#well guess what woke me up out of a dead sleep and demanded to be written? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trinity-mia · 4 months ago

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a story as endless as the ocean

the titan's curse

0.6 dead men tell no tales

warnings : allie and thalia argue, capture-the-flag fighting, allie pokes her finger with shaker purposefully, the oracle is there and that deserves a warning of her own

word count : 3.4k

0.6 Dead Men (Or... Female Oracles? I Guess?) Tell No Tales

After laying in the darkness for an hour, I finally managed to go back to sleep. My shoulders felt like they were breaking, but when I woke up at five, I ate some ambrosia and that seemed to help.

When the horn blew for breakfast, I ate and then told Grover about my dream and how I could still feel the weight of the sky on my shoulders.

We sat in the meadow watching the satyrs chase the wood nymphs through the snow. The nymphs had promised to kiss the satyrs if they got caught, but they hardly ever did. Usually, the nymph would let the satyr get up a full head of steam, then she'd turn into a snow-covered tree and the poor, gullible satyr would slam into it headfirst and get a pile of snow dumped on him.

"It's so weird," Grover said, twisting a clump of his fur anxiously, "you can still feel the weight of the sky and after what Zoe dreamed—"

"Woah, woah, back up. Zoe had a dream, too?"

"I... I don't know, exactly," Grover stammered. "About three in the morning she came to the Big House and demanded to talk to Chiron," Grover explained. "She looked really panicked."

"Pause... how do you know this?"

Grover blushed. "I was sort of camped outside the Artemis cabin."

"Uh, why?"

"Just to be, you know, near them."

"You're a stalker with hooves."

"I am not!" he defended.

I gave him an admonishing look. "You definitely are, but go on."

"Anyway, I followed her to the Big House and hid in a bush and watched the whole thing. She got real upset when Argus wouldn't let her in. It was kind of a dangerous scene."

I tried to imagine that. Argus was the head of security for camp— a big blonde dude with eyes all over his body with legendary skills. He rarely showed himself unless something serious was going on. I wouldn't want to place bets on a fight between him and Zoe Nightshade.

"What did she say?" I asked, returning to the important stuff.

Grover grimaced. "Well, she starts talking really old-fashioned when she gets upset, so it was kind of hard to understand. But something about Artemis being in trouble and needing the Hunters. And then she called Argus a boil-brained lout... I think that's a bad thing. And then he called her—"

"What kind of trouble could Artemis be in? Do you think the monster she was hunting found her before she found it."

"I... well, I think that's kinda the point. Finally, Chiron came out in his pajamas and his horsetail in curlers and—"

"He wears curlers… in his tail?"

Grover covered his mouth.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "Go on."

"Well, Zoe said she needed permission to leave camp immediately. Chiron refused. He reminded Zoe that the Hunters were supposed to stay here until they received orders from Artemis. And she said..." Grover gulped. "She said 'How are we to get orders from Artemis if Artemis is lost?'"

"’Lost’? How the hell do you kidnap the goddess of the hunt? How the hell do you kidnap a goddess, in general?"

"It happened to Persephone," Grove pointed out.

"And she sealed her fate by eating the pomegranate. You tellin' me Artemis ate a fucking pomegranate or something of the sort and is now lost?"

"Well, when you put it like that."

"Surely, they can't be… powerful enough to capture an Olympian yet." My statement made both of our eyes widen.

"I think that somebody would know if Kronos had finished reforming," Grover pointed out cautiously. "The gods would be more nervous. But still, it's weird, you having a nightmare the same night as Zoe. It's almost like—"

"They're connected," I finished. I would have been shocked if they weren't.

Over in the frozen meadow, a satyr skidded on his hooves as he chased after a redheaded tree nymph. She giggled and held out her arms as he ran toward her. Pop! She turned into a Scotch pine and he kissed the trunk at top speed, and the satyr toppled over onto his back in surprise at the abrupt impact.

"Ah, love," Grover said dreamily.

I thought about Zoe's nightmare, which she'd had only a few hours after mine, and came to a grim decision. One that would probably make me want to jump off a cliff. "I've got to talk to Zoe," I announced, standing to my feet and shaking off some snow that gathered on the top of my head.

"Before you do—" Grover said, pulling out a brochure. "I've been thinking a lot about how Artemis and the hunters just showed up at Westover Hall and... I think they might've been scouting us."

I raised my eyebrow. I hadn't told Grover about meeting them before yesterday, either. In fact, I'd only told Nessa, Katie, and Silena. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I found this in Brylie's backpack," he gave me the brochure. "... And you were kinda being a brat and smart-mouthed Artemis and she didn't blast you to pieces. At first, I thought it might just be because you're a girl and all that, but..." he struggled to find the right words, but I knew what he was going to say. "You aren't thinking about joining the Hunters, are you?"

I sighed and, although I could've lied to him, I didn't feel like it. I explained to him how they'd found me a few weeks ago and how Artemis said she'd give me some time to think about it. And then how I denied it just the night before.

He was staring at me wide-eyed by the time I finished.

"You can't be serious."

"Deadly."

"But... I always thought you and— never mind. I never would have thought you’d consider becoming a Hunter."

"I know... and honestly, I don't completely like the idea of immortality. I don't want to leave all of my friends behind. But..." I wanted to tell him about how I didn't want the prophecy to be mine (but also didn't want it to be Thalia's), but then I realized I would've sounded like a total spoiled brat. "Never mind. It was a passing thought and I already told her no. Same as Circe’s Island. I actually have archery, so I need to go. I'll talk to Zoe the next time I see her."

With that, I hopped up and speed-walked towards the archery range, pretending I didn’t hear him muttering, “Circe’s Island?” under his breath.

I didn't see Zoe at all throughout the day, but I assumed it was because she was still trying to figure out what her dream meant. I was going to go up to her during dinner, but that didn't seem too great an idea, either, so I guessed it'd have to wait until after Capture the Flag.

As we were getting ready, Zoe Nightshade looked pretty upset. She kept glancing resentfully at Chiron, like she couldn't believe he was making her do this. The other Hunters didn't look too happy, either. Unlike last night, they weren't laughing or joking around. They just huddled together in the dining pavilion, whispering nervously to each other as they strapped on their armor. Some of them even looked like they'd been crying. I guess that Zoe had told them about her nightmare.

On our team, we had Beckendorf and two of his brothers, Jake and Isaac, Ellis, Jacob, and Sherman from the Ares cabin, the Stolls and Nico from Hermes, and Silena, Nessa, Laurel, and Mitchell from the Aphrodite. Then there was Katie and her sister Whitney for Demeter, Will and his brother Ash from Apollo, and Leah and Grant from the Athena cabin

"I'll show them 'love is worthless,'" Silena grumbled angrily as she strapped on her armor. She and her siblings had been raring for blood since the Hunters had arrived. Frankly, I was feeling kind of terrified of them right now. Who knew what Silena was planning on doing with that nail file? I didn't doubt she could cut off someone's head with it. "I'll pulverize them!"

That left Thalia and me.

"I'll take the offense," Thalia volunteered. "You take defense."

"Oh." I hesitated, because I'd been about to say the exact same thing, only reversed. "Don't you think with your shield and all, you'd be better defense?" It was a known fact that I was a much better offense than defense. Even in sparring, I never used a shield, only further proving that point.

Thalia already had Aegis on her arm, and even our own teammates were giving her a wide berth, trying not to cower before the bronze head of Medusa. I hated the shield, but not because of the image itself (though I didn't like that either, trust me). No, my problem was the memory it invoked. Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium was not a fond recollection.

"Oh... I was thinking it was going to make a better offense. But uh, I guess. Don't screw this up, Jackson. I want to rub it in their face."

"Of course I won't. I'm a better offense, anyway." She looked at me skeptically while I went to help Silena fix her breastplate so it wouldn't get caught in her hair when she ran.

"Allie, this is awesome!" Nico said as he ran up to me. His blue-feathered bronze helmet was falling in his eyes and his breastplate was about six sizes too big. Everyone always looked so ridiculous when they first arrived. He'd look less like a toddler playing dress-up once he finally copped on to the fact that this was real life, not his game where the only thing that got hurt if you lost was the player's pride.

Nico lifted his sword with effort. "Do we get to kill the other team?"

I eyed him warily. "Well... no." Not that the small boy would be able to kill anybody for a while. That sword definitely wasn't the right fit for him.

"But the Hunters are immortal, right?"

"That's only if they don't fall in battle. Besides—"

"It would be awesome if we just, like, resurrected as soon as we were killed, so we could keep fighting, and—"

"Nico, this is serious," I cut him off. "These are real swords. They can hurt." I poked my right pointer finger with Shaker until a drop of blood appeared to prove my point.

He stared at me, looking disappointed at my words, but I couldn't bring myself to regret what I'd said. He had touched on a sore point for pretty much everybody in camp. Monsters were reborn, centuries, decades, years, months, weeks, even days on some occasions (as my luck would prove) after being defeated. But demigods? Elysium was the only way that'd happen, and if you chose rebirth, you still wouldn't see the people you loved again. Nico was a nice kid, but at the moment, all I wished was for him to grow up and realize this wasn't a game, it was real life, and people didn't come back after being killed.

I patted Nico on the shoulder, trying to summon up some of my cheer. "Hey, it's cool. Just follow the team. Stay out of Zoe's way. We'll have a blast."

Chiron's hoof thundered on the pavilion floor.

"Heroes!" he called. "You know the rules! The creek is the boundary line. Blue team— Camp Half-Blood— shall take the west woods. Hunters of Artemis— red team— shall take the east woods. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. No intentional maiming, please! All magic items are allowed. To your positions!"

"Sweet," Nico whispered to Thalia. "What kind of magic items? Do I get one?"

When he looked like he was about to start talking again, Thalia gave me a pleading look. "Blue team! Follow me!" I raised Riptide in the air and kept Shaker sheathed.

We set our flag at the top of Zeus' Fist. It was deep into the western section of the woods, in an easily defensible clearing. Given its location, it was a good place to set the flag. The top boulder was twenty feet tall and really hard to climb, so the flag was clearly visible, like the rules said it had to be, and it didn't matter that the guards weren't allowed to stand within ten yards of it.

I set Nico on guard duty with Beckendorf and the Stolls, figuring he'd be safely out of the way, while still feeling included.

"We'll send out a decoy to the left," Thalia told the team. "Silena, you lead that."

"Got it!"

"Take Laurel, Ash, Nessa, Issac, Whitney, and Jacob. You're all good runners. Make a wide arc around the Hunters, attract as many as you can. I'll take the rest of you as our main raiding party around to the right and catch them by surprise," I continued.

Everybody nodded. It sounded good and Thalia and I worked well together and said it with such confidence you couldn't help but believe it would work.

"Anything to add, Thalia?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Keep sharp on defense. We've got four guards, two scouts. That's not much for a big forest, and this sort of terrain is the Hunters' territory. I'll be roving. Yell if you need help."

"And don't leave your post!" I added.

"Exactly."

Everybody nodded. We broke into our smaller groups. The horn sounded, and the game began.

Silena's group disappeared into the woods on the left. My group gave it a few seconds, then darted off toward the right.

As I ran, I remembered how the Hunters had stormed out of the woods when they fought the manticore, and I was prepared for a huge charge that could overwhelm us, as well as a subtle ambush that utilized their talents of camouflage. But nothing happened. It freaked me out, and the urge to split off from my group and find out what was happening poked at me.

I whistled quietly to Will and jerked my head up a tree. He got the memo and climbed up quickly, scouring the area. I didn't get time to hear what he was about to tell me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a clump of Hunters heading towards, bows ready. They must've spotted us.

For a second I thought we weren't going to get through, but each time they shot arrows, I knocked them away with Riptide or someone ran up beside me with a shield. We had a pretty good routine going.

We had to stop for a few seconds and focus on fighting. I heard Silena's group about a hundred yards to my left. Then, there was the only thing I couldn't have guessed.

Thalia had the flag. It was actually a pretty good move, considering everyone else was occupied, but then she tripped.

"Thalia," I yelled, trying to get her attention.

She got up and as soon as she made it over to me, she handed me their flag and I went off running, trying to ignore the furthering weight of the sky on my shoulders. Behind me, an arrow exploded at her feet and a cloud of yellow smoke billowed out around her team. They all started coughing and gagging. I could smell the gas from across the woods— the horrible smell of sulfur. I cursed and covered my nose as I realized what the hunters had done.

"No fair!" Thalia gasped, yet somehow still making her voice come out as a yell. "Fart arrows are unsportsmanlike!"

Only a few more yards to the creek and I had the game. More arrows whizzed past my ears. A Hunter came out of nowhere and slashed at me with her knife, but I parried and kept running.

I heard yelling from our side of the creek. Beckendorf and Nico were running toward me. I thought at first that they were coming to welcome me back, but then I saw they were chasing someone— Zoe Nightshade, racing toward me like a cheetah, dodging campers with no trouble. And she had our flag in her hands.

We smacked into each other, having the same idea to slow each other down, but it did no good. We still made it to our respective sides at the same time.

Chiron appeared out of the woods, looking confused but simultaneously happy. He had the Stolls on his back, and it looked as if both of them had taken some nasty whacks to the head. Connor had two arrows sticking out of his helmet like antennae. Seeing the shape they were in, as well as losing, only inflamed my anger towards the Hunters.

"It's a tie!" He announced. "We can either play another round or leave it at that. What say you?"

"ASTRAEA JACKSON!" Thalia shouted, walking from the woods and smelling of sulfur. I raised my eyebrow as she walked up to me.

"Yes?"

"I told you I would've been better at offense! We could've actually won!"

"If you had a problem with what you agreed to, you could've told me. You let me win that argument! Not to mention, you left your post! How is this, in any way, my fault?"

"Gods! You are so arrogant! If you actually knew how to worry about someone other than yourself, Luke and Brylie would still be here!" Her face immediately changed. I winced and glared at her, while she started stuttering out apologies.

Without even thinking about it, I summoned a wave that hit her full force in the chest, knocking her to the ground. She made to defend herself, but I put up a water shield, like the one I used when I was first getting to Camp, and the lightning she called down only blew my hair back. She got mad and so did I, so I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but I ended up lifting the whole creek above my head.

With the two of us ready to attack, Silena gasped. "Oh, my gods! Look!" She was pointing towards the woods. My arms fell back to my sides in shock, making the creek fall back to its usual place, soaking everyone who was within a few feet of it.

The oracle, in all of its mummified glory, was walking towards us. She was shrouded in a murky green mist, and as it got closer, the campers and Hunters gasped in recognition.

"This is impossible," Chiron said. I'd never heard him sound so nervous, and it made the whole situation seem even worse than it was already. "It... she has never left the attic. Never."

And yet, the withered mummy that held the Oracle continued to shuffle forward until she stood in the center of the group. Mist curled around our feet, turning the snow a sickly shade of green.

None of us dared move. Then her voice hissed inside my head. Apparently, everyone could hear it, because several people put their hands over their ears to cover them.

I am the spirit of Delphi, the voice said. Speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python.

My breath hitched as she took one single step forward, right in front of me. The Oracle regarded me with its cold, dead eyes once more. Then she spoke again. Approach, Seeker, and ask.

I swallowed. "What do I do to save Luke, Brylie, and Lady Artemis?"

The Oracle's mouth opened, and green mist poured out. I saw the vague image of a mountain, and two girls and a guy standing at the barren peak. Luke and Brylie were, like yesterday, pinned beneath a cavern ceiling, straining to hold it aloft (my shoulders started aching again, and I had to force myself to keep from wincing). Just ahead of them was Artemis, but she was wrapped in chains, fettered to the rocks. She was kneeling, her hands raised as if to fend off an attacker, and it looked like she was in as much pain as Luke and Brylie. The Oracle spoke:

Five shall go west to the goddess in chains,

One shall be lost in the land without rain,

The bane of Olympus shows the trail,

Campers and Hunters combined prevail,

The Titan's curse must one withstand,

And one shall perish by a parent's hand.

Then, as we were watching, the mist swirled and retreated like a great green serpent into the mummy's mouth. The Oracle sat down on a rock and became as still as she'd been in the attic, as if she might sit by this creek for a hundred years.

* * *

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SERIES M.LIST | MAIN M.LIST | TIPS

#alliejackson #a story as endless as the ocean #asaeato #female percy jackson #lukecastellan #lullie #trinitymia

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malfoys-demigod · 3 years ago

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The One Where Chandler Takes You In

Chandler x F!Reader

Summary: Chandler lets you sleep in his and Joey's apartment after you had to evacuate yours. Chandler's genuine and over-the-top kindness results in confessing his feelings for you.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: My first Friends fic and it's on Chandler! I hope you like it!

Tag: @bellarkeselection

There was a knock on the door.

“That must be Y/N.” Ross suggested, noticing the clock. So there were times when you’d be late for anything, such as Monica’s daily dinner. But to be two hours late? That was something new.

Monica stood up from her chair from the dining table and walked over to the door saying, “It’s about time you showed up-“

As the door opened, she was met with a messed-up version of yourself, with wet hair, wet clothes, tired eyes, and a self-depreciating smile on your face.

“Hi, everyone.” You greeted the gang, who looked at you with worry.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, what happened? Are you alright?” Monica gasped, wondering why you were all so relaxed despite looking the opposite.

You laughed at yourself as you entered the apartment, taking the empty seat beside Chandler, “As of tonight, I’m officially homeless! The entire apartment floor happened to have some caught fire. I wasn’t really aware of this until there was water sprinkling over me like crazy from the ceiling. There wasn’t any fire from my end but their sprinklers must’ve been jammed and continued pouring on my room until, well, everything started messing up my place. Hard-headed me didn’t leave the apartment without a few boxes of clothing and other necessary items so yeah, that’s why I look like I showered with my clothes on.”

“That’s terrible, Y/N!” Rachel said in despair, “Where are all your boxes then?”

You gestured to the outside of the apartment with your finger, “Just outside in the hall.” You said in a cool tone.

“How are you so calm about this? You literally have nowhere to go now!” Monica commented, wondering.

“The apartment company made arrangements for us apparently. I just have to call this number,” you said, withdrawing a piece of paper from your jacket and showing it to the gang, “And have them confirm where I’m staying for awhile.”

“Well why don’t you call them now?” Phoebe asked.

