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lvnatiq · 3 years

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Modern!au Felix Escellun x tattoo artist!gn!reader | Headcanons

a/n: Hey!!! I’m back at it again with my beautifully fucked up request fill. I’m still working on three other things, while I make you wait I took it upon myself to not starve this fandom. So here you have it. Please reblog or comment so that I have a crumb of motivation to keep up.

Should I do a smutty pt. 2 ? Who knows lmao.

Your hand slipped through the pile of designs that your colleague (and your close friend) had sent you to choose and pick apart from.

Unfortunately you were spending the night at the beautiful library of your uni, trying to balance off your school work with your actual work.

You didn’t mind spending your time under the faint scent of books and the mere sound of wood beneath you feet, but what you ‘do’ mind is the fact that the library is way colder than you thought it would be after the midnight.

Good thing that the yearning for finishing your work and leaving as soon as possible made it easier to concentrate on the task at hand.

It also made it easier for you to not notice the presence of an unexpected company.

That was until you felt the warm floral yet musky scent invade your senses as you felt the weight of cotton drape around your shoulders.

You slowly turn your head towards the owner of the coat who’s already making their way out. Desperately trying to find a way to make them stop but failing to raise your voice because of the circumstances.

The last picture of the person buried in your head was their hair caressed by the wind and their quick steps.

Fast forward to a week later, going completely out of luck with finding a place to stay you decide to ask help from your friend whom interestingly has a lot to offer.

With things going a lot smoother than you expected you stopped by the tattoo shop to finish your appointments with couple of customers before you left to meet up with your possible candidate.

“Don’t bother I’ll just call him here so you could talk comfortably.”

Your work seemed to take a lot longer than usual. So you kindly accepted your friends offer as you wrapped up the leftover stuff, finishing up the last customer.

“Hey, oh-“

The sight of your guest tickled your memories as you kept glaring at the glorious figure in front of you.

Felix, completely avoiding eye contact, placed the fallen hair strand behind his ear as he kept his eyes on the table of the tattoo equipments.

You quickly got up as you grabbed his coat from the hanger and walked back where you left him.

“Thank you for the coat, you really saved me back there.”

“Oh- no problem.”

That day you two chatted and melted the ice in between. Deciding to rent the close by apartment and start your roommate era.

Your friend smiled to themselves knowing all too well that felix was completely crazy about you.

Your encounter at the library wasn’t a coincidence either, well don’t think of him as a stalker now, he just dumped a couple of coins in the fountain wishing that you would be there that night. That’s all.

As you two moved in together you realized that there were a lot of things to be ‘caught off guard’ about him but you were most baffled by the tremendous amount of books felix owned.

“Hey Lover boy ! Would you mind recommending me some of them ?”

Felix blushes terribly and you love it so much that you constantly bother him in order to catch a glimpse of his flustered state.

Unbeknownst to you, the pile that felix left on the doorstep of your room was consisted of the books that he thought of you as he read.

Felix, abandoning his night owl habit, decided to fix his sleeping schedule for the better. Definitely not because he wanted to see you at morning before you got off to the work.

Insisting on offering you a ride on your way back home with his nice car.

Nearly every single day.

He knows that it may annoy you but he knows how much you are devoted to your responsibilities so he at least wants for you to save a bit of energy before you dive into the work.

Speaking of his nice car, it tickled your curiosity so you decided to check the price tag on the web and... well...

“Felix... you don’t so some sketchy illegal shit for a living right ?”

“It’s nearly impossible for me to work at the moment because of my studies. Why did you ask ?”

“Your car costs more than the apartment we are living in right now.”

With that, you discover that Felix’s father owns one of the most prominent chains of pharmaceutical companies and that he basically flee from his fathers mansion because he was pressuring Felix to take over his position in the future.

Being his puppet was not a thing to be tolerated in Felix’s book.

That being said, your domestic life with felix was pretty soft to say the least.

Cleaning together, cooking while talking about how your day went or getting to enjoy his expressions while he spilled his frustration against authors that didn’t affect him well.

Occasionally noticing the new cooking books appearing out of nowhere

and the delicious smell of food welcoming you after work, quite often than you expect.

Finally, more skinship.

One day whilst you two got through the gates of your apartment block you noticed the open doors of the elevator so instinctively you held Felix by the hand and ran into the mirrored box.

