#this is the first thing ive drawn in two weeks any longer and i would have gone insane

[justice4spacedogs]

his head would explode if he learned ab the US school system 😔 (click image for better quality)

[crewofthegoldrush]

I'm feeling bad that I don't have any new art to share and probably won't for a few weeks, so to make up for it and to give myself a kick in the pants to get working on this, I want to share the full "prologue" for fool's gold 2

I don't usually like to reveal a lot of my works in progress because I really do like the surprise, but I'm okay posting this because everything is going to get a new coat of paint, it features a conversation Ive already drawn, and I'm no where near finished editing. The final print will be longer, new/fixed dialogue (I don't always remember to write Monty with her cowboy accent lmao) and more exposition but for now, I hope you enjoy a draft!

ONE

You tap the floor twice with your tail, your signal that you were finished for today, and let her help you pick yourself off the floor. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were tryin' to beat me."

Aubrey's lip turns up at the side. "Of course I'm trying to beat you."

You watch her settle against the ship's railing, familiar even on this ship that wasn't yours. You take your place next to her, hyper aware of your petulant body language. You take a swig from your flask, offering it to her after cleaning the spout with a gold glow.

She raises a brow at the metal container, eyeing it wearily, and you manage a grin. "It's just water."

Looking more at ease, she shakes her head anyway, and you let it hang limply in your hand as you fold your arms on the banister.

"Something is bothering you."

You glance at her; Aubrey has mimicked your casual position but her eyes are as intense as they always are as she simply watches you. "It's been months since we started this, Aubrey. Shouldn't I have more than the basics by now? It shouldn't be this hard, should it?"

You were certainly better than where you were when you started. But compared to her, who had picked up firearm training so well that you had very nearly finished her gun by now, you feel indignant at your slow progress.

Aubrey hums. "You don't need to be so hard on yourself. As you've said many times, your heart is not fully in it yet, right? Your magic is improving and there are plenty of regular distractions."

She was right about that - it was hard to truly focus on leisure time when the two of you were still expected to handle your regular duties, now, you suspect, under the watchful eyes of the Tains. Nevermind the fact that, with your ship still seized, you and your team were attending to various matters, both personal and necessary. You yourself had taken up bounty hunting again to keep your coin stock healthy enough, and there were days you didn't see Harper at all.

"Besides," she continues, gesturing for you to hand her your flask, and you do. "Muscle memory is one of the first things you need to train. You are not there yet, but I'm confident that you will."

She tucks your flask away. "You are too stubborn for the case to be anything else."

You grin at her backhanded compliment and the way she just stole what she probably assumed was indeed alcohol from you, something Harper would do for Demetrius. "I can always count on you to humble me, darlin'."

"Just do your homework. Which you haven't been, I've noticed," she adds with a humorous look. 

"Like you said, I've been keepin' busy."

Her gun and silencer were almost finished (as was the one Tequila begged you to make for her), but it wasn't just that - you had taken it upon yourself to keep an eye on almost everyone's business. 

Including hers.

"Speakin' of homework - have you been doin' any of those readin's?"

A few months had passed since Lohn Ender, the professor who studied all things dreams in Koranburg, had written you back to let you know he was not able to accommodate a visit, and that if you wanted more information you would need to come see him in person. A firm 'no,' considering he and the other professors were assuredly not pleased that their object of interest had been seized by another country.

But you had a back up. Arthur Weekes, Breezy's father, was an expert in his field about the planes of your world and beyond. You had reached out to him to ask for any and all reading recommendations on the subject of Dal Quor. He had responded eagerly and sent more than just recommendations but a whole crate of books as well.

Breezy had only been a little weirded out that you were now pen pals with her parents, but otherwise seemed to find the situation delightful.

You had loaded these books up in the library, telling Harper that you had faith in Mr. Weekes to be objective, and that if she wanted to pull on this thread, you would help her.

It was a hard topic to broach for the both of you. You had learned from Harper that the creatures known as the Inspired - the ones that your whole crew had seen in their dreams thanks to the proximity to that crystal - were supposed to be angelic, protecting the country of Riedra, and you firmly believe she genuinely thinks this. But she had also learned that you and your team had witnessed Dal Quor first hand and that there was nothing angelic about it. You have no doubt she believes you, and them - they did not know she was from Riedra, and have no reason to be lying about this.

It was not your place to question her handlers - far be it from you to 'splain to an assassin spy a damn thing about her own country. But the conflicting accounts was intriguing to both of you.

Aubrey leans against the railing, looking out over the docks. "Some. It's certainly strange to read about dreams. But it's familiar. I never used to have them before frequenting Khovaire, so I had to be taught how to correspond in ornoric language."

You turn your head at her sharply, shocked and immediately invested. "You've never had your own dreams?"

You watch her think that over, as if unsure what or how much to tell you. It wasn't unusual for her to speak about her past as Aubrey, but it was certainly rare and she was selectively forthcoming, compared to Harper who seemed to have less issue giving you pieces of her past so long as she was vague about it. "Mostly, no."

Her eyes dart around the deck where you two are quite alone, a motion you probably would not have noticed had you not been so blatantly staring.

Again she hesitates, but then admits, "In my country, we dream what the Inspired wishes, as you saw. They protect us from evil spirits that can take over a dream; to do otherwise is dangerous, unnatural. But I soon learned that…I've realized that this is how everyone's nights are, and that it is normal.

"When I am like this," she continues, gesturing to herself, "I can resist dreaming, should I choose to. It was a bit difficult after I lost that journal, but I still can. But as Harper, when I am with you all - I do dream more and now that I know it is normal…it is harder to resist."

You tilt your head, thinking about how seeing her dream in Dal Quor was how you knew she was alive after the mutiny. "Was it a comfort then? The crystal?"

Aubrey glances at you with a look you can't completely read, but it is pleasant. "I suppose. I find many things a comfort as Harper these days."

You grin. "It must have been buckwild for you when you first had a nightmare."

She gives a bark of a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Don't remind me. Apparently even toddlers dream and I certainly handled it like one, I imagine."

"Tell me about it?"

She rests her chin in her palm. "Like hell."

You burst out laughing. "Fair enough. So tell me this then. If you can choose to resist dreaming as Aubrey, but Harper can't - or doesn't, or however…who do you sleep as?"

It is very rare that you can take her by surprise but you see the question jolt her, her eyebrows raising, body straightening, hands dropping from her chin. Her eyes stare ahead at nothing before falling to her hands against the banister, brow furrowed in thought. You get the feeling she wants to shift. 

"I - "

The question sounded innocent on the surface but you realize the full implications of what you have just asked her to admit. Does she duck her head, pretend her doubts are fantasy, rely on what she knows as Aubrey and resists? Or does she embrace the possibility of what Harper has taught her and allows herself to dream?

Is that something you could ask her to say out loud?

Aubrey does eventually open her mouth to say something but you interrupt her.

"- I also gotta know," you say, leaning over dramatically, practically pressed against her shoulder, "d'you still sleep naked? I think that's a better question, actually."

Again you see the surprise clear on her face before her cheeks turn a touch pink and she snaps an indignant, "For Khyber’s sake, Montgomery."

But her lips turn up just enough, especially as you grin wickedly at her. She pushes your face away. "I'm never living that down am I? You will give me no peace, will you?"

Her fingers pressed against your cheek, you smirk at her. "Maybe if you'd admit it was funny as hell, I'd be inclined to forget it eventually."

Aubrey gives you - not a smile, but she certainly isn't frowning or scolding you. "In your dreams, as they say."

She straightens, pulling her hand away. "Now, if you are finished humbling me, I think I'll get some sleep. And you should as well, yes? You have a Gala to prepare for soon, do you not?"

You beam - how could you forget? "I get the hint. G'night, darlin'. Don't be late for firearms trainin' tomorrow."

"When am I ever?" She leaves you with, before nodding her good night to you and turning away.

Her hair is turning brown when you call out to her. "Hey -?"

She pivots, looking back at you and you see her face is still Aubrey's - she looks pretty damn good with dark hair.

"So - 'man of my dreams' - phrases like that don't mean much where you're from, huh?"

"No," she says simply. "But I can be taught, I'm finding."

With a shift in her stance, your flask sails towards your head with a speed and precision that takes you by surprise; by some miracle, you catch the damn thing an inch before your face.

"As can you. Good night, Sheriff."

You watch her shift to Harper, who gives you a final smile. You give her an admittedly dopey one in return, and as she walks away you think perhaps that was your answer.

You picture her with blonde hair; pretty damn good too.

--

hey look if you don't include obvious foreshadowing is it really a prologue?

Thank you for reading this preview for pure gold! I'm really excited about this one. And I'm just going to apologize now for how very mushy this fic will be, but if you've been following me all this time I have a feeling that will not be a surprise

I'm most excited for the chapter leading up to their date, which features a sort of cat and mouse game between them in a casino that was just as fun to draft as it was to play (watching the other players get actively invested in helping me was a delight I can't express) with a payoff that I still cherish & feel thankful for to this day - and it wasn't even the kiss! I really hope I do it justice

[alrightberries]

glimpse of me and you

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff. ❈ word count: 2.6k

❈ summary: It’s your first day out of the Underground District and on the surface. Levi helps you get settled.

❈ trigger warnings: profanity.

a/n: i would like to confess that i was in A Mood.

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

i. morning

The first thing you noticed was that it was bright. Too bright.

Not the kind of brightness you saw in the warm glowing lamps that littered the Underground District, but the kind that made your eyes squint and feel sore- like they were going to pop out of your head any time soon. Your hand slips out of Levi’s to block out the light hurting your irises.

He stops walking up the staircase and turns to look at you.

“Here.” He murmurs. He places down the boxes he was holding and takes off his green Survey Corps cape, draping it around your shoulders and clasping it at the front before drawing the hood over your face. The sunlight is no longer as harsh.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod.

“Much. Thank you, Levi.”

He hums in acknowledgement, one hand picking up the boxes with your luggage and the other one slipping through yours to slowly lead you up the staircase once more. He could tell from how you squeezed his hand and kept taking deep breaths behind him that you were nervous. He couldn’t blame you, either. He remembers being the same with Isabel and Farlan two years ago.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since he was captured and taken to the surface. Since last saw your face and heard his name slip from your lips.

It took the better part of two years to barely scrape up enough money to buy you citizenship, but as he leads you through the stairway with your warm hand in his, he knows he wouldn’t hesitate do it all again.

For you.

“It’s going to be brighter once we reach the surface.” He says. The last step of the stairway was nearing. “I know you won’t, but close your eyes if you have to. You might get disoriented if you don’t.”

True to his words, you did end up getting disoriented because you refused to close your eyes. But really now, how could you? 26 years you’ve waited for this day to come. And you would be damned if you didn’t take everything in the second you set foot above ground for the first time.

As you reached the surface, Levi notices you flinching, turning your head away from the light and gritting your teeth once you set foot on the cobble stoned streets above. Despite your clear discomfort at the brightness, you made no move to close your eyes. In fact, you even braved to let them roam around.

“Stubborn dumbass.” He scolds quietly.

He leads you a little ways off from the exit of the stairway to put your stuff in the small wagon in front of you. The small wagon was drawn by a gorgeous black horse, and you realize that this was probably the beloved mare Levi spoke of in his letters.

“Is this Estreya?” You ask. Levi hums in agreement and takes the last box you were holding to place it with the rest of your luggage with a low grunt.

When he looks back at you he notices your eyes are still squinted, but your teeth were no longer gritted. The hood was still drawn over your face and one of your hands was still shielding your eyes from the burning light. You weren’t even going to lie, you were half terrified that your eyes were going to melt from how hot the sun was.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

You scoff. “Yeah, because horses are really common in the Underground.”

He doesn’t reply to your quip. Though the way his eyebrows relax and his lips twitch up in the slightest doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Ride the wagon. You’ll fall on your ass if you try to go on horseback.”

“If you say so, Captain Levi.” 

It was now his turn to grit his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t have told you about his promotion.

“Tch, just get on. Or I’ll leave you stranded in Wall Sina.”

ii. noon

The wagon ride to Wall Rose was something you could only describe as ethereal.

You hadn’t the faintest idea the sky was so big and blue, and how fluffy the clouds seemed to be. The sky seemed to stretch for miles and miles, and knowing that there wasn’t a ceiling above you almost made you want to cry.

Wall Sina was beautiful, as well. Especially the market. The market you passed by almost made you want to stop the wagon and drag Levi from stall to stall to see what they had. They housed probably the most vibrant colored fruits and vegetables you’ve ever seen, and the smell of freshly baked bread made your mouth water. Not to mention, the air didn’t smell like moisture or piss or shit. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” He says, noticing your longing stare at the colorful tents. “You look like you’re about to jump off the wagon.”

“Will you leave me stranded if I do?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Undoubtedly, though, your favorite view from the ride would be what Levi called “the suburbs.”

The tallness of the trees. The freshness of the air. The sounds of ruffling leaves. Birds and critters running around the ground and flying through the sky. The beautiful greens and blues were the biggest contrast to the drab grays and blacks you typically saw in the Underground District, and now you understood why Levi was so hellbent on taking you to the surface and never looking back.

“We’re almost there.” You hear him call out from in front of you.

Your eyes stop wandering around what Levi called a “valley”. You look past his figure sitting on the horse, spotting a castle made of bricks. It looked small from this distance but the closer you got, the more you realized that distance could be deceiving.

“Is that the Survey Corps’ base?” 

“No, it’s a fucking circus.” He replies sarcastically.

“What’s a circus?”

“It’s— nevermind.”

iii. afternoon

When you got to Levi’s private quarters, you didn’t hesitate to ask for a spare towel so you could take a shower.

You didn’t even bother kissing him or unpacking your things or… making up for lost time, if you will. Instead you made a beeline for the private bathroom connected to his bedroom and spent a good hour inside, talking to him through the door about how you’ve been looking forward to taking a proper shower all week. Levi had to drag you out and stop you from wasting more of the Survey Corps’ water reservoir.

“So, let me get this straight.” You mutter. 

You were sitting on his bed and he was sitting on a chair across from you. Your hair was still damp and your upper half was clad in a spare Survey Corps button down, while your bottom half was clad in nothing but your underwear.

Levi had complained that your clothes from the Underground were too dirty and would have to be washed. You called him rude, only relenting when he offered to do your laundry. But he wasn’t about to complain about the extra chores when it gave him this view.

“You’ve been captain for an entire year and only bothered to tell last week?”

“Yes.” Came his stoic reply.

“But why?!”

“I’m not hearing the end of this any time soon, am I?”

Before you could respond, Levi hears loud banging from his office door (which you noticed was connected to his bedroom) and he sighs as he wordlessly covers your bare legs with a blanket. Confused eyes met his, and all he could do was shrug as he heard the office door breakdown. The loud banging was now being directed at the bedroom door, the only thing separating you from what you assumed was some rabid raccoon.

“Levi motherfucking Ackerman!” You hear someone shriek from the other side of the wood. Okay, so maybe it’s not a rabid raccoon. “Open this door right this instant!”

You hear the lock clicking and the knob turning rapidly. Despite knowing you should probably be scared, you can’t help but smile at Levi’s clear irritation. It wasn’t the genuine kind of irritation. It was the kind he showed to Isabel— the one where he pretends to be annoyed but secretly enjoys their company.

“It’s not locked, four-eyes.” He replies.

Ah, so this must be the Hange he’s been complaining about.

“Then why can’t I open it?!”

“It’s push, not pull.”

Immediately, the banging stops, and silence takes over the room. But the silence is short lived when Hange suddenly kicks the door open and you jump from surprise. 

“Don’t think that I wouldn’t find out about you bringing a civilian to the base, Ackerman!” Hange points an accusing finger at Levi’s bored face. 

“I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. Considering I asked you to sign the authorization letter.”

The soldier ignores Levi’s quip and quickly makes their way over to you, sitting down next to your side and extending a hand.

“The name’s Hange Zoe, Section Commander of the Survey Corps. And you are?”

You warily accept their offer of a handshake. Your eyes briefly flit over to where Levi was still sat, relaxing a bit when he nods to your silent question of whether or not it was safe.

“Y/N.” You give them a polite smile. 

“When Moblit told me Levi brought a civilian to the base, I was ecstatic!” 

What the fuck is a Moblit? You wonder.

Your hands were still joined, and you weren’t sure if prolonged and drawn out handshakes were a custom of the surface. Not wanting to be rude, you continued to shake Hange’s hand, nodding along as they continued on.

“I didn’t peg shorty as the type to play boyfriend.”

“Neither did I.” You chuckled. “But he’s been more than wonderful. He’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Levi bites back the smile teasing his lips.

“Stop shaking Hange's hand. You’ll catch rabies or some shit.”

iv. evening

It was nearing six o’clock when Levi finally convinced Hange to go away, but only with the promise that he would introduce you to his squadron later at dinner. Normally he’d detest the idea of sharing intimate details about his personal life, but as he listens to you ask question after question about the surface, he deems the small sacrifice was more than worth this small moment with you.

“You said the surface was going to be hot. Why is it so cold now?” You ask, settling into the bed. Levi lifts up the blanket and begins to lie down beside you.

“Because it’s almost night.” He says simply. “It’s hot in the day and cold in the night.”

“Is it always like that?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It depends on the season.”

He feels you shift closer to him, lifting his arm up and placing it around your waist as your head rests on his chest. He takes a deep breath, and the smell that was so uniquely you fills up his lungs. He almost hums in delight because it’s been two years; he hasn’t had this in two years, and no force on earth could ever take it away from him again.

“Season?” You murmur, sleepy eyes staring into his. 

Levi immediately knows that you’re a bedtime story away from snoozing, and he figures the fatigue is to be expected. You were, after all, being introduced to too many things at once. And judging by the bags under your eyes, you were probably too happy about going to the surface to get any sleep last night.

“Yeah. There are four seasons above ground: winter, summer, spring, and fall. Right now, it’s spring.”

“Will you tell me about the seasons?” 

He feels you shift, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“You missed.”

You smile. A hand gently reaches out to grasp his chin, pulling his face towards yours to give him a gentle kiss. When you try to pull away, Levi pulls you back in.

“If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly.” He muses as your lips broke apart. The arm wrapped around your waist holds onto you a little tighter as you relax to his side once again, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubs small, gentle circles into your arm.

“The flowers bloom in spring. Everything blooms.” He explains. “In fall, the temperature gets colder so the leaves start changing colors.”

“What colors do they become?”

“Mostly brown or orange.”

You nod.

“In winter, that’s when things start getting really cold. Colder than the Underground. Snow starts falling and everything gets covered in it. It’s annoying.”

“But don’t you use winter as an excuse to... y’know, convince your bosses to spend more money on tea leaves?”

It was now his turn to nod, and you merely let out a chuckle. He feels your breath fanning against his neck and he doesn’t stop his head from lulling into yours. He really did miss having you in his arms.

“Figures.” You yawn. “You’re obsessed with that stuff.”

He feels a sleepy kiss press against his collarbones, and he places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs. “I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“But you haven’t told me about summer yet.”

A small smile makes its way to his lips, and Levi was thankful that you couldn’t see. He’d never hear the end of your teasing if you did.

“If I tell you, will you stop annoying me?”

“Possibly.”

“Okay.”

v. midnight

The first thing Levi notices is that it was dark. Too dark. 

A brief glimpse out his open window confirms his suspicions that it was, indeed, night time. He probably slept through dinner.

The second thing Levi notices is that his entire right side was numb and there was a heavy weight on his body, some of it crushing his arm. He hears your sleepy voice mumble his name in your sleep, and he relaxes once he remembers the events of today.

He kept his promise.

