be no more stage for you. The next time you appear to the audience, it will be on your curtain call. You imagine Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) taking a knife to your throat with all the poise of a violinist playing its instrument, the red notes splattered across the leather seats.

The thought makes you yearn to down the rest of the Pinot.

Instead, you find an appetizer table to stand by inconspicuously. And though you have already been stricken by the sight (which caused you to even grab a drink!) you glare upwards with a furrowed brow, through the polycarbonate sheets of your swim-goggles, towards the second floor.

Above the ballroom is a circular platform walkway, connected to the ground by two spiral staircases. Leaning on the golden railing that twists like interlocking peppermint canes, the left hand man of Ashengrotto fiddles with a single drumstick. It propels through his hand like a miniature helicopter blade, spinning effortlessly. Sullen and bored, his eyes flicker all across the ballroom to find a crumb of entertainment. In Floyd’s right ear, Ashengrotto is talking – yet most likely being ignored too.

His outfit is … juvenile. (the sneer blooming on your face is natural) Unlike the other attendants, the eel-mer is simply dressed in a graphic tee – your HUF graphic tee with Spider-man and Venom on it – and sweats. There is a ketchup or tomato soup or blood stain on your shirt’s collar. A pair of Monty Python bunny slippers peek out from the pooling, gray fabric around his ankles. The ears flop as he squirms back and forth on his feet.

Ashengrotto is dressed much better – an expensive, freshly pressed notch lapel suit of cobalt and swirling violet – but it is still very different from the fool’s play that is happening below them. You survey the crowd wearing rubber fish masks, diving equipment that conceals their faces, and any other variation of deep sea disguises. The ocean tonight is full of sycophants..

Most people think an Ashengrotto masquerade is the zenith of high society. Tabloids have waxed poetry about the ‘nocturnal beauty of a deep sea labyrinth where desires are found in nebulous waves’ and how the masks give ‘a thrilling sense that we are all drowned, wayward souls brought together in harmony under his glorious might’. You know better. That flowery poesy is a mere facade in a game of facades. Ashengrotto likes to throw these masquerades so often because he likes to laugh at others who unquestionably follow his every whim or will.

Schoenheit has informed you that Ashengrotto is a schadenfreude. Not too fluent in German, you asked for the translation. The two jigsaw puzzle words of schaden, which is damage, and fruede, which is joy, connect to make schadenfreude. It means Ashengrotto experiences emotional pleasure at the sight of others misfortune.

‘There is no better sight to Ashengrotto than the sight of some poor, unfortunate soul begging on their knees at his doorstep. You would do well to remember that, Potato.’

Remember it you shall and you have. One drink is not enough to send you to your knees or make you beg. However, to Schoenheit, sipping a drop of wine tilts the scale in favor of the one-out-of-ten chance of you walking up there, blowing your cover, and smashing the empty glass in Floyd’s face.

Instead of doing that, you ask conversationally, “When was a covenant struck with the Shrouds?” You wish Schoenheit would have more trust in you, but you are well aware you lost that trust. Waiting for an answer, your eyes search the environment for those mentioned cameras.

“When you were out of commission.”

All of your limbs flinch at that, as if you have just taken a bite of the world’s sourest lemon. “Ah.”

How altruistic of Schoenheit to remind you.

Being out of commission was very unlike you. For five years, you have known Schoenheit; for four, you have worked for him. In that time, sick days were once-in-a-lifetime events. You pride yourself on how effectively you worked because, for three years, you have known Schoenheit’s face and for two years, you had been in the upgraded position from canon-fodder to information recon.

Then, for one whole year, you had … well, you rather not say. Speaking it would be like swallowing a bouquet of roses but without the petals and solely the thorns. At the very least, you inform Schoenheit on new information, just in case he has not seen it on the cameras, “He’s here, boss.”

“Ah.” At least both of you are dealing with this in stride. After that faint whisper, the earpiece fixated tightly on your snorkel is quiet for a few moments. In that time, you stumble into a memory.

As the kunai slams into the wall by the door’s opening entrance, emitting a sharp warning bang, you announce to your uninvited guests, “If it’s the mailman, you can leave the package by the grocery bags like normal. If you’re here to stop my heart, someone’s already beat ya to the kill.” With that said, you let your deceased arm drop and fall limp on your mattress.

“And if it’s your boss?”

Wincing, you respond, “ … ah, I supposed you’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Schoenheit says primly as you hear your apartment door close.

Though he says nothing, you can hear Schoenheit’s eyes flickering across each item of a break-up vomited across your single room apartment. Ah, where to even start? The snow white vivisection of the beheaded bear that he made for you at Build-A-Bear? How about the dart board where a handful of porcupine quill darts stick out of a five-tiered photo of you and him squeezed tight in an arcade’s photobooth? Yet, who could neglect to look at the real ruins of the relationship which is you, spread out like a starfish on your bed, eyes raccoon-ed with running mascara and insomnia?

After scrutinizing over the heartbreak hurricane that has torn through the room, Schoenheit starts to make his way over to you. It only takes a second to recognize that he did not come alone. You hear a second pair of shoes. “Oh, mon cher,” Rook says sullenly.

At least you don’t have to turn your head to see who it is. Body comatose in dolor, you cannot be bothered to move an atom of yourself besides the hand that feeds yourself and your bunny a bowl of carrots.

You hear one of your two superiors seat themselves at your bar as Oswald nibbles an orange stalk from your fingers. “How long do you think you have been here?”

“Must be more than a couple days, three?” You put a carrot in your mouth as you wait for the reveal.

“A week and a day,” Schoenheit supplies the answer. Then, he repeats chastising, “A full eight days.”

“Hm,” you hum, just as acknowledgement to let him know that you heard him. Eight days seems so insignificant. You press another carrot to Oswald’s lips as he takes it in his chattering teeth. As the ebon Havana whittles the vegetable down to nothing, you depress your fingers down onto his fur, feeling the vibrations of his nibbling on your chest.

Eight days? If you had the energy to scoff, you would be up in Schoenheit’s face with the loudest, most scornful scoff he has ever heard in his life, a scoff that would have the academy sending you home with a performing arts award.

Eight days is nothing!

Your apartment goes quiet for a beat. Unsure which one has previously sat down at the bar countertop, you listen to the single pair of footsteps that walks around the wreckage. Crunching glass murmurs in the air. Again, you are unsure on whether one of your two superiors has picked up a photograph frame you bludgeon to bits or has accidentally stepped on the skeleton remains of a ceramic plate you two painted downtown at some rickety pottery studio.

You bloodlet a year worth of your time for him. He left. So, you broke everything that could be a reminder of stolen seconds, minutes, and hours – even though it does not reverse the clock at all – to cement the finiteness.

No going back: that is what you wanted your destruction to symbolize. You know that is not where your feelings lie. Reversing time is all you want to do. All your love and longing is strapped to you like a huge hiking bag, and you cannot find it in yourself to shoulder off that paralysis-esque weight. Thus, it crushes you, much like how Oswald crushes down on your sternum when he starts to make biscuits.

“Do you plan to make it nine?”

That rouses you enough where you stop looking at the ceiling and drop your cheek on the right side of the bed. Schoenheit is the one sitting at your bar. Plucked straight from a vogue magazine, your boss looks like Jesus himself with his shoulder-length hair. His halo is the light shining in your set of a dozen, upside down cordial glasses. Like sleeping bats, they hang from your iron mounted, wine glass rack and cover him in evangelical sunshine. Your personal Jesus who came to console you after a break-up.

“I don’t know,” you verbalize. Moodiness makes you brave. “Why don’t you stay for the next twenty-four hours and find out?” You put another carrot in your mouth, intending to turn back to staring at the ceiling when, “Ew, bunny hair.” You flick your tongue up and down, trying to dislodge the stray black hair.

Chuckling with a dangerous undertow, Schoenheit says, “I wish I could but I have much better things to do with my time than watch you eat your pet’s hair. Time should not be wasted. I know, Potato, that you can use your time more wisely than this.”

Oswald’s hair finally out of your mouth, you bite back, “No, I’m quite content doing this forever.” This time you take care to brush your fingers on the edge of your shirt to rub off pet fur before you reach back into the bowl.

“Well, I tried to be gentle about it.”

Oswald is plucked off your lap. You give a noise of protest when the rabbit is handed to Rook. That noise is effectively silenced when a disposable syringe tip is placed on the skin folding over your carotid artery. Not yet pressing it, just a small apply of pressure to remind you of its existence.