What you didn’t notice was the fact that you didn’t let go of his hand as you two went up.

From that day on Felix used every single opportunity to sneak his hand into yours.

Don’t blame him, it’s just that your hands are warm and the feeling of security that radiates from your fingertips is his medicine.

You absolutely avoided to tease or point it out to him because you knew that he would never do it again so you went with the flow.

You really enjoyed it though.

Snaking your arms around his waist while he is organizing the bookshelf. Feeling him shutter into your arms.

Nights became more and more enjoyable once he started to accompany you.

Everytime you caught him slacking on the sofa, you used his lap as a pillow.

Felix is extremely easy to figure out, mainly because he can’t hide anything.

Also, well

He is ticklish and you use his weakness against him, a lot.

Diving your fingers down to the sides of his tummy you started to tickle every possible sensitive spot you could catch on.

“Spit it out.”

“I-I wan’t you to- give me my first tattoo.”

Telling his words apart from his adorable giggles, needless to say you were ecstatic.

“Alright. What do I get in return ?”

“Name your price.”

You thoughtfully stared at the ceiling, humming as you blurted out your very obviously well thought out response.

“I want you to show me what keeps you up all night.”

You can’t be serious.

If you asked for an organ, he would’ve been more compliant.

You didn’t know what you got yourself into.

You basically asked for him to show you his ‘masterpieces’ that he showcases on AO3. Something that you were already well aware of.

“Deal ?”

“No !”

“Good ! Let’s see what you got.”

Felix anonymously contributed to the community by writing some of the most famous slow-burn stories on the web.

Just so you know, his author persona blew up thanks to the mind blowing, earth shattering smuts he wrote.

Yeah you heard that right

Smuts

Well he is fucking panicking now.

Nonetheless days kept on going as felix prayed each night to every single deity that you forgot your ‘deal’.

The days go on even if his worries don’t.

Did I say that Felix is a whimpering, whiny mess ? he struggles to stay in one position as the needle drags upon his skin.

“If you plan to keep on moving, I might as well strap you down felix. 5 more minutes and then we are done. Please behave.”

When you put it like that how can he refuse I mean you made things worse he is internally screaming at what you just said but he is not going to refuse a command when it’s given by you.

In exchange for giving him a tattoo you decide to let him give you one even though he’s inexperienced.

He’s terrified because he thinks that something would go wrong, his hand would slip or something and he would scratch that pretty skin of yours with a horrendous tattoo.

But you assured him nevertheless and offered him to draw something very minimal and easy. He accepted eventually.

As it turns out Felix is a natural. His hand is extremely steady and the tattoo turns out great.

Throughout the process he’s constantly asking if you’re hurt because he thinks that he’s doing something wrong but in fact he’s very delicate and gentle with the strokes and his touch.

You decide to be evil and use it against him. After you touch up your tattoo you lean in very closely and turn your cheek towards him.

“What are you doing ?” He stutters.

“I can’t possibly ask you to kiss my freshly made tattoo, so won’t you give me a kiss so that it heals faster.”

If his hands were steady before they weren’t now.

As soon as his lips left your cheek you held him by his wrist and pull him back close again so that you can lean in onto his ear.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten our deal. I am excited to see what you have in store for me tonight.” You winked.

Then the worst thing happened

The “tonight” came.

Felix was running in circles around the living room with one hand on his forehead wondering what could get worse after this.

Maybe you’ll be disgusted or scared hell if he knows.

He wanted to do nothing to harm your relationship in anyway because you and what you two have is all he ever wanted.

...and he believes that he has a tendency to ruin things.

But what happened was beyond his expectations.

Your eyes followed every single sentence throughout the screen, the white light traced your expressions as your eyebrows raised up and down and the corners of your lips inched closer to your ears. Your lower lip became a victim of your teeth’s assault.

He was so confused. Still waiting for you to lash out or make fun of him, at least.

“I used to think ‘what am I gonna do with you’ when it comes to you. Mostly out of frustration.”

Yet here you were with the laptop closed shut and your arms behind your head as you closed your eyes and groaned.

Slowly the smile plastered on your face grew.

”Now I know what to with you.”