You had an entire future ahead of you, and Levi’s heart warms at the thought. Sure, you were a civilian who couldn’t stay in the Survey Corps base forever; and he should probably start helping you job hunt so you could both start saving up for a new house. He’d fight you tooth and nail if you tried to join the military though, and something tells him you probably wouldn’t listen.

But he kept his promise. And that’s all that mattered for now.

He hears you shift in his arms before taking a sharp inhale, and your eyes sleepily open. They glance around the room, trying to remember where you were, before landing on him. A small smile teases your lips, adoration blossoming in your heart at the man in front of you.

“What time is it?” You softly ask. One of your hands reaches out to rub your eyes before he feels a warm palm come to rest on his stomach.

“Late.” He replies. His free hand lands on your soft cheek, and he tilts your head down so he can kiss your forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

You only nod, too tired to argue. You break free from his grasp and Levi is momentarily disappointed when you turn the other way. But then your hand reaches out behind you to sling his arm over your waist, and he shifts closer when he realizes you wanted to spoon.

“So I don’t kill your arm.” You explain quietly.

Levi presses his chest to your back and his leg wraps around yours. His nose is buried into the crown of your hair and he couldn’t help but take a deep inhale and close his eyes. Your hand intertwines with the one slung around your waist, and he feels you lift up your conjoined hands to place a kiss to his knuckles.

“I love you, Levi.”

This time, Levi doesn’t bother to hide his smile. It wasn’t the first time you’ve said I love you, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. But it would never cease to amaze Levi how just three short words could turn his stoic and uninterested demeanor into one of smiles that reached his eyes. 

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“Marry me.”

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[reanimationstation]

Weekly whats goin on in the dnd campaign update ask!! :D

WELL. we havent actually played this week due to being busy with life and stuff BUT last session was still absolutely BATSHIT

SOOO. SAMMY FINALLY GOT MERGED WITH PROPHET. he is so much weirder (affectionate) but honestly i dont think everyone has noticed. he keeps on rolling really high on "keeping it together" when he is quietly trying to cope with double the traumatic memories he's used to. also hes a golden ink monster (which ive drawn a lot of). oops. once he rolls low more prophety traits will surface and then it'll be obvious that this is no longer the reflection of the past sam that everyone got used to

but in more WORLD SHATTERING news, the ink machine. it uhm. well for some backstory, sammy pretty regularly gets forced to make deals with it, be it to revive someone or to get someones soul from the machine. and the ink machine tends to use very vague wording. so in exchange for three people from the studio, it offered to unlock the exit door forever.

sammy took that deal.

and when he opened the door, everything was in the same style as the studio. uh. crap.

turns out during one of sammys very first few deals, his wording gave the ink machine power to access the outside world and tURN IT INTO AN EXTENSION OF ITSELF. THE OCEAN IS GOLDEN INK. GOLDEN INK IS FLAMMABLE.

so sammy now has to break that news to the found ones in the harbor :/ yikes. but hes planning on staying in the studio until things are sorted out and the world isnt in chaos because he doesnt really want to deal with the implications of a flammable ocean and literally everything else being studio-ified. things are going great

but ALSO since henry and linda are currently stuck in the ink machine their two kids have kinda been being watched by relatives for about a month (its been like 5 months in studio because of how time moves faster inside it). so sammy is planning on going to get them and bring them in the studio to watch them himself because he thinks that being inside the studio is safer than being outside while the world panics. he also needs to get one of the people he kidnapped's son since yk he has morals. (when sammy died the deal he made to get put back in his body was that he couldnt refuse any of the ink machine's orders SO its having him do a lot of bad stuff and he cant refuse otherwise people he's keeping alive with deals might die again :[ he's terrified of the ink machine rip)

back to the found ones harbor, hes organized a meeting to make a list of what people want from the outside world before they hunker down for a more permanent living situation. they're pretty self sustainable rn but people dont have phones and stuff so getting that would boost morale. he, bendy, norman, shawn, lacie, and maybe tom, are all gonna go out and get the stuff before the outside people start raiding walmarts and stuff out of panic. they r also gonna get an animal shelter's worth of pets to bring to the studio and keep them safe. maybe even a petco. also a lot of fish. we have canonized that norman really likes fish. its very cute. OH ALSO ALLISON IS PREGNANT SO THEY ARE GETTING BABY SUPPLIES

BUT YEAH A LOT HAS HAPPENED. im skipping a LOT of stuff that has happened since the last update and now (traveling through universes uncontrollably, dying a few more times, a terrible and evil forest full of nightmares, a handful of deals, gabriel dying and being brought back, etc) but thats the gist of it :]

[cadykeus-clay]

remember a few days ago when i said i was writing a collection of mismatched scenes of all the times that I think jester and caleb should have just kissed on the mouth? hehe :)

I.

“Caleb, can you hear through it?” she’s yelling, head tilting and eyes squinting as she looks at the one-way glass he’s just apparated in the middle of the hall. She leans in, scrunching her nose and sticking out her tongue a little as she detectives. “Can we come into it?”

He grins, he can’t help himself. “Only you.”

“Do we just hit the side of it or -” 

Her fingertips press through the barrier, disrupting the near-transparent bubble with a ripple and he reaches out his hand for hers, guides her in. Her mouth makes the cutest little oh! shape as she passes through and she can see what he’s seeing. 

“Caleb. This is so COOL!”

The grin hasn’t dropped from her face, and it spreads infectiously across his. 

“I’ve been working on this for weeks,” he says, smacking his legs with triumphant fists. 

Her grin gets even wider, sharing in that joy. A few more silent moments pass, as she takes it in with awe. 

“So, can anyone come in, or like, only people you like, or … ?”

He thinks for a moment, grins slyly. He sticks a finger out, just barely missing her nose. “You can come in.”

She leans towards him, returning the affection he seems to be offering. She gets close to his face, on purpose. She likes making him blush. “That means you like me.”

Blush he does. It’d be near impossible not to - they’re alone and unseen together, and she’s leaning towards him, her grin pushing up the freckles on her cheeks he’d love to try and count. And he’s tired, exhausted, barely functional. He’s got no strength left to carry all the layers he usually hides himself behind, but it’s alright, it’s only Jester looking anyways. 

She hasn’t pulled her face back yet, like she’s waiting for him to do something. Tease. 

Even after everything they’ve both seen these past few days, fear seems gone for just a second. They’re safe inside their shell, and no one’s watching. It would be so easy to just lean down, steal a moment to remind her that he cares, remind her that he’ll always care, remind her that he did this to keep her safe, take her mind off why. 

It would be so easy ...

******

II. 

“Can we like. Stick things through the bubble?”

“Uh. Ja, you can put your weapons through it, but no magic can come in or out. But you can leave and come back any time you want.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

She tries to hide the wince in her face as she nods a bit too heartily, jostling the half-healed slash across her chest left from panther-like claws. He notices. She notices him noticing, notices the way his brow furrows even deeper. 

“But, please. No walkabouts when we are sleeping, okay?” 

He looks up at her through those drawn-together brows when he says it, pleading more than he really needs to. She learned that lesson. But it’s still sweet to see how much he cares. 

He’s been caring a lot lately, come to think of it. Chatting with her on the boat. Checking in. Making sexy jokes when they’re supposed to be stealthing. Doing a very bad job of hiding his attempts to make sure she laughed at it.

“I’ll stay right here. I promise.” She settles back onto her hands, hoping it’ll bring a little relief to the pain starting to spark across her ribs.

“Well. That’s good enough for me.”

And he pauses for a second, just a second, like he’s giving her an invitation to double down on that promise, make sure he knows she knows someone cares, and who someone is, and that someone else cares back.

It would be so easy … 

******

III.

When she was little and read a lot of fairy tales, she’d often think about kissing a beautiful boy in a beautiful room full of paintings and tapestries and a billion things on shelves that glittered just to be pretty, and the light would somehow be reflecting off all of them at once, and his shirt would be off for reasons, and it would be glorious.

The tunnel they're in can’t really constitute as a room, but the way the crystals shimmer even in the dim glow of the Dancing Lights, rippling all around them is arguably better than shiny decorations. Caleb certainly can constitute as a beautiful boy. After all, she’s just admitted he is neither stinky nor dirty anymore. And arm wraps aren’t quite the same as a shirt, but he has taken part of his clothes off in front of her. 

Creepy snails and the third day without daylight weren’t her romantic vision, sure. But. She feels safe here, with him, and she hopes he feels safe with her. She had meant what she had said, a few days back, when he spilled his fears and his history on the floor of their wagon. She didn’t think he was a bad person. And the way he looked at her when she said it, man, he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe it so bad. 

She ought to let him know. She ought to tell him, again, that she believes in goodness in him. She believes in love in his heart. She ought to tell him right now, in this glittering cave with his heart and arms bare before her. She ought to tell him in a way where he can’t argue back ‘cause his face will be preoccupied. 

It would be so easy …

*******

IV. 

“YOU GUYS!”

She practically burst the door to their new ally’s house down with excitement when she got back, holding out the little striped carrying box in front of her like it’s the coolest loot they’ve ever found. She bounces on her toes, making it hard for anyone to get a real look at the confections inside. 

“What do you have?” he asks, knowing she wants to tell him.

“Cupcakes!” she beams back.

“A lot of them, or?”

She flips the lid up and pushes her nose nearly into the icing topping as she examines the haul. “Well I have thirteen here, so … one, two, three -” 

He almost says the numbers along with her. Counting things and making Jester smile are both muscle memory at this point.

“ - six, so good! That’s one for each of you and the rest for me!”

He looks in the box properly now, the counting having slowed her jitteriness enough for him to try and piece out flavors. There’s some dark ones that could be chocolate, but he doubts it, and some that are paler, dotted with blue. He reaches for a blueberry one, and takes a cautious bite. 

“Caleb,” she says, pouting, and he’s worried he wasn’t supposed to try one, “you are Missing. Out.” 

She sticks her face in towards him, to make sure he can get a good look at this reprimand. She’s got a little bit of icing stuck in the corner of her mouth. 

“You can get blueberry cupcakes anywhere.”

He keeps his eyes trained on her, longer than he really ought to, but he’s trying to figure it out. 

Is that a challenge, Lavorre? Is that a promise?

It would be so easy...

*******

V. 

She has to get up on her tip toes to reach the shelf where they keep the scribing paper, pulling the stack towards her so she can count out sheets. 

“About 300 gold?” 

“Mmm.”

She counts out the sheets, thumbing them forward into a little pile that she pulls apart, before stretching up to push the rest back onto the shelf. She turns on her heel and marches for the front counter. He lingers a moment to straighten the pile on the shelf, and trails after her. 

His gaze is buried in the inside of his coat as he searches for his coin purse. His hands are still buzzing, just a little, from where she held them earlier and promised him she’d be at his side. He can’t stop thinking about it. It’s distracting him from getting his coins. 

The distinctive clink of metal on countertop jerks his gaze up just as he reaches his hand in for the first coin. She’s already dropped the gold in a neat little pile, pleasantly smiling at the clerk as she snaps the clasp on her purse shut. 

“That’s very generous of you,” he says, hand still frozen holding his own money. 

She swings around, flashing a thumbs up and a grin. She holds it a little too long for comical effect. Of course, he snickers. 

She turns to the paper on the countertop, making to gather it in her arms, but he starts, and she turns back to face him. He’s frozen there, hand just barely outstretched for her, mouth agape like he was going to say something. 

What is there to say? What can he possibly say to her, to repay everything she’s ever said to him? What can he say that’s worth the sound of her laugh, and the way her tongue sticks out a little when she smiles? What’s worth the way she brightens up a room even when she’s grumpy, the bubble to his gloom? 

What measures up to a tap on his shoulder as he turns to leave his study, and hands in his as she swears, with the most somber honesty he’s ever seen, that she watched him face what he could have been, tied up like a feral beast in a prison cell, and she stares in his eyes and tells him it’s ok, she saw it and loved him even through it, and then bought him presents afterwards just because?

He’ll never deserve her, he swears. 

She’s still looking at him, expectantly, and his mouth is still stuck open, and his hand is still halfway between the two of them. Maybe it’s just him, but the memory of her holding it seems to be burning even hotter. 

He tries to say something again, and the words aren’t coming out. She’s still waiting on him, expression starting to tip towards worry as he tries and fails to express just how overflowed his heart is right now. He can’t say it but gods, she ought to know how much she’s worth to him. Maybe he can just show her. He’ll tell her later.

It would be so easy … 

******

VI. 

The hallway is orange. Pale, warm, sort-of-translucent orange, swirling about her in patterns of lollipops and unicorn hamsters. Her own spells wrapped in the tender grip of his magic, handed to her with something like reverence. 

I believe, he had said, I have no choice. 

He’d done little things like this before, casting spells to make her and everyone else happier, letting her play with his cat because it made her smile. But he said he’d been working on this for weeks. Pouring time and sweat and his precious paper into making this thing, just for her. Everyone liked to tease her about the Traveler and how it was totally a cult, and usually she let it roll off her back, even if it stung a little on impact. And Caleb was here, telling her he took her belief in the Traveler at face value, simply because it was hers.

I don’t know anything about faith, he had said, I am learning from you.

He was a suspicious man. She knew that. He held grudges, and he mistrusted, and he had every right to. And yet all these months, he’s been putting everything he had in her hands, sure that she would not drop it. She would hold it as gently as she could.

I am the transmutation wizard, he had said, but you are the one who changes people. 

How was he supposed to know that was what she was afraid of, leaving no mark on the world at all? How was he supposed to know she made art everywhere she got the chance to in hopes that she would stop being erased, start existing outside of one little room and a handful of people? 

He wouldn’t have any reason to, except for he knew her so well, better than nearly anyone. He could tell when doubt was crawling up out of her gut, spilling its black tendrils from her mouth and across her eyes. He could see when the veneer got scratched, and he knew how to brush it just so, so it looked okay again. He knew how to comfort her. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

She knows it’s barely anything, but she doesn’t know what else to say. It caught her by surprise, and she’s reeling a little in the aftermath of seeing just how far he’s willing to go for her. 

He says something else, she barely processes, but it’s enough to get her babbling about some kind of performance. She trips over her words a little, she’s just so excited. He can tell, he smiles, and that just makes her heart jump even more. 

“But you have done so much for m- for all of us,” he says, and he’s not sneaky.

For me. She knows he was going to say it. For me. 

Tears are almost brimming in her eyes, happy ones, and he put them there. Done so much for her, she thinks, has he counted how much he’s done for me? She’s clasping her hands at her mouth, trying to keep all her feelings from coming out at once.  

He doesn’t know the half of it, everything he’s done for her. To make her feel safe, to make her feel smart, to make her feel seen, to make her feel believed in. He doesn’t know it at all, and yet the hallway is orange as a testament to how much he’s done, and she can’t let the sentiment go unreturned. 

It would be so easy … 

*******

VII.

“Didn’t go as well as you were hoping?”

His voice seems to startle her, as if she’d forgotten in her sadness that there were other people around her. He knew the feeling. 

“In some ways it went better?” she says, doubting it even as it leaves her mouth. “But. No.”

His face softens. It’s the only thing he can do, really.

Her breath is coming out shaky.

“I can’t speak for him,” he starts, offering what little encouragement he can, “but you do have us.”

“I know,” she answers, grateful even through the sadness. 

“So, whatever you land on. Jester.” He stops for a second, letting her name linger in his mouth. “We will make it happen.”

She nods, curt, tears still pricking in her eyes. “I have to figure out what I want to land on.”

He laughs, hollow and breathy, what else is there to do. He starts to reach his hand out for her, and catches it, his own hesitance getting the better of him.

He knows what he wants her to land on, he’s known for … longer than he really cares to admit. He knows he’d follow her to hell and back, that’s why he’s here on this island with her. 

He knows how hard it is to love without a compass to direct it. He knows that moonlight makes selfishness a much more appealing color. 

It’s dark, and he’s hopelessly in, and she’s searching for a place to not be so alone. He could show her a place to land. 

It would be so easy … 

******

VIII. 

He’s holding it out to her, a black ball clutched between his fingertips, just a little iridescent in the blazing sun overhead. He’s grinning, and his eyes are bright. He looks so happy, for just this moment, with a pearl in his hand. 

Forget the water pouring down their faces as they come up from the murk, plastering their hair to their foreheads at odd angles. Forget the wrench in both their guts about the monster brewing beneath their feet and in their minds. Forget the clothes sticking to their skin in all the wrong spots. Forget the sounds of their friends arguing twenty feet back. 

She jumped in the water with him for a reason, because he wanted pearls, and she wanted him to be happy, and he’s holding one out to her right now because he is, and that’s all she could really ask for.

Maybe it’ll be extra wet and slippery. Maybe it’ll taste like salt and seaweed and that weird fish stink that all bodies of water seem to have. Maybe her hands are covered in sand and they’ll get some in their mouths and it’ll be disgusting. 

Who cares? She jumped in the water with him and he’s happy. 

It would be so easy … 

******

IX.

The funny thing is, when she was little, she actually planned her wedding in this room. The canopy bed would double as the altar, gauze draping about them and the window lighting them from the back as they knelt with their hands together, wrapping them up with silk ribbon as someone spoke some formal rites. Mama would sit in the guest of honor chair at Jester’s desk, a tear running down her cheek as she watched her baby girl marry the love of her life.

Now Caleb’s in here with her and she’s realizing there’s no good angle to get the window backlight and be in full view of her Mama.

He’s lying down on the bed, because she told him to. She’s flopped down next to him, squirmed up into his side with the excuse of “small bed” but the intent of “I like the way I rest against your side”. 

He’d commented on her array of books - she knew he would. She may or may not have pulled the smarter looking titles up to the front a few visits ago, just in case.

He’d looked at her artwork too, spanning the walls in all its multicolored glory. He’d bent down to get a good look at her earliest, shittiest paintings. But not in the way where he wanted to see how bad they were, to laugh at. In the same way he looked at new artifacts they’d picked up along the road, as he traced his runes for Identify. Like he was trying to glean a missed history out of them, to get to know just a little bit more about what was in front of him now.

So she’s curled into his chest, careful with her horns, wrapping her hand over his to point out every last detail. Her other hand falls to his stomach, her fingers brush his, and neither of them pull away.

She always figured they’d fall like this, her and her husband, backward onto the bed after the ribbon was knotted to finalize their union. They’d be too happy to stand and they’d just collapse at each other’s side, and they’d plan their honeymoon like this. Pointing out places they wanted to go in her little snapshot of the cityscape, nestled into each other’s chests. 

Caleb’s enraptured, she can hear excitement in his breath, and she’s more than a little pleased. She didn’t know people cared this much about her art, about her childhood, about who she was before she became who she is. She hopes she has all the time in the world to tell him more. 

She’s still on his chest, their hands are still touching, even though she’s finished pointing out the painted landmarks. She’s kissed a lot of imaginary boys in this room. 

It would be so easy … 

******

X.

Spinning with her arms out, feet tracing circles in the snow, they haven’t even made it to the dance hall yet and she’s already waltzing like he taught her all those months ago in a scroungy gnomish bar. The cold is bringing a flush to her cheeks and god damn it, it’s cute. She’s humming. 

They could get inside where it’s warm, where they don’t need to get close for heat but they do anyway. Wrap an arm around her waist and take her hand in his. Keep her close enough to hear her giggle with each twirl he leads her on. Get drunk off her smile alone. 

Find a far corner where the music is softer and they have space to just sway together. Write new memories over old, equally as sweet, slightly less bitter. Look at that smile that won’t have faded since before they stepped through the door. Run his fingers across her jaw, save this moment in tactile too. Lean down in slow motion, as she stretches up.

It would be so easy … 

******

XI. 

“What are you drawing?” he asks, not even looking up from his spells. He’s grown comfortable with having her in his space.

“A cup of hot cocoa.”

“Are there dicks in it?”

