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helen-with-an-a · 1 month

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Can you do a Barca one where R is suffering with ED, but as one of the newest players, alexia and Jona are rough with her for a bit before she passes out on the field. Her bestfriend, and only friend at Barca, Ingrid, comes to her and feels how light she’s became and that’s when they find out about it?

Hiiiiii - thank you so much for the request and sorry it took so long to get through. Thank you to all the people who reached out offering advice about how to write this - I deeply appreciate it and I hope this helps someone out there. I know that it's scary and daunting but please, please talk to someone. Reaching out for help is the hardest thing, I am well aware of it, but I promise you it will get better. People love you. People want you in there lives. You are worth it and deserve every ounce of love in the world. I hope that my little corner of the internet can help you in some way. Lot of love to every single one of you. Forehead smooches for you all. I hope you enjoy this.

Different From Last Time

Barça Femeni x Reader

Description: R's eating disorder comes back when she moves to Barcelona

TW: Eating Disorder; Disordered Eating habits

Word Count: 3.1k

You hadn’t meant it. Not this time. It wasn’t like last time. Last time, there had been a snippy comment by a jealous girl. Last time, there had been a throw-away quip from a boy that you thought you had a crush on that you hadn’t thrown away. Last time, there had been a slow descent into your Bad Place. Last time, people around you had noticed. Last time, there were hospital visits and psychiatrists. Last time was not like this time. This time, there was no catalyst, no remark that sent you spiralling. This time, it happened without thinking about it. This time the Bad Place had appeared around you without you realising. This time was very different.

It had started when you moved to Barcelona. Your usual breakfast of porridge had made you feel ill one morning. The heaviness of the dense meal sat in your stomach for far longer than was comfortable and paired with the heat … it was not a fun time for you. The next day you had felt the same … and the next, and the next. So, you decided to cut the oats out, and pick at some of the fresh fruit sitting in the fridge instead. It never crossed your mind to replace the oats with something lighter but still filling, like a yoghurt or something. This was fine on your off-days, But by the time lunch arrived, you were starving – so you ate a lot. You plate was piled high of pasta and chicken and vegetables. All healthy, all nutritious. But because you’d ate so much at lunch, you weren’t hungry at dinner. So, you ended up skipping dinner, or picking at some more fruit.

Slowly, without you even realising it, all you were eating at home was fruit. Fruit and a milky coffee or black tea. Your breakfast was a delicious nectarine or a juicy vibrant orange and a mug of freshly brewed coffee with frothy, milky latte art on top or a warm, inviting cup of tea. You knew it might not have been the most nourishing of ways to start your day, but the thought of anything heavier had your stomach churning. The weather was warm, and you truly honestly weren’t hungry. Until you smelled the food in the lunchroom. Every day, you were the first one in and the last one out of the cafeteria. Pasta, rice, potatoes, chicken, beef, pork, carrots, mushrooms, broccoli, peppers. You name it, you probably ate it. It never really clicked in your mind that this could have been a sign. You never felt guilty after eating it, so you didn’t have a problem … right?

But then the off days rolled around. Without the structure of the training schedule, instructing you when and where to eat, you found yourself lost in the quiet of your little flat on the edge of town. The fridge hummed softly, filled with vibrant colours of fruits you’d stocked up on. Baskets of peaches, plums, and pears lined your kitchen counter. They were beautiful to look at, reminding you of a still-life painting. That’s essentially all they were. A piece of decoration for you to look at.

It was an off day that you finally noticed the changes. You’d stepped out of the shower, steam still clinging to the small bathroom, and caught a glimpse of yourself. The skin stretched tight over your collarbones; your arms looked thinner, almost fragile. The muscle you had worked so hard to gain was less noticeable. It was subtle, not something that would scream at anyone else, but you knew your body, and this wasn’t right. You brushed it off at first, telling yourself it was just the result of a new lifestyle. The Mediterranean diet, wasn’t that supposed to be healthier? People here were slim, fit, effortlessly beautiful. You were just blending in, adapting, right?

You refused to acknowledge it. You had been through this before. This was nothing like that. The words that lingered in your mind weren’t there this time. You didn’t fear things the way you did last time. You were fine. It wasn’t like last time.

You started to feel tired all the time. Not just sleepy, but exhausted, like your bones were weighed down with sand. It wasn’t the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep could fix. It was deeper, more persistent, as if it had seeped into your very being. You tried to ignore it, pushing through your days with a smile that felt more like a mask.

The coaches had started to pick up on your sluggishness. You were known for your speed – your nimble movements as you dodged round defenders like a dancer weaving through a crowded ballroom, your movements calm and calculated with perfect precision. But now, now your steps felt heavy – your timing off as you, once again, gave the ball away. It was preseason – surely you shouldn’t be this tired?

“Y/N, is everything ok?” Pere asked softly as he pulled you off to the side. You swallowed. Was everything ok?

“Yeh,” you sighed. “Sorry, I’m just tired. Still trying to get used to the heat,” you gestured around you. It was sweltering that’s for such. The temperature at the ground reaching an uncomfortable mid-thirties by mid-morning.

You knew you needed to step it up. You needed to be better. If not for you, then the team. The team needed you at your best. And you had to be the best. Maybe it was the Bad Thoughts talking, but you decided that being the best meant just training harder, not taking that step to talk to someone, to seek professional help. This wasn’t like last time. You could manage it.

And so, you pushed harder. You told yourself that this was the answer; that all you needed was to work through the fatigue, to out-train the tiredness that clung to you like a second skin. Early morning runs before the sun had fully risen, extra drills after everyone else had left the field, more laps, more weights, more sweat. You kept telling yourself that the ache in your muscles was proof that you were getting stronger, that the exhaustion in your bones was a sign that you were working toward something better.

You hadn’t really noticed it, but you were so focussed on training that you had stopped interacting with people. You were so tired all the time, your response became short and snippy. You were getting more and more irritable as the days went by. The little things that never used to bother you—the noise in the locker room, a teammate’s joke, even the way someone chewed their food—started to grate on your nerves. You could feel the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to spill over at any moment. But instead of addressing it, instead of acknowledging that something was wrong, you buried it under layers of denial and discipline. You told yourself it was just the stress, that everyone got like this sometimes. It was just part of being an athlete, right?

It was Alexia who first approached you, a few weeks after her return from the Olympics. She had been well aware of who you were before you signed for Barcelona – she had been on the receiving end of a few of your nutmegs and perfectly executed presses. This was not the Y/N she had played against.

She had found you outside, setting up for free kick practice. She found it strange – that you would choose to practice those of all things. You weren’t on the list to take set pieces, your name so far down the list the pigs would sooner fly then you participating in that part of football games.

“Hola,” Alexia said, coming to stand next to you. You jumped, your body tensing at the intruder. “Lo siento,” she smiled at you.

“Alexia, um, hi?” You sounded genuinely shocked she was near you, voluntarily talking to you.

The Catalan captain scared you a little. It was something about her composure, her intensity that made you nervous to even breathe the same air as her, let alone talk to her.

“What are you doing?” She asked, honestly curious at your choice of activity.

“Practising,” you dismissed, looking across at the set up.

“Why?”

“Because I need to …” you trailed off, making it sound more like a question than anything else.

“We haven’t even had a game yet, I think you’re fine,” she consoled.

“No, I need to push myself. I need to be better. I want to do this for the team.” With those words, Alexia made up her mind. Something she would later regret massively, but something that, in the moment, seemed like a very smart idea.

Alexia observed you the following afternoon. You were right, you were moving more slowly than usual. You were slower, you were less agile, you were making mistakes that you never used to make. Alexia thought she was helping.

“No, de nuevo.” Alexia barked. You flinched at the tone, the harshness of Alexia's voice cutting through the afternoon air like a whip. It wasn’t just you who noticed – everyone on the pitch turned their heads, eyes widening in surprise. Alexia was known for her leadership, for guiding the team with a firm but fair hand. But this? This was different. It was almost like she was pushing you, testing your limits in a way that felt more personal than professional.

You forced yourself to focus, your heart pounding in your chest. Sweat dripped down your forehead, stinging your eyes as you tried to reset, to shake off the growing sense of unease that had taken root inside you. You couldn’t afford to mess this up, not in front of her, not in front of the team.

Again and again, you repeated the drill, your legs growing heavier with each attempt. You could feel your breath hitching, your lungs burning, but you pushed through, ignoring the screaming protests of your body. This was what you needed, right? To push harder, to be better. But with each failed attempt, each barked command from Alexia, doubt crept further into your mind.

Your teammates watched with a mix of concern and confusion. They could see something was off, that you were struggling more than usual, but no one dared to say anything. Alexia’s presence was too commanding, too intimidating to question. So they stayed silent, exchanging worried glances as you faltered once again.

“No, no, no,” Alexia snapped, stepping closer, her frustration palpable. “That’s not good enough. Again.”

You nodded, barely hearing her words over the pounding in your ears. The world was starting to tilt, the edges of your vision blurring as you bent over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. But there was no time for that. You had to keep going. You had to prove yourself.

“Y/N,” Alexia’s voice cut through your haze, sharp and unyielding. “Again.”

You straightened up, legs trembling, and moved to take your position. But the ground seemed to shift beneath your feet, and suddenly, you were stumbling, your vision narrowing to a pinpoint. Panic flared in your chest as the world spun, and before you could stop it, darkness began to close in around you.

Was it the heat? Was it the food? You really couldn’t tell. You felt horrific. But you had to keep going. You swayed gently as you began to sprint off. You needed out … you needed to breathe. Your body was on autopilot as you went through the motions.

Esmee was the first to notice. Your skin had a sallow, sickly paleness. Your eyes were sunken and your hair too thin. You looked awful. Her concern quickly turned to alarm as she watched you sway; your movements unsteady and uncoordinated. She could see the strain etched across your face, the way your muscles trembled with every step. Something was terribly wrong, and it was no longer just about your performance on the pitch.

She reached over to Ingrid, tapping her gently on the shoulder. The pair of them looked over to where you and Alexia were standing – you were barely conscious. How you were still on your feet was anyone’s guess. They exchanged glances, silently agreeing that something was terribly, terribly amiss and Alexia was taking things too far.

“Y/N, stop!” Mapí shouted, her voice breaking through the fog that had settled in your mind. But you barely registered it, your body still moving on instinct, trying to obey Alexia’s last command. The group didn’t hesitate. They were over to you in a flash. They sprinted across the field, reaching you just as your legs buckled underneath you. Ingrid’s gentle arms wrapped around you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she said, her voice soft but urgent as she guided you to sit down on the grass. “You need to stop, Y/N. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Alexia’s frustration melted into concern as she watched the scene unfold. She hadn’t realised just how bad things had gotten until now. She had been so focused on pushing you to be your best that she hadn’t seen the toll it was taking on you, both physically and mentally. Guilt gnawed at her as she hurried over, her expression shifting from stern to worried.