#felix escellun #fictif felix #last legacy #fictif last legacy #felix escellun x reader #felix x reader #felix fictif #nyx hydra #fictif #mc

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blinder-secrets · 4 years

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Count For Me

tommy x anxious reader, 2164 words

a/n: i’m not gonna say the reader is having a panic attack specifically, more that they’re experiencing a lot of anxiety, so take that with a pinch of salt pls. i’m not suggesting this is how all anxiety feels or that it can be alleviated like this every time, im just basing it on my own experiences so enjoy!

You’re sat in the kitchen, or rather, the stairwell to the kitchens. You had every intention of making it there, of sitting at the large oak table in the fore-room, and having tea. Bread. Of letting Frances relax and serving yourself. But, instead, you’re on the last step down, legs bouncing on the balls of your feet.

It can only be described as fretting, incessant worry; your mind is agonising over things already done, over what’s to come next. It isn’t guns, or business, or family arguments that’s got you. It’s something invisible. Unknown, but biting away regardless. It’s sitting on the step and thinking about everything, and nothing — it’s losing yourself entirely, feeling the hand tighten around your throat, the dread, the weight of it in your chest. You sit and you feel afraid. After all you’ve seen in the world, all you’ve been through with Tommy. It’s your own head that works itself against you now, your own commentary that rots your mind in the quiet moments. Fuck. If you said it aloud they’d laugh you out the room. If you told Pol she’d say you were sick, that you needed air and spirits, and none of this Shelby wreckage to pull you down.

‘In the kitchen, Sir.’

Oh, Christ, Tommy’s home. You hear him, direct and toward where you're hiding. From his footsteps, it seems like he’s coming from the opposite wing, so he’ll make it into the kitchen before you ever did.

He calls your name through the hallway. It bounces off the cool tiles.

‘I’m here, Tommy,’ you say back in a false tone; you dread him finding you more than the rest of it.

You’ve got maybe a minute to collect yourself, but from the way your feet are sinking through the stone of the floor beneath you, that’s not going to happen. He arrives in the kitchen, says your name again. He can’t see you from where he is.

‘On the stairs,’ you tell him.

Once he’s in front of you, your energy spikes. It’s easier to ignore the feeling when you’re with him. He tucks it away for you, somewhat, just a bit. ‘What is it?’ he asks, shaking his head slightly, his lips parted. A cigarette leaks smoke from between his fingers. He’s taken his coat off, but the jacket’s still there. Still dressed like he could leave again at any moment.

‘Nothing.’ You smile. ‘Are you back now?’

‘For now,’ he answers. He steps forward, places the back of his hand against your forehead. ‘Are you sick?’

‘No. Just wanted to sit somewhere.’

He doesn’t believe you, he knows you too well. You still your knees but they’re bouncing again before you can offer an explanation.

‘Tell me,’ he insists, clueless.

Where do you start? What could you possibly say that would make sense. I was going to make lunch, Tommy, but then I sat down here and I couldn’t get up again. ‘Nothing,’ you repeat, pausing to force a swallow. ‘I don’t know, really.’

He takes a drag. On the exhale, he offers the smoke to you, silent but willing to help. You shake your head; it’s not your habit, it doesn’t calm you like it does with him.

‘Has something happened?’ he asks. He’s patient, waiting for you to give him a way in, prepared to go slow when you need it.

‘No, nothing’s happened.’ Nothing you knew of. You were doing fine, going about the day like normal, and then suddenly you weren’t. It had already swamped you before you realised it was coming. ‘It’s just my head,’ you say, forcing the words over a breath that hadn’t quite made it. ‘I think it’s out to get me, Tom.’

He sighs. His lips pour smoke onto the tiles as he looks down. Another stress for him: you sat on his shoulders like the rest of it did, weighed him down without meaning to. You feel yourself rock forward, your head pulling into your chest, like there’s string attached from your chin to your heart and now it’s constricting. ‘Sorry,’ you pant, though you may have said it in your head. It could’ve been a thought amongst the sea and you wouldn’t have known. Sorry for the stress, Tommy, sorry for it all.

‘Hey,’ he says, repeating it firmly after a pause. ‘Hey. Look at me.’ His hand goes to your face, fingers leading your chin upwards until your gaze is on him. ‘Whatever it is, it’s just noise, alright? Just shit in the trough.’

Your lids drop a fraction. ‘Tommy…’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re here, with me, right, in the kitchen. Don’t let it pull you under.’