“No, just two very lovely marshmallows.”

His head lifts up at that, gazing at her with the gleam he’s been giving his runes. He’s trying to figure her out.

“Shnuggling up next to each other,” she continues. “With consent.”

“We’re not talking about grass are we?”

“No. I’m talking about marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows?” The gleam in his eye grows a little brighter. He leans a little closer. “I thought there was a hidden meaning for a second.”

There’s a reason why she sat down here, why she wanted him next to her as she thought about love and commitment, and telling people things after all these months. There’s a reason why he didn’t start as she settled at his side. There’s a reason why he’s looking at her with a cocked grin on his face, sure of himself, in a way that he so rarely is. 

Maybe she wanted him to figure her out. Maybe she’s been trying to get him to figure her out for a while. He’s starting to turn back to his spells, so maybe she needs to get even a little more obvious.

It would be so easy...

******

XII.

She knocked on the door with her heart already in her throat, but the second she stepped through the door and saw him looking over at her, tired but welcoming, it started to settle back where it belonged. 

“Caleb. Will you cast tongues on me? YouknowImeanthespell,” she said, rushing words out because her heart was starting to leap back up again. “I just want to read the book.”

He nervously tucks some hair behind his ear. “I could read it to you, if you want?”

She knew he’d offered before, but she’s still surprisingly happy that he’s done it again. “Okay.”

He stands, wiping stained ink from his fingers on his pants as he leaves his desk, gesturing her over towards his fireplace. She swears as she walks over the flames get a little taller. She’s always liked it warmer than Caleb does. 

She flops down onto the couch, wiggling a little bit to get comfortable. She pats the seat next to her and he obliges. She holds the book out and he takes it from her, so very gently, and she can’t tell if it’s just the way he treats books, or the way he treats her, or both. 

He clears his throat as he prepares to open the cover, glancing over to make sure she’s ready. She scooches a bit closer, resting her cheek against his shoulder, you know, to see the pictures better, and hums to let him know he can start. 

He talks to her in a quiet kind of voice. It’s soft, and it makes his chest rumble, and it feels like home. She could close her eyes and fall asleep here, and she can bet he wouldn’t even get up and risk disturbing her. She nearly does, but he’s stopping every few sentences to show her the pictures, without her even asking, he just knows she wants to see them. He’s pointing out the hidden cat on every page. She loves that he still remembers where they all are.

“That was a happy story, Caleb!” she says, mostly to his shoulder, because she doesn’t want to move from where she’s nestled herself. 

“Mhm,” he agrees. “That’s why my mother read it to me.”

“I really thought, like, the cat prince was going to trap him in there forever, and then he wouldn’t be able to go and see his mother.” She cranes her head up now, propping her chin on his arm, stabilizing herself with arms she was barely aware she’d wrapped around his waist. 

“Well,” he says, turning his head towards her and finding their noses nearly touching, “a lot of Zemnian stories do end that way.”

She laughs, he smiles, and neither of them want to move. 

“The Cat Prince kind of reminds me of the Traveler,” she muses. She buries her face back in his shoulder as she talks, squeezing her arms a little tighter around him. 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” 

It’s a question only in technicality. The way his voice sounds as he says it, she can tell. He’s read so many stories, he could have picked any to leave in her room, but he chose this one about a boy and a bedroom and a magic cat and a brief escape, with a happy ending. He knew she’d ask. He wanted her to. 

She’s glad she did. She’s glad he knows her so well. She’s glad for the way he turned up the fire to make her comfortable. She’s glad for the smile that’s still on his lips, lasting longer than his smiles usually do. She’s glad she’s here with him, after everything they’ve seen and heard and done. She’s just glad. 

Gods, she’s so in love with him.

It would be so easy.

fin.

[yesimwriting]

Anastasia (prologue)

A/n ive been talking about my Anastasia x SOC story for awhile and im finally ready to post the prequel,, ive also been working on some requests and thinking about my next multi-part fic (ive made some posts about it lol)

things to know before reading: i tend to like to make up my own countries when writing these type of politically/plot driven fics that revolve around a royal family bc i think it makes it not only easier to write but less confusing bc it takes out the issue of potentially conflicting with canon, so i made up the country ‘Anastasia’ is from,, this also follows the musical Anastasia a little more bc i feel like that version of the story is more mature and easier to write for SOC (the only difference is that not everyone is happy that Anastasia is alive and someone tries to kill her bc they hate the royal family)

Series Summary: y/n makes an unconventional deal with Kaz to save the life of her best friend. No one’s ever made a deal with the infamous Dirtyhands that resulted in them shedding the title of orphan from a revolution-torn country that can’t remember her life before the orphanage and taking on the title of Princess Anastasia. As time progresses, things are made more complicated as y/n has to deal with royals, revolutionaries, a grisha general who has a lot to gain from an alliance with a princess that doesn’t know what she’s doing, and potential feelings for a conflicted Kaz Brekker that has more to do with Anastasia’s disappearance than he’s ever admitted. 

--

The world seems to be made up impossible things. Each day, people defy odds, strangers fall in love, the universe expands, and the Saints watch it all. I am not the kind of person to sneer at a miracle, to try to explain it away instead of acknowledging it for what it is. 

But what this stranger is proposing is laughable. 

I lean more into the chair, doing all I can to get away from the desk that he sits at. A nervous kind of giggle threatens to escape me, a laugh at the expense of the foolishness of the situation. If his demeanor was any less brooding, I would have already laughed at the irony. Kaz Brekker, the Dirtyhands, creating a ploy so colored by the fairytale notions of dreamers.

The longer I go without reacting, the worse this situation becomes. I haven’t seen Verne since Brekker and his people separated us. I can see the world of torment my eldest friend must be experiencing at this very moment while I sit at this desk. 

“Me?” I’m the most ridiculous part of his plan. He said the only reason me and my partner are still alive is because I fit the general description of the kind of person he needs, and if I’m blackmailed into it he won’t need to waste kruge paying me. “A princess?” 

He blinks, as uninterested and stoic as he’s been since he first ordered me into his office. “A pretend one,” his correction feels like a slight, “a surrogate one.” 

My eyebrows furrow together. “But what--I know the odds of the real Anastasia coming back are beyond slim, but if we’re caught in a lie the Dowager Duchess of Avila will have all of us killed. She may be in Ravka now, and her title nothing more than decorative due to the revolution, but she still has people loyal to her.” 

“Anastasia can’t come back.” The graveness of his voice is so certain a part of me has to wonder if he could have anything to do with her death. I dismiss the thought almost immediately, I don’t know his exact age, but he doesn’t look much older than me. He couldn’t have been more than two or three years older than Anastasia when she died, and she was a child at the time. “No one remains missing that long unless they’re dead.” 

I awkwardly scratch the back of my wrist, “You’re the expert here.” No--I did not just say that out loud. “Sorry--I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Not that thinking it makes it any better, but at least then you wouldn’t know and I’d seem like less of an idiot and I wouldn’t be talking about it right now, and just rambling at a really inconvenient time for me to just...” I cringe slightly, opting to stare at his desk instead of meeting his judgmental gaze. “Sorry, again. Normally Verne is here, and he just kicks me in the shin or something to shut me up.” 

“If you’d like to see what apparently is your only source of impulse control alive and in decent enough condition to kick anything ever again, you’ll agree to what I’m proposing.” 

I straighten my posture slightly, nerves and guilt twisting in my stomach. “I’m going to be as transparent as physically possible.” The warning is for both of us, the urge to hide all my weaknesses bubbling in my chest. “Mr. Brekker.” That’s awkward--what am I supposed to call him? “I’m a university student that’s only in Ketterdam because of an academic scholarship. I’m from somewhere average--I’m not from a place nice enough to give me the manners I’d need to pass as a girl who spent her fundamental years growing up in luxury and I’m not from a place grimy enough to make me a quick enough liar to make up for what I don’t know.” I inhale slowly, ignoring the sting of the flaws I laid out for a cruel stranger. “I’m not particularly graceful or sly or talented in any field that someone like you would value. The closest thing I have to talent involves things that can be tracked on paper. I wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight, I was just doing a friend a favor.” 

“You claim that you’re not a decent liar or a thief and yet your closest friend is one who believed himself talented enough to challenge me?” 

I resist the urge to shrink back into my seat. “This is Ketterdam, you try finding someone that doesn’t dabble in crime and ambition.” He does’t reply to my retort, which I think means I won. “Cards on the table, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save Verne, but you don’t want me for something like this.” 

He pauses, jaw locked and eyes too stony for me to interpret. “Every flaw you just pointed out, every reason you think makes you unfit for this job, is exactly the reason I’m offering you this.” I keep a thousand questions to myself as I wait for him to continue. “Those used to lying lack the warmth that will be needed to sell this. The Dowager Duchess is a grandmother first when it comes to Anastasia, that’s why she’s offering so much gold. She, and the rest of the royals that desire to know what happened to Anastasia, want to believe the story I’m telling. If you present yourself as someone real and warm and you understand table manners enough to not disturb the serene picture they want, they’ll squint at ugly details until they disappear.” 

Wow. I know that he’s intelligent, but what he’s constructing is so much more bullet proof than I thought it’d be. “I’ll admit you’ve constructed an airtight narrative.” 

I know my approval means nothing to him, but it’s the most agreeable I’m willing to be. “A narrative the background you told me of fits perfectly.” I shouldn’t have answered all those questions he asked me earlier so honestly. “A child born in Avila who was sent to a Kerch orphanage due to a war-relief effort during the revolution. A faceless orphan who was found during the height of the revolution with no memory of anything before the morning she woke up in a hospital cot.” 

I say nothing. My skin burns in protest of someone knowing so much about me. He must take my silence as a sign of me teetering the line away from what he wants, because he then says, “your friend is fortunate, if things aligned a little less perfectly he’d be dead already.” 

Dead already. The words elate my heart in a way that pinches. He’s still alive. Verne is alive. “If I agree, you let me see him and then you let him go.” 

“If you need a contract to believe me, I can have that arranged.” The words have an almost mocking edge. I guess it’d be a little ridiculous to get an official contract drawn up for something so small. “If you at any point change your mind, I’ll do the same.” 

The threat is clear. I back out and Verne pays for it in blood. Verne’s safety is once again in my hand. This situation is much more precarious than Kaz Brekker wants it to seem. “You need me to do something that will literally last the rest of my life. Tiaras aren’t something you can slip in and out of.” 

“Yes, I’m forcing you to give up a life in the slums for a palace for your friend’s life. This must be a difficult choice for you.” 

I look down to avoid rolling my eyes. “It’s still permanent, and it’s large because at any point I could reveal the truth and take you down with me.” 

“Remember who you speak to.” His voice has turned to pure darkness. 

Don’t wince. Don’t wince. Don’t wince. “All I’m saying is that you’ve offered Verne’s life to buy my cooperation, but you have yet to mention the cost of my silence.”

His expression is sharp enough to draw blood. “The Dowager Duchess is old and sick, wait at most two years and you’ll have more gold than you could ever spend. The revolution took that family’s power, not the wealth the Duchess took with her to Ravka the night of the massacre.” 

I shift awkwardly. “I’m not trying to get kruge from you for me.” I fold my hands neatly on my lap to avoid fidgeting. “Verne--he’s beyond desperate for kruge, that’s why he risked angering you.” The urge to shy away threatens to break my resolve. I think of all the times Verne has saved me. “Let him keep what he tried to take.” The request is awkward from my lips. I’m asking for more when I should should be grateful any type of mercy came from him. Any type of offer. “Half. Let him keep half.” 

He’s silent for a long moment, weighing the implications of loss. “You’re already entitled enough to pass for royalty.” I don’t let myself shrink. “Deal, but not because you threatened me--try that again and you’ll find yourself wishing you had never left the orphanage you came from.” The relief is practically crushing. Verne is going to be okay. He’s going to live and my resistance earned him enough kruge to have a week or two without worry as he plans what he’ll do in my absence. “You better be as good a study as you made yourself seem to be.” 

I don’t understand the second threat. “Studying?” 

“You didn’t think you could wander into the Dowager Duchess’s home, use the excuse of amnesia to explain why you don’t even know your own mother’s name, and expect them to think you more than an Avilan orphan with a desire for wealth.” 

“I actually don’t know my own mother’s name because of amnesia.” 

He’s in no mood to be contradicted, glowering sharply, “not anymore, anything that doesn’t fit the narrative I’m constructing is no longer true.” He straightens slightly as he begins to pace away from me. “You’ll have five minutes with your friend and then we’ll see where your table manners are at. I know someone who knows enough to correct you.” 

I try to picture where someone like him would meet someone that knows about etiquette. My mind provides nothing useful, but it doesn’t matter--I’ve agreed. It can’t be undone, not without having the blood of my dearest friend on my hands. 

[slytherinbarnes]

Seasons Change [4]

iv. i will wait for you (as the leaves fall to the ground)

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: a little angst.

summary: despite running, the fallout from rome eventually catches up with you.

a/n: alright, that’s it!!! this is a wrap on this miniseries! please let me know what you think, I hope you enjoyed this series!

previous chapter // series masterlist // full masterlist

September 22, New York City.

The first phone call comes the day after you leave Rome, while you’re strapped into a Quinjet and heading to Siberia. 

You know it’s Steve, because so few people have your number for your phone, and when the call comes in you put your phone on silent and slide it into your bag, not ready to confront the reality of what you discovered while playing pretend with Steve in Rome.

You’re falling in love with him. 

When you initially proposed the friends with benefits arrangement, you thought there was no way you’d be the first to break the agreement and get attached. You’ve always been good at avoiding connections with others, and you thought Steve would be no exception. It seems as though you underestimated the pull of his personality though. He’s magnetic, and you can’t help but want to be around him. 

And maybe he feels the same, you did see his drawings of you, but maybe those mean nothing, and admitting to your feelings will just have you making a fool of yourself. You don’t want to be the first to admit that you failed, that you broke the agreement, so you decide to run from your problems instead, the way you always have, burying yourself in work and using it as an excuse to avoid reality. 

-

Steve calls again when you’re in Mozambique.

And Paris.

And Florida.

And Brazil.

But after a while, he stops calling. And the realization is heartbreaking.

-

In September, Fury says no more. Even he can tell you’re getting run down and clearly using work as an excuse to run from your personal life. 

He puts you on a mandatory month long break, and after that he promises that your missions for the rest of the year will be stateside, giving you time to get your life together, giving you time to slow down and stop running. 

When you land in New York, you realize that you missed the city more than you realized. The first thing you do is call your parents and tell them about your break, promising to visit them as soon as you get settled in. You hear an excitement in your mother's voice that you haven’t heard in years, and you realize now it’s been a while since you’ve been home, your longest time away yet, and maybe now, it’s time for you to stop running from everything. 

No more running from your parents, or your trauma, or the memories of your brother. It’s time for you to sit down and figure everything out, time for you to visit your parents and talk about your brother and what his loss has meant to you, done to you. Time for you to admit your feelings to yourself, and to Steve, even if it ruins things between you.

Of course, that’s easier said than done.

Instead of heading to the Avengers Compound and staying in the room you have there, you go to your apartment instead, the one you just can’t seem to let go of. It's the first place you moved to when you got to the city, and it’s rent controlled, which makes it even harder to give up. You’re not here much anymore, but strangely, it’s still home to you. 

More importantly, you have no chance of running into Steve here. 

-

You spend the first week home catching up on any remaining paperwork and reading the same three books on your barren bookcase. On day 9, you switch on the TV, only to switch it off again within minutes, too overwhelmed with the choices of what to watch. Instead, you dig out an old puzzle, one of the few belongings in your apartment, and you spend two days piecing it together, listening to music as you work. On day 12, you wander to the fridge for a snack, only to pull the door open and find the shelves empty, wiped clean of the food you bought when you first arrived back home. 

Sighing, you head to your room and pull on some pants and shoes, deciding a quick grocery trip will help to kill some time. You walk to one of the markets nearby, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the walls of the buildings lining the street, and a crisp breeze blows around you, promising an approach of fall. 

When you reach the store, you grab a basket, looping your arm through it as you wander through the aisles, grabbing anything that sounds appealing to you. Wandering through a store without a list, and while hungry, is dangerous, and soon your basket is full of snacks and no meals. Making a deal with yourself, you decide the snacks can stay as long as you get a few other things to go along with it. Heading towards the produce, you grab a few things for salads and sandwiches, before deciding a head of lettuce should round out your basket and complete your trip. 

As you reach for one of the heads of lettuce, another hand closes on top of yours, you and someone else reaching for the vegetable at the same time. You lift it and turn, intending to offer the head to the other person and grab a different one for yourself, only to drop it when you turn and lock eyes with Steve. His brows shoot up when he locks eyes with you, clearly surprised to see you in New York, and you send a silent curse to the Universe for making you do this now. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Steve smiles a little, the air between you tense and awkward. “When did you get home?”

“Uh… two weeks ago.”

His brows shoot up again, and he mutters, “Really?” You swear you hear disappointment in his voice, and it makes guilt flood your system. “Wow, that’s great.”

“Yeah.”

The air is thick with tension, and you squirm, aware that both of you now know that you’re avoiding him, no longer able to use work as an excuse. Steve shakes his head a little, turning to sit his basket on the ground, deciding to jump head first into the conversation. “I thought things were good after Rome.”

“They were!”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? You just up and left Rome, no note or anything, and you haven’t answered any of my calls.”

“I was-” You cut yourself off, about to use work as an excuse again, and you remember your earlier conversation to yourself. No more running. “I think I’ve been lying to myself.”

Steve shakes his head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

Someone brushes past you to grab a bundle of carrots, and you almost laugh at the situation; confessing your feelings in a grocery store, after spending nearly two weeks straight locked up in your apartment, avoiding everyone. “I have feelings for you.”

Steve looks surprised again, and you hear him suck in a sharp breath, so you barrel on, wanting to get the confession out before he stops you. “And I know I shouldn’t say that because of our arrangement, but I feel like I should tell you because I promised myself I would stop running from everything.”

“What about work? We’re both always so busy, and-”

“I’m not.”

“What?”

“I’m not too busy, I mean. At least, not for the next few months. I spent 9 months away from home this year, and Fury decided to ground me for a few months and only take missions stateside, at least through the end of the year. I have a few things to take care of with my parents, but other than that, I’m free.”

Steve nods once, but says nothing, his eyes watching you closely. You want to squirm beneath his gaze, waiting with bated breath as he looks at you, but you force yourself to stand tall and wait for the rejection. “I’ve been thinking about stepping back more, letting Bucky and Sam have more responsibility.”

“So what are you saying?”

“No more running.” Steve steps forward, both of his hands reaching out and grabbing you, pulling you towards him quickly and crashing his lips to yours. You drop your basket, hearing it clatter by your feet as you reach out and grab Steve, pulling him close to you. You lose yourself in the kiss, realizing now how much you missed this, and Steve seems to feel the same, because he lets out a soft sigh before he pulls away and whispers, “I have feelings for you too, and I want to do this if you do.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You look around, awkwardly realizing that you’ve confessed your love and drawn the eyes of other shoppers while standing in front of the lettuce. You reach down and grab your discarded basket, standing up straight again and looking at Steve. “So, what now?”

“Well, I heard you have a thing for cinnamon rolls, and I just so happen to know the perfect place to get some. All you have to do is say yes.”

Without hesitating, you reply, “Yes.”