Your slow blink is confronted by the blink of awe that rinses over Schoenheit’s face, thoroughly shocked at your lack of reaction. In the grand scheme of things, eight days truly is nothing. And, in the grand scheme of things, death really is nothing. “I loved him, Schoenheit.” You have no idea what could possibly be in the syringe. Poison made by your boss has made men weighing two hundred plus pounds drop in seconds and has made others dissolve into a bubbling puddle of red.

Thus, you continue on, bitter and thoroughly hurt, “I loved him like a garden loves the sun and rain. I loved him like a guitar loves making music. I loved him like … oh, I don’t know. More than anything really.”

“The sustenance from a kiss is a fertilizer like no other! From each replenishing embrace, a flower grows in the garth of our hearts! What a beautiful seraphim love is! A free spirited angel of our making! Some might even say finding love is like finding Heaven on Earth! Que c'est beau!”

“You’re not helping.”

“Ah, je suis désolé,” Rook apologizes, switching his energy outlet from an impromptu poetry slam to brushing Oswald’s fur in neat sections.

Schoenheit’s eyes are testy as they regard you. Two rich pools of orchid violet dissect you from the top layer of epidermis down to your bone. You are very curious to what those keen eyes could be seeing in the decrepit, disgraceful state you are in. Is there anything left to salvage from you or are you a lost cause (a potted plant, too withered to revive)?

You flinch when the syringe goes in. It feels like pinching skin between metal. As mysterious fluid flows through your carotid artery, you listen to Schoenheit’s lecture, “He has stolen from me something that was in your possession. Something that I trusted you to keep safe. That I cannot forgive.”

When the syringe is pulled out, you offer nothing more than a wince. You want to be a smartass and ask, no bandage?, but you continue to listen on. “Diligence. Excellence. Relentlessness. Those three values are what Pomefiore is founded upon.” The cap clips over the empty needle of the syringe. “I have full confidence in you that those are memorized in your mind. Yes?” Those orchid lakes seem to grow bottomless and nebulous. Which of the Greek Gods must you never look in the eyes?

Jesus pulls back from your coffin-bed. Oswald is put back on your chest like a bundle of flowers.

“The heart is flexible. There is always a place to make new love.”

You have no idea what is in the syringe but you sit up in bed, feeling refreshed like one does after a long shower or long nap.

After they leave, on your countertop and under the hanging wine glasses is a ticket to Ashengrotto’s upcoming masquerade along with three vials of swirling colors that move like tiny lava lamps of blue, red, and yellow.

“Remind him, Potato.”

So caught up in memory-lane, you startle because who are you supposed to remind? And remind them of what? Jesus (the actual Jesus, not your boss), did a week out of commission really have you in such disarray?

Yet, you know each intricate circumstance that leaves your nerves so shot. Just like you know exactly where freckle is on his back, the exact hues that blend together to make up the color of his contrasting, gazing eyes, and just like you know the print his teeth leave behind when he bites down. All that information is left in high, extensive detail in the files of your mind.

Luckily, Schoenheit was only beginning his sentence with Remind him, Potato. You listen to the rest of his words and commit them to memory. “That he is not the only one on the stage. You are there too. On the same stage.”

You inhale a tiny planet of air. Steeling yourself, you take one last glance up to the second floor. The only person who could recognize your face from the casting call of tonight’s performance stands up there, picking his nose with his pinkie like a child. Tonight is just: him, you, and this wire.

The objective of tonight – in order to proceed to the main objective – is to find someone to inject with a syringe.

You have exactly three. Blue, red, and yellow. Three plastic vials that are hidden in a pocket professionally stitched inside the inner wrist of your suit. Nestled together like newborn bunnies nursing, they lie in that pocket and await the moment you take out the needle from your boutonnière.

It is an impossible task to bypass security into an Ashengrotto masquerade. Without fail, guests are scanned down for metal lingering on their bodies. Thus, creative liberties need to be taken to complete Schoenheit’s wish. Underneath the rose pinned on your suit are three needles. They blend together with the metal found in a boutonnière, and that disguise allows you to perform on stage.

A brief [Aside], they also do not check shoes here with their metal scanners.

Each vial has a different job for tonight. Blue, red, and yellow. All your primaries gathered together underneath the veins on your non-dominant wrist.

If injected, blue will cause a seizure unlike the likes anyone has seen before, causing bones to climb into directions thought impossible of anatomy as the victim crawls upward for heavenly salvation. If injected, red will cause the punctured spot to dissolve, flesh dripping away to reveal bone that falls away like a melted jar of sugar. If injected, yellow will cause any wounds to heal, reversing all damage no matter how grotesque or twisted out of proportion.

The best thing about them is there is no need for a syringe. As soon as the needle pierces something, the liquid is pulled out of the plastic by its own fate. Right now, you look around for a masked individual (anyone besides Ashengrotto and Floyd) to empty the blue one into.

It has to be a distraction of magnetic caliber. Everyone’s focus needs to be pulled, even those of the most insignificant waiter to Ashengrotto himself. No matter what, it has to be compelling and spellbinding.

Which is why you chose a man wearing a diver’s helmet. So when his Herculean head inevitably falls, it will cause a loud clank! that is heard all the way from the second floor.

It is why your conspiracy starts off delicate; the femme/homme fatale simply spreading out their influence in subtle ways. You only know you had him ensnared in your web when the arm you are running a hand upon relaxes, his previous flinch and tension melting like a peppermint in the mouth. You flutter your eyelashes at him from behind your goggles.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you; I was simply hoping to get the hors d'oeuvre in front of you.” You retract your hand but not without giving his elbow a teasing squeeze.

It is difficult to deduct any sort of thought from the impenetrability of his costume. Sealed away by blue-rusted brown copper, his ‘face’ is a tenebrous ebony with the words Anchor Engineering, 1913 as his temple and then as his chin. Unperturbed, you stare lovingly into the cold, lifeless circle.

He side-steps but does not leave. That’s good. As you masterfully pluck a shrimp square off the lazy susan, you make sure to turn your victim. Act uninterested in the food. Look at him as if he is your next meal.

“They always serve such extravagant, authentic seafood here. It feels as if I am truly dipping my hand into the Coral Sea and reeling in my meal from those very waters. Don’t you agree?”

The helmet sways up and down in a slow nod. His body underneath is like a statue.

You take half a bite of the shrimp square. It is an explosion of flavor; the bread, sauce, and meat combines into one sophisticated umami that excites your tastebuds. When you finish chewing, actually genuinely pleased with your bite, you hum out, “köstlich!”

And whatever fleeting interest this stranger has with you is amplified, if only by a slim margin. That flat black circle that reminds you of a bottomless fishing hole in northern ice tilts, curious at your words. A smile graces your face.

“Do you speak any German?” The helmet goes back and forth in a negative response. “I’ve picked up a bit of German in my teens. A beautiful language. Köslitch, a pretty word, no?”

His body language is poised with interest. Thank Jesus, he must think you are something exotic and seductive. That intrigue will solidify his fate. “In German, it has a double meaning.”

You finish your shrimp then continue, “It means both funny and delicious. You would call a certain snack köslitch in the same way you would call someone that makes you laugh köslitch. I think,” — Here, you grab his hand. It is ungloved and a bit coarse. Meaty in your slim hand. Gingerly, you pull his hand up towards your mouth, making sure your breath hits across each of his knuckles — “, that you could fit both meanings.”

Then, mimicking a centipede with sharp pincers, you bite hard upon his index finger. And, with both hands cradling his single hand, you slip the needle piercing the blue vial into his exposed wrist. A crescent mark of teeth lingers on the top notch of his finger.

“I’ve always had this secret yen for funny guys.” The black hole leans forward, intense. “Meet me in the bathroom on the second floor in ten minutes.”

Yet, walking away, you know the diver only has five minutes of oxygen left in his tank.

“Ya never had a burger?”

Even though, yes, you did just previously confirm that, Floyd’s awestruck words leave you wide-eyed. You are in disbelief over how … in disbelief he sounds! Lips on his cheek, lipstick-staining activity halting momentarily, you ask, “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“It’s almost impossible to believe!”

You chuckle with a dumb grin. Used to his dime-flipping moods, you lean in to continue peppering his face with kisses. Arms already around his neck, you pull him just a few more centimeters down so you speak into his ear. “Well, we just gonna have to order one after we fuuuck.”

