#Even if my skin is very grey today for illness reasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lover-of-skellies · 3 years

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So uhh, this isn’t off the prompt list thing and literally no one asked for it, but I decided to go back and edit a super old thing I wrote. It’s supposed to be part of something a lot bigger, but for now, the whole thing’s been discontinued

Essentially, this is an OC insert kinda thing with my girl Adrienne. She’s been trapped in Horrortale for a little while, and since Sans decided to be merciful, she’s been allowed to live in a spare room in his and Pap’s house. She has free roam of the house and can do pretty much whatever the hell she wants (as long as it doesn’t involve getting into the pantry and digging into their reserves), and in exchange for all of that and being allowed to live, he and Papyrus have some super basic rules they expect her to follow

Rule number 1 is that she is to be helpful, and try to maintain the house while they’re away. Rule number two is that she’s not to leave the house without covering her face and hands. Rule number three is that she’s never to leave the house alone, without one or both of them nearby

Out of boredom and hunger, she leaves the house one day, following the smell of food. This doesn’t seem like it’d be anything huge, but it’s a major no-no, and it doesn’t go unpunished

Papyrus is also surprisingly good at giving advice, too. He might not have much experience with dating, but he knows exactly what he's talking about

If you make it to the end, I have to give you kudos because this is a complete cringe-fest ^^"

((Gonna add some potential trigger warnings for: angst, slight violence, and public humiliation))

Pain.

Searing pain.

The once blue-nette had been exploring the town, much to her guardians’ displeasure. She’d known it wasn’t a good idea, and for what reasons, she was well aware, but she had to do something. Staying holed away in the house every moment of every day was a completely new level of boring, one that she hadn’t even known existed. Her guardian had made it very clear that she was to never leave the house unless he or his brother were to accompany her, but today… well. His brother was away, probably at the capital getting physically and verbally abused by their queen, and he himself? She wasn’t sure what he did while he was away, but she’d learned not to ask too many questions. The first few times she tried asking, he’d been quick to change the subject or dodge her questions entirely, or he’d simply laugh and make a joke which he deemed hilarious when in reality, it wasn’t. Once he got tired of her asking, his humor quickly dissipated and was replaced by anger. He didn’t even have to look at her for her to know he was upset; all it took was a few short, clipped responses, and how she could practically hear him frown when he spoke. That’s beside the point though.

At the moment, she was suspended in mid air by her throat, her legs flailing as she began clawing at her assailant’s arm, her teeth bared as she struggled to free herself. The slightly withered fire monster shrugged off her attempts to attack him as if they were nothing at all; even though his strength had been diminished and was now only half of what it used to be, he was still far tougher than she could ever hope to be. Having smelled food, she made the mistake of slipping into the bar he owned, her hood tugged as far over her face as possible. She had glanced around the establishment, taken note of the other monsters nearby, and made another mental note of where all the exits were, should she need to run. After very cautiously crossing the bar and taking a seat at the old, worn counter, the flamesman had wordlessly poured a glass of water. He nudged it in her direction, and she’d eagerly accepted it, being mindful of how much of her face was concealed as she sipped the cold beverage.

For a moment, she was relaxed, and she nearly forgot the very real danger she was in. She was snapped out of her brief feeling of serenity as the Grillby fully shifted his attention to her. He made a soft, questioning sound, and she kept her head low, speaking just barely loud enough for him to hear, “What’re ya serving, Grillby?” He grunted, well prepared to offer her a short, yet simple answer, but was cut off by another monster who seated himself beside the girl, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts before, friend… where are you from?” The teen lowered her gaze to the countertop, catching a glimpse of what looked to be faded blue fur. She didn’t know what monster could possibly want to talk to her, but she remained as calm and casual as possible in hope of not drawing any more attention to herself, “The ruins.”

With their interest now fully piqued, the monster beside her hummed incredulously, “The ruins, huh?... I take it you’ve met our former queen then. Toriel.” Upon hearing the familiar goat monster’s name, the teen saw images flicker in her mind; memories of her time in the ruins before she managed to escape. How Toriel had guided her through all the traps and puzzles that laid in waiting. How she held her close and allowed her to sob into her shoulder. How she’d convinced Adrienne to go back to her house, where there’d be a warm bed, food, and all the love and care she could ever want. Toriel had baked a cinnamon and butterscotch pie, very excited to share it with her, but not long after the teen had eaten a small slice, she’d felt her stomach turn. Her world went black, and when she awoke, she was tucked into a bed in a dimly lit room, which looked as though it had once belonged to a child. She felt incredibly ill and had almost no strength, and she could barely stand without feeling light headed. To her surprise, however, her willing ally, Flowey, had made a surprise return. Adrienne had seen Toriel had burn him alive, so she didn’t understand how he was even still alive.

Flowey had been through this exact same situation too many times to count, as it turned out, and he’d revealed Toriel’s true intentions: make the teen weak enough to require constant care and attention, and make her stay in the ruins forever. Or at the very least, until she died. Taking advantage of a distraction provided by Flowey, she’d waited for the goat monster to disappear to another part of the house. She’d then made her way to the kitchen and began to search around the floorboards. According to Flowey, there was a panel that could be removed, and underneath it, she’d find the remedy she needed to regain her health. She’d found the vial and downed it without question, only to look up and see the crazed goat monster staring at her from the doorway. The look on her face was one that still occasionally haunted Adrienne's dreams, and she’d been trying to go as long as possible without thinking about it. It appeared as though she’d be getting no such luck today, though.

Clearing her throat and trying to force down her growing anxiety, she nodded, keeping her head down, “Yeah, I have. I’ve met her.” The blue furred stranger watched her with an unnerving amount of intensity and she fought the urge to squirm and lean away from them. As they spoke again, their voice held a curious edge, “Huh. I can only imagine how that went.” Nodding silently, the teen returned to her glass of water, more than ready for the stranger to go away. She knew what would happen if she was discovered, and she wanted no part of that whatsoever.

The monster leaned closer to her and sniffed the air, letting out a pleased sigh before mumbling, “Friend… you don��t exactly smell like one of us. Monsters have their own natural and unique scents... But you, however,” A fuzzy paw-like hand seized her arm with a vice-like grip, and the stranger's voice shifted from a mumble to what was more like a hiss, “you smell like you belong on the grill.” Adrienne began attempting to yank her arm back out of the monster’s grasp and they laughed, simply using their free hand to tug her hood down, revealing her identity to Grillby and the other bar patrons that surrounded them. Her faded grey eyes widened in fear as the monsters began to shout at the flamesman, excitedly demanding that he cook her for them. Despite how the teen shook her head in protest, the mass of living fire moved closer to her, rapidly snatching her up by the throat. She was lifted off of the ground, and he ignored her pained screams as the heat from his hand began to scorch the skin of her neck.

With adrenaline now coursing through her veins, she let out a string of expletives and pulled both of her legs up until her knees touched her chest. The flamesman took a single step toward his kitchen, and then froze as both of her deceptively weak legs shot toward him, delivering a sharp kick to the space just below his chest. She didn’t expect her little stunt to actually work, but to her pleasant surprise, he’d released his grip on her out of shock, gingerly touching the now injured part of himself. Adrienne dropped to the floor and quickly regained her balance, paying no attention to the few monsters who rushed to Grillby’s side. She proceeded to climb over the counter and sprint toward the door, the footsteps behind her a clear indicator that she was being pursued now. Not that she could blame them for any though; food was insanely hard to come by, so if you had a chance to eat but the food got up and ran, wouldn’t you go after it too?

Reaching out with a clawed hand, some unseen monster snagged a fistful of her hair and harshly pulled, causing her to yelp and almost tumble to the floor. She glanced around, surveying her surroundings and checking the exits again. Part of what looked to be a dog’s muzzle could be seen in her peripheral vision and she winced, struggling to free herself from the creature's grip. She only received an amused cackle from the monster in question, followed by him instructing some of the others to grab her and haul her back to the kitchen for Grillby. Looking around again and seeing them approaching her, she stuffed her hand into one of her pockets and fished around, searching through the various items inside for a moment before revealing a pocket knife. Unsure of what she might do, some of the monsters around her stepped back, but the one still pulling her hair only growled. Though she felt the hair on the back of her neck raise at the sound, she lifted an arm and made one single, fluid slicing motion with her hand, the blade of the pocket knife slicing through her hair. While she hated having to cut her hair and knew it’d take forever to grow back, she bared her teeth at the large dog monster, her lips curling into a smug grin as she noticed the look of surprise on his face.

Taking advantage of the moment, she darted to the nearest door, fully prepared to run out into the freezing streets and make a mad dash back to her protector’s house. Freedom and safety were so close and within her reach now, but as she whipped the door open and scrambled to get outside, she slammed face first into yet another monster. Letting out a frustrated and startled screech, she began trying to squeeze past them. They simply chuckled, wrapping an arm around her nearly size-zero waist and pulling her flush against themselves. Hearing the chuckle, realization dawned on her; this was her protector. She would be safe now.

She stole a glance up at his face and his scarlet iris flickered briefly down to her, his amused grin shifting into a taut line. Oh, she knew that expression all too well by now.

From that look alone, she knew someone would be hurt today.

Though his arm was almost uncomfortably tight around her, she said nothing, only turning her body slightly and burying her face in the front of his heavily blood stained shirt. The teen whimpered, wordlessly admitting just how scared she really was at the moment. He shifted his focus entirely to the other monsters that were now staring at both of them, and sensing their gaze, the teen whined faintly, her guardian lightly squeezing her in an effort to reassure her.

Thoroughly confused as to why she wasn’t dead yet, someone called out to her protector, “Perfect timing, Sans. Now how about you kill her so we can all eat already?” The skeleton’s normally rough voice held a bitter edge and he practically growled, “She ain’t free game, pal. I’m sorry ta say it, but I won’t be hackin’ this one ta bits for ya.” A crowd was beginning to form now and Adrienne tried to press as close to her friend as she could, wishing everyone would hurry up and leave. She already hated crowds on their own, and knowing that this particular crowd all wanted to see her get roasted alive didn’t exactly make her feel any better. Clearly taken aback, the same monster that’d addressed Sans spoke up again, “Oh really? And why’s that? You never helped the humans that fell before her, so what makes her so special?”

Curiosity piqued, she glanced up at the skeleton again, though he didn’t return the gaze. He just continued staring the other monster down, his iris nearly glowing now from the extent of his agitation, “Because she’s mine. Ya hear me? This little slab a’ meat belongs ta me.” A tiny burst of heat rushed to her face upon hearing his response; was he really claiming her right now? Claiming that she was his, and using his power over the others to coerce them into sparing her? Unbelievable.

Another monster decided to interject, countering Sans’ statement with, “Then how come you haven’t marked her yet?”

Oh boy. Of course someone would ask. Why wouldn’t they? She had no idea what she was expecting, but it clearly wasn’t that. With an annoyed huff, the skeleton spun her around, making sure everyone could see her face as he fired back with another sharp retort, “Heh, funny you should ask. I was on my way home with the intention of doin’ just that, but I guess we won’t have the privacy now. Oh well. All you fuckwits better be watchin’, because I’m only gonna do this once.”

Wait, he was going to mark her? Here? In front of everyone?

Face burning with embarrassment, she dropped her gaze to the floor, letting out a soft squeak as he grabbed the collar of her shirt and jacket and pulled them aside to reveal her shoulder. Not bothering to give any indication of what he was about to do, a faintly glowing blue tongue snaked out of his maw and traced over a very specific patch of her skin. The feeling of his tongue - which consisted solely of highly concentrated magic - on her skin was like nothing she’d experienced before. There was some warmth to it that was followed by a tingle, which was likely caused by the magic itself, and another involuntary whimper slipped past her lips. Her face grew hotter at hearing herself make that sound again, which to her horror, Sans had also heard. It earned a soft chuckle from him and his mandible shifted into a pleased grin.

And then he sunk his teeth into her shoulder.

It happened so fast that she didn’t even have time to register what happened, but at the lack of the expected pain, she unconsciously fidgeted. Wasn’t this supposed to hurt?... What was preventing her from being in pain right now? She felt his tongue trace over her skin again, accompanied by more tingling and… numbness? Had he intentionally numbed her shoulder before biting her?

Seeing that he had been true to his word and had in fact marked her, the other monsters quickly grew bored, the vast majority of them also visibly disappointed as they returned to their prior activities. A sense of relief washed over her and she sighed, stealing a quick glance at her friend as he slowly released her. His tongue lingered behind momentarily and lapped up the blood that seeped from the injury, and his voice took a husky tone as he purred, “Ya taste good, kiddo. I think I could get used ta this.” Her already flushed face became a much brighter shade of red than before and she scoffed, refusing to look at him, “Don’t count on it, mister.” “Awe, c’mon Addy. Help me out here… it’s not my fault that ya taste as good as ya look.” Growling softly, Adrienne scrunched her face up into a look of annoyance in hopes of masking her embarrassment as she rolled her eyes, “Pervert.” “No idea what you’re talkin’ about.” “Uh huh, right. I definitely believe that.” He lightly jabbed her side with the tip of a phalange and she squirmed, yelping in surprise. She tried to twist her small frame away from him and he laughed softly, “Whatever. How about we ditch this place and head home now? This bar is no place for a little lady like ya.” Looking back at him over her shoulder, she flicked her tongue at him.

They’d left the bar and began to walk home in uncomfortable silence. The moment they made it back to his house and he’d set her down, she found herself being roughly shoved against the closed front door with one of his large hands catching her wrists and pinning them above her head. Her eyes widened in shock and she squirmed, “H-Hey, what the hell are you-” Meeting her gaze, the look he wore was enough to silence her, his completely dilated red iris both captivating and terrifying her all at once.

Then he spoke, his gruff voice low, “You disobeyed me, Adrienne.”

Forcing her voice out and reaching nothing louder than a whisper, she frowned, “I… I know I did. I’m really sorry, Sans. I won’t do it again, I swear.” “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I didn’t get ta you in time?” “Yes, I do! Really!” “If you knew the risks, then why’d you do it?” Feeling much smaller than before as he continued staring her down, Adrienne sheepishly looked away from him, “There’s just.... Not a lot to do here when you and Paps are gone, and I was bored. I did a bunch of cleaning and reorganizing, and I even tried to fix the TV. I dug through the hallway closet and looked through the games, but do you have any idea how hard it is to actually play a game by yourself and have fun at the same time?”

With his free hand, the skeleton cupped his face, letting a deep sigh, “You risked your life… you risked dying, because you were bored? Am I hearin’ that right?” Feeling guilty, she slowly nodded, choosing to keep her mouth shut this time. Catching her completely by surprise, what sounded like a giggle could be heard, and though it took a moment to fully register, she had a realization that made her blood run cold; the giggle came from Sans.

Nervously lifting her gaze again to look up at him, the only thing that began to pulse within her was regret. Regret that she’d disobeyed him, regret that she went against his wishes, regret that she’d upset him so badly, regret that she even opened her mouth at all to speak to him, and most of all, regret that she’d decided to look at him.

He leaned back the smallest bit, one hand still firmly pinning her wrists above her head. Her eyes widened in complete terror as his giggling began to escalate, growing louder and louder until he was roaring with laughter as blue tinted tears pricked at the rims of his sockets. Not bothering to wipe away the tears, he placed his free hand on his face. His open palm rested on his cheek as he curled his fingers, the first two settling inside his empty socket; judging by the slight movement his arm made, he’d begun lightly tugging on the rim of it. That was never a good sign. Yes, she loved it when he relaxed enough to laugh with her from time to time, but this display right now? This was the stuff of nightmares.

Then almost as quickly as it’d started, his laughter came to an abrupt halt and his wide grin vanished, leaving only a resentful scowl behind in its place. As his focus shifted back to the teen, her heart began to race. She honestly had no idea what he planned to do now. He then began to slowly tighten his grip on her wrists, a soft growl rumbling from within his chest. Paying no attention to the grimace of pain she wore as his phalanges began digging into her skin, he leaned down, the space between them reduced to almost nothing as he hissed, “You’re an idiot. Get out of my goddamn sight, human.” Adrienne opened her mouth to force an apology out but was quickly cut off, crying out in surprise and pain as the skeleton dug his phalanges even further into her wrists and began to break skin. Rolling his single eye light, he scoffed, stepping back and suddenly yanking her to the side, releasing his grip on her wrists in time to make her small body become airborne. With the sound of something cracking and collapsing beneath her, she knew she’d landed at least partially on the coffee table.