“Y/N, why didn’t you say something?” Alexia asked, kneeling beside you, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your vision was blurry, and the world felt like it was spinning out of control. You felt Ingrid’s hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles, but even that small comfort wasn’t enough to calm the panic rising in your chest.

“I… I thought I could handle it,” you finally managed to whisper, tears welling up in your eyes. “It isn’t like last time.”

“What’s not like last time?” Esmee’s gentle voice drifted over you.

“All of it. The Bad Thoughts aren’t like last time. I didn’t mean to do it. I …” If you had the energy, you would have been hysterical.

“Y/N, I need you to listen to me,” Alexia’s tone posed no arguments. This was Captain Alexia talking. She brought a hand to your cheek, her palm gently guiding you to look at her. “Have you hurt yourself? Do you need an ambulance?”

“Not cuts. I … I don’t do that,” you whispered.

The sigh of relief was audible from all the girls around you.

“What didn’t you mean to do, Kjære?” Ingrid asked the question. She figured that since you were still in her arms, your back against her chest, that it might be easier voicing whatever it was that plagued your mind.

“I …” You remembered how hard it was to voice it all last time. At that had been to a total stranger. But then again … that had been to a total stranger. A stranger that had your best interests at heart, but they didn’t know you. Not like these girls did. “Food,” was what you settled on.

The moment the word left your lips, you felt the air around you shift. The weight of the confession hung heavily in the silence that followed, pressing down on everyone around you. The tension was palpable, each of your teammates processing what you had just said, the reality of the situation settling in.

Mapí's sharp intake of breath was the first sound that broke the silence, her shock evident. You could feel Ingrid's arms tighten around you slightly, as if she was trying to shield you from the world, from the consequences of your admission. Alexia’s hand remained on your cheek, her eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were truly going through.

"Food?" Ingrid repeated softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make the situation even more real. "What do you mean, Y/N? Have you not been eating?"

You hesitated, your mind racing with the implications of what you were about to reveal. But there was no turning back now. The truth had already started to spill out, and you couldn't stop it even if you wanted to. "Not… not like I should," you finally admitted, your voice trembling. "It just… happened. I didn’t mean for it to, but I’ve been skipping meals, and when I do eat, it’s like I can’t stop. At home I can't eat. But in the cafeteria, it's all I can do …"

The guilt in Alexia’s eyes deepened, her mind replaying every drill, every push, every time she had demanded more from you without realizing the burden you were already carrying. "Y/N," she began, her voice laced with regret, "I had no idea. I should have seen the signs. I’m so sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from exhaustion or fear. They were from the overwhelming mix of emotions you felt—from relief that the truth was finally out, to shame for not being able to handle it on your own, to fear of what would come next.

Esmee knelt beside you, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours. "We’re going to help you," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "You don’t have to go through this alone, Y/N. We’re your team, and that means we’re here for you, no matter what."

The others nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting a mixture of concern and determination. You could see the resolve in their eyes, the silent promise that they wouldn’t let you face this battle alone.

Alexia took a deep breath, her hand still resting gently on your cheek. "The most important thing right now is your health," she said, her voice steady. "We’ll figure this out together. We’ll talk to the coach, to the doctors, and we’ll make sure you get the support you need."

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. The support of your teammates was more than you could have hoped for, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe this time really was different. Maybe this time, you wouldn’t have to face the darkness alone.

Ingrid gently helped you to your feet, her arm still around your waist to steady you. The others formed a protective circle around you, their presence a silent but powerful reminder that you were part of something bigger, something stronger than any one of you alone.

As they guided you off the field, you knew that this was just the beginning of a long and difficult journey. But you also knew that with them by your side, you could face whatever came next. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were going to be okay.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3

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murderousink23 · 2 years

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10/10/2022 is Finnish Literature Day 🇫🇮, World Homeless Day 🌏, National Kick Butt Day 🇺🇲, National Online Bank Day 🇺🇲, Native American Day 🇺🇲, National Angel Food Cake Day 🇺🇲, National Cake Decorating Day 🇺🇲, National Handbag Day 🇺🇲, National Hug a Drummer Day 🇺🇲, Indigenous People's Day 🇺🇲, World Porridge Day 🇬🇧, World Mental Health Day 🇺🇳, Italian American Day 🇺🇲

#finnish literature #world homeless day #national kick butt day #online banking #native american day #angel food cake #national handbag day #hug a drummer #indigenous people's day #porridge #world mental health day #italian american day

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yelenasdiary · 4 months

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For the AU request, what about nervous Wanda asking Natasha to take R out just the two of them. Maybe they just go to the park or to a movie. R being 5 :)

Can't Say No

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda wants to get to know you a little more and asks your mom if she can take you out for the day.

Comfort

Warnings: None | 2K

Translations: милый (darling), мед (honey),

AC: Thank you for sending this! I love the idea; I hope you enjoy it! x

A Widow’s Sunshine Masterlist

"Do you want cheerios or porridge for breakfast?" Your mother asked with a soft smile as you took a seat at the small wooden table in the kitchen with your favorite stuffie sitting beside you, "uhm, porridge please!" You replied with a sweet smile that your mother loved so much. "Coming right up!" She said, reaching for the cupboard. You weren't much of a fuzzy child which was something Nat was a little thankful for, you'd eat most things, you loved your fruits and most of your vegetables, but you weren't too big on meat because you didn't like when it would get stuck in your teeth.

While the porridge cooked in the microwave, your mom poured you a small cup of orange juice and placed it in front of you just as the microwave peeped. "Thank you, mommy" you said before you took a small sip of your drink. Your mother returned with your breakfast in hand, placing a kiss on the top of your head, "it's a little hot милый, we'll just give it a moment to cool, okay?" She said. You nodded, not too fussed.

"What are doing today mommy?" You asked, looking up at her.

"Well, baby, mommy has to go into work and do a little paperwork so I thought we could go to the park afterwards, how does that sound?" She replied, stirring your breakfast around.

"Can Dory come?" You asked. Your favorite stuffie named after a character from one of your favorite movies.

"Of course, милый" Natasha smiled right as her mobile began to buzz, placed your breakfast in front of you and reached for her back pocket. "Be careful baby, if it's too hot, give it a few more minutes, okay?" She said, you nodded but it was just right to eat. Natasha looked down at her phone, butterflies fluttered in her stomach when she read Wanda's name on her screen, and she wasted no more time before answering.

"Wands, hi!" Your mother said in a sweet tone as she slowly wandered out of the kitchen,

"Hey, sorry if I called too early" Wanda replied.

"Don't stress, I just finished making Y/n breakfast, is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine" Wanda replied and Nat was sure she could hear the soft smile through the phone, "I was just calling because you mentioned yesterday that you were gonna head into the compound today and catch up on some mission reports so I thought and of course if you're not okay with it, I completely understand but I was wondering, you could be okay if I took Y/n for the day? That way you can get as much work done as you need, and Y/n and I will get some time to get to know one another more. But like I said, it's completely fine if you're not okay with that, I just thought I'd ask" She added.

"Actually, that would be really helpful, let me just ask Y/n" Natasha couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Having you meet her partner was a big seat for Natasha and it meant the world to her to know that Wanda wasn't put off about the idea of Nat being a single parent and she loved knowing that Wanda wanted to get to know you more.

Your mother came back into the kitchen and smiled softly at you, "мед, would you like to spend a few hours with Wanda today instead of coming to work with me?" She asked.

You enjoyed Wanda's company, you liked her long hair and the funny faces she could pull, you nodded instantly with a growing smile, "yes please!!" You almost jumped out of your chair, making Natasha chuckle.

"I'm not sure if you heard that but I have a very excited little girl who would love to spend the day with you" Nat said back to Wanda.

"Well, I am glad! Tell her I am very excited too! Shall I come by and pick her up in an hour?" Wanda asked.

"Sounds perfect to me, thank you detka, we'll see you soon" Nat replied before hanging up.

An hour later and you were waiting by the front door of the small apartment you lived in with your mother, dressed and full of excitement for your day with Wanda. Your mom braided your hair just like she did hers, as requested by you of course. "She's here!! She's here!!" You called, jumping up and down when you heard a knock at the door. Your mom chuckled at your excitement and grabbed your backpack which had some snacks and your drink bottle in it before opening the door.

Wanda smiled instantly when she saw just how excited you were, "Hi Wanda!" You greeted her with your stuffie, Dory, in your arms. "Good morning, Y/n and I believe that is Dory?" Wanda replied. You turned and looked up at your mother with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, "she knew Dory's name mommy!!" You said with shock.

Both adults chuckled, "I told you, she can read minds" Natasha smiled. Of course you didn't think she was being serious. "Make sure you're a good girl for Wanda, okay?" Your mother kneeled in front of you and placed a kiss on your cheek, "I'll be the best mommy! So will Dory!" You smiled.

Nat handed your backpack to Wanda and explained what was inside while you waited so patiently to spend the day with your new friend. You said goodbye to your mother and took Wanda by the hand before the two of you began to walk down the hall to the evaluator and out into the busy street.

"Is there anything you would like to do today?" Wanda asked while the two of you walked hand in hand down the street to her car. "Mommy was going to take me to the park today" you said, but not too sure on what on earth you wanted to do besides that.

"Well, how about we do to the movies and then after that we can have lunch in the park?" Wanda offered, your eyes lit up and your smile only grew bigger as you nodded.

----

Wanda took you to see Shrek 2, she let you pick the movie, and it was a hard pick between Shark Tale or Shrek 2 but when you saw Puss in Boots on the cover, the choice was made. You enjoyed a small soda and shared some popcorn and giggles with Wanda throughout the movie. To Wanda's surprise, you weren't tired at all after the film, in fact it was almost as if you had more energy than before but then again, you are the Black Widow's daughter.

After the movies, Wanda let you pick what the two of you would have for lunch. You picked the small pizza restaurant that was only a short walk from the cinema. Wanda brought you a slice of your pick and then it was off to the park. Of course, Wanda didn't let you run off to play until you had some of your pizza and some water but once you did, you were off making friends with many of the other children on the playground.

"Wanda!" You said, running up to her while she sat watching you from the park bench, "can you please look after Dory?" You asked, face red from all the playing you had been doing, "I don't want her to get dirty" you added.

"Of course, I can" Wanda smiled as you handed her your stuffie, "I will look after her with the best of care" she added with confidence. You thanked her and then it was off to play some more.

When it was time to start heading home, Wanda noticed you playing in the bushes by yourself, she frowned slightly as she walked over to you with Dory in one hand and your backpack in another, "Y/n, is everything okay?" She asked, startling you.