Despite the chuffing link you have with your arms around his neck and with your legs around his waist – your crotch rubbing eagerly and teasingly up against his! – Floyd pulls back from you. It is almost comedical the look of sheer devastation of his lipstick polka-dotted face; would be too if you were not so astronomically horny. “Never? Like never never?”

Oh God, this is going to be a whole thing. “I don’t know. Maybe as a kid? Come here.” You tighten your legs around his waist when he tries to pull himself up from your apartment’s bed. Doubling down, you fasten your pace a bit when grinding down upon his crotch, feeling the familiar shape of his penis in his sweats moving against you so nicely. “Forget burgers. I want a different kind of meat.”

“I can’t just forget something like that! Who the hell grows up without eatin’ a burger!”

How you desperately wish to reverse time when his steadyfast words reach your ears. There is a determined fixation in his voice. You let your arms fall by your head as Floyd’s hands squeeze your ass; he’s now no longer reciprocating in your grinding. Putting on your best pouting face like a young actor desperate for the role, you whine, “If I knew you were going to be like this, I would have said yes.”

“But seriously, how have ya not?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t something my parents made and now I’m on this caloric diet that has me eating whole foods.”

“A hamburger is a whole food. It’s a whole cow.”

“Ugh, I don’t know! Can we please have sex!”

You throw your head back in exasperation. Legs fall down by your side. Floyd had the munchies after coming back from your bowling date, so you thought it would be nice to brainstorm aftercare options for dinner together — ping-ponging between the idea of ordering takeout or going somewhere. Curse you and your big, dumb mouth.

“Nope! We’re goin’ out again!”

Just like that, he is skirting around your apartment to pick up the graphic tee he shucked off. His Neckface dunks are already hooked on the edge of his fingers when you sit up, readjusting your wrinkled shirt. You need to fix your cosmetics. However, when your hand falls around the oyster-shell of your compact mirror, your other hand is grabbed.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Floyd cheers, half-dragging you to the door. He is ignorant to your distress as the compact-mirror slips from your grip, soap-esque. “Me and my brother used to go to this place all the time. They do this whole burger of the week thing; it’s like pun-based burgers. My brother kept going back for the jokes, but I just think the grub’s good. You’ll love them! The owner’s super nice and I met his wife and kids –!”

“Floyd.” Your feet digging into the carpet finally grabs his attention. His face is equivalent to a giant question mark. “I need to check my face.”

The blank look on his face is wiped by him moving his dual-colored eyes up and down, surveying the area. His reply is genuine. “Looks fine to me, babe.” A mischievous gleam comes to his irises as he chuckles, “It’s a real sexy face. Even sexier when it’s moanin’ my name.”

Hope flares up in you. Maybe, just maybe, you can drag him back to the bed.

“Yeah, baby?” You slur huskily before pulling him into a deep kiss.

Floyd always kisses well. Somewhere in the middle of it, he spins you. Towards the bed? Hope is dashed when you hear the click of your apartment door, realizing you two are on the opposite side of it. Your boyfriend giggles the entire way down to the lobby, having successfully duped you.

The burger joint is built like a tiny house or a big shed, depending on how you view its humble spot in the universe. With the sun starting to set, the owners have powered on the string of lights crawling like a march of ants across the tiny house’s soffit. The unique footprint of Floyd’s car engine is already recognized before you enter. And, when you are seated, the waitress already knows not to ask for Floyd’s order (“He won’t order anythin’. Just trusts the slobs in the back to bring him something good.”) and the waiter claps him so hard on the shoulder you are afraid Floyd’s thin frame would break (“Haven’t seen you in a whole month! Where you been?” – here, the waiter stops and looks at you – “… and you are trying to hide things from us now?”). The energy is so light that you cannot stop yourself from leaning over your shared appetizer, waffle fries.

“You failed to mention you're a local celebrity here, you know? Warn a girl/boy before you bring them to somewhere where they’re rolling out the proverbial red carpet for them” you say, fishing a fry out of the greasy basket. You really should have done your face.

“What,” unlike you, Floyd talks with his mouth half full of words and the other half full of food, “everyone here is super lowkey.”

“I think the entire world is lowkey from your perspective.” You dot your sentence by dipping the waffle fry in the shared ketchup. “I feel like everyone is dissecting me.”

Floyd looks back again at the bar where everyone seems to be oblivious to your conversation, so deep and entangled in their own. “Nah, I don’t feel it.” And before you can refute, Floyd reaches over and bumps your chin with his finger, causing you to miss your bite. Your worry is forgotten as you dabbing your face with a napkin, laughing threats about taking the entire basket if he plays dirty with his food anymore.

At an appropriate time, your food arrives from the kitchen. It is set down on the table and this time, instead of Floyd’s shoulder being clapped, his hair is ruffled. Juice spills over the edge of the lower bun, soaking into the yeast. The bun seems to radiate its own heat as you pick up your burger – Knife to Meet You Burger (comes with thinly sliced beets) – and bring it towards your mouth.

“You eat with your pinkies up?”

Lower jaw still hanging open, you glance at Floyd. He has already taken two large bites of his burger, a ketchup mustache decorating his face. My, he really does not care about his appearance. “Hmmm?” You look down to see that your pinkies are in fact raised like two little horns.

A laugh comes out of your mouth. It has been ages since you’ve eaten finger food other than fries or maybe some whole wheat crackers. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Floyd smiles, fond. “Cute.”

The clang as metal helmet meets ground sends a shockwave through the masquerade. A woman shrieks; when a man starts to yell out if anyone shrouded in mysterious masks might just be a doctor by chance, you make your way up the stairs.

It won’t take you long to decipher the code. The potion Schoenheit gave you yesterday heightened your senses. Hearing each click of a correct turn on the safe’s dial will be easy. Like how elevated your sight and smell are, there is a certain air about you.

Despite the entire prologue, you feel good. Heartbreak might be the costume cemented upon you in this masquerading parade but you are still capable. Pomefiore’s disciples always seek to be their best.

As you slip into Ashengrotto’s bedroom like a breeze, removing your snorkel, you forget in your joy of elevated sensations how your own heavy scent carries on the wind.

Just as the safe opens, the door to Ashengrotto’s bedroom opens.

It is a bit hard to shoulder your apartment door open with arms full of groceries, five ringlets of plastic hanging on for dear life on each of your forearms, but you still manage to do it.

Today, the click of the door seems a smidgen louder than normal. It is probably because of how you need to use your spine and hip to push open the wooden slab. Blissfully unaware your key did not manage to unlock the door on the first try like you thought, you rotate yourself so you walk into your small apartment chest first.

You would have flicked on the lights if you did not spot movement in a place that is definitely not where your bunny cage is. Five grocery bags sliding off your right arm, you hold out your second kunai, pinched in your hand.

The first kunai you throw lands a few centimeters from the man who is crouching down by your slide-open closet door, piercing the birch wood.

You take care to put down the groceries bags on your left arm. You have lettuce, eggs, and bananas in those. Hand still aimed, the point of the kunai trained straight at the spot where the intruder is, you take your non-dominant hand and turn on the lights.

“Floyd?”

Standing up – the files detailing Schoenheit’s jury tampering where two of Kingscholar’s men were killed by Schoenheit’s men and then the failed narcotics conspiracy sentence to imprison one of Ashengrotto’s men (files that could get Schoenheit arrested in the wrong hands (his) and files that could get Ashengrotto arrested in the right hands (your boss’s)) in his dominant left hand – Floyd gives you a fleeting once over. He looks as if all of your time spent together was erased from his memory. As if he has successfully forgotten it.

“It’s nothing personal, Shrimpy. Just business.”

The door of Ashengrotto’s bedroom fully opens and knocks you back into the present.

He looks handsome.

To be fair, his face has always looked handsome. He has looked handsome curling into your blankets, hair unbrushed and laughing. He has looked handsome picking you up in his car, cheek soft and squished on his steering wheel. He has looked handsome eating a burger with you, face dotted with a melange of sauce and crumbs. He looks handsome, staring down at you now.

Shock – in the terms of upsetting events that surprise you like a deer in highlights – is something Schoenheit has trained out of your system. The only man who does not act is a dead man. So, when you launch yourself to your feet, you fully anticipate getting the first punch in.

Only to be caught so off guard when your ex-boyfriend cuffs both your wrists in one large hand and sends your face reeling back in whiplash due to the connecting embrace his other hand delivers.

It feels like a spider blooming. That animal is all you can use to describe the sensation of being punched. The egg-shaped body of the arthropod is the spot where the nose lands – directly on your nose – and the spreading flame of pain is like a thousand legs stretching over your face.