-

[prettyboy-parker]

favorite fics of 2020 (and a goodbye)

hi all!

first, i wanted to say this is inspired by one of my closest friends my bitch @honeybunstarker . thank u for that 

secondly, i wanted to say a final goodbye. i know that i nearly left a few months ago, but i was still on the fence about writing for marvel then. now, ive lost all interest. thank you all for fueling my love for writing, and making these past two (??? i actually don’t know) years full of excitement and encouragement! from the ups (the blocklist, secret santa) to the downs (my favorite blogs and friends deactivating without a word), ive had the greatest time in this fandom. 

in case you were worried, i am NOT deactivating. my fics will be available for you to read whenever you want.

but, i will not be writing for marvel anymore, nor will i be posting on this blog.

now that the sad part is done, i didn't want to leave you guys without anything to entertain yourselves with. so, here are my favorite fics, including some non-marvel, from this year! 

(all descriptions are from the work itself)

my top fic from this year, which is also one of my favorite fics of all time, is a dog named sunshine.

“Bucky Barnes has issues. Mental health issues, and a whole lot of them, to be precise. Bucky is fucked up, and he knows that. His apartment looks like a dumping ground on most days, he can’t sleep through the night, sometimes he doesn’t shower for six days and doesn’t leave the house except to see his therapist once a week. Mostly, Bucky has no idea how the whole “talking about your problems” thing is supposed to help him, but sometimes his therapist has some really great ideas. Like getting a dog. Which is how Bucky meets Steve. Steve has blond hair and shoulders as broad as Bucky’s future if he wouldn’t suffer from depression and multiple mental disorders, and a waist as small as Bucky’s self-esteem. Steve also has a yellowish dog with floppy ears called Sunshine. And sunshine makes its way into Bucky’s life with a bounce in its step.”

a modern stucky fic which portrays depression in the best way i have seen in a fic so far. unfortunately, it has been orphaned before being finished :(

starker:

hey baby, slip between my beta-pleats and get to know my alpha-helix? By @starkerforlife6969​ and @darker-soft-starker​

“Even though Tony can't tell the difference between Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo, Peter really has no other choice.

His heat is around the corner, so even though he loathes the party-going, booze drinking, smug playboy know-it-all that is Tony Stark-

He'll just have to do.”

if you asked me what my favorite starker fic of all time is, i’d tell you it’s this one

raising hybrid puppies by jaypendragon

“A non-powered Tony/Peter coffee shop AU with billionaire Tony and working-class, teenage Peter. Also, Toomes has a bakery and somehow Last Week Tonight is a genuine plot point.”

underage, slowburn, happy ending 

even though it’s one of the most notorious fics for the ship, i never read it until the summer. 

waiting for marriage by tuesday 

“In which Tony gets married and kidnapped in that order.

—

Tony Stark went to Vegas to cause a scandal.”

just super fun!

push you out (pull you back in) by @lovelystarker​

“So basically, Peter's kind of fucked. And not in the way that he wants to be-preferably by his mother's hot new boyfriend who has beautiful brown eyes and a disposition that's more than put-together. It wouldn't be so hard to ignore the crush, really it wouldn't, but Mr. Stark has practically moved in, so Peter can't avoid him if he wants to, and unlike his mom's past boyfriends, this one actually likes to spend time with him. So yeah, Peter's kind of fucked.”

just,,, wow. important to note that it is unfinished.

stucky:

you go to my head by alby_mangroves and brideofquiet

“Why would you do that for a man you don’t know?” Bucky asks.

Steve raises one slow eyebrow at him, then the other, till his expression turns from skepticism to disbelief. His forefinger and thumb reach into his shirt’s front pocket and draw out a wrinkled dollar bill.

Steve looks him in the eye when he says, very patiently, “For money, Bucky.”

40′s stucky is my favorite stucky

that boy is a problem by 2best friends

“In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve's dick and he's really into it.

(The leash is a metaphor. For now.)”

just porn

all the angels and the saints by speranza 

“In which Steve Rogers loses God and finds God and loses God, and also: Bucky.”

if it makes you cry, it’s probably good!

sugar sweet by colorcoated 

“College Student Bucky finds himself immediately attracted to Steve. He knows that Steve's a bit older than him, and that Steve himself is put off by the age difference. . . But that doesn't stop Bucky from wanting to climb him like a tree.”

the only slowburn i have tolerated 

my bucky by cleo4u2 and xantissa 

“Bucky finds a feral Alpha in the woods. Rather, the Alpha finds him. Bucky is sure it’s the end of his life as an independant Omega. It turns out to be the beginning of the strangest romance Bucky’s ever known.”

stony:

(i want you to see) the darkest side of me by ann2who

“In Monte Carlo, Steve meets the wealthy widower Anthony Stark. It’s love at first sight—at least for Steve—and he can’t believe his luck when Tony asks him to live at Stark Mansion, his large estate in Malibu. Never in his life had Steve thought something like this was possible… never had he been this happy. However, soon Steve realizes that Tony is still deeply troubled by the death of his first wife and haunted by the many ghosts she left behind. The longer Steve lives in her shadow, the more he understands that… He can never be what Tony’s wife had once been for him. And Tony might never truly love him.”

total mindfuck.

ironstrange:

let it be by lucifersfavoritechild

“While dealing with his son's car accident and a rapidly-dissolving marriage, Tony is drawn to Peter's surgeon, Dr. Stephen Strange.”

where severus snape is hot, not a stalker, and somehow gets the girl by utopiste

“Or: Peter Parker is sick and wants to cut his Neuroscience class. Tony just wants to help (and maybe date his son's hot teacher). Stephen Strange just wants to give his lecture in peace.”

miscellaneous:

geraskier: who needs plans anyways by NTK

“All witchers are alphas or betas by nature, since no omega has ever survived the Trial of the Grasses. Gerald has never had any problems with satisfying his needs on the occasional rut, for the whores from Poviss to Nilfgard were eager to be of service to a sturdy hunk like him. On the other hand, a certain omega/ bard/ occasional witcher tagalong has always made certain to acquire enough suppressants from local healers before setting out on a new adventure. That is, until the travels with his favourite White Wolf led the unlike pair into uncharted territory for longer than expected… life ensues”

philtriss: bound by sapphiresmoke

“Leashing involves a pupil being bound to their master in body, mind, and magic,” Philippa explained, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. “It is not something to undertake lightly, but if you accept, I will be able to share my magic with you, and instruct you in ways that would be otherwise be impossible if I were to only rely on verbal communication. It is intimate, it is at times invasive, but if you consent to this, Triss, it will make you vastlymore powerful, and from the look in your eyes, that seems to be exactly what you are looking for.”

vandermatthews: one more night like this would put me six feet under by jukeboxgraduate

“To be alongside the same person week after week, to share honesty and trust with someone day after day, is a rare treasure in a life that hinges on dishonesty. Hosea holds it close to his heart.”

din/cobb: every wave is a tidal if you hang around by wolfhalls 

“Din comes to Mos Pelgo, and finds a lot more than he was looking for.”

and finally, rough day by @no-droids​, because we all need to be a little indulgent sometimes.

[beaversatemygrandma]

Apparently my wisdom teeth are clamping my cheek. Like biting. All the time. They’ve gotten to the point where if i even chew food I’m gnawing on the back of my cheek the whole time. And now I’m aware that the only way to fix this is to get them removed. Which would be good bc they are SORE even without the biting.

I haven’t been paying much attention to the cheek biting bc keeping my mouth open in public is Very Covered up by a mask. So I’m not some mouth breather out there. But at home. Trying to eat. Fuck.

I’ve never had surgery before. This is needing surgery. I’m terrified. The simple Idea of having an IV in even if its to put me out during the whole thing is Sending me. The word itself gives me ghost pains. And I’ve gotten my blood drawn while on my anxiety meds and trust me here: it doesn’t work. I still panic with a 50% chance of passing tf out. THEN there’s the fear of blood and during the recovery there’s Blood. ....Tho I’ll likely be on a strong painkiller for a little bit which may help.

......fucking hell. I think i need to do this and just take then $1k hit. Aleve only does so much and I’ve lost use of the right side of my mouth. I got insurance earlier this year only to learn that dental isn’t covered unless i pay like $300 a month. And it wouldn’t even cover orthodontics. Which is what i need. Bc that’s apparently luxury modifications even tho if i keep going like this I’m going to lose my teeth by 40. Like I’ve never had a cavity or any bad things go on yet but i don’t think i can keep being lucky like that with all that crowding. It’s causing problems that i can’t just prevent on a daily basis with regular care. 

Then there’s getting an appointment, all the while internally freaking out bc it’ll be a lot of money and i have no income... and you know. Getting the appointment. Like would i have to go to a dentist first (might cost like $100 just for a checkup....) to get the directions to go to someone to take them out? Or should i just go to a place and be like “Get these things out of my head. They hurt.” and fork over $1k?

AND THEN. I was talking to the partner of sorts. And she offered that i fly down there for the visit we’ve been planning and said to make it a longer trip so they can take me to one and set up the appointment for me and take care of me afterwards. And I Love the offer. So i was like. Okay. Two weeks down in the hometown. First week to send myself into hell and then be cozily comforted and the second to do random bullshit that is catching up with people *now pain-free*. But then comes another worry. I’ve been having ear issues. Like the type that causes me to get insanely dizzy and near passing out if i go on an elevator and I’ve never been on a plane. Like that might cause problems. And here’s the thing: Wisdom teeth can cause ear issues. I didn’t have this problem before the top ones grew in (facing my cheeks mind you) and it’s possible they could be the thing causing my inner ear issues (tinnitus, that elevator thing, etc). So... There’s that doubt. And also the thing where I have my dad here and i bet he’s ready to do some typical dad thing of taking me there. Then comes that fear of him recording anything while I’m coming out of surgery and I’m going to be PISSED if that happens. He’s already the type to pull out snapchat filters out of nowhere and now I have been seen on camera by relatives which i do not want. So. That’s going to be an instant rule going in. Not to mention i have heard that story of someone coming out to their parents while coming down from anesthesia. And uh. No. Yeah. No. I already hold back so much when i hear myself referred to as she and I’m not about to have that whole thing happen while mostly under.

*sighs* i’ve got too many anxieties here and I have zero idea if its rational or not. But holy hell. This needs to happen soon.

[zephyr-together]

it’s been exactly one month since top surgery! here’s a summary of what all went down! disclaimer: please do not feel that you need to feel pressured to remember things from this post or any other, your doctor should instruct you on the most important things to do or not do, and also this is my experience and everyone’s will be different! 

I saw Dr. Kenneth Wolf! I highly recommend him if you’re in the area or able to get to him, very skilled and very cheap (only was $5400, $5900 if you get nipple grafts which I ended up deciding not to have) there is a 250 lb weight limit though, they weigh you the day of surgery so if you’re unsure if you’ll be able to make it I’d suggest seeing a surgeon who operates more on plus sized folks

he was/is SUPER booked, I had my consultation in October and had to schedule surgery in June. this made me confident I made the right decision though because of how many people go to him, and having to be stuck in the body I didn’t want for a lot longer than I thought made me more eager to have it so I wasn’t as scared as I would have been otherwise. that being said, it might be smart to ask ahead how long the wait time is so that you can save during that time! because I didn’t know about the wait I had already had most of my money that I got together since last June so I could’ve had it about four months sooner, but hey everything worked out in the end :) 

speaking of saving money, for this doctor there’s a $500 down payment that I paid when I went to the consultation visit (if you’re out of the area they can do consultation over email btw!) the rest was collected about a week and a half before surgery. I have a debit card so it had to be split up in three transactions. I’m very thankful they worked with me on that!

I went into a small room where the doctor met me, marked me up and took my picture. then he said the anesthesiologist would meet me, which she did in a few minutes and went over a bit of questions/paperwork and took me to the operating room! 

I lied down on a table with my arms out, it felt like I was an alien getting vivisected, that combined with my needlephobia made that a bit scary but I’ve been waiting so long so it was exciting too. they had me hooked up to an IV but I think they did that while I was under because I felt the needle go in and then out. and then in a minute I was out! 

I wasn’t aware of this because it was during the surgery but they have a machine to massage your legs to keep up circulation and I had a tube down my throat too. when I woke up the first thing I hear is “the surgery was a success!! :D” and it felt like a weird dream because of anesthesia but in what felt like a few minutes I was almost as awake as normal which was surprising because I was out of it for hours after getting wisdom teeth out so I thought this would be way worse in that way

I had three intense sensations when I woke up: nausea, tightness and hunger. they asked right away if I was nauseous and gave me an alcohol patch to put on my nose which immediately took the feeling completely away. I had a very specific craving for Burger King’s impossible whopper, I think that’s because of not being able to eat I wanted something substantial like meat (vegetarian so closest thing to it) and something QUICK because hungy 

the tightness was pretty intense and unexpected, I felt desperate to rip off my surgical vest but they assured me it’s actually fairly loose. I think it’s just the incisions that give you a tight sensation but what you see and feel on your body is the vest so your brain says that’s the culprit I think. as time went on I ended up feeling desperate for the vest actually but I’ll go into that later

when I got the whopper I’m VERY thankful my dad who met us after picking it up also got the milkshake because I couldn’t produce saliva at all and didn’t know that would happen. I think that’s from having the tube in my mouth. I also could barely hold anything with my left hand because of that being the arm I had the IV in, but both the no saliva and limp left hand things went away in a few hours I think

by the time we got home which was I think an hour and a half after I woke up, I had really intense pain in my throat and under my armpits. the painkillers they gave me eventually kicked in about an hour or so after I took them, I’d suggest to bring them to surgery maybe if possible so you can take them asap, I think I wouldn’t have had that at all if I did, at that level of intensity anyway. for my throat I basically went nuts and drank water, had popsicles, ice cream, fruit, cough syrup, etc and it went away in 2-3 days or so

speaking of the pain under my armpits, that was from the tubes in me to drain extra unwanted blood and puss and stuff like that, it sounds super awful but I wasn’t allowed to remove the vest for five days and I’m naturally sweaty so I didn’t even know there were tubes in me or that I was draining until like four days later. I was stuffed with tons of gauze under the vest so eventually when I did notice the drainage we pulled out the dirty ones and pushed in some clean ones (they provide you with the same kind of gauze). the main awful thing about it was just the idea of having tubes in me, it didn’t bother me so much when I thought it was part of the incision haha...

now that I complained about the tube and throat pain I will say the “pain” for me of the actual incision area was almost nothing for me at all, just a bit of a weird tingly or pokey sensation every so often and that’s all really. but again everyone is different ! 

appetite was funny because it felt like I’d feel really hungry and eat hardly anything and feel good! another post suggested to have pineapple to help with bruising and I think it worked because I ate pineapple constantly and had pretty much no bruising at all

also I hope this isn’t too gross but I couldn’t pee and I was constipated. it wasn’t too much trouble because for the. pee I could just push and it’d come and for constipation that’s a problem that happens for me in general. both took about a week to wear off. they’re side effects of anesthesia I believe. other side effects I had from that were my legs and arms would feel pretty sore at times and my legs were wobbly, they said that I’d need to move my legs around a bit every once in a while to prevent clotting and I got a bit nervous about that so I ended up going for two walks a day! probably not needed to do that much but I think it helped speed up leg recovery 

after that more intense pain was gone after just a few hours I felt fine to watch shows and play viddy games! I thought I’d be zonked out for days or something but I was pretty alert after just a few minutes of coming out like I said. I could’ve probably drawn or made plushies too but it just felt so weird to move my arms at that point and was probably for the best I didn’t and just watched stuff and played games and slept a lot. it felt a bit frustrating how boring it was at times after a week or so but I just focused on how much of my life I’ll feel good now because of this so the recovery time isn’t that bad knowing that

five days after the surgery I had my first post op appointment! this was for the doctor to inspect the incisions, give us ointment to put on the scars and more gauze, and to finally be able to throw away all of the gauze that was under the vest! at this point I was allowed to take off the vest to replace the gauze and put ointment on as well as shower, and was given bandaids to put on the tubes for showering. however the sensation of not having the vest on at this point was SO horrible to me, I felt like a doll that was being pulled and unraveled apart, it made me want to throw up too so I took a shower as fast as possible and then just opted to get my hair shampooed at salons every other day for a couple weeks, so in retrospect I could have not gone five days with no shampoo but nothing can go absolutely perfectly after all!

a couple days later I ran out of oxycodone and tried replacing it with motrin which gave me three vivid nightmares in a row of having really bad fights with my parents and friend over dumb things which sounds silly but it messed me up emotionally and I kept sobbing uncontrollably out of nowhere that I felt like such a burden to take care of. I thought I was just emotional from the surgery but as soon as I switched to tylenol that went away completely! I don’t think it’s that motrin is bad because I looked it up and it’s a rare side effect, it’s just either that my body specifically doesn’t like it or it was the way it was combined with the antibiotic I had 

the second post op was to remove the tubes and it was 13 days after the first post op. they said if you live out of the area you can remove the tubes yourself so I’m very thankful we’re in the area haha. the left tube came out so smooth and quick that I didn’t feel it even come out at all! the second hurt for a second but I think because it kept getting bent backwards but it didn’t hurt too much. the tubes were SUPER wiggly and actually pretty flat so I think they’re constantly improving them to make them less and less noticeable. 

I was told I had to use the bandaids on my holes for showering and keep gauze on them too for just two more days and I could also throw the vest away then. I still felt too sensitive to get rid of the vest yet and wore it for another week, I still have it in case I want it for now (been going without it for about three days at this point) it still feels very strange without it since it feels like it’s holding you together but I think no matter how healed you are it will a shock to your body to not have that on anymore...also the “holes” from the tubes are more like slits which just look like slightly more open areas of the incisions so it’s barely noticeable. there’s some swelling where that used to be but that’s going down! 

now at this point where I’m at, I still feel best putting ointment on with gauze and bandage wraps I bought as a transition from the vest to nothing under the shirt which seems to be working pretty well! it might be that I’m autistic that I’m so sensitive to that feeling and had to have my vest on longer and now this instead of nothing. also I took three weeks off of work initially (I work a desk job) and asked for a couple more weeks of working from home before going back to the office to be able to adjust

also I will say if you live alone, I think you can handle surgery and taking care of yourself if you’re determined, as long as nothing you need to use to feed yourself and whatnot is up too high, too low, or too heavy. but if you can I’d highly suggest staying with someone who can help take care of you, it really helps easy the transition. in my summary I will say there was almost no pain at all but a whole lot of WEIRD stuff I wasn’t used to, but in the end it’s not a whole lot to deal with, considering! 

[dothwrites]

part v of mafia!au 

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

---

Dean’s never been so happy to see Sam in his entire life. 

His gangly little brother sits behind the wheel of the Impala, face drawn tight with worry. He relaxes in stages as he sees Dean, sees the blood on his clothes, then sees that little of it belongs to him. 

“Where’s Gabriel?” Sam demands as he rushes to open the backseat for Dean. His eyes widen as he takes in the ruin of Castiel, but he doesn��t say anything. 

“I don’t know,” Dean says, grunting as he hefts Cas’ unconscious body into the backseat. “Get his legs.” 

Between the two of them, they get Cas into the backseat, though not as gently as Dean could hope for. If a few extra bruises are the price which Cas has to pay for his freedom, then Dean’s willing to fork that payment over. 

He collapses against the Impala’s sturdy frame, chest heaving. Carrying Cas wasn’t easy; despite all his jabs about Cas being a nerdy little dude, Cas is solid, and carrying his deadweight through the halls of the Novak mansion counts as a workout. Sweat dapples the back of his neck, cooling unpleasantly as Dean waits. 

Once again, he’s in the garage of the Novak mansion. He tries to keep his eyes away from the spot where he last saw Cas, though he can’t stop his morbid fascination with the place. He wonders if there’s a bloodstain there. 

“Where the fuck is Gabriel?” Dean growls, when his body temperature changes from overheated to clammy. “We can’t risk sticking around here too much longer.” 