"Look, Wanda!" You said, pointing into the bushes. Just as Wanda kneeled down, a small black kitten popped out of the bushes, you giggled when the little kitten brushed up against you which brought relief to Wanda who wasn't sure what to expect at first.

"Can I take her home to mommy, please?" You begged, catching Wanda off guard.

"Oh, uhm, I'm n-"

"Pleaseeee" you begged and honestly, who was Wanda to say no too?

"Well, alright, but we should get you both home before it gets too late, I'm sure your mom would like you to have a bath before dinner" Wanda smiled, reaching for her phone and texting Natasha right away, "just know, I tried to say no" she texted before the two of you started walking back to her car.

----

Natasha could hear your little voice in the hall, which brought a smile to her lips as she opened the door to greet you but what she saw you in your arms made Wanda's text message make sense. "Hi мед, who is this?" Your mother asked as you smiled at her.

"A kitty I found at the park, Wanda said I could bring her home" you replied honestly. The small kitten took Natasha by surprise, you had already fallen in love with the little animal that she quickly noticed how Wanda tried to say no.

"I tried" Wanda whispered.

"Can we keep her mommy, please?" You begged, placing the kitten on the floor.

"мед, we don't know where this kitten has been, we would need to take it to the vet first" your mother replied, "she was in the bushes" you said back, not letting any excuses pass by, "please mommy, I will let you name her!" You offered. Wanda tried to hide the smirk that tugged at her lips, you were most definitely Natasha's daughter, that's for sure.

There was a moment of silence, your mother unsure how to tackle this but on one hand, she didn't see the harm in allowing you to have your first pet. "How about you go wash your hands and I'll have a think about it, and we can talk more about it after dinner" your mother offered and just to win your mother over, you did exactly what she asked.

Wanda stayed for dinner, the three of you enjoying some lasagna while you fed tiny pieces of mince to the little kitten, both Nat and Wanda noticed how the kitten didn't seem to leave your side, even when you came home and placed her on the floor, she was by your feet which to Wanda is more of a sign but to Nat it was going to be harder to tell you that you couldn't keep the animal.

"Look mommy, she has the same eyes as Wanda" you pointed out after dinner, now your mother definitely couldn't say no. Wanda chuckled, "that is pretty cool" she said but your mom just smiled softly as she placed the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

When the time came for Wanda to go home, you didn't want her to go but it was almost your bedtime and Wanda promised to come see you again another day. "Thank you for all the fun today!" You smiled before giving Wanda a hug, "you are more than welcome, thank you for the fun" she replied.

"милый, how about you and Liho go get ready for bed and I'll be in to read to you in a few minutes?" Your mother smiled softly at you as your eyes widened, "we can keep her?" You asked, earning yourself a nod from your mom. "Thank you, mommy!!" You hugged her tightly before running off to your room with little Liho running shortly behind. With you distracted by your new little friend, Natasha was able to show Wanda just how much she really appreciated her help today, kissing her deeply, something she had waited all day to do.

"Promise me on thing" Natasha said, her hands placed on Wanda's hips.

"Depends" Wanda bit her bottom lip making Nat lightly chuckle, "next time you and my daughter hang out, no more pets" Nat replied (not so) jokingly.

"Hey, if you couldn't even say no, how do you think I'm supposed too? Besides, it got me a little extra date so I'm not complaining" Wanda replied with a playful wink. "Great, now I have two people I can't say no too" Nat rolled her eyes playfully before giving Wanda one last kiss for the night.

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's linked at the top of this post.

#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #marvel #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #awidowssunshineau

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clockwayswrites · 8 months

Text

Like Betta Fish Do- Final Part

WC: 3359, Masterpost

“The response to the article has been great— better even than we had predicted,” Tim informed the various family members as he joined them at the breakfast table, tablet in hand.

Jason glanced up from his porridge to look his little brother over. The eye bags were a little dark, but not to the point of concerning yet, at least not on Tim. Still… “You weren’t up all night running numbers, were you?”

“I slept, I just woke up early.” Tim said defensively. “Besides, it’s best to get data like this when it’s new. It allows me to compare the first reaction to the long term response and see if there are any shifts.”

“Good data gathering is important,” Jazz agreed, “but so is taking care of yourself.”

She set the bowl of porridge that she had just finished adding toppings to in front of Tim and blatantly stuck a spoon in his hand. Tim blinked down at the food for a moment before shrugging and taking a bite. Cass, smiling in amusement, handed Jazz a fresh bowl.

“Best news is,” Tim continued after he had swallowed, “that everyone thinks Danny is, and I quote, a ‘Beautiful Cinnamon Roll Too Good For This World, Too Pure’. I mean, that’s not really a new opinion, but the new article really cemented it.”

“I don’t know how to take that,” Danny said after a pause.

“I mean, I’d just be glad to not be a poor little meow meow,” Duke said as he leaned over to look at Tim’s screen.

“The big change,” Tim continued and tilted his screen for Duke to see better, “is that public opinion of Jason has recovered. It was always solid in Gotham, we get it here, but outside of Gotham people were really having some issues with how quickly Jason pressed the button. Danny going on record to say that he asked Jason to press it— that he knew that’s what he was saying— has made a real difference.”

That was good news, but something about the way that Tim was presenting it made Jason tense and he had to purposefully relax his grip around his spoon. “What’s the bad news?”

Tim glanced over at Jason for a moment before looking back down at his tablet. The way he chewed on his lip pretty much assured there was bad news.

“Tim,” Jason pleaded. He got they were all trying to protect them while Danny was still recovering, but he needed to know, “just tell me. I’d rather hear it here from you than out there on the street.”

“There’s a small, and I mean really small, group that claims we made Danny say those things,” Tim explained with a grimace. “It got dug up that Danny’s on a Wayne Inventors’ Scholarship. They’re saying that we threatened to pull the scholarship if he didn’t clear Jason.”

Maybe it was best just to set the spoon down before he bent it in half.

“We don’t publish those names,” Bruce commented, a heavy frown in place as he joined the breakfast table, own tablet in hand.

Tim nodded. “I know.”

“I’ll look into who at the school may have leaked that information.”

“I mean, it could have just been a classmate?” Danny pointed out. “It’s not like I’ve gone around shouting it to the heavens or anything, but, like, I haven’t kept it a secret how I ended up suddenly mid degree in the program.”

“It could have been,” Bruce acquiesced, “but it still bears looking into. Even if nothing comes of it, reminding the school of how they’re bound by FERPA hardly hurts, not with you returning to classes in a week.”

“Yeah that’s going to be… yeah,” Danny said with a sigh.

Jason leaned over to wrap his arm around Danny’s shoulder and brush a kiss against his temple.

“I’ve got to leave in a few days too,” Jazz said apologetically.

Danny nodded and leaned further into Jason. “You’ll be careful?”

“I will.”

“She will also have assistance in that matter,” Alfred said. The clink of the fresh plate of hot cross buns was a firm period on his declaration.

“That’s a sweet thought,” Jazz managed after a moment, “but I do live in a different state.”

“That is hardly an issue, Miss Jasmine. Master Richard will accompany you for the first week to simply make sure that everything is both secure and calm. When he is certain you will be well, he can make his way back easily enough,” Alfred explained. When Jazz opened her mouth to protest, Alfred held up a staying hand. “Miss Jasmine, I assure you it is not a hardship. You are family now and we very much look after our family. It would do all of us well to know that you are safe and sound.”

“Yes, family now,” Cass agreed as she made a grabbing motion at the plate until Tim passed her one of the buns.

“I, well…” A faint blush spread across Jazz’s cheeks. “I guess if it wouldn’t be a problem? And if you’re okay sleeping on the couch, Dick? We’ve only got one actual bedroom in the place, we use the other as an office for us both.”

“Hey, a couch isn’t the worst place I’ve slept by a long run,” Dick chirped. “But if you’re feeling guilty, I’ll taking getting to pick the tunes on the drive.”

“Don’t do it,” Jason said, an attempt to save Jazz that hell. “Seriously, not worth giving him that power. His music tastes are atrocious.”

Dick pouted. “They’re fabulous.”

“No, Jason’s right on this one,” Tim said.

“If Drake is agreeing with Todd, I am afraid that one has to accept there is some truth in the statement,” Damian interjected.

“Baby bat, no,” Dick whined.

From the look he aimed Dick, Damian was unmoved by the plea. “While you have a great many skills, Grayson—”

“Thank you.”

“—your taste in music, fashion, and other matters of culture is not one of those skills.”

“I’m wounded. You wounded me Damian, my baby bat, so cruel… so callous,” Dick said as he basically melted down into his chair.

“Keep up such antics and you will have a true wound to worry about, Grayson,” Damian said with a sniff.

Jason chuckled. “Ah, it’s not breakfast at the Manor without a threat of violence.”

Duke leaned around Tim to look at Jazz. “You still have time to run, Jazz, you don’t have to be part of this family. You can still get out.”

“Hum, I don’t know. Give me a Creep Stick—”

Multiple people looked at Danny and mouthed ‘creep stick?’.

“—and I think I can manage. Besides, none of the food has come back to life yet so it’s a better breakfast than I had most of my childhood.”

In the following silence, Bruce very carefully set his tablet down and folded his hands on top of it. “Food that came back to life?”

“Lab safety was just sort of an ignored suggestion in our childhood home,” Danny said.

“They kept samples in the fridge,” Jazz continued. “It sometimes had… unexpected results.”

“I don’t know, I think after the tenth time the hotdogs come ‘alive’ it’s an expected result,” Danny argued dryly.

“Good heavens,” Alfred declared softly. “And… the Dr. Fentons did nothing?”

Danny just shrugged. “I ate at school or out with my friends a lot.”

“No wonder you’re so pint sized,” Dick cooed.

“Hey!”

“You are, fish. Just a little guppy,” Jason teased. When Danny grumbled, Jason only pulled him closer.

“It really was just the way things were,” Jazz said, apparently still trying to soothe the table. “We know it’s not normal now, but that was just life at the time. It almost made more sense when there were actual ghosts around haunting Amity Park— and I don’t just mean Danny.”

“Boo.”

“Oh, yeah! You still haven’t shown us your ghost form,” Steph pointed out.

“But only if you’re up for it, dude, like… physically and emotionally,” Duke cut in quickly. “You don’t have to show us if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I mean, it was strange showing Jason the first time— showing someone who knew me as Danny first,” Danny said, “but, like, there are times when I want to be in that form. I even get restless if I go too long without changing over.”

“Or sometimes he just needs something off the top shel-oof,” Jason winced as Danny elbowed him hard. “Hey, I’m just speaking the truth here.”

“You’re the one who used me instead of a step stool to hang cameras,” Danny said with a perfectly sweet smile. “But anyways, yeah, it’s no issue to show you all! You might want to cover your eyes though, it’s a bit bright.”