A teardrop trails down the heated surface of your face as you gather your bearings. Or is it blood from a nostril? You cannot check the color of the watery drop because Floyd still has your two wrists prisoner in his single hand. With a grimace and hateful eyes, you turn so you may face him. Gaze upon his handsome face and deem it ugly.

“Shit. I didn’t mean ta hit ya that hard.” The whiplash you are receiving tonight is like a rollercoaster! Full of so many ups and downs, just like you would expect of Floyd. Still, you cannot help the look of pure dumb shock that paints itself over your face as you are suddenly fussed over.

When the hand that punched you tenderly touches your broken nose, you reel back with a growl.

“Get your hands off me!”

The files are still in your hand when you pull back. Like a magnetized magnet, Floyd follows in your desperate attempt to escape the bind he has upon you. You waste no time in clicking your heels, gaining an extra inch under your left sole. If that idiot won’t let go, you’ll force it. Left soles now sprouting a field of spikes, you bring your foot up and kick him hard in the abdomen.

Floyd falls back. The papers rustle. The click of your heels is like the tongue of a dragon sparking up a breath of fire. As his footing stumbles, you kick up and cut a long slash across his cheek and down to his lips with the knife sticking out the top of your right sole.

“Shit,” Floyd shouts as his body collides and closes the door.

When you pull your fingertips back from your face, you see that the drop from earlier was certainly blood.

Then, for a moment, you and Floyd observe each other. Intensely, both of your eyes take to tracking over the features previously known so intimately. Your eyes squint with so much vitriol that Floyd almost blurs in your vision. But, you are eating up the gourmet image of him, blood curling down the left side of his face much like the black strand curls down his right.

He smiles that familiar smile. “Hi, Shrimpy-baby.”

“...”

“Ya know, I never told ya this, but I always had this secret yen for the feisty ones.”

“Don’t spew that shit at me, you asshole.”

What a wicked game he played with you. To burrow into your life like a plump, devouring mite that took to digging deeper into the soil of your garden. A year of love is too convoluted of a scheme for a man of his ever-changing disposition to do, yet he did it. In doing so, he has destroyed your belief in the very concept of love.

This time around, you are much more unsure if the drop falling down your face is a tear or blood.

“Ya … You smell the same.” Confusion flickers over your face, so Floyd continues, “Didn’t think you’d be wearin’ the same perfume. Was almost positive I wouldn’t smell it again. Shit stinks.”

My, what a compliment. Like a practiced magician, you go to pull a syringe out from underneath your cufflink when surprise paralyzes you. Cheekbones burns as Floyd perfectly recites the French name – you distantly him saying how much he hated that language – of your perfume.

“Comme Des Garçons Avignon.” Then he names the top notes. “Smells like Roman chamomile, elemi, and incense.” Then he finishes off with, “Ya spray like twelve puffs on yourself. And ya always make sure to get in on your inner wrist before rubbin’ it into your neck.”

“There’s something evil in you.” Disgust coats your tongue as you shake your head back and forth. Why can’t he just vanish off the face of the earth? Or at least walk back into the masquerade so you can finish your job.

You cannot face the ugly truth that you still love him.

Floyd’s eyes flicker down to the ground … or perhaps only to analyze the files in your hand. All the same, a shadow falls over his features. It reminds you of each time his body shut down when emotions got too big, resemblant of powering off electronics. His next words are less confident than how he described your habits and perfume in detail. Whispering, he insists, “You should be in my life.”

What is he talking about? Your head continues shaking, almost stuck in that action. You were in his life. Both of you were so intimately entangled with one another’s life. That sentiment is now completely unrealistic; this cavern between you will never heal.

“I hate you,” you whisper, just before closing the distance.

There is a foreign sentiment you know pretty well despite the language gap. Bilingual because of Schoenheit and his right hand man, you pick up French and German much like how a child picks up alluring shells on the shoreline. You carry them in the pail of your brain. Naturally, you cannot stop one from floating to the surface as pallid plaster coats your knuckles.

Qui aime bien, châtie bien. Who loves well, punishes well.

In its original meaning, it relates to the idea that as your love grows older, you become well versed in teasing. More comfortable in your aging relationship, certain barriers fall away from the heart. The nautilus shell falls away to reveal the soft, vulnerable body of slime. Teasing happens. Tough love is natural. Right now though, as your hand clenched around a syringe falls in a diagonal arch, you use the proverb in a much more literal way.

The popcorn wall dissolves under administration of the liquid. Red churns in the tube before magical magnetism pulls into the area of injection. Floyd ducks out of way just in time and makes a grab for the hand holding the files.

TITLE: THE TEXT MESSAGE ‘IT’S NOT ME, IT’S YOU’

INT. ASHENGROTTO’S BEDROOM

OPEN on two people fighting. One holds a stack of papers large enough to be a dictionary. The other is trying half-heartedly to steal those files back, but is mostly fixated on avoiding the onslaught of punches falling in his direction. The shuffle is a violent dance. Punches are thrown and dodged. Some connect and others miss. The only sound is the huff of measured breaths, exhaling when either FLOYD or YOU attack on offense.

The room is full of three main objects; a safe, a bed, and a dresser underneath a large mirror.

FLOYD.

(exuberantly)

You’ve been holdin’ back on me. I didn’t know you could fight like this.

YOU.

…

FLOYD.

C’mon, Shrimpy, don’t be like that. Woah!

YOU

Do you ever shut up?

FLOYD.

I’d like it if you made me. Aren’t little spiders supposed to neutralize their prey with venom?

YOU.

Aren’t little eels supposed to bite their prey with teeth? … Did it feel good? Building me up to tear me down?

FLOYD.

It was just business. It had nothing ta do with us.

A punch connects with the side of FLOYD’s face. As he stumbles, a swinging leg sends his torso falling onto the dresser. It rattles like a hundred bones in a coffin shakened like a child’s birthday present.

YOU.

(voice raising)

Don’t lie again. I’m sick of being lied to by you!

FLOYD.

I never lied to you. I haven’t been lyin’ about a thing. It’s not fair that Vil gets to have ya.

YOU keep throwing punches, ignoring his words.

FLOYD, growing increasingly aggravated, abandons his position of defense. He pulls YOU in by the lapels of your suit, hoisting them up by sheer strength and slams them into the mirror above the dresser. Papers fall like autumn leaves and glass falls like snowflakes. Seen subtly behind them, a trail of blood coming from their pierced shoulders, rolling down the dresser’s side like one stretching snake of sanguine.

YOU twist yet are unable to escape the grasp.

FLOYD narrows his gold and olive brown eyes.

FLOYD. (CONT.)

I know everything about ya. I know ya can’t blow a bubble with gum. I know each mole and freckle on ya. And I know no matter how hard you try, your pinkies always go up when you eat a burger! So, you shouldn’t be with a lover who doesn’t know ya. Give him up. I can put in a good word with Azul; we could be back to how we used to be. It’s not fair that Vil gets to have you! I should have ya!

YOU

(shaking their head and laughing, haggard)

You don’t get to have me. – No-Not after what you did.

FLOYD

(angry)

You should be in my space! You should be in my life!

THE fight continues. A sharp sound much like a tongue clicking inside a mouth startles the audience. YOU press the left sole of their shoe into FLOYD’s abdomen and push back as hard as they can. A pained shout bleeds out his mouth. YOU, stumbling from the glass that managed to sink through their suit and into skin, goes to punch yet is blocked.

WITH a rough tug on YOU’s biceps, FLOYD pushes them both down to the ground. Pain flares across their back like one crashing wave. EXIT SCENE.

“Kiss me. Kiss me,” he pleads, his fingers digging so harshly into your skin that bruises will be there tomorrow. His voice is turbulent with so many emotions. “Just one. Just kiss me again.”

Fist enclosed on his shirt’s sternum, you push against him and try to rebuild the distance between you two. “Get off! Get off me, you psycho!” Each time he attempts to close the gap, you violently twist your lips away. Your body squirms like a desperate fly caught in a web. His lips collide with the corner of your lip and chin. You push back as hard as you can. “Get off me right – fucking! Floyd!”

The hands that left tomorrow’s bruises on your upper arms move to grip your writhing, wrinkled in anger face. He holds you still with tremendous strength, eye to eye. Each atom of your skull shakes with frustration. Gritted teeth almost seem to vibrate in your mouth. Despite your desperation to tear away and flee, Floyd keeps you pinned.