You don’t want to. You’re scanning him, looking for something to ground you, the gold of his cufflink, the button of his waistcoat. Nothing sticks. You’re trying to focus but it’s splitting your attention again. Filling your head with the noise, the pull, the drag. ‘I think I’m going mad,’ you say. Your head’s so tight you can’t make sense of it.

His brows draw together. You focus on the crease in the skin between them. ‘What is it?’ he asks. ‘Eh? What’s worrying you so much?’

‘I don’t know,’ you answer honestly. It sounds like a plea but it’s all you can give him.

You feel like a horse on the track; everything’s past you, behind you, loud in the stands and betting against you. There’s a worry to your left but it’s overtaken by the one on your right. So much at once, too often and too fast to know which is the biggest problem, which is the one causing the damage. If you could pluck something out, you would. If you could tell him, it’d be the first thing you did. There isn’t an answer to his question that doesn’t just make it worse — the more you try to put a name to it, or explain, the harder it gets to breathe. You can feel your heartbeat in your wrists.

Swearing, you drop your head again like it’s a lead weight, letting his fingertips drag up your cheek with the motion. ‘I can’t tell,’ you say weakly. ‘Feels like I’m drowning.’

The ring you’re wearing sits loose on your index finger; you spin it around the knuckle nervously, forcing a shallow breath each time the ruby completes a loop. If you look at him again you might cry. He didn’t ask for this, he didn’t know what to do with you anymore than you knew yourself.

Clearing his throat once, Tommy puts the cigarette between his lips and bends to grab you with both hands. He takes you by the elbows, thumbs tight on your arms, and pulls you to your feet before you have room to complain. You try to avoid his gaze, but his head ducks and chases your eyes until you give in.

‘Listen,’ he starts. He takes the cigarette out, blows the smoke away before he talks. ‘I won’t let you, alright? No-one’s drowning here.’ He looks certain, dedicated, his eyes dig through yours and back into the noise. ‘There’s nothing going on in there that we can’t sort. Okay?’

You want to believe him, so you nod. The next breath you take swells your chest into his.

‘Come here,’ he says briskly, pulling you after him as he walks you deeper into the kitchen. ‘When we were in France—stand there.’ You’re put by the table. He goes to the nearest drawer, pilfering through the silverware as he continues, ‘When we were in France, they told us we had to count.’

‘Count?’

‘To still our hands.’ He turns, pushing the drawer shut with his hip, and files through the forks he’s now holding. ‘Bullets, cards. Saw John counting his teeth once.’

You blink like it’ll help you listen. Everything he’s saying is going in, but bouncing back again. It rattles in your ear canal like coins down a well.

‘Here,’ he says, offering them to you. ‘Count them.’

You hesitate. Then he grabs your wrist, sets your palm straight, and pours the cutlery into it.

‘Go on.’

Mumbling an agreement, you turn to the table and put the first fork onto the wood. One. Two. You hope he doesn’t notice the slight shake along your fingers, the clumsiness as you pass forks from one hand to the other.

‘Do it out loud,’ he guides, as he stands beside you. He exhales, dragging it out and pushing the smoke over your shoulder; you’d forgotten he even had one lit.

‘Three,’ you say. ‘Four.’

All those cigarettes. Lips barely his unless there’s one between them. They’ll get him one day, you think. The cough will get worse and then it’ll be you, on your own in this big house, you looking after Charlie, you with the ache and the grief and the silence.

‘Stop thinking,’ he chides. ‘Count.’

‘Five, six, seven.’ You sigh. The forks clatter on top of one another. ‘Eight, nine. This is stupid, Tommy. Ten.’ You turn to him, expectant of something else, something more helpful.

He just raises his eyebrows, gesturing for you to pick them up again. ‘Now do it over.’

‘Again?’

He nods. The cigarette is extinguished, flicked to the floor and crushed between his sole and the tile. ‘You do it again, and again,’ he lists, ‘until it feels like you can breathe.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

It takes four rounds of it before your chest loosens; four tens, over and over, forks placed down and picked up again as you count. He stands in silence the whole time, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the table. How he doesn’t tire of it, you don’t know. He clears his throat occasionally but doesn’t say anything until you break the rhythm.

‘I think it’s worked,’ you mumble, taking care as you set the last fork down. ‘I feel better.’

It’s not all gone, but you feel calmer. Stiller. Your hands aren’t as jittery and the room feels big again, cold and empty and utilitarian.