You shrugged, listening to her question. You stood up from the dining chair and headed over to the balcony, attempting to call the number.

After a few tries, nobody picked up. You weren’t having this. You turned around and went back inside, now irritated.

“Nobody picked up,” you announced, frowning.

Chandler, who wanted to be the first one with the proposition, proposed, “How about you stay with me, Y/N?” Then stuttered, “I mean with me and Joey? You know, we could take you in for as long as you want, you could take my bed and I could take the couch and it’ll be fine!”

There was a smile that grew on your face, heart melted from the kind gesture of your friend. You placed your hands on your heart, “Aw, Chan, sure, thanks. But I can’t let you take the couch.”

“Why don’t the two of you share the bed then?” Joey whispered to Ross, who chuckled like a child, which Rachel and Monica heard the both of them, rolling their eyes. They all may or may not have thought that Chandler had a thing for you.

“Hey, whatever floats your boat, Y/N,” he agreed, “Do you need help with the boxes?”

“Sure,” you nodded.

—

“Alright, and we’re all set!” Joey said, finally placing the couch into a couch bed.

“Thanks, Joe,” you said, patting him on the shoulder.

You turned around to see Chandler staring at the two of you from the kitchen, to which he started moving away from and towards you since he felt like a creep from the back, “Uh, I guess that’s it for the night. There’s a lot of water in the fridge if you’re thirsty, and if you really need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door, alright?”

“Yeah, thanks too, Chandler.”

Joey yawned as he stretched, looking a little tired now. “Well, I’m gonna head to bed. Night, Y/N.”

“Night, Joe!” You waved as he retreated to his bedroom.

Chandler gave you a small and shy wave, “I’ll get going too, see you, Y/N.”

“Sweet dreams, Chandler,” you said, smiling at him. He smiled, turned around, and headed to his room.

When everyone was gone, you tucked yourself into bed and closed your eyes shut with a smile, knowing that you’re being taken care of by your two good friends.

Sometime at 3am, Chandler woke up. He was quite thirsty, which was odd since it was in the middle of the night. He needed to satisfy his body, so he got out of bed and slowly made his way out of his room without making any sound.

As he made baby steps from his bedroom, his eyes darted to the couch-bed. Somehow, he wasn’t in the mood for water anymore. He was curious to check up on you.

He made his way over to you and found you looking like a sleeping beauty. You were dead asleep, but looking so graceful and at peace.

But he knew you could be feeling more comfortable if there was an upgrade to your sleeping situation. He did something he never thought of doing EVER.

He scooped you up from the couch-bed smoothly and made his way to his room. Like the gentleman he was, he placed you on the other side of his bed with ease, placing his blanket over you.

That should do it.

Then he made his way to his side of the bed and closed his eyes. He was at peace. Or at least thought he was.

Five minutes later, he felt your body near his. You were subconsciously snuggling with him, making him feel so flustered about him yet he felt happier.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.” He murmured to himself, then closed his eyes.

—

Joey woke up to an empty couch-bed as he made his way to get a glass of milk from the fridge. Hm. That was weird. You weren’t the type to wake up early and leave. Well, why would you leave? Your stuff was here. Well, you could be at Monica’s for breakfast but again, it was too early.

An idea popped up in his head. He smiled at himself, hoping he was right. He tip-toed over to Chandler’s door, opening the knob slowly and pushing the door quietly to see you and Chandler, in the same bed together.

He noticed how your arm was spooning over his waist, as his hand was over yours. The both of you look so at peace and so comfortable that Joey wanted to take a picture of you two.

He couldn’t contain himself. Oh man, he had to tell the rest of the gang.

He slowly closed the door and rushed to Monica’s.

—

“YOU WOULD NOT GUESS WHAT GLORIOUS THING HAPPENED OVER AT MY PLACE!” Joey announced himself in a loud tone.

Phoebe, Ross, Monica, and Rachel looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Phoebe guessed, “You had sex with a girl!”

Joey pointed at her, “Good guess, but no!”

“Well, spit it out, Joey!” Monica demanded, now curious since it wasn’t that.

Joey sat in the dining chair with excitement over his jazz hands, “Okay,” he started, “Y/N started her night with sleeping on the couch-bed, right? Then when I woke up, she wasn’t there. So I checked over at Chandler’s room and SHE WAS SPOONING HIM! Oh man, they just looked so cute together, you know, especially with how Chandler likes her, and even his hand was over hers!”

Around the dining table, everyone’s faces became in awe, as they were surprised it finally happened - something between you and Chandler. Rachel’s opened mouth turned into a proud smile, clapping her hands together with joy, “Well that’s just great! I’m so glad something finally happened. Would you know if she went over to him or if he brought her over to his bed?”

Shrugging, Joey shook his head with no answer, “Nah, but I bet he made the first move. I can tell.”

“Well, are they still asleep?” Ross asked

“They should be awake in a few minutes probably,” Joey replied.

—

Over at Chandler and Joey’s apartment, you and Chandler had just woken up at the same time.

As your eyes started to open, you noticed that your surroundings seemed different. You sat up, quickly turning to the side to see Chandler flashing a small, awkward smile at you.

“Oh, Chan,” you said, as your heart was racing, “Did I sleepwalk or something over to your bedroom?”

Chandler sat up properly now, stroking his hair with a small laugh released from his system, “Uh, no,” he replied, “As a matter of fact I carried you to my bed last night since I figured you’d feel more comfortable here. I hope that was alright.”

“Oh, yeah,” you blushed, appreciating his gesture, “It was comfortable, thank you.”

“Of course,” Chandler replied, smiling.

You then looked away casually, not knowing where this conversation could now lead since there was a potential of it becoming dry sooner or later. There was one thing that you wanted to ask though, now that Chandler had done something out of the ordinary for you.

You looked back at him, feeling a bit stunned since he was staring at you this entire time. He then jittered and started murmuring things that you interrupted by shooting the question, “Chan?”

“Yes, Y/N?” He instantly replied, feeling saved from embarrassing himself even more.

Gulping since this may or may not have been an out-of-the-blue question, “I’m just curious but why would you do this for me?”

“Carrying you over to my bed?” He bluntly asked, raising his eyebrow. You shook your head, “No, I mean yes, but everything on top of that, you know - taking me in. I mean, I know Joey wouldn’t carry me over to his bed or quickly be willing to take me in. Either of the girls would’ve done that but you stepped in so genuinely. How come?”

Chandler looked down, feeling guilty but embarrassed at the same time. He started scratching the back of his head, knowing that it had to come out sooner or later.

“I guess it’s because I-I like you, Y/N,” he confessed, looking up to see your reaction with a hint of fear and anticipation in his face, “And you don’t have to reciprocate if you don’t feel the same way but I’d kinda do anything for you whether you like me back or not.”

You were internally gushing so hard that your heart started beating even faster, seeing how Chandler was basically giving you heart eyes right about now. You placed a hand over his shoulder, and another over your chest with a fluttering feeling, “Oh, Chandler, believe it or not, but I like you too actually,” you confessed back with a blush on your cheeks.

There was a wave of relief and happiness that came from Chandler’s body, as he exhaled with pure joy, “Oh boy, really?” He asked, laughing.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I was probably just better at hiding it, but yeah, I like you Chan. I wished I started the night last night in bed already with you,” you teased. He smirked, gaining confidence to kiss you on the cheek as he said, “We can make up for that and stay in bed for as long as we want instead.”

“What about the gang?” You asked genuinely. He shook his head and threw a hand gesture saying, “Nah, I think Joey can take a hint and should be over there without us right now."

“Alright, I like the sound of that,” you said, laying your head back on the pillow, which Chandler imitated, as the two of you started getting cozied up again.

“As do I.”

#chandler bing x reader

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difx-writes · 3 years ago

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Wildest Dreams - In the Death of the Night

Masterlist

After turning 10 and losing her soulmate, Marinette would imagine how Damian Wayne would be.

Would he be tall or short? Did he have blond hair or brown or did he dyed it? Would he be shy or have a bold personality? Perhaps he was an artistic soul, a poet, a writer? Or would he be a baker like her parents? Why did his last name change?

The wonders and questions took over her mind for days with no end.

On good days, she imagined how he would interact with her friends, how her parents would take him in as their own son, how he would fit into her life.

She liked to talk to him, pretending there, alive, with her. She asked his opinion on what to wear, how she should do her hair, what colors with go well with the design. He was her voice of reason. Talking to "Damian" brought a smile to her face, even when she knew she was deluding herself.

On bad days, she pretended he was right there with her, comforting her, encouraging her, whispering that everything would be alright... Sometimes it worked and she felt better the next days but most times she felt bitter, she felt robbed of a future where he was in her life.

The realization that the person she was supposed to share her soul with was no longer alive, that his death was painful, gruesome, and... lonely... It always ended with her taking a few days to prevent a breakdown...

When she turned 13, Hawkmoth appeared and Marinette became Ladybug, the hero of Paris.

Soon after, Marinette stopped talking with "Damian", she couldn't afford to wonder about him anymore. She couldn't afford the bliss of her own delusions. She couldn't afford to let herself grief and fall pray to Hawkmoth's manipulation.

As she couldn't fail Paris and its citizens, Damian Wayne mostly disappeared from her life.

But there were days when her “friends” demanded a lot from her, akumas were too violent and draining and everything was just too much, those the godawful days.

On godawful days she wished Damian was there to take her away to a place she could feel she belonged. Away from everything to a place she could call a home.

_______

Most nights Damian recalls a voice talking to him during the time he was dead.

His soulmate, he supposed, talked to him regularly, she started her day asking his opinion on her outfit for the day, when at home she would tell him how her day went, what she did with her friends, what she learned in class, etc...

At first, Damian was pretty much annoyed that he couldn't "rest in peace" with all the noise pollution but after a few weeks, he slowly started to tolerate her talking to him.

Unfortunately, he couldn't talk to her nor see her very clearly so it was a pleasant surprise when Marinette would ask his opinion to make a decision, she always picked what he chooses.

Perhaps it was their bond that allowed her to know what he was thinking without actually hearing each other's thoughts. Or maybe they were more in sync with one another. Most likely it was pure luck on her part. (Him being dead is enough proof of how bad his luck was.)

In the months he was dead, Damian learned a grand lot Marinette. He liked how she made him feel he wasn't alone, like how her voice calmed him when he remembered the family he left behind in his death. Marinette was his only lighthouse in the vast void of the afterlife

_______

Impotent, despair, and hopeless.

That's how Damian felt every time Marinette had to relive his death. He hated it so much. She didn't deserve that and it broke his heart every damn time.

Why did he have to die? Why did it have to be in such a painful way? Why did she have to feel it on repeat over and over and over again? Was it a twisted way the universe tried to make them reunited? If they can't find each other in life, then they can be together in death? That isn't right!

But it always hurts more when she wakes up and talks to him. Wondering if he was happy and in peace, in wherever place he ended up.

He was there but she didn't know.

He felt sick.

After being revived, Damian felt an immense sense of loss. Sure, he was kinda happy to reunite with his family and grateful for being alive again, but he missed her.

It was difficult to readjust to being alive again, it was crystal clear that Damian Wayne wasn't okay. What hurts him the most was how her name turned into a scar on his wrist.

During the day paranoia settled in making him always on high alert, lashing out when it got too much for him.

In the night, he couldn't sleep properly as a feeling of unease latched onto his every nerve and when he did sleep, nightmares plagued him.

Damian tried to calm down in various ways, but ultimately it was Marinette's voice that soothed him and lulled him to sleep.

It quickly became a habit to replay their one-sided conversations as he tries to fall asleep.

He went over what Marinette Dupain-Cheng spoke to him time and time again as to engrave her voice in his mind. Unfortunately, her voice was fading away, every time he recalled it, he hear his own voice.

At least some memories remained, which was relieving for Damian, even when important ones like what language she spoke or the name of her school were completely wiped out.

He never told his family his experience while he was dead, he guesses Jason was the most likely to know about it but he never brought it up to anyone, so Damian did the same.

Now he was lying in bed, remembering about the time Marinette tried embroidery for the first time.

She started by searching up what she wanted it to be and after much talking, she chose a Robin, Damian smile at the eagerness he felt for her to chose it. It was a fun day, with her making comments here and there about the work, he wishes he could see it.

A knock woke him up of his thoughts, Alfred emerging from the door.

"Master Damian, I'm here to inform you a guest will be joining us for tomorrow's dinner."

"Whose guest?" He didn't really feel like dealing with new people.

"It's Master Jason's guest."

Damian groans, perhaps he could go visit Kent.

"It would be in your best interest to participate, Master Damian." Alfred gave him a look.

He sighed, definitely can't miss tomorrow or he'll have to face Pennyworth.

So, I've written another chapter while listening to a sad song on repeat :') I know it doesn’t really connect to the last chapter but I wasn’t feeling okay and didn’t know how to continue from where I left off.

I hope y’all enjoyed this and have a nice day!

P.S.: The taglist is temporarily closed as some tags aren't working. Again, I'm very sorry if I missed anyone. If you no longer want to be tagged please hit me up.

Taglist:

@thestressmademedoit @moonlightstar64 @dast218 @moonystars14 @buticaaba @urbanpineapplefarmer @thedragonbug @little-lady-bird @an-actual-changeling @ladybug-182 @ash-amg @g-arya @nnon-it-up @hateswifi @maribat-is-lifeblood @kikooaaaaaa @jessigurl-design @vixen-uchiha @acoursedprophetwithasmothie @snow-leopard-777 @theatreandcomicfreak @zalladane @fusser90 @finallyaniguana @danielslilangel @dreamykitty25 @corabeth11 @ellymae21 @books-and-left-behind-journals @hetalia-lover-is-here @dorkus-minimus @magic-miraculous @waywardpeachgardenshark @darkthunder1589 @jaggedheart11 @daminettes @todaylillypads @schrodingers25 @pheonixashtree @mikantsume @eliza-bich @miraculous-simmer7 @goblinwhoships @fidget-eep @rosalineandrosemary @lunarwolfspn @more-or-less-human-i-guess @aestheticnpoetic @amayakans @abrx2002 @karategirl119 @agentofscifi @flower-and-drawing @itsmeevie01 @suddenly-i-kin-oikawa @ii-fox-demon @thatonecroc @dawnwave16 @bigpicklebananatree @violentbisexualprophecywriter @scribblinggraveyard @heaven428 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ravennightingaleandavatempus @chylou34 @silvergold-swirl @magictragic-world @snowstar1016 @heldtogetherbysafetypins @awkwardoneout @novicevoice @thenillabean @bookishdork13 @laurcad123 @thezestywalru @k-poplunardreams @coloursforyourportrait @fandomsaremylifeline @goddessofthewestwind @captainmac6 @chocolatecatstheron @princessanimeangel11 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @ur-beautiful-when-u-smile @batlover1303 @softlysobbingpostendgame @justconfusedperiod @clumsy-owl-4178 @bluesimani @iwritelikeimrunningoutoftime @kokotaru @totalyasexual @professionalfangirl1738 @nitholites @zestyzealot @pawsitivelymiraculous @autiegirlshit @raz-b-rose @thanks-captain-obvious @emilytopaz @nightstarblue @2confused-2doanything @niknak-3 @blackroserelina @fortunatelyoptimisticdeer @ira-sairain @pepelachanel @naimena @iloveitwhen @disneyfoxuniverse @ur-average-reader @lylshyt @jerusalemandolives @anonymously-odd @southamericanghotamite @a-star-with-a-human-name @we-want-mini-mini @literallytryingmybestbutok @alenee13 @animegirlweeb @our-preciousss @prudencerika @byronsacademics @ivymala07 @shamefullove @susiej1118 @technicallyburninggarden @sentimentalcrap @ertyzeta @tomanyfandomsonmymind @starmist19 @synnesstra @nokia75 @swiftie-miraculer13 @solideogloria172 @a-door-into-my-mind @road-work-ahead123 @madking-warqueen @caseoftheblues @buginetye @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere @i-wanna-go-to-outerspace @insane-fangirl-of-everything @ultimatetornshipper @chaoticstarworld @adrestar @wolf-for-life @blacktea-ba @pinkk-sheep @autiegirlshit @chocolateherringtacofan @blackroserelina @samopotahto @blur-of-colours @stainedglassm @redbullgivescaswings @khneltea @amigotasbien @sdg-demachera @alyssadeliv @greatcatblaze @raesofmoonlight @galla02006 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @novaloptr @qualitypeacepainter @solangelo252 @unnamed2357 @thespianlesb @mildlydeadly @yuriyuhitsu @hewantedbeefintheparkinglot @literaryhiraeth @luna025 @henie04 @trashesa @castle-bookworms-world

#daminette #maridami #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #maribat #ml x dc #soulmate au #angst #in the death of the night

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xu-ren · 3 years ago

Text

Goodbye

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader / Nightwing x reader

Wordcount: 2,200+

I love Dick, I really do but even though I think that he can make a good boyfriend, I also think that he won’t, mostly because of the heavy burdens he takes upon himself. This is me trying to write a breakup where they both still love each other but the relationship is like beating a dead horse. I hope that you enjoy.

Masterpost

*~*~*

You jolted awake suddenly. You weren’t sure what woke you up, maybe it was the feeling that someone was staring at you, maybe it was the wind coming in from the window you always close, maybe it was the coppery smell of blood. Well, there was only one person that would sneak into your bedroom in the middle of the night.

“………Dick?”

“Yes, darling?”

You dragged your weary body from your warm embrace of your bed and walked to where the shadowy figure was. Gently, you slowly took his hand in yours, making sure to telegraph your movement so he doesn’t startle. You linked your fingers together, comfortable and nostalgic in equal measures. It feels like it has been so long since the last you held his hand but also like you have never stopped holding it.

You went into your bathroom to fetch the first aid-kit, which in a normal household would be defined as overstocked but when you are dating a vigilante, there’s no such thing as an overstocked first aid-kit. Understocked, definitely, but never overstocked. When you entered the dining room where you left Dick, you found him in his Nightwing costume, gingerly perched upon one of the chairs on your dining table, specifically the one covered in plastic that was set aside for nights like this. The lights you flickered on your initial journey to the kitchen only serves to highlight his wounds. Luckily, they don’t seem to be anything serious, just a mixture of bruises and small cuts, nothing you have not seen before.