“I love you so much,” he confesses, dual-colored eyes brimming over. Emotion crinkles his voice. You want to scoff at his well-improvised act.

The scoff lands in Floyd’s mouth as he pulls you into a perilous kiss. Teeth act like iron gates. Closing him off from your love, you try to use each component of yourself to escape. Knees and fists curl up and push him away with fruitless strength. Nose wrinkles as if you smelt something horrid. When he tries to French-kiss you, you take the hand shoving at his chest to wrap your hand around his throat. A thumb presses hard in his trachea.

Floyd pulls back immediately, hacking and his spit flying through the air. There, you think, is your opening for freedom.

Your body rolls onto its side. You only get a shuffling inch or so away from him before he is laughing jubilantly, teeth gleaming in his mouth – Like he used to laugh at comedy shows, playing on your shitbox CRT, or like he used to laugh when breaking out into an impromptu dance, playing music and heartstrings in your kitchen. – “That’s my Shrimpy. Oh, I love you!”

Your fruitless escape is squashed as Floyd pulls you back into another kiss. This time he manages to slip his mouth past those iron gates.

According to songs, sparks fly when a kiss happens. In this moment, you feel like those sparks are not from joyous, amorous fireworks but a hundred plane engines blowing their transmission. Screaming into his mouth, you pull back so hard that your head splinters a crack into the wooden dresser behind you.

Floyd’s hands protectively cradle the back of your head after that. He rotates his body so his weight smothers. Your rotated body is once more flatten like a pancake. Lying by the dresser, you kiss – well, he kisses you. You are actively still fighting against it.

Curses and potions, you know them well. They are frequently used in your work. It is not unheard of to utilize ancient, outdated methods of magic to gain an upper hand in this dangerous tango of organized crime. Just like the Shrouds excel in technology, the Schoenheits excel in potions and curses. No matter how many charms cloaked over objects or potions brewed inside bubbling cauldrons, you have never been under a curse or tasted a potion more dangerous than love. It is the most potent, poisonous curse.

A wet drop falling from Floyd’s face falls on your cheek; tear or blood, who can tell? The next motion you make, you blame it upon the brain damage you sustained when knocking your head into the dresser’s bottom leg.

As you grab his hair and open those iron gates, you think, ‘Sorry Schoenheit.’

Slobbering into his mouth, like you are trying to fuse together, you explore the cave. Finding the familiar stalagmites of teeth and the moss spot where his canker sore from too many bedtime sodas or snacks laced with salt and vinegar. Teal hair is pulled at the root and your embrace feels more like a hook than a hand, yet Floyd still launches into the kiss with relief and excitement.

He is an everlasting object of motion. Unstoppable and breaking laws of psychics. He pushes his tongue further in, entwines it with yours. Each pressure point of contact is seductively bewitching. Floyd lets out a long, stretching groan like a widow mourning. The sound reverbs in the grottos of your interlocked mouths.

Hands flurry about in wild motion. You open up your legs and hold him pelvis to pelvis. His hands do not stop running up and down frantically from shoulders to waist. It is only because of this endless stream of movement that Floyd does not notice when you draw a Z across the back of his skull.

Pulling back from the kiss, you say a single word with closed eyes, “Somnum.”

Floyd’s own eyes fall shut and his body goes limp.

Like pushing away fallen rumble, you discard Floyd’s body to the side and bring yourself up to sitting on your knees. A shaky groan exits you. Fingers trembling from adrenaline, you smooth the pads of them over your nose – it is definitely broken – over your back – the material is wet with blood – and over your bottom lip – it radiates a soft heat. Ducking your head, you sigh.

Bewitched Sleep is one of the least complex curses. Just a simple swish of a finger writing a Z and a single Latin word, the chosen victim will fall under a temporary spell of sleep. Those guarded enough will be able to resist it though; casting a glance over at Floyd’s slumbering body, you reflect upon the notion that his iron gates must have been open the entire fight.

A glare passes over your face. It melts. Then, it comes back again stronger than before. “Such an asshole.” You bite at the air and push yourself up to your feet. One last time, you knock your heels together and the spikes underneath your left sole disappear. “You’re the most convincing actor of all, Floyd.”

It takes a while to gather up the mess of papers, shaking the glass off certain pages. Still, you pile them all back into the folder and check that none had swooped underneath the bed or dresser. As you go about collecting all the pages, you also pick up the snorkel you left by the safe. Holding it up to your ear, you say, “Have Epel send the car around to the back.”

It takes a while to receive an answer and, even when you do, the snorkel is held in your hand rather than by your ear so it is a very muffled answer. “Good work, Potato.” The praise feels empty as you stare down at Floyd’s body sleeping in a bed of glass.

He is not your problem anymore. He is not yours. Yet, it was only nine days ago that he meant everything to you and he had been yours. Just because it is over, that doesn’t mean it didn’t mean anything.

Like a sinking stone, your acid-coated heart makes itself a little elevator ride down to your stomach.

“Fuck,” you whisper before fastening your snorkel back on your face. “I’m ridiculous.”

So, ridiculously, you find yourself hooking your hands under Floyd’s armpits. Dead-esque, his head slumps forward on a limp neck. It reminds you of those nights, coming home to the apartment from the bar, each of you shouldering the other’s weight. Experienced with it, it is a fluid effort and getting Floyd on Ashengrotto’s bed is no trouble.

You shake the files in your hand. You stomp your feet to make sure each blade is inside the sole. Then, you go to leave?

Ridiculously, you find that your feet are hesitating. Shuffling indecisively on the carpet. Heavy as if cement has been poured in them. The window is only a matter of a dozen steps away yet you might as well be trying to trudge through glutinous quicksand towards a whole other planet.

Once more, your intelligent mentor’s voice rains down from the Heavens with his oh so introspective words of wisdom (this time imaginary). “Honey, ditch that loser,” Jesus-Schoenheit says.

‘Oh I wish I could. I really wish I could,’ you bemoan to the fake voice of your boss, face pinched in a grimace. As you turn around, you start to dig around in your slacks pockets.

‘I should have that pen somewhere.’ Shoving the files under your armpit, fingers flutter through the snow fields of lint at the bottom of each pocket. Where is that stupid pen? You know you were carrying a permanent tattoo marker. If you had to make a run for it after getting the codes but before opening the safe, you brought along the writing utensil so you could mark down the numbers on the length of your arm … that is, if you can find it.

A breath of relief escapes you. Uncapping the pen, you take a short moment to observe comatose Floyd. Even with his clothes elongated and stretched from your hateful hands and his skin drenched in sweat and sanguine, he rivals the very concept of beauty. Individuals favored by Aphrodite, actors or actresses with faces that belong immortalized in marble, and a blond Queen who seduces men and women with a poisonous potency: these are the type of people you surround yourself with daily. Yet, all of them look hideous in comparison to Floyd who sleeps with a slightly parted mouth and tacky blood streaming down his face. How has he warped your vision so grandly?

Upset, you force your eyes to fall away from his mesmeric features and move down to his waistline. Most of your graphic tee is untucked like normal so you have little problem with wrestling his shirt above his belly button. On his navel, above the dusting of black hair, you place the tip of the marker.

In quick yet eligible swirls, you write down your new phone number across Floyd’s V-line. A twisty six forms, an eight loops side to side, a soldier-straight one is born. You punctuate it all with a sharp dot, imagining that your very innocent pen is a dangerous knife. The stab of ink hits him so hard that he coughs in his sleep, pained.

God, you want to make him feel so much more pain than that.

Capping your marker, you pull down his shirt and pull the files from the crook of your armpit. Rereading the document’s identification, you feel just a tiny spritz of your frustration dissolve inside of you. The job is complete. Despite everyone back home thinking you would be a loose canon and fail tremendously, you manage to succeed.

Yes, your nose will have to be snapped back into place. And, you doubt Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) will be gentle with the whole procedure. But, at least you did not run into Ashengrotto which you consider a huge, jackpot-esque win of a night full of many ups and downs, and much lack of faith from homebase.

The door clicks open just as you reach up to your ear. Startled, your fingers depress down on the still intact communication device, sending your desolate “fucking shit” out on radio waves back to that beloved homebase.

“(Name)? (Name), what’s wrong?” Schoenheit’s voice worries in your ear as you and Ashengrotto lock eyes across his wrecked, demolished bedroom. The absolute puzzlement in those blue eyes would be amusing if only you did not know the octopus’s exact next move.