“Bright?” Dick asked, right as Danny transformed.

It served him right if he was left blinking away spots.

“Oh wow, your lights are totally different like this,” Duke said, leaning forward to peer at Danny.

Danny peered back. “Lights?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m a meta, I see… like, after images of stuff, kinda You’re all sorts of wild like this,” Duke said, waving a hand at Danny.

“And inverted,” Tim pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, it seems to be a thing with halfas? Like, I was wearing a white with black hazmat suit when I died and the inverted version was what my ghost form was in for ages. I’ve learned to make changes to it since, but it’s easier to stay close to that original form.”

“Easier, how?” Bruce asked. He was clearly brimming with questions now that Danny was talking about ghostly matters, but he was obviously trying not to ask everything at once.

Tim didn’t seem much better in his eagerness.

“Oh, hum, there’s this resistance? Think of it like trying to pull apart two things that have been glued together. If you have the right solvent or heat or tools you can do it, but you have to have that and you still risk damage if you don’t go carefully. So small changes are easier. Also what um, role I’m in changes things.”

“Fascinating,” Bruce murmured.

“Wait, hold up,” Dick interrupted before Bruce could ask a follow up. “If you’re a halfa and Jason is a halfa, does this mean that Jason has a ghost form too?”

Jason had to resist pushing his chair back as all eyes spun to him. Sure this was his family, but that single minded Bat focus was still intimidating.

Cass tilted her head. “Like Duke said, only if up for it.”

“It’s just, I haven’t… transformed yet,” Jason said. He tried for a casual shrug and felt like he had missed by a mile. “We had to wait for my core and everything to form first.”

“But you could transform now?” Tim asked curiously.

Jason glanced at Danny.

“I think you could,” Danny said. He was floating a little above his chair now. Casually, as if it was odd, he crossed his legs and leaned forward onto them. “Your core is strong. You aren’t having the power issues I did, but you aren’t trying to go through this when a teen either. Question mostly is if you’re ready to try.”

Did he want to try?

Jason didn’t know. Part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted to be able to experience this aspect of being that Danny experienced— to experience it with Danny. Another part of Jason was still afraid. It still felt like the final period on everything that had happened with the Joker all of those years ago.

But maybe it was time to put that period on it.

Maybe it was time to let go.

Maybe it was time to live.

“I’d… I’d like to try.” At least if the worst happened he’d have his family here with him. One of them would be able to talk him down from a panic if he came back as Robin.

“After breakfast, Master Jason,” Alfred said firmly.

“Yes Alfie.”

“So… how does this work?” Dick asked.

They were gathered in the gym— originally a room converted for Dick’s gymnastics and since expanded to have various workout gear— on the bright blue mats. Danny was still in his ghost form and drifted in a lazy circle around the group. Jason and Jazz paid him no mind, but Duke and Steph kept glancing at the ghost.

“Well, I mean, when I was a teen I had to say a catchphrase and everything, but I was a lot more in flux at that age so it was all harder. Now it’s much more like just… taking a breath and jumping.”

“Yeah, fish, I’m going to need you to be a little more specific than that,” Jason drawled, his attitude a thin veil over his nerves.

Danny stopped, hovered in front of Jason, and gave him a chaste kiss. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered.

Jason gave a terse little nod.

“Really,” Danny continued, “you’ll be okay. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths.”

Breathing slowly through his nose, Jason focused on the feeling of Danny’s cold fingers against his cheeks.

“Now feel for your core. Think of what we saw with Frostbite— the fire, the ash, the movement of it. The light of it. Think about how warm it is there under your sternum. Even in this form, it’s part of you.”

Jason let out a breath slowly, feeling his chest fall with it. He focused on that warmth that nestled itself just under skin and bone. He thought about how it had looked in his hands, destructive but full of the promise of life.

“Keep a focus on your core, but think about how it feels to fly through the air as Red Hood. Think about that moment when you’re at the height of a swing and gravity doesn’t seem to matter. Now let go of all of that and fall. Your core will catch you. I’ll catch you.”

Jason gasped. His knees went out under him. He couldn’t breathe.

No…

He didn’t need to breathe. There simply wasn’t that demand on his body. Everything was just… calm. Static. Still. And he felt so warm. He hadn’t been this warm since before he had died only to wake up cold and alone in his own grave.

Jason looked down at his own hands. They were a dark ashen grey and when he flexed them, soot flaked off and scattered. The bat symbol— his bat symbol— glowed molten orange on his chest. He wasn’t in his Robin costume.

His knees felt weak for a second time, but he still didn’t fall. He looked up into Danny’s fanged grin. The other was holding him up by the elbows. Danny had caught him, just like he promised.

Danny's slow grin only uncurled further. “Hey there, hot stuff.”

Jason let his head fall back as he groaned at the joke.

“Nope, you’ve gotta deal with my puns because wow you really took the whole lava core thing to heart, didn’t you?” Danny said, looking Jason over. “Not that you aren’t totally rocking the look.”

“Really?” Jason asked. It was odd to hear his own voice come out modified from the black mask, deep but without the mechanical edge his Red Hood mask did. Steam escaped from the mask at the filters, swirling up into the still air.

“Payback for months of fish jokes,” Danny said and met the glowing red eyes without an ounce of shame. He drew his hands back along Jason’s arms from where he was holding onto his elbows. Jason could feel cold run along his arms and he held back a shiver. “You good to stand?”

Jason nodded. He felt fine now, weird, but fine. “Yeah, I am. Just… this is a lot different.”

“I know,” Danny said easily and a little sadly. He squeezed Jason’s wrists before letting go and drifting back. Without warning, he plunged his hand into his chest to find his Tucker™ phone.

“What the fuck,” Steph whispered from the sidelines.

“Hey, it’s an easy way not to lose things,” Danny said, “and you need a special phone to be able to handle stuff in the ghost zone so I just keep it on me.”

“In you.”

“Same diff,” Danny said with a shrug. He floated back enough to get all of Jason in the frame and snap a photo.

Jason took the phone carefully as it was passed over to him. That was him. He didn’t know what to think of it all yet, but that was him— as much him as Jason or Red Hood were him. This form certainly drew from his current Red Hood uniform, there was no question of that, not with the face mask and hood, but the coat was longer. The end of the coat ended mid thigh in drips and drops of bright red lava that turned to rick black ash and drifted away. The drips gave a clue to the make up of the rest of the coat, an oddly, roughly iridescent black that glowed bright on edges and seems. Inside the hood was almost blindingly bright.

“It’s definitely a look,” Tim said.

“I like it,” Steph interrupted. “You’re going to make the bad guys shit themselves.”

“Miss Stephenie,” Alfred sighed.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it!” Tim grumbled. “I guess I just didn’t expect it to be so… otherworldly after Danny’s form.”

Danny shrugged and tucked himself into Jason’s side. The coat sizzled where Danny touched it. “I’m really the odd ghost out. Most of them are much more dramatic and themed to their obsession or core.”

“I think it is impractical. There will be no ambushing anyone when you glow in such a manner,” Damian sniffed.

“Jason’s ghost form isn’t for taking on criminals, Damian,” Bruce said. Jason knew B was thinking it through though from the slightly constipated look on his face.

“I guess with that coat you could totally say that look is dripping,” Duke said and then reached over to high five Dick as Cass signed ‘fire’ dramatically.

“This is your fault,” Jason let Danny know, “the puns.”

“They were like this when I got here,” Danny said, repentantly. “Come on though, open up.”

“Open up?”

“Your mask,” Danny said, tapping on the hard black surface. “I bet you can retract it. Just think about it pulling back and tucking away.”

Jason frowned under the mask but Danny was right before, so he took a breath and tried to picture the mask collapsing on itself and pulling back behind his neck.

The air of the room felt cold on his face.

“Oh, wow, your hair’s inverted,” Dick said, “just like Danny thought it would be. That’s almost more wild than the outfit.”

Jason reached up self consciously to tug at what must now be a black lock only for Danny to catch his hand and kiss it lightly.

“There you are. It took me a long time, but I finally found you,” Danny said.

“Found me?”

Danny gave a little hum. “Yep. Found that ghost whose haunt I crashed into all that time ago. Who would have thought I’d go from being worried about how angry your haunt felt to actually getting to know you like this— getting to know all of you. Getting to see you.”

Danny drifted up just a little more, just enough to press their lips together into a kiss. Icy cold met magma hot and Jason closed his eyes to sounds of cat calls and ‘steamy’. His siblings might be damn annoying, but they weren’t wrong, the kiss was literally steaming.

“Careful or you’ll be smoked salmon before you know it, fish.”

“I don’t know, I think I’d put up with it for you. You know why? Because I lava you,” Danny said with a cackle of laughter.

Jason rolled his eyes, but pulled Danny into another kiss. He had better get used to the puns, he supposed, but somehow he thought he would manage. He thought he would manage because he was no longer just a dead boy, because he had his family around him supporting him, because he also loved Danny. They had not only their afterlives, but their whole lives ahead of them.

And Jason… Jason was determined to live.

---

AN: And here we are... done! I hope you all enjoyed every moment of this fish's adventure, the love he found, and the life he helped give back! It was a journey for sure, and it took me longer than I expected, but I am ever so grateful for you all being along for it! I'll update ao3 tomorrow!

Stay delightful, darlings!

#the end #dp x dc #dead on main #like betta fish do

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kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

Note

Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

#könig x reader #könig x you #mythology au #arthurian au #historical au

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cressidagrey · 1 month

Text

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 4

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, KITTENS!, Accidental Forest Burning?, Kinda a panic attack or the fae equivalent, Mention of Wing Clipping (kinda) and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Eira was having a bad day.

She was having a really, really bad day.

After the war…they had been more often.

After the war…there hadn’t been a week without her having one of those bad days.

A day, where everything felt like it was too much. Where everything seemingly scratched at her skin, everything was too much, too loud.

Today was another one of those days.

It was one of those days where everything was too much, too loud, too much, too bright. Where the walls suddenly seemed to grow too close, the ceiling too low, the world too large, too noisy, too….everything.

It was one of those days and Eira didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

She was curled up in her room, the windows covered and the curtains drawn closed, plunging the room into deep shadows.

She couldn’t stand it when the world was too much, too loud.

And yet she could still hear it all. Still hear every little sound, every little noise.

The voices of the others, the birds or the animals outside, the people on the streets, everything.

It was too much and she didn’t like it.

She was curled up on the bed, her hands pressed against her ears as she tried to block out as much of the noise as possible.

It was too much, everything was too much, too loud, too bright..

She just wanted the noise to stop.

But she couldn't. And as much as she wanted to throw herself a pity party...it wouldn't result in anything.