As if in response to his prayers, Gabriel comes tearing down the staircase. He races towards them at a dead sprint, tossing a few flashbangs behind him. “Get in the car, get in the car!” he shouts, heaving himself in the passenger seat. Dean doesn’t wait for another invitation, but gets into the backseat, arranging Cas’ head on his lap. Sam spares him one shocked look before he gets behind the wheel. 

Sam slams on the gas too hard, causing the Impala’s wheels to squeal and smoke against the concrete of the floor, but when he eases off a little, she jumps forward, as eager for freedom as the rest of them. Dean doesn’t breathe until they crash through the gates and the outline of the mansion disappears in the rearview. 

After weeks, they’re all finally free. 

---

Only when the mansion vanishes completely does Dean dare to look at Castiel. 

Once he does, he regrets it. 

He got a few glimpses when he first saw Cas, but he hadn’t been too interested at cataloging injuries. At that moment, escape was the only thought in his mind and Cas’ injuries were only obstacles to be overcome. 

They have time now, or at least a lack of pursuit. In their world, it amounts to same thing. Dean flicks aside the tattered remains of Cas’ shirt and looks down at the bleeding ruin of his chest. His gorge rises as he looks at the wounds littered over Cas’ torso. Some of them are still bleeding.

Bruises spread over his skin in varying shades of purple, yellow, and green. There are several puncture wounds that Dean recognizes as belonging to a taser. Rage clouds up high and sour in his throat as he considers the varying stages of healing of the wounds. They’ve been hurting Cas from the first day they had him. 

Rage and nausea rise in Dean until he thinks he might choke on them. The bastards turned Cas into a canvas.

“Son of a bitch.” He looks up to see Gabriel leaning over the front seat. Thin white lines of fury etch along his mouth and eyes. 

In the past few weeks, he and Gabriel have come to understand each other as partners and allies, pushing aside their prejudices in favor of a common goal. Dean trusts him as much as he trusts anyone other than Sam, but for the first time since he began working with Gabriel, a little tendril of fear pokes at him. 

“He’s alive,” Dean says, the barest form of comfort he can offer while being truthful. “He’ll be ok. He’s strong.” 

A muscle twitches in the corner of Gabriel’s jaw as he stretches out his hand to brush through Cas’ hair. A soft noise caught between contentment and distress escapes through Cas’ lips and Gabriel withdraws his touch. 

“Just get us home,” Dean tells Sam. 

---

In hindsight, he should have expected the nightmares. 

They made it back to their safehouse without anyone following, which makes Dean stupidly think that they’re out of the woods. Sure, they probably have both the Novak and Winchester families gunning for them, but he, Sam, Gabriel, and Cas are all under one roof. Together they’ve got enough brains, skills, and ruthlessness to take down any threat. 

Dean thinks that right up until the first scream splits the peace of the night. 

He bolts upright, gun already in hand, eyes darting wildly around in search of the potential threat. When he finds none in the immediate vicinity, he runs out of the room, already calling for Sam. 

Sam’s head pokes out of his room, hair sleep tousled and eyes heavy with interrupted slumber, but he looks confused instead of terrified. The fear on his face is directed outward instead of for himself. “Dean? What’s going on?”

Another scream rips through the night. This time Dean recognizes the voice underneath the terror. 

“Cas,” he murmurs, thundering down the hallway. 

The door opens under his touch into a horror show. Cas writhes in the middle of the bed, sheets tangled around his body. His back bends into a rigid, impossible arch as his fingers claw at the mattress. Tendons in his neck bulge as he forces a scream out through clenched teeth. His feet kick uselessly, forcing Gabriel to try and dodge his inadvertent blows. Blood trickles down Cas’ bare chest as his wounds reopen. 

“Cas, you’re ok, you’re all right, come on Cas.” Gabriel’s voice is frantic as he tries to pin Cas’ flailing body. “Easy Cas, easy!” 

Cas screams again. The raw sound tears through the quiet night like a knife blade. The safehouse is removed from civilization, but not so far away as to be isolated, and Cas’ shrieks are loud enough to break glass. 

“Sam, go get my bag,” Dean says. His heart is pounding so hard it’s amazing he hasn’t fainted. His gun is heavy in his hand, pulling his whole arm down to the ground. “There’s a sedative in there; it should be enough to knock him out.” 

“No!” 

Gabriel’s voice cracks like a whip, stopping Sam in his tracks. “What the hell?” A ragged, tortured sound rips out of Cas’ throat. It seems impossible that a single person could hold that much tension in their body without snapping in half. 

Wild eyes and bared teeth are all Dean sees of Gabriel. “You are not putting anymore drugs into him!” 

Dean’s eyes fall to Cas’ arm, to the series of haphazard bruises blossoming along the vulnerable flesh of his inner arm. An awful, terrible picture paints itself in Dean’s mind, one which explains Cas’ state of mind, his hazy eyes and wandering train of thought. It’s not real, none of this is real...in my head, there are things, there are people, and they lie--

Dean thinks he might be sick.

Without consciously realizing it, Dean finds himself moving forward. At first, he means to do nothing more than to help Gabriel restrain Cas from hurting himself, but then he finds himself murmuring soft reassurances, things that his father would have slapped out of his mouth if he could. 

“Hey Cas, you’re all right, you’re all right, you’re ok, I’ve got you, me and Gabe are here, you’re ok now--” 

He runs his hand over Cas’ forehead, wiping sweat away from his skin. “You’re safe, you’re all right. No one’s going to hurt you, I’ve got you.” 

He’s aware of the weight of Sam and Gabriel’s eyes, but he keeps his eyes focused on Cas. One last, thin wail rips from his throat and then, like a puppet cut from his strings, Cas collapses bonelessly onto the mattress. He shudders once and is still. 

Dean holds his breath for ten seconds. Then, when Cas sleeps peacefully on, he lets it out in one long whoosh. His knees buckle, threatening to send him crashing onto the mattress right beside Cas. 

“Go back to bed, Sam.” A few hesitant protests come from Sam, but they’re swiftly silenced with a sharp bark of his name. 

“Call me if anything changes,” Sam shoots off as a parting salvo, but Dean doesn’t think it’ll be necessary. If Cas has another screaming fit, Sam will know.

Sam’s door closes and Dean takes a few steps backward. His shaky legs give out just as his back hits the wall, and he slides down until his ass hits the ground. “Jesus,” he breathes. He buries his face in his hands, unwilling to allow Gabriel this view of his weakness. “God, oh god.” 

For thirty seconds, he allows his horror, and anger free reign. Then, with effort, he pulls himself back together, stitching together reason and rationality until he’s able to think. He looks up at the bed, where Gabriel’s head is bowed low over the mattress. 

“Drugs?” Dean finally asks, his voice a hoarse rasp. 

Gabriel’s head rises like it’s moving on rusty hinges. His golden eyes are bleak. 

“I recognize the handiwork. It’s from Naomi, one of Dad’s pets. She likes to experiment. Pump them full of hallucinogens, tear them apart, and see what falls out. By the end, they’re reprogrammed into something else they wouldn’t even recognize. Stands to reason they’d set her loose on Cas.” 

Bile rises in Dean’s throat. Cas is brilliant, his mind sharper than a steel trap. Behind blue eyes, thousands of gears are constantly turning. To think of someone rummaging around in that machine, upsetting the delicate balances and systems...It’s perverse, an upsetting of the natural order. Dean doesn’t believe in God, never has, but the idea of Cas losing his reason due to outside influences is as close to blasphemy as anything else. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I can stay with him.” 

Gabriel’s scoff isn’t as strong as it could be. Instead, he just looks weary and defeated. “You know, when I first thought of a Winchester taking my place, I thought I was going to kill you myself. And now...” He shakes his head, dismissing whatever he was going to say next. “I’m going to get a few hours worth of sleep. I’ll come get you then.” 

For a moment, Dean thinks Gabriel might go so far as to pat him on the shoulder. His hand hovers awkwardly in mid-air before it drops to his side. Gabriel shuffles towards the door, each step taking an eternity to accomplish. He waves at Dean, a limp gesture, before he heads down the hallway to his bedroom. It shuts behind him, leaving Dean alone with Cas. 

It takes almost all of Dean’s energy to make his way to the opposite side of the room. He collapses into the armchair, still warm from Gabriel’s ass. 

Blood dries tacky on Cas’ chest. None of the wounds he ripped open were deep enough to really hurt him, but seeing the reminders of his treatment torn stark red on Cas’ chest is still like getting a punch to the gut. 

It seems wrong, somehow, for him to see Cas brought low. He knows Cas wouldn’t want to be seen like this. When he wakes up, Cas will probably either punch him or shoot him, and that’ll be fine. It’ll be worth it to see Cas’ eyes open and shine with lucidity. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His voice sounds harsh in the quiet of the room. The very air molecules bristle with disapproval. It’s nothing compared to the contempt which Dean feels for himself. 

“If it hadn’t been for me, you never would have been caught up in this. For whatever reason, you looked at me and you saw someone worth saving. I don’t know why you thought that. I don’t know what I did to make you think that I was ever worth this.” 

Dean’s fingers crawl across the mattress to take Cas’ hand in his. Cas’ fingers are cold and limp. Blood is caked into his cuticles. In his sleep, Cas murmurs. Whether it’s a sound of distress or happiness, Dean doesn’t know. He’s afraid to know. 

The first time he saw Cas was at the exchange. The Novaks were lined up on one side of the hotel and the Winchesters on the other. Dean had barely been able to swallow his rage at being sold off like a pawn, all so his father could swagger around the city like he owned something. He’d focused that rage on the family who, up until a few weeks ago, it was his purpose to thwart in any way possible, death not excluded. Now he was expected to join them, with nary a word spoken otherwise. 

He recognized Michael Novak and he’d gotten intimately familiar with Gabriel Novak’s file. Neither of those Novaks were as interesting as the Novak who stood at the back of the room. 

Even without knowing his name or anything else about him, Castiel was the Novak who caught his attention. He moved through the rest of them like a panther moving through wolves, all coiled grace and tightly bound intent. Where the other Novaks were stiff, he was fluid, where they were cold, he burned hot. Dean looked at him and saw the proverbial diamond in the rough, one jewel amidst a sea of imposters. 

And now here he is, shattered into a thousand pieces, a sacrifice laid in front of the altar of Dean Winchester. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice croaks on the last syllable. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” His instincts tell him to crush Cas’ hand in his, to bring him back with nothing more than sheer force of will, but he already knows that’s not an option. He needs to learn how to hold things without destroying them, how to love something without smothering it. 

“I wasn’t worth it. Whatever you thought you saw, it wasn’t worth this.” Heat prickles behind Dean’s eyes and works its way up his throat. “I’m so sorry Cas.” 

Misery forces his head low and Dean presses his forehead against Cas’ knuckles. Cas’ hand is so cold. The rise and fall of his chest is subtle, worryingly so. Dean doesn’t know how it feels to fall asleep without the taste of fear thick and sour on his tongue. 

He falls asleep with his lips still shaping the word sorry. 

---

Dean drags himself up from the pit of sleep, roused by a stimulus so weak it might as well be nonexistent. It’s still enough to pull him out of a troubled slumber, heart pounding. 

It takes his pupils a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light. When they do, they immediately find Cas. He lies, flat on his back, but his hand reaches out towards Dean. The weight of his hand is almost like a whisper as his fingers ruffle through his hair. 

“Cas,” Dean croaks, his pulse suddenly racing like a runaway carriage. “Cas, are you awake?” Are you ok, are you whole, please, tell me you’re all right, tell me that I didn’t destroy you like I destroy everything else in my godforsaken life-

A faint smile creeps over Cas’ face, like the sun struggling to break through the darkness of night. It’s a faint sliver of a thing, but it’s there, inescapable and wondrous. 

“Hello Dean.” 

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Mr. I want suck your blood - Pt 4

Warning: Mentions of violence and Swearing 

Word count: 2,451 

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In stories, Soulmates were meant to be the real deal. They were forever. They were two individuals who were brought together by the universe so their lives finally made perfect sense. 

You'd never heard of Soulmates ‘Taking a break’ or ‘Splitting up,’ it wasn't something that happened. That’s not what happened in the stories. 

Thats just the thing though. Life isn't a story. Life’s a bitch.

Y/N POV

It had been 1 Hour 19 minutes and 45 seconds since Carlisle shattered your world. 1 Hour, 22 minutes and 23 seconds since you had ripped out your IV line and stormed out of the Cullen house. 1 Hour, 28 minutes and 15 seconds, since Carlisle Cullen, your SOULMATE, decided to call it quits.

Carlisle’s words were still ringing in your ears. “It’s safer this way.” or “Now you can live a normal human life.” You felt numb. 

-1 Hour, 19 minutes and 45 seconds ago- 

You looked up as you saw Carlisle standing in the wooden door frame. You smiled and placed a hand on your fast beating heart relieved to see him unscathed. Bella had swiftly exited the room. It was just the two of you now. You could tell straight away that something was wrong. Your heart started racing again. 

You sat there and listened, as Carlisle took your hand and proceeded to shatter your world. He’d decided that being together, it was too dangerous. He couldn't put you in danger again, couldn’t watch you bleed in his arms again. You both argued. It was his over protective nature, that was the cause of this.

“What about Bella and Edward? She’s still human?!” Apparently it was an invalid argument. Invalid my ass. He wouldn't budge. He thought some time apart would be for the best, even if saying it did secretly pain him. 

You were angry, so angry that you ripped out your own IV, not without gagging of course. The screaming and arguing drew the attention of the rest of the Cullen household. Bella was trying to calm you down and stop your arm from bleeding, while Edward and Esme were talking to Carlisle. 

You didn't care anymore. How dare he. How could he do this to you? You didn't ask for this life. You'd been dragged into it head first. You'd accepted him for all he was. Before all of this you WERE a normal teenager, with normal teenage problems! 

You didn't want normal anymore. You wanted Carlisle, the Volturi, wolves and blood singers. You wanted it all, but just like that, he took it away. 

You hadn't wasted any time running through the house, past Alice, Rose and Jasper and to your car. You say run, more like fast walked, your legs were still jelly from lying in bed the last couple of days. Alice had tried to stop you on the way out but Jasper told her to let you go, he could feel the pain and anger radiating of you in waves. 

The first thing you did when you got to your car was check your glove box for cigarettes. You got in and slammed the door, you could see Carlisle fighting to try and get passed Edward and Emmett but they wouldn't let him out. You looked over to see Bella running toward your car. You waited. She jumped in the passenger side and neither of you spoke a word.  You didn't have to. You started the engine and it came to life with a roar, you peeled out of the Cullen’s drive way with tears streaming down your face and a cigarette between your lips. You fucking hated Forks. 

Bella had made you pull over halfway home, scared the tears were clouding your vision. She was probably right, the road ahead did look quite blurry. You traded places and carried on towards home. She was talking to you but you weren't really listening, just watching the trees speed past in a blur, you were sure you could see other objects moving beside you through the trees just as fast, but blinked and they were gone.

-2 weeks later- 

Grand Piano by Nicki Minaj blared through the speakers on repeat, you sat staring blankly at your sketchpad, no inspiration, no drive.. nothing. It had been like this for two weeks. Bella had apparently been the same, but you just couldn't shake it. You'd shut yourself off from everyone. Only coming out of your room to get food and use the bathroom. You felt numb. 

You could tell your Mom and Charlie were starting to worry. They'd tried to talk to you, find out whats wrong. All they knew is someone broke your heart bad. You'd started having nightmares the first night you were without Carlisle. They felt like more than nightmares though, so vivid, almost like premonitions. You'd wake up still screaming in a cold sweat clutching your chest and crying. Crying for everything you lost when Carlisle let you go. You'd never been in love before and if it felt like this then you never wanted to be again. You didn't think you could love again. 

You were spaced out, the music was still playing in the background but your mind was somewhere else, another thing that had been happening since the accident. You just went places, like you were daydreaming, lost in a trance. This time was different though. It was if you were actually there, watching things unfold, only when you came to you were in your bedroom, your paints scattered everywhere, your sketchbook now covered in imagery. You gasped and flew back from your desk, the page awash with shades of vibrant red and black. You gagged. Blood….. and a symbol, it was an emblem of some sort. You shook your head and closed the book on the now dry paints. 

What the fuck. 

It happened a few more times after that. The spacing out, coming back to earth having drawn on something or once, even scratched symbols into your desk. You'd practically stopped sleeping. Too many thoughts in your head. Even Bella was getting worried, she knew what it was like to spiral and you were doing it at 100mph. She’d suggested talking to Carlisle but you shouted at her for even bringing him up. He left you and hadn't made any attempt to contact or see you. Why give him the satisfaction. 

You'd decided enough was enough. You had to start living your life again, or at least thats what you tried to tell yourself. Today you were going to see Seth. You’d become quite close friends with Seth since getting involved in the whole supernatural side of life but you'd been shutting him out for weeks, he knew what had happened with Mr I want to suck you blood, but he didn't ask questions, which you were grateful for. You thought it would do you some good to get outside and breath in the fresh air. You couldn't wallow in self pity any longer. 

It felt weird to be in normal clothes rather than ratty old pyjamas. You parked up, jumping out of your car, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. You had brought your sketchbook with you, you didn't know who to talk to about these things, so you were going to show one to Seth, just to see if he recognised anything. 

You couldn't help but breath deeply as the air floated off the salty sea and toward your face. You smiled as you watched Seth running down the beach. His boyish grin was charming and his smile grew as he got closer to you. He wrapped you in a hug and you hugged back desperate for a bit of normalcy. 

“Hey Seth,” You grinned, thankful for a bit of human, well in this case werewolf, connection. Yeah you had Bella.. and Alice had tried to stop by from time to time, but at the minute they were just a constant reminder of him…. 

“Y/N! I missed you, things have been so strange without seeing you around ya know!” You bumped his shoulder as you walked down the beach. It had been strange. You'd moved to Forks, got involved with Vamps and the supernatural and in all this time you'd never had any normal time to yourself, or with a friend. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant, you know the whole…. thing…” He just nodded his head. You didn't have to explain, he was just happy you were there now.

You'd spent hours just walking and talking on the beach. While walking you had bumped into some of the others as well, Sam, Paul…. You got along with them too, but they had never agreed with your relationship. They seemed somewhat more comfortable around you now. Catching up was good, you felt a lot lighter when you walked, your heart a little less heavy, he was still in the back of your mind though, as much as you tried to think about anything else.

There was an abandoned fire pit a little further up from where you'd been talking with the others, logs surrounded the ashy mound, placed out like small earthy benches. You'd been collecting odd pieces of wood on the way, expecting to find it there. Yourself and Seth pilled the kindling high and he started a fire, he didn't really need to because of his heat, but it was still fun. As Seth continued the fire you reached around and grabbed your leather backpack, opening the zip and fishing inside for your paint covered sketchbook. He came to sit beside you as you started flicking through the pages. You tried to glance at him from the corner of your eye to read his expressions. 

“Y/N, these are pretty amazing, and… somewhat scary…” He looked at the book and then back at you. “What are they?” His finger traced the images and the symbols. 

You shook your head and flicked through the pages more rapidly. “I don't know S, I…if I tell you something you have to promise you wont tell anyone, not even Sam, not even Jake….” You gulped and looked up at him. He looked confused. You faltered a little, getting nervous you shut your book and started to shove it in your bag. “This was stupid, I should go…” You stood up trying to leave but Seth grabbed your hand. 

“I wont tell, you can trust me I promise.” You relaxed, still hesitant, you sat back down. You took the sketchbook back out and went to the first page, tracing the symbols and images, remembering how clearly you had seen them in your mind.

“I drew these. But I didn’t, at the same time.” Seth just looked even more confused now. “I think…. I think something happened to me when I was bitten S…. Something I cant explain. This symbol, I drew this, sat at my desk, one minute the sky outside was light, the next thing I knew it was dark, and the once blank page was covered in all these drawings!” You flicked through the book and sighed placing your head in your hands. He probably thought you were crazy. You sure felt crazy.