You settled yourself in front of him and gently start cleaning and dressing his wounds, muttering apologies when he hissed from the pain. Your hands were steady, far too used to cleaning up wounds for someone who is a civilian. Dick was uncharacteristically silent, maybe he was too exhausted to talk, which is doubtful. Maybe he could read that you are not in the mood to talk, which was far more likely. He had always been perceptive to your moods, that was what made him such a good boyfriend in the first place.

Once, earlier in your relationship, your hands would have trembled, shaky and uncertain as they dressed his wounds. Your panicking apologies would have been met with demands for kisses to make it better, perhaps even interspersed with kisses from Dick to whatever patches of your skin that he could reach.

But now, it was no longer so. Quickly and efficiently, Dick’s wounds were soon all cleaned and dressed. You moved a chair in front of him and settle upon it, finally meeting his eyes. He looks exhausted, world weary with bags that would rival the bag you see on a backpacker. If you could have it any other way, you would not have this conversation now but if you don’t, you don’t know when you would next have a chance to do so or the courage to go through with it.

You held one of his hands in both of yours, rubbing your thumb in a soothing motion on the back of his hand, doing whatever you can to soften the news.

“Dick, let’s break up.” You let it spill out of you, as quickly as you could before your courage failed you.

Dick’s baby blues widen, making him resemble a baby owl before blinked rapidly once, twice, thrice, as if he is in disbelief while the rest of him was frozen. The silence seemed to drag on and on, the calm before the storm.

“Love, darling, dearest, whatever do you mean? I promise that I would do better. Just tell me where I went wrong, it won’t happen again. I promise, just please please don’t leave me. Let’s get married, okay? When do you wanna get married? Tomorrow is fine, how about tomorrow?” babbled Dick desperately. In the middle of his babbling, the position of your hands had switched, with both of his hands cradling both of yours. It’s warm and familiar and you desperately want to savour the moment, especially since it’s one that you have went so long without.

However, you have already come this far. It would be doing a disservice to the courage you so desperately gathered to fail here.

“Oh Dick, I love you, I really really do. But you don’t have anything left to give me, do you? Do you even remember the last time we went on a date?” You asked as kindly as you could.

“We went to the burger place you mentioned?” He asked hesitantly.

“That was 2 months ago, and you were 3 hours late,” you retorted, trying to keep the heat from your voice.

“The café with the ………pancakes?” His next guess was much more hesitant, so it was safe to say that you weren’t particularly successful with keeping the heat from your voice.

“5 months ago, and you left 3 minutes after the pancakes arrived because you received a call. From Barbara.”

The silence that followed your second answer was deafening, uncomfortable in a way that was rare when you were with him. He responded by bringing your hands, still cradled by his to his cheeks and looked at you from under his lashes with his lower lip jutting out. There are many things about him that you were weak to, but none as much as when he looked at you with his baby blues from under those long pretty boy lashes of his.

You snatched your hands from his and narrowed your eyes at him, furious that he would try such a method at a time like this. It was unfair of him, since you knew your weakness, he knew it, his family knew it, even the waitstaff at your favourite breakfast place probably knew it.

“Point is, Dick, we have barely seen each other in months, and when we do, you are either late or rushing off. I’m not angry,” You pinched your nose, trying to keep your voice steady. “I mean, I was but I came to realise something. There’s no place for me in your life, or rather, there’s so much on your plate that there’s no place left for me. You are a flying Grayson, and I’m the shackles that bound you. I have been selfish all this time, but would you let me be selfish this one last time?”

At the end of your rant, you finally dared to hazard a glance at Dick. His shoulders were slumped and his head bowed, like he was beaten down and it broke your heart. It’s not the first time you have seen him like this, his life often takes its toll on him, but it never failed to break your heart nonetheless.

You wanted to comfort him, but how do you comfort someone who you hurt? You wished to wrap your arms around him, giving him a reprieve from the horrors of the world and a place to be weak. You wished to let him sob into your shoulder but how do you do so when you are the one that inflicted this pain on him?

“Alright,” he sighed, ending your relationship once and for all.

“It’s late, why don’t you stay the night?” It’s cruel of you, to offer your bed to someone whose heart you just broke, but you missed him.

He raised his head and you finally looked at him after your awful revelation. The sight of it broke your heart all over again, especially the way his eyes were shinning with barely unshed tears and his lips were quivering. His eyes scanned you, trying to tell if you meant what you said.

He nodded his acceptance and head towards your couch. You pulled on his shirt to catch his attention, unsure if he wanted you to touch him at the moment. He stopped but doesn’t turn to face you.

“Come to bed, Dick.” An unspoken one last time passed between the both of you.

He changed directions and headed towards your bedroom, shoulders and back stiff. You were left standing in the kitchen alone, except this time it's all due to your own making. When you finally gathered your thoughts, you head to your bedroom to find Dick in the showers.

You sat on your bed, waiting for him because you like to think that you still know him well and he is someone that would go to sleep on your couch or gods forbid, leave, if you close your eyes for even a second. The way he jolted when he came out of the bathroom confirmed your suspicions.

He made his way stiffly to his side of the bed, closer to the window. “All the better to protect you, my dear,” was what he said when you had asked why he loved sleeping on the side closer to the window.

You crawled under the covers, unsure on what to do next. It’s painful that your last night together would be so horribly awkward, even though you know that you only have yourself to blame for this. Lovely, precious Dick broke the awkwardness by wrapping his arms around you, pulling your head onto his chest and resting his head on yours. You reciprocated by wrapping your arms around him and snuggling closer. His scent was comforting, a mixture of his shower gel and something that was uniquely him. It has long faded from both your bed and the clothes that he left in your apartment, even though you tried to preserve it for as long as you possibly could.

Only in the darkness of your bedroom, with both of your arms wrapped around each other, does Dick finally let his tears fall. His tears wet your hair and gut-wrenching sobs that tore through his chest. What broke your heart over and over again was however, the kisses he pressed to the top of your head in between his sobs.

You closed your eyes and succumbed to sleep only when his sobs were silent, presumably having exhausted himself.

*~*~*

You jolted awake to the smell of something burning, causing you to leap from your bed and run towards the kitchen. There, you stared as Dick waved your pan around, trying to put out the burning something on it. You would hazard a guess and say that it was a fried egg, given the eggshell you could see at the side of the stove.

Some unknown emotion, maybe relief, crawled up your throat and you laughed and laughed and laughed. By the time you managed to gain some control, you looked up to see Dick pouting at you.

“You could have helped, you know?” pointed out Dick, clearly a little upset.

“I’m sorry, I should have. How about cereal instead?” you said as a peace offering.

“Fruit Loops?” Watching Dick perk up at the mere mention of cereal made your lips twitch upwards. It certainly made the number of times you had to replace the cereal worth it, given that he had never stayed over enough in recent months to finish the cereal and you weren’t going to eat that sugary cereal.

“Of course, were you expecting something else?”

“I love you, honey.” At the words that spilled out of Dick’s mouth, both of you freeze, unsure on how to proceed, your conversation from last night hanging heavily in the air. You smiled at him tentatively and his shoulders relaxed marginally.

By the time you return to the kitchen after freshening yourself in the bathroom, Dick had already taken your largest bowl and was eating what looked like half the box of cereal. You made yourself a cup of Milo before sitting across Dick, drinking in the sight of him sitting at your kitchen table bathe in sunlight.

Far sooner than you would like, breakfast was over and you are helping him pack up his things. Even that doesn’t last as long as you would liked and before you knew it, you were standing in front of your door with Dick, his things in a box at his feet.

Both of you look at each other awkwardly, unsure or perhaps unwilling to take the next step. He cupped your cheeks and pressed a kiss to your lips. He tasted sweet, which suited a person as sweet as he is.

‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ his kiss said.

‘Don’t be, it’s not your fault. I love you too,’ you kissed him back.

You separated, his hands still cupping your cheeks, your faces so close that you could smell the sugar on his breath.

‘Goodbye.’ He pressed one last kiss on your forehead before turning around and walking out of your life. You know that if you ask him to stay, if you tell him that you don’t want to break up anymore, he would stay, but it wouldn’t be fair to either of you. You watched, rooted to the ground, drinking in the sight of him until he turned around the corner.

You can’t bear the sight of your apartment, so bare without his things. Even when he had been barely around in months, at least his things were still around to remind you of him. Instead, you headed to your bed and cried, surrounded by the smell of him. The first time your bed smelled like him in months also marked the last time your bed would ever smell like him.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x #nightwing x you #young justice #teen titans #young justice x reader #teen titans x reader #teen titans x #young justice x

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badgirlcovenrep · 3 years ago

Text

atlas

Alex Chen × Steph Gingrich fluffy comfort one-shot

(I was talking to a friend about the game and we were discussing how Alex is probably still carrying a lot of trauma. And even after everything that happened at the mines we still don't see her really grieve for the whole situation and herself. So- I had to write it, you know?)

Enjoy!

TW: mentions of suicide, death and mental health issues.

It's two months into their relationship now, and they are somewhere in a Californian town, living in a tiny apartment close to the beach. They play together in small venues and underground clubs. Alex bartends and Steph referees for DND campaigns at a nerd bar they found by chance on their first week there.

They're happy. As happy as Alex remembers being since she was- well, maybe nine.

Every day, it's a little like waking up into a dream. Living in an apartment with her first girlfriend, listening to music as they cooked dinner together. Getting to kiss her just because Alex felt like it. Because her heart went a little loopy inside her chest when she smiled. Because she knew Steph would hold on to her waist and make her feel like she was full of electricity.

The 'falling in love' business felt overrated before Steph.

But Being in the middle of it now, Alex doesn't think there's anything better.

Although a part of her still felt quite numb - she guesses it's not something that will go away that easily - and day by day, Alex felt a little bit more like she could breathe... like she was finally letting herself go, at least a little bit.

****

Now that she could comprehend and use her powers, it also seemed as if she'd started to become even more of a magnet for all sorts of emotion around her. And apparently Alex could do it in her sleep too.

The nightmares came in clusters most of the time, a badly cut-together mess of voices and feelings. The lady that lived under them, who lost her son when he was little. The couple from down the street, who were going through a hard time in their relationship. Even the little girl from upstairs, who had terrible night terrors of sharp-teethed monsters reaching from under her bed.

They all mixed inside her head until she woke up gasping for air and sizzling with emotion.

It was rare that she'd have a full dream, one that made sense and completed itself, but when she did they were always about Gabe. About sitting together at the rooftop of the Lantern and sharing a beer. Or climbing trees, like they used to do when they were little.

It was a relief from the usual doom.

And that dream was supposed to be nothing different. Or at least she thought it wasn't.

****

In it, they were at the ravine. A world of twinkling stars shining above their heads. The Colorado mountains all around them creating a landscape that was just as beautiful as it was bittersweet. Alex could see the log she'd crossed, still standing between her and the tiny outcrop of stone Ethan had been stranded on.

She hadn't dreamed of the ravine since leaving Haven Springs, but while she was there, Alex dreamt of it every night. She would see it when her eyes were closed. She could hear it, - the sirens, the terrible, deafening rumble of the ground splitting beneath them. The panic, pounding into her ears.

But this is different. Because when she looks around, Alex realizes she's standing over the elevated plateau, tied to the waist and leaning all her weight against a sturdy piece of rock.

Looking at her from below is Gabe. Lying on the cold ground. A cheesy smile spread across his face.

"Why are we switched?" Alex asks because that's all she can think of asking, as she stares at the rope that anchored her to the ground... to Gabe.

"Beats me. This is all your brain, not mine." He says, and Alex huffs in annoyance, "you know what's going to happen, but you keep coming here."

"I don't have a choice."

"Hmmm..." Gabe hums, but there's some humor in his expression as he stares intently back at her, "and that's exactly why... I'm here because I should say goodbye."

A coldness spreads over Alex's limbs. Around her, the very fabric of the dream dims into darkness as a strong breeze blows past them. She suddenly feels like throwing up.

"What- what does that mean?" It's a stupid question. This is her dream. Alex knows what it means.

Deep down, she knew she'd been conjuring him up for her own sake. Trying to bring back any morsel of relief into the giant hole he'd left inside her heart. However, Alex also knew at some point he'd be gone- she just didn't expect-

"You don't need me anymore, Alex." He says. As if it's that simple. As if she'd ever-

"I'll always need you, Gabe. Of course I need you." The words stumble out of her mouth, and she can feel the hot, angry tears falling down her face.

It feels like a hot iron pressed to the very top of her chest.

Like lava, boiling up into her bloodstream until Alex wants to punch something. The steam that prickles from under her skin, fighting to break free.

Anger always comes first when people feel cornered. It's something she noticed a while back. Out of all the emotions Alex had dealt with the past few months, that, at least, hadn't changed.

"Shit, Gabe. When you died I needed you more than ever."

"But we can't fix that, can we?" He asks, and another wave of anger rips through her. She looks anywhere but him, because Alex feels that if she does, she'll tackle and kill him all over again. But when he says nothing and they're left in the same pocket of silence - the one right before the whole world collapsed - her eyes eventually fall back to her brother. Tied to her and laid on the ground beneath. Looking at her like just as much the goofy asshole she missed so much.

Anger always felt urgent and fast, like a flash going through her body and leaving everything inside it in disarray. It demanded to be completely felt, but only for the moment it took for Alex to decide it wasn't worth launching the nearest object at a window.

Or trying to kill her dead brother.

"You might have needed Gabe. But you don't need this Gabe anymore, Alex. You can do it on your own now."

The fear and sadness that came after? They were usually much, much worse.

"But this is the only Gabe I have."

Those emotions, when mixed, turned into a horrible harmony that paralyzed her lungs and darkened the sides of her vision. They felt just as urgent as anger, but complacent. A beast staring at her from the very bottom of a pit. Tied to her by the waist and trying to lure her down into the abyss.

And, for Alex, the abyss was as deep as a ventilation shaft for a Colorado mining site.

"No, it's not. You'll always have me, Alex. And you know that." Not in the way that matters. Alex wants to say, but it's so redundant. He's the ghost. He should already know that. "And you have Ryan now, and Eleanor, Riley, Charlotte, Ethan... Steph..." he gives her a cheesy smile in the last name, wiggling his eyebrows back at her teasingly.

"Oh, God, way to ruin the moment." Alex can't help but chuckle a little through her tears. Is she blushing? You can't blame her for blushing, right? God, she feels like Diane.

"Hey. Let me have it. One of my only regrets is that I never got to tease the hell out of Steph for dating my little sister... and for being whipped as hell."

"That would have been so funny."

"I knew she'd get along with you but I guess I didn't expect... that. Shame on me. Should've had more artistic vision."

Alex chuckles as more tears run down her face. It's so bittersweet it hurts from the very inside of herself.

"All jokes aside. I'm glad you have her, and that she has you. She's good. Just make sure you tell her I'll haunt her from the grave if her dumb ass breaks your heart, okay?" Alex nods, and her body starts shaking with strangled sobs. So much emotion she just can't let go of. Because if she does, Alex is afraid there'll be nothing left.

"Hey. Don't cry. You can do this, Alex. You know how to live life now."

"I don't want to lose you again, Gabe."

"You'll never lose me. You'll just have to look a little harder." He smiles up at her, pulling jokingly on the rope, "now play your part - or is it my part? You get it."

And then- too soon. (Same as it was that night.) The sirens blast through the mountains, and somewhere above them, a giant explosion blows her eardrums, and boulders the size of cars come tumbling down the mountain.

She barely has time to blink. Barely has time to breathe one last time. Seen as she's Gabe, when she looks up all she sees is the giant rock, flying towards her, hitting her across the torso so hard, before she knows, she's flying way above the ravine, and one last glimpse of the stars catches hold over the veil of her memory before everything turns black.

****

She wakes up in bed, desperately clawing at the top of her chest as she gasps for air. Her lungs feel like they're made of lead, and all around her, she can feel the weight of the rocks, the explosion, the debris, weighing down her body.

Alex pats across the mattress for Steph, who is not there. Another wave of panic washes over her. So strong her mouth turns dry and her head aches as she tries to breathe in, but her lungs can only handle tiny, torturous gasps of half-breath.

Alex dispels a world of curses towards herself inside. Willing her own body to just calm down. In the bathroom, she can hear Steph singing softly to herself- she must have come home late from the DND tournament. Alex told her she'd swing by, but she'd had a long shift and ended up just passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Alex hadn't had an incident like this in very long. She could control it now. Most times. It wasn't easy, with being on the road and constantly surrounded by people. Sometimes, she still got more than she could bargain. When she walked across a depressed person on the sidewalk, or heard one of their multiple neighbors yelling at each other through the walls, and suddenly she felt as if the world blended out of focus into a tsunami of feeling.

Feeling that wasn't hers but still felt so much like it was.

Steph helped whenever it happened. For a sarcastic punk rock mess, she was surprisingly stable and so very reassuring.

Just the fact that she can hear her voice. That Steph is there in the apartment with her, is enough to calm some of her nerves, and while Alex still can't keep herself from pulling in gasps of air as she tries to hold in any kind of oxygen, she at least has a plan.

Water. Water will make her feel better, right?

Almost as soon as the idea crosses her mind, Alex's half-delirious brain commands her to get up, but her body feels so very heavy. Like she's really been trampled over by a wave of giant boulders. And as soon as her feet touch the ground, her legs give up under the weight, and she falls onto the hard floor with a loud, heavy thud.

The girl's hands fly up to hold her weight against the bed, and thankfully that means she doesn't face plant the ground, but it sends her heart into a neck-breaking pace, and all air Alex'd been able to gather so far escapes her in a single huff until she's hyperventilating again, hot, angry tears running down her face.

You're so weak. You're such a fucking idiot. Of course, you had to go and lose Gabe twice, who the fuck would want to stay with such a mess-

"Alex, are you okay?" Steph's voice comes, as she opens the door to find her girlfriend sitting on the ground, looking like she might pass out from just trying to get her lungs to work, "Alex!"

In a second she's crossed their room and kneeled by her, both hands going up to her cheeks on instinct, smearing away her tears.

"Breathe with me, okay? We've done this before, you can do it." She always gets just a tiny bit of a scared aura around her when Alex gets like this, never for long enough that she can read it, but it's still there, the tiny flutter of fear, "come on, breathe."