She wanted to cry and complain and have something in the form of a tantrum, like a child.

But that wouldn’t get her anywhere, would it?

She was an adult, she couldn’t just sit and sob about everything being too much. About her bad day.

It wouldn't give her anything...wouldn't result in anything. And so she forced herself to get up...she forced herself to have breakfast...to smile at Nyx when he upended his porridge bowl all over Rhys.

It was hard, getting up when all she wanted to do was to stay under the covers.

She was exhausted, her bad day and the lack of sleep leaving her feeling like walking dead.

At least she was left alone.

Rhys was in a meeting with the governors, Feyre had taken Nyx with her to some painting classes…

She knew she shouldn’t have been feeling as relieved as she did when she realised that every one was gone, leaving her alone in the River House.

But there was a part of her that was immensely relieved, almost desperate.

It was only her, with her bad day and the silence of the house, for once without the constant bustle of the others.

She ended up tending to her gardening patch that day...ignoring the hovering shadows that tried to get her to stop.

But she didn’t listen. The hard work of tending the garden and the feeling of the dirt against her skin was enough to distract her, if only for a little.

It was better than sitting in her room, alone and curled up and trying to muffle every single sound.

She could still remember the smell and the sounds of the war.

Of blood and mud and smoke, of the sound of steel on steel.

Of the screams of soldiers, of the soldiers calling out for their friends, for their family.

Of the sounds of swords being pulled from flesh and mud, and of bodies crumpling to the ground.

She could still remember those days.

And sometimes it was all she could think of.

The war. The bad days. The pain.

Eira finished her planting, having harvested enough carrots for the day, and then walked back through the door, dusting some dirt off her hands.

She paused when she saw Amren standing just inside, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

She froze, suddenly feeling the urge to turn back and out of the door again.

There was something about the other female’s stare, the almost calculating look in her eyes, that always made her feel like prey.

And Eira didn’t like it.

She could see the other woman’s gaze dart over her, noting all the messy and unkempt aspects of her current appearance, and suppressed the urge to shrink and cower.

“Amren,” she greeted politely, as she tried to push down the rising feeling of dread.

The other female simply tilted her head, eyeing her almost lazily.

You look...” Amren drawled quietly, before trailing off.

Eira’s skin was crawling with the feeling of being judged, to be judged and found....found lacking.

“You look like you’ve been digging through mud,” Amren continued, her voice still quiet.

Eira swallowed a little, feeling herself start to hunch in on herself.

She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands, the feeling of Amren’s intense gaze almost making her fingers start to twitch.

"I have been gardening," Eira said quietly. Her own vegetable plot...and she needed to think of how to prepare the garden for autumn, given that Elain was not going to do anything like that.

"You would have been better off honing that lightning power of yours, Girl," Amren drawled. Eira couldn't help but flinch.

She tried to ignore...what was slumbering under her skin. She tried to...she tried not to think of what...what she was capable of. What she had proven herself to be capable of.

“Your power is wasted on gardening,” Amren went on, her eyes still fixed on her. She was still studying her in that intense, almost predatory way. “You should be training, honing your abilities….not digging in the mud like some ordinary farmer.”

Eira felt herself bristle slightly, a spark of anger cutting through the almost debilitating terror of the intense stare.

The other female made it sound so….insulting. Like working in the garden was an insult to her power, something she was too good to do.

"I like gardening," Eira answered quietly.

“You like gardening,” Amren repeated, raising an eyebrow. She pushed off the wall, taking a couple of steps towards her.

“You like it, or is it an excuse to avoid using your power?” she inquired, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Ignoring your power isn't going to make it disappear," Amren said quietly. "You are cauldron made, girl. You already showed how deadly you can be."

Eira flinched again, unable to stop herself. Amren’s words hit her like a blow.

It was something she'd tried so hard to avoid thinking about.

She was cauldron-made, cursed by the powers she'd been given, by the very strength that was in her blood.

“You have an entire arsenal at the tip of your fingertips. You’re powerful. You’re stronger than most of them. You have the power of the damn lightning running in your veins. You have a natural gift for destruction. And yet you choose to ignore it all , to dig in the dirt like some common peasant instead of actually learning how to use it?”

She flinched again.

"What's wrong, girl?" Amren asked, her voice still low and quiet. "Have I struck a nerve?"

She stalked closer, circling around her like a predator.

"You have power at your fingertips, enough to level a city and yet you choose to waste it on…gardening. Or on sewing or on baking or on whatever other useless little hobbies you find time for.”

The words cut deep, cut deeper than any blade ever could. Amren's voice was cold, almost mocking, but there was a touch of something else in it. Something almost like…irritation.

It was like she was disappointed, that she wanted Eira to...to be more. To be…a weapon.

"I don't want to be a weapon," Eira whispered. She didn’t want to fight.

She wanted peace. That was all she wanted.

Amren stopped, so close that Eira could taste the almost metallic smell of her power, like a sharp tang on the back of her tongue.

The other female was silent for a moment, studying her in that intense, almost calculating way of hers.

A beat passed before she spoke again, a low murmur.

“What you want...is irrelevant. You are a weapon. You are a living weapon...and that is never going to change. What about your sister? She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage. This is your thanks to your High Lady?" Amren hissed at her.

Eira flinched at the sharp tone, her eyes wide as she stared at Amren.

The other female was looking at her with a cold expression, her gaze sharp.

And yet…there was something else in her eyes, a cold kind of fury. Rage.

Amren’s voice dropped to a low murmur again, a dangerous undertone to it. “What about Feyre?“

Her words were like a lash, flaying the skin of her soul.

Of course. Of course, this was about Feyre.

Amren was furious with her. She was furious with how Eira tried to push her power away, how she tried to bury it and hide and avoid using it.

Amren’s eyes flashed with irritation. “She spent years keeping you alive in that cottage, all so you can waste your power on something as trivial as gardening ?”

The faelights flickered, flickered and started to dim.

Eira could suddenly feel a spark of anger at the back of her throat, a sharp feeling of irritation, as if something was scratching at the inside of her skin.

Too much. Too much.

Too much.

Everything was too much.

It all crowded her mind, everything so sharp and intense it almost cut her from the inside.

A rumble somewhere…outside.

There was a part of her that wanted to scream, to yell and kick something and make the sharp feelings stop.

Another part that wanted to curl up on the floor and cry.

She wasn't sure what she did...she wasn't sure what she was...what...

Eira wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, or what she was even supposed to be.

She didn’t want to be a living weapon, a cursed creature with power she didn’t want.

She didn’t want to be that. She couldn’t be that.

She exploded.

It was like the world started to spin, a dizzying rush like a tempest, like a storm rushing through her body.

Her skin felt tight, almost stretched too thin. She felt like she was on fire, sparks crawling through her skin like little thorns digging into her soul.

It was anger. It was fury. It was a roaring sound in her ears like rain, like a thunderstorm.

She exploded. Or at least it felt that way to Eira. The only thing she knew was that she wanted to be far, far away.

Everything was blurry, like a red veil had been dropped over her eyes.

The only thing she knew was that she needed to get away.

She needed to escape, to be somewhere else, far, far away.

She needed…

She hit the floor.

The first thing she knew was the feel of loose dirt beneath her fingertips as her fingers clawed into the ground beneath her.

Not the polished marble of the River House hallway, but cool dirt and grass.

Outside. She was outside.

She was suddenly aware of that fact.

Aware of how her knees and palms were pressed into dirt. That her heart was beating like a battle drum in her chest.

There was a feeling of lightning crawling over her skin, and as she looked down on her hands she saw it. Saw the lightning arcing over her skin, her whole body trembling.

No. No, no, no, no….

She closed her eyes, as a ragged breath left her throat whimper.

She tried to hold it back, everything inside of her.

The anger, the power, everything swirling in her soul, scratching at her heart.

She tried to keep it all from spilling out, but it was like trying to contain a hurricane.

She failed, miserably.

Even with her eyes closed she could see the lightning. Could see the bluish silver colour of it a it sparked all over her skin, as it enveloped her…as it…as it poured into the ground like water.

It was like a tempest was roaring through her veins, like the very lightning was snapping at her skin.

It was too much.

The power. The feeling.

It was all too much.

It was like a living current, like a thousand burning tendrils tracing over her skin, igniting every nerve ending like wildfire.

Every muscle felt like it was twitching, every nerve like it was screaming.

It was almost painful, the lightning dancing like little claws over her skin.

She tried to hold it back, wanted it all to stop.

But it was like a dam had burst.

All her anger, all her rage, all the things that had been brewing in her soul were now pouring out like a tsunami.

The ground around her was torn up, little pieces of grass and dirt thrown about by the currents of her power.

It was like an ocean of energy, like a storm in miniature, and it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside. Everything felt raw and exposed, like every nerve ending was on fire, and the lightning just wouldn’t stop.

She wanted to curl up, desperately wanted it to end and just wanted to stop feeling all at the same time. And then...then it was over.

Then it was over.

Her heart was still thundering in her chest, the sound deafening in her ears, the electricity leaving her skin feeling oversensitive and raw. Her body felt exhausted, every muscle screaming and every nerve like a live wire of pain.

And then, as suddenly as it had all started, it was over.

Eira was aware of a sudden moment of silence. And then she was aware of her own ragged breathing, how her heart was beating so hard in her chest she was sure it was going to break through her ribs.

Eira sat there, feeling the cold air biting into her skin.

She was alone.

Completely alone.

She was at the edge of a forest, sitting on the ground. Her hair was a mess, dirt and grass sticking to the strands, and her hands and clothes were stained with it.

She was cold, and her body felt almost numb, but she still couldn’t move.

You need to get up the shadows whispered suddenly.

She heard them, the shadows whispering to her.

It was like a voice in her ear, a quiet and almost urgent murmur.

You need to get up.

They sounded almost...concerned.

She forced herself to speak, to get the words past the lump in her throat.

“Where... where am I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The shadows remained silent for a moment, before she heard them reply, a quiet murmur.

Illyria. You winnowed. You need to get somewhere safe.

She froze slightly at the words.

Not at the idea of being in Illyria, but at the last part.

You winnowed.

She had...winnowed.

She had somehow managed to winnow in her anger, in her fury, to land in the middle of godforsaken Illyria.

She swallowed, trying to get through the fog of her mind.

You need to get somewhere safe.

The shadows were right, and the rational part of her knew she needed to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from the dangers of being right there.

Eira didn’t know what kind of display she had just made, but she could imagine it. And if some rogue Illyrian was going to find her…some rogue Illyrian who hated the High Lord…she was going to die. She somehow didn’t doubt that for one moment.

But she was also…tired. So tired it felt like her bones were made of lead, and she wasn’t sure if she could even move.

The shadows started pulling at her, like invisible hands gripping her and carefully lifting her to her feet.