Despite the pain that shot through her with even the smallest movement, the cold stare she was receiving from the skeleton was enough to make get back up, her head hung low as her eyes began to water up. Not wanting to show him this weaker, more vulnerable side of herself, she darted up the stairs, her feet padding across the slightly creaky wooden floor for only a brief moment. She then took refuge in the upstairs bathroom, slamming the door shut behind herself and flipping the latch, locking out the world. Trying to force down the very minute amount of guilt that began to bubble up within him, Sans let out an annoyed huff and glanced at the now completely busted coffee table. He was going to have a hell of a time explaining that to Papyrus later.

~~~

What seemed like a century had passed before the youngest of the two skeletons finally returned home, the sight of the smashed coffee table still lying on the floor enough to induce a sense of dread within him. Normally when he came home, his elder brother would greet him, or at the very least, be lazing about on the couch and offer him a half hearted wave that was usually followed by some sort of pun or terrible joke.

But no. Nothing. Sans was nowhere in sight, and neither was Adrienne. This only made Papyrus’ concern grow; he hoped beyond all hope that his brother hadn’t done anything to her.

The tall skeleton let out a soft sigh and crossed the living room. The exhaustion from the long day began to set in as he ascended the stairs, eager to take a shower and change into something more comfortable. He loved his battle body immensely, but sometimes his sore, tired bones made the item feel as though it weighed a thousand pounds. He wished he could simply change his clothes and climb into bed so he could go to sleep, but life wasn’t that simple for him; before he was allowed to relax, he needed to shower and make dinner for his brother and Adrienne, then the teen was to help him clean up the dishes once the three of them had finished eating. After all that, he was to take Adrienne to the backyard to test prototypes for new puzzles and traps. She was kind enough to help him make sure they worked correctly, so he was always vigilant, always watching to make sure she was never injured on any of them. Aside from being a puzzle and trap tester, his rather small human friend also delighted in helping him think of new puzzles, and she even designed some of her own. She seemed to enjoy partaking in games of pretend when they messed around with the action figures he’d collected over the years, and when Sans wasn’t around or flat out refused to do it, she didn’t mind reading to him before he fell asleep each night, either. They’d grown very close, and he cared for her almost as much as he cared for Sans. It was for all those reasons why he promised to protect her; he had to protect her. He’d become used to her presence and had grown to appreciate their friendship very much, and having her as his friend helped fill the void in his soul that was once occupied by the queen herself. He still considered Undyne a close friend, but the way she spoke and treated him now was… Execrable.

As he twisted the knob and nudged his bedroom door open, the scent of blood hit his nasal cavity and he felt his body tense. Gently pushing the door shut behind his massive frame once he’d crossed the threshold, he made his way to his desk and flicked on the small lamp that resided on its far left corner, the light illuminating his multitude of action figures and an old map.

The faint sound of movement caught Papyrus’ attention and he looked down toward the source, almost unable to believe what he was seeing; the human was in his bed, lying on her side and wrapped in his old blankets. An open first aid kit sat on the floor next to the bed, and cloth bandages were wrapped loosely around her slender neck. Her hair, which was once nearly long enough to reach her lower back, was now much shorter; it looked as though it was cut hastily by some sort of blade. While her arms were mostly concealed by the blankets, he could see that her wrists had also been wrapped in bandages, a familiar crimson threatening to seep through the material. As she shifted again in her slumber, her shirt began to slip down her shoulder and revealed another large bandage, more crimson staining the fabric. His brow bones furrowed as he took note of how the crimson staining it formed a half circle… as if the injury was because of a bite.

In his consternation, Papyrus reached out, a single gloved hand settling on her uninjured shoulder. He leaned down, his spine already aching from the awkward angle as he lowered his voice and did his best not to startle her, “Human?... Adrienne? Please, I Need You To Wake Up. Come On Human, Please.” As she slowly began to stir, he fought the urge to scoop her up into his arms and shelter her from whatever had left her in her current condition.

As her eyes fluttered open and she took notice of the skeleton towering over her, all traces of exhaustion vanished and her eyes widened, a sound of surprise slipping past her lips. In her momentary panic, she’d sat up and tried to move away from him, her chest heaving as she drew in one deep breath after another. Papyrus gently shushed her, offering her a weak, apologetic smile, “Hey, Hey, It’s Alright. It’s Just Me, Adrienne. I Didn’t Mean To Startle You, I Swear. I’m So Sorry For Scaring You.”

Registering who was with her, the teen released a deep sigh of relief. She gave Papyrus no time to prepare himself before she practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around whatever she could reach before clinging to his battle body. Though he was visibly caught off guard, he delicately encircled her with his arms, one hand finding her uninjured shoulder again before he lightly squeezed, his voice laced with concern, “Adrienne?... What’s Wrong? What Happened To You?”

The only response he received from the girl in his arms was a muffled sob and he frowned, moving his hand from her shoulder to her face. He used his index finger to tilt her head back, allowing him to see her tear stained face, and as her bottom lip twitched and another tear rolled down her cheek, he frowned; normally she was such a strong, upbeat person. To see her this way was heartbreaking.

The skeleton lowered his voice even further, reducing it to a whisper, “Adrienne, Please… Tell Me What Happened. I Want To Help You.” Her lip twitched again and she sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away with her sleeve, “I just… Papy… I just wanted to go outside... I just wanted some fresh air… I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Still frowning, Papyrus gently ran his fingers through her hair and tilted his head, his voice remaining low, “What Do You Mean?... Did Sans Do This To You?” Upon hearing the name of the older skeleton brother, Adrienne tightened her grip on Papyrus, her voice beginning to waver as more tears rolled down her face, gathering at her jaw and dripping down onto her shirt, “Papy… I was so stupid. I made him mad at me. I upset Sans.”

Papyrus’ frown deepened; he knew how his brother could be whenever he had one of his episodes, and never in a million years would he wish for anyone to become the recipient of Sans' delirium. The skeleton sighed as he gently stroked the teen’s hair, “It’ll Be Ok, I Promise. You May Stay Here Tonight If You’d Like, And I’ll Be Sure To Speak With Him About This. Do You Think You Could Tell Me Everything, Though? I Can’t Be Of Any Help To You If I Don’t Know All The Details.” With a heavy heart, she slowly nodded and looked up, meeting his gaze, “I… I went outside today... by myself. I went into town, and I went to Grillby’s. It smelled like food in there, and I was so hungry… I thought I’d find something to eat. I kept myself as covered as possible, but I was caught and got grabbed by Grillby,” she paused, visibly ashamed as she gestured to her neck, “…I got burned.”

The skeleton made a soft sound in understanding and nodded, silently asking her to continue, which she did, “Someone else grabbed my hair and I had to cut it to get away from them. Then when I opened the door and went to run outside, I ran face first into Sans. He told everyone there not to mess with me, that I wasn’t free game because I belonged to him. Then he marked me. Right there, with everyone watching. He was a little flirty afterward and he seemed happy enough, so I thought everything was ok, but when we got here, he… he had an episode.”

Papyrus didn’t know what to make of everything he’d just been told; on one hand, she suffered numerous injuries and nearly died, and on the other hand, she was marked by Sans.

Normally whenever a monster marked someone, it meant that they saw that person as their mate and that they wanted to claim them as their own. That they loved that person with every fiber of their body and soul. Being marked also served as a way to protect someone from other monsters, but there had been cases of a mark not being enough to guarantee the safety of a monster's mate.

Being marked was not only a big deal, but it was also something that every self respecting monster knew should be done in private. The fact that Sans marked her in the first place was absolutely astounding, but the fact that he had the absolute nerve to take something that was meant to be special, shared between mates and no one else, and turned it into some obscene gesture that he performed in front of a crowd, undoubtedly humiliating Adrienne in the process… It was unacceptable.

He needed to speak to Sans, and he needed to do it now.

Releasing a deep sigh, Papyrus lifted a hand to idly rub the back of his neck, “I See… I Cannot Apologize Enough On My Brother’s Behalf. I’ll See If I Can Get Anything Out Of Him That Would Explain Why He’d Behave This Way. Hopefully… Hopefully He Doesn’t Clam Up, Like He Seems To Always End Up Doing. Will You Be Alright Here While I’m Away? I Don’t Want To Leave You Alone If You’re Still Feeling A Little Too Overwhelmed And Freaked Out By Everything.” The teen sniffled, absentmindedly wiping her face with her sleeve again as she nodded, “Uh huh… I think so.” Catching the slight uncertainty in her voice, he offered her a reassuring smile, “I’ll Try To Be Back As Soon As Possible, Alright? How About You Pick Out Some Puzzles For Us To Work On When I Return? A Few Good Puzzles Always Help Me Feel Better Whenever I’m A Bit Rattled, So I’m Confident They’ll Do The Same For You, Too!” Adrienne couldn’t help the small smile that curled her lips upward at how eager he was to help her, and she nodded again, “Ok, Pap… that sounds good to me. When you get back, do you think maybe you could help me fix my bandages a little? Some of them are still too loose and I dunno if I missed any little spots anywhere.” Perking up at the request, Papyrus beamed, gently unwrapping his arms from around her and ruffling her hair, “Yes, Of Course! The Great Papyrus Would Be Happy To Assist You, Adrienne!” Letting go of the skeleton, Adrienne smiled up at him; he was such a sweet guy, and despite their circumstances, he was always so optimistic. He still maintained a sense of morality as well, unlike the other monsters. She honestly wasn’t sure what she’d do without him at times.

Reluctantly parting from his small human friend, Papyrus slipped out of the room, carefully closing the door behind himself. Once he was gone, Adrienne sighed, climbing out of his bed and making her way over to a shelf. As she looked over the various boxes and puzzle books, she came to the conclusion that it probably didn’t matter which one she chose; as long as it’d keep her and that goofball busy for a while, it was good enough for her. As she reached out to grab a thick puzzle book, she winced. Her free hand moved to gingerly touch the bandage on her shoulder; at the twinge of pain, her mind drifted to Sans. After earlier, she should’ve learned her lesson and given up on disobeying the very specific rules that her friends had established. She was a curious being by nature though, and she’d be damned if she had to go on without receiving any answers.

Her curiosity and desire to know why Sans would mark her grew even stronger. She grabbed the puzzle book and dropped it on Papyrus’ bed, before peeking out of the room and glancing around the hall. Against her better judgement, she began to search for the pair of brothers. The most logical place Sans would be at this time of night would be in his room, or downstairs on the living room sofa. If those two places weren’t it, then she’d have to check the basement. No biggie. As she tiptoed down the empty hallway, she briefly paused to look over the railing and down into the living room, and found that Sans was nowhere in sight. On her way toward the stairs, she caught the sound of a mumbled conversation through Sans’ closed bedroom door and froze; she knew better than to go into his room without knocking, so she opted to stay in the hall and eavesdrop, rather than barge in on whatever he and Papyrus were talking about at the moment.

Inside the closed off room, Sans rolled his eye light, trying his best to brush off the lecture he was receiving from his younger brother. It’s not like he did anything to Papyrus personally, so he didn’t understand why Pap thought he needed to get involved. Not in the slightest. Completely exasperated with Sans’ stubbornness, Papyrus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep sigh, “Sans, Honestly. You Didn’t Have To Take It That Far. The Poor Girl’s Probably Traumatized And Too Ashamed To Ever Want To Leave The House Again.” Sans grunted, flopping down onto his back on his old, worn mattress, “Remind me how that’s a bad thing again, Pap. So far, I’m not seein’ any problems with it.” The taller of the two inhaled deeply, briefly closing his sockets as he tried to gather his thoughts, “Sans… Brother. I Love You, But What You Did Today Wasn’t Ok. I Don’t Understand Why You’re So Calm And Casual About It.” Gaining a very clearly agitated edge, Sans practically growled, “It’s really fuckin’ simple. If she’s too ashamed ta leave the house, then good! At least she’ll stay put then and save me a lot a’ trouble in the future.”

Not even remotely threatened by his older brother’s tone of voice, Papyrus snapped, suddenly shouting, “LANGUAGE, SANS. MAYBE SHE DIDN’T LISTEN TO YOU, BUT THAT’S NO REASON TO TREAT HER THIS WAY. IT IS MOST CERTAINLY NOT A VALID REASON TO GO AND PUBLICLY HUMILIATE HER, THEN COME HOME AND SCARE HER HALF TO DEATH, EITHER. YOU ALSO BROKE THE COFFEE TABLE, SANS. SOME OF US HAVE TO PAY FOR THINGS LIKE THAT, YOU KNOW!”

From her spot in the hallway, Adrienne flinched, her eyes widening. Not once had she ever seen Papyrus so upset that he shouted like this. This was a whole new experience, and she could already say that it was both surprising and terrifying all at once.

The shorter of the two let out an exaggerated groan, beginning to absentmindedly tap the tips of his phalanges on the bed as he stared up at the ceiling, “As far as the table goes, I’ll replace the damn thing if it really means that much ta you. What am I supposed ta do about the kid though? If I really scared her as much as you’re sayin’ I did, then she won’t want anythin’ ta do with me. It’s not like I can just walk up to her and go, ‘hey, you know that day when I got mad at you? I’m sorry and I won’t do it again.’” Papyrus hummed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Well… A Sincere Apology Is Only Half Of What I Think You Owe Her.” “Yeah? And what’s the other half?” “To Be Completely Blunt About It, She Knows What It Means To Be Marked.”

The older skeleton brother nearly choked on air, his cheekbones dusting a soft shade of blue, “What the hell?… Ok, then… What about it? Everyone probably knows what it means.” “What I’m Saying Is That She Knows Monsters Wouldn’t Mark Anyone Unless That Person Was Tremendously Important To Them, And Unless They Saw Them As Their Mate. Not Only Is There That, But She Told Me That You Were Somewhat Flirtatious Toward Her After The Incident Today At Grillby’s. You’re Sending Some Incredibly Mixed Signals, Sans. She More Than Likely Was Under The Impression That You Have Some Very Strong Feelings For Her, But Then You Came Home And Basically Told Her To Get Lost Before Throwing Her At The Coffee Table. She Has No Idea Where She Stands Right Now. The Other Half Of What You Need To Do Is Be Honest With Her. Tell Her If You Feel Something For Her, Or Tell Her If You Don’t. Just Make It Clear To Her So She Knows What She Is To You.”

Bolting upright into a sitting position, Sans stared up at his younger brother in disbelief, “So you’re suggestin’ that I go confess my love ta her or somethin’? Is that what you’re tryna tell me right now, Papyrus?” “If You Love Her, Then Yes, That Is Exactly What I’m Trying To Tell You.” Pressing his index and middle finger to one of his temples, the older of the two narrowed his sockets, grumbling under his breath, “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me… this is so stupid…” Taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside Sans, Papyrus arched a brow bone and tilted his head, “Language, Brother… All Of This Might Seem Stupid To You, Maybe, But It’s A Big Deal And It Needs To Be Addressed. If You Really See Her As Your Mate, She Needs To Know. And Hey, It’s Alright To Feel Embarrassed About This Sort Of Thing. It’s Completely Natural. For Starters, Maybe You Could Try To Help Me Better Understand Your Reasons For Marking Her? I’m All Ears! In A... Manner Of Speaking.”

Sans snuck an uncertain glance up at him and let out a deep sigh, leaning forward to cover both eyes with his hands, “...Don’t make me talk about this right now, Pap. Please. I can’t do it. I just can’t, what if I-” Papyrus was quick to wrap his arms around his older brother, lightly squeezing his shoulder, “Sans, No. Stop. You’re Overthinking Again. Take A Deep Breath And Try To Relax. It’s Just Me Here, And If You Preferred That I Don’t Tell Her What You Say, Then I Won’t. You Have My Word. Just Trust Me… That’s All I’m Asking Of You Right Now. Please, Just Trust Me.”

#writing #tw angst #tw mild violence #tw humiliation #oc insert #undertale #undertale au #horrortale #horrortale au #horrortale sans #horrortale papyrus #horror sans #axe sans #crooks papyrus

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butchniqabi · 3 years

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And Death Was But a Dream by Amatullah Bourdon

[Waves Breaking against the Wind. Joseph Mallord William Turner c.1840 / Excalibur (1981) dir. John Boorman / Run With The Wind Abstract Painting. Liz W. Fine Art]

Words: 1415

Warnings: None

Notes: For those of you who don’t know, in some Arthurian legends it is said that Merlin lives his life backwards. Now as for what that means logistically....I have no idea, but I was always drawn to the idea of his relationships and how they would function. So I wrote something super short and a little messy, but have at it! Lemme know what you think!

Everyone spoke of the Wizard who lived in the city. He was said to have visions of the future, to be able to see past the confines of everyday life. When I first came to the city, all those years ago, I did not expect to meet him. Wizards were naturally reclusive creatures, only venturing out to give aid and occasional bad advice. This city’s Wizard was especially contrary, for the townsfolk whispered that he had an especially strange life and an even stranger affliction.

The day we met, my third day in the city, I had just found employment as a washerwoman. Unglamorous and hard work, I spent my first two days in the humid chambers listening to the other women gossip. They spoke of this Wizard in hushed tones and never said his name louder than a whisper.

When my long shift ended, I took a walk around the city, taking in the life around me. I was still young in those days, despite the grey that began to appear in my hair. God knows how long I wandered aimlessly. All I know is that eventually, I found him.

The crowd parted around him, afraid of his touch, but he did not frighten me. His skin was dark brown like mine, kissed with a deep red undertone. He had a long beard, only lightly tinged with grayness; the coils that peaked out beneath his hat were the same. His eyes were deep set and hooded, glistening with unshed tears.

He stood before me, donning robes of constellations and suns, and wept.

There was little I could do to console him, he was in such a state. I grabbed his hand then, hoping to soothe him through touch. I felt a strange pull to him, a desire to wipe his tears and kiss his face.

When he calmed slightly, he looked into my soul. I felt that my whole life was laid bare for him to see, but I found I did not mind. When he looked through me, I realized I could look through him. Not as clearly, but I saw his honesty and kindness.

“I apologize,” he said nasally. “Might I walk with you, so I might explain my behavior?”

Of course I said yes.

I took his arm gently, the fabric of his strange robes soft under my hand. It moved around him like running water and shined just as brightly. He did not hold onto me tightly, but I knew he wanted to.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Listen,” he avoided. “Do you hear the wind?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say to you?”

I listened and only heard wind. It rustled over leaves and grass, whistled through windows and open doors. It did not sing to me, it was merely wind. I told him as much.

“When I hear the wind, I hear the very earth itself. I can hear the grass grow, die, and grow again. I see the stars in the middle of the day and they sing to me, oh do they sing. This is the curse of a Wizard: sight. We see the world much more clearly than everyone else, that’s what makes us so terrifying.” he said, mostly to himself.

I pitied him. I pity him. He did not speak of this ability with joy or reverence, to him it was truly a curse. I did not understand him clearly then, but I wanted to reach out to him. Instead I asked, “Who are you?”

He looked at me and smiled toothily. “I am the Wizard Merlin.”

I was not surprised, not truly. He had lived in this city from the beginning. Ever since it was named Camelot and knights of old would swear a vow of chivalry. Those days were long past, but Merlin remained.

“But how?” I asked. “You don’t look like an old man.”

“I do not live as you do.” he whispered.

“Then how do you live?”

“The first time we met, you were sad because it was the last you would see of me. Now it is my turn. I am destined to live my life contrary to those around me. As time goes on for you I get younger, because I am destined to live my life backwards.”

“Backwards,” I said, feeling the word in my mouth. “So you mean we’ve already met before?”

“Yes, I have spent many years with you. The best years I believe. And now my time is up, today is my final day with you. But for you, today is merely the beginning.”

I believed him, do not ask me why I did. And there was an inexplicable sadness that overcame me. I would get to live my life with him, but he would never see me again.

“Why do you live this way?” I asked.

“I found that if I wished to seek power, it would come at a great price. I can help many people, but I always move backwards...always backwards.”

I wanted to apologize. I wanted to scold him. I wanted to ask him so many things that I never became bold enough to ask after that moment passed.

Instead I said, “That must be lonely.”

“It is. It’s very lonely.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know you yet. I’m sorry you’ve watched me forget.”

He laughed at me then, spinning me around and lifting me into the air.

“I would not change a single moment.” he said and meant it.