“How close is Epel?”

“He’s only one block away from your location.”

“Yeah, I got enough time.”

“Potato?”

“I’m jumping out the window,” you inform your boss just as Ashengrotto unclips the gun from his belt. Confusion has long since drained from those blueberry hues; just as hesitation has vanished magically from your feet. “Tell Epel, proceed as planned, meet me at the spot.”

“Potato! Don’t you dare jump through a window! (Name)? (Name)!”

You have a nagging suspicion that Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) will not be gentle when taking the glass out of your skin. It matters very little to you as the wall by your head coughs out a dusting of white plaster. A decorative new eye in Ashengrotto’s bedroom wall is just another damage left behind in the mess you have made. Something else matters much more.

There has been a dormant craving in you for disgustingly greasy food for days.

That said, you need to keep your calories in check so you could definitely use some company to reach over the sticky table and paw at your share of food. The burger of the week at yours and Floyd’s self-established ‘joint’ is Poutine on the Ritz Burger. Comes with poutine fries. Probably will put a yellow, waxy clot of cholesterol in your veins. As you leap from the window, you can already picture it perfectly.

Floyd, sitting across the table from you, licking gravy from his fingers, his shark maw gnashing back and forth noisily as he grinds down cheese curds and potatoes from your fries, looking as irresistible as a hung Da Vinci portrait.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #twst floyd

66 notes · View notes

oonajaeadira · 3 months

Text

For the Love of Fic Joel Miller

It's been a time in my world. Busyness and writer's block has been troubling. I think a lot of it stems from just feeling behind in general, so I thought I might launch into a catch-up campaign for myself ... in reading fic.

And I had a lot of this fella to catch up on.

So hold onto your butts, my friends, because herein lies the fics I loved in my several weeks of just. reading. Joel. <3

Spinner by @insomniamamma Joel has such a caretaker streak in him that being observant and taking to a neuro-divergent reader rings so true. I love a huddling-for-warmth tale--I do so enjoy a good cuddle with a gruff broad man.

The Reason for the Season by @prolix-yuy Now here's a fun idiots-to-lovers take where one of the yearners is our Joel. When Ellie has questions about old traditions, he takes her to the other idiot--a school teacher with a warm smile and some yearns of her own. Aka you. I very much enjoyed this tale of finding the many varied and true meanings for the Holiday in all its forms.

Please Mister Please by @grogusmum Hazel imagines Joel as a kindred lovely soul, one that has a song of his own that brings sorrow, just like yours does you. But is seems he has a better song in mind....

Carpe Diem by @boliv-jenta I love that fic writers want nothing ore in the world than to tell Joel he's going to get taken care of and doesn't have a choice in the matter. I'm so glad this one afforded him the chance to actually speak and grab the moment...even with a little help from a friendly weed...

Year of Small Joys: A Quiet Night In by @keldabe-kriff I'm in love with this little slice of post-apocalypse life. It gives me hope that even if the world falls apart, there will still be the chance to find the quiet somewhere, and with someone...

Simple Pleasures by @julesonrecord Listen. i don't care if the info trail goes cold or not. If it means getting off with Joel--even this cranky, somber version of him--I already consider my self lucky.

Able by @ladamedusoif I have no doubt that a cane would come in handy during an apocalypse, and for many reasons. It's fun to watch Joel realize it too, and to walk the reader through one of the things he knows--a full-blown panic attack. Disabled reader represent!

Snooze by @tightjeansjavi Short. Sweet. Quiet. A soft drabble of everything I want--now that Joel is safe and sinking into a domestic life, he loves him some naps. And with naps comes warmth and lazy days, and a big ol' bear of a man to cuddle with.

Mine by @secretelephanttattoo I really really love this beautifully written meditation on Joel and Tess' relationship; how they share intimacy and how they won't. It's heartbreaking and beautiful and so very real.

When His Eyes Open by @undercoverpena A beautiful train of thought from Joel as he opens his eyes to find you awake next to him, thankful for what you represent in his life. It's so soft and wonderful. It's a drabble, but I could read a whole multi-chapter fic of this.

BY @something-tofightfor

Birthday Kiss #7: Joel Miller If I was stuck at the end of the world, I'd be thankful to have a Joel Miller to find me in the early hours, knowing exactly where I'd be and exactly what day it was, just to sing me a Happy Birthday.

Smutsgiving Feast 2023: Turkey - Joel Miller It's Thanksgiving in Jackson and Joel's been helping you get settled in after a traumatic past. Everything you need is here--family, an invitation, Joel carving a perfect turkey with his sleeves all rolled up...and perhaps there's more going on upstairs later....

Snow and Mistletoe (series) Rachael loves Christmas and I always look forward to her holiday fics since the coziness always comes through so strong in them. This series is no exception by far. A no-outbreak fic where you own a music store and Ellie's your niece and Sarah's her best friend and the two girls pull a parent trap on you and Joel in the very best way. It all unfolds against a backdrop of different holiday gatherings--social, work, family--and all of them sweet and beautiful and enticing in their own way. The season may be over, but this zinged me back in time a couple of months and I'm not mad about it. In fact, I'm thankful for it.

BY @missredherring

Wrong Until You Make it Right A yearning Joel is always good in my book, but the earnest way he years after his plus-sized coworker here is so very juicy and sweet. I love to see him watch a lady do what she does best.

J.M. + "Tell me what you like" I think if I was stuck at the end of the world and asked Joel Miller to read to me because I had no glasses and he said yes, I might die of happiness on the spot.

Warming Up Joel deserves a good teasing, which is a little of what he gets for sleeping in while you go outside to shovel and then return to his furry, heated body to warm up. and, of course, maybe get a little recreational. After all, nothing warms up cold hands like all the bits and pieces of a Joel Miller.

A Flower in February I really love this story. Rachel does a good job of placing you firmly in the QZ with all of its bleakness, giving you one spot of color--a crocus in the snow. After a spot of bad luck with some bad people, Joel's there to set things right--well, as right as it can be. And I'll take it, because in the world of TLOU, it's everything.

BY @ezrasbirdie

Observations This is so so sweet. Neuro-D reader is so observant about not being accepted or invited to be part of groups, it breaks my heart. But Joel sees her. Worries about her. Likes her. And he's getting better at pasta.

Sticky This one left me a mess. Maybe not as messy as the toy reader gives him to play with while she's gone or while she's on the phone, but I may have had to wipe the drool off my chin...

Crystal Now this one was made for me. Here we have a witchy reader and Joel has a lot of thoughts about her. Surprise though, because none of them are negative. They're curious and wondrous and endearing. He's bewildered by the hanging herbs and the rocks and oils, but they make her happy and that's all he asks. Sweet man.

Sparks Fly Two words: eating ass. That's what falls out of reader's mouth under the influence and perhaps that's a good slip because there's gonna be plenty going in her mouth--and Joel's--later on. And it's gonna be hot like fire.

BY @blueeyesatnight

There's a Word for It As Blue says in her notes, this is where she lives. As in, it's what she does best. This here is a no nonsense meditation on Joel and Tess and how they met and how they functioned. There may or may not have been a word for what they had...it was many words. And they're all here in order, comprising this fic.

Trimmed This fic hit something deep in me, the way it uses memory is really lovely and really feels steeped in canon. The little things we share with someone, not worth mentioning to anyone else, hard to put into words how meaningful it is to you personally or maybe you don't know until they're gone...or until a familiarity with someone else triggers it...

Trouble This is a masterclass in examining Ellie and Joel after they return to Jackson. It weaves in and out of their shared POVs, examining their feelings about who they've become, how they justify Joel's actions and words, who they are to each other, how far they can trust one another, and maybe how tainted that love is. But it's still love all the same. It's amazing and packs a really good punch.

Honest Mistake A short and sweet trope reversal where Joel makes an honest mistake and instead of retrieving Tommy from a situation, kidnaps a boss instead. I love the way the brothers' relationship comes out in the dialogue.

Trying This fic broke my heart a couple of times. Blue imagines the Joel of beforetimes and then bridges the gap to Tess. The man just keeps at it, over and over....because its' what he knows. It makes his arrangement with Tess and actual heaven and I thank her for it.

I Like My Girls A Little Bit Older - (Over the Hill pair) And I like that Joel likes it. He certainly has a type and the reader in this fic has a real sassy, no-nonsense attitude that can meet Joel's in a pretty good dance. And that last sentence may be a spoiler for this story...maybe...