She staggered a little, trying to keep her balance, her body still shaky from the aftermath of her outburst.

The forest seemed even more ominous in the faint light, the trees like shadowy sentinels surrounding her with their silent vigil…the smell of smoke in the air. She stared to find some of the trees being nothing but smoking black carcasses.

Her trembling intensified.

She had done that. She had…Today it hadn’t been people. Today it had only been trees. Somehow that did nothing to calm her.

But the shadows still held her, guiding her forward, almost like they were trying to lead her somewhere.

One tendril wrapped around her wrist, like an invisible tether, pulling her forward with each stumbling step.

She wasn't sure how long she stumbled after it...every movement sluggish and shaky.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on, how long she stumbled and tripped through the shadows of the forest.

She was tired, so tired she felt like she could go to sleep and stay there on the cold forest floor. But the shadows still pulled her on, their grasp a gentle but firm pressure around her wrist, guiding her ever forward.

Safe. We’ll get you somewhere safe, the shadows whispered. Safe. Safe.

Azriel. Azriel was safe. She needed Azriel. She needed…

For just one second she could have sworn that she smelt him…smelt cedars and mist, just as the shadows dragged her through…something. Something sticky like honey, like the very air had just hardened around her.

The shadows whispered in her ear, a quiet murmur.

Nearly there.

She still felt tired, still felt like her body was made of lead, but the words from the shadows gave her the strength to keep going.

Nearly there.

She was blinking, and then she wasn’t.

And suddenly... suddenly a cottage appeared before her, like it had just sprung up from thin air.

She stumbled with surprise, her eyes wide as she stared at the cottage before her.

A simple dark grey stone cottage. It looked old, but well kept, sturdy and solid enough to withstand the harshness of Illyria.

There was a thin trail of smoke curling up from the chimney, and a warm light shining from the windows.

It was clearly lived in, clearly a home .

Esmeray will take care of you.

Eira was bewildered, and confused, and her mind was sluggish and slow.

The shadows had brought her here, to this cottage, and now they were whispering about this...Esmeray.

She didn’t know who Esmeray was, and had never heard of her, but the shadows trusted her.

Still, she stumbled up to that cottage door, hand grabbling against the door, clawing against the door frame to hold herself up.

And then she heard a sound, a voice coming from inside.

"Who in the Mother's name...?"The sound of footsteps came padding hastily nearer, the door opened…and Eira would have nearly fallen into the house if she hadn’t caught herself.

The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.

Illyrian. A pair of ruined wings hanging from her back. Dark hair braided back into a long braid that fell down her back. She was beautiful. Hazel-green eyes, sharp eyebrows...She froze as she saw Eira, her eyes widened in surprise as she took in the battered, ragged appearance of the female on her threshold.

"Great Mother alive....What happened to you?" The Illyrian exclaimed, her eyes widening as she saw the state Eira was in.

She took a few quick steps forward, reaching out like she was to grab Eira from the doorway.

Eira didn’t have time to protest before the Illyrian grabbed her arm, pulling her all the way through the door and into the cottage. The inside of the cottage was warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a faint, homey scent of smoke and herbs lingered in the air.

She was surprised, speechless at the quick movement, and her legs all but gave out underneath her.

The female caught her before she hit the floor, quickly steadying her and practically dragging her to where a chair was set by the fire.

The shadows swirled around her, dancing and flitting in the air like a little cyclone. The female noticed them, an eyebrow raising at the strange phenomenon, and turned a questioning gaze towards Eira. "Did Azriel send you here?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with something like alarm.

Eira struggled to find her voice, her throat dry and her mind fogged. Trying to speak was like trying to pull the words from the thick fog that filled her mind, but she managed to give a vague shake of her head, gesturing towards the dancing shadows.

The female tilted her head, seeming to understand her silent meaning.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked towards the shadows swirling around her.

"The shadows...did they bring you here?" she asked, her eyes flickering between Eira and the dark tendrils of air.

Eira nodded weakly, unable to summon the strength to speak.

Yes. The shadows had brought her here. They were still spinning and flitting around her, their presence a strangely comforting one.

The female’s brows furrowed more, as she took in Eira’s battered appearance, the exhaustion in her eyes, and the dancing shadows.

"What exactly happened to you?" she asked, her voice sharp and urgent, as she examined Eira for any more injuries. She was checking her over as she spoke, her hands gently but firmly moving over Eira's arms, chest and back. The female’s voice was quiet and gentle, like she was trying to soothe a spooked animal.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet Eira’s.

Eira thought for a moment, trying to force her mind to work, to pull the words and her own name from the corners of her mind.

It took a moment, but she finally managed to rasp the words out.

“...Eira.”

The female nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer.

"Eira. That's a nice name." she said softly, before pausing. A moment of silence, as the female seemed to study her. And then… "Eira Archeron?" Surprise coloured her voice, and her eyes widened as she took in Eira's face, studying her features.

She was looking at Eira, her hazel-green eyes searching her face, like she was trying to find some resemblance, a small smile appearing on her face.

"My son mentioned you before," she said quietly. “My son mentioned you before,” she repeated again, her voice still quiet and soft.

It took a moment for her words to register.

Her son… mentioned her?

"Your... son?" she managed to croak out.

The female chuckled.

"Azriel," she said quietly, her voice holding an undeniable note of pride.

Eira's mind went quiet, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his name. Her mind was like a sluggish, muddy mess, but something clicked as the words sank into her mind.

Her son. Azriel.

Esmeray was Azriel’s mother .

He...he had mentioned her? To his mother?!

To his mother.

The words circled her mind, repeating again and again.

To his mother, to his mother, to h-

The female seemed to recognize her shock, her surprise. And her words came softly, as her eyes never left Eira’s face.

"My son always was a quiet one. But he has a habit of mentioning the things that are important to him. You and your sisters clearly are considered important to him. Elain is your twin sister, isn't she?" The words seemed like they were spoken through a fog. Eira’s mind was in shambles, still reeling from the fact that Azriel might have mentioned her to his mother. But her mind caught on the other words.

Elain. Her twin sister.

She could only give a jerky nod in response, the movement making the world spin for a moment.

"My name is Esmeray," Azriel's mother introduced herself. Esmeray. "Welcome to Rosehall, Eira."

Rosehall.The word echoed in Eira’s head.

She was at Azriel’s mother’s home, a place called...Rosehall.

And the female before her...was Azriel’s mother.

Esmeray. Her name matched the warmth of her voice, and there was a kindness to her face that made Eira trust her instinctively.

Esmeray’s voice was soft as she spoke, a kind and gentle tone.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The words rang through the buzzing mess that was Eira’s mind, and she almost wanted to cringe with frustration. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t remember.

But Esmeray’s voice was so gentle, so...motherly. It made her just want to spill all her troubles, to lay down her head and just...rest.

The words fumbled out of her mouth, stumbling over her tongue as she forced them out one by one.

"I...I was gardening,” she said, her voice soft, “back home...Amren came...we had words...I...I got angry...”

She paused a moment, hesitating, before forcing herself to continue.

“I winnowed...I ended up next to a forest...I think…I think I killed the trees..."

Esmeray was watching her, her eyes not leaving her face for a second. There was concern in her face, surprise and alarm, but none of the judgment Eira had expected to find there.

She could only swallow, feeling all at once like a little child again. A frightened, exhausted and weary little child, all but collapsing in the presence of a caring adult.

Esmeray didn’t move, but there was a quiet pause before she spoke again.

"The shadows led you here," Esmeray said, her voice still soft and gentle.

The shadows wrapped around Eira’s wrist tighter, another tendril moving and twirling around her like they were acknowledging what Esmeray had said.

Esmeray seemed to blink twice at the shadow’s behaviour. "I imagine my son is already aware of what happened then," she said, her voice quiet.

True. The shadows would have told Azriel what was going on, right? So why hadn’t he come?

Master will be there as soon as he can, the shadows whispered to her. It's alright. They were trying to soothe her, in their own quiet, strange way.

Esmeray was watching her, studying her like a worried mother.

“Let’s clean you up,” she said, her voice still soft and gentle, "Are you hungry? Thirsty? You are in shock, you are shaking.”

It was only then that Eira realized she was shivering and quaking. Like her body was trying to tremble apart.

The female stepped closer but didn't touch her yet, her eyes still studying Eira like she was trying to decide what to do with her. "And what happened to your clothes, sweetheart?" she asked softly, almost to herself, as her eyes raked over the torn, ragged state of Eira’s gown.

It was only then that Eira remembered the sorry state of her own attire. Torn, stained, dirty, ragged, burnt in some places, ripped in others… she must have looked like she had stumbled right out of a nightmare.

And then Esmeray reached for her, gently taking her arms in her hands.

Eira could have pulled away. Her body told her to pull away. She didn’t know this female, had never even met her. And yet…

"Come," Esmeray said quietly, "Let's get you washed and into some clean clothes."

She seemingly blinked and Esmeray had her bundled into a thick nightgown and had chivied her back into the kitchen...herbs drying over the the stove, as she put the kettle on and then sat across from Eira to carefully clean the scrapes on her hands. Her hands were spread out on the tabletop, and Esmeray was bent over them, carefully cleaning the scrapes and cuts there with some sort of ointment. The female seemed to be an expert when it came to tending wounds, her movements swift, yet gentle.

The silence in the cabin was so absolute, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle on the stove, the steady hum of the pot, and the occasional stirring of the herbs above.

It was comforting, in an odd way. Like for the first time in a long time, Eira could draw in a deep breath without worrying about what would come next.

Her mind was still so sluggish, but the steam rolling off the kettle, and the clean scent of the herbs all seemed to be slowly coaxing her out of the fog that filled her head.

Perhaps even her body was beginning to relax. Eira felt...more grounded now, like she was less on the verge of collapsing than before.

The kettle started to whistle, and Esmeray looked up. Her movements were swift, as she took it off the boil and poured the hot water into a teapot. “Here, drink something,” she said, pushing the tea towards Eira, her voice not leaving much room for arguments.

It was a command, not a suggestion. Though Esmeray’s tone was still quiet, kind. Yet there was a hint of a mother’s steel in it. Eira tried to remember her own mother ever cleaning her scrapes and making her tea. She came up empty.

Her own mother had been more of the opinion that children should be seen not heard.

Eira couldn’t even remember her mother ever having hugged her, now that she thought of it.

Esmeray pushed the steaming teacup towards her, raising an expectant, dark eyebrow.

Eira took it, hesitantly wrapping her fingers around the warm cup, and raised it to her lips, hesitating to take a sip. Esmeray was watching her, studying her even now, even in these simple moments. Eira drank, swallowing the bitter, sweet tea.

It burned slightly on the way down, but it seemed to help, as the fog in her mind receded ever so slightly.