Her eyes go up to find Steph's, her strong, glittering green gaze. Alex might be the one with superpowers, but it was Steph who could so easily reach in and soften her edges like it was nothing. It was Steph who could just lean in and hold Alex's hand against her chest, letting her feel the determined rise of her lungs. Strong. Stable. Even Alex couldn't possibly understand how she did that.

How she always made Alex's breathing slowly come to shaky, deep breaths, crawling painfully out of her dry throat, but still better than gasping like a fish. Inside her, Alex feels the furious hurricane of emotion, twisting itself into the bottom of her lungs, taking hold of every bit of her until she felt like she could throw up.

"Wait here, I'll get you water," Steph says, and Alex wants to complain, she doesn't want to be alone, even for a second.

But before she can, Steph has left their bedroom for the kitchen, and Alex feels as if she's stable enough to crawl into bed, so she does so at a glacial pace. She grabs Shu-Shu, holding her close to her chest as she sits and waits for Steph.

She eventually comes back in with a glass full and Alex gulps it down in silence, unsure if whatever dam of emotion that has taken place inside of her will break if she tries to speak. So she sets the glass back and lies her head down on the pillow, facing away from Steph and the rest of the room as she tries to reel herself back in.

She can hear Steph taking off her boots and climbing into bed, one arm winding around her waist as she pulls Alex in closer.

"Was it the lady from upstairs?" Steph asks, eventually, after they sit in a few long minutes of silence.

"No." She replies, and it comes out so strangled, so broken, a few more tears run down her face. Steph pulls her even closer, a tight, steady pressure.

"The couple again? I swear to God I'll call the police on that asshole this time."

"No." Alex says, and she detaches herself from Steph just enough so she can turn around and look at her, "I had a dream about Gabe." Simply saying his name makes her whole body shake. Steph is looking at her so intensely, Alex has to close her eyes, holding on to the fabric of her shirt with all she had not to explode in whatever terrifying, dizzying bomb of emotion she could feel brewing inside herself.

Alex felt so much from other people it overwhelmed her multiple times a day, and even then, it was nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to how much sheer strength it took from her not to let it blow.

It scared her. More than anything.

"He wanted to say goodbye." She says eventually, "it was- I don't know. This- I- this isn't coming from anyone- How do I get rid of it? It's like it's all inside of me and it's taking up so much space and I don't know how to fix it" The words come tumbling out before she can stop them, and she's rambling through tears.

Steph sighs. And Alex can feel the love and sadness mixed together, blowing from her in waves as she holds Alex's chin, bringing her up so they can look at each other.

"Baby..." there are tears in her eyes now, as she pulls her closer until their foreheads are touching, and they are so close Alex can smell her lemongrass shampoo, "This is all yours."

And such simple words shouldn't hit her this fucking hard.

But it all suddenly makes so much sense-

Alex was numb after her dad left. She felt nothing for months. It was one of the most terrifying feelings in the world, a deep and powerful depression that threatened to overtake her at any given point.

Like her whole body was nothing but dead weight and her brain was way too tired to even try and keep up.

Young as she was, Alex guesses she never realized the first time she felt anything at all after that was when she discovered her powers. The day a boy came to the orphanage and he was so angry it blew her across the hallway. Ever since then, everything around her was a cacophony of feeling. Coming from every direction. Every street corner, every store, every park.

Every moment of her life since she was eleven, Alex could only feel for others.

"I- I forgot." She realizes, half surprise and half so much sadness another sob breaks through her throat.

Now it made sense, the anger, the sadness, the fear, a hurricane of emotion so very powerful it made her ears ring.

"I'm scared." She admits. Because for someone who had been so focused on learning how to exist among other people's feelings, Alex had no clue how to handle herself, "what do I do with all of this? How do I fix it?"

"Alex. Look at me." Steph brings her face upwards until they are so close, Alex can see the speckles of blue in her eyes, "Gabe died just four months ago, and you were there to see everything- then you got shot and thrown down God knows how many stories into a dark abyss that you somehow walked out of, but not before also finding out about your dad's tragic death - and I haven't seen you cry, actually cry, for yourself, even once."

"I- I can't, it's too much. I don't know how, Steph." Alex had learned her lesson. She'd seen her life as it was and survived it. Deep down she knew it wasn't her responsibility anymore - that it never was her responsibility, to begin with - to hold herself together for others. She knows.

But old habits die hard, and Alex guesses it'll take a while before she starts feeling it too.

Because right now, it still felt like the world might collapse if she wasn't there to hold it together.

"Just- give it to me. Everything you have, I can carry it for you." Steph says, with such determination, Alex actually believes her, but she takes her eyes away, trying to avoid the bubbling of tears threatening to jump out through her throat "Let it go, please, Alex. I can't watch you carry it alone anymore."

At that moment, Alex glances at her again, and there's so much pain, so much love in her eyes, that inside Alex, the dam finally breaks and she's choking on sobs. Tears start running down her cheeks as Steph leans in and pulls her closer, one arm around her shoulder and one on her hip, squeezing tight in reassurance.

If she didn't know better, Alex would've guessed Steph was the one with the superpowers, with the way she coaxes wave after wave of emotion out of her with nothing but her steady presence and quick, light kisses she leaves on Alex's head and hair as she holds on to her shirt for dear life.

It overwhelmed her more than anything she'd experienced so far, and for what feels like hours, she just sobs as Steph holds her.

She cries for her mom. Dead before her time, trying to hold them together to the very end. She cries for her dad, dying a slow death deep underground, a picture of the two children he'd never see again dangling around his neck. She cries for Gabe, for the time they'd never have, for the time they did have.

Above all, for the first time, Alex cried for herself. For being the last out of all of them. For the little girl that had to love and lose every single one of them in succession.

And in the middle of all of it, like a speckle of golden light hidden under all the darkness, for the first time, she feels that it could all start to feel alright.

#send me chenrich prompts #i dare you #chenrich #chengrich #alex chen #steph gingrich #life is strange true colors #long post #chenrich fanfic #chenrich fic #alex chen × steph gingrich

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pastelwitchling · 3 years ago

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I honestly have no idea what this is. Malex smut and fluff with some angst and jealousy sprinkled in? Yes.

Alex woke to open-mouthed kisses along his naked shoulder, his spine. Michael’s hand ran up and down the dip of his waist, and he shuddered, burrowing deeper into the blankets of his bed.

“Morning,” Michael whispered along the nape of his neck before pressing a soft kiss there, too.

Alex merely hummed in response. He could feel the early morning rays on his cheeks, and his body melted against the warmth of Michael’s body against his back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in past sunrise. He ought to have been disconcerted, but with Michael so close, he couldn’t find it in him to fear anything.

“I feel like a hero,” Michael chuckled. “I never get to see you sleeping.” Alex felt the vibrations of his chest against his back. He smiled into his pillow.

“Don’t get used to it,” he murmured.

Michael kissed his shoulder blade. “I guess I’ll just have to keep tiring you out.”

Alex moved onto his back. Michael looked ready, hovering above him in an instant and keeping their chests pressed together.

Alex ran his hands up Michael’s sides, his chest, settling on his strong shoulders. Michael’s eyes fluttered shut to his touch. Alex raised his chin, his lips brushing Michael’s. “Yeah?”

Michael groaned low in his throat and nodded, leaning down so that his mouth almost slotted against Alex’s as he spoke. “Don’t do that,” he breathed.

“Do what?”

“Use that voice,” he said, his own voice like gravel, already tracing his fingers down Alex’s chest, his stomach. His eyes were shut, his forehead pressed tightly to Alex’s. “You know what it does to me.”

Alex leaned his body into Michael’s touch, biting his lower lip. He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest, the calm, sleepy pleasure and eagerness for Michael to touch him settled in his bones and made him want to spread his legs and take whatever was given.

“Please,” the word escaped him in a whisper before he could help it. He didn’t care. This was Michael, his beautiful cowboy. Alex watched the gold specs dance across his bright hazel eyes, the tips of his curls turned to caramel. He traced that gorgeous lower lip with his thumb, watched the way Michael hungrily swiped his tongue out to taste him, and the only thing he could find himself capable of saying was –

“Please.”

“Baby,” Michael breathed. Alex knew what that word did to him, too.

His fingers were barely an inch away from Alex’s length, buried in wiry hair, Alex arching up into his touch, when the doorbell rang.

Alex eyes opened and he lifted his head. “Who’s here?”

“Who cares?” Michael breathed, his blunt nails digging into Alex’s sensitive skin and making his breath catch in his throat.

Yeah, Alex started to think as Michael’s stomach touched his own. Who cares?

The doorbell rang again, then a knock. It sounded urgent. Alex’s brows furrowed and he moved to sit up.

“Guerin,” he said a little breathlessly. His face felt hot. “It might be important.”

“It’s not,” Michael insisted, already trying to lay Alex back down. He cupped his jaw and moved in for a kiss when another knock came. Michael growled, “I swear to God –”

Alex nudged his hip so that they weren’t on top of each other anymore, and swung his leg off the edge of the bed. He reached for a pair of sweats, and heard Michael groan as he pulled an Air Force t-shirt over his head.

He smiled over his shoulder, letting his eyes rake Michael’s naked chest, his toned stomach, the blanket pooled just at his hips and revealing strong, bronze thighs. He licked his lower lip.

“Stare at me a second longer,” Michael said fiercely, “and you’ll never make it to that door.”

Alex laughed as he turned and left the room on his crutches. He heard Michael whisper a curse behind him before he shuffled around the room, looking for his own clothes. He opened the door to find Forrest standing on the other side.

“Awesome,” Alex sighed. “Guerin will love this.”

“Is he here?” Forrest asked, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He walked into the house past Alex. “I need to talk to you.”

“What happened?”

“What happened?” he scoffed once they were both in the living room. Without a word, he held out his hand. “Where is it?”

Alex raised a brow. “Where’s what?”

“Your Deep Sky ring!” he demanded. “I know you have one!”

“You look good,” Alex told him. “Book tour’s been treating you well.”

“Stop being cute,” he demanded, though his cheeks turned pink. “Hand it over.”

Alex held his gaze a moment longer, and finally he settled, “Does it matter that you see it?”

Forrest looked like he’d been expecting this answer. “You can’t even pull it out when you’re not inside, can you?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you actually let them recruit you.”

“I can’t believe it took you this long to panic,” Alex said, “considering I left the coded voicemail last night.”

“My battery was dead!” he snapped.

“Ah.” Alex smiled, unable to help it.

“How?” Forrest demanded. “Alex, how could you do this? I told you –”

“I know,” he reassured him, “but I’ve got it handled.”

“Handled,” he repeated faintly. “Look, babe,” he sat down on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I know you’re tough, okay? You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met. But this . . . these people erased Jenna Cameron’s memory, remember? They shot at her sister and Evans! What if . . . what if they . . .”

“They’re not gonna touch Alex,” Michael suddenly said. He was leaning against the doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, his arms crossed. He did not look happy to be out of bed. “Is that it? Because if it is –”

“Listen, jackass,” Forrest said dryly, “I get that you never liked me – God knows why since I made Alex happier than I’ve ever seen him with you –”

Michael tilted his head, a tick in his jaw. He warned, “Alex . . .”

“—But I gave Alex a legitimate warning against these people, and I don’t trust you to be unbiased.”

Michael looked even less happy. He straightened, smirking humorlessly. “You think I’d ignore a threat against Alex because of who it came from?”

“Guys –”

“I think,” Forrest argued, “that when Alex is at stake, you stop thinking about anything else. You have to be his hero, and I think that taking Deep Sky seriously means admitting that I was the one looking out for him this time, and you can’t handle that.”

“Forrest, just –”

“Careful, Long,” Michael said darkly. “I can still throw your ass out the window.”

“Stop it!” Alex snapped, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache already. Great. When he looked up, he saw both the men looked somehow simultaneously furious with each other and concerned for him.

“Forrest,” Alex tried, “I know what I’m doing, okay? You know me, I don’t jump into anything.”

“But Cap –”

“You know me.”

Forrest swallowed, considering, and nodded. Without another glance at Michael, he walked up to Alex and put a hand on his shoulder.

“And you know me,” he said. “So you know I’m not leaving this alone.”

Alex considered his words, and a smile tugged at his lips. He nodded. With a squeeze to his shoulder, Forrest left.

He closed the door behind him, and the silence echoed like a Notre Dame bell. Michael was staring at the hallway Forrest had gone through, his jaw clenched and his fists trembling at his sides.

Alex came up to him, and took his face in his hands. He kissed him softly, then again when it felt like Michael was struggling to open his mouth. Alex traced a hand along his jaw, felt it loosen, felt Michael’s lips part against his, his tongue angrily making its way into Alex’s mouth as his hands gripped Alex’s waist and held him tight against him.

Michael’s kisses were furious, demanding, rough, and it made Alex’s heart swoon all the same. He wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Michael pushed Alex against the wall and pressed against him, kissing him harder.

“I hate him,” Michael growled before he devoured Alex’s mouth again.

“No, you don’t,” Alex breathed, pulling him back in.

“Hold me tighter,” he demanded, and Alex did, all too happy to have him close. He barely felt Michael’s hands tug on the hem of his shirt before he was pulling it over his shoulders. Alex pulled away to breathe, but Michael only grabbed his face and kissed him harder.

“Stay close to me.”

Alex nodded and leaned his weight against Michael, letting his crutches fall away. Michael picked him up, keeping his grip firmly on Alex’s thighs, holding him steady. He carried him back into the bedroom and fell on top of him, kissing him hungrily.

“Don’t let go,” he breathed into Alex’s mouth.

“Never.”

Michael used his powers to rid Alex of his sweats and his own jeans. He ran a hand up Alex’s legs, his nails carving into his hips, his waist.

“He can’t have you,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Alex promised, his head falling back as Michael licked up the inside of his thigh.

“I know you,” he kissed the sensitive skin, “better than he does. Better than anyone.”

Alex could only nod, gasping shakily as Michael bit into the hairy skin between his hips. He gripped the sheets as Michael moved up his body, kissing wherever he could reach. When Michael was hovering above him, their bodies pressed together, Alex could see the concern behind Michael’s anger, the hurt in the beautiful eyes he loved so much.

“You love me.”

Alex touched his lips, his cheeks, his jaw. Michael leaned into his touch like he needed it to breathe, his eyes fluttering, and Alex whispered, “I only ever have.”

Michael’s eyes opened, the anger faded to something softer, something more afraid and hopeful. “Yeah?”

Alex bit his lower lip to hide his smile. “Don’t use that voice,” he warned, bringing his hands up Michael’s naked back and pulling him in until they were sharing the same breath. Michael’s pupils were blown wide, his mouth hanging open, eager to touch.

“You know what it does to me.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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pan-fangirl-345 · 4 years ago

Text

Together Sounds Pretty Good

Summary: Tooru's been acting weird, and you fear the worst, but everything changes when he takes up a mic after a winning game.

TW: mentioned abusive relationships, suspected cheating (there's no actual cheating, I hate that and don't write for it), doubts, fluff overload, marriage proposal (is that a warning?)

A/N: This has been in my drafts for nearly a month and I can't believe it's taken me this long to finish the damn thing. A few of the prompts on the prompt list I just posted were inspired by this, so good job brain! Anyway, I'll get back to requests after this one, I promise!

Tooru was acting weird.

You had noticed it for a while, but you weren't sure how to help.

So you went to the only other person who knew him better than you did: Iwaizumi.

"He's acting super weird," you said, lounging on the terrace of your apartment, knees pulled up to your chest in your chair, taking in the city lights. "He's disappearing for hours at a time when he would normally be resting at home, he comes home smelling like cheap perfume, I mean like, thirty dollars too cheap, and he does that thing with his face, that thing when he lies, the weird little eyebrow twitch lip lick thing."

"I know the thing (Y/F/N)," Iwaizumi said, and there was some shuffling in the background.

"Sorry, I know I called at a weird time, are you busy?" you asked, guilt flooding through your system.

"Nah, I'm just finishing up some paperwork," Iwaizumi said.

"Are you sure? 'Cause I can call you back later if-"

"(Y/F/N), just keep talking, it's fine," Iwaizumi told you.

"Like I was saying, he's acting weird! And I want to think the best of him, but . . . I'm worried. He's been distant lately, like when we were in high school and Meiko wanted him back. He has that look, you know? And he isn't talking to me anymore Hajime."

"(Y/F/N), I'm sure it's fine," Hajime replied. "You guys have been together for seven years, I doubt he's going to be all teen angst about breaking up with you."

"So you do think he's breaking up with me?" you asked, sounding slightly panicked.

"Fuck, wrong word choice," he muttered to himself. "That's not what I meant. I meant that he's acting like a teenager about to break up with his girlfriend, but you guys are practically married, he wouldn't be acting like that if he wanted to end things. And trust me, he doesn't want to end things with you."

"Are you sure? I mean, seven years is a long time to be with someone, isn't it? What if he's finally gotten bored with me? It's happened with people who have been together for seven times as long as we have, what's stopping him? And he has so many other options! Prettier, richer, and far less insecure. God, I really am pathetic aren't I?" you asked, tearing a hand through your hair.

"Have you been checking your social media comments again?" Iwaizumi asked.

"Is it that obvious?" you replied.

"(Y/F/N), Oikawa is never going to be able to look at anyone other than you, no matter what those posers say in your comments, alright? Trust me, I've had to listen to his pining for years, and he loves you more than anything else in the world, even the game."

"That's crazy," you told him. "And I wouldn't go that far-"

"I would. Believe me, that man would never think about even looking at another woman that way, let alone actually cheating on you. I'm sure that he's just having one of his mood swings."

"Thank you Hajime, I needed to hear that," you said.

"I know," he replied. "Look, trust me (Y/F/N), Tooru is not looking at anyone other than you, and he hasn't since our third year of high school."

"I know, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you with this," you muttered. "I'm acting like Meiko."

"Stop comparing yourself to her, she's psychotic," Hajime grumbled. "(Y/F/N), you are nothing like her. Why does she bother you so much?"

"I don't know, probably because she broke his heart in so many ways. Because she's prettier, richer, she's pretty much society's definition of perfect. Because he loved her, and because she was a lot of his firsts that I wasn't able to be. I guess that I just wonder sometimes, why he chose me when he could've had her."