Today is the first day he’s met me. Now, I know how he felt. Years have passed and now it is my turn. The life I had lived with him, the man I had come to love was not yet made. He does not recognize me, nor does he fully understand my sadness. There was a time when we were perfectly in sync; I knew him just as much as he knew me. But as that time passed, he knew me less and less. He forgot more things, asked simple questions. Every day I spent with him he grew farther and farther from me.

I knew it was destined to be, from the very first time we met and still it haunts me. How like the moon and sun we are: constantly moving, only briefly touching. I love him with a fierceness and desperation that makes my heart weep, for now is my last day with him. My life must continue without him, his life has yet to begin with me.

Wizards! My Wizard! Cursed to live his life backwards, cursed to hear the whistling of the stars, cursed to fall. I asked him all the time, was it worth it? Is it worth it? Is the power that comes with such a curse worth the sadness and pain? And he always says yes, no matter when I ask him. Helping people, charting stars, and gazing into the universe is who he is. His wonder is one of the reasons I love him.

Could I have stopped myself from loving him? Was that ever truly an option? You cannot stop the rain from falling or the wind from singing. I love him. I loved him. I will love him. Even as he stands before me, a stranger, I still love him. I once thought if God was merciful He would release him from the curse, but now I know the mercy exists in our time together. In order to be the great man I know (the great man he has not yet become) he must continue to go backwards. I must let him go backwards.

Now there is less grey in his beard. He still has the kind, deep set eyes, the gap in his teeth. But he does not know me. He asks me my name and I tell him. I tell him with all the sorrow in my heart. I tell him he will see me tomorrow and that he means the world to me. I do not tell him about the illnesses he will defeat, the children he will save, or how he is destined to aid the once and future king, Arthur Pendragon. Instead I smile and give him a kiss on the cheek and try not to cry.

He is the Wizard Merlin, the man who lives his life contrary to others. I will not see him tomorrow. This is the first day he has met me, so I will never see him again.

#my writing #idk if this is worth going into my #writeblr #tag but oh well....#take it! and yes i made them black and yes its not anyway consistent with whats out there but you know what?#my ass is fat and i dont care

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evehere · 3 years

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I just wanted to say I am absolutely taken by your 2ha ficlet as well! I even started reading "The wife is first" per your recommendation, and every new chapter I read all I think about is "ooh, this would fit so well with ranwan, what an amazing idea!" I really can't wait to read the rest of what you have written, thanks for doing this

Hi! Omgsh, thanks so much for the nice! I felt that since people might not know the series this au is based in, they might not take an interest to it! I write for my own pleasure, but it feels good to post it and see some response.

I’m glad you’re enjoying QWS. It’s really a comfort novel, like, each chapter feels so warm and nice! I reread some chapters when I’m feeling in the mood for some comfort without the hurt part (／ω＼) And the main characters are so similar as well, like JS is a bright boy on his way to take care of his hubby and JQ is the cold and aloof man who is like wtf every time JS does something for him. Besides, I really like the setting the author created for homosexual marriage.

I leave you here the main scene that was inspired in the novel, I hope you’ll like it!

Yearning willow masterpost ❤️

Mo Ran 2.0 (2)

Resurrection

Mo Ran snapped his eyes open.

Was he dead?

It was dark, a faint crimson undertone around him.

He was lying on something soft, something akin to a blanket covering him. He was warm and comfortable.

There was, however, had a faint pressure in his head, as a light hangover, and a frantic feeling in his chest, his heart beating hard and his breathing picking up. Did the spirits have the same sensations as the living? Mo Ran asked himself. Tentatively, he curled lightly his fingers. His fingers answered at his slightest order, with no difference to when he was alive.

Excruciatingly slow, Mo Ran moved his hand up his chest, and placed his hand over his heart.

It was beating.

Was he really dead? Or had Xue-bofu come up with something at the last moment, saving him? But he would swear that he had felt the knife in his neck, and the blood flowing out like a fountain.

Mo Ran glided his hand over the spot of his chest where the executioner had made the second cut. The skin was intact, no sign of a knife cut. Mo Ran frowned slightly, feeling that something was amiss.

His eyes were adjusting to the dark. Those were… curtains? Like a canopy?

As a thunderstruck, he realised what was amiss. He couldn’t feel his ribs. Instead, there was supple muscle under his hand, like he had before he entered the prison. In prison, the prolonged lack of food had led him to lose almost all muscle mass.

Startled, he sat on the bed. He felt… good, despite the headache. Better than he had in the last months. But it was more like… normal.

He was wearing a cosy night robe, partially open at his chest. Mo Ran opened his lapels, noticing dumbfounded that the blade scar he had got in a battle a couple of years before his imprisonment was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he had no injury other than some old scars. He was… intact. Whole.

Mo Ran was alive. Not just alive, but his body was in the state it was in several years back.

There was a huff of breath next to him.

Startled, Mo Ran looked to his side. A body lied next to him, with his back facing Mo Ran. There was another huff of breath as they stirred, apparently deep in sleep. They had long, silky hair extended over the pillow. He couldn’t determine if they were a man or a woman.

He was in a bed. Someone was lying next to him.

This wasn’t unknown to him. Quite the opposite, Mo Ran was very familiar with this setting. Also, he was recognising the place, his heart threatening to get out of his chest as his hand trembled from the force with which he clenched his night robe.

There was only one way to check it.

Putting a hand on the pillow to support himself, he reached over and peered at the face of the sleeping person next to him.

Rong Jiu.

Rong Jiu’s young, graceful face, with his tender and androgynous features.

They were lying in the canopy bed in Rong Jiu’s old rooms in his Nanping manor. He recognised now the crimson drapes with embroidered mandarin ducks. Now that he saw them again, the deep red colour still vibrant and new, he felt the same need to tear them down.

As he had before his imprisonment.

He threw another look at the man lying beside him, noticing the lovebites and the handprints on the skin that peeked out of the blankets. What’s more, there were fine rope marks on Rong Jiu’s wrists.

Weren’t those remarkably similar to his own handiwork!?

Mo Ran couldn’t bear to stay in there anymore, so he got up from the bed, letting the bed curtains fall closed. He was indeed in Rong Jiu’s old room, with the same red and gold decorations and rich fabrics with detailed embroidery. However, last year Mo Ran had made some renovations to make the room more spacious. The room looked as if he had never made them.

It was cold, and it was still dark outside, but he could see faint sun rays from the paper windows. The room was silent—not even birds were singing yet.

There was a mirror in a corner, and Mo Ran watched his own reflection.

Strong. Muscular. Tanned. Traits he lost when he was imprisoned. Yet the white hairs he had got when Chu Wanning got ill in prison had disappeared altogether.

Had he… had he gone back in time?

Mo Ran was confident that he had died at the execution grounds. But he had heard stories before. Stories of people who died under serious grievances, with the blessings of the gods, going back in time so they can start over with the knowledge of the future.

The realisation hit Mo Ran like a sack of stones, and he staggered, dizzy.

“Fuck!”

Gods hadn’t abandoned him after all. He had another opportunity.

Another opportunity.

His voice, however, finally rose the sleeping beauty resting in the bed.

“Hum… Houye… You woke up so early today.”

Mo Ran’s gaze was icy when he looked back at the man sitting up on the bed. Years ago, he had received Rong Jiu as a gift from Viscount Chang. He had liked him and took him in as a concubine. In the end, Rong Jiu proved to be an internal spy all along, and provided the court with more evidence of Mo Ran’s wrongdoings to expiate himself with good deeds. Viscount Chang had brought him back when Mo Ran was imprisoned and got himself some merits from the emperor.

How he had fallen for the tricks of this little vixen!

He had been so blind to find attractive an androgynous and seductive beauty like Rong Jiu. It was nothing like the beauty of his husband, his Wanning…

Chu Wanning. If Mo Ran was back, that meant that Chu Wanning was back too?

Rong Jiu noticed that Mo Ran looked gloomy and unwilling to talk to him, but merely thought that he might be in a foul mood.

“Houye, did you not sleep well last night? Did you have a bad dream?”

I died, moron. That’s a bad dream in its own right.

Since Mo Ran still showed no signs of talking or approaching him, Rong Jiu raised, draping a robe on his shoulders, and hugged him from behind.

Mo Ran fought his first instinct to shake the treacherous man from his back. He wanted nothing more than to shake him off and slap him until he vented his anger. Yet, for the time being, it would be best if he were careful and treated everyone as if they knew nothing—at least until he got more information about his own situation.

Besides, he should care about his marquis reputation, just in case. His reputation as an immoral who did anything he pleased was the reason people had been so ready to believe that Mo Ran had tried to dethrone the emperor in his past life.

In his past life, Chu Wanning used to advise him to be humbler and keep a low profile, but he hadn’t heeded his advice. Later, he’d realise the kindness behind his words.

“How about I ask servants to prepare breakfast for you? Congee and fried buns sound good?”

Finding himself unable to talk, Mo Ran simply nodded his head.

Rong Jiu called a servant and went on his well-practiced routine with Mo Ran, preparing boiling water and clean clothes. Mo Ran merely observed him. The man really hadn’t changed in the past years.

If everything was real, if Mo Ran was back in the past, then everything had yet to happen. Mo Ran had yet to lose his title and his estate, he had yet to die, and Chu Wanning… Chu Wanning was still alive. He could still fix things with him before it was too late.

Rong Jiu had been taken into the manor in his second year after his marriage with Chu Wanning, so he knew he was already married to him.

“What day is it?” Mo Ran asked Rong Jiu as he approached him with his thick outer robes in dark blue and lined with grey rabbit fur.

Judging by the cold, it was around winter, but that alone wasn’t enough information.

“Third day of the tenth month, houye. Today’s the beginning of the winter.”

“Dingyou year?” He guessed it should be around that time.

“Yes, houye,” Rong Jiu answered with a hint of amusement. “Did houye had too much to drink last night, that he has to ask about the year?”

Dingyou year. He was twenty-six years old, and he had been married to Chu Wanning for almost five years. He was back from his last big military campaign, earning the title of Taxian general from the emperor. The campaign had taken him barely a year and ended around… The Lantern Festival? Mo Ran remembered he had been back for that one. He had been back in Nanping-fu for almost a year then.

After his campaign against the north, everything had gone downhill. Mo Ran had been drunk on praises and riches, taking in five or six concubines every year, and allowing himself to do as he pleased. He had gotten into many fights, both private and in court, and he had estranged himself from the Xue family and Nangong Si.

He remembered how he had gone out of his way to make Chu Wanning miserable as well.

The servants brought in the breakfast and set the dishes on the table. Mo Ran took a seat on the low table and let Rong Jiu serve him a bowl of congee. He extended his hand to take the bowl and chopsticks, but Rong Jiu batted his hand away with a teasing gesture.

“I’ll serve houye his meal,” he said with a flirtatious smile.

Mo Ran merely stared at him, incapable to react at first. The wish to slap a few teeth out of that smile was so strong that Mo Ran almost acted on it. Then he remembered he should act normal, to avoid raising suspicion.

A slow, boyish smile appeared on his face, and opened his mouth when Rong Jiu approached the spoon to his lips. He used to fish out sputum from their prison’s meals, so no matter how disgusting he found to let the boy feed him, he had no trouble acting his role.

There were worse things.

He let the young man feed him three bowls and a half, alternating with bites of the fried pork buns, and then stopped him. It had been so long since he last had a full meal, that the need to finish every bit of food in sight was strong.

From what he remembered, he usually had two bowls of congee and a couple of buns for breakfast, but, in his mind, it had been half a year since he last ate to his heart content. His belly didn’t agree with him, feeling overstuffed, and Mo Ran stopped Rong Jiu before he got sick. He would get used to eating regularly again, he supposed.

He couldn’t help to scoff internally. Rong Jiu would give him whatever he asked, with no regard to what was actually good for him.

Mo Ran wanted nothing more than to ask about Chu Wanning (where was his husband?), but another manservant got into the room with his official robes, a heavy garment in deep purple and a tall, black hat.

Fuck. Of course, if he was back, he’d have to go to morning court.

“Take it away and call a doctor. I’m not feeling well,” he told the servant.

If he had to attend morning court, he should at least familiarise again with the current situation. To be safe, he should avoid it for a few days.

Rong Jiu looked at him with alarm.

“Why didn’t houye say anything earlier? Quick, go call a doctor!” Then he fretted around Mo Ran, pulling him to lie back in the bed.

Mo Ran batted Rong Jiu’s hands away—he was getting throughly fed up with Rong Jiu’s act, knowing that he fretted around him now, but news of his “illness” would spread to Viscount Chang before noon. Ignoring the look of incredulity in his concubine’s face, he wrote a leave of absence and gave it to the servant, telling him to take it to the palace.

“Tell the doctor to come to my office.”

He had no patience left to deal with Rong Jiu.

Nanping-fu was a siheyuan, a courtyard house, divided in a front courtyard and a backyard. The main door, Mo Ran’s office, guest parlour and the library were all in the front courtyard, open to guests, while everyone’s bedchambers, the family shrine, the kitchens, storage rooms and guest rooms were in the backyard.

All the chambers were arranged around an elegant inner garden in a square. The one positioned in the north stood among them as the main house, where was Mo Ran and Chu Wanning’s room.

The same room he had shared with Shi Mei. Mo Ran frowned, uncomfortable with the thought. He’d have to do something about it.

Mo Ran walked through the beautifully decorated pathways with slow, lingering steps. The last time he had seen the place, some servants had even turned the flowerpots upside down, some taking the valuable flowers and others taking the hand-carved pots.

On his way to his office, he passed the guest parlour. The mere sight of it brought bad memories to Mo Ran. It was there where he received the imperial edict ordering his imprisonment. With it, any woman in Nanping-fu could be enslaved and sold as a servant, and any man left in there was to be exiled. Though few fools were still there when the sentence reached it.

Fools like Chu Wanning, his stubborn husband.

“For his father’s past achievements, and his own contributions and military merits towards the empire, Chu Wanning, husband of the criminal Mo Ran, is granted a pardon. By the grace of the Son of Heaven, this marriage is rescinded. He is hereby allowed to return to his old post in the Censorate, retaining the goods he brought into the marriage!” The imperial eunuch had announced.

At the time, Mo Ran had thrown a hateful glance towards his husband. Had he stayed just to show off his pardon? Or did he stay to laugh at Mo Ran’s expenses? Or maybe it was both of them. At the time, it wouldn’t have surprised him; Mo Ran had made his life mission to make Chu Wanning’s life as uncomfortable as possible in the eight years they had been married.

Chu Wanning should be happy that the marriage was over.

That’s why the words Chu Wanning had said after kowtowing three times had utterly surprised him. His thin figure looked as if a strong current of wind could blow him away.

“I’m grateful for bixia’s magnanimous graces. But since this marriage was meant to unite the old and new nobility, nothing more would serve this purpose than letting the both of us get the same sentence as husbands. Husbands should be as of one body; we shall share both glory and failure.”

“What are you doing?” Mo Ran asked, absolutely bewildered. He was signing his own death sentence!

Chu Wanning hadn’t even looked at him, his head bowed to the floor—only the tips of his ears reddened as a sign of his fluster. Mo Ran’s eyes were red as well, his frustration and his pain long past the point of trying to fight for himself.

“I won’t leave Nanping-fu,” Chu Wanning had said.

At first, Mo Ran still thought it was a trick. That some imperial eunuch would come to the prison and announce that the joke was over and Chu Wanning could go and take back his post at the Censorate. But the imperial edict that came was instead that Chu Wanning was stripped of his titles and his possessions. Later, all doubts were erased when the prison guards interrogated him.

The need to see Chu Wanning was so enormous that Mo Ran could hardly breathe. It filled everything and grasped his heart, constricting it painfully. He had to see him and make sure… make sure that Chu Wanning was still alive. That this wasn’t a nightmare conjured by his dying mind, in which he came back to life only to find that Chu Wanning wasn’t there.

Or worse. A punishment set out by the hell judges, to let him live an eternal life in this nightmare.

A servant passed next to him carrying a basin of water, bowing to Mo Ran when he was a few steps away.

“Greetings, houye.”

“Hum,” Mo Ran said in all answer. The servant was about to go away, when he cleared his throat and asked off-handed, “where is furen?”

The servant merely looked at him, his eyes wide as plates. The fear pricked his heart hard, cold sweat forming on his back, and Mo Ran made a tight fist, waiting for an answer.

“F-furen?”

“Yes, where is he?” He asked, trying to conceal his anxiousness under his mask.

“H-he’s still kneeling in the shrine, houye, as you ordered him yesterday.”

Fuck.

***

Houye (侯爷): a respectful way to address a marquis (hou, 侯). It can be used by his spouse, concubines, servants, all those whose ranks are below him. People of his same rank and above may address him as “Mo-hou”.

Dingyou year （丁酉）: 34th year of the sexagenary cycle. It’s just a way to keep track of the time, because I don’t know in which emperor’s reign would this be based on XD

Nanping-fu (府): fu means “manor”. There was a distinction between what one could call their own house, and only nobles of certain level could call their homes “fu”. A lower level would be “zhai” 宅, while the higher level would be “gong” (宫，palace).

Furen (夫人): literally, “madam”. BUT, furen is made up of the characters 夫 (fu, husband) and 人 (ren, person). Being as nouns are only gendered because they’re historically tied to a certain gender, I think it’s fine to think that a furen can be a man, but in a position of deference towards their spouse.

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If you liked it, please consider supporting me with a rb!

#yearning willow #qws au #2ha #2ha fanfic #dumb husky and his white cat shizun #二哈和他的白猫师尊 #I have most of it outlined now #and I'm afraid #because I have another gigantic fic that started just like this XD

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mar-iiposa · 4 years

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"You're What?"

prompt: How would the Bayverse boys react to their s/o finding out that she is pregnant, and she is afraid/scared to tell them? The pregnancy was not planned. Hope you're having a great day/night <3

a/n: this was requested by an anonymous user as a bit of a long story, meant for all four turtles, but I'm deciding on separating it so it looks better on my masterlist later on. hope that enjoy, and make sure to read the tags I have included down below, just in case !

warnings: slight mention of abortion but that's it, mention of needles drawing blood (not too graphic of course), unplanned pregnancy, mentions of unprotected sex.

word count: 2.6k

"Y/N, are you okay?"

Your roommate, April's, voice rang out when she saw you hurry towards the bathroom in such a rush, for the third time today, and it was just barely 2 pm. She was concerned that you weren't doing so good, never having seen you in a peculiar state like this before. As late of this past week, you've started to show signs of illness and restlessness, constantly moody, which we knew was odd for you at times. "Do you need anything?" She gently knocked on the bathroom door, hearing the faucet run on the other side before it was turned off. "I'm good, thanks," You murmur, loud enough for her to at least comprehend what you're saying. Outside of the restroom, April looked down for a moment, hesitant on whether to truly believe you or not. However, she didn't bother to really question it. "I'll be out, text if you need me."

After getting up a little too fast, you feel a small, sharp pain in your breasts, causing you to wince and cup them lightly out of instinct. Over the last few days, you've been noticing some changes. Weird ones too. For starters, you missed your period, it was supposed to roll around about, what, three/four days ago. You kept it tracked monthly on your phone, and by now, it would seem to probably come later than usually expected. Never did you have an irregular menstrual cycle, sometimes periods tend to come a little bit late but this was still odd enough. Not to forget, you had been vomiting like crazy at times, especially in the mornings and early afternoons of the day, sometimes at night if you're "lucky" enough. Topping those off, you felt fatigued, you were bloated, strangely moody, and you really needed to pee way more. A lot more, actually.

You had turned off the faucet in the bathroom, hunching over the sink, still with little droplets of water sliding down and into the drain. You look into the mirror, bags under your eyes have started to form from lack of sleep after literally vomiting your guts out in the middle of the night, having to hold your own hair back yourself if April would be completely knocked out from work. It wasn't a rare occurrence for her to be passed out on her bed or the couch, after a long day of working. You were employed, too, it was just that you took a day off to find out what the hell these symptoms were. Who knows, maybe you were falling sick?