“You have three sisters, don’t you? Nesta, Elain and Feyre? Azriel mentioned that.”

And there it was again. Azriel’s name. Again. He had mentioned her. He’d...spoken about her to his mother.

And somehow Eira still couldn’t wrap her head around it, even as the words echoed in her mind. Azriel mentioned it.

She nodded quietly, a jerky movement that made her head hurt. “Yes.”

Her voice was dry and rasping, and she winced slightly, as she forced the words out.

Esmeray nodded, looking pleased at her answer.

“He’s quite fond of you,” she said simply.

Her words slammed into Eira like a punch to the stomach. He was fond of her. Azriel...He was fond of her.

The words seemed to send a strange sort of shudder through her entire body. He was fond of her. Her mind was still so fuzzy and messy, but the words kept ringing in her head, like a bell someone was tolling over and over again.

He was fond of her.

Esmeray was watching her, her gaze unwavering, and it made Eira realize that the female must have noticed her reaction.

But if she had, she didn’t make any move to mention it. Instead, she just kept looking at Eira, like she was waiting for some sort of reaction.

And so Eira forced herself to speak. “How….how do you know?”

Her words were a bit steadier now, the bitter, yet warm tea working its magic.

“My son may be skilled with the shadows,” Esmeray said with a wry smile, “But he still has the same tell he had from when he was a child. You can tell he’s fond of someone, if you know where to look, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. And he is quite fond of you…though he may be fonder of that twin sister of yours,” she said with a laugh. Elain.

Eira swallowed. She understood what Esmeray was hinting at in a roundabout way without her needing to say another word. "Too bad she turned out to be mated to another," Esmeray said with a sigh.

And just like that, it felt like somebody put a knife straight into her heart and twisted.

Elain.

Azriel may was fond of her…but he was fonder of Elain. Elain was the one who Azriel had been in love with. The one he couldn’t have.

Eira…Eira was just a replacement, wasn’t she? A consolation prize.

It stung, like a thousand needles stabbing into her skin. A replacement.

She looked down into her teacup, trying to will the stinging in her eyes away.

Esmeray was watching her still, taking note of her reaction again."Why do I feel like I just said something I shouldn’t have, sweetheart?” Esmeray asked softly.

Eira shook her head, tears stinging into her eyes.

It wasn't her place to tell Azriel's mother about their mating bond. That should be something that should be coming from him. But Esmeray was watching her and Eira felt like she was seeing everything that was going on in her life. Esmeray was watching her, her eyes sharp and shrewd, as they studied Eira in quiet silence.

And then, all of a sudden, her face softened, and her voice was even softer as she asked quietly, “Did something between you and my son...happen?”

The words seemed to freeze Eira’s lungs.

How had she known? How had she known?

She swallowed, and then opened her mouth, ready to deny the fact...her words dying in her throat.

She couldn’t lie to that face, not the softness in it, not the motherly concern.

The tears came so suddenly they made Eira gasp. They were hot, sliding down her face, and she couldn’t seem to wipe them away, no matter how hard she tried.

Esmeray’s face softened even more, and before Eira knew what was happening, the female was crouched in front of her, her hand reaching up to gently wipe away a stray tear.

“Oh sweetheart...” Esmeray’s voice was soft, almost motherly. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

The tenderness in the mother’s voice made Eira’s chest ache even through the tears, and a quiet sob escaped her.

What was wrong ? Where to even start? Her powers, the bond, Elain, Azriel, the guilt....

It was all too much.

And yet, Esmeray was there. Her voice soft yet stern, her dark eyes kind and concerned as she sat across from Eira, with no sign of budging.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she said gently. “What happened? What did my idiot of a son do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything,” she protested weakly. “He didn’t…”

“Then what happened?” Esmeray pushed gently. “What happened to you, sweetheart? You don’t just start winnowing accidentally if everything is well, Eira.”

She wasn’t even sure where she was supposed to start.

“She….Elain is a seer,” she said weakly, her voice broken.

Esmeray nodded slowly, as understanding seemed to flicker on her features, even as she gestured for Eira to keep talking. "She...she had a vision. Of...Of...Azriel and me," Eira managed to bring out, brokenly. "She tried to make sure that it wouldn't come true....Tried to...He...the mating bond...snapped for him two weeks or so ago."

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears.

Her voice was a broken mess, and her throat felt so dry, like each word was scratching her already abused vocal cords. But Esmeray stayed quiet, only nodded.

The tears wouldn't stop now. They kept falling, as Eira struggled to get the words out through her tears. "The bond….the bond snapped for Azriel around two weeks ago," Eira finally managed, and then she couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth, each one more choked and broken than the last. "She...tried so hard to keep the vision from coming true but...it still happened. It happened. I...I am his...mate"

The words broke off, as the tears came again, the sobs now choking her, "I am his…his mate," she repeated, and just saying the word out loud made the tears flow again, her heart aching almost painfully in her chest.

She was his mate. And yet, he had been…he had been in love with Elain. The one he couldn’t have. She was just the replacement.

The tears were still falling, and the sobs were still wracking her body, as she heard Esmeray’s soft, yet quiet words. “And you….how do you feel about my son?”

"I met him when I was...I was still human," she forced out. "I looked at him and...it was just...I...I fell in love. He was...he was so gentle. Kind. And the shadows…the shadows were so beautiful. I fell in love…before I knew what a mating bond even was.” She felt her tears starting to flow harder once more, despite her efforts to keep them at bay.

She had loved him before the bond. Even before their magic had intertwined and made them mates, she had loved him. Loved him and all his quiet, dark, beautiful glory. And the fact that he had been in love with someone else….it just made everything hurt worse.

Her tears were now falling more steadily, and no matter how hard she tried to blink them back they wouldn’t stop.

Esmeray was still watching her, her dark eyes fixed on Eira’s quivering form, but she was quiet now, her features thoughtful. There was a weight in the room now as the both of them remained silent.

The only sounds that could be heard were the soft tap tap of the kettle, and the low hum of the pot above the stove, and Eira’s shuddering breaths.

"Drink your tea, sweetheart," Esmeray finally said quietly. "It seems like I need to have a talk with my son about actually writing me more often than monthly."

Eira managed a small, if a bit shaky, snort, even as she brought the mug of tea up to her lips again. As the warm liquid slid down her throat, she slowly, gradually, managed to get her breathing under control again and her tears dried up.

There was nothing she could change about it, could she?

She had always known that she probably wasn’t going to marry for love. She had just thought that…maybe…maybe becoming Fae would at least grant her that.

“At least tell me my son didn’t react badly to the news?” It was a quiet question, but Eira could hear the sharp, motherly tone to the it. It was a quiet yet clear demand to know just how exactly her son had taken the news of them being mated.

"He wants to try. He's trying to court me the human way," Eira’s voice was weak…tired. She heard the sharp intake of breath from Esmeray.

" Human way?” There was a small note of surprise to her voice, but Eira chose to ignore it.

"I used to be human," Eira said weakly. "Then I got thrown into the cauldron." Esmeray just inclined her head in a mute nod, indicating she had understood.

There was a small note of melancholy in her voice, as her dark eyes seemed to study Eira's before her lips curled into a small smile. “Then I suppose I have plenty to talk to my son about,” she murmured softly. “Are you hungry? I was going to make dinner soon,” she said with a smile.

Eira opened her mouth to answer and was then interrupted by a white cat that padded into the room, meowing loudly. The cat took one look at Eira, meowed happily, and then hopped into her lap, purring loudly.

“That’s just Flora,” Esmeray said with a fond smile, "She's probably trying to get away from her babies for a bit. They have turned into little terrors these days."

Eira let out a small, choked laugh, trying and mostly failing to resist the urge to immediately begin rubbing the purring cat behind the ears.

She had always loved cats. It was a small comfort, as the creature rubbed its head against her hand, purring loudly. Just as Esmeray had said, 3 kittens were not far behind their mother.

The three kittens hopped into the room and immediately began climbing up onto the nearest piece of furniture. One managed to scale a nearby bookcase, and another made their way onto the table near the window, while the third decisively scaled Eira’s skirts to curl up on her leg together with its mother. They were adorable, all three of them, small and white fluff balls, stumbling about as they scrambled after their mother.

The kitten immediately nuzzled against Eira’s hand, purring loudly, clearly looking for more pats from her, looking at her with sapphire blue eyes.

Eira couldn’t help her small smile, as she began to gently rub the kitten behind it’s small ears. The cat seemed to enjoy the attention, as it began purring louder, its little back arching every now and then.

The shadows tightened around her wrist, and she would have laughed at their display of jealousy any other time, but right now it just got a weak smile from her as the kitten curled up on her lap to take a nap.

“She seems to have taken a liking to you,” Esmeray commented with a smile, watching the kitten rub its head against Eira’s hand, clearly demanding more pats.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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destourtereaux · 1 year

Text

just a little bit of hope - peeta mellark x fem!reader

⤷ summary: with katniss and gale both gone, peeta steps in as an unlikely hunting partner for y/n. ⤷ wc: 2.6k ⤷ requested? yes. see request here. ⤷ follow @lovebirdupdates and turn on notifs to be on my 'taglist'!

⤷ a/n: two things - one, peeta has dimples here, it's just how i imagine him, so please bear with me; two, pretend gale's father is alive please, i didn't think our girl would be able to support two families, no matter how strong she is.

___

The day is horridly warm, exacerbated by a heavy humidity. As you wake, hot air suffocates your surroundings, and the sun glares through the window, hung on a span of blue sky. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, your bare feet find the ground, then immediately retract. The floor is burning hot, baked by the sun. You grit your teeth and force your feet back onto the wood, ignoring the searing heat. You have things to do.

You make a bowl of porridge, watery, but edible. You drink half, and leave the rest for your mother. Your father is off to the mines already, his boots absent. You get dressed, pulling on the prettiest dress you own. You're ready. Or, as ready as one can be.

Today, there will be no hunting with Katniss and Gale, no trading at the Hob. Today, there is only the reaping.

___

You spot Katniss at the edge of the square, gripping her sister's hand. Your friend looks nothing like she normally does. Gone are the boots and hunting jacket, replaced by a simple blouse tucked into a modest skirt. You nod grimly at her; neither of you feels like smiling.

Gale is over on the other side of the square, across from the stage they've set up. Your eyes meet, and he mouths "good luck".

After a few minutes of the routine announcements, Haymitch is introduced, then Effie. By now, the crowd has settled into an air of grimness, despite the clear blue sky overhead.

You don't hear Effie's jokes, and nobody laughs. She finally stops smiling, looking extremely awkward – you almost feel bad for her. Almost.

Then, she sticks her hand in the ball of names, each carrying a life, and pulls one out. Her smile is back on her face when she announces, "Without further ado, our female tribute is: Katniss Everdeen!"