"Like I said, she's psychotic," Iwaizumi said, "and Oikawa knows that, and he would have to be an idiot to give you up, which he won't."

"I know, I just needed to spill that to someone."

A jiggling of keys made you turn as Tooru stepped through the door of your apartment.

"He's back, I'll talk to you later Hajime, and thanks," you said, tossing your phone to the side. "Tooru!"

"Hey angel," he murmured, tossing his keys to the side, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"How was practice?"

"Long," he muttered, dropping his head to your shoulder.

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?" you asked softly.

You didn't want to bother him, and there was something in his posture that told you that you would if you pushed too hard.

"Can I just hold you?" he inquired.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck as he nuzzled into your neck, arms around your waist.

After a few minutes you said, "You know that you can talk to me, right? About anything?"

He nodded, barely moving.

He was dead on his feet, but you knew that he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Come on, let's get you into bed," you murmured, tugging him softly into your room. "I'll have dinner ready shortly, and you can eat whenever you wake up wanting it, okay?"

He nodded, shucking his t-shirt off, throwing it into the hamper.

Your talk with Iwaizumi had calmed some of you nerves, and in the end you knew that it was irrational to be thinking the way that you were, but you couldn't help it.

Tooru had never given you any signs that he was losing interest in you, that he was unhappy, but sometimes people only saw what they wanted to see.

You were running on mostly autopilot as you made dinner, it was something you had made a thousand times when Tooru was upset, because it reminded him of something happy, but you had never known what.

You knocked quietly on the bedroom door, sticking your head in slightly.

Tooru was already asleep, just like you thought he would be, and you stepped back into the kitchen, wrapping everything for later, putting it in the fridge.

Your scribbled a small note, sticking it to the top of the container, then writing another one that you stuck to the counter, shutting the fridge door quietly.

You sighed, grabbing your work computer and your paperwork, heading for the terrace again as the sun started to set.

You loved being able to work from home, you loved being there for Tooru when he needed you, but you sometimes wondered if it was always going to be like this.

You breathed in deeply, then set to work.

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

Tooru woke up to an empty bed, the sheets cold and clearly unused.

He frowned, glancing around the room.

Tooru glanced at the clock, frown deepening.

It was one in the morning, where the hell was she?

Tooru rubbed the sleep from his eyes, standing with a stretch.

"(Y/F/N)?" Tooru called, panic swelling in his chest when she wasn't in the living room, or the kitchen.

A small note told him that she had put dinner in the fridge and that she loved him.

After turning all the lights on in the apartment, Tooru heard shifting from the terrace.

The temperature dropped at night, but she knew that, so there she was, curled up on the lounge chair, covered with a blanket, a pillow behind her head.

"(Y/F/N), hey, come on angel," Tooru murmured, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Babe, you can't sleep out here."

She mumbled something, rolling away from him, taking the blanket with her.

"Hey, don't do that," he muttered, shaking her shoulder a little more forcefully.

"Wh- Tooru? Whatimezit?" she asked. "Did . . . did I fall asleep on the terrace?"

"Yeah, come on, come on inside angel," he said, giving her a small smile.

"It's fine," she mumbled, swatting away his hands. "I'm fine out here."

"Angel," he said, exasperated. "Come on, we both need the sleep. Come inside. Please?"

"Fine," she relented, stumbling to her feet.

She gathered up her work things, then deposited them at her desk.

She moved to sit down at her desk, but Tooru wrapped his arms around her waist, scooping her up in the process.

"Tooru!" she shrieked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I don't sleep well without you, remember?" he asked, kissing her cheek softly.

"You seemed okay earlier," she retorted.

"Notice it's one in the morning and I'm wide awake?" he teased.

"Tooru, I really should get back to work," she said, glancing around nervously.

"(Y/F/N), is everything okay?" he asked, setting them both down on the bed gently, laying in between her legs, laying his head on her stomach.

She threaded her fingers through his hair absentmindedly, practically making Tooru purr.

"I just miss you is all," she whispered, but Tooru knew it was more than that. "I feel like we haven't seen much of each other lately is all."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I promise that when the season is over we'll go somewhere."

Hopefully the ring he had been designing at the jewelry store would ensure that they go somewhere, he knew that she was starting to get suspicious about where he was going after practice every day.

"No, Tooru, that's not what I meant," she said quickly. "We really don't need to go on vacation or anything! I just mean that I feel like you're further and further away from me, you know?"

"Angel, I'm sorry, I never wanted to make you feel like that," he told her. "I've been busy."

"I know, and I would never try to take the game away from you," she said vehemently. "I won't be like her, but . . . if you ever feel like I'm too much, you can walk away."

"Baby, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I just mean that . . . I know a lot of the guys on your team don't date, for their various reasons, so I was just saying that if you ever felt like I don't understand then-"

"Stop that," Tooru demanded, pushing himself up. "Stop acting like you're a burden. Stop comparing yourself to Meiko."

"I'm sorry, I just . . . I can't help it."

"Darling, I love you, more than anything," Tooru declared. "I gave up on Meiko after we started dating. She was psychotic, and I don't understand how I didn't see it earlier, but you are nothing like her. Do you understand me? I want you. I want you with all your weird little things, like your routine to get into your jeans."

"It's really not that weird," she began but Tooru stepped in again.

"Baby, you are beautiful, and kind, and you always know when I need a hug, or a cute text of some stray cat or dog you see on the way the office. I love you, more than anything."

"Anything?"

"Hajime said that he thought you loved me more than the game," she said, and it was almost so quiet that Tooru didn't hear her. "I told him that it was crazy."

"Why were you talking to Iwa-chan?"

"I just wanted to check in with him, we haven't seen him in a while and I wanted to make sure that he was okay."

Tooru had long since accepted that you and Hajime were practically brother and sister, but in high school he had been so jealous that Hajime had seemed to make you more comfortable than him.

"Angel, if anything ever happened to you, I would drop the game in an instant," he said.

"Please don't," she begged. "I know how much the game means to you and-"

"And nothing," he told her, taking her hands in his. "(Y/F/N), I love the game, it's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, but in the end, you will always be more important, because you won't always be here, the game will. If you got hurt, I would be with you, every step of the way."

"Tooru, really, if I ever get hurt, please don't drop the game," she insisted. "I would feel really terrible if I knew that you were with me instead of playing."

"You're missing the point," Tooru said, chuckling. "Angel, I'm saying that the game isn't everything to me. I love you too."

"I know that," she replied. "And I don't forget," she added when he opened his mouth, "I just . . . sometimes, even after seven years, it's still kind of hard for me to believe."

"Guess I just have to stick around to remind you," Tooru said, kissing her forehead.

"Dork," she muttered, cheeks tinted pink.

"Your dork," he retorted.

"Go to sleep Tooru," she told him. "I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

Tooru wrapped his arms around her waist, tangled his legs with her, buried his face in her hair, and slept better than he had in weeks.

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

Tooru, after that night, was clingier than usual. When he got home every night he was stuck to your side, pressing kisses anywhere he could reach.

He had started leaving notes when he was home and you had to make a trip to the office.

He texted you constantly, and you were surprised that the coach didn't confiscate his phone.

Even as games started, the constant reassurance was continuous, and you were surprised by his determination to make sure that he didn't make you feel pushed away again.

You had contacted Hajime about it again, but he had done a good job at reassuring you that everything was fine.

You went to every one of Tooru's games, and had even given a few interviews, some with him and some without.

He tried to keep you out of the press as much as possible, but sometimes you had to feed the vultures a little bit to appease them for a while.

Today was a day when he had decided you were going to ride with him to the stadium to appease the vultures.

As always, the press was on him as soon as he stepped out of the car, but you were a nice addition for them.

Tooru kept a firm arm around your waist, leading you through the urchins with ease, kissing your forehead before he headed into the locker rooms.

You headed for the stands, waving at Tooru's teammates as you took your seat.

The game was long, and there were times where it had you on the edge of your seat, but Tooru's team won, and you were cheering yourself hoarse from your spot, smiling down at Tooru.

Suddenly his team manager brought a mic out, and Tooru tapped it a few times to make sure that it was working.

"(Y/F/N), where are you angel?" Tooru asked, eyes scanning the crowd for you.

"Tooru, what the hell are you doing?" you asked, leaning over the railing so he could hear you.

"Come on down here, I want to talk to you about something."

"You can't do that with me up here?" you asked.

"Just go along with me on this. Please?" he asked.

"I can't say no to that face," you told him, laughing. "Give me a minute."

You headed for the gym, walking over to him.

He wrapped and arm around you and kissed you softly, making people 'aww' from the stands.

He pulled away and you noticed that pictures were starting to play on one of the TV's that were replaying the game.

The were pictures of you and Tooru in high school, when your hair was longer and you had those awful bangs. There were pictures that you had taken on dates, pictures your friends and his had taken, silly photos that you guys had taken on a dare during a team get together.

They showed the progression of your relationship, and you recognized all of them.

"(Y/F/N), when I met you, I was crying my eyes out in the library after Meiko broke up with me. You barely knew me, which I still find appalling to this day, because how did you not know the name of the hot setter for your school's volleyball team? You barely knew me but you still sat next to me and asked me if I wanted to talk about it."

Everyone was paying attention now, and the media was capturing it all on camera.

"After that, you kept popping up everywhere. You were Kyouken's math tutor, and his reading buddy. You and Kunimi traded gossip whenever you had the opportunity, and you had helped Kindaichi get out of an awkward situation with some of the girls in his grade. Everyone seemed to have had some sort of contact with you before, and yet I had never seen you before that day."

"Come on Tooru, you were too busy with your fangirls, I was a face in the background, I can't fault you for that. I wasn't directly in your face ever five minutes," you teased.

You had no idea what he was doing. The reassurance you understood, but there was something about the way he was talking that made you pause and think. And then there was the intimacy of the pictures.

"Anyway," he said, making you laugh, "I started to notice you more and more after that, and then suddenly you were always around. You were dropping of notes for Kyoutani to use, books for him to read, you were reminding Hajime about tests and to take care of himself when he was too busy worry about the rest of us, or making sure that Kindaichi wasn't being a pushover."

"That kid was afraid of his own shadow!" you argued. "I couldn't leave him by himself."

"You were always checking in on me, and for once, there was a girl that wasn't interested in the fact that I was blatantly flirting with her."

"You were like that with every girl! How was I supposed to know that you were interested in me?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"When I asked you out, and you showed up in that cute dress with the polka dots and asked me if there was anything I needed while we were out, I knew right then that you were the only one I wanted. I remember that really dumb argument we had about whether you could come to my games. I was worried you wouldn't want to go, and you were worried that I didn't want you there."

"You kept telling me not to come! What was I supposed to think?"

"I know, and I remember when you showed up in my spare jersey because Mattsun and Makki decided they were tired of me complaining about it in the locker room."

You couldn't help but giggle at the memory.

"When we graduated, I remember how you thought that I was breaking up with you. I remember how I found you at your house sobbing because I was going to the same college as Meiko and you thought that meant that I was getting back together with her.

"I remember how you had tried to assure me that it was fine, that you were okay with it, that you had been expecting it, that you were fine. I remember realizing right then and there that I wanted to be with you for the rest of our lives."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what he was doing.

"Tooru, is this what I think it is?"

"I know that I've been acting really suspicious lately, and I know you thought that there was someone else, I talked with Hajime about what I should do. I don't blame you, I know that I was acting really sketchy, and I would've thought the same thing, but I promise, there's only you."

He sank down to one knee and there was a collective gasp as everyone realized what he was doing.

"(Y/N), I love you with everything that I am, and I know that we've taken every step that led up to this, and I know that you still have doubts because of all those posers on your social media who think that you're a bad person when I know that you are one of the kindest people I have ever met. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll let me.

"(Y/N), I've asked your father and gotten his permission, and I've gotten your mother's blessing. All of our friends are behind us on this, 100%. The only person I have left to ask is you. So, (Y/F/N), will you marry me?"

Tears streamed down your face as you nodded, hands over your mouth.

"Yes," you whispered, then said it louder, "yes!"

He stood up faster than you had ever seen him move, and he scooped you up as you hugged him.

He laughed, burying his face in your neck.

Tooru's team and the entirety of the stands erupted into cheers, and you couldn't keep the smile off you face.

"Is this why you were sneaking around?" you asked.

He nodded, pressing kisses all over your face.

"I was having the ring designed, and I was calling people."

"When did you talk to my parents about this?" you asked.

You couldn't believe it, all of this just so he could ask you to marry him. And there was always the possibility that you said no, and he had done it anyway.

"The last time we flew up to visit," he admitted.

"Tooru, that was seven months ago!" you cried, staring at him in shock.

"I told you, I've known for a long time that you were the only one I want."

"You're a dork," you murmured, kissing him softly.

He grinned, nipping your bottom lip playfully.

"You love me," he said.

"I am going to marry you," you pointed out, making him laugh.

"Come on, let's go home," he said. "We're going to be getting a lot of calls, this was a national broadcast."

"Agreed," you replied, smiling at him. "We also have to appease the vultures."

"I might have made a mistake making it this public," he muttered, glancing at the long line of press people vying for your attention.

"Ya think?" you giggled. "It's okay," you murmured as he slipped the ring on your finger. "We'll deal with it together."

"Together, huh?"

"Yeah, you and me, together," you told him, lacing your hands together as you made your way over to the press mob.

Together sounded pretty good.

#tooru oikawa x reader #toru oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #tooru x reader #toru x reader #haikyuu #marriage proposal #where do these things come from?#what was I thinking?

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sergeantsporks · 3 years ago

Text

Do You Want the Knife You Left in My Back, or Can I Keep It?

Rating: Teen and up, Gen

An injured Hunter wanders into Hexside. What was Luz supposed to do, just let him bleed out on the floor?

Ch 4/5: Rescue

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

Ao3

Hunter sat down with a whump at the base of a tree, huffing and shivering. He looked back at the owl house. Maybe he should have told the owl lady what had happened to her apprentice.

No. No, then she would just be angry at him, and would kick him out—or she’d trade him in a heartbeat to get Luz back. He had to get Luz back before Kikimora sent her demands to Eda instead.

Maybe they could have... worked to rescue her together? Maybe Eda wouldn’t have sold him out, maybe she would have helped.

Who was he kidding, who wouldn’t trade him in a heartbeat for Luz? On the one hand, cheerful, friendly human who could do magic! On the other hand, broken, powerless witch with an annoying voice.

Not that it mattered. Luz wouldn’t want him around after this—the best he could do was rescue her, and then hope he could make it back to the coven on his own, and pray that Belos would be angrier at Kikimora than him.

He could—he could do this.

Ugh.

Maybe.

Hunter leaned against the tree, trying to summon the willpower to get up and keep going. But it was quiet, and he was dizzy and cold, and his back was screaming at him to stop, and he just wanted to go back to sleep where it was warm. He twisted his arm around, gritting his teeth as his back protested, and felt under his shirt for the bandages, hissing when the touch made the pain in his back flare up.

His fingers came back red.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hunter was relatively certain that was very bad. His head thudded back into the tree.

Stupid.

What was he supposed to do?!

“Where is he?” Kikimora’s voice came through the trees, “I really thought that would work!”

Hunter froze. Don’t find me, don’t find me, don’t find me—

Her little footsteps pattered nearby—on the other side of the tree he was on. Hunter shifted slightly, and a branch from the tree pressed right between his shoulder blades, right in the wound. Hunter bit on his hand to keep from screaming as the world blacked out.

But when he woke up again, Kikimora was gone.

This was his chance.

Hunter used the tree to haul himself up, his world still spinning. He stumbled towards where Kikimora had come from to see Luz, still tied up. She gasped when she saw him.

“You came?! You really came?!”

“Yyyyyeah. Lemme just…” Relief conquered his adrenaline high, and he nearly blacked out again, but he managed to untie her. “Kay… I guess… run?”

Luz blinked at him. “You—you really came for her. You’d abandon your mission to help her? Betray the emperor?”

Hunter blinked back spots from his eyes, pressing his arms to his stomach. Wow—okay—this was—that adrenaline had really been—

“Uhhh—yeah—I’ll capture you later—‘s not a big—” he blinked again. “Did youuuuuu just refer… third person?”

She blinked again, but her eyelids blinked sideways instead of up and down.

Hunter managed to haul himself up again, the ground seeming to tilt and sway beneath him. “K—we gotta—we gotta go—”

Luz caught him as he fell, but then she wasn’t Luz anymore, she was some kind of snake creature. She snapped her fingers, and the ropes that had been tying her floated up yanked around him. Hunter arched his back, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood as they pressed against the stab wound. He flew backwards into a tree, and he could just see, through blurry vision, the snake creature slithering towards him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I really am—but this is the only way out for me.”

Xxx

Luz tore through the trees, her heart thudding in her chest. “Hunter!” she called, “Hunter, answer me if you can hear me! Are you okay?!”

She heard a weak cry for help, and raced towards it. “Hunter! Ohmygosh, you scared the living daylights… out… of… me…”

She skidded to a stop as she emerged in a small clearing. Kikimora was waiting, Hunter tied up in a limp, unconscious pile behind her. Next to Kikimora was… also Hunter. But as she watched, he shifted and changed.

A basilisk.

None of that explained why Kikimora had managed to get him out of the house—unless the basilisk had turned into Emperor Belos, she supposed.

“I told you I’d get him,” Kikimora purred.

Luz pulled out a set of glyphs. “Let him go. Now.”

Kikimora snapped her fingers, and Hunter floated up, her magic dumping him in an unceremonious heap on the floor. “Oh, no, human, I hold the cards now. You set down those glyphs, or… well, his death won’t be pleasant.”

Luz bit her lip, looking down at Hunter—if she could keep Kikimora from killing him just long enough for her friends to come back…

“Promise you won’t hurt him if I drop the glyphs?”

Kikimora pulled him up by the hair, pressing the claws of her other hand to his throat. “No, but I promise that I will hurt him if you don’t.”

Hunter was still limp in her grasp, and a wave of worry swept over Luz—he hadn’t reacted at all. “I want proof you haven’t killed him already.”

Kikimora shook him. “Wake up!”

His eyes opened just a crack, and then closed again. Kikimora tossed him back to the ground, putting one foot right over where his stab wound was. “There. He’s still alive. Now. Put the glyphs down before. I. Change. That.” She ground her foot down with each word, and Luz dropped the glyphs as Hunter howled in pain, breaking off into a heartbreaking whimper.