You do your hair and style it just a little, unbothered by if you looked like crap or not, you could care less. You were throwing up and felt almost sick, why wouldn't you look unappealing at the very least? Grabbing your keys and things, you make your way towards the subway almost downtown, avoiding eye contact with almost anyone and everyone, not feeling at your best. It felt like your self-esteem had taken a downwards decline in the last couple of days prior. Not that you never got irritated or anything, but it was peculiar to you that all of a sudden, you had mood swings that changed from one mood to another like a bolt of lightning. Hell, even your boyfriend, Leo, noticed fairly quickly, but he decided not to press on you too much about it.

Getting off of the subway train, you head to your physician's office, opening the door of the building, the cooled atmosphere of the room hitting you within seconds of your entrance of the room.

"Hello, Ms. L/N, are you here for your appointment today?" The female receptionist gazed up at you from her glasses, frames pink, wearing a light shawl over her arms and shoulders. "I am," You give her a nod, her gaze traveling back to the computer screen as she typed away, the sound of her dark red acrylics hitting the smooth black keys. "Sure does get cold in here," She chuckled, a small short in the middle of her laugh, "take a seat, miss."

Doing so, you sit near the TV of the waiting room, the magazines on the table ahead stared back at you, the words 'VOGUE' written on the modernistic cover. The television was of bland taste, just going over the weather expected for today and the rest of the week and into the weekend. You cradle yourself slightly, your e/c eyes flickering down to your fingers and nails. About fifteen minutes or so later, the door to the back of the office opened, a nurse appearing in her scrub, "Y/N L/N?" Perking up at the mention of your name, you both make eye contact and she steps aside for you to walk in, giving a nod before directing you to a nearby room. Taking a seat, you wait until the doctor comes into view, greeting you with a friendly smile. "Ms. L/N, hi," She shook your hand, holding a clipboard under her left arm as she entered, "how are you? Is there a reason as to why you made an appointment for today?" Seconds after listing off your symptoms, she eyed you a bit suspiciously, writing down with her pen. "I'll send one of the nurses in for a blood test, I'm sure you'll be free to go then," The doctor pursed her lips in a tight smile, looking as though she had something on her mind as to what you could've had.

You sit there, for what feels like hours upon hours of silence, and you don't even notice the nurse coming in through the door at some point. "Alright, just relax for me." A pinching at your skin came from the needle, and the nurse draws some blood from your arm. Closing your eyes and glancing away from the view, the needle is drawn away from your arm after a while, patching the spot up with a band-aid. "You should get your answers shortly," 'Angela Bardot' (the nurse) states with a small, friendly smile as you give her a nod for a reply in return.

The receptionist sends you a wave goodbye as you approach the door on the way out, nodding your head and giving a wave back. Traveling home among the streets of New York, your mind is constantly filling up to the absolute brim of what the results would be. What if you were terrible sick? Had an illness that was incurable or deadly? How would you tell the ones you loved? Always tending to think of negative outcomes was a habit of yours, for as long as you can remember. You're so deep into your thoughts as you don't realize your boyfriend had called you a couple of times already. You unlock your phone after typing in the digits of your password, tapping onto his contact. "Hey," His voice rings from the other side, "I was trying to call you, is everything alright?" You can hear the worried tone through his end.

You run a hand through your hair as you neared the corner, coming closer to your New York apartment. "Yeah," you breathe out into the air of the apartment building, taking the provided elevator, "yeah, I'm okay." You could almost see the look of relief in those blue sapphire eyes of his, he responds, "Sorry, I almost panicked when you didn't pick up." You chuckle a little at that, knowing you almost always picked up on phone calls, holding onto your keys as you pushed your front entrance door open, "Nah, you know I can handle myself, Leo." You grin hearing his voice, chuckling at that. "I know, I know."

"I'll see you tonight?" He asks on his end, you immediately smile. "I give you my word." You can feel him smiling from 'ear to-ear' at your response, "Okay, I'll see you later then. Love you, princess." Your smile growing warm, heart fluttering at the words coming from your boyfriend, you speak back into the phone, "Love you too."

He was the first to hang up on the cell phone call, before you fall back onto your grey couch with a heavy sigh, soon leaning forward with your head in your hands, elbows firmly sitting on top of your knees. The TV is turned on from the remote in your hand, head leaning back into the couch, but only enough to still keep your eyes on the screen. Your phone rings again, and you assume it might be Leo again, calling to tell you something he might have forgotten or who knows what. Turning the phone over from it's front facing the cushions, and you recognize the contact number. "Hello?" You pick up, a recognizable voice rang through. "Hi, this is Dr. Rullston, I'm calling you to discuss your blood test results, yes?" Sitting straight up quickly, you feel yourself nod almost frantically, "Yes, it's not anything, right?" A long pause resonates between the two of you, and you can slightly hear the intake of a breath from her.

"Ms. L/N, you're pregnant."

Your heart completely drops as soon as you heard that, standing up from your seat within milliseconds. "What? I- I can't belie- !" She continues, "About almost two weeks pregnant is what I'm seeing. Congratulations miss." No, no, I didn't want a baby! I didn't know this would happen!

You look down at the floor as your breathing is nearly stressed, "Tha- Thank you, Dr. Rullston." Quick to hang up first, you almost drop your phone onto the apartment's hard wooden floor. How was this possible? Well, you knew how pregnancy and sex worked, but this was something completely shocking, at least to you! You think you at least had intercourse with a condom on! You and Leonar- Oh God, Leo! How would he react to this? He would be disappointed, he could leave you! Who would want to raise a child with you? Who would even want a knocked up lady if he did leave the relationship you had been building for practically a year?! You could get an abortion, that's it! No, no, no, you couldn't see yourself going through with that. Seeing others get abortions was something you were supportive of, but you had no absolute idea what in the hell to do! Do you want to keep it? That was something you didn't know the answer to.

Two hours roll by until you're dressed a little more properly now, on your path to the turtles' lair in the sewers. As of now, you're (somewhat) rocking some jeans, with an old t-shirt, your commonly-worn shoes, and your hair combed through. Sticking your head through the lair, Mikey spots you straightaway, quickly riding on his skateboard towards you, guarding your own stomach, afraid for impact. Luckily for you (and maybe your fetus), there is no impact. "Yo, Y/N!" He gave you his regular fist pump, "how's it hangin'?" He notices you guarding your stomach, emitting a laugh as he points at you, "What's with the stomach guarding?" You realize your arms protecting your stomach, pulling them away fairly quickly. "Just, uh- Just hungry is all!" Michelangelo eyed you for a second or two before shrugging, picking up his board with a swift kick at its tail, "M'kay! Leo's in his room by the way. Catch you later!" He rode off again, presumably to bother either Raph or Donnie with his "dazzling personality."

Nearing Leonardo's room, you were undecided on the option of telling him about the growing baby inside of you or not. You didn't know. You didn't know what he'd think, what he'd say, how he would react, or if his perspective of you would shift entirely. Every fiber of your being grew anxious, scared to share the news with him. Or not. Leaning against the doorway of his room, he looked up from his katana, a smile gracing his features. "Hey," He stood up from his spot on the bed as you approach him, "Hi." Leonardo glanced down at your shorter human self, grabbing your hands to hold into his abnormally larger ones. "Took you a while to get here." Yeah, it did because you couldn't stop vomiting into the toilet until you got the strength to eventually walk all the way down here. "Sorry, busy," You threw an excuse at him, the leader of the clan nods. "Uh-huh," He takes your hand and leads you to his bed, "you're not overwhelming yourself, are you?" Knowing how concerned he can tend to be, you shakily exhale a little, giving a closed-mouth smile. "No, not really."

"You know ho-" You bit your lower lip, feeling the need to interrupt, "Leo, there's-- there's something I need to tell you." He paused for a little, knowing there was something up, a feeling in his gut. "Well what is it?" You can feel that pit of anxiety start to blossom within you once again, your palms nearly growing sweaty as you try to gather your words. Carefully wanting to break it to him was something you wanted to do, and correctly too. "Y/N?" He sends you a fervent glance, "is something wro-?"

"I'm pregnant."

He's taken aback by the sentence you had just formed, staring at you, with almost little to no emotion being expressed. He's speechless. Out of words, completely. "You're what?! With- With my ba-?" Giving the leader a small, slow nod, it finally makes sense to him. "That's why you missed my call? Y/N, you sh-" You feel tears swell up in your e/c eyes, a hot droplet starting to slide down your left cheek, "I know it's all my fault. I should have asked for an abortion before I left that doctor's office. And you don't want a kid, I can see perfectly see that, and just know that I'm sor-" A warm green hand cups the side of your face, endearing blue eyes look at you and hold your stare as a thumb comes to wipe your new, built-up tears. Tender lips come to kiss your forehead. "I want this. Y/N, please listen to me when I say it'll be alright. I won't let you and the baby down, okay?" Leo's words are kind, softly spoken as he offers you a pursed smile while holding your face in his hand, "You'll be fine."

Your breathing is starting to calm down as you meet his eyes, your hand coming touch his on your cheek. "How far? How far are you, I mean?" Feeling at ease, your eyes are still watery with tears, a smile growing on your lips, "Two weeks." He grows soft at your reply, eyes flickering down towards your stomach. The stomach that held his kid inside of it. "How big are they?" You hold your hand up and leave a little gap between your index finger and your thumb, "Like a little seed." A smile of joy lights up his face before he carefully runs the bottom of your t-shirt up to expose your stomach to him. He pursed his lips together once more, fighting off tears as he gives a breathy laugh. "I love them already." You grin to your significant other, kissing his cheek.

"And we love you too."

#tmnt imagines #tmnt leonardo #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leo 2012 #tmnt leo imagine #tmnt 2003 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtle imagine #teenage mutant ninja turtles imagine #teenage mutant ninja turtles imagines #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanart

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

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for anyone curious, my newest book is about the Salem Witch Trials! it’s at the point of view of Mary Warren and how she went through trials, ultimately ending in her downward spiral into madness as the trials deteriorate her mental health. it’s called Servant of Evil.

here’s the first segment of the first chapter!

— — —

She was gathering crops the first day she caught wind of the hysteria.

It was late January and sunny, the last warm day in what would soon feel like forever. The sickle in her hand was wickedly sharp and gleaming in pale yellow light, and the stalks of the corn she was cutting away were rough and sharp beneath calloused fingers. Already, the skin on her hands was shredded, oozing ruby droplets of blood and staining bright green stems. Her legs ached from crouching in the dirt, muscles locked up and tense. Somewhere beyond the pillars of corn stretched out before her, she could hear her master’s children talking in high-pitched voices, dogs barking, and horses neighing. Even closer than that, however, she could hear heavy footsteps tramping through the field, and she knew the owner of this land would not enjoy such galumphing through his crops. But she also knew that the one who appeared through the stalks wouldn’t care much for the fiery point of John Proctor’s scorn.

“Something weirdish is going on in Salem.”

Without looking up, Mary Warren answered the unexpected visitor, “Something is always going on in Salem.”

That much was true, at least right now. Salem was a town of rich trade and sea salt, characterized by a sparkling harbor that was bested only by Boston’s and a habit of fighting with itself. For years, Salem had been split between two forces: the nobles up in Salem Town and the farmers down in Salem Village. The two territories were never not fighting with each other; they were always mad about something the other did, and it was easy to lose track of who hated who and for what reason. Salem Village didn’t like the control Salem Town held over it, while Salem Town was annoyed by Salem Village thinking it was its own settlement, but they all detested the British church, which was mutual. Salem Town often pulled men from Salem Village to be a part of the national guard, which made Salem Village nervous because then they would have nobody to protect them, and Indian attacks were a regular fear throughout the civilization. Aside from its harbor, the other thing Salem had to owe to its popularity was its unfortunate position in front of frequent ambushes. And if it didn’t suffer ambushes first-hand, then it suffered ambushes through the survivors of such raids, many of which populated the city and would soon help with the grisly events that turned the community over on its head.

But the only other thing Salem Village and Salem Town could agree on was that the Indians were an issue. Unfortunately, that was where agreements ended and arguments began- Salem Town wanted more men to train, promising protection; Salem Village refusing, saying they knew how Salem Town lied, and if they didn’t, then they only saved them because of their bountiful trade and not because they were their people. It wouldn’t be long until the yelling broke out, testaments from the Bible were quoted, and grown men argued like two children fighting over who was their parents’ favorite kid.

However, Salem as a whole had fallen silent recently. Things were peaceful. It was as though a grace period were opening up before them all--or, perhaps, it was actually ending.

Except for right now, in the Proctor corn field, of course. Because her visitor would only bring silence if she were dead, and she had proved to be too slippery for death’s fingers three times over after surviving several Indian attacks throughout her young life.

“This is different.”

Wiping a sagging green sleeve over her damp brow, Mary looked up and squinted through sweat and sun to look at none other than the Putnam’s maid, Mercy Lewis.

Mercy was a fine example of everything the Puritans didn’t want. Despite her name’s sake, she was stubborn, brash, and spitfire, though she was smart enough to never act in such a way in front of the church. And she was, indeed, smart. She was more clever than a fox, easily outwitting several situations despite the minimal education women had in their lifetime. The only thing she was merciful to was her younger cousin, Ann Putnam Jr. Her parents were better off naming her Big, Loud, and Vulgar.

Mercy was nineteen-years-old, two years older than Mary, and built like a small bear. She was short, compact, and sinewy, her muscles and joints well-honed from rough maid work. Her temper was black and her teeth were sharp. Her curly dark brown hair was tucked up in her blindingly white bonnet, and she was dressed in a nondescript dress of purple. Storm cloud grey eyes bore down on Mary with bright amusement.

The two of them met three years ago in Elizabeth Proctor’s tavern. Mary had been struggling to wipe away a sticky stain on one of the tables; Mercy was looking for fresh meat. They both were in the right place at the right time.

Mary hadn’t heard her come in. It was as though the shadows of the tavern itself had unfolded the sixteen-year-old before her because she was suddenly there, towering over the front of the table, and Mary ended up spilling the bowl of soapy water she was using all over herself upon noticing her.

“My, are you jumpy,” the strange girl had observed, peering over the edge of the table. She didn’t offer Mary her help or even an apology. Mary didn’t ask for one. “Were your parents murdered by savages, too?”

“What?”

“Ooo, no, then. Got it.”

Mary blinked up at her for a moment, then carefully got up out of the sudsy puddle and retrieved a dry rag to clean up the newest mess. The entire time, the strange girl watched her as she dripped droplets and beads of white soap from the bottom of her old lavender dress.

“Can I help you?” Mary asked as she got back down on her hands and knees to clean the floor.

“Oh, no,” the strange girl answered. “I just came to say hello. Introduce myself. You work for the Proctor’s, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mary nodded.

“Interesting, interesting. I work for the Putnam’s. Thomas is my cousin, actually.”

Mary nodded again. She looked back down at the puddle, trying to focus on that. The girl didn’t move.

“Mercy.”

Mary looked back up again. She blinked. The strange girl blinked back. Was this a game?

“Pity.”

The girl stared at her for a moment, then burst into loud laughter that seemed to shake the walls. Mary was startled; she had never heard anyone laugh so hard in her entire life. Especially in a town as strict as Sakem.

“No, that’s my name,” the girl said after calming down. “My name is Mercy. Mercy Lewis.”

“Oh,” Mary’s ears heated up. “Right. Your parents were feeling pretty creative, weren’t they?”

Another bout of laughter. “Yes. Yes, they were.” She squinted at her. “And you are?”

“Mary. Mary Warren.”

“Well, Mary ‘Pity’ Warren, I think we are going to be very good friends.”

And she was right.

Mercy, as menacing as she could be, made life in Salem a lot more bearable, especially when Proctor’s whip frequently began lapping at Mary’s bare back. Together, they formed a cohort of sorts, sneaking away into the woods with other village girls, hiding away from the Lord’s watchful eyes to discuss the most sinful of things.

And today, Mercy wanted to carry on with their long-running traditions.

“Different in what way?” Mary asked.

Mercy rolled her eyes. She kicked a cloud of dust at Mary, and Mary sputtered, nearly falling backwards into the corn.

“Different-different,” Mercy answered. “Something is wrong with Abigail. Betty, too, I hear. We’re gonna go up to the Reverend’s house and see them. They’re ill, you know?”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “Mister Proctor didn’t tell me anything. They’re sick?”

“Yeah. Real sick. Ain’t wakin’ up. The Reverend has been throwin’ a huge fit over them.” Mercy explained, “I’m surprised you never heard him howlin’!” Then, doing a horrible imitation of Reverend Samuel Parris’s voice, she wailed, “Oh Betty, Betty! Wake, my sweet daughter! Wake! Why won’t you wake?!”

She clung to Mary’s arm dramatically. “God! God! Why have you forsaken me?! What have you struck my little girls with?!”

Mary couldn’t help but giggle softly. Still, her mind was made up on the whole ordeal.

“Tell them my pardons and prayers,” she said, grabbing the fallen sickle. “My master said I gotta tend to the crops. Then I can go to town. But I am not spendin’ my free time meddlin’ in someone else’s affairs.”

Mercy groaned loudly and snatched the sickle away from Mary, making her yelp.

“Live a little, will ya? Let’s go see poor Abby and Betty!” Mercy urged. “To Hell with your master right now. You can’t let him lead you around by a leash all the time. Deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”

Mary stared into the older girl’s eyes and then sighed, giving in. She stood up- Mercy was taller than her, as she always had been. “Lead on, Mercy.”

Mercy brightened.

Together, the two of them snuck out of the Proctor property, careful as to not get caught by one of the many children roaming the plantation.

Technically, the Proctor’s had eighteen children, though four were dead and eleven were brought forth by two different women, both of which had also passed over the seasons. The only living child of John Proctor’s first wife, Martha Giddens, was Benjamin, a tall, lanky man who could never seem to grow a beard, yet had hair down to his shoulders. He was thirty-three and didn’t talk to Mary very often, but when he did, he greatly critiqued her work in the field. That farm was his pride and joy, and it was a challenge to not roll her eyes when he would go on about the importance of their crops and proper plant care.

Elizabeth II was the second oldest at twenty-nine, and helped Elizabeth Proctor run the tavern with her other siblings: Martha IV, twenty-six (the first two Martha’s had died when they were both infants, along with the woman they were named after); Mary II, twenty-five; John II, twenty-four; Mary III, twenty-three; and Thorndike, twenty. Why Proctor decided to have TWO daughters named Mary was beyond Mary herself, but it wasn’t uncommon for things to become confusing when their name was shouted for whatever reason.

Elizabeth Proctor’s children stayed on the farm, helping clean and take care of the livestock: William, eighteen; Sarah fifteen; Samuel, seven; Elisha, five; Abigail, three; and Joseph, one. Mercy often made jokes that Elizabeth had obviously been the one to name the kids, as they were actually creative and not repeating several times over.

But with so many watchmen on the property, Mary was surprised about how easy it was to slip away unseen.

The road was loose and crunched loudly beneath their footfalls. Mercy kept kicking a rock, and Mary watched it bounce across the ground.

“So, what’s wrong with Betty and Abby?” Mary asked.

Mercy smirked widely.

“There be witches about, Mary.”

#servant of evil #lizzie’s dumb book #my writing #original story #salem witch trials #mary warren #mercy lewis

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perseusannabeth · 4 years

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I'll Hold Your Hand - modern AU Nessian fic

Summary: Cassian is finally going to spend some alone time with Nesta, and he's going to woo the shit out of her. He's totally going to seduce her. This is his chance, finally! However, when he gets to Nesta's flat, he realises that this may not be the best time for seduction.

Notes: This is not beta-read so please let me know if there are any mistakes! I wrote this for my friend @acourtofmarauders who asked for some Nessian fluff. If anyone has any acotar prompts they would like me to write, then please send me an ask!

Cassian would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn’t dressing extra carefully today. He had spent 2 hours going through every combination of outfits he could possibly wear, and another hour (once he had chosen an outfit) had been dedicated to fixing his hair. He was nervous, and that was a new feeling for him. Cassian never got nervous, especially when it came to women.