You felt his hand rest on your back as you hunched over sighing. “Y/N I’m a wolf, The Cullen’s are Vampires… crazier things have happened, i’ve just never heard of this crazy happening yet….”

You peaked at him from your hands. “Do you know what any of the symbols mean? I see them in my dreams as well, it’s like i’m watching a movie in my head, it’s like I'm there but no one can hear me or see me.. It feels so real.” You sit up, flicking through the pages, before you can turn to the next, Seth’s hand comes flying down stopping the process as he points to one of the symbols. 

“Y/N, I’ve seen that symbol before… I think it’s something to do with the cold ones.. the Volturi to be exact.” You groan. This cant be fucking happening. Not only were you dumped now you were having freaky Volturi dreams as well? You searched in your bag for your cigarettes, you held the packet out to Seth and he surprisingly took one. You grinned.

“Wow Sethy never took you for the rebel type.” He ruffled your hair and you shoved him. “Seriously though what am I going to do, this shouldn't be happening i’m human, I didn't turn, Carlisle made sure of that.” You couldn't hide the bitter tone in your voice. 

“I don’t know what it means Y/N, but I promise we will figure it out.. cant you talk to Cull…” You glared at him before he could finish his sentence. “Never mind, stupid idea, ignore me.” You laughed and you both carried on looking through the book. What the hell did this mean?

It was late now, Seth walked you to your car, his body still close to keep you warm, the sea breeze now icy cold on your skin. You sighed, part of you didn't want to leave, it was the first kind of normal you'd felt in a really long time, even before coming to Forks. Life in your old place had been really hard, You didn't fit in anywhere, you could count your friends on one hand and you had a strange relationship with your bio dad. You thought things would get easier, Forks had the smallest population and yet you managed to find yourself smack bang in the middle of all this drama, you'd thank Bella for that later. You thought it would be easier living here, maybe you were wrong. 

You turned, looking at Seth as you reached your car, you were about to tell him you'd had a nice time, ask him if he wanted to hang out again soon, but you couldn't speak. The waves sounded louder, the air around you felt thicker and you couldn't breath. You could hear Seth’s muffled voice in the background somewhere and a pair of arms shaking you but in your head you were somewhere else entirely. 

Cloaks of black floating across the white pearlescent snow, rivers of red blood flowing all around. Wicked eyes staring into yours, and then pain.

You screamed and grabbed your head, it felt like someone had jabbed it with a white hot poker. Images flashed before your eyes, Volturi, Snow, Red, Carlisle. You gagged, so much blood, so much pain. Then, nothing. 

Your mind went dark, no images now, no sound, just the sharp ache as you feel your body shut down and hit the solid ground, then the coldness surrounded you. 

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Hey guys! I’m sorry it took so long for me to post another part! Hope you enjoy reading x Please comment if you'd like to be tagged! 

PT 5 -------- HERE

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@thechangingcolourswithinthewoods

@scream-kiwi79

@kettnerjanea

@caraboo15

[foulserpent]

only human

long character analysis + fan fiction hybrid involving critically acclaimed worst best game of all time The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion! martin is in a mental and emotional hell! ned and martin resolving unresolved sexual tension after like, 100000 false starts! being mentally ill with the bro’s! "fluffy" ending!

cw: brief depiction of violence, ptsd, implications of past relationship based trauma, borderline explicit but not really sexy sexual content (nothing p*rnographic but 18+ pls)

On some nights, Martin was in hell.

The world was on a slow death march towards ruin outside the walls, this much he knew. Not even the strongest fortification could shield him from it. Every night from his gilded cage, he heard the screams, breathed the foul smoke and burning flesh and disemboweled gut, see the daedra drag the near-dead into the shadows to be torn apart, still crying out as they were devoured. His hands wet with blood, shaking in vain as his healing failed him and the survivors were pulled apart by their own wounds. The long walk out of the doomed Kvatch, past swarming flies and hundreds of blank eyes looking into the unforgiving sun. The revelation that all this was for him.

On the worst of these nights, staring into the ceiling of Cloud Ruler Temple as the sun began to creep over the horizon, he would wish he had just died.

This time last year, he was on track to live out the rest of his days in obscurity. Probably in Kvatch, probably remaining a priest, where the only weight on his shoulders was giving people their assurances that the Divines would look out for them and hoping he would finally taste truth in these words. It would be better than this. Those who held the reigns of the Empire were even more deluded than he'd thought, if they believed that his noble blood would divinely grant understanding of what to do, some inborn ability to keep collected and strong and sane trapped here as his friends faced death at his behest.

He would be called "lord", shone and polished as a commodity, loved and utterly devoted to, and never, never known. His feelings did not matter. This message had been thoroughly beaten into him. None of it mattered to whatever hand kept him guarded as preciously as the helpless king on the chessboard, behind a line of pawns to the sacrifice. Xikeel bringing him little gifts from gods-know-where (some teeth, a ring, a few spoons), slithering down from the rafters to visit him in the late night hours. One of the blades- bewildered - walking in on them dancing, without rhythm or music.

Long conversations with Ned, who would never treat him like an emperor, who barely even seemed to want to be there but had become doggedly devoted to Xikeel and himself. Bringing him wine, face softened into a smile in anticipation of an evening sitting outside in comfortable, quiet company. Tired and spiteful, but so warm.

He did not know when his feelings had turned to want. There was never an astonished realization, no moment that had changed everything. The first time he consciously acknowledged it was not as a revelation, but as an observation. Ned had cut his hand, a simple, foolish mistake that left Martin wearily healing him, in spite of the bosmer’s protests. Martin had held onto his hand longer than the spell needed, feeling the pulse in his fingers and wanting to entwine him in his own. Wanting to pull him in closer. Noticing that he wanted this, and noticing that it did not surprise him.

It was one of many things to think about, significantly less distressing than every other aspect of his current existence to say the least. He wondered if it was the day he had returned from his nigh-suicidal mission to cheat a god, haggard and shirt bloodied and yet with the softest eyes Martin had seen in the man, cracking a weak smile (a flash of teeth) that said "I've done it, and I hope you can forgive me". He wondered if it was Ned's unwavering devotion to leaving his shirt half-unbuttoned, the burn tearing through his chest on display like a trophy. The necklace would fall across the older man's breast while he laughed and joked about stupid things with Martin as if they were old friends. He was not above simple things.

Perhaps this was a test of the temperance he had spent years cultivating, hollowing out a part of himself to nurture the seed. After all, he had not been with anyone for a long time.

---

He had loathed the existence of the arena in Kvatch, drawing in men and women from all around in what amounted to mass suicide. There was little honor in it, just desperate people consuming themselves for just to grasp a thread of glory, dying in the mud as the crowd roared.  But Martin was only human. He had found himself looking on the men as they passed through town, all muscle and scars and fiercely alive. He had found himself drawn to one who had come into the temple for a blessing of protection. The man never said why, though Martin knew where he was bound. It was never hard to tell.

The man was tall and rather handsome, with a muscular frame and dark hair and looking to be only a few years younger than himself, (this had to be around when he was forty-one or forty-two. Had it been that long?). They'd spoke first as strangers do, running through the motions of a blessing under a thick smoke of incense and flowers burnt in offering to the Dragon. Martin averted his gaze from the sword at the man's hip as he prepared the oil. Its hilt glittered in iron filigree and unmistakable rust of dried blood struck gold by the afternoon's dying light. His eyes wandered to the man's face instead, moving to begin the anointment. The dark haired man swiped his tongue over his lips and glanced away, and Martin's heartbeat spiked.

For gods sakes.

The man talked compulsively, glancing around as if something stalked him in the shadows between the stained-glass-light. Martin had silently hoped he would grow bored with the old priest and be on his way, if only so that he'd have time to himself to contemplate what the hell was wrong with him. So, naturally, the man kept talking long after the ritual was complete and the candles extinguished. About where he had come from, (all the way from High Rock, it turned out), the unusual rains lately, family. Partners. Lovers. The conversation turned here, and had fallen with such a speed that he barely realized what was happening. The man had found Martin beautiful, and Martin, exhausted with penitence and enthralled by the stranger and aching to just be human again, had found himself quietly slipping out with him.

Martin's home was truly tiny when occupied by two, an unfamiliar claustrophobia that was quickly dragged into the mire and drowned in a little too much wine. It was cheap and burned his throat with its sweetness, but he didn't care. They'd stumbled and fallen into his bed.

"For good luck," the man had said, as they kissed rough and far too clumsy.

"For good luck," Martin had kissed into the man's neck.

The man was a bit fumbling, all muscles and scars and fierceness. No matter how close their bodies pressed, no matter the grip Martin had - his fingers marking new trails over a scarred back -  there was that distance. Two magnets repelling, even as they forced themselves together. These men going to their deaths couldn't be touched. And neither could he, no matter how he tried. There weren't even the barest roots of love here. Just body on body, flesh on flesh. It wasn't bad, though. Martin was only human.

He didn't know what to say in the morning, as the man collected his belongings to go off to the fight. "Good luck," Martin said again, feeling stupid. The man had said "thank you" with his eyes distant. He bent down and out the door, and walked out into the humid morning air, leaving Martin with a strange emptiness in his gut. He never saw him again.

It shouldn't have impacted him so badly. He'd had a one-night stand that was, frankly, pretty good. He'd given another man some comfort, something above and beyond his duty as the Priest-Healer-Penitent. It wasn't really against any vows. His lungs still breathed the smoke of offerings to the Dragon, a shrine to Dibella was dutifully kept at the foot of his bed and given a clumsy offering before the main event. He had not fallen back into the snares of that damned daedra. It wasn't a betrayal of those he'd lost. So why was he guilty?

---

And yet here he was now, on the precipice yet again. Really, he was long into the fall.

Him and one-of-two Heroes of Kvatch had slept together for a week now. Nothing more than the sharing of a bed and body heat, their day to day lives much the same as the world crumbled around him. They had kissed a few days ago, slightly dizzy with wine and the memory returning only in a haze. They'd kissed again the night before, sober and beyond any deniability as the bosmer was making his way out on errand. Ned had blushed and flicked his ears back, leaving him with a soft smile and a quiet "See you," as he slipped into the night.

Now, Martin found himself kneeling as if in prayer at the foot of his bed, his companion sitting up before him. Ned was half naked, body all muscle and scars and an exhaustion that ran far deeper than that. Martin had been healing a wound on his stomach- sliced open by a nasty (and thankfully, poorly aimed) dagger. The Mythic Dawn long since knew what he looked like, though they had hardly been this bold before now. They stalked the base of the mountains like jackals at the edge of a kill, waiting for an opening to lunge in and tear off some scrap of flesh. Ned hadn't wanted to talk about this one. His hands shook as he'd taken off his bloodstained clothes, and he scoured them with a washcloth long after they were clean.

"I'm fine." He had said. "I'm just tired."

Martin was tired too. That first night together, he had this romantic notion that being held by his friend would keep away the nightmares. They had come as they did most nights, crawling out of the depths of his subconscious with the worst of him they could offer. He'd woken up, breathing hard as terror dripped down his body. There was one difference. There was a warmth pressed to his back, and it breathed a half-snore as it moved in closer, nuzzled into his trembling neck. Ned hadn't woken. He had just wrapped Martin up into strong arms, and settled back into a deep sleep. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but even as the last traces of the nightmare pulled out its spurs, Martin felt safe. All he wanted was to return the favor.

Now, Martin leaned to kissed the gash across Ned's chest, the one that the man would wake up in terror clutching at, eyes somewhere far away and breathing hard. He trailed kisses down the line of skin warped by fire and blade, and Ned laughed. "I can barely feel it."

"Really?" The sword and its burns had probably damaged a nerve. Or done something worse, something that cut deeper. It was a daedric weapon after all. Martin would later ask where exactly he had sensation, to see if anything could be done about it. Later, perhaps. Now, he was tired of being the Priest-Healer-Penitent.

He leaned back in, close but just out of reach. His lips hovered down over the soft hair down his middle, making a glancing contact below the wounds. Even there, the skin seemed to have been broken and healed many times over a long life. How could someone live like that?  He kissed him, just below the lower scar.

"How about here?"

"S'better"

Ned was definitely feeling something. The man's breath caught just slightly at the touch. He overcorrected, shifting in his seat a little and clearing his throat. Uncrossing his legs. Martin moved further down, just a little past his navel, laying another kiss on the recently healed wound. He wanted nothing more than to taste - touch the man before him, and to wake up with no guilt, no loneliness- he kissed him again.

"Or here?"

"Little better," the man's tone was flirtatious. "I mean, it'd be lot more sensation if you went just a bit low...er."

Ned had trailed off in the last word and froze at his own indiscretion. He was tensed like one with a hand raised against him, expecting a blow. As if he could have misinterpreted where this moment could go, alone and naked with his friend kneeling before him. As if Martin would be mad.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-uh." Ned flailed, pulling his knees shut.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I'd like to, if you would."

Ned's breath hitched. He looked utterly bewildered.

"OH- yeah, sure? Uh- Yes. Yeah." He sputtered.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment that lasted an eternity. Neither man dared to even take a breath. Ned cracked the tiniest fraction of a smile.

They both laughed, pulling apart. The tension had snapped, and the ache in his gut relented, put itself to the side. Martin hoisted himself back up onto the bed, sitting to his friend's side with a chaste several inches between them.

"It's... Been a while." Martin sighed. "Look at me, acting all nervous."

"Me too man, me too." Ned laughed, covering the blush on his face and utterly failing to hide the red of his ears. "’Promise I'm not usually like this, I have no friggin' idea what my problem is."

"Well, this'll just have to do." Martin made a show of shrugging and frowning in mock-resignation.

Ned let out a 'ha!' and leaned back, all muscles now relaxed as he smiled up at his companion. His words and smile were casual, but he was looking at Martin with such soft eyes, as if this tired old man was the damn moons and stars.

"Can I kiss you?" Martin asked.

Ned nodded.

He leaned over him, and went in for another kiss. And another. This time, it was as if a dam had burst. All lips and tongue and teeth and breath and hands moving on skin with a practiced clumsiness that spoke to years of experience, and spoke to one treading a ground that was brand new and wonderful for it.

As they pulled apart, Ned smiled and squeezed Martin's hands, and he squeezed back. They guided each other downward.

Now, Martin's lips were at a precipice below deniability. His hands held ready at the man's waist, a few fingers interwoven with his, beyond caring if their palms sweat or if their arms shook. He looked up to meet Ned's gaze, who cracked a smile and looked away, threading his other hand into Martin's hair in spite of his sheepishness.  

"Can I keep going?" Martin asked.

"Yeah," Ned answered, still smiling. Eyes closed. "Please."

Ned's thumb brushed his cheek, a gentle encouragement. A 'thank you'.

And he kissed him.

[hushedhands]

Challenge 78

For @blooming-rosesss​! Maxon’s experience of Maisy’s birth, when America’s blood pressure dropped and he had the daylights scared out of him. 

When America went into labor with Addy, it was slow, steady, and four days early. When she went into labor with Jamesy, it was long, drawn out, and a week and a half late. Neither Maxon nor America knew what to expect with their third baby, but when America went into labor right at noon on her due date, it came hard and fast.

Their birth plan had predicted anything from an even-paced ramp up like Addy’s birth had been, to an almost two-day marathon like Jamesy’s had been. But America’s contractions started abruptly, already strong enough that she had no doubt about what was happening. Though she was on maternity leave, she was in her office to be near Maxon just in case this very thing happened. She walked from her desk over to Maxon’s, told him that it was time, and before he could even finish packing away his work, America was doubled-over with the contraction that broke her water all over his office floor.

It was the kind of labor that Maxon thought only happened in movies, where one second everything was fine and the next second the mother was gritting her teeth through contractions, and the next scene she was pushing, and within a minute or two of dramatic film time, the baby was born. But he timed America’s contractions on their walk to the hospital wing and they were already less than ten minutes apart, a milestone that usually took her at least twelve hours to achieve.

Maxon wondered, as the nurse connected America to a machine to monitor her heart rate and blood pressure, and another to monitor her contractions, if maybe America hadn’t been in a kind of gentle labor all morning. What other explanation could there be? But the nurse didn’t seem alarmed at all. She said that the more naturally intense the contractions are, the faster the body dilates, and the sooner a baby is born. America’s body just usually took longer to ramp up the intensity. There was no cause for concern, this was all perfectly natural.

But unlike the nurse, Maxon was extremely concerned because he’d watched America’s contractions on the monitor for Addy’s and Jamesy’s deliveries. He’d never seen them spike this high, and they were only getting worse. Hearing his wife cry out in pain and being unable to help her was always the worst part of having a new baby, but it was one thing to hear her struggle. It was another to be able to see on a chart with his own eyes how ravaging these contractions were.

America was dilating faster than she ever had before, the only good news about the speed at which this baby was being born, in Maxon’s opinion. America would be done and resting comfortably in no time compared to her previous experiences. Even so, the hours that followed were some of the longest of Maxon’s life as they waited for her to finish dilating.

The contractions were so bad, and coming so fast, that Dr. Ashlar felt comfortable having the anesthesiologist administer pain-relieving medication relatively quickly after America’s arrival in the hospital wing. Maxon could have kissed the anesthesiologist on the mouth when he saw the sheer relief on America’s face as the drugs kicked in. Still, the contractions kept coming and kept growing stronger, and though the pain was gone, the pressure in America’s hips was unbearable.

The anesthesiologist returned twice to adjust the dose of pain medication America was receiving to keep her relatively comfortable, but Maxon could tell this labor was still wearing her down. She hadn’t even started pushing yet and she was covered in sweat despite how chilly the birthing sweet was kept. The fact was, her body was running a marathon at a sprint’s pace, and she was feeling it.

Maxon sat behind her on the bed for a while, allowing her to lay against his chest and squeeze both of his hands when the contractions came. From there, he was able to murmur into her ears, reminding her to keep breathing and that it would all be over soon. This had been America’s toughest pregnancy by far: she’d been sicker than ever in the early months, the aches and pains had been especially bad in the later months, and she’d been exhausted for nine months straight. Between that and having two children under the age of five, and a country to run, they were both very excited for this baby to be born so that America could regain a feeling of control over her own body.

They were excited, but even so, this was a bit extreme.

When Dr. Ashlar returned and checked America for dilation again, he announced that it was time to push. Maxon got into a position he knew well from Addy and Jamesy’s birth, on America’s right side holding her hand with his left, and keeping her knee up and in position with his right hand.

When her next contraction hit, Maxon could have sworn the bones in his hand cracked, but his adrenaline was too high to feel it. America gritted her teeth and pushed hard. The fact that she was already crying out and this was just the first push concerned Maxon. Was her pain medication not sufficient? Or was giving birth always this painful, even with medication? Maxon asked the doctor if they needed to give America more drugs, but the doctor was not comfortable going beyond the dose she’d already been given.

After only a few hard pushes, the doctor announced that he could see the baby’s head. Maxon, whose eyes had been locked with America’s as he coached her through that contraction, looked down and was stunned. There was the baby already! This was the fastest he’d ever been able to see the baby once America started pushing. “Ames! I can’t believe it, you’re so amazing. They baby’s right here!”

America smiled as she tried to catch her breath, and a few seconds later it was time to push again. The strength of the contractions seemed to be pushing the baby out at record speed. It’s little nose broke through as America cried out, tossing her head back and giving up pushing for a second. Maxon had learned by now that the baby’s face caused more pain than the shoulders as it was being born because of the stretch caused by its little nose. “That was the worst of it, America.” Maxon reassured her. “Keep breathing.”