“Okay, okay, just… leave him alone! Please!”

Kikimora removed her foot. “Let’s see… I will take you to Belos. Alive. And you will agree that you were the one to hurt him—this worked out better than I could have hoped. I never thought you’d actually take the brat in! Yes, you will tell the emperor that you attacked him. And if you ever recant your story—well, Hunter has to sleep sometime. He has to eat. There are a thousand ways that someone—perhaps one of your friends—could assassinate him.”

There was a rustle in the trees behind Kikimora, and a feather floated down. Right. Showtime.

Luz glared at Kikimora. “This won’t work. Hunter will just tell everyone what happened, and your lie will fall flat.”

A satisfied little smile played across Kikimora’s lips. “Oh, I don’t think so. All I have to do is threaten the reverse—he agrees with me or you meet an unfortunate end.”

Luz snorted. “That’ll never work—he wouldn’t do that for me.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Luz shrugged. “Eh. I can think of another reason it won’t work.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Luz grinned. “You won’t even make it back to the keep.”

Eda leapt from the trees with an unholy shriek, tackling Kikimora. The little demon drew a magic circle, but Eda kicked her away before she could finish it.

“Don’t. Threaten. My. Kid.” Eda growled, snatching Kikimora in her talons. “Let’s go for a little flight, shall we?”

Luz ducked past the fighting pair, kneeling next to Hunter. Blood was soaking through his shirt, and her hands fluttered around the wound uselessly. “Okay, okay, okay, this is fine.” She pulled up the shirt and undid the bandages. The stitches had ripped out, and the wound was angry, swollen, red.

And bleeding a lot.

“Hunter why?!” she demanded frantically, wadding up her cloak and pressing it to the wound, “Why would you run off?!”

His eyes opened just a crack, glazed over from pain and fever. “… you’re not a snake,” he murmured, then yelped as she pressed harder on the wound

“Oh, thank you, very helpful, that certainly explains everything.”

He whimpered, giving her big, hurt eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you bleed out! Wait, why am I apologizing for that? Okay, okay—what did the healing professor say, what… Okay, let’s see, take the swelling down—”

Luz slapped an ice glyph on the ground, trying to make an ice block.

The magic didn’t come, and Luz felt her limbs grow weak. She whirled around to see the basilisk, staring at her with wide eyes. “I can’t let you go.”

Luz held her hands up. “I know what you’ve been through,” she said quietly, “I know Emperor Belos has hurt you. Has hurt your kin. Hunted you down. But you don’t have to do this. If you make Hunter go back, if you take me back, we are both dead. Is that really something you want?”

“You have no idea what I went through!” they scream-hissed.

“I do—I really do. I met one of your own, number five. She got away, she’s living away, she’s okay. She’s making her own choices, her own life. You can do the same. Please—please, let me take care of him. Don’t let Belos and Kikimora hurt someone else.”

The basilisk stared at her for a long minute.

Then they turned and slithered away.

Luz breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to Hunter. “Okay, okay, okay, we need to get you somewhere safe.”

She tried to haul him up, but he went completely deadweight on her with a whimper. “Oh—Hey! I know it hurts, but you gotta stick with me, okay, you gotta hold on.”

He shook his head with a whine, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hunter, please! Work with me, I can’t carry you!”

“Need a lift?”

Puddles touched down next to her, Viney, Gus, and Willow waving from the top. Puddles squawked and nuzzled Hunter. “I can’t get him up,” Luz called, “He’s in really bad shape, Viney!”

Viney slid off of her griffin, opening a pouch strapped to Puddle’s side. She tossed a mini stretcher to the ground, and it grew to full size, with ropes on the ends. “I’ve got you covered.”

Luz laid Hunter down on the stretcher, sitting down next to him. “I am the worst caretaker ever,” she groaned.

“No, he’s just the worst patient!” Gus called down as Puddles grabbed the ends of the ropes and lifted off. They soared over the trees, back towards the owl house. Eda banked up next to them.

“Miss stab-happy is re-thinking her life at the top of a very tall tree. How are we looking?”

Luz squeezed Hunter’s hand. “Not great,” she said softly, “Eda, what if—”

“Luz. He’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Luz took a deep breath. “Okay.” She shook her head at Hunter. “What did she say to you to get you to come out of the house?”

He didn’t respond, and they touched down at the door. Hooty snaked around Puddles. “WHOA! That was WEIRD!”

“Good to have you back, Hooty,” Eda said tiredly, touching down, “Now give us space.” She carried Hunter inside, laying him out on the floor. “Alright, healing girl. Do your thing.”

Viney pulled out the knife that Kikimora had used to stab Hunter. “Okay, I’ve been taking a better look at this thing, asking my teachers questions about it, and I think I can put a better fix on this. Heal most of the internal damage—”

“I thought you already did that!”

“No, I put a patch on them—I stopped the problem from getting worse, sort of froze its ability to tear any further, re-routed any essential functions to undamaged parts of the body so that he could heal. But I think now—I can finish off the healing, find a workaround to the curse on the knife. It’ll fix the nerve pathways, anyway, and seal up some of the holes further in.” She gestured to the bloody mess that was his back. “There’s a tradeoff, though—I’m going to have to shift nerves and cells from another part of his back to fix the damage. Basically, I’m going to shift the damage from his internal organs and spinal cord to his outer muscles and skin, and there I can easily use stitches to fix the tear damage so that he can heal naturally. The wounds won’t be life-threatening anymore. If I can spread the damage far enough, it’ll just be a matter of stitching the initial cut, and the rest will be like naturally torn muscles.”

“Huh?”

“He’ll be really sore and have a nasty cut on his back,” Viney simplified, “But I mean really sore, Luz, like, he won’t be able to move at all for several days.”

“Oh, good,” Eda commented, “maybe that way he won’t run away.”

“I’ve got it,” Luz promised, “I’ll help him with everything he needs. Promise.”

“You’ll need to make sure the cut stays clean, or it’ll get infected. I’ll leave disinfectant behind. Be careful, it stings. As for the fever… well, once I shift the damage, it won’t be fun, but it won’t kill him either.”

“Okay. Okay, do it.

Viney took in a deep breath. “Okay, there goes nothing!” she drew a circle over Hunter’s back, and the stab wound shimmered and glowed. Pulsing, glowing golden lines spread out, and the wound slowly started to heal, at least not deep anymore. Viney grinned. “Yessssss! Alright, Luz, Gus, Willow, scram, you don’t want to watch the stitches.”

Luz let out a shaky breath as Eda steered her towards the kitchen. “We almost lost him,” she said quietly.

“Almost,” Eda emphasized, “But we didn’t. And that’s what matters.” She sighed. “Look. If you… need any help. If you need a break from him, or you’re just too tired to take care of him. I… can step in.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah. Really. I have to admit, he’s starting to grow on me.”

“He was unconscious all day, Eda.”

“Exactly.”

Ch 5

#toh #the owl house #toh hunter #luz noceda #edalyn the owl lady #toh viney #toh fanfiction #my writing

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wandsandwheezes · 4 years ago

Text

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH5

one // two // three // four

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, cheating, mentions of the war, desc. of torture, pain, drinking, aftercare.

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // flashbacks in italics - Hopefully this chapter gives an insight into why George is so protective over his girl, but also why Y/N is the way she is around him.

There were two times you'd reserved yourself the ability to let loose and have a break, The first was after a big Game, where being absolutely hungover wasn't a problem the next day, or after a big product launch. Fred and George were two men who liked to party hard. Fred loved getting smashed among friends, participating in drinking games and nearly causing a full on riot - a drink to get drunk kind of man. George on the other hand, took a lot to get drunk, he would be waved most of the night and then sober by the time he was home, The one thing however about your boyfriend was that he got handsy and possessive, something that drove you absolutely crazy for him.

You'd been clubbing in muggle London with George multiple times, using the night as a distraction from the wizarding word, taking a cab home to either his place or yours - more often than not passing out cuddling each other in impossible positions. It was the best rest George got, he was always confused when he woke up to the sunrise or birds chirping, finding relief in him sleeping through the night.

George's poor sleeping habits were there before the war, however the looming death and the horrible events he suffered seemed to replay in his mind whenever he neared a state of rest.

The blast in front of him was unlike anything George had seen before with his own two eyes. Through the rubble and dust he saw you hunched over on the ground, coughing up the debris from your lungs. He was silently thanking whatever god that was out there, if there even was one, that he was here in this moment. He knelt down next to you, hand rubbing circles on your back soothingly.

“Baby, it’s ok, I’m here.” When you heard his voice you flung yourself into his arms, not caring about the state of your lungs as you held him. He was safe.

“Let’s get you to the great hall, you can’t be running around out here like this.” You shook your head, cupping his cheeks with your hands and pressing a firm kiss to his lips, like it could be the last time you’d ever kiss him. You both ignored the metallic taste of blood and dust coating one another as you committed this moment to memory, If people caught you here, in each other’s arms, why would It matter? Secrecy was the last thought on your mind as you pressed your forehead against his.

“I need to fight, we need to fight, George.” You were standing up, still holding onto him, you were vulnerable like this, you kissed him once more, he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “Forever, I promise.” you smiled, pulling him in for another hug. “I love you.” he squeezed you tighter as a response. Before you knew it you were bending down to collect your fallen wand, running off in opposite directions.

You were being backed into a corner, slowly but surely. You’d resolved that this was the end. You weren’t sure who you were fighting until they were too close for comfort. Maria Bishop. When her hand touched your arm you were whisked away to another location. Once there you were violently shoved to your knees, winded still by the apparition.

“I always valued the Y/L/N family, you know,” She started, wand pointed at your head, Maria was known by others as ‘The Bishop’ you assumed because she was one of the Dark Lord’s prominent agents, finding and killing muggle-borns and blood-traitors alike, much like the bishop in chess eliminates their enemy.

“Such a shame you’re not like your mother and father, you would have made a beautiful pureblood wife.” she was laughing as she squatted down in front of you.

“Where Is Harry Potter?” she asked bitterly. Every inch of your skin was shaking with fear, you had no information, but it’s not like that mattered. “I- I don’t know, none of us have seen him in months.”

She didn’t like that, you didn’t even have time to think or apologise before you heard the word ‘crucio’ fall from her lips with ease.

The excruciating pain ran through your body, you fell to the ground, writhing as a blood-curdling scream was ripped through your vocal chords. You couldn’t do anything but scream over and over, it felt like your skin was being torn from its muscle and like scraping across all of your bones. She kept demanding, over and over for you to give her information but there was nothing to let out. You couldn’t even picture what Harry looked like, the only thing that ran through your mind was relentless agony.

You knew you wanted this to be over the minute it started, the pain crept up from your toes to your hips, over your chest and arms until finally it was at your throat. You felt like you were choking, you wanted all of the air to escape your lungs in the hope that the pain would end, but it never did. With every scream she laughed at you, watching as you writhed in pain like it was a comedy, she tried to overpower your shrieks with laughter.

You suddenly felt all weight lift off of you as the curse faded. Every limb was weak, time was no longer a concept to you, it felt like a lifetime of agony only repressed by a moment of solace, your hand was on your wand and before you could think, you were raising it and muttering the incantation of what you knew you shouldn’t. Her eyes widened, a flash of blinding green light filling her eyes, accompanied by a rushing sound, as if an invisible something was whipping through the air - within an instant she rolled over onto her back, unmistakably dead. The Bishop was down.

By 11:30 you were already half gone, If anyone asked, you were most definitely sober, but if the way you were swaying as you stood or your slightly misplaced steps weren’t telling enough, your tipsy giggles sure were. You’d been drinking down gigglewater like there was no tomorrow, making sure that you were well and truly off your face drunk. It felt like most, If not all of Diagon alleys’ daytime bustle had moved into the underground club below Olivanders. The walls were a dark, dusky brown, a perfect backdrop for the flashing lights and strobes. Music was pumping through your veins with every step as you pushed through the sea of people with a drink in hand, you found the corridor, taking a moment to breathe as you sipped on the bitter liquid.

Moments later you found yourself trapped between a pair of strong arms and the thick cushioned wall, you hadn’t even second guessed the man whose lips were on yours. Your hands were in his hair, pulling him in for a desperate, needy kiss. He was humming against you as his thigh found its way between your legs, letting you grind down against it. The man’s tongue was grazing against your lip, begging for entry - you didn’t even think of rejecting it because the touch felt so familiar. For four, maybe five minutes you were standing making out. You had to admit it felt good, of course it felt good, it was George. You pulled away, gasping for air but also getting a minute to look into his eyes, almost immediately you feel a loss of contact, as the body pressed against yours was stripped from by your side, causing a gentle whine to fall from your lips.

It was only when you blinked a few times that the fogginess of your vision truly got to you as you thought you were seeing double. You continued blinking, hoping the two would form to one, but instead you had stumbled backwards, now leaning on the wall for support.

George had Fred by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from you, his eyes like daggers as he scowled at his brother. “You can’t use her like that when she’s drunk.” Fred scoffs, the back of his hand coming up to wipe away the saliva that coated his lips, the smirk however was undeterred by the action. “You better wipe that fucking smirk off your face, Fred.”

The older twin was rolling his eyes, attempting to push past George to finish what he started, however, George’s hand pushed against his brother’s chest pinning him to the wall. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed, shoving George away from him by both shoulders, “Fred, take one look at her, and tell me you're comfortable doing that to her… Merlin, she can hardly stand, don’t be that guy.”

George was pleading his brother at this point, Fred sighed as he eyed you, taking in every characteristic of your demeanour - you were half asleep, leaning against the wall. He watched you try to wake yourself up and push your body away from the wall only to come crashing right back against it.

“I don’t know why you’re acting so protective all of a sudden… I’ll take her home.” Fred sighed, his hands rubbing over his face in an attempt to sober himself up.

“Fred, wait- I’ll do it.” his twin cocked an eyebrow at him, “I’m sober, it’s fine, you can’t apperate her she’ll be throwing up everywhere.” Fred nodded, giving George a pat on the shoulder as he walked away, “Thanks, Georgie.”

Your boyfriend's once angry eyes were softening as he looked at you, full of sadness as he watched you struggle. All he wanted to do was wrap you in his arms, and protect you, muttering under his breath, as he walked over to you, ‘let’s get you home then, angel.’

“Y/N, my love, it’s George, I’m gonna take you home, alright?” George was speaking so softly that you immediately felt at home. You nodded quickly, falling into the familiar pair of arms that were now holding you, giving you the anchor to finally walk again.

George led you out of the club and walked slowly with you as you stumbled step by step all the way down the quiet diagon alley. He got you into a cab as you both stumbled out of the leaky cauldron, the horns and chatter of London beaming around, it truly was a city that never slept. He had his arm wrapped around you protectively as you cuddled into his side, the sound of his beating heart slowly brought your racing thoughts down to earth. The way you were curled up against him reminded him of a moment from the war he’d never forget.

Your fingers trembled and shook so much that you could no longer control the grip of your wand. It truly sunk in that what you had done was unforgivable. You’d taken someone’s life. You rationalised with yourself that you had done it for your own good, to protect others, the ones you loved and cared for, but more importantly to protect yourself. You quickly pushed away from the body, crawling backwards until your back hit the wall, it had finally sunk in exactly what you'd done and you couldn't even bear to be with yourself as you buried your head between your knees, as silent sobs choked from your lips.

George found you like this, he had been searching worriedly for hours. It was pure vulnerability, he saw the body of the Bishop lying on her back, your wand discarded and you huddled into a ball. He didn’t know what to do or how to protect you, he reached out to touch your arm but you recoiled at his touch, pulling your knees tighter to your chest.

“Baby, It’s me.” he murmured softly, his voice cracking as he pushed out a whisper, outstretching his hand for you to take when you were ready. “We need to move you, It’s not safe here.” You took his hand, letting him whisk you away to a safer place, but you knew in your heart there was nowhere safer but his arms.

George carried you up the stairs to the bedroom, sitting you down on the bed, kneeling on the floor as he unlaced your boots, pulling each one off gently as his hand massaged your foot. When he looked up at you, you were no longer sat upright, instead having fallen back against the sheets as you began to try and remove your own clothes, doing so in a piss poor way.

He shook his head, smiling to himself as you grumbled at your own misfortune, his hands gripped your arms, pulling your wrists to his lips, pressing a gentle and loving kiss to the inside of each one. He slowly and cautiously helped you in removing your clothing, making sure to grab an old tee of his to cover you with when you sat naked on his bed.

He left to go and grab you a glass of water, as well as some painkillers for the morning. Finding you curled up on top of the sheets while shivering from the cold chill of the room. He chuckled once again, popping the items on the bedside table so that he could sit you up.

"Can we drink some water please, Princess?" you furrowed your brows, looking up at him as he stood in front of you. His large, warm hand was cupping your cheek softly, as he used his other to retrieve the glass of water, "I'll help you, now open up for me, that's a good girl."

His thumb coaxed your lips open, pressing the cold glass against your bottom lip as he gently fed you the clear liquid, you were gulping it down like you were wholeheartedly parched, he smiled at you when you'd finished, placing the glass on the bedside table again.

"Well done, beautiful, now let's get you under these covers, that ought to stop those shivers, hm?" Your hands wrapped around his neck as he lifted you up off of the bed, you stood, holding onto him as he flipped the duvet corners open, lifting you up so he could lay you down against the mattress.

He tried to pull your arms from his neck, but you only held on tighter, keeping him pulled close to you as a pout hung on your lips, whining as he tried to pull away from you. "Cuddle me."

He leaned down pressing a kiss to your forehead, he tucked you in gently, the covers wrapping you up nice and warm. "I'll be joining you soon darling but I can't cuddle you like this, I'll crush you if i lay on top of you now," he laughed, the low hum reverberating in your chest as you smiled at him with a doe eyed expression plastered to your face.

He stripped his jacked off, changing into some more comfortable clothing so that he could join you in bed. As soon as he sat on the mattress, your head was in his lap, he smiled at the sight, his heart warming as your arms wrapped around his thigh, cuddling into him.