He sighs, heavily, thankfully. The noise loud and partnered with a rough tone. ‘Alright,’ he says. He clicks into motion, pulling his hands free and turning to you so that he can bracket them around your face. His fingers are rough, warm, grounding. The rings stamp your cheeks, cold like ice. ‘What did I say, eh? Nothing we couldn’t sort.’

You smile limply and put a hand to his wrist. ‘Thank-you, Tommy.’

You hadn’t expected him to break through it, to make you pause. Breathe. It’s usually the other way around, you calming him. You sifting through the muck. It had never crossed your mind that it would work in reverse.

‘Next time,’ he says quietly, ‘you tell me.’ His chin dips a fraction, blue eyes laced with intent. ‘You tell me as soon as it get’s too much, alright?’

‘Okay,’ you promise, nodding between his palms. ‘Sorry.’

His lip tweaks slightly. ‘What have you got to be sorry for?’ he asks. Then he tilts up to kiss your forehead and, pulling back, utters ‘my silly girl’ under his breath.

You can’t smile. The question almost loses you again. You have plenty to be sorry for, you think, handfuls of apologies shoved into each corner of your brain. ‘Let’s do something,’ you say quickly, chasing the scatter away. ‘Distract me, please.’

He kisses you, lips firm and sure against yours in an agreement, a promise. ‘I have something to show you,’ he says afterwards. His grip on your face drops and he takes a hand instead, fingers curling around your palm. ‘The new horse is here.’

‘It is?’ You cling to him, put your free hand around his bicep and pull tight to his side like the closeness will help. He looks at you like he understands. ‘Well, show me then,’ you push, almost able to smile into it. ‘She was pretty from what I remember.’

‘Very pretty,’ he agrees. ‘Come on.’

You follow him through the house and across the drive. He doesn’t stop talking the whole way, which is unlike him, but he knows any silence will just cause you to slip again, to overthink until you’re tumbling. You answer his questions, dumb as they are, like he doesn’t already know the answers. You tell him what you had for breakfast, what you read in the paper. He asks, and he drawls, and he comments on the bloom of the roses as you pass them. He keeps going and going, until you’re so wrapped up in him, and the house, and the world outside, that everything else falls quiet. Peaceful. He fills your head with his own voice and you thank him for it. You thank him, and you hold on like it’s the only thing keeping you above the water.

‘You alright?’ he asks, checking once you’ve reached the stables.

‘Yes, Tom.’ You smile, meaning it. ‘I’m with you, remember?’

#tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #this was only short and feels HORRRRRRRRFICALLYYYY exposing in terms of my experience with my horrible brain so #enjoy but avert your eyes and forget i exist thankyou!#mostly sharing because i know we all want to imagine tommy shelby looking after us :( <3

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ephyla · 3 years

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Midsummer Relaxation

Midsummer was approaching and the people of New Berk have been scrambling all over, preparing for the celebration. The sun barely sets anymore, and everyone was absolutely exhausted. Hiccup was supposed to overview the entire preparation of the feast but all he desired was a break. Thank the Gods for marrying such a wonderful woman.

oOo

Midsummer was approaching and the people of New Berk have been scrambling all over the village for days, preparing for the celebration. The sun barely set anymore, and everyone was absolutely exhausted, prone to often make mistakes that drove the Chief of New Berk wild. Hiccup was supposed to overview the entire preparation of the feast, but also had to settle petty quarrels between sleep-deprived Vikings; avoiding sharp flying objects on the occasion. It was the perfect recipe for chaos and he was worried that they will not be ready on time. If one thing went according to plan, three more things would set them back again. Food went missing, tables were broken, celebrative outfits were set on fire. All he wanted to do relax, he felt like he’s been awake for seven days straight and his mind isn’t cooperating anymore, just begging to shut down for a whole month. By now, he was just acting like a wandering draugr. He really wondered how his father managed to handle this without breaking a sweat and dearly wished he was by his side, guiding him.

His wife was by his side the entire time, shouldering half of the responsibilities. Even she, despite being quite tired as well (he swore he saw her take a power nap on top of a ladder last time), handled it better than himself. She seemed to be fuelled by a spark of positive energy. He remembered a few years back when the twins explained the change in their friends’ attitude towards the Midnight Sun, since then, Astrid found a dark place to sleep so she doesn’t get any more of those embarrassing memories again. What kind of Hofferson would ever call a Jorgenson handsome? Of course, the sun still had its effects on her, but her overzealous demeanour toned down to a bearable extent. While it did seem a bit overwhelming sometimes, it kept Hiccup’s spirits up. It was their first Midsummer as a wedded couple and he really didn’t want to mess this up.