The baby’s head was born. Maxon was looking down at the head of his next child, and he just couldn’t believe it. “The baby’s perfect!” he reported to her. “All we need are the shoulders and you’re done.” Once Dr. Ashlar could get those shoulders, he could gently pull the baby out and America would be finished pushing. She could rest.

The baby was born with the next monumental contraction, gorgeous and healthy. Maxon checked his watch and laughed with joy, it was only 5:30! America had given birth so fast, most of the Singers probably hadn’t even made it to the Palace yet. Wouldn’t they be stunned when, instead of having to wait all night, they’d get to hold their new little family member as soon as they arrived?

Maxon counted ten fingers and ten toes and heard the baby cry before America exhaustedly asked, “Boy or girl?” and Maxon remembered to check.

“A girl!” he exclaimed, tears flooding his eyes. They had another daughter. Their first daughter was the light of their life and now they were outrageously lucky enough to have another? It was a miracle. Their whole lives just got doubly better.

Maxon cut the umbilical cord and kissed America hard on the lips. She was trembling which he knew was normal, her body was going into post-labor shock. “You’re such a warrior. God, America, I can’t believe how incredible you are.”

She squeezed his hand and asked him to go keep an eye on the baby while they waited to dispose of the placenta.

Maxon joined his third child and Dr. Ashlar at the scale where the baby girl was being weighed. Eight pounds even, twenty inches long, with curly hair already on her head. Maxon volunteered to give her her first bath in the sink, and had just finished cleaning her up and wrapping her in her first teeny-tiny diaper, then swaddling her in a warm blanket, when he heard the nurse say loudly, “America? Can you hear me?” and then everything turned from joy to panic like a curtain falling.

A machine next to America’s bed began making loud siren sounds. Dr. Ashlar dropped the baby’s chart and rushed to America’s bedside, immediately issuing orders Maxon couldn’t understand. The nurse fled the room and Maxon hurried to America’s side, “Ames? Can you hear me?” he asked. The baby girl in his arms, only a few minutes old, started wailing at the sound the machine was making.  

“Your Majesty, I need you stay back.” Dr. Ashlar insisted.

Maxon barely heard him. His wife was unconscious and pale. “Her heart?” Maxon guessed.

“No. Her blood pressure has dipped, it’s dangerously low and she’s lost consciousness. Stay back so that we can help her, do you understand?” Dr. Ashlar asked again.

Maxon was lost. Leave America’s side? How?

Dr. Ashlar pointed to the corner of the room where the baby’s bassinet was waiting, “Go stand there.”

It was easier said than done, and in the end the only reason Maxon was able to walk away from America was that he wanted to get the baby away from that loud, horrible machine’s siren.

People began flooding into the room, all with instruments and trays full of vials. Maxon felt as if he’d left his body behind, but somehow that vacated body continued to comfort the newborn infant it held. The baby’s cries grew quieter as it took comfort in Maxon’s actions, the work of an experienced father, but Maxon noticed as if spotting a peculiar detail in a photograph that his own hands were shaking. Was he in shock too?

When the crowd of people around America thinned enough, Maxon saw that she had an oxygen tube in her nose and something was being added to her IV. Maxon looked for any sign of relief on the faces of the doctors and nurses, but everyone looked like they were at a funeral.

A funeral?

That couldn’t be right.

Maxon was holding a brand new baby girl in his arms, how could there be a funeral?

There couldn’t. America would never have a funeral. Never. Maxon needed her to wake up and hold this new baby to her chest. He needed her to bond with the baby, then teach the baby how to drink milk, and then introduce the new baby to their other babies.

Their other babies.

Addy and Jamesy needed America to wake up, they needed their mom. Didn’t these doctors and nurses understand, there were two excited kids on the other side of this Palace who needed to snuggle up to their mother? He and America had a whole plan for how to reassure both kids that they were still loved and cherished, even though they had a new sibling. The plan involved special cuddle time with America tonight. How could that happen if America stayed unconscious?

If she stayed unconscious forever?

Maxon pressed his lips to his daughter’s hair. Now that it was clean, he could see it was blonde like his. He and America had one kid with red hair and one kid with blonde hair, and this baby was the tie-breaker. She needed to wake up so that he could tell her that the blondes were now ahead in their family.

They also had one kid who was a girl and one who was a boy. America also needed to wake up  so that she could tell him that the girls were now ahead in their family.

Before he knew what was happening, he was praying. He was not especially pious, but he begged any god who would hear him out to save his wife. He begged to be taken in her place. He offered any price to any deity or demon, anything that could save her.

And then the siren stopped. The silence in the room made his ears ring, and for a moment he wondered if he hadn’t just sold his soul to the devil. If so, he didn’t care. The doctors around America were standing back, shoulders dropped, watching the machine that monitored her blood pressure and heart rate unblinkingly.

Waiting for the bottom to drop out again.

It didn’t happen.

Dr. Ashlar ordered the others out of the room, and then he joined Maxon in the corner. Maxon allowed himself to be guided to a seat by the window, still clutching his perfect new healthy baby girl to his chest.

Dr. Ashlar sat next to him and pulled off his paper scrub hat with relief. “Her blood pressure plummeted. Her organs weren’t getting enough oxygen, including her brain. We have her stabilized for now, but we need to watch her carefully until she’s fully recovered.”

Maxon didn’t know what to say, “Her heart condition—“

He’d had reservations about having a third child, given the heart defect America had been born with. She was on medication to help her heart, and she seemed completely healthy, but could it have caused her blood pressure to fall like that?

Dr. Ashlar simply said, “We don’t know what caused it. It could have been her heart, it could have been something else. I’ll confer with my team as we monitor her and we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Is she… is she okay now?” Maxon asked. If her brain had been without oxygen for all of that time…how long had it been? How old was the baby in his arms? He checked his watch. Ten minutes? The baby’s birth and that entire crisis, the most horrifying thing to ever happen to him including the massacre that had stolen his parents from him, had only taken ten minutes combined? Time was a joke. Time was a meaningless farce and Maxon was furious at it.

America’s hand twitched.

“Go be with your wife. Let her bond with your new daughter.” Dr. Ashlar encouraged. “I’ll finish the paperwork and be back in a little while to check her over.”

“What if it happens again?” Maxon worried.

“That machine sends an alert directly to me.” Dr. Ashlar showed Maxon a little device he kept in his pocket that rang or buzzed when a patient needed help. “That’s how so many doctors responded so quickly when the siren started last time. I’ll know if she needs me before you do.”

Maxon supposed, if it was true that America had only been in trouble for a few minutes, that it really was impressive how quickly the medical staff had responded. He’d have to find some way to thank them in the future, maybe with flowers.

Maxon stood and carried the baby over to America, whose gorgeous ice blue eyes fluttered open. “Maxon?”

Maxon perched next to her on the bed and said, “Something happened, Ames.”

“What?” America asked as she realized that she had a tube in her nose. She went to remove it but Maxon placed a hand over hers to stop her.

While she pushed the button to raise her bed’s angle just a bit so that she wasn’t flat on her back, he told her all about how he’d almost lost her forever. He’d almost become a widow with three small children to raise all by himself while she’d been unaware that any time had passed at all.

She didn’t seem to think the danger had really been so great, but she’d been unconscious for the siren, so what did she know?

Maxon removed the blanket from their baby girl and placed her on America’s bare chest, then tucked them both in. America hummed the most beautiful song to the baby as best she could with a tube in her nose. Maxon asked her how she felt.

She was exhausted, sore, and still numb from the waist down thanks to her drugs. She hadn’t expected to be this tired after such a short labor, but she supposed she’d still done all the work of a regular labor, just in less time.

Maxon kissed her like there was no tomorrow, because there almost hadn’t been. America pulled away after a few moments, giggling, and loopily told him that they couldn’t make another baby for a few months. Maybe now she had too much oxygen in her brain, or maybe the drugs were still making her silly. Either way, Maxon frowned heavily because he knew that they could never have another baby and as much as that weighed on his heart, it was an easy trade to make for America’s safety. It was a conversation they’d have to have later, once she was out of the hospital wing and healed up.

America’s health stats returned to normal and she no longer needed the additional oxygen by dinner time. After dinner, Addy and Jamesy joined their parents for a very special family time. Maxon took a thousand pictures as Addy held her new baby sister for the first time ever and Kenna, who had been watching the kids that day, burst into happy tears. America squeezed her hand, tearing up a little herself, both fully understanding the bond that Addy would grow to have with her new sister in time. Maxon was thrilled that he and America had been able to give Addy such an irreplaceable companion.  

Jamesy was very gentle and loving with the new baby, but he was far more interested in getting attention from his mom and dad. Maxon held him, rocking him back and forth in his arms, while Addy continued to bond with the new baby in her mother’s lap. She’d been mad at the baby in recent months for taking up so much of America’s energy, but all of that anger seemed to be forgotten now that the baby was here for Addy to kiss.

The rest of the family came after the kids went to bed, each having gotten some alone time with their mom and dad, away from the baby, to reassure them that they were still loved. Maxon held America as she fell fast asleep, somewhere between May and Gerad’s turn holding their newest niece.

Maxon and America named the baby Carolynn, in honor of America’s home province. Because they were honoring her with the baby’s first name, America let Maxon choose the baby’s middle name all by himself. He chose his very favorite girl name still on their baby name list, knowing that he’d never have another daughter to give it to. Baby Carolynn’s middle name would be Maisy.

Maxon expected to present baby Carolynn Maisy Schreave to the people of Illéa on the steps of the Palace the following morning, but America stayed in the hospital wing for another full day while the medical staff continued to monitor her. This led to some wild, horrible rumors about America’s health in the media, all of which were squashed when America and Maxon finally stood before the people with their two-day-old baby girl, all as healthy as could be.

In those first quiet days on the third floor, they tried calling the new baby “Carrie” and they tried calling her “Lynn”, but the first time Maxon called her “Maisy” it clicked into place, and the third Schreave baby was known as “Maisy” from then on.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Sanctuary

Request from Threadedsafetypin: a story about Jack helping Sammy to recover from ink infection.

---

Most members of the Joey Drew Studios music room knew that Sammy behaving strangely was status quo. So, when was Sammy first infected with ink, few people were alarmed. Complaining about seeing Bendy in his sleep? Stress. Increased irritability? Stress. Spacing out more often, seeming more exhausted, looking more drawn and bedraggled than usual? Poor guy really has to get a grip on his life- but at least he’s still functioning well enough to get the songs out on time.

Jack Fain, Sammy’s best friend, was the only one who realized that this wasn’t just one of Sammy’s episodes. He’d confronted Sammy about it a couple weeks ago, and it hadn’t gone well. He had snapped about his health being his own business and told Jack to go away.

Jack was used to Sammy being irritable, so he didn’t take it personally. “Okay. I can’t help you if you’re not ready. Just know that I’m here for you when you’re ready to talk. I care about you, and want you to be okay. Alright?”

Sammy had grumbled an “alright,” and left. His symptoms had only worsened since then, and Jack was rather worried that Sammy would never be “ready”- at least, not until he was very ill. But he couldn’t think of any way to help the process along unless Sammy was on board as well.

Then, one day while Jack was working in the sewers, he heard footsteps. Only Sammy knew that he hid away in the sewers, so it had to be him. Jack got up to meet him, and saw that Sammy had a defeated look on his face.

“Remember when you said to come to you when I was ready? Well, I’m ready,” Sammy said, as though admitting a dark secret. He took off the white gloves he’d taken to wearing lately, revealing ink-black hands. “The ink did this to me, and tried to convince me that it was a good thing, but I can’t deny that this is a problem anymore. I don’t think that a hospital could help me, and I’m scared that Joey would kill me if it got out the public. I don’t know what to do.”

Jack stood stunned a moment, looking at Sammy’s hands. They clearly weren’t just stained, but tainted down to the bone. It looked like there were some pockets of ink just beneath the surface as well.

“It’s okay. I’ll find out what to do,” Jack promised.

---

“Norman, can you come with me for a minute?” Jack asked. “I need to ask Mr. Drew something he won’t enjoy answering, and I’m hoping that if you’re there next to me, he won’t kill me on the spot for it. Alright? All you’ll have to do is stand there. And you’ll probably get some nice secrets out of it.”

Excited at the thought of listening in on such a conversation, Norman agreed, and the two of them made their way to Joey’s office. The door shut loudly.

“Joey,” Jack began, in a tone one might use to calm down a wild animal, “someone I care deeply about is infected with ink. Now look- I don’t want trouble. I don’t have any personal reason to want your secrets to get out. Please tell me how to help him get better, and I’ll do it completely inconspicuously if it’s possible.”

---

“What did he say?” Sammy asked. The look on Jack’s face wasn’t especially encouraging.

“Well, he said that a hospital can help you- if we take you a couple miles from New York, first. He said that the ink is alive in you, and it needs to be taken away from the ink machine in order to kill it. If we don’t do that, the ink will live in you no matter what anyone tries to do to get rid of it, and you’ll be in and out of treatment for the rest of your life- which would likely be a very short, unhealthy one. So, that isn’t an option.”

Sammy didn’t understand why Jack looked so hopeless at the thought of killing the ink. “Okay,” Sammy said cautiously, “That sounds doable. What else?”

“Well, the thing is that once the ink is dead, it won’t be able to help keep you alive, so all that tissue damage, organ damage, and dehydration is actually going to hurt you. Joey gave me some tips on how to increase the chance that you’ll end up at the hospital alive, but it’s still possible you won’t make it.”

Sammy was in shock. “I-I might die before I make it the hospital?”

“Yes. Joey said that you should go home and eat something with a lot of liquid in it. I take it you physically haven’t been able to drink anything but ink in a while, have you?”

“It’s been a few weeks,” Sammy admitted.

“He also said that we should lance any obvious deposits of ink before we head out. I can help you with the lancing. And... one last thing, Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“I quit this place, because it’s dripping with a deadly biohazard. I definitely suggest you do the same- especially if you’re in the habit of drinking ink, which Joey said you might be.”

Sammy sucked in a deep breath. “Please tell me that’s everything.”

“That’s everything.”

“Alright. Thank you, Jack. Honestly, thank you.”

The two went to Jack’s place, and with a knife, they set to work lancing any obvious deposits of ink. Sammy had them all over- on his legs, on his chest, his back, and some fairly severe ones on his hands. One by one, they were cut open, squeezed out, and bandaged. By the end, Sammy was in a lot of pain, and Jack’s bathtub was stained not only with substantial amounts of ink, but with a fair amount of blood.

“I don’t feel stronger,” Sammy admitted, looking down with his arms crossed over himself. “What if Joey gave us this advice to trick you into killing me? Or he didn’t understand how far along I was?”

Jack sighed. He’d made a good point, honestly. But Sammy needed comfort. “He didn’t lie. I’m sure of it. Just trust me, alright?”

“Alright,” Sammy replied.

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” Jack asked, “It might help you dread tomorrow a little less.”

“Are you sure you want me here? I’ll get ink and blood all over the place.”

“You will? Then we haven’t bandaged you up enough- you shouldn’t be leaking like that. And anyhow, don’t worry about it- it’s just one night, I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Sammy agreed to stay over, though all he wanted to do was wash off and rest. The next day, the two of them headed out of New York in Jack’s car.

“Alright, Sammy, you know the drill. Tell me when you feel the ink dying, and I’ll turn the car around as quickly as possible.”

Sammy nodded. It was only a few miles before he did.

“Now,” Sammy croaked. He was already looking greener. Jack found a place to turn around and took it. 

 “Everything hurts...” Sammy complained. It was true. He felt weak and heavy, as though a large percentage of his body had suddenly become dead weight. His lungs stung, and when his breathing was wet and slightly laboured. Pain was building in his head, in the cuts he’d given himself the day before, and especially in his organs. 

“It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise. Just hang in there, and drink some water.” 

Though it was hardly his most overpowering sensation, Sammy was very thirsty. Jack watched with concern as Sammy took one of water bottles in weak, shaky hands, took a sip from it, and then fell forwards, entirely limp.

 Jack slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He was going about 85 miles an hour, and he mentally calculated that he’d need about eight minutes to get Sammy to the outskirts of town and hopefully not too much longer to get him to a hospital. Risky as it was, Jack grabbed Sammy’s hand to check for a pulse. It was certainly there. A cop by the side of the road saw them, but let them go by- perhaps seeing that Jack was hardly doing this for pleasure. Thankfully, traffic was thin that day. Jack checked Sammy’s pulse again while at a stop sign- still strong, and pulled up in front of a hospital. He ran in, pushed his way past a line of people, and spoke to the secretary. “My friend is in my car. He’s unconscious and I have reason to believe that he needs immediate attention if he’s going to live. Please help him.” 

Within a minute, Sammy was being rushed in for medical attention, leaving Jack to wait in the lobby and fill out the necessary forms. Hours later, a nurse approached him. “You’re Jack Fain, the one who brought in Sammy Lawrence?”

 “Yes,” Jack answered.

“Well, Mr. Fain, we have some serious questions for you. What happened to Sammy? His condition isn’t exactly easy to identify.”

“His workplace is filled with a biohazard. He got infected and kept it secret for weeks. How is he? Is his condition stable?”

The nurse grimaced. “Stable, yes. He’s on life support, but we’ll be able to keep him alive. We’re not sure when or if he’ll wake up again since we haven’t been able to diagnose. Would you like to see him?”

“Sure,” Jack replied.

Seeing Sammy laying still as a corpse on a hospital bed, with three different IVs in his arm, a tube in his throat, and the beep of a heart monitor nearby, was not an encouraging sight. It moved Jack to tears. “Call me when he’s up. Or when it’s time to say goodbye,” Jack croaked to the nurse. With that, he left.

Jack spent the next few days fraught with anxiety. To make matters worse, the hospital had called Jack to ask where Sammy had worked and gotten infected. Jack had said he didn’t know, because he didn’t want to risk either of them being killed by Joey for leaking his secrets. If Sammy died, he’s have to wonder if it was partially on his own hands. Jack’s husband tried to reassure him that he’d done all that could be done, and Jack knew it was true, but it was still a scary time.

In what felt like weeks but was actually just a couple days, the hospital called Jack and told him that Sammy’s tissue damage seemed to be repairing itself and that he was responding well to treatment. Thankfully, none of his organs had been damaged enough to require a transplant. A week later, he was called to tell him that Sammy was awake again.

Seeing Sammy again was a massive weight off Jack’s shoulders. The dark spots on his body had shrunk significantly, and he looked much healthier, especially now that most of those tubes and wires were gone.

“Sammy. You’re alive.”

“Yep. I must be part cockroach because it takes quite a bit to kill me.”

Jack smiled. “Ha, yeah. The radio is calling you a walking miracle. Even though probably haven’t walked yet, since you just woke up.”

Sammy prickled. “No, I can walk. I’m not that weak!”

“Right, sorry. So, when you woke up, did they pepper you with questions on how you got into this state in the first place?”

Sammy took a quick look around the room to make sure no one was listening in. “Well, they asked me where I worked. I told them it was an ink manufacturing plant that I didn’t remember the name of. I think they bought it. Why, are people pestering you about it?”

“No. But I’ve been hearing about the investigation on the radio. They all want to know about the man who who somehow got several pounds of ink into his system and lived. As far as I can tell, no one suspects a thing about our old workplace, or magic. I think we’re free of it, buddy. I don’t think Joey is ever going to be in our lives again.”

Now Sammy looked like a weight had been lifted from him. “I had no idea how badly I needed to hear that until now.”

Over the coming weeks, Jack regularly visited Sammy in the hospital. He looked stronger every time Jack saw him. The news story died down without much fanfare. Sammy got out with a clean bill of health, and Joey Drew Studios gradually became a distant memory to them.