He felt your shoulders begin to shake, looking down at you he saw the salty tears running down your cheeks as you tried to hold back your sobs. The reality of what happened in the hall of the club was hitting you, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach at the prospect that you had been making out with his twin, all the while believing it was George. "I'm so sorry, Georgie, I don't deserve you, I fucked up and I'm sorry, I just- I thought he was you and I was kissing him back and-"

George had cut you off by pressing a finger to your lips with a gentle shushing sound, his fingertips massaging your scalp as he played with your hair ."You don't need to apologise for a thing, Princess."

The feeling of his hand as he gently dragged his fingers through your hair was lulling you to sleep, you sighed contently, your heart beating faster as you began to hear the gentle soothing sounds of his humming, a sweet and soothing melody that made you feel like you were in heaven.

To him you looked like an angel when you slept, his heart resting easy at the sight of you painless, careless and content in the arms and presence of the man she loved so dear. She was like his own little slice of heaven, for him to enjoy on earth, always feeling like the damned luckiest man in the world to wake up to the sight of you.

You awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs hitting your senses, groaning you reached over and took the two pain relief, washing it down with some water from the night before. You were dragging your feet along the floor as you sought the arms of your boyfriend, you found him in the kitchen plating up some food. You immediately fell to his side, arms wrapping around him as you groaned, the power of your headache hitting you.

"Eat up, my Love, You'll feel so much better after." George had prepared you a delicious greasy fry up, knowing it was one of your favourite things to wake up to, he pressed a kiss to your cheek as his hand found the small of your back, "Thank you George, smells amazing as always."

He smiled, taking the two plates to the dining table, where cutlery and orange juice already lay. You felt spoilt by the man you loved as you wolfed down the food. George made the best breakfasts around, aside from Molly, of course, each component cooked with the special ingredient of never-ending love, making it that much more tasty.

You were the luckiest girl alive, looking into his eyes, he smiled at you, making you melt, even after all these years. George was everything you needed and more, you were sick of hiding him and he was just as sick of hiding you. Your Protector, Your Lover, His angel.

>>>>> Chapter Six

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lokilickedme · 3 years ago

Text

The Way

I’m writing horror again. I guess it’s that time, you know, that time that has nothing to do with Halloween or the seasons or whatever, that time when it just hits me for some reason. And just like I always do, I’ll say I don’t know why.

Even though I know why, and you know I know why.

Because the truth is always so much weirder and worse and more disquieting than any excuse I could make up for it, and sometimes I just feel the need.

Today I felt the need, and I couldn’t make it go away.

And so I sat down, and words I didn’t want to write were written.

8592 words I would rate this Mature 18+ if it was a fic, strictly because of the subject matter.

Warnings: Death, mostly. Religious trauma, brief descriptions of abuse, mentions of mental illness, domestic violence, grief, familial dysfunction, religious abuse, emotional abuse, medical conditions, brief mentions of drug use/abuse, mild gore in reference to corpse decomposition, psychological unease and mild terror, child abuse (mental/emotional/psychological), brief allusion to physical child abuse, cult references, loss of faith, attempted murder, possible actual murder.

A Note: I love you guys, you’re always so quick and willing to be helpful and offer advice and suggestions and such, and I adore that about you. But on this piece of work I ask that nobody offer any theories about what happened to my brother - medical, criminal, or otherwise - and please no suggestions on things we could do to pursue investigation, that ship has long sailed. It’s been 23 years and he’s a cold case. We spent years trying to sort it out but in the end it’s just something that happened, and we moved on because we had to. There are a lot of open ends, a lot of question marks, a lot of suspicious details that never connected to anything - and we tried, we truly did. If anyone out there knows the truth, they’ve never shown themselves to us. We do have our theories, but my brother was a secretive person living a life none of us knew about, and the people he knew weren’t people we knew. Everyone involved is either dead or moved on or got away with whatever it was they did, and there are only three of us who still care. It’s over.

Until today, I’ve never put these events into words.

It was something I needed to do, finally.

This is PART ONE. There may not be a part two, unless doing this ends up making me feel better.

Please feel free to comment if you wish. As you can see, pretty much nothing triggers me. I just ask that you please refrain from the type of comments noted above.

And thank you.

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This is, regrettably, a true story. Nothing has been changed but the names, because the dead don’t like being talked about, and James was just enough of a shit to haunt me for it.

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They made up their minds And they started packing They left before the sun came up that day An exit to eternal summer slacking But where were they going without ever knowing the way

They drank up the wine And they got to talking They now had more important things to say And when the car broke down They started walking Where were they going without ever knowing the way

Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold And it's always summer They'll never get cold They'll never get hungry They'll never get old and gray You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

Their children woke up And they couldn't find them They left before the sun came up that day They just drove off and left it all behind them But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere They won't make it home But they really don't care They wanted the highway They're happier there today, today

- The Way, Fastball, 1998

That was the year James died in his sleep.

Or that’s what they say, anyway. Asthma, the likely cause based on his medical history, our first and least disturbing assumption. Undetermined, the official determination based on the hastily scraped-together autopsy, the best that could be done under the circumstances. We tell people he had breathing problems, and they nod their heads and agree because they knew he did, and now he’s been gone so long that nobody asks. Most of the people who ever met him have long moved on or disappeared or died themselves, or just remember him as the enigmatic middle son from the Keithley family that nobody really knew very well. You know, the odd one, the one that showed up at meetings maybe once a year and smiled nervously but didn’t really talk to anyone and always seemed anxious to leave? The one who died under mysterious circumstances? That one.

He left the way he always came in. Quietly, unexpected, without anyone being aware of either his entrance or his exit.

But me and mom know some things, and she’s not talking. She probably never will.

So maybe it’s time I did.

December 1998. I’d gotten married two years previous and moved back to the family land with my new husband. He hated it there, but we had an affordable place to live. It wasn’t bad. He’d tell you otherwise. The land never sat right with him, but I’d lived there too many years to see it. I’d been fifteen when my father uprooted his large family from the city and hauled us out to the great back door to nowhere, and even though I’d left several times to wander elsewhere, I always came back.

I didn’t realize why at the time, at any of the multiple times. But now I know. That place gets you, and it holds you, and unless you’re goddamned devoted to staying gone you will always be pulled back. It took me till I was 49 to funnel the necessary amount of devotion away from the religious dedication I’d had jackbooted into me and turn it toward getting out, but against a great number of overwhelming odds I finally did it.

But this isn’t about that, not yet anyway. This is about my brother James, and how he went to sleep one night and found his own way out.

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It was snowing, had been for days, a bit unusual but not unheard of. The part of the state we lived in was notorious for extended ice storms and we knew a bad one was coming, but until it hit we played in the snow like it was a gift and we were deprived children who knew it was all going to be taken away soon. My brothers and I were adults but you wouldn’t know it, watching us sneak around in the woods staging elaborate commando attacks on each other. James was the best of us, a stealth king who could stand in the middle of a room for an hour without a single soul seeing him. Perception bias, he said. Your brain ignores me because I obviously don’t belong, like those puzzles where you circle what’s wrong but it takes you forever to find them.

He crept around in the forest scaring the shit out of people, dropping his long tall self out of trees, appearing from nowhere to administer a well aimed snowball to the face of whoever happened to cross his path and then disappearing just as quickly. We called him a wraith and it wasn’t a good natured jibe. We meant it. He made people nervous. He was the stealthy kind of quiet you associate with danger, and he knew how to do things an average person doesn’t ever have any need to know. It was a quiet cool that we admired him for, because none of the rest of us had it.

The religion we were raised in kept a tight lid on us, but me and James, we never really let it get into our bones. We were the smart ones, in retrospect. I went through the motions by force of habit and a sense of self preservation, doing what was expected and demanded of me, following the rules and making myself a perfect example of a young member of the church so I wouldn’t bring shame on the congregation and my family. But mostly the congregation. It was always more important than anything else. And I had behaving down to an art form, but mostly when people were looking. Usually also when they weren’t.

But sometimes, not quite.

And then I prayed for forgiveness about it later because God was supposed to forgive you if you asked him to, right? The tenet of willful sin being unforgivable never took root with me even though that was what the church conditioned into us through fear and constant repetition. They said it from the stage two nights a week and again on Sunday to hammer it home. Two nights a week and again on Sunday my head silently disagreed. God’s not like that. And then I did the praying for forgiveness thing even though I knew I was right, because I was disagreeing with the church, and the church was God’s channel here on Earth, wasn’t it? I committed a mortal sin at least three times a week on that subject alone, and though the dread of divine punishment was hardwired into me, I never could reconcile the concept of a loving and forgiving God destroying me simply for knowing better.

I’m not sure the comprehension of an overwatching deity ever actually established itself in James’ brain. A moral code, yes. But isn’t that what God is, really? Maybe he understood more about God and forgiveness than the rest of us. But he was considered an unapproved fringe member of the church because he couldn’t suffer people and noise and being looked at and he refused to preach, and he was soft-shunned as a result. Because if you weren’t all in to the point of being willing to die at any moment for your faith, you were as good as faithless.

And faithless meant condemned. And the congregation couldn’t be bothered with condemned people, regardless of their reasons for not having both feet in the water. The first and only option on their list was to put the person out and let them find their own way back once they realized they had nobody left in the world who cared about them.

James escaped that somehow. He was supposed to be shunned whole scale, but he wasn’t trying to convince anyone to leave the faith and he presented no threat to anyone’s strength of belief, and so far as anyone knew he’d committed no grave sins other than disinterest. So the rule that dictated we cast him out was bent enough to allow him to remain living on the family land, though at one point during a fit of overzealous righteousness my mother had tried to have a family meeting to vote on whether or not we were going to let him stay. I refused to vote and when I walked out of the house the meeting fell apart.

I’ve never forgiven her for that. Her son’s life being put to a vote with her presiding over the proceedings, vengeful and unfeeling and devoid of compassion on behalf of God himself. It takes my breath away, the anger, still to this day. The only thing I ever truly learned from my mother about parenting was a long and intensely detailed list of what not to do to my own children, and I suppose I should be grateful for that. It’s a bitter thank-you to have to give, but it’s something.

We knew James as much as he would allow us to, and not an inch further. Which meant the extent of our knowledge of him pretty much stretched to include the singular fact that he was different. What that meant, I still don’t really know - but it was there from the day he was born, that slight off-ness, the oddly off center calibration that you can’t really see so much as sense in a person. I know now he was likely on the autism spectrum and he walked through life seeing and reacting to everything differently than most of us, but that wasn’t a thing back then. You were just weird, or you weren’t. And I’m not convinced that was a bad thing for him, strictly speaking. But in the confines of our religion and our family’s devout and sometimes violent dedication to it, it took its toll almost daily.

He stood out, and he was very much a person who didn’t want to. He wanted to fade into the background, to not be seen, to not be known. And our religion didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, because we were commanded to be bold bearers of The Word Of God, and no exceptions were made.

None.

I’m going to stop calling it a religion now. I beg your indulgence as I shift to calling it what it is, because calling it a religion is an insult to actual religions that don’t destroy peoples’ lives with callous indifference and murderous glee.

We were raised in a doomsday death cult. There’s no other name that fits.

And we were trapped in it and its ugly cycle of neverending mental and emotional manipulation and abuse until we were adults, and some of us are still bound to it. My oldest brother worked his way up to the upper levels of oversight in the local congregation and was solidly entrenched in it until his death, which is a story for later. My youngest brother, the last remaining living blood sibling I have, is still deeply in it to this day and will likely never leave it.

I took the hard way out, three years ago, by walking away.

James, though. He took the easy way. He simply closed his eyes, and he was free.

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December 22, 1998. Three days before Christmas, though that meant nothing to us. The cult told us Christmas was a filthy demonic pagan ritual that was condemned by God, so to us the season was just a nice chilly time of year with lots of time off from work. We’d had an unusual amount of snow, the most we’d had in years. The roads were impassable and everyone was home except my husband, who worked close enough that his boss at the glass shop came and picked him up that morning with chains on his tires. Lots of windshields had shattered from the sudden violent cold that had struck the previous night and Scott had the only glass shop for sixty miles.

I think it must have been around noon, and likely my mother had sent my dad up the hill to see if James wanted to come down for the lunch she was making. He and his wife had split up against the strict rules of the church after a few years of suffering through an ill advised marriage, an important detail to this story that will come into the tale later, and he was alone up there at the top of the hill a lot. Sometimes he forgot to eat, or he got so busy that he just didn’t bother, so our mother always made something for him because even though he was in his 20′s he was still a kid who needed looking after and her zealous fervor against him had died down with time. I think he let her believe he was helpless because it worked in his favor and there was always lunch waiting for him in her kitchen as a result.

He was different, he wasn’t dumb.

We all lived on the hill back then with the exception of our youngest brother. He’d moved to the city with his new wife not long prior. The locals jokingly called the place a commune, and I guess they weren’t completely wrong. Thirty-eight acres of wooded land far beyond the city limits that we’d painstakingly spent years carving a livable space into, with five houses, all built from the ground up and inhabited by an extended family of well known culties from a well known cult. It’s almost comical, looking back on it, knowing now how they kept an eye on us for years to make sure we weren’t doing anything weird up there.

They should have run us off with pitchforks and burning stakes at the very beginning.

Things might have ended differently for us if they had.

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My grandparents lived at one end of the property, an old couple as simple and solid as salted soup, devoutly religious and devoted to the cult and very much cut from the can survive anything and probably will cloth like so many old country folks of their generation. They were waiting out the end of days up there in their little wooden house, expecting the final hour of this old system to come long before their own demise. I liked my grandmother, she had a sweet smile and fell asleep every time granddad started talking about the Bible and she paid me five dollars every Wednesday to drive her into town to get groceries, and years later, when she was dying, she told me she’d had a dream where she met my unborn son. I was four months pregnant and didn’t know yet that I was having a boy. She died before he was born, but to this day, fifteen years later, he tells me he’s sure he met her, he just can’t remember when.

I was scared of my grandfather. Not terrified, but there was nothing grandfatherly to him and I always suspected he never actually liked kids much. He’d once told us a story about the great Fort Worth flood that wiped out most of the city when my mom was a baby, and how he had told my grandmother to let go of my 2-year-old mother while he was struggling to get them across a rushing flooded creek in water up to their shoulders. My grandmother couldn’t swim. We could make another Ruthie, he said. But I couldn’t get another ‘Nita.

He said it proudly, like he was to be admired for his choice. I was young when he told that story, but it settled into me that this was evil.

Even when he was old as dirt and dying of a brain tumor in hospice care, he made me uneasy. I was never close to him. But for some reason, in his final days, he forgot who everyone was except me. I had been living in another state for years and he hadn’t seen me since before the tumor started taking his life. But when I walked into the room he turned his head and looked at me, and he mouthed my name.

He couldn’t speak. I don’t know what he was trying to say, struggling with words that nobody could hear. And I felt bad. I didn’t want to be the last person he recognized. My cousins adored him and had spent the last few years constantly at his side, and they were angry, maybe justifiably, that I was the one he reached for.

I didn’t want that at all.

I don’t believe he was a bad man, but he never spoke of anything except the cult’s interpretation of the Bible, and it was as tiresome as it was terrifying. Granddads are supposed to be fun. Ours quoted doctrine at us in a deep loud commanding voice that you couldn’t interrupt and you couldn’t tune out, and once he got going you had to just settle in and wait for him to run out of zealous steam. And then he would suddenly stop and command grandmother to turn on a John Wayne movie and bring him some ice cream, and it was over until the next time.

I know my mother resented him. She knew grandmother was the one that had refused to let her go, the one that had held onto her even though she almost drowned by the simple act of holding on. She knew her father had been willing to let her wash away and drown. That he thought she was interchangeable with whatever baby they would have next. How she could spend her entire life with that knowledge and not be deeply affected by it was something that never made sense to me, but now, when she’s in her 70′s and I’m in my 50′s, I finally understand. It affected her. She’ll just be damned if she’ll let anyone see it. And she had stood there in that hospice room watching him mouth my name with resentment burning in her eyes, though she would have rather died than let anyone know what it was for. He’d forgotten her weeks ago.

The house in the center of the hill was mom and dad. The homestead. The house we’d all lived in together, that we’d built with our own hands, the first thing that marked that wild overgrown hill as a place where people actually lived. A long path through the woods connected it to the grandparents’ house, and it was the epicenter of everything in our lives. James and I had lived in the upstairs rooms of that house until we both moved out and married our respective mates years later, a reprehensible act on our part that was never okay with my mother and that she never forgave either of us for. She’d wanted us all to stay. We can all live here together until the New System comes, she always said. That’s how the Bible says it’s supposed to be. We can all keep each other safe and on the right path until the end comes, and then we’ll all be here together forever.

A decade later when I sat up on the hill watching that house burn to the ground, there was as much relief as grief billowing into the sky with the black smoke. It was the end of an era, and it was far beyond time for it.

Nobody saw it but me. James was dead, had been for years. Robbie was dead now too. Dad was gone, so was granddad. Me and my youngest brother David were the last two left of the kids, but he had moved to a neighboring city when he got married and he has never seen things the way I see them. We were of different generations, we weren’t raised the same way, and he’d never experienced the abuse I lived with for the first half of my life. And he had dedicated his own life to the cult with all the honesty and lack of guile that I didn’t have when I’d made my own dedication vows at the too-young age of sixteen.

It was the end of an era, but apparently only for me.

James’ house was up the hill, past a clearing where my dad used to keep old cars that he cannibalized for parts. Our oldest brother Robbie, long married with kids of his own, lived at the bottom on the farthest corner of the land. And my house was on the slope to the west, built on the spot where we’d cleared off an old half-fallen homestead from the late 1800′s, dutifully paying no mind to the fact that a grave was nestled into the slope, right where the yellow daffodils grew. The cult told us superstition was tied up with the demons and false religion, so we didn’t have the built-in human instinct that tells most people to stay the hell away from certain things.

We just pretended it wasn’t there, and put no importance on it. It was just an old grave. The soil was good and the garden I planted next to it did well, though those strange daffodils always wound themselves through everything I put in the ground. My husband said something wasn’t right about it, but I didn’t pay any attention to him. He hadn’t been raised as devout as me.

My dad knocked on my door around lunchtime and I opened it. He backed up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the fancy leather coat the dealership had awarded him when he was designated a five-star Chrysler technician and given the state’s first and only license to work on the new Vipers that had recently rolled off the prototype line. It was a cool jacket. Made him look like the old pictures my other grandmother had shown me of him from the early 1960′s, when he was young and very much a product of a fancier era. He’d never stopped greasing his hair back and was still so thin that he and I wore the same size jeans.