Nesta Archeron however, was no ordinary woman. In fact, when she was angry, he wasn’t even sure she was a woman, she looked like a dragon sometimes, with smoke blowing out of her nostrils when she got angry and ready to breathe fire and burn down whoever angered her, which was usually him. He loved it though. At first, he just loved pissing her off for the sake of it. He didn’t hate her, he just didn’t really like her either and she irritated him, got under his skin and somehow knew how to push all the wrong buttons. Now though, he just loved to watch the way her cheeks would flush, her brows would furrow, and the slight clench of her jaw. He enjoyed their verbal sparring, which he had come to see as a release for the tension between them, only the past few months it felt like the verbal spars were not enough to get rid of the tension.

If she could see him now, primping and preening in the mirror for hours on end, she would have insulted him till he begged for a reprieve, but he doesn’t care. He wants to make sure he looks irresistible but make it look effortless. She could never know his effortless look took him 3 hours. In fact, none of his friends could ever know. They would never shut up about it. He thanked the cauldron that Azriel was spending a few days away with Elain so he couldn’t witness what a mess he was. Sometimes living with your brother had its downsides. He was just thankful that Rhys didn’t still live here. He shuddered at the thought of Rhys and Feyre seeing him getting ready for his not-date with Nesta.

Cassian knew he was acting like this was a date, but he didn’t care. Nesta had invited him to go over to her flat when she was home alone to eat junk food and watch films together, and Cassian was ecstatic. If he had known that mentioning that he had never seen Lord of the Rings, despite having read all the books would have made Nesta so outraged that she’d invite him to spend time with her, then he would have mentioned it ages ago.

He looked at the clock again to check if it was a reasonable enough time to set off. He didn’t want to get there too early, as eager as he was, because that might annoy Nesta and he didn’t want to start their 12-hour marathon with Nesta being angry at him. He also would rather die than get there late, so he kept checking the clock. Nesta had told him to come over for 6 pm so they could marathon all three of the films. She had warned that it would be an endurance test and that if he was a “weak ass bitch” (direct quote from Nesta herself), then she would “leave him for dead”.

Cassian looked at himself one last time in the mirror. His hair was tied in a messy man bun that had taken way too much time to make it look so effortless and not as though he had run in the wind. He had kept his outfit simple, wearing a grey fitted shirt which he knew made his muscles look great, and his favourite joggers which he knew did wonders for his ass (not that it needed help but still, every little helps where Nesta is concerned). Nesta had warned him to dress comfortable, but that didn’t mean he had to dress like a slob.

He grabbed his favourite red zip-up hoodie, made sure he had his phone, charger and keys as he walked into the kitchen. Nesta had said she would have some snacks but Cassian wanted to do a little extra, so he had prepared a pasta bake, which just needed to go in the oven when he got to Nesta’s place. He had also taken the liberty of buying an assortment of junk food, including sour sweets (Nesta’s favourites) and Yorkie chocolate bars (Nesta claimed she started eating them out of spite and can’t stop. He’s too afraid to ask what that even means).

He somehow managed to lock up while holding the pasta bake and the tonne of junk food, and then went and put his things in his car. He tried to drive as slowly as he could without annoying other people on the roads, just to make sure he didn’t get there too early, but still ended up arriving 15 minutes earlier than he was supposed to. Still, Cassian decided Nesta couldn’t be too mad at him for arriving early (could she?) so he decided to take a chance and go up to her flat.

He knocked on her door cautiously and heard a muffled swear from inside which made him grin. Perhaps their little Lord of the Rings marathon wasn’t only making him nervous. The idea that Nesta was nervous too made Cassian grin even wider, his heart fluttering slightly at the thought of Nesta getting nervous because of him.

The door swung open, interrupting Cassian’s thoughts. Nesta stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame. She looked… tired? It threw Cassian, seeing her like this. Her hair was in a messy plait that she had clearly slept in, she was wearing what looked like some Mulan pyjamas and a pastel pink fluffy dressing gown over them. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, she looked a little sweaty, her eyes were half-closed as she looked at Cassian. This was not the poised and ready to step on his balls while wearing high heels Nesta he was used to.

“Hi sweetheart, are you okay?” Cassian forgot all about any ideas to woo Nesta, worry at the forefront of his mind now. Something was clearly wrong because Nesta would rather die than be seen in this state, especially by him.

“Hmm? Don’t call me that,” Nesta protested half-heartedly, her eyes still half-closed as she leaned against the door frame, her head moving to rest against it as though it was too heavy for her to carry.

Cassian decided to throw all caution to the wind and step forward, lightly touching her arm while balancing the ridiculous amounts of food he had bought for the two of them. “Nes, you don’t look very well. Are you okay?”

“I was gonna call you to cancel but then I got really tired and fell asleep. It was just really exhausting getting out of bed to go to the bathroom and kitchen so I had to rest on the sofa.” Nesta said softly. It was strange hearing the normally sharp-tongued Nesta sound so soft and sleepy. He had never seen her so vulnerable, and it made his heart swell.

“Why do you have your head against the doorframe sweetheart? You have a temperature too?”

“Yeah, I think so. Also, I’m a little dizzy right now. I’m not too bad when I’m ill usually, but the flu always affects my balance because once I had an ear infection.” She moved her head from the doorframe, turning her head to look at Cassian with those beautiful, sleepy eyes. As she moved her head, she swayed a bit, her grip tightening on the door frame as she did.

“Right, hang on a second,” Cassian said, quickly spurring into action and moving past her to put down the food he had bought on the kitchen counter, before rushing back to the front door, closing it and slowly guiding Nesta back to the sofa in her living area. Once he had Nesta safely seated, he let out a breath he had been holding.

“Thank you. You don’t have to stay, you know. As you can probably tell, I’m in no fit state to watch Lord of the Rings right now. Plus, the only correct way to do it is to marathon them and I don’t have the energy for that,” Nesta let out a small, sad-sounding sigh which sounded more like she was struggling to breathe as she lay herself down.

“That’s fine, we can watch Lord of the Rings another time. I don’t mind,” Cassian smiled at her softly as he grabbed the blanket at the foot of the sofa and covered her in it.

Nesta frowned. “You don’t have to stay,” she repeated.

“I know I don’t have to stay, but I want to stay.”

There was silence as Nesta looked at Cassian, confusion written all over her face plain as day. She never made it this easy to read her, but Cassian enjoyed the fact that for once, he might be able to guess what’s going on in her head.

“I… I don’t… why?”

“Why not? You’re ill, nobody else is here. I’m not going to let you deal with this on your own, especially when you tell me you’re getting dizzy. It’s not safe. Plus, I don’t mind what we do, even if it’s just sitting here and watching some mindless TV while you doze off. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“Oh,” was all Nesta could say to Cassian’s confession. He couldn’t be sure, but she almost sounded shocked? But surely not, because he always told her how much he enjoyed talking to her.

“Okay, so have you had any food, water or medicine today?” Cassian asked, getting into his ‘nurse Cassian’ way of thinking, as Azriel had lovingly named it back when Azriel had been very ill when they were younger. Cassian just couldn’t help himself, he always felt the need to protect those he loved.

“I had some water and 2 cookies when I woke up. I fell asleep pretty soon after so I haven’t had anything else yet.”

Cassian frowned. “Nesta, it’s now past 6. Are you telling me that all you’ve had today is 2 cookies and a glass of water? What the fuck!”

“I fell asleep, that’s why! I only just woke up when you knocked on my door. Plus, it’s not so bad, I woke up at 1 pm today so it’s only been a few hours,” Nesta said defensively, a little sharpness returning to her voice.

“No wonder you’re feeling dizzy, you’ve not had any medicine or anything of nutritional value to eat, and most of the day has passed! Come on, what do you want to eat? Anything specific?”

“I don’t care as long as it’s not soup. I’m not dying, I still want real food, and soup never tastes good. Plus, I used to have it all the time when I was younger, it reminds me too much of starving and shoving random things in a pot to make ‘soup’ that we would have tiny little portions of so that it would last us a week.”

Cassian has never heard Nesta talk about their childhood. He knew from Feyre how tough things had been, but Nesta had never once spoken about it. He had always assumed that she didn’t care, and from what Feyre had told them, both her and Elain had pretended nothing was happening. Perhaps, Cassian mused, there was more going on there too, more than what she had let her sisters see.

“Okay, no soup. I made a pasta bake so we could always have that. It just needs to go into the oven for a little while. Does that sound good to you?” Nesta nodded, making Cassian smile.

He was glad that his pasta bake would come to good use. He was just glad that despite the fact that Nesta probably didn’t want him here, she didn’t seem to be kicking him out. He wanted to be able to help her and look after her. She hated people seeing her vulnerable, he knew that, and he was honoured that she was putting up with him and allowing him to be there for her.

Cassian walked over to the kitchen, put the oven on and pulled some dishes out of Nesta’s cupboards while the oven warmed up. Once the oven was warmed up, he put the pasta bake into the oven and set a timer on his phone, making sure it was on vibrate so it didn’t make too much noise and startle Nesta.

While he had been rattling around in the kitchen, Nesta had put the TV on and started Netflix up and was looking through to find something to watch. She eventually decided on Queer Eye but had the volume on very quietly, so it was just some comfortable background silence. Cassian glanced at her on the sofa and saw her struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Where do you keep your medicine?” Cassian asked, deciding he should also see what she had in her medicine cupboard too.

“There’s some in the small cupboard right at the end and then there’s some stuff in the bathroom cupboard too,” Nesta answered, jolting at the sound of his voice as she kept almost falling asleep. Cassian could see that she was fighting valiantly to stay awake. She would probably fight the illness with the same kind of energy and knowing Nesta, be fine in no time through sheer determination alone.

Cassian looked through the cupboards and managed to find some lemsip tablets in the bathroom, as well as the powdered stuff in the kitchen. “Do you want lemsip powder or tablets?” he asked as he walked towards her, holding both up in his hands.

“Ugh, the tablets for sure. The powered stuff tastes like shit. I used to suffer through it and drink that shit until Feyre told me that there was a tablet form of it.” Nesta looked at the offending powder with disdain, narrowing her eyes at it as though it had offended her.

“Okie dokie! The powder stuff is definitely evil. I don’t know how we’re expected to drink it. It does not taste like lemon and lime, it tastes like lies and poison.” Cassian said, throwing the powder back into the cupboard.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket and he quickly went to take the pasta out of the oven. He quickly plated it up for Nesta, putting it on the coffee table in front of her along with the biggest glass he could find, full of water. He then went to get his own plate and water and sat beside her.

Nesta looked at him suspiciously and then looked at the pasta in front of her. Cassian just grinned at her and started eating. Nesta watched him for a minute, before following his lead. Cassian knew as soon as she had put the fork in her mouth because Nesta let out a positively sinful moan.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Nesta said, looking over at Cassian, her eyes widened with shock.

Cassian felt his cheeks heat a little, a combination of her praise and the incredibly sexy noise she had let out. He would usually have made a dirty comment after hearing a noise like that, but he decided to hold back for once, only going easy on Nesta because she was ill.

Nesta ate the food at a slightly alarming pace, and Cassian was half worried that she would choke on her food at the speed she was eating, and was on edge just in case he needed to quickly stop her from choking. Nesta didn’t pay him any attention, eating and watching Queer Eye.

When her plate was empty, she drank some of her water. Cassian got up, taking both the plates to the sink and grabbing the cold and flu tablets and handing them to Nesta. She silently took one, before lying back down again.

Cassian turned back to the kitchen when he heard a soft “thank you” coming from the sofa. He stopped in his tracks, not quite sure he had heard it right. He looked at the TV, wondering if he had just heard it from that, and then looked at Nesta, who was watching him.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Cassian asked as he started washing their dishes.

“I know you heard me, don’t ruin it now by being a bastard.” Cassian simply raised his eyebrow at her, before drying his hands and putting cling film on the remaining pasta and putting it in the fridge. “I said, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad you enjoyed the food,” he said, sitting down near Nesta’s feet. She lifted them to make room for him. As he sat down, he pulled her feet back into his lap. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. I guess you were right about the whole food thing making me feel better.”

“Wow, who would’ve thought we’d see the day where Nesta Archeron admits I was right?” Cassian said, feigning shock. Nesta huffed and gave his leg a light kick. “But seriously, you knew the food would make you feel better. You should take better care of yourself. Or maybe, let others in to take care of you from time to time. Like this, us right now.”

“But I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Nesta said, not angry, the way she had said those words many times in the past. Just softly, stating a fact, but her voice tinged with confusion.

“Look, Nesta, admitting that you need help occasionally doesn’t mean you’re weak. Everyone needs help from time to time. Needing someone to take care of you when you’re ill doesn’t mean you’re needy or dependent or a burden on someone, it just means you’re human. And believe it or not, not everyone is out to get you. There are people in your life who would gladly help you, and ask for nothing in return.”

“Like you?” she looked at Cassian with an emotion etched on her beautiful face that he had never seen before. It was hope, softness, and perhaps maybe even fondness for him, all rolled into one.

“Nesta Archeron, I would drop everything to come and help you with whatever you needed, however stupid or mundane you might think it is.” Nesta looked away, and let a small smile grow on her face. Cassian had seen Nesta smile before, don’t get him wrong, but they were more smirks and ‘I’ll kill you’ smiles, in the heat of their arguments. This smile was something different altogether, and it reminded him of how Nesta truly took his breath away.

“I’m tired,” Nesta said after a few minutes of silence.

“Okay, well then you need to sleep.” Cassian stood up, switching the TV off, pulling the blanket off of her and picking her up. She barely weighed anything, which worried Cassian. He didn’t want to annoy Nesta by monitoring her eating habits, especially because he didn’t know why she was so underweight and that could be a risky move, but he hoped he would be able to get her to eat more. He’d even cook for her himself if she wanted.

Nesta, surprisingly, did not react when he picked her up. She just put her arms around his neck and stared at him as he carried her into her room. He placed her softly onto the bed, took her dressing gown off her and hung it up, then tucked her into bed. He then went back into the living room, picked her glass up from the coffee table, filled it up with fresh water and put it on her bedside cabinet, next to some more cold and flu tablets. He then turned to leave Nesta in peace, when she called out for him.

“Cassian?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asked, turning around. “Do you need anything else?” Nesta nodded, then gestured for him to come closer.

He walked closer until he was looming over her bed. She slowly reached out for his hand, and kissed the back of it, then let go and smiled at him. “Thank you, for taking care of me.”

“Is that what the kiss was for?” Nesta nodded. “Well sweetheart, if you want to thank me then there are plenty of ways you can thank me when you’re feeling better,” he smiled.

“I would’ve kissed you properly now but I don’t want you to get ill either. I’m nowhere near as good of a nurse as you are.”

“What you might lack in the care department, you could make up by wearing a sexy nurse costume.” he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

She laughed. “I think that would make you stay sick for longer.”

“I think you’re right,” he said, joining her in her laughter.

Nesta’s laughter subsided. She stared at him openly, her eyes roaming all over him. “Will you stay?” she said eventually, so quiet he could’ve missed it if there wasn’t total silence around them.

“Stay here?” he asked dumbly, not quite believing she would want him to continue to intrude, especially when she was about to sleep.

“Yes. Stay with me, please,” she said, her soft sleepy voice returning, her eyes starting to close before she opened them again. Cassian could see how much force and effort it was taking for her to keep her eyes open. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He grabbed Nesta’s armchair, where she no doubt spent many an hour reading her romance books, and pushed it until it was close enough to the bed that Nesta could reach out for him if she wanted.

He sat down on the chair, and Nesta instantly grabbed his hand, the same one she had kissed. He watched as she drifted off in a matter of minutes, the medicine making sleep come to her a lot quicker than usual. Even as she drifted off, she did not stop holding his hand at all. Cassian ran his thumb over the back of her hand softly, repeating the motion as he stared at the beautiful woman before him. He wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream, but if it was he never wanted to wake. Nesta’s face was much more relaxed now she was asleep, the frown lines and pursed lips smoothed out. She looked, younger, and almost carefree, apart from the clear signs of fatigue that lined her face. The bags under her eyes were prominent, and Cassian knew she studied into the night, working herself too hard.

Still, Cassian mused to himself, perhaps now that Nesta had let him in, he could convince her to take better care of herself. He needed to make sure that she knew that Cassian was in this for the long haul, and perhaps she would lower her walls more, and finally let him in.

As he drifted off to sleep, still holding her hand, he realised that perhaps she already had let him in.

End Notes: Thank you to everyone who is reading! Please let me know what you thought of it. Also, I've realised that perhaps some of the things I mentioned are very British? I'm not entirely sure but I figured I'd give an explanation just in case.

Yorkies are a chocolate bar, which used to have the slogan 'not for girls' which is obviously very dumb. They changed it years ago, however, before they changed it, when I was younger, I ate the chocolate bar out of spite because the slogan and some boys said I couldn't do it. The adrenaline rush was just wow, a lot at the time for an 8-year-old.

Lemsip is medicine for colds and flu. Most people tend to have the powdered stuff, which you have to mix into boiling water and drink like its tea. It claims to be lemon and lime flavoured but it's actually just lies and makes me gag because it's disgusting. I was very offended because I suffered for all these years but then my sister told me there were tablets too??? Betrayal??? Nobody bothered to tell me???

#nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #my fic #i've not even properly proofread this so there may be mistakes #not sure if i even like it i'm just posting it #also posted on a03 #text

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janekfan · 4 years

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hi friend!! i sent this prompt, but tumblr said it didn't go through. so if you get it twice, ignore this, BUT! i'm deep into jon&tim friendship/frenemyship, so if you're interested in a prompt: what about Jon asking Elias if he can take a sick day, but Elias denying it for some reason or another. tim has no sympathy for jon until he learns that a) jon is really feverish, and b) he tried to be responsible and was told no :( (if you don't like this prompt, I can try again!)

Thank you so much @taylortut! I really enjoyed writing this :) Strained Tim/Jon is a favorite of mine!

I hope I did your prompt justice!!!

Boundaries

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870714

“I’ve already done this one.” Tim shoved the folder back into Jon’s hands, pretending that he didn’t see the way the man flinched. Or the way he swayed very slightly back and forth, dead on his feet. “Go home. You look shite and you’re wasting my time.”

“I, I. I can’t.” The smallest tremor seemed to underline those words and he turned aside to cough into his elbow.

“Then get out of here.” He turned back to his phone, mumbling. “I don’t want whatever you have.” Because Jon looked awful with his greying hair slipping out of the tie and into his sweaty, fever flushed face.

“Tim--”

“Bye, Jon.” Clipped. Short. Edging toward angry.

“R’r’ight. Thank you, Tim.” The limp, more pronounced when he was tired, seemed much worse today. Absently, he wondered if Jon had his cane before deciding it was none of his business.

Jon didn’t need them anyway. He’d made that abundantly clear.

It was easy to avoid Jon if he didn’t seek him out. Whether through paranoia or embarrassment, the archivist kept his distance unless there was research that needed to be done that he couldn’t handle himself. And that was currently piling up on the corner of Tim’s desk because he’d be damned if he did anything to help this place after what it kept taking.

So, of course, twice in one day, their paths crossed. Tim was on his way to raid the fridge when he saw Jon in the stacks on the rolling ladder. He was paused halfway up, gripping a file so hard the folder creased and resting his forehead on the nearest step, shivering so strongly Tim could see it from where he stood. Shoulders hitching, Jon coughed half heartedly, the sound he made when he was through catching his breath a cross between a whine and a groan; certainly not something he would ever allow anyone to hear if he knew he was being watched. If he wanted to suffer at playing martyr instead of going home, Tim was happy to let him.