Today, however, she had suddenly requested to immediately go home after being done with only half of her duties done. For someone who prides herself on being so effective and getting the work done, it was very unusual of her to abandon her responsibilities. This worried Hiccup, so he didn’t object and watched her dash towards their house. He didn’t know how much time passed, the sun remained in its usual elevated position, but he felt like tonight will be a four blocks of ice kind of night. He felt like there was absolutely no progress made today despite getting up in the early hours. He couldn’t even track the time since the sun was barely moving. Some muttonhead decided it was a smart idea to open Sven’s sheeps’ pen and let the uncoordinated Vikings chase them like toddlers who could barely walk yet. If he could get his hands on that person, he swore he was going to get an earful that even his late father, Stoick, would be impressed by. He hoped that Astrid got enough rest so she can go back to being her feisty, short-tempered self. He would greatly benefit from that. The Berkians, despite being completely out of control, would never cross with a hot-blooded, axe-wielding Valkyrie and would sober up at the speed of light.

Speaking of his beloved blonde wife, he saw her approach him with a smile on her face. Even though he was absolutely exhausted, he smiled back, her presence bringing him a sense of comfort. He extended his hand to her and she took it, bringing her closer to him, enlacing her waist, and pressing small kisses on her neck. She giggled in a very un-Astridlike way.

“Well, I’m not one to object to this kind of greeting, but we’re in the middle of town and people are looking.” Astrid said as she observed around her. Gobber was covering a kid’s eyes. Some villagers had a dumbfounded expression on their faces, rarely seeing Hiccup initiating such an intimate gesture; apart from the occasional lip or forehead kiss. Others just cheered or ignored them. Hiccup let out a small whine and rested his head on her shoulder, keeping his arms wrapped around her form.

“I missed you.” He whimpered.

“I wasn’t gone for that long, babe.” She replied as she stroked his hair. Her poor husband has the bad habit of overworking himself, and the fact that no one can distinguish between day and night definitely didn’t help. “Come home with me, I have something to show you.”

“I’m sorry Milady, I still have work to do, we’re behind schedule and Midsummer is in a week.” His reply a bit muffled in her shoulder.

“Go and have yer fun, lad. You’ve worked more than anyone here and deserve some respite. And besides, how can ye refuse yer wife’s invitation?” The young couple turned their heads to look at Gobber approaching them. “Ah, I remember when Stoick was acting just like ye, never knowing when to stop. It took Valka threatening not to share their marital bed anymore, snapped ‘im right out of it, and practically dragged ‘im home. The next morning they kept yawning all over the place, creating a chain of never-ending yawns. Now that I think about it, that’s probably how ye were concei-“

“-OKAY! That’s enough Gobber. I got your point.” Hiccup exclaimed in horror. While he was used to hanging around people that did not have a filter, Gobber was probably the one he feared the most. Since his best friend’s demise, the blacksmith has been recounting stories of him. Some were great to listen to, remembering the bravery and leadership of Stoick the Vast; but some were just better to keep to oneself. With the approach of the Midnight Sun’s peak, Gobber has gotten worse and Hiccup would’ve much preferred wearing the earbuds he made once during his encounter with the Death Song, just to save himself of the embarrassing images his mentor so crassly described to him.

Astrid looked at Gobber with a mixture of disgust and amusement, before deciding to grab her stunned husband’s arm and pulling him towards their house, away from the growing crowd of curious Vikings. She hoped her parents didn’t witness this whole ordeal.

“Astrid, I don’t think I have the energy to do what Gobber obnoxiously suggested, maybe-“ Hiccup said as he was being pulled by his wife.

“-Hush you. That’s not what I had in mind when I came to get you.” She cut him off, continuing to pull him towards their house. She let go of his arm once they crossed their threshold’s doorframe and closed the door, locked it just in case those nosy Vikings decided to rudely barge in.

After being exposed to the sunlight for so long, Hiccup’s eyes had to adjust to the darkness of the room, illuminated by a couple of candles. He could smell a pleasant fragrant scent in the room and spotted their bathtub in front of the lit fireplace; the rugs been removed. Astrid led him to the bathtub and sat him down on the chair that was deliberately placed right next to it. She saw his questioning gaze.