I’ve never understood the look on his face when I opened the door. To this day I can’t sort it. It wasn’t a blankness like so many people who’ve seen death wear without awareness. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even shock.

He was sorry.

Those were the first words out of his mouth.

I’m sorry.

I stood there, not knowing what he was sorry for. It was cold. I couldn’t push the screen door open very far because of the snow blocking it. And my father was standing at the bottom of the steps James had helped my husband build, his hands shoved down far into his pockets like a penitent child about to get in trouble, telling me he was sorry.

James is dead, he finally said. He’s in his house. I went up there and he’s dead.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now - just now, this very moment in fact, I know that I was the first person he told. He came straight from James’ house to mine and told me my brother was dead.

I don’t know what I said back to him, I just remember sitting down on the top step and feeling the cold bite of the snow through my pajama pants. There’s a vague recollection of putting my face in my hands, and the embarrassing knowledge that I did that simply because I didn’t know what else to do. And dad just stood there, nervously stepping from foot to foot in the snow, because he didn’t know what else to do either.

I think I asked How at some point. He said he didn’t know. He had something in his pocket but to this day I don’t know what it was.

I don’t know if it was important. Something tells me it was. Or maybe it was just the eternally present handkerchief he always kept on him.

I’m sorry, he said again. He seemed to feel like it was his fault somehow. I’m sorry.

What do we do? I asked him. I’ve never felt more blank. What are we supposed to do?

I don’t remember what he said, other than he was going to get my older brother. I remember thinking that was a good idea. Robbie would know what to do. He always did. Brash and blustery and bigmouthed, he got things done while other people stood around debating how to do them. He would get on it, whatever needed doing. He would figure it out.

I went back in the house and dad walked away, headed down the path through the woods that connected my house to Robbie’s, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the big retro vintage Chrysler emblem on the back of his jacket the last thing I saw before I pulled the screen door shut. I stared down for a minute at the mound of snow it had scooped into my livingroom, still with no clue what I was supposed to do.

No clue at all.

I kicked the snow back outside and shut the door.

----------

It’s an odd thing, watching the coroner’s van drive away with someone you know inside it. Someone you saw just yesterday. Someone who was alive. Someone who should still be alive but isn’t, somehow. And since there’s really no way to earn a ride in a coroner’s van without dying, there’s an awful unsettling sensation to it that you can’t get away from. The last time I saw James he was laughing that devious little laugh of his, his eyes red and bloodshot from the ever present asthma he’d suffered with his entire life. I don’t count the sight of the coroner’s van leaving the hill via our long steep driveway with his cold corpse tucked into a black zippered bag, because I didn’t see him. I never saw him. I didn’t see him dead in his house and I didn’t see them carry him out, I didn’t see them put him in the van. I didn’t see him later, when it was all over with. And if I try hard enough I can imagine that van empty, with that long black bag tossed crumpled in the back without a body in it, and James somewhere else living his life however the hell he pleases.

I hold onto that. Some days it helps. And some days I think I see him, walking by the side of the road or getting out of a car in the post office parking lot, and it makes me happy thinking he escaped. I see him in every hitchhiker, in every wandering traveler making his way down the interstate, in every tall thin man I glimpse from the corner of my eye as I go about my business in town.

He’s out there.

I hope he’s happy.

The ice storm hit the next day.

----------

For the next two weeks we were stuck on our hill. Power out, no electricity, no heat, no lights, roads iced over and impassable. We all piled up in mom and dad’s house, quietly grieving James, trying to stay warm. Most of the state lost power for days, including the city 150 miles away where his body had been taken to the state coroner’s office. There was no apparent cause of death, so the state ordered an autopsy.

His body had just been placed into cold storage to wait its turn when the power grid went down. And then, by some unholy stroke of nightmarish luck, the facility’s generators failed.

Nobody could make it in to work because of the ice. By the time someone finally got into the morgue the cold storage had been down for four days.

Six bodies melted, including James.

----------

No viable autopsy could be done, though they tried their best I suppose. The end report was obtained two months later. It was mostly inconclusive due to the long delay and resultant decomposition of tissue. There was apparent scarring on James’ heart, but it was old scarring and had nothing to do with his death. His lungs were scarred as well, but that was no surprise, he’d had severe asthma his entire life. There was no determinable cause of death, no inflicted trauma, no presence of illicit drugs as far as they could tell from the limited toxicology report they managed with what they had to work with.

No reason.

He’d simply died.

It seemed fitting, to me at least, that the end of him be enshrouded in an unsolvable mystery. He was a secretive person, intensely private. He would have loved knowing nobody had a clue what happened to him.

And so we drew our own conclusion as a family. He’d had an asthma attack in his sleep. There had been an inhaler next to his bed, but it was new and still in the box. He simply hadn’t woken up to use it. Dad didn’t participate in the drawing of this conclusion, his input kept stoically to himself, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

We pretended not to see it.

He and mom braved the last of the ice a few days later to make the 150 mile drive to see James one last time.

They came back different.

You couldn’t tell it was him, my mother said. He was melted, literally. It was like one of those science fiction movies where they melt you with a laser beam and you turn to goo.

Dad had nothing to say. He went to bed and stayed there until the next day.

You can go see him, mom told me. I’ll go with you if you want to go. But I don’t recommend it.

I decided not to go.

And so I never saw my brother dead. I never saw any proof that he was gone. He just wasn’t there anymore. There was no funeral, he was cremated and his ashes were sent home weeks later, and I went on with my life with the image in my head of James, alive, somewhere else.

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Dad was different from that day on. He’d always been stoic, terse, strict. My childhood had been spent in fear of him, an eternal dread of making him mad and feeling his temper erupt keeping me from showing any hint of a personality during my formative years. The cult had forced him to abide by the violent tenet of Spare the rod, spoil the child and there was never any risk of me being spoiled.

James being gone flipped a switch in him. He was nicer suddenly. Mellow. Kind. After the trauma wore off his humor discovered itself and he was funny. The dour angry demeanor fell off and revealed a man that I was sad never to have known before. He and I became friends. I could sense in his new attitude toward me that he regretted how he’d raised me and respected the way I’d always stood up and been my own person despite it. But my mother was falling off the deep end and for all the newfound easygoingness of my father, she counterbalanced it with an extremism born of the religious fervor of a mother determined to gain enough favor with God to see her dead child again. And she was going to make sure the rest of us did too.

We all had to get good and straight on the path, get completely right and stay that way, or we’d never see James again. He’d be in the New World and we wouldn’t, and how would she explain that to him? She and I worked together in a law office at the time and as she became more unhinged and unpleasant, I reacted by becoming more outgoing and accomplished. Our boss changed my work designation from receptionist to Executive Assistant and started teaching me how to do everything from filing papers at the courthouse to photographing accident scenes. I no longer answered to my mother, the office manager. I answered directly to the boss.

That didn’t go over well. She was a control freak with heavy untreated trauma, and the one person in the world she felt the most obsessive need to control was suddenly no longer under her thumb in a workspace where she considered herself the supreme authority. She countermanded every order the boss gave me and tried to load me up with general office chores that left me no time to do the important assignments he’d given me. I had no choice but to tell her she wasn’t my superior anymore.

She chose that day to have her nervous breakdown over James, jumping out of my car at a red light on the way home and storming angrily through a shopping mall with me trailing frantically along behind her, yelling for security to arrest me while I tried to get her to calm down. I ended up telling her she wasn’t the only person who lost James but that none of the rest of us were allowed to experience our own grief because we were too busy catering to hers.

She sat down on a bench outside the sporting goods store and glared at me with a cold hatred I’ve seen on very few other faces, ever.

I knew it would be you, she hissed at me.

That moment changed our relationship forever. It changed me forever. That was the day I decided my life was my own, that she not only didn’t have authority over me at work, she didn’t have authority over me anywhere else either. She could no longer dictate my actions, my behavior, my thoughts and feelings.

For this she disowned me. It was the first of several disownings over the next few years. I got used to it. We went to work the next day like nothing had happened, and I didn’t do a single thing on the task list she slapped down on my desk. It was a metaphor for the rest of my life, but I didn’t know it yet.

My husband and I moved out of state a couple of months later, away from that hill, away from her increasingly controlling paranoia and bitterness, the first of many small steps toward freedom.

As we were driving away with our trailer full of personal belongings behind us, he said one thing that I tried to argue against, but that somewhere deep inside I knew was probably right.

That land is cursed, he said.

----------

A few weeks before we moved my youngest brother came to town and we went into James’ house together. It was exactly like it had been the day my dad found him. The only thing that stood out as different was the bare mattress on the bed - the men from the coroner had wrapped him up in the sheet he’d been laying on and took it with them, leaving just the naked springform mattress James had bought for Jessica right before her final breakdown and their subsequent separation.

It took me a while to go in the bedroom, but I knew from the moment I walked into the house that I was going to end up there. I needed to see it, the place where James had closed his eyes and left us.

There was a small puddle of dried blood near the foot of the bed, brown and stained into the fabric. James always slept backwards, with his head at the wrong end. The blood had come from his nose.

I touched it. I don’t know why. It was dry.

He was gone.

----------

David and I laughed a lot that day. James had been funny in a way that was distinctly him, quiet and of few words, but those words had always counted. And as we sorted through his things and talked about him and moved some of his stuff into boxes to be stored away, I felt as much awed respect as befuddlement at what was around me. He’d never been a conformist, which I knew was why the cult had never gotten a firm grasp on him. He was unknowable and therefore unbindable. But his house was proof that he didn’t conform to any human expectations either, and nothing in it made sense unless you’d spent time around him.

There was an engine in the bathtub. I’m not sure what it went to. Another engine, in the beginning stages of disassemblage, rested on a blue tarp in the center of the livingroom floor, obviously the last project he’d been working on. There wasn’t much furniture - his wife had taken most of it when she left and it would have never entered his mind to replace any of it. Jessica’s cookware was in the kitchen cabinets, unused, some of it still in the original boxes, some not even fully unwrapped from their wedding shower years before. Jessica didn’t cook, she microwaved. David asked me if I thought it would be okay for him to take a glass Pyrex measuring cup because he’d broken his. I told him to take it. It had never been used.

I didn’t want anything, but knew I needed to take something. One of my husband’s solo CDs was sitting on the entertainment center and the cover, the cover I’d designed, caught my eye and brought me to the CD player to pop the tray open.

Inside was a CD single of The Way.

It was the only thing I took.

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My husband told me some time later that my dad and older brother had altered the scene before the police arrived. After the phonecall from me his boss had rushed him home and he’d gone up to James’ house without my knowledge. He’d thought it strange that he’d had to step around at least a dozen empty compressed air cans scattered haphazardly around the place as he entered, like they’d been used and tossed aside one after another. There had been several more on the floor around the bed. My father had told him to go back down and see how mom and I were doing, and when he returned to James’ house after the coroner’s departure, the cans were gone. Other than that he said things seemed different, but he couldn’t say quite how. Just not the same.

He told me my dad didn’t call the police until after he and Robbie had been in there at least an hour, alone with the body.

It’s not something we’ve talked about often, because there’s no satisfactory explanation for it that either of us can come up with. My mother says they probably didn’t want the police to assume the cans meant he was huffing compression fluid and accidentally killed himself, because Look at the shame and reproach that would bring on the congregation if anyone thought such a thing! We all knew he used the compressed air to clear the valves on the engines he was working on, all mechanics do, it’s common. Wouldn’t the police have accepted that explanation? Dad was the only one that spoke to them. They wrote down whatever he said, and then they left, and then the coroner came and took James away and that was that. My father, the most upright straight-and-narrow devoutly dedicated man I’ve ever known in my life, misled the police for a reason that he took with him to his own grave.

The only other person in the world who knew the truth about it took it to his grave too.

At the same time.

In the same car.

Four years later, on October 18, 2002.

----------

The big garbage bag of empty air cans and whatever else that was removed from James’ house that morning had been stashed in my dad’s garage and stayed there until a few weeks after he and Robbie’s joint funeral, when my mother asked my husband’s old boss to come and dispose of it. Scott was a man who knew people who could do things.

The evidence, whatever it was evidence of, vanished.

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The mystery around James never dissolved and eventually no one talked about it anymore, I guess because there was no way we could ever truly find out what happened without him here to tell us. There were a lot of details that we could never find a way to weave together into anything that made sense and a lot of it was probably inconsequential anyway. There was a girlfriend that he’d tried to keep hidden from us, a woman that was quite a bit older than him who wasn’t a member of the cult and therefore needed to be kept a secret. In the end she had convinced him to stop hiding their relationship and he’d bought her a ring. We met her all of twice before he died, and within days of his passing she left town with her brother and never came back, taking whatever she might have known with her.

James’ ex Jessica had sneaked onto the hill and broken into his house to put a dead raccoon in his kitchen sink a few days prior to his death. We were shocked when he told us she trespassed on the land often without anyone knowing, and my mother made my father fix the electric gate down at the road so that it wouldn’t open without one of three clickers in the possession of herself, my father, and me. James would have to come to her house and get hers any time he needed to leave the hill, an arrangement he agreed to because Jessica stole things from his house all the time, she would absolutely take a gate opener if she saw it.

He told us the gate wouldn’t keep her out though, and that she didn’t come in that way anyway. The only way to protect ourselves from her was to lock her up and he doubted even that would do it.

He died less than a week later, and twenty three years later we still don’t know how or why.

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We never felt safe on the hill again. Jessica was deranged in the worst possible way, we’d known it for a while, and James was her obsession. She’d threatened to kill him multiple times and had tried twice. We hadn’t known this, because James, big strong stoic Clint Eastwood type that he was, wasn’t about to tell anyone he was violently abused for years by a skinny little woman that everyone believed was not much more than a meek dormouse with shyness issues and a case of painful awkwardness. But we knew she was evil. We just didn’t have any proof.

The first thing my mother said after the initial emotional breakdown of finding her son dead was Jessica did this, I don’t know how but I know she did it.

I believe she was probably right. But if Jessica was anything she was wily and devious with a strong survival instinct and an uncanny ability to lie convincingly and draw sympathy onto herself. She’d convinced us for years that she was the perfect combination of sweetly harmless and endearingly clueless, but that only lasted until the day she called 911 screaming that James was beating her and then threw herself face first into a tree in their front yard and sat, calmly singing and coloring in a coloring book on the porch with blood running down her forehead, waiting for the police to arrive. The act she put on when they got there was one for the Academy, but the officers didn’t buy it.

James calmly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his scars where she’d burned him and slashed him with a kitchen knife. He pulled up his shirt and pointed out the marks she’d left on him with her teeth and nails. He hooked a finger into his mouth and showed them the empty hole where she’d knocked one of his teeth out with a baseball bat. One of the officers asked him why he hadn’t killed her and buried her somewhere on the land already.

She left in the back of the squad car, and my mother took James to the courthouse to get divorce papers started two days later.

Jessica came to his memorial service when we finally had it, several weeks after his death. She wasn’t invited but we couldn’t keep her from coming. She wore black like a widow and created a dramatic disruption complete with loud wailing and declarations of undying love, and afterward she stood to one side of the room, smirking at us with the kind of icy malice that you only see on the dangerously deranged, and then usually only in the movies. Several people commented in hushed voices, asking why she’d been allowed to come. At one point she started wailing They killed him!!, but everyone with the exception of her mother ignored her.

Her mother, who was still in our congregation, flitted around the room chatting with everyone, sobbing her heart out like it was her own son we’d just memorialized. She was an ER nurse and had been famously fired from her job at the hospital for taking locked-cabinet medications home by the purse load. She claimed she put them in her pocket to use on her shift and forgot to return them to the cabinet before leaving.

Jessica had been staying with her for a while.

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We fed the crowd at mom’s later that afternoon with my husband and his boss guarding the gate, making sure she didn’t try to come into my mother’s house. The police were called preemptively, and because this was a town of 300 with not much of anything else to do, a squad car was dispatched and stationed near the inlet to the main drive.

Jessica showed up not much later, like we knew she would. She drove past the police and parked a few yards down from them in plain sight, just sitting there by the side of the road, far enough away from our property that we couldn’t legally do anything about it. The officers got out and talked to her, warned her not to cause us any problems, and she fed them a woeful tale about being banned from her beloved husband’s memorial service and denied the right to say goodbye to him.

The officers knew there was no body at that service to say goodbye to. They also knew her.

My husband came up the hill and told us she was down at the road and that Scott was blocking the driveway with his truck to keep her out. I told my mother it was time to file a restraining order against her. She was living in fear and Jessica was known to be trespassing on our property frequently. No, she told me with tears in her eyes but not a sign of distress on her face. It was a look I knew, because my mother rarely showed emotion unless she was angry and the rest of the time it was this cold detachment. That would bring reproach on the congregation because everyone knows what we are. I can’t do that. I won’t let her win that way. I won’t let her cause us to bring shame on God’s name.

God’s name. I took it in vain that day.

More than once.

I was leaving in a few weeks, moving a thousand miles away. My husband and I weren’t going to be there to help her keep an eye out, and thirty eight acres of heavily wooded land is impossible to protect and easy to sneak onto from a hundred different directions, James had shown us proof of that.

God will protect us as long as we do the right thing and leave it to him, she said. He knows what she is.

I think it was just a coincidence that nothing terrible happened in the following weeks, because my faith was getting tenuous and a lot of prayers were going unanswered. But Jessica quietly disappeared back to her own world after a couple of infuriating weeks of putting herself in our paths every chance she got, and not long after that my husband and I moved away, and as we left the driveway for what we thought would be the last time he sighed and shook his head with the exasperation of a man about to say I told you so.

“That land is cursed,” he said.

I tried to disagree, though I don’t know why.

----------

Less than a mile up the road we passed a man walking. He was tall and thin and covered in the dust of a long journey with a ratty backpack strapped to his back, and as we passed him I caught his reflection in the side mirror.

It was James, I knew it in my heart every bit as strongly as I knew it couldn’t be.

He was walking away from the hill, toward the west. The way we were going. And I swear on whatever holy relic you wish to place under my hand that he raised his head and met eyes with me in the mirror, and he smiled.

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