[honeyhan-123]

Say Thank You XI

XI. The Syndrome  Series Summary: Nearly five years have passed since Steve Rogers saves your life without so much as a thank you. When he sees you again by chance, he makes sure that he’ll never let you go and maybe teach you some manners in the process.

Series Warning: This will be a dark!Steve fic with stalking, kidnapping and manipulating as well as non-con and dub-con situations. Please don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing.

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, panic attack, smut

Word Count: 4.5k

AN: Sorry it’s been a wee while since the last chapter but it’s here now x

I. New York ~ II. Madrid ~ III. The Apartment ~ IV. The Trip ~ V. The Basement ~ VI. The First Lesson ~ VII. The Waiting Game ~ VIII. The First Attempt ~ IX. The Darkness ~ X. The Truth

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Steve watched as you slept, curled into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, pulling you impossibly closer as he breathed in your scent. He watched as you buried your head further into his chest, relishing in the way you body felt pressed against his own. He had been so scared, terrified right to his bones that Bucky would take you away from him. It had only been a few weeks but already you were a part of his life, a part of him. 

He watched as the sun began to peak in through the windows he had unlocked the night before, claiming it to be a reward for your good behaviour as Bucky had demanded. The morning light gave him hope, hope that soon the days of the basement were over. His bed upstairs had been getting lonely and he longed to be able to take you out, to introduce you to the rest of his team, to walk hand in hand down the street. 

Your body stirring against his pulled Steve out of his daydream and back to the present; back to you. ‘Good Morning Sweetheart. How did you sleep?’ You could feel his chest vibrate against your ear as he spoke, fully pulling you out of your slumber. Tilting your head up you were met with his crystal blue eyes staring down at yours, full of life and joy, and while it made you smile on the inside seeing him so happy, you weren’t quite ready to reveal that it was the best night's sleep you had had in a very long time. 

‘It was good Stevie, what about yours?’ His smile grew even larger hearing the little nickname falling from your lips, inflating the balloon of hope inside his chest even further. 

‘It’s impossible for me not to have an amazing night’s sleep when you’re in my arms.’ You wanted to roll your eyes slightly at his cheesy line yet the way it flooded you with warmth inside out held you back. You felt him shift underneath you, one arm unwrapping itself from you, raising up to stroke his fingertips against your cheek, brushing away the stray hairs as your eyes closed in contentment. You could get used to mornings like this. 

His fingers danced along your skin as he cupped your chin, tilting it up slightly, his lips brushing ever so softly against your own. It was slow and gentle and so unlike the other times he had kissed you it left you dazed and confused. 

His tongue delicately traced across your bottom lip, asking for entrance which you gladly gave him. Your own hands cupped his face as he kissed you, tracing over every freckle and pore of his skin, loving the way his body felt against yours. You shifted on the bed, lying so that you were straddling his waist, your chest pressed against his and your hands in his hair as your tongues danced together, memorising each other just as his hands were memorising every inch of your body as they unearthed every dip and curve of your body, before coming to a stop on your ass, squeezing the still tender flesh eliciting a moan to tumble from your mouth and into his. 

You swirled your hips against his as you sat atop of him, relishing in the small groans of pleasure he released as your glistening wet lips brushed against his growing length, leaving a trail of arousal on the soft material of his boxers. 

A soft gasp escaped your lips as your world was flipped upside down and all of a sudden his body was on top of yours, one hand still groping your ass as the other moved up your body to cup your breast. You threw your head back against the mattress as his lips trailed down your jaw line to your neck, pausing every now and then to leave warm open mouthed kisses, occasionally sucking the supple skin into his mouth hard enough to leave a love bite. 

Your moans mixed together as he lowered himself down even further, taking one pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucking on the hard nub, gently rolling it around with his tongue, biting down ever so slightly, just hard enough for it to hurt, yet still be pleasurable. 

He clearly noticed your thighs rubbing against one another, trying to get the friction that you greatly needed as his hand slipped around from your ass to trace your swollen lips, facing no resistance as two slid inside. Your grip on his hair tightened as his fingers curled, grazing against your walls, against there, and his lips slowly descended the rest of your torso, joining his fingers. 

His tongue circled your bundle of nerves, licking a long stripe along it occasionally as your muscles tightened underneath him. He pulled it into his mouth as a third finger slid home, your back arched against the mattress, pushing yourself further into him, begging him for just a little bit more. 

You hadn’t been completely ready for it when the wave crashed over you, your muscles spasming as your walls fluttered around him. Through the haze of pleasure you felt him draw himself back up over your body, placing soft butterfly kisses over your body, over your face as you slowly came back down, a blissed out smile on your face as your eyes fluttered open to see his. 

No words needed to be spoken as you pulled his face down to yours, your lips moving together lazily as your other hand pulled his boxers down before wrapping around his cock, working it slowly as you collected the precum from the tip and coated the rest of him in it. When he was decidedly wet enough, you lifted your hips slightly, angling him at your entrance, waiting for him to thrust in. 

His hands wrapped around yours, holding them gently as he pushed in, his forehead resting against yours. ‘Fuck Doll. You feel so good. You’re so good to me.’ You smiled, lacing your fingers with his and lifting your head to kiss him gently as he continued his slow pace. 

It was like nothing else you had ever experienced, the gentleness of it all, the intimacy you felt right in that moment as he continued to slide home inside you. The other times with him had been good but this was something else; something completely new. You couldn’t put your finger on what had changed since yesterday but right now you didn’t want to think, you just wanted to relish in the pleasure he was giving you with every thrust of his hips. 

Your fingertips clawed at his back, digging into the firm muscles as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge. Your breaths mingled as one of his hands disentangled itself from yours, sliding down your body to where you were connected to him. He toyed with your clit, slowly circling it with his fingers, loving the way your walls clenched around him in response. 

‘That’s it baby, you’re nearly there. Be a good girl for me and just let go, let me help you.’ Your head spun as you took in his whispered pleas and your body obeyed him, walls fluttering around his cock, muscles spasming underneath his body, a long drawn out moan leaving your lips as you felt him reach his own release. 

He stayed on top of you, his fingers dancing along your skin, his eyes absorbing every pore of you as he leaned down to press your lips together. It was slow and gentle and easy, lying there in his arms like nothing else mattered but you and him. 

It was only when he pulled out of you and you could feel him leave your lips, drop by drop that you fully remembered where you were, what had happened to get you into this position. If he sensed a change in your manner he didn’t let up as he quickly kissed you once more before getting out of bed, pulling his boxers back on. 

‘Here.’ You stared up at him, pulling the sheets around your body as you took in the shirt he was handing you confusedly. 

‘Here, put it on.’ He repeated himself for you as you refused to move, not understanding why he was giving you his shirt. When moments that felt like minutes had passed, you felt the bed dip once more as he moved your arms this way and that to get the button up shirt on you. Your eyes locked with his as the shirt hung off your shoulders, his fingers pressing against your skin through the material as he did the buttons. 

‘Sweetheart, are you okay?’ You tried to speak, to nod your affirmation yet you couldn’t. The war raging inside of you was too much to handle, it was controlling you, your every thought, your every movement. Why were you feeling like this? So tender to the man that kidnapped you? Who had hurt you? It wasn’t right; it wasn’t how normal people felt, yet you couldn’t deny it any longer. You yearned for him, for his embrace, his presence, his body. Being surrounded by his scent wasn’t doing you any favours as every breath you took served as a reminder of what you could have if you just behaved. Life could be good to you; he could be good to you. 

‘Sweetheart, you’re really starting to worry me, what’s wrong.’ Tentatively, you held out a shaking hand, reaching out to cup his face, your thumb slowly swiping across his cheekbone. You forced a smile onto your face as your eyes clouded with unshed tears. 

‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong Stevie.’ Your voice was weak as you reassured him, the tears finally overspilling as you leaned into him, kissing him once more and as your lips met your suspicions were proved true. You knew exactly what had changed since yesterday. 

+

Steve hadn’t wanted to leave you to go upstairs and get breakfast nevermind leaving you alone for the day, and so he had texted Bucky, asking him if he could handle things at headquarters, assuring him that everything was okay, that you were just acting a little weird this morning.  He couldn’t think of anything worse than leaving you right now, not after having to brush away your tears with his fingers as you cried, clinging to him, refusing to let go or even tell him what was wrong. 

A part of him had wanted to get stern, to force you to tell him, after all if he wanted a successful relationship with you communication would be key. Yet as he held you to his chest and your tears started to disappear, he realised that maybe that wasn’t the way. As much as he didn’t like it, maybe it would be okay if he just let you have this moment. Plus the way you had clung to his body long after your tears had subsided had reassured him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for him, for your relationship, yet it still pained him to see you upset no matter what the issue was. 

He tensed when he felt arms wrap around his stomach, your head being buried into the wall of muscles that was his back. Being as lost in his thoughts as he was, he hadn’t even heard you move from your seat on the island bench and while he had been clear that you weren’t allowed to move, he figured this was okay, it wasn’t like you were trying to escape. He flipped you over, turning around in your arms, making it so that you were between him and the stove. It was delightful seeing you in his kitchen, wearing only his shirt and nothing else, the best thing he could ever ask for. 

‘What are you thinking about Stevie?’ Your voice was slightly muffled as you pressed your face against him. 

‘Just you. Always about you.’ You smiled at his words, tipping your head up slowly to stare back at him as he concentrated on the pancakes behind you. 

It was still so surreal, being up here, in his kitchen, being able to see the rest of his house. You suspected it was because Steve hadn’t wanted to leave you so soon after your breakdown, even if it were just to get breakfast and so he had invited you upstairs with him. He had been very firm about the rules, you weren’t to scream, run, or try anything, but it didn’t bother you, at least, not much. You knew already that you would never win in a fight with him, he was far stronger and it would end up ugly for you, and so you resigned yourself to following his rules without complaint, promising to be his good girl. 

As he finished the pancakes, he added it to the stack that had been keeping warm in the oven before leading you to the dining room, his hand in yours as he placed the plate down on the smooth wooden table and pulled out your seat for you. 

You could hear Steve talking to you, saying something as you sat down, yet you couldn’t be sure what it was. Your eyes were locked on the windows, taking in the familiar skyline in the far away distance. While you had known you probably weren’t in Madrid anymore, you had no other clues to where you were… until now.

Steve’s jaw clenched as he watched you overtly ignore the plate of food he was offering to you, the sheer lack of manners enough to cause him to grind his teeth. His muscles tightening as he prepared to spring out of his chair should you show any intention of moving towards the windows. Maybe it had been soon to take you upstairs but he hadn’t wanted to leave you alone in your current state. 

He put the plate down in front of you, still unable to pull your gaze from the windows and with every second that passed, his temper because shorter and shorter. Reaching out he grabbed a hold of your arm, his grip a little too tight as your eyes finally snapped to his. 

‘What are you thinking Sweetheart?’ He tried to make his voice sound calm yet failed to hide the threat of anger as his eyes were locked on yours, looking for any trace of a lie that might come out of your mouth. He knew that he needed to be gentle with you since your breakdown but he wouldn’t stand for this, for your blatant disregard for his rules.

‘We’re in New York.’ Your voice came out as a whisper and Steve slowly nodded. You could see his poorly disguised anger and tried to rectify the situation. ‘I’m sorry Steve, I didn’t mean to… it’s just… I haven’t been back here since-’

‘The Battle of New York, when we first met.’ You nodded slowly, your eyes falling back down to your plate, memories of that day flashing through your mind, of the panic you had felt trapped underneath the car, of how Captain America had jumped in front of you and saved you. 

His hand slid down your arm to clasp yours in his while his other tilted your chin back up to face him, his anger fading away. ‘Hey now, Sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe now, the Chitauri are gone and they’re never coming back. I’ll always protect you.’ You nodded through the tears that had once more started pooling in your eyes, swiping at them with the napkin that Steve handed you. 

‘I know it’s silly, it’s been over five years now but I just… Being back here brings back so many memories.’

‘I know Sweetheart, I know. It’s not silly at all, you nearly died. It was avery traumatising event but you’re safe now. You’re with me and I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt you.’ You wanted to believe the sweet words pouring from him, wanted to believe that he meant them but the nagging voice in the back of your head was asking how much you could trust him after everything he had done to you. 

You tried to ignore the voice, forcing a smile on your face. ‘I know Stevie. It’s just… hard.’ A sad smile crossed his face at your words and while you felt like he wanted to talk about it more, you hastily changed the subject. ‘Thank you for breakfast, it looks delicious.’ Your smile was a little more real as you leaned over the table, reaching for the lemon and sugar, silently begging that Steve would let the conversation drop.

‘You’re welcome Sweetheart.’ Your eyes locked once more before you started to dig in, your eyes not once returning to the skyline. 

+

The next week or so passed in a similar fashion, Steve had grown more comfortable having you upstairs for meals and you always made sure to keep your eyes away from the city, away from the memories it brought with it. 

While your closet downstairs had been unlocked, you found yourself rarely wearing the clothes inside, opting instead for one of Steve’s t-shirts. They were warm and comfortable and whenever he had to leave you for work, they reminded you of him, comforting you in your loneliness. 

Right now you sat in your favourite armchair, curled up in one of Steve’s sweatshirts, staring blankly at Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’ as you tried to distract yourself until Steve would get home. You still had no way of telling the exact time down in the basement but judging from the darkening sky outside, it was much later than he had said we would get home by. 

A small irrational bead of panic had started to build up in your stomach, making it impossible to concentrate on the novel in front of you. What if something had happened to him? What if the government had found him? What would that mean for you? No one knew where you were, you would stay trapped down here, just like you had been underneath that car. You couldn’t stop the thoughts as they raced through your mind, the flashes of the Battle, of those aliens preparing to kill you, the car weighing you down, the steel door trapping you inside. 

Your breaths became short, rapid, and shallow. You were struggling to get enough air in you as you stood from the armchair, fumbling your way over to the wall. The cool surface helped calm you somewhat through Steve’s sweatshirt as you slid down, falling to the floor.

This wasn’t your first time having a panic attack, some small part of your brain knew what to do, yet it had been so long, maybe two years since your last one that it all felt so new. When the feeling in your fingertips started to disappear it brought on a new wave of panic. The feeling slowly spread to your palms and then your forearms, and soon everything below the elbow was numb. As your tried to move your fingers, you were only met the a wave of white noise, complete blankness. There was nothing.

Tears had starts cascading down your cheeks by this point, your sobs mixing with your rapid breaths as you tried to get a grip on yourself but nothing was working. Everytime you tried to count your breaths you were met with even more panic, your brain not functioning enough to remember what number came next. 

You didn’t notice him until he was kneeling in front of you cradling you to his body, trying to ask what was wrong, what he could do to help. You couldn’t figure out quite what he was saying, but you knew he could help. ‘Please, Steve… Please. I can’t - I can’t feel my… my fingers. Please.’ 

Your words were a slurred and jumbled mess but Steve could understand what was happening. He had seen similar effects in many of his friends, particularly Bucky after he had come back from Hydra. Gently he released your body back to the wall, picking up both your hands in his and gently squeezing. 

‘Sweetheart? I need you to breathe with me. Please? Can you do that for me? Just one big breath in and out.’ His voice brought you slowly out of your haze, the minutes passed as he continued squeezing your fingers every now and then, your body following his as he breathed. 

You had no idea of how much time had passed, how long you had been sitting there, staring at him, breathing with him while he gently brought you back down. Eventually your tears stopped and he brought you back to his chest, wrapping his hands securely around your body as he stood, carrying you over to the bed and gently laying you down, crawling in beside you. 

Your brain was still foggy as you felt his hands brush down your back in soothing motions, the temptation to fall asleep was strong yet your brain was still too amped up. 

‘Do you want to talk about it Sweetheart?’ His voice was soft against the silence of the room and while you didn’t want to, you knew you should.

‘It’s just… you were gone for so long and I - I started panicking, thinking maybe you weren’t coming back and… and what would happen to me? I’m stuck down here, no one knows about me and it just… it just reminded me of the street, of the Chitauri, of being trapped.’

‘Shhh Sweetheart, you’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here, I’ll always be here. I got home a little bit but I wanted to prepare some dinner for us. I’m sorry I didn’t come down sooner.’ He tried to soothe you, pressing his lips to your temple but it wasn’t working.

‘Steve, I’m being serious. What would happen to me if something happened to you? I know you haven’t been going on as many missions recently but eventually something will come up and your team will need you. What will happen to me then? How will I eat? I’d starve to death down here.’ You tried to reason with him, make him see what you were trying to say as you felt his body tense underneath yours, probably thinking the worst. 

‘I just… Being back in New York has brought up so many memories that I would rather forget and being down here… without you I would die Stevie. You’re the only thing keeping me alive down here and I guess… I guess I would like some control - no, some independence maybe. Like, having a fridge down here or some non-perishable food, just so I know if something happens to you, I’ll be okay, for a few days at least.’ 

You could feel him nod above you as he took in your words, his hands never ceasing their soothing motions as he deliberated internally. ‘I’ll think about it, I promise Sweetheart. But you should know that if anything did happen to me, you would be okay. Bucky knows your down here, and he’ll know what to do.’ You didn’t know who Bucky was, but hearing that at least someone else knew you were down here made you feel better, despite the sliver of betrayal that peaked through. How could this Bucky know what Steve was doing and condone it? 

You tried to shake those thoughts from your head as you buried your head further into his chest, your eyes drifting close on their own accord as he continued to soothe you, his heart right underneath your head.

+

It was at breakfast the next day when Steve sprung his surprise on you. He had been pensive all of last night through dinner and then this morning while making breakfast, his brow furrowed in concentration. You had tried to ask what was wrong but he would just smile and shake off your question, redirecting the conversation elsewhere. While it did hurt that he didn’t want to talk to you about whatever was going on, you could understand, you thought that perhaps it was some Avengers business that he literally couldn’t tell you. 

The dishes were done and whatever dishes could be placed in the dishwasher were tucked away and you were mentally preparing yourself to go back down to the basement. Going back downstairs was your least favourite time of day. Everytime you hated having to say goodbye - no matter how temporary - to the upstairs rooms. You hadn’t seen much of the house but the rooms that you had been allowed into were all open planning, lots of windows and high lofty ceilings for light to filter in. As nice as the basement was, it had nothing on the rest of the house. 

You followed Steve through the hallway towards the door leading downstairs, confusion crossing your face when he didn’t stop, instead pausing by the staircase leading to the second story. ‘I thought about what you said last night Sweetheart and I want to show you something.’ He held his hand out which you gladly took in yours, watching as he started to climb the stairs.

Upstairs there was a small hallway, with four rooms coming off of it yet Steve walked past each room, pausing only at the door at the end of the hallway, casting one last glance down at you before he pushed the door open. 

You stepped into the bedroom, glancing around at the obscenely large bed, the plush chaise at the base of it, the floor to ceiling windows that carried in the sun’s morning light. You didn’t understand why he was showing you this, why he had brought you here instead of the basement. You confusion must have shown on your face as Steve took a deep breath, casting you yet another observing glance before apparently making his mind up.

‘This was my room, where I used to sleep, before you. I thought about what you said last night and you’ve been behaving so well recently and I was thinking that maybe, you were ready to come upstairs. There would be rules of course and punishments if you disobeyed, but I thought this was a good step forward and since the kitchen is right downstairs you won’t have to worry about starving if I’m not here.’ 

Before you could stop yourself you flung your body into his arms, you lips chanting ‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I promise I’ll behave Stevie, I’ll be your good girl.’ You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss as he adjusted his grip on your thighs as they wrapped themselves around his torso. 

You were elated as he carried you over to the bed, lying you down and pressing his firm body against yours. ‘What do you say we christen this bed right now?’ You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as you pried him from his shirt, pulling your own off soon after. You had big plans on how to christen this bed… 

+

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XII. The Meeting

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