I Know Just What You're Saying - (Over the Hill pair) I love that when Joel is having trouble understanding a teenage girl, he has the foresight to go talk to someone what WAS one once. And that he cares enough to ask for the biiggest favor...and that the reader has no choice but to give it to him.

I Thought I Could Be Someone - (Over the Hill pair) There are so many forms of grief and some of them come out of nowhere from sources you never even knew. Blue does beautiful job in finding that moment here, all wrapped up in an unexpected softness from Joel. This is my favorite of the series yet.

Just Like Heaven - (Over the Hill pair) This brought me back to being a teenager, that "does he like me or want to keep me at arm's length" feeling, that "should I kiss him or is he gonna kiss me" feeling. Of course I get the ending I'm hoping for though! Blue is not gonna leave us hanging when it comes to Joel Miller.

That Summer Seemed to Last Forever - (Over the Hill pair) I still don't forgive Blue for this one. How dare she make me love so bittersweet? That's not to say it isn't beautiful and artfully done. Grab yer hankies, all.

BY @morallyinept

O' Christmas Tree by @morallyinept This is a precious, delicate story, one in which Joel loves so deeply and hurts so much that the thought of losing you--a real possibility since you've been very ill. But he'd do pretty much anything to see you smile, even if it means facing down a day int he cold to bringyou something to warm your heart.

Northern Lights Imagine camping with Joel. Sharing a sleeping bag. Under the aurora. Hand stuff in the wild has never been so sweet and hot.

Saviour Harsh and heartbreaking and real, this Joel is almost beyond help and I love the way Jett so beautifully details the many little deaths of a survivor. Angst to spare here, but true to character all the way.

Adoration Imagine you are married to no-outbreak, breast-man Joel. Happy. Loved. With a lump. I'm so awed by this fic, that Jett takes a very common nightmare and examines it, never sugar-coating, never denying the difficulties. It's a hard process and maybe I cried. But then there's Joel and his beautiful, steady consistency. I've never been more in love.

Home I can't imagine the love of my life just disappearing one day...but Jett can. Don't worry though, there's a happy ending waiting for you.

BY @maggiemayhemnj

Happy Tuesday There's no need for Valentine's Day if there's a Happy Tuesday. I love this take on a couple who know how sappy they are for each other but make a joke of subverting the sap. A no-outbreak Joel who's still 20 years on, 20 years in love, and 20 years loving it. Which is exactly how long I'll be loving these two.

A mini Happy Tuesday interlude (Spring prompt: Bees) - (Happy Tuesday pair) Maggie's damn good with a drabble, but even better with a good ending line. I smile every time.

He Sees You - (Happy Tuesday pair) If this is what goes through Joel's head as he watches you assess yourself in the mirror, then that man is in L O V E love.

Breakfast Is Served - (Happy Tuesday pair) I would do anything to be able to cook well, if only to be able to make biscuits for Joel Miller so we can sit at the table with messy bed head and use breakfast as Sunday foreplay.

#for the love of fic #tlou fanfic #joel miller

70 notes · View notes

brooklynisher · 4 months

Text

Alright, I'll post it here. Please be nice, it's my first published writing on here :}

CW for emotional distress, yelling, and animal abuse

Green Light

The Spine has been called on by Peter Walter to participate in a few tests, but The Spine can’t help but feel that there’s something very wrong about these tests.

The Spine stood still counting the number of wires in the room. He counted the wires, then the flasks, then the ratio of flasks, empty to full to partially full. He would read the paper. Making sure to read each and every word carefully and slowly. Refusing to continue until he understood every last bit of what he just read. This is how he spends his free time. It’s not like he has much else to do. Aside from the fact that he and all of the other robots haven’t been around for more than a few months, there’s also a lot he’s simply not allowed to do. But as much as he hates being unable to do anything he wants, he has developed some essential skills considerably faster than the others.

When he learned how to read, that’s all he really did, though he limited himself to the newspapers. He was pretty caught up in current events as a result. Counting, fractioning, identifying things around the room, while being relatively simple tasks to most adults, was a huge learning experience for the titanium robot. Anything he can do to be just a bit smarter was propitious.

Peter Walter walks in with a strange expression on his face. The Spine can’t tell if he’s angry, passionate, if his feelings are strong or dull, he simply can’t tell. He feels it’s a failure in his ability to identify facial expressions.

“The Spine,” Peter starts.

“Yes sir?” The Spine straightens his posture.

“I need you to come with me.”

He makes a small gesture urging The Spine to follow him. The Spine spine responds with a simple, “Yes sir.” before taking his inventor’s lead. He tries to make sure any anxiety doesn’t show. He’s a robot after all. He’s not supposed to be feeling things like anxiety. Yet he can’t help but feel slightly anxious every time Peter calls on him to do something he doesn’t know anything about. They arrived in a small concrete room. It’s mostly empty with the exception of an oddly colorful board hanging high up on the wall. The board contains the names of each Walter automaton followed by 5 red lightbulbs. A few of the bulbs for each robot are green, but none are out of order. Peter orders The Spine to stay put before leaving the room. The Spine tries to make observations while he waits.

“Rabbit… 3 green lights… 2 red… Zer0… 5 green lights… 0 red… Hatchworth-”

Peter Walter has returned. The Spine straightens his posture once again. Peter seems to be pulling a large wagon of some kind. The contents inside the wagon are covered with a beige tarp. Peter approaches The Spine.

“The Spine,” Peter starts.

“Yes sir?”

“Take my wrist.”

He pulls up his sleeve. The Spine notices that Peter’s wrist seems to be oddly beat up. He’s not sure what this could mean, but he must obey orders. He grips his wrist as gently as possible trying not to harm him.

“Squeeze it,” Peter commands.

Squeeze it? But The Spine is made out of metal. Peter is made out of flesh. The Spine doesn’t have sensory receptors. Peter does. For all he knows, he already has a tight grip around Peter’s wrist. What if he hurts him? What would he do? But The Spine has learned that obedience is better than defiance. Even if it’s at the risk of causing more issues. He squeezes his wrist.

“AUGH!”

Peter pulls his hand away and turns his back towards The Spine. The Spine is instantly filled with regret, grabbing his own hand as if to keep it under control. He canes his neck just enough to see the damage he has caused. Peter’s hand is limp. Oh god.

“Pe- Mister Walter! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- I- I was just-” He tries to apologize, but the words struggle to escape him. He’s not even allowed to apologize. If he apologizes, then that means he made a mistake. And mistakes are a no-go here.

“Stop your stammering!” Peter hisses at him.

The Spine only hangs his head low. Ready to endure whatever it is that he deserves. Peter takes a big shaky breath in.

“You’re… you’re fine… This is good. You’re very strong. Maybe even the strongest automaton I’ve built yet… I could do without the apologizing and the stuttering.”

What? Good? He just broke his inventor’s wrist! Of all the mistakes The Spine made in his short lifespan, how was THIS the one that Peter excuses? Hell, he seems more angry about him apologizing and stuttering than he is about him breaking his wrist. What kind of twisted logic is that? Does he want The Spine to hurt him? But those are questions for later. The least The Spine can do right now is be considerate. He waits for a couple of moments to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“Sir, will your wrist be alright?”

“The depths of science in which I have delved are unlike any other. If I can build such a great number of automatons in such a short period using a substance I alone have discovered, then surely I can heal a broken wrist.”

He takes a controller out of his pocket with his good hand and pushes a button. One of the lights next to The Spine’s name turns green. He then turns to the wagon and pulls off one of the tarps, unveiling a dummy. He drags it out of the wagon and places it down on the ground using one arm. The Spine feels bad leaving him to struggle on his own like this, but he didn’t ask for help, so it’s best he just leaves it to him.

“Alright The Spine. Hit it.”

“... Anywhere?”

“As hard as you can.”

The Spine nods and faces the dummy. He can’t necessarily hit “hard” as he doesn’t have muscle but he can hit fast. So he curls his hand up into a fist and punches the dummy in the head as the humans do in news stories at full speed. The body is pushed back, head flying off. The head slams into the wall creating a small shockwave of dust. The Spine flinches. Peter side-eyes him but doesn’t say anything. He hits another button, and another bulb by his name goes green. He moves back to the wagon unveiling another dummy. He drags it to the center and looks straight towards The Spine.

“Activate voice protocol. The Spine,”

The Spine nods involuntarily.

“Activate blue matter ray projector arrays.”