Maybe Martin was in the breakroom. He still tolerated Jon.

Tim liked to tell himself that he didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But with Jon being. Jon. That wasn’t entirely true, was it?

“I told you to go home, Jon.” Martin sounded exasperated and that was no surprise. Who wasn’t cross with Jon these days? But there was worry there too, and when Jon’s wet cough echoed into the hallway, Tim could understand why.

“Elias,” his voice was hoarse and it sounded like speaking hurt. “Elias told me once I’ve finished--he said I c’couldn’t.”

“Jon?”

“Finished something, I’m sorry, I can’t, can’t seem to recall exactly what it was.” Frowning, Tim pressed closer, trying to hear what was being said, but Jon’s words were slipping in and out like the tide, fading into shallow panting, like he couldn’t quite focus. He sounded exhausted.

“Oh, Jon.” Another round of breathless hacking followed. “Here.” Tim narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what they were doing.

“Th’thank you, Martin.” It was strange that Jon allowed all this fuss.

“You need to rest.”

“I tried to, to.” The next noise sounded suspiciously like a choked off sob. “Tried to tell him.”

“I know you did. It’s not your fault he’s a right prick.” Why did Jon even listen to Elias anyway? At least this explained why he’d told Tim he couldn’t leave earlier. The one time in probably his entire life he tried to take some leave.

“Heh,” Jon sounded seconds away from snapping in half completely, done in enough that his walls were coming down. “The one t’time I ask for a sick d’day.”

“Alright, well. You’ll have to rest here then.”

“B’but Elias--”

“He can speak to me if he’s a problem with it.” Tim smiled at Martin’s irate tone and it spoke to how very poorly Jon must’ve been feeling that he didn’t attempt to argue again. “Can you stand?” Tim heard the squeak of Jon’s desk chair, a brief clattering, Martin’s exclamation, and decided it was time to stop hiding, opening the door and stepping inside.

“I heard coughing--oh.” Jon was crumpled over Martin’s arm, body completely limp, and Tim rushed forward to help sit him back in the chair, patting his face gently until he came around. He was positively boiling.

“Jon?” Martin was supporting his head with one hand, pushing his hair back with the other.

“S’sorry...jus’...” Groggy, his head lolled. “Spinning.”

“Okay.” A conflicted expression flickered over his face and Tim just knew it had to do with him. They needed help and the only person left was him. “Tim. I wouldn’t ask if--”

“I’ll get this side, yeah?” Visibly relieved, Martin nodded gratefully, moving to get Jon’s arm over his own shoulder, and bracing to lift at the same time, slowly, in an attempt to keep him from blacking out a second time. They were up when Jon’s leg buckled completely and Tim rushed to compensate, feeling like a prat for ignoring him all day when he was well and truly ill. “It’s been bothering him more than usual.” Martin nodded his assent and led the way with Jon stumbling between them, doing more to hinder really, but Tim wasn’t going to tell him that. Not this time, with his arm like a brand against the back of his neck and weighing almost nothing between them.

“Alright, Jon. It’s alright.” Being upright wasn’t agreeing with him and Tim told himself he would forget the pitiful noises slipping out of him for both their sakes. They’d just made it to the cot when his breathing picked up, shallow and fast and he slumped further, swallowing thickly and when they set him down he curled up, taking the bin Tim passed over. His throat made a wet click when he swallowed reflexively and his head was all but inside the bin. “If you need to be sick, it’s alright.” Martin was so gentle with him, smoothing a hand down his back slowly while it heaved unevenly.

“N’no…” His exhale was swallowed by the plastic and he sank somehow lower, nigh folded in half with a strangled expletive.

“Tim, would you get some water and paracetamol for me?”

“Sure, Martin.”

When he returned, Martin had divested Jon of most of his layers and he lay trembling under the spare blanket with a damp flannel over his forehead, barely aware.

“I brought tea, uh. It’s got honey. For the cough.”

“That’s perfect, Tim. Thank you.” He levered Jon upright again, letting him rest drowsily against his shoulder while he handed him pills and urged him to take the tea. He had to hold Jon’s hand it was shaking so badly and when he finished he couldn’t keep his eyes open, asleep before Martin settled him back down. “There.” He sighed, adjusting the flannel over his eyes before sitting back to check the hour and supplies, fixing Tim with a look when he’d finished.

“Thought he was being.” Tim gestured broadly. “Jon.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. “Didn’t know he’d actually.”

“Asked Elias for a day off?”

“Mm.”

“To be fair, I did have to bully him into it. Lotta good that did. He’s. He’s trying, you know? In his own way.” Tim looked away, dropping his eyes to Jon’s thin face with its dark, ashen skin and deep shadows. The scars. The same ones that marked Tim inside and out.

“Yeah.” But it didn’t help, did it? Not when he was still so angry with him for suspecting and spying on them. Not trusting them. Because they were supposed to be friends and friends didn’t do that. “Yeah.” Just the same, when Jon shifted uneasily in his sleep, Tim replaced the flannel, letting his hand linger longer than absolutely necessary.

#@taylortut #tma fanfic #tma #sickfic #sick jon #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #prompt #I take those :D

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boxboysandotherwhump · 3 years

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Guys I’ve been a really bad bean today. Despite not getting even remotely close to my nano word count I’ve got lost in editing land with this piece. I initially just wanted to correct the mistakes my amazing friend @finder-of-rings would find for me but ended up rewriting whole paragraphs of this and fiddling a little with the scene structure at the end.

At least I’m happy how it turned out.

@redstainedsocks @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee

Chapter 3

CW: past parental neglect, panic attack, protagonist nearly experiencing a meltdown, stimming, undeserved punishment

Sahar stumbled, nearly tripping over the small stone steps as he hasted up to the farm. The bushes and ferns around him all swam together into smudged shades of green. The world around him dissolved into a melting aquarelle painting, ruined by tears burning their deep painful paths into his skin as they streamed down his flushed face, incessantly.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry but he’d forgotten how to stop.

The rustling leaves and chirping beetles, the birds, the arguing voices from below, were all drowned out by the thundering heartbeat pulsing through his skull.

I didn’t do anything bad.

I didn’t.

Or…

Did I?

Sahar’s right arm ached in warning but his relentlessly tapping fingers were somehow capable to hold the feeling at bay, getting it out through his movements before it could break through his skin and twist his very being into an abstract variant of pain.

For now, the horridly familiar sensation just lingered, stinging deep in his marrow and itching under his nails, eager to burst out.

Bolting over the little fence, Sahar hurried across the plateau and passed the house to hop behind one giant root, into nature's comforting embrace.

He wedged himself between it and the old stump they used to chop firewood on, eyes fixed on the ax still rammed inside as his back hit the roots bark over and over again, chasing unwanted feelings out through movement and the growing throb across his skin, until his violent rocking slowed into a gentle rhythm.

The ache began to fade.

Sahar’s lips trembled around one long shaky exhale and his tears finally subsided. Their tracks were only crusty streaks of salty water now, not overwhelming liquefied aches.

Sometimes Sahar hated his body, hated it for being overwhelmed by the stupidest things, hated to have a brain full of misfiring neurons at war with themselves and the world. A brain that made it unbelievably more difficult to exist, as what he was, in this world.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment.

Punishment for what?

Why was it a crime to be-

“Sahar?” Moira’s head peeked over the root. Her brows furrowed in worry as she looked down at his cowering form.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, only tugged his knees tight to his chest, ready to hide his face from whatever scolding was surely to come.

There always had been reprehension when he hadn’t been able to behave himself. Until all of his mother’s angry words hadn’t been enough and she’d ultimately abandoned him.

Ugly icky fear gnawed away at his insides, a sharp toothed beast he desperately wanted to banish from his skin. He rocked against the root again, let his shoulder blades collide with it hard enough the rough bark threatened to tear his grey linen shirt.

Sometimes his thoughts paused, stayed on safe paths and away from the maelstroms of his ever racing mind when he rocked or tapped or hummed enough. But now was not such a moment.

Sahar’s thoughts spun and spiraled, crashing violently into one another on their collision curses.

Please don’t throw me out. Away. I can behave. I can be disciplined. I promise. Promise. Promise. Please!

The curtain closed and left the window dark.

“Sahar?”

Wait.

There were no curtains here. And no city streets. No concrete roads or bleeding knees.

Only warm earth under his fingertips. A long grass blade brushed his calf and Sahar closed his eyes to focus on the barely there tickle against his skin.

Feeling his ribcage expand and fill with the lavender scented air, inherent to his home, his eyes fluttered open.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Here. Here. Here. And I can stay.

Moira began to heave Asmodea over the root with a loud huff that had Sahar instantly uncurl and twist around to take the snail with a firm, gentle grip from Moiras arms. Asmodea immediately clung onto him as best as their soft slimy body allowed, their foot moving in exasperated little waves until Sahar finally sat back down to place them over his lap.

“There, there baby. There you you you go.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Asmodea draped themselves flat over his legs, making no move to retreat into their shining shell. It’s brown and black stripes still shimmered from the shower Sahar had given them yesterday.

“Sahar? Can you listen to me?”

Hunching protectively over Asmodea, he gave a hesitant nod, before adding a quiet, “Yes.”

Moira didn’t like it when she had to repeat herself. It made her livid when he or Ansgar ended up absorbed in one-

Ansgar.

Something hot and heavy lodged itself in Sahar’s throat at the thought of his furious gaze. Ansgar had never looked at him like this, ever before, but Sahar realized why, now, after he had a moment to collect his racing thoughts, to calm his hammering heart. He really had been bad. Immature, thoughtless, utterly ludicrous.

But even so he knew. God how he knew.

Even after everything-

“Ansgar and Eric persuaded the… head hunter, to try his luck up in Berlin.” Moira began, lips pursed in displeasure. “Your house arrest however, stands nevertheless. Don’t give me that look. You’ve been irresponsible and ill-mannered, young man. No matter how good a reason you may think you had, you have to control yourself.”

A protest burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the sizzle of anger down, buried it deep inside himself where all his other unsafe emotions were banished.

“I know. I I- I’m sorry.”

Moira shook her head with a sigh, grey curls swishing softly from side to side. “Just be better from now on and stay put for the next few days. No strolling through the farm woods either.”

His fingers began to tap an anxious rhythm onto Asmodea’s shell, while their foot pulsed in soothing waves over his thighs. One of her eyes gently nudged his forearm.

“What, uhm what, but if if if one of the snails escapes and-“

Moira’s strict tone nipped his tender try at backtalk at the bud, rendering him silent for good.

“Ansgar and I will take care of that then. I have to go now. Ansgar already went to help Eric and the others check the InD-Unit’s for a possible break through. I don’t trust one word out of this guy’s mouth, and I expect you to stay close to the house. Did I make myself clear?”

The scar on his arm stretched uncomfortably as he curled tighter around Asmodea, desperate for his friend’s silent support. Their soft body wiggled gently over his legs in response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

#theosnanowrimo #nanowrimo #whump #post apocalyptic whump #mutant whump #mutant whumpee #post apocalypse #mutants #whump writing #whumpee #crying whumpee #queer protagonist #autistic protagonist #stimming #panic attack whump

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igirisuhito · 4 years

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Title: Afflicted Relationship(s): Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito Rating: Mature Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / ? Chapter Summary: Monokuma has a fresh new motive! Monomi has been a bit too comfortable lately, so why not let the chains go and let the biggest secret they're trying to suppress manifest within the simulation under the guise of illness? Trigger Warnings: Vomiting, Illness, Personality issues Author’s Note: This fic is an AU of sdr2 chapter 3. Rather slow to update. Can’t tell you how long it will run for but if you like to keep track, I recommend subscribing on Ao3.

[Ao3 Link]

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈

"Hghh-GAH!"

My body shot up involuntarily, kicking me from my sleep. My breathing was laboured and sweat dripped down my forehead, was that a nightmare? As quickly as it had come, the nightmare had completely dissolved, feeling out of reach in the depths of my mind yet leaving a bad taste in my mouth

My body was hot, unusually so. It's so hot here on tropical Jabberwock Island but I was finally starting to get used to it. This heat was more...feverish. Have I come down with something? Can I even get sick here? Surely not.

…Can viruses travel across water?

Pocketing the thought in my mind to ask Tsumiki later, I buttoned my shirt and lifted myself from the bed. My body was heavy, exhausted, like I hadn’t rested in years. Vertigo made the floor deceptively uneven beneath my feet.

Oh god. Something is wrong.

I picked up my jeans from the floor and pulled them on, stumbling slightly as I tried to balance and get my legs in the right holes. I wrapped my tie around my collar and knotted it loosely before quickly slipping my sneakers on, not even bothering to redo the laces. I really should have had a shower with how sticky with sweat my skin was, but I really had to get to breakfast.

A weird thought floated through the back of my mind, it was almost as if I was…underdressed? This is what I wear every day…?

I stepped towards the door slowly. My heart was pounding in my ears, like I'd been running a marathon. Ohhh something was definitely off.

I turned the knob and stepped outside into the daylight. Crap the sun was bright. With slow steps, I made my way from the cabins to the restaurant where everybody usually met up.

My fingers glided along the banister as I stepped up the wooden stairs. This mundane task felt so much more difficult today. Upon making it upstairs and entering through the diner’s side entrance, I was confronted by the sound of loud sobs.

I assumed it was Saionji or Tsumiki, but the sobs didn't quite match those two. They were louder, less whiny. The sight that appeared before me was Owari leaning into Tsumiki's chest, bawling her eyes out and staining the nurse's white apron. It was such an unusual scene, I found myself glancing multiple times to see if it was actually happening.

"Ah! H-hinata! I-i-is there any ch-chance you could please give- give me a hand here?" The Ultimate Nurse stuttered out, clearly distressed and overwhelmed.

I attempted to step forward to help her with Owari, but my body was frozen, stuck in place.

Huh?

"My assistance won't make any difference to her condition."

A deep, unfamiliar voice spoke. I snapped my head around the room attempting to find its owner, but there was only there was only the three of us here.

Was that…? No, surely not. I don't talk in such a pretentious way.

"H-hinata…"

I stared at her with what I assumed was panic. Tsumiki flinched and was now clinging to Owari tighter than Owari had been clinging to her.

"Hey, what the fuck is going on here?" A familiar gruff voice broke the tension.

Kuzuryuu emerged from the stairs and looked towards the two girls clinging to each other desperately. He then glanced to me, expectant of an answer.

"At first glance it would seem the stress of Nidai's loss has finally tipped Owari over the edge and into despair, but it's rather something much more sinister."

There that voice was again! I could feel my lips moving and the words coming out, but there was absolutely no thought of these words going through my mind! The Ultimate Gangster appeared shocked as well.

"Wait what the fuck is wrong with you? You sound like fucking Komaeda."

"Huh? Who sounds like me?"

As if on queue, Komaeda arrived to the scene with Nanami in tow. The girl barely looked up from her device before sitting down at a table.

"Oi, say to Komaeda what you said to me!" Kuzuryuu barked at me.

Oh god this is going downhill so fast.

"I see no reason to repeat myself." Desperately seeking her help, advice, anything, I approached the dining table and sat myself next to the gamer girl.

Nanami paused her game to look at me with a wide eyed expression. "Hinata…" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Amazing! You've finally developed a personality fit for an Ultimate such as yourself!" Komaeda clasped his hands together excitedly. "What brought this on?"

It seemed whatever had possessed me and myself both agreed to ignore the Luckster.

Soon Saionji and Mioda were entering the room, Saionji giggling nefariously behind her small little hand.

"Hey guys look! Ibuki will do whatever I tell her to today!" Saionji yelled across the dining hall enthusiastically. "Ibuki! Go jump on Tsumiki!"

The colourful girl made a salute "Right away, Hiyoko-chan!" and threw herself at the Ultimate Nurse, who was still cradling Owari. Tsumiki screamed as she hit the floor with both Owari and Mioda on top of her.

"My my what's going on?" Sonia and Tanaka emerged from the stairs with a dejected looking Souda trailing behind.

"A new motive!"

A shrill voice shrieked excitedly. Suddenly, a familiar monochromatic bear popped up at the end of the dining table. Man, way too much is happening too fast, especially when I'm feeling like this.

"Motive?" Komaeda was the first to speak up, sounding almost excited.

"That's riiiight! The motive for the next murder! I've decided to inflict some of you with a bad boy I like to call 'Despair Disease!" Monokuma grinned a toothy smile as he addressed everyone in the room.

"I'm sure you've all gotten a good idea of what's happening by now, but I'll give you a nice little rundown regardless, just so you brainless bastards can understand." Monokuma pointed a furry paw at Owari.

"Akane Owari has Coward Disease."

Then to Mioda. "Ibuki Mioda has Gullible Disease."

Then to me. "Hajime Hinata has Apathy Disease."

Huh…me?

I was one of the motives…?

The words left my mouth too quickly once again. "There's no cure then, unless a murder occurs?"

The bear nodded. "That's right my hollow friend! Unless you take advantage of your 'no strings attached' state and kill somebody, you could be stuck like this forever!"

The room got suddenly hotter, forcing me to loosen my tie a bit so I could breathe. My eyes were becoming unfocused and everything was drifting away. The only sounds I could hear were Monokuma's rambles, Owari screaming about her fear of death, and the blood rushing in my ears.

Monokuma had made us the perfect candidates for a killing.

With this thought the world began to spin, even though I was still seated.

"Hinata-san…are you okay?" Chiaki's soft voice was distant as my head became unbearably heavy and the world slipped through my fingers. The last thing I felt was my forehead hitting the wooden dining table.

I awoke to the sensation of my muscles being stretched. Specifically, the ones in my arms.

"...ant…d...t...an…….'s t-...eavy…."

"urel….n…..t-m-t….ike…..you -an…ft another person, Souda!"

"I can't! It's not my fault he's so-"

"Ah! Hinata-kun!"

My eyes slowly fluttered open and I groaned. My head ached and there was sweat coating my body from head to toe. I could feel the hard floor on my back, pressing my shirt to stick damply to my skin.

A mess of fluffy white hair and sunken grey eyes was leaning into my gaze. The very sight of Komaeda made me want to close my eyes again.

The two boys were stood at either end of me, Souda still holding my arms up. His face was twisted into an uncomfortable look.

"You pick up heavy machinery almost daily, Souda. You're only feigning this weakness so that you don't have to carry me, right?" I mumbled, letting out an exasperated sigh and glancing back at the pink haired male.

Souda let go of my arms with a shocked expression, allowing them to fall to my side with a thud. "W-what?! I wouldn't do something like that to my soul-friend!"

I examined his expression closely, Souda wore a nervous smile. "How boring. It's not of any issue, I can walk by myself."

I set my palms down on the floor beside me and sat up. Komaeda reached out and uttered a "Wait" when suddenly I was overcome with an aching pain in my head. A small hiss escaped my lips and I faltered.

"It's so incredibly brave of you to try to move yourself, Hinata-kun! However, Tsumiki-san said you shouldn't try to in your state.” Komaeda spoke, concern apparent in his voice. “Souda and I planned to take you to the hospital, unless you don’t want talentless scum like me carrying you!”

“I don’t. I can take care of myself.” I had another go at lifting myself off the floor. My knees stuttered for a moment, but I managed to stand. My head was still pounding, but it was so much more tolerable than allowing myself to be carried.

Komaeda’s expression morphed into one of hurt, but his eyes gleamed with a whole different emotion; intrigue. “Hinata-kun…”

“Seriously Hinata! You could hurt yourself!” Souda objected, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I swatted his hand away and began to walk towards the stairs of the hotel. “Why are you two looking at me like that? You should have expected this.”

Komaeda and Souda stayed silent as I made my slow descent down the stairs. If my hearing was a little bit worse, I probably wouldn’t have heard the “stubborn bastard” Souda eventually muttered out.

I gripped the handrail tightly once I stepped off the last step, now finding myself in the games room. Son of a bitch- my head hurts so badly. It was almost as if somebody was shoving an ice pick through my brain. My body was still glazed with sweat and my eyes bleary. Whatever Monokuma had inflicted us with, it was pretty unbearable.

I know I’ve always been a prideful person, but even in this situation I should be completely fine with leaving my health in the hands of Tsumiki. Being the Ultimate Nurse, she would definitely be able to relieve my symptoms somewhat. But the very thought of seeking help seemed anything but of interest.

What is wrong with me? I thought Monokuma said I had apathy disease, not ‘huge prick’ disease. I felt like a completely different person. The very thought made my throat dry up.