You freeze, repeating her words in your head as if hoping they'd sound different. Your oldest friend – determined, brave Katniss, given a death sentence.

But Effie doesn't wait. Her next words are just as devastating. "And for our male tribute: Gale Hawthorne! Come on up now, dear, don't be shy."

Peacekeepers erupt through the crowd, grabbing your two best friends in the entire world by the shoulders, and forcing them up to the stage. Katniss whips her head around, looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what she's asking for.

"I'll take care of her, Katniss. I won't let her die. And you can't let yourself die, okay? Promise me. Katniss! Promise me!"

Your last words are hysterical, but ironically, Katniss is not. Having heard your commitment to Prim, she is satisfied. She yanks her arms free of the Peacekeepers and walks by herself, her head held high and her face serene.

You grab Prim's hand. Her whole body is shaking, wracked with sobs. You don't hear Effie's last words, but you know what they are.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

___

It's been two weeks since the reaping which stole your best friends. It's shocking how quickly you fell back into routine, as if nothing has even changed. The only indicator of their absence is an added part of your day: splitting your earnings between your family and Prim's.

There are now double the mouths to feed, so you spend double the hours in the forest hunting. Villagers are sympathetic – that may be the only reason you're all still alive. They love Prim, and they trust you. Everything you hunt manages to be traded.

But still, you're cracking. It's just too much, and you don't know if it'll ever get better. You have no idea what Katniss and Gale are going through right now, and you don't let yourself think of them. It would break your heart.

___

Peeta Mellark has always been observant. His teachers told his parents this, back when he was a child. It's this trait that makes him notice you. The girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders, killing herself day after day to provide for not one, but two whole families.

He doesn't understand how no one else sees it. But maybe they do – it's just that no one in District 12 is really in a position to do anything about it. Still, the fact remains that you're close to breaking. You can't keep doing this alone.

Peeta Mellark has never been brave. His mother yells at him, beats him, and he takes it. He has never talked back to teachers, or dared disobey the Peacekeepers. So when he offers to hunt with you, he surprises even himself.

"What?"

"I'm Peeta Mellark. We were in the same class, and my parents run the bakery. I was wondering if I'd be able to hunt with you?"

So you weren't hallucinating. The baker's son – a boy you didn't think could kill a fly – had just asked to hunt with you. Your shock translates into a small laugh, not that anything about the situation is funny, really. Hurt flashes in Peeta's eyes, and you quickly backtrack.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm Y/N L/N, I know who you are. I just didn't think you'd be the hunting type," you explain. Because you're gentle, and kind, and I've never seen you hurt anyone, with your words or physically. But you don't add that last part.

"I've only ever hunted with Katniss and Gale, you must know them, they were reaped this year." Your voice cracks a bit with those last words, and Peeta acknowledges the fact with a nod. His hand twitches; he wants to pat you on the back, or grip your shoulder, anything to stop the melancholy leaking into your eyes, but he doesn't.

"But you're welcome to join me," you end with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

___

The new partnership starts early the following day. You meet a groggy Peeta near his home, and the two of you begin the walk to the Meadow.

You hear no electrical hum from the fencing, which means it's safe to touch, and you guide Peeta across the boundary which separates the Seam from the forest. This is all illegal, you know, but you're too used to it to even notice. Peeta, on the other hand, feels an exhilarating sense of rebellion as he crosses the barbed wire, following your figure into the woods.

"You've never hunted before, have you?" you probe, although it's more of a confirmation than an actual question.

Peeta nods. "But I'm a quick learner. And I won't get in your way, I promise."

You smile, a genuine one this time. "We'll see about that, Mellark."

Over the next hour, you go over all the traps you had set from the day before, collecting from Katniss and Gale's traps as well. True to his word, Peeta picks it up quickly, and even has a great eye for camouflaging the traps. This becomes his task, using grass and twigs and flowers as his medium, painting a deceptive scene which looks safe and welcoming to the many squirrels and rabbits in these parts.

You also start him on foraging. Only one type of berry is poisonous in the Meadow, and it's easy to identify. You make sure he's clear on which to avoid, and leave him to it, while you head to the hollowed out tree where you've hidden your knives. The familiar sight of Katniss' bow and arrows within the trunk brings a pang in your heart. You leave them nestled within and retrieve only your daggers. You were never a good archer.

Another hour passes, and you return to Peeta with a deer. You're happier than you have been in weeks – this will be enough for almost a week's worth of food. Peeta is not empty-handed either, he has two buckets of progress, one filled with strawberries, the other with raspberries. He gives you a soft smile – he has dimples, you think. He then immediately turns a faint shade of green, having noticed the dead deer.

You're seized with the desire to laugh, "Why'd you offer to hunt with me if you get queasy from the sight of game?"

He looks at you with an indignant pout, and you can't stop the giggle that tumbles out, then the full on laughter.

"I'm not like this with all game, just, you know, the larger animals. I can look at dead squirrels just fine – stop laughing!"

Making your way back, within the District, you stop just outside of the fence to split your gatherings.

"Take the squirrels and rabbits, and the bucket of raspberries. I'll keep the deer and trade the strawberries with the mayor," you offer.

"No, you take it all," he crosses the barrier carrying the buckets, and you follow after him, shaking your head.

"I can't, Peeta. That wouldn't be right. This is a fair split."

"I never said I wanted to keep what we hunt. Only that I wanted to hunt with you, Y/N. Take it. I know you need it more than I do. I'll see you next weekend?"

And with that, he pops a strawberry in his mouth, smiling at the sweetness, and walks away.

You're left with your mouth open, unable to process what had just happened.

___

The next morning, you show up at the bakery. His bakery. You earned a few dollars from selling your strawberries to the mayor, and you figure that if Peeta won't take anything, you should buy from him instead.

A few dollars is enough for two loaves of good bread, and so you head to the bread aisle. But your gaze catches on the beautiful cakes on display, decorated with multi-colored icing and swirling script written in melted chocolate.

"I did those," comes a voice from behind you.

Whipping your head around, you see Peeta himself, looking at the cakes with fondness and a bit of pride.

"You did what?"

"The cakes. I decorated them. My mom bakes, but I decorate. I like doing it – it's like painting, just on a different canvas."

"They're really lovely. You have a talent for it," you confirm, "I bet that's why you were so good at hiding traps yesterday. You can see nature's patterns."

He gives you a soft smile in return, and you can see the dimples again. They're adorable, you think. I want to see them every day.

He gives a small cough, looking at you questioningly.

You startle, and blush a deep crimson. "Sorry, I lost my train of thought. I'm here to buy bread. Two loaves," you say as you lower your head to stare down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

It's only when you hear a chuckle that you lift your head back up. Peeta's eyes are sparkling, and his dimples are clear as ever.

"I'll give you three."

___

Two months after the reaping, your partnership with Peeta is still going strong. Every Saturday, the two of you head to the woods, and spend half the day fishing, gathering, and hunting. Originally silent company has evolved into true friendship, with witty banter, fleeting touches, and shared smiles.

You have come to know Peeta Mellark. He isn't just the baker's son, the one who decorates cakes and hates seeing dead animals. He's the boy who saved you, when no one even knew that you needed saving.

Day after day, he has shown up, offering kindness, companionship, and warmth, without expecting anything in return. You care about him more than you thought you could ever care about someone who wasn't family. You care about his messy blond hair, and you care about his broad shoulders. You care about his blue eyes which sparkle when he tells a joke, and his beautiful heart which leads him to give the occasional customer an extra free loaf. Most of all, you care about his dimples, which come out when he smiles at you. You care so much about him, that it scares you.

And Peeta cares about you. He cares about your hands, calloused but nimble, lethal when holding onto your twin daggers. He cares about your face, how it glows when you laugh at his jokes in the woods, but dims a bit when you're back in the district. He cares about your hair, always tied in a ponytail when in the Meadow, but left to flow freely down your shoulders when hunting's over. Most of all, he cares about your smile, which comes out when Prim thanks you week after week for your help, and forces you to take bottles of goat milk and pet Buttercup. He cares so much about you, that it scares him.

___

This hunting day, Peeta comes with news from the Capitol. A few weeks back, he started giving you updates on the Games, after you told him that you couldn't stomach the thought of watching your friends fight to the death.

"Y/N! Good news!" he greets, exiting the bakery. As the two of you begin your walk, he adds, "I'll tell you when we get to the Meadow."

"You're insufferable, Mellark. You can't just hook me like that, and not tell me what it is."

Peeta doesn't answer, so you start walking twice as fast, ushering him toward the edge of the Seam so you could figure out what exactly he wanted to tell you.

Once in the grassy plains of the Meadow, between the forest and the fence, you turn back to the boy, the impatience evident in your face.

"Tell me, Peeta, or I swear I'll –"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, "but it's not really good news, per se. It's just a little bit of hope."

You nod, urging him to continue.

"It's about the Games. About Katniss and Gale."

The last traces of your smile fade. Concern is etched onto your face, and your eyebrows scrunch up, your jaw tightens.

Noticing this, Peeta pulls you in by the waist, so that your head lands on his shoulder. "It's good news, Y/N. Don't look so defeated. They're both still alive, and they're fighting."

"But at least one of them won't be coming back," you whisper into his neck, so quietly you wonder if he even heard. But Peeta always hears you.

"Y/N. That's the news. They could both come back. Caesar Flickerman has just announced that they will be changing the rules this year – allowing two victors of the Games, provided they're tributes from the same district!"

You look up at him in awe. A change to the Games. Katniss and Gale, not one or the other. Both could win. Both could come back.

You choke down a sob, staring at Peeta's brilliant smile and those mesmerizing dimples. And before you can process what you're doing, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a bout of bravery.

Peeta's frozen for a second, before he begins to reciprocate the kiss in earnest. He pulls you in, one hand holding your neck and the other wrapped around your torso, pressing himself impossibly closer. He tastes like icing and strawberries, and you can smell the comforting scent of warm bread.

The kiss ends far too quickly for your liking, and you're suddenly impossibly shy, all bravado gone. You lower your eyes so you won't have to meet his eyes, but realize that you're practically sitting on his lap, having moved there at some point during the kiss. This observation brings a flaming blush onto your cheeks, and you scramble to move away, but you're held in place by Peeta's arms, forming an iron-tight cage around your figure.

He brings a hand to your chin, lifting it up, and kisses you again, more gently this time.

"Don't go all shy on me now, Y/L/N," he teases, and holds the back of his hand against your forehead, as if feeling for a fever. "You're burning up, darling."

"You know damn well that's not a fever–", you start, but you're cut off by his laughter, and once again distracted by those dimples of his.

Maybe Peeta was right. Maybe there is just a little bit of hope left for you.

___

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