And just like so, The Spine’s arm shifts into an intense-looking weapon. This throws The Spine off guard, but he keeps quiet.

“The Spine, I’d like you to shoot that dummy.”

The Spine looks at the dummy, then back at his hand.

“... How… How do I do that sir?” The Spine asks unaware he even had this feature installed.

“You’re going to have to figure it out on your own. Just as you will in order to disable it.”

The Spine looks back up at the dummy. He doesn’t understand what to do but still points his arm in its direction. He tries to move each part of his arm as if it were normal, and to his surprise, he is successful. The blue matter ray charged up. He aimed it toward the chest of the dummy feeling slightly uneasy. Something about this feels wrong, but he shoots. Before the beam hit, Peter managed to open up an umbrella, shielding himself from the bright red substance that now covers the room. The Spine’s body becomes a mess of red. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. What… What was that? While The Spine was still trying to process what had just happened, he didn’t notice Peter’s glare.

“Relax yourself.”

The Spine closes his mouth, straightens his posture, and tries to rest his shoulders and eyes. However, he finds that he is struggling to calm down. He doesn’t know why he feels so distressed, but something about that didn’t sit right with him. The third light next to his name turns green as Peter hits the button. He pulls out one more dummy, which makes The Spine feel nervous.

“Activate voice protocol. The Spine, activate chainsaw.”

His other arm switches into a chainsaw, alarming him quite a bit. He tries to disable his other arm so that he has a free hand. As he does this, Peter simply stands against a wall and watches. He doesn’t say anything. The Spine looks back at him, hoping he tells him to do something different, but Peter only observes. It’s obvious what he wants him to do. The Spine turned back to the dummy.

“It’s probably just ink…” He thinks to himself still feeling uneasy. He preps his chainsaw and turns it on. The vibrations it produces are undeniably strong. It was almost as if he could feel it. He closes his eyes and slashes the chainsaw through the dummy. His eyes reopened to the sound of screaming. It’s even messier than before. He pulls his chainsaw back staring at the brutalized dummy now dyed red. Did it scream? Was it alive? He doesn’t move. His chainsaw slows to a full stop. What did he do? Another light turned green, he’s now down to his last light before all five of them turn green.

“Are you ready for your final test?” Peter asks.

Is that what they were? Not that it mattered what they were. The Spine was not ready. If anything he was afraid. He was afraid of what came next. He was afraid of Peter Walter. So of course, he nodded. Peter unveils the final hidden object in the wagon as The Spine deactivates his chainsaw. The final hidden object is none other than a crate. A crate… He opens the crate and pulls out a dog…

“No.” The Spine accidentally says out loud. He looks away, trying to hide his face.

“I’ll let you use any method you’d like.”

“No.” Though it was stupid before, it’s almost as though he can’t control himself. He knows what’s going to happen. He’s not going to follow through with this. Peter doesn’t say anything for a second. He then starts to speak.

“You know… there’s a reason why I’m not with the others right now.”

The Spine doesn’t respond.

“The others are sweet robots. And lighthearted ones at that. But they’ve always been a little bit… zany. Compared to you at least.”

The Spine grimaces.

“The only reason why I’m so ‘normal’ compared to the others is because you forced me to be! If I had it my way, I’d be just as wacky as the others, if not a bit more mature.” He wanted to say. But he knew arguing wouldn’t do him any good. Especially in a situation like this where that’s not the problem. So as much as he wanted to fight Peter on this, the best he could do for himself was bite his tongue.

“Such wild and eccentric personalities… They’d never want to hurt a soul… but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”

By now, four of the six main automatons have already achieved all five lights. That leaves one other who has yet to complete the test.

“And I’ll admit, it was partially my fault. My idea of the perfect robot would’ve never led up to this moment, yet it has. So for the sake of humanity, I’m going to need you to let go of some of what I had taught you. Obedience is key. Listen to me The Spine.”

The Spine slouches a little shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“But I can’t.”

“The Spine-”

“It’s a living creature! I can’t make myself do it…” The Spine then makes the mistake of looking at the puppy. It yawns a big yawn before lying down. His resistance grows stronger. How is he supposed to kill this thing?

“Kill the dog The Spine.”

“Why don’t you just make me kill the dog? Won’t that be easier? It’s not like you don’t have the power to.” His response comes out much more disrespectful than he meant it to, but it seems like there’s no stopping himself at this point. Peter’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to kill the dog whether you want to or not.”

“That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? You’re asking me to do things on my own accord but not unless you allow me to. What kind of sense does that make?” It was unlike The Spine to talk back so much. Even during moments where he was defiant, he’s never been this much of a brat about it.

“Spine-”

“You want me to kill Rabbit next? Make me kill your favorite robot just so you can yell at me for it afterward?” At this point, The Spine’s retorts became less relevant. Peter is getting fed up with his behavior. His patience now gone.

“DO YOU WANT THE BECILES TO WIN OR NOT?” Peter yells. This is enough to get The Spine to quiet down. He’s not sure if he knows what he means.

“WE ARE ON THE BRINK OF WAR. BECILE HAS GONE MAD AND IF HE WINS THIS COULD DETERMINE MORE THAN THE FATE OF SCIENCE. IT COULD DETERMINE THE FATE OF OUR STATE. IT CAN DETERMINE THE FATE OF THE WORLD. A SCIENTIST AS CRAZY AS HIM SHOULD NOT HAVE ACCESS TO SUCH INTENSE TECHNOLOGY AND SUCH INTENSE POWER. DO YOU WANT HIM TO GET AWAY WITH THAT?”

The Spine only looks down at the ground out of guilt. He’s not quite sure what Peter is talking about, but he knows he’s blaming him for… something. At least, that’s what it feels like. He pauses for a few seconds before finally saying something.

“I’m sorry Mister Walter… but… I can’t help it that I’m… I’m an individual… and I can’t… I can’t kill an innocent creature. I just can’t… I don’t want the Beciles to win, but I’m just not capable of this sort of thing. I’m sorry…”

Peter is about to respond when he hears a small yelp from the other room. The Jon’s 5th light has turned green. He looks back down at The Spine, but he doesn’t say anything. Even so, The Spine knows what he would say. When it comes to animals, The Jon was always the best with them. Something about his presence would just attract animals stronger than any bait. He loves animals, and the animals love him. It could not have been an easy assignment for him to kill a creature of any kind. Especially one as innocent and as sweet as a puppy. Yet he still had the guts to kill it. The Spine’s relationship with animals was minimal, yet he refused to kill one just because he didn’t want to. He knew this made him weak, but it didn’t change his stance. He simply hangs his head low out of shame.

Peter notices that he’s still reluctant to complete the task, so he turns to his last resort. He sighs as he lights a match. The Spine hears this and looks up at him. His eyes widened in terror. He’s heard horror stories about being burned alive. He knows what he’s going to do.

“Don’t. Please Mister Walter don’t hurt it-”

The Spine continues to beg Peter to leave the puppy alone, but ultimately he ignores him. Soon enough, the small animal begins screeching and yelping in pain. The sounds were enough to drive The Spine over the edge. He pulls out his blue matter ray and shoots the poor thing down as quickly as possible. The Spine can feel an intense amount of steam leaving his body, yet his body still feels unbearably hot. It’s as if the steam from his body wasn’t releasing fast enough. That was the last thing The Spine wanted to do, but he really didn’t have another choice. There was nothing he could’ve reliably used to put out the flames and even if he did find something, he wouldn’t know how to heal the small pup. It would only die slower. The only thing he could do was speed up the process.

Peter places a hand on his shoulder. The Spine stiffens. He’s using every last atom in his metal body to resist the urge to tear his inventor apart.

“Why did you kill it?” Peter asks.

“I- You set it on fire! It was suffering! It was in pain! I couldn’t just let it die such a terrible fate like that…”

“Mm..” Peter nods.

“The Spine, there’s something you need to understand.”

The Spine only looks at him.

“In war, everyone is always suffering.”

“...”

“Now, come with me. It’s clear to me that you need some serious repairs.”

The final red light turns green.

#SORRY IF IT SUCKS YALL #There's a few aspects I wish I could expand on more #like Peter seems pretty harsh here. and I feel like I didn't get the whole idea of “This is because of war” out very clearly #if not very forced #but I guess colonels often seem harsh when it comes to training from an outsider's perspective rather than from their own #so maybe it's appropriate #steam powered giraffe #spg #the spine spg #peter walter i #my stuff #writing #fanfic #spg fanfic

81 notes · View notes