On another note, what does apathy mean again? It means like...not caring, right? So I surely couldn’t be concerned about what Tsumiki thinks of me...I don’t get it. Something just feels incredibly wrong about putting myself in her, or anyone's, hands.

Shoving those thoughts down, I decided to make my way to the third island. The sun made my fever all the more excruciating and I found myself feeling faint, but I powered on anyway.

I crossed the bridge to the centre island, then took the bridge to the third island. I've never been so incredibly grateful for that red and white building to not be on the other side of the island.

I pushed open the door of the hospital building, finding myself in a small reception room. It was painted a dull blue-green colour, and bore a large white reception desk. There was also a small assembly of chairs, forming what I presumed is a waiting area. Kuzuryuu was lounged in one of these chairs in a seemingly uncomfortable position.

The Gangster jumped up the second he saw me, as it he had been awaiting my arrival. “Dude, did you fucking walk here? Did Komaeda and Souda ditch you?!” “Yes, and no. I left them at the hotel.” I explained, making eye contact with the shorter boy.

“Why the fuck would you do that? You’re sick as a dog! You passed out at breakfast, remember?!”

“I recall.”

“Then why’d you-”

“I don’t need to explain my actions to you.”

Kuzuryuu’s face twisted in a scowl, before he sighed and dropped all emotion from his face. “Man I don’t get this shit. Just go talk to Tsumiki okay? She’s in the first room treating Owari’s fever.”

I nodded and made my way into the hallway past the desk. There were doors on the left, labelled with numbers, patient rooms. On the right were windowed rooms with various…Monokuma displays?

Something about this place made my headache even worse.

I swallowed down the feeling and opened the door to the firsr room, stepping inside and quietly closing the door behind me. The room was filled with the loud sound of Owari sobbing her heart out. At this point, her voice was beginning to break, sounding hoarse and desperate. Tsumiki whirled around to face me, a wet rag in hand.

“H-Hinata! I-I-I’m glad you’re- you’re here. If y-you’d like, um, y-you can go rest in the second room. I’ll be- um, w-with you in a sec!” She stammered out, flashing a forced smile.

“I’ll stay there, as I assume the others will see me as a contagion risk, but I don’t wish for you to treat me.” I spoke sternly.

Tsumiki looked shocked, and then tears began to drip from her eyes. “I-I-I’m s-sorry! I-I didn’t know that- that I-I was in-in-inadequate in my n-nursing!”

I left the room before I had to listen to her cry any further, it was boring to listen to somebody act to so pathetically. As I stepped back out into the hallway, a rush of dizziness and nausea overcame me. I staggered slightly and leant an arm on the nearest wall, squeezing my eyes shut tight and trying to still the room around me.

Jesus Christ I feel like crap.

Light footsteps approached in my direction. I couldn't see who it was, but the sound of metal chain clinking against itself hinted as to who the footsteps' owner might be.

Komaeda's voice sounded cheerful. “Hinata-kun! Kuzuryuu-san told me you made it here okay! Ah, you look awfully-”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Oh, I understand. It’s only natural for you to have that reaction upon running into somebody like me.” Komaeda laughed at his own self-deprecation.

“No, Komae-” I gagged on my words and quickly pressed a hand over my mouth.

Komaeda’s eyes went wide, followed by a soft “oh”. The boy then grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the second patient’s room. The room had a small ensuite bathroom, much alike most hospitals. I didn’t bother looking around too much, instead opting to make my way into the bathroom as quickly as possible. I spied the toilet and removed the hand from my mouth, opting to lean it against the cistern and sinking to my knees.

I heaved into the toilet, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes as my throat burned and my head screamed. This feeling was utterly...despairing.

After what felt like hours, my stomach had finally begun to calm down. I wiped my mouth with a groan and laid my face on the cool tiles of the floor.

“That’s kind of unhygienic, you know.” A breathy voice spoke from the doorway.

“It doesn’t matter.” I mumbled.

I heard Komaeda’s footsteps come closer, followed by a cool hand being pressed to my forehead. A quiet sigh escaped my mouth in relief.

“You’re incredibly hot, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda paused for longer than necessary, “Hang on, I’ll go get Tsumiki.”

He removed his hand from my forehead and I groaned out in annoyance. “Nooo.”

“Huh? Why don’t you want me to go get Tsumiki.”

“I don’t want to be treated.”

“Wh- why?”

“I want to see what happens.”

Komaeda laughed a wheezy little laugh. "Hinata-kun, normally I'd agree to anything you say, but an Ultimate like yourself shouldn't force yourself to go through something like this."

“Your opinion on the matter isn’t important, Komaeda. I’m just telling you not to get Tsumiki.” I stated firmly. “Besides, knowing the people here, it won’t be long before a murder occurs and I'm free from this.”

Komaeda tilted his head, looking somewhat intrigued by my statement. He had hardly reacted to my harsh words. “Not that I disagree, but why do you think that will be the case?”

I shrugged slightly and pushed myself up from the floor, now sitting up. The room was still spinning dangerously around me. “You’re all psychotic. That’s all.”

This statement seemed to tickle Komaeda, as he laughed and drew a big grin on his face. “It’s surprising how much more honest you are at the moment. Has your new apathetic outlook made you unbothered with hurting people’s feelings?”

I sighed. “You can sit here and philosophise all you like about the despair disease and its impacts. I’m going to go get a drink to calm this migraine."

I pulled myself up, slowly rising to my feet when a shocking pain pulsed through my head again.

"Ghuh-!"

My legs went weak and Komaeda reached out, grabbing hold of my torso to keep me from crashing to the floor below.

"You probably shouldn't try to do that." He muttered, gripping my waist tightly.

"No shit. Let go." I hissed, reaching out and latching on to Komaeda's shoulders.

The boy laughed heartily, making no attempt to remove his hands. "You tell me to let go whilst using my body to prop yourself up? You're awfully strange Hinata-kun."

Komaeda moved to my side and, removing one of his arms from my waist and now placing his hand over mine. "Please put your arm around my shoulder, we should just get you to your bed."

I sighed loudly in defeat and placed my arm around Komaeda's shoulder. The boy nodded and slowly started to move forward.

"I really don't need your help for this Komaeda."

"I know. Thankyou for allowing me to assist you, even if garbage like myself isn't worthy to."

I didn't bother to entertain Komaeda with a response. Instead I leaned more of my body weight onto the boy and groaned.

"It's alright, Hinata-kun, you're doing an amazing job." Komaeda breathed in a hushed tone.

The sound of his voice so close to me made me shiver, but it provided a momentary distraction from the pain.

My knees bumped into something hard and I looked up, realising we had made it across the room. Komaeda slipped his hand out from my waist and helped me lower myself to sit on the mattress.

"God I'm so hot." I murmured.

Komaeda pressed a cool hand to my cheek, making me sigh in relief. Using his right hand, he pressed his fingers into the knot of my tie, pulling it further undone from my neck.

"You should probably change into a hospital gown, it would at least be much cooler than wearing jeans." Komaeda spoke in a low voice.

He must be trying to help my migraine by being quiet. How…considerate of him?

"I...you're right." I sighed, bringing my fingers to undo the top button of my shirt.

Komaeda backed off, removing his hand from my face quickly. "Oh, Hinata-kun! Should I leave?"

I undid the rest of my buttons and shrugged off my shirt and tie. "Do what you want."

The boy nodded quickly, his cheeks were slightly flushed. "I-I'm going to get you a gown." And with that, he dashed out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Weirdo.

I undid my belt and lifted my hips from the bed, carefully wiggling myself out of my jeans. They were awfully tight on my body, probably from the sweat of the fever.

I discarded my jeans and laid back on the bed with a groan. I probably shouldn't lie down yet, but I'm so goddamn sore and tired. The bed was hard and uncomfortable, but it was so nice to be off my feet for even a moment.

The door opened again and in stepped Komaeda, holding a folded up gown in his hands. "Ah, Hinata-kun, are you okay?"

"No." I mumbled, rolling over so I was now face-down in the pillow.

"I'm sorry, can I get you anything?" Komaeda spoke softly as a weight sat on the edge of the bed, most likely him.

"Water."

"Can do." The weight disappeared once again. "I left your gown on the bed if you want to change."

"Mhm." I mustered the strength to push myself up before scanning my eyes around the room. Komaeda was gone once again, I never heard the door click when he left, how strange.

I picked up the gown from the edge of the mattress. It was incredibly lightweight, but the linen was soft. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and pulled it up onto my shoulders. I then tied it around the waist loosely and sat back down on the bed.

Komaeda returned a few moments later with a tray holding a jug of water and a cup. He set the tray down on the bedside table and began to pour a cup of water.

"Are you feeling any better, Hinata-kun?" He quizzed, not taking his eyes away from what he was doing.

"I'm less hot." I mumbled.

"That's good." The boy turned to me, holding a plastic cup of water in his outstretched hand. I took it carefully with two hands, raising it to my lips and sipping.

The cool water felt like heaven on my burning throat. I squeezed my eyes closed tight and drank the whole cup, finishing with a pleased sigh.

"Ah, you probably shouldn't drink too fast, you don't want to make yourself sick again." Komaeda smiled and took the cup from my hands.

"That would be exciting though, wouldn't it? To be desperately seeking a release from pain only for it to make things worse? Actually, no, that's so incredibly predictable…" I babbled out, somewhat dazed and sleepy now that the ache in my throat was relieved.

"Haha, you're starting to sound a bit like me. How scary." Komaeda chuckled to himself, pouring another cup of water.

I slowly lowered my body back onto the bed, resting my head against the pillow. "Mmnn...it would be most unfortunate to have a mindset as boring as yours."

Komaeda gave a sad smile and placed the plastic cup onto the tray. "I think I'll go. I need to talk to Kuzuryuu-san about what everybody else is doing. Please call for Tsumiki-san if you need anything."

"Mmm."

The last thing I heard was the sound of Komaeda muttering to himself and the click of the door behind him. Fatigue took hold and I found myself falling into a deep sleep.

#Komahina #Kamukoma #Kamukura Izuru #Hinata Hajime #Komaeda Nagito #Ficgiri

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patricia-von-arundel · 4 years

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An Ordinary Life - 1/3

This is a story I’ve been trying to start, and kept getting stymied on and restarting, for a very long time. It’s a simple story, about two people very much in love, who rarely get to exist as others do. Who live lives full of great deeds and great challenges, but have few moments of solitude and peace. Who are extraordinary, but rarely ordinary. So... I wanted to give ordinary to them. To Edelgard, who grieves the ordinary life her siblings never had, and longs for a lazy day. To Byleth, who has only recently learned to want or need anything beyond what is necessary to live. Even if the respite for both of them is brief, it is still just that: a respite.

I wanted it up today for El’s birthday.

I wanted to write it at all for @lysissisyl. Ti amo, cuore mio.

Rating: G (the third part will be very much M-rated, but will only be available on AO3)

Also on AO3

It had been almost a year - almost a year since the war ended, and the true tests of her abilities began. Edelgard had not been so foolish as to believe these tests would be easy ones, but she had failed to grasp the full tedium that they would lay upon her. Day in and day out. Heavier than any armor - and completely lacking in the satisfaction of laying down her weapon at the end of the day.

She had never been much for such work: sitting for hours on end, piles of paper and ink tipping into depleted wells, demands offered in formulaic, formal, flowery tones. Meetings with crusty, entitled men of the ancien regime, who she knew before any discussion began would balk at every word she spoke, regardless of what it might be, simply because of their anger and fear at what she had chosen to represent. Slow work. Tedious work.

Her sisters had teased her about her inability to stand such things, when she was young: “Never get between Edelgard and the door at the end of lessons! Little El will run you right over.” She had usually been the first out, running for afternoon freedom in the outdoors. Even restricted from going alone outside the palace grounds, there was far more adventure eto be found than would ever be contained in arithmetic or penmanship.

She had outgrown such childish displays of her feelings, of course, but not out of the feelings themselves. Still - always - she would do what was necessary. It was not for her own education, now - it was for every person in Fódlan.

But the tedium wasn’t the only thing she had to fight to keep her mind on the endless work:

There was also the abence in her heart, and in the empty bed she attempted restless sleep in each night.

Byleth had been gone for almost a month. Twenty-six days. Edelgard had no choice but to keep count; her subconscious mind would make certain of it, even if her conscious mind chose not to. Each time Byleth had left, it seemed the pain and fear could grow no greater - her body could contain no more - but with every day that passed, somehow, it did. This, though, was the longest it had been - and the fear was ever-present. She even dreams of it: nightmares of all those years Byleth had been gone. Nightmares of seeing her collapse, there at what had been greatest victory, and listening desperately, endlessly for a heartbeat that never came. And nightmares of now: only a still, silent body coming home; a shroud in the back of a wagon. or there being no body to bring home at all and, this time, no hope of future reunion. Like a child, she woke at times to damp, silent tears on her cheeks.

She understood the importance of what Byleth was doing - the fact that both Byleth and Hubert had been willing to leave her side spoke quite clearly of that importance. And their talents had not been wasted: the ongoing fight against the darkest enemies of Fódlan was going well. Many of their scattered nests had already been cleansed of vermin.

But they were not all found - and Byleth’s skills in hunting them out rivaled her skills with a sword. It made sense for her to go. But that did not mean Edelgard felt any less fear - or any less frustration that she could not be out there as well.

Twenty-six days: that was how long it took for her fears to be realized. Twenty-six days, until the door to her prison opened with nary a knock or a warning, and she saw that Hubert had finally returned.

Alone.

The unkempt nature of his appearance would have been more than enough to alert her that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. She could see the sheen of perspiration on his skin, and the half-healed remains of a nasty cut across one cheek. He still wore riding clothes, when he almost always insisted on bathing and dressing more formally before coming to see her upon his returns.

But it was the glimpse of the pain in his eyes - seen only for the briefest second, before he dipped into a bow before her - that seemed to slam into her chest, hard as a fist.

“Lady Edelgard, I -”

“Where is she?” She could hear it in her voice - the terror. For once, she did not care. She pushed up from the desk. The pen she had been using had already begun to leave a spreading stain across the letter beneath it. She did not care about that, either. “Tell me immediately - where she is, and what happened.”

Hubert straightened again. There was some new measure of composure to his face, now that orders had been given. He offered her a curt nod. “She is near. We thought it best not to bring her any farther than was necessary to make certain we were not being followed.”

Edelgard gave a nod of her own. She wondered if it might be possible to hear the hammering of her frantic heart. Still, she had slipped on her own mask of composure - across her face, and in her voice when she said, “Tell me what happened on the way, then.”

“Of course. The horses are already waiting.”

A surprise attack, he said - an ambush from behind, when by all accounts, including his own, the area had already been cleared. Edelgard knew well such ambushes - the strange spells and dark knowledge possessed by their enemies meant such occurrences were all but inevitable. Unfortunately, the same means made preparing for such an attack impossible. They had certainly tried many times over.

And because of that...

Edelgard’s hands clenched around the reins within them. She resisted the urge to kick her horse into a gallop. She wished they could have flown instead.

Byleth had not faltered in the battle - she had had no chance to. “They clearly targeted her first,” Hubert said. Edelgard did not doubt it was true: they had not been secretive about the elite warriors being sent to wipe out their foes. And this was her doing - Hubert had wanted to keep their plans as quiet as possible, but she had felt the need to grandstand. She had wanted their enemies to know who was coming for them. For what seemed now shameful, selfish, petty reasons, she had wanted this: she had hoped to make them feel afraid. As they had once made her feel afraid.

They hadn’t targeted Byleth by chance, or even as an attempt to bring down a command of the Imperial Army.

They had targeted her as the woman Edelgard loved. Because she had not served the purpose for which they had created her. Because she had announced, loudly and openly, that the finest members of her army were coming to smoke them from their burrows and caves and rat-holes.

Which meant she bore some - perhaps most - of the blame for what had happened.

“We could not see to her injuries until the battle was won,” Hubert said. “For that, Lady Edelgard, I offer my humblest apologies. She was able still to fight, and it seemed the spell might not have caused serious injury, so I deemed it safer not to put the healers at risk to see to her immediately.”

“Of course,” Edelgard said. IF he heard the tension that had returned to her voice - and the guilt, heavy and pulsing, within it - he gave no sign.

“That is why I must ask your apology. That decision proved an ill-fated one. The magic worked as a venom might, it seems - slowly coursing through the veins, and just as slowly making its nefarious presence fully known. After the battle, she finally fell.”

In her mind, as cold and unyielding as a vise, Edelgard could now see it. As she had already, almost a yar ago, seen Byleth collapse. Only this time, Edelgard had not been able to rush to her side - and now, foolish as it was, it only added another sting to the swarm of her guilt.

“The healers,” she said. “Were they able to...?”

Hubert nodded. “The magic was purged. But it had done as intended - it will be some time before she is fully recovered.”

Recovered. The question Edelgard had been desperate to ask, and equally determined not to do so - not yet - since the moment Hubert had appeared in her study: Will she recover? The relief of the answer washed over her, almost strong enough to cast aside the fear, the pernicious guilt. Almost - but not quite. Not yet.

“Here,” Hubert said - veering off the road, into the tangled darkness of the wood through which they were traveling. “A hunting cabin. One of the soldiers offered its use.”

She would see to it he was thanked - later. Adding it silently to the endless list of tasks in her mind. Thanks both for the use, and for the safety of it. They had to travel deep into the forest to find it - there would be no chance of their enemies, or anyone else, just happening to stumble upon it. Here, until she recovered - recovered! - Byleth would be safe.

And more so now, because Edelgard had no intention of leaving the place until that recover she was sure was complete. She could not undo what had already been done, but she could make damned sure no further harm was caused. Perhaps it would in some very small way make up for her negligence allowing Byleth to be in such a state in the first place.

The cabin was small, utilitarian - almost primitive in appearance. It sat in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by forest. The walls were wood, grey and weathered with age, and clearly even from a distance left unchinked. The small windows had waxed paper in them, not glass. There was a shed for horses, a rough-hewn box and an axe for firewood - and that was all.

No place Edelgard would want to call home. But for a place to hide someone now known all across Fódlan? It was perfect.

“Take me to her.”

Hubert bowed only his head, this time. “Of course, Lady Edelgard.”

There were three rooms inside - tiny ones, with no doors in the doorways and very little besides the necessities for brief stays: a large fireplace - already lit, though the place retained a chilly, damp, stale kind of air - and a table and chairs, as rough as the walls, in the main room. To the left, what seemed a storage room and cooking space; she could see crates and barrels and a stove with a precariously-crooked pipe. At the far end of the main room -

The bedroom.

She did not wait for Hubert. And she did not attempt to hide her hurry.

There were two beds - one large, the other smaller, tucked under one of the papered windows. A small chest in one corner. And that was all.

Byleth was in the smaller bed.

Edelgard’s breath caught.

She had seen Byleth very still. While she was listening to someone. While she was searching for something - a target. An enemy.

But she was not still in sleep - not at all. That was something Edelgard had had to grow accustomed to, in the first sweet nights they had shared a bed with one another. Byleth was a restless sleeper.

There was no restlessness to her now.

Edelgard crossed the room to her. Hubert was still without - giving them this moment alone. For that, Edelgard was grateful. Her fragile composure seemed likely at any moment to shatter.

Byleth was like a corpse - that was the only description that came to mind. Not only too still: too pale, too small, too... depleted. Drained of life, of her curious gaze. Simply a thing, now, a child’s doll tucked into bed, but never truly to awaken. They had tucked her in, but only to the waist. And the room was so damp and cold...

Edelgard pulled her gloves off, because that, in the moment, seemed suddenly very important. As did fixing the blankets, as tiny as this was in the face of a much greater, graver situation. She pulled them up, tucking them now around Byleth’s shoulders. Carefully - carefully.

Her skin, at least, felt warm and soft and alive. Edelgard, hands still bare, touched her cheek, brushed hair from her forehead. Byleth showed no reaction - but this close, Edelgard could see the rise and fall of her breath, slow and steady. Inside, her heart would have the same in its beat. Still, Edelgard put her hand there, too. She needed the reassurance of feeling it. The rhythmic strength of it.