“Gobber was right about you working harder than anyone here in this village. You deserve to relax a bit, take some time off.”

“You know I can’t afford to relax, now. Not when Midsommer is so close. Those sleep-deprived Vikings aren’t going to lead themselves, they can barely listen to me when I’m there. I’ll rest once we’re done.” He said, preparing to stand up again. Astrid pushed him down.

“I’ve asked your mom to take your place for a bit. She’s surprisingly unaffected by the sun’s constant presence. And she agreed that you needed a day off. Everyone could see how tired you are.” Astrid started unbuttoning his (GUARD STUFF). “And I want to take care of my husband. Will you let me?” Hiccup gulped, his words not coming out. He simply nodded. It’s been a while since she saw him being bashful around her. She gratefully smiled at him and pecked him on the lips.

She proceeded to fully undress him, and took off his prosthetic, placing it within reach of the chair. Gone were the days Hiccup felt ashamed of showing his scar. Astrid made sure to show him how much he meant to her, leg or no leg. When he was coming home after a rough day of chiefing, she would give him his ice blocks and tell him to take care of his migraines while she took care of his leg, massaging it. She would sometimes bring it to her lips and kiss it, showing her appreciation to him. He would always beam at her every time she did this. She frowned when she saw the current redness of his stump, also spotting a blister forming.

“Let me help you get in the tub. Just relax. I’ll massage your leg when I come back, I’m going to get some food from the Great Hall.” She said as she rose from her kneeling position. Her cooking did improve over time thanks to Hiccup and Gobber, but she wanted his day off to be perfect, which wasn’t the case for her cooking yet. She tried to make a nice intricate meal for the two of them, which is why she left so early. However, her attempts were all in vain as the food always ended up burning. In the end, she had to admit defeat.

Hiccup grabbed her wrist. “Join me?”

Astrid contemplated his words for a few seconds before nodding. She can grab dinner later. She wrapped her husband’s arm around her shoulder and helped him get into the tub. The water wasn’t too warm since they were in the hottest month of Berk, but it wasn’t cold to the point he would start shivering after being submerged for a couple of minutes.

Hiccup looked over at his wife undress. He had seen her in this state countless times, even before they were married; but it always felt like the first time. He was the only Viking that she allowed to see her like this, with her guard down. Her body wasn’t unscathed. It was filled with scars and burns, proving that this woman was a warrior that has been through so many battles and came out victorious every time. She wouldn’t hesitate to swing an axe to a skull if someone ever looked at her funny. So, this woman allowing him to witness her in her most vulnerable state was an absolute honour to him, that he would never take for granted. Her scars were a part of her and accentuated her beauty and he made sure to always remind her of it.

“Allow me.” He said as he extended a hand towards her. She knew what he wanted and turned her back to him. He rose, sat on the edge of the tub and pulled the leather band that kept her braid in place off. He slowly undid his wife’s braid, letting her gold strands cascade down to her lower back. He then gathered her hair in his hand and swept it over her shoulder, exposing her freckled neck and scarred back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and placed a loving kiss on the largest scar she had. A scar trailed from her right shoulder to the left side of her hip. She was proud of that scar as it was a reminder of her saving his life from an assassination attempt. During the yearly Thing meeting between multiple tribes, when the dragons and some Viking tribes were still cohabiting together, a spy has been placed within them, trying to poison the Dragon-loving Chiefs. Astrid and Heather caught on pretty quickly and managed to expose the spy in front of all the Chiefs. Being surrounded, no one expected the spy to suddenly lunge himself at Hiccup with his sword. Astrid, being the closest to him and desperate to keep him unharmed, had used her back as a shield. The wound hurt like Hel but it was worth it. She was so scared to have failed him as his then-General, she didn’t care that she put her life on the line to save his. A Chief protects his own, but it’s also the General’s job to protect the people AND the Chief. Hiccup wouldn’t let her leave his sight for weeks after that, eternally grateful and forever scared he was going to lose her that day.

“You’re absolutely beautiful.” He told her. His eyes were filled with wonder to this Valkyrie in front of him. She smiled gratefully at him and climbed in the bathtub, sitting opposite of him.

She took his stump in her hands