“I am sorry, my love.” Words spoken softly. Inadequate words, but all she had to offer.

Back in the main room, Hubert was staring into the flames within the fireplace, his hands folded together behind his back. He did not look up when she entered the room once more.

“It is time for you to return to Enbarr,” she said. “You need to speak with those who know of our current whereabouts. Make it very clear that I expect the location to be kept secret. There will be most severe punishment should anyone allow this information to be made public. Tell Ferdinand he has lead of my affairs until I return. I ask that you remain available, and serve as my eyes and ears in the capitol. Should anything occur that requires my attention, please come to me at once.”

He offered another bow of his head. “Yes, Lady Edelgard. I shall send a contingent to watch this general area, that you may stay with the professor.”

“No. It’s too dangerous. Not when our enemy will be explicitly aware of our current situation. I alone will remain with Byleth. I assure you, I am more than protection enough, should any attempt to further harm her.”

She knew well the way that Hubert then smiled - thin, and satisfied, and dark. “As you wish. It shall be done as you say. And now, by your leave, I will return to Enbarr.” He hesitated - then looked her, finally, in the eye. “I am sorry I was not able to protect her.”

An unusual softness in his voice - but she could feel the same within herself. “It is the way of war, Hubert. You know that, I know that, and Byleth certainly knows it, as well. You saw her safely to this place. For that, I can only offer my gratitude.”

When he was gone, the tiny place seemed almost colder, and so quiet she could almost feel it, like an ache that settled within her very bones. For what seemed a long time, she could only stand there, hands on the doorframe without a door, as if trapped between two versions of reality: the one she faced, homely but almost, curiously, offering welcome, with the little table before the fire; and the one behind her, that room full of chill and guilt and unnatural stillness.

She wanted to return to that room. To keep vigil, until the beautiful moment it was no longer necessary. But the practical side of her, she knew she must allow to win out - at least for a time. There were matters to attend to: seeing what supplies were available to them. Chopping more firewood, unless there was a store of it somewhere besides the box she had seen outside, and not only what was already burning. Hubert would likely have left one of the horses for her, and she would have to see to its needs as well as her own and, much more importantly, Byleth’s.

The outside tasks first - the day was already growing late, and the night would be even colder than it was at the moment. She attended to the horse, lingering for a few minutes with it there in the shed that served as makeshift stable. A sweet horse - it allowed her to rub its nose, which she thought horses liked. It had never seemed wise, to show much softness around animals, especially those that were likely to be taken to war. Still, she liked them, and there was no one here to see, except Byleth - and Byleth, of course, already knew.

But the thought of Byleth was enough to cease her brief moment of distraction - Byleth in there alone, and the possibility that she might be cold or afraid or uncomfortable, and being unable to say or do anything about it. It was also looking increasingly likely to rain, the sky less darkening from dusk than from ominous, heavy, low-hanging clouds.

The axe - Edelgard collected it, considered it. Was there a method to cutting firewood? It certainly appeared to be done a particular way, considering the general uniformity of the pieces. But - for all her prowess with and preference for the axe as a battle weapon! - if there was such a method, she had no memory of having ever seen it, much less learned it herself.

“Ironic, really,” she murmured - then shrugged. “Well, surely logs will burn regardless of how they might appear...”

Small trees - was that what she was supposed to look for? It seemed unwise to attempt a large one - it would take far too long. And besides, the axe was quite small itself. The trick, then, was to find a small tree.

But that was a trick, indeed - she also was not certain how one was meant to do so. She had never cut firewood, and she had never had to find a small tree. There were no trees at all in the clearing, and all the ones she saw when she ventured into the forest were very large ones. Very, very large ones.

Was she supposed to use one of those? Perhaps she was overestimating the amount of time that it would take. There might be small trees closer to the roads they had traveled earlier, where more sun was available, but she didn’t want to be so far from Byleth unless there was no other choice. And she wouldn’t be able to safely traverse the forest after dark - she had no torch, and it would be too easy to lose her bearings in such unfamiliar territory even if she did have one.

Then - finally! - a stroke of luck: one of the trees had saved her the work of cutting it by at some point downing itself. She could have laughed at her own sudden, ridiculous sense of relief - and at the thought of what Byleth would surely think of it. Of her: an emperor, too ill-prepared to know how to find firewood, and now as happy as a child with a new toy over a fallen tree!

She ignored the thick trunk in favor of the branches - ones that would have been far too high had the tree been standing. They cut easily enough, fortunately, though they certainly weren’t going to win any prize for firewood uniformity. She was reminded of the training grounds at the monastery - the satisfying thunk of her axe against targets. That wood had been softer and less splintery than this, but still, the feeling and sound were much the same.

After that, it was a simple matter of carrying it back to the cabin, being mindful of those splinters. A good thing, the simplicity - the sky had gone from ominous to angry, and there was very little light left to see it. She felt the first drops of rain as she carried back the last of her loads. The box and the overhang of the roof would keep the wood mostly dry, but still, she took more than was likely needed inside, leaving it next to the fireplace.

There were still the supplies to examine, and she knew it best to eat something after all her exertion, but she went to Byleth again first. The stillness, again, was unnerving - but at least it meant she had not kicked and tossed the blankets aside, as she was often wont to do in her sleep. Still, Edelgard adjusted them around her once more. Just in case.

It was almost too dark to see, when she went to examine the barrels and crates in the third tiny room, but it seemed a waste of both wood and time to attempt to light the stove. Besides, the exertion and stress were beginning to catch up with her - she felt the heaviness of them across her back and shoulders, behind her eyes. It had been too long since she’d found time for regular physical training, as she had done when actively taking part in battle. She needed to return to such, when all this was over.

For now, though, she had already exhausted herself, and the dim light cast from the fireplace would have to do.

Someone must have been sent by Hubert for fresh supplies - there were vegetables, eggs, cheese, dried meats... and tea. He had likely stressed it must be the bergamot, and she smiled, just a little bit, to think of the fear he had likely put into some young soldier over tea leaves, of all things. In the barrels, she found potatoes. Many potatoes. She supposed it made sense; potatoes would keep. She had never cooked one herself, but the process seemed likely a simple one.

But not tonight - she could not face the thought of cooking, despite her earlier mental note to eat. Nor the thought of going through the rest of the crates. She was too tired.

And stronger even than her exhaustion - her growing, desperate need to be with the woman that she loved. The one she had allowed to be here, and in such a state. There was no more work demanding her attention now, nothing else necessary before morning came. No paperwork - without the guilt now heavy upon her once more, that would have left her ecstatic - and nothing else to try to accomplish in the gloom of this dark little house.

She wanted to be with Byleth.

The fire was down to embers; there was hardly enough light to see as she undressed, unbuttoning and unfastening mostly by touch and by memory. She had no nightgown - there had been no chance to gather such things, nor would she have wasted the time to do so even if offered a chance - but could manage in her underclothing perfectly well. They had done the same to Byleth - Edelgard left her own clothes next to the neat stack beside the smaller bed, and the pins from her hair as well.

She wanted to get into that smaller bed. To lie close, holding Byleth safe in her arms. It had been too long - far too long.

But she did not. Punishing herself, for her complicity in all of this? Taking the safer route, in case it was not yet advisable for Byleth to be moved? Some combination of both? She could not say, nor did she wish right now to dwell upon it. She needed, desperately, to sleep.

But knowing this was not the same as willing it - a situation she knew almost as well as she knew herself. The room was cold, and even under the blankets, she shivered. She could hear the rain, hard against the paper windows, and distant thunder, drawing ever closer. Such sounds should have been a comfort, helping soothe her, but on this night, they seemed ominous - one more approaching possibility of threat.

She knew what would soothe her. The only thing that would soothe her.

And finally, she gave in to it.

Shivering harder, exposed once more to the frigid air; the heat from the fire, little as it had been, was now gone completely. Padding in bare feet to the other bed; the floor was cold enough to burn. She ignored it all.

“I apologize, my love.” To expose Byleth to the same discomfort was more difficult - but at least it only lasted as long as it took Edelgard to pull back the blankets and gather her carefully up. Lifting slowly. Cradled, finally: that familiar warmth against her, close and tight. “Only a moment, my love, and I’ll have you warm again. She couldn’t seem to stop saying it - as if some part of her needed reminding, as much as she wanted Byleth to hear it: my love, my love, my love.

In her arms, she felt stirring movement.

Edelgard froze.

Brief - it was very brief. Byleth’s head turning - Edelgard could feel it, against her forearm, against her chest. And a voice, rich and heavy with sleep: “...El?”

“Yes.” Her own voice was thick and small, and the words came again: “Yes, my love. I’m here.”

“El...” And then she slipped away again - Edelgard could feel that, too, the relaxation, the heavier breath.

Tucked into bed once more, but Edelgard now close beside her - greater room in his larger bed be damned. The shivering eased, then ceased. The sound of the rain was correct once more. Gentle. Reassuring.

She could feel sleep now, creeping softly upward within her mind. Before it had her entirely, she put her hand - heavy, clumsy with fatigue - where she could again feel the steady beat of a healing heart.

Against the familiar rhythm, Edelgard slept.

#edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #byleth #edeleth #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #tales of the tiny emperor #please excuse the lack of proofreading #i've been trying to finish this for almost 14 hours #and i'm blitzed #i'll proofread tomorrow #but i got it up in time!#it's still el's birthday!#happy birthday el!

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

Text

Genesis and Catastrophe

Roald Dahl (1960)

"Everything is normal," the doctor was saying. "Just lie back and relax." His voice was miles away in the distance and he seemed to be shouting at her. "You have a son."

"What?"

"You have a fine son. You understand that, don't you? A fine son. Did you hear him crying?"

"Is he all right, Doctor?"

"Of course he is all right."

"Please let me see him."

"You'll see him in a moment."

"You are certain he is all right?"

"I am quite certain."

"Is he still crying?"

"Try to rest. There is nothing to worry about."

"Why has he stopped crying, Doctor? What happened?"

"Don't excite yourself, please. Everything is normal."

"I want to see him. Please let me see him."

"Dear lady," the doctor said, patting her hand. "You have a fine strong healthy child. Don't you believe me when I tell you that?"

"What is the woman over there doing to him?"

"Your baby is being made to look pretty for you," the doctor said. "We are giving him a little wash, that is all. You must spare us a moment or two for that."

"You swear he is all right?"

"I swear it. Now lie back and relax. Close your eyes. Go on, close your eyes. That's right. That's better. Good girl..."

"I have prayed and prayed that he will live, Doctor."

"Of course he will live. What are you talking about?"

"The others didn't."

"What?"

"None of my other ones lived, Doctor."

The doctor stood beside the bed looking down at the pale exhausted face of the young woman. He had never seen her before today. She and her husband were new people in the town. The innkeeper's wife, who had come up to assist in the delivery, had told him that the husband worked at the local customshouse on the border and that the two of them had arrived quite suddenly at the inn with one trunk and one suitcase about three months ago. The husband was a drunkard, the innkeeper's wife had said, an arrogant, overbearing, bullying little drunkard, but the young woman was gentle and religious. And she was very sad. She never smiled. In the few weeks that she had been here, the innkeeper's wife had never once seen her smile. Also there was a rumour that this was the husband's third marriage, that one wife had died and that the other had divorced him for unsavoury reasons. But that was only a rumour. The doctor bent down and pulled the sheet up a little higher over the patient's chest. "You have nothing to worry about," he said gently. "This is a perfectly normal baby."

"That's exactly what they told me about the others. But I lost them all, Doctor. In the last eighteen months I have lost all three of my children, so you mustn't blame me for being anxious."

"Three?"

"This is my fourth . . . in four years."

The doctor shifted his feet uneasily on the bare floor.

"I don't think you know what it means, Doctor, to lose them all, all three of them, slowly, separately, one by one. I keep seeing them. I can see Gustav's face now as clearly as if he were lying here beside me in the bed. Gustav was a lovely boy, Doctor. But he was always ill. It is terrible when they are always ill and there is nothing you can do to help them."

"I know."

The woman opened her eyes, stared up at the doctor for a few seconds, then closed them again.

"My little girl was called Ida. She died a few days before Christmas. That is only four months ago. I just wish you could have seen Ida, Doctor."

"You have a new one now."

"But Ida was so beautiful."

"Yes," the doctor said. "I know."

"How can you know?" she cried.

"I am sure that she was a lovely child. But this new one is also like that." The doctor turned away from the bed and walked over to the window and stood there looking out. It was a wet, grey April afternoon, and across the street he could see the red roofs of the houses and the huge raindrops splashing on the tiles.

"Ida was two years old, Doctor ... and she was so beautiful I was never able to take my eyes off her from the time I dressed her in the morning until she was safe in bed again at night. I used to live in holy terror of something happening to that child. Gustav had gone and my little Otto had also gone and she was all I had left. Sometimes I used to get up in the night and creep over to the cradle and put my ear close to her mouth just to make sure that she was breathing.”

"Try to rest," the doctor said, going back to the bed.

"Please try to rest." The woman's face was white and bloodless, and there was a slight bluish-grey tinge around the nostrils and the mouth. A few strands of damp hair hung down over her forehead, sticking to the skin.

"When she died ... I was already pregnant again when that happened, Doctor. This new one was a good four months on its way when Ida died. 'I don't want it!' I shouted after the funeral. 'I won't have it! I have buried enough children!' And my husband ... he was strolling among the guests with a big glass of beer in his hand . . .he turned around quickly and said, 'I have news for you, Klara, I have good news.' Can you imagine that, Doctor? We have just buried our third child and he stands there with a glass of beer in his hand and tells me that he has good news, 'Today I have been posted to Braunau,' he says, 'so you can start packing at once. This will be a new start for you, Klara,' he says. 'It will be a new place and you can have a new doctor....'"

"Please don't talk any more."

"You are the new doctor, aren't you, Doctor?"

"That's right."

"And here we are in Braunau.”

“Yes.”

“I am frightened, Doctor."

"Try not to be frightened."

"What chance can the fourth one have now?"

"You must stop thinking like that.”

"I can't help it. I am certain there is something inherited that causes my children to die in this way. There must be."

"That is nonsense."

"Do you know what my husband said to me when Otto was born, Doctor? He came into the room and he looked into the cradle where Otto was lying and he said, 'Why do all my children have to be so small and weak?'"

"I am sure he didn't say that."

"He put his head right into Otto's cradle as though he were examining a tiny insect and he said, 'All I am saying is why can't they be better specimens? That's all I am saying.' And three days after that, Otto was dead. We baptized him quickly on the third day and he died the same evening. And then Gustav died. And then Ida died. All of them died, Doctor... and suddenly the whole house was empty.”

"Don't think about it now."

"Is this one so very small?"

"He is a normal child."

"But small?"

"He is a little small, perhaps. But the small ones are often a lot tougher than the big ones. Just imagine, Frau Hitler, this time next year he will be almost learning how to walk. Isn't that a lovely thought?"

She didn't answer this.

"And two years from now he will probably be talking his head off and driving you crazy with his chatter. Have you settled on a name for him yet?"

"A name?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. I’m not sure. I think my husband said that if it was a boy we were going to call him Adolfus.”

"That means he would be called Adolf."

"Yes. My husband likes Adolf because it has a certain similarity to Alois. My husband is called Alois."

"Excellent."

"Oh no!" she cried, starting up suddenly from the pillow. "That's the same question they asked me when Otto was born! It means he is going to die! You are going to baptize him at once!"

"Now, now," the doctor said, taking her gently by the shoulders. "You are quite wrong. I promise you, you are wrong. I was simply being an inquisitive old man, that is all. I love talking about names. I think Adolfus is a particularly fine name. It is one of my favourites. And look-here he comes now."

The innkeeper's wife, carrying the baby high up on her enormous bosom, came sailing across the room towards the bed, "Here is the little beauty!" she cried, beaming. "Would you like to hold him, my dear? Shall I put him beside you?"

"Is he well wrapped?" the doctor asked. "It is extremely cold in here."

"Certainly he is well wrapped."

The baby was tightly swaddled in a white woollen shawl, and only the tiny pink head protruded. The innkeeper's wife placed him gently on the bed beside the mother. "There you are," she said. "Now you can lie there and look at him to your heart's content."

"I think you will like him," the doctor said, smiling, "He is a fine little baby."

"He has the most lovely hands!" the innkeeper's wife exclaimed. "Such long delicate fingers!"

The mother didn't move. She didn't even turn her head to look.

"Go on!" cried the innkeeper's wife. "He won't bite you!"

"I am frightened to look. I don't dare to believe that I have another baby and that he is all right."

"Don't be so stupid."

Slowly, the mother turned her head and looked at the small, incredibly serene face that lay on the pillow beside her.

"Is this my baby?"

"Of course."

"Oh … oh ... but he is beautiful."

The doctor turned away and went over to the table and began putting his things into his bag. The mother lay on the bed gazing at the child and smiling and touching him and making little noises of pleasure.

"Hello, Adolfus," she whispered. "Hello, my little Adolf."

"Ssshh!" said the innkeeper's wife. "Listen! I think your husband is coming."

The doctor walked over to the door and opened it and looked out into the corridor. "Herr Hitler?"

"Yes."

"Come in, please."

A small man in a dark-green uniform stepped softly into the room and looked around him. "Congratulations," the doctor said. "You have a son."

The man had a pair of enormous whiskers meticulously groomed after the manner of the Emperor Franz Josef, and he smelled strongly of beer.

"A son?"

"Yes."

"How is he?"

"He is fine. So is your wife."

"Good," The father turned and walked with a curious little prancing stride over to the bed where his wife was lying. "Well, Klara," he said, smiling through his whiskers. "How did it go?" He bent down to take a look at the baby. Then he bent lower. In a series of quick jerky movements, he bent lower and lower until his face was only about twelve inches from the baby's head. The wife lay sideways on the pillow, staring up at him with a kind of supplicating look.

"He has the most marvellous pair of lungs," the innkeeper's wife announced. "You should have heard him screaming just after he came into this world."

"But my God, Klara..."

"What is it, dear?"

"This one is even smaller than Otto was!"

The doctor took a couple of quick paces forward.

"There is nothing wrong with that child," he said.

Slowly, the husband straightened up and turned away from the bed and looked at the doctor. He seemed bewildered and stricken. "It's no good lying, Doctor," he said. "I know what it means. It's going to be the same all over again."

"Now you listen to me," the doctor said.

"But do you know what happened to the others, Doctor?"

"You must forget about the others, Herr Hitler. Give this one a chance."

"But so small and weak!"

"My dear sir, he has only just been born."

"Even so..."

"What are you trying to do?" cried the innkeeper's wife. "Talk him into his grave?"

"That's enough!" the doctor said sharply.

The mother was weeping now. Great sobs were shaking her body.

The doctor walked over to the husband and put a hand on his shoulder. "Be good to her," he whispered. "Please. It is very important." Then he squeezed the husband's shoulder hard and began pushing him forward surreptitiously to the edge of the bed. The husband hesitated. The doctor squeezed harder, signaling to him urgently through fingers and thumb. At last, reluctantly, the husband bent down and kissed his wife lightly on the cheek.

"All right, Klara," he said. "Now stop crying."

"I have prayed so hard that he will live, Alois."

"Yes."

"Every day for months I have gone to the church and begged on my knees that this one will be allowed to live."

"Yes, Klara, I know."

"Three dead children is all that I can stand, don't you realize that?"

"Of course."

"He must live, Alois. He must, he must ... Oh God, be merciful unto him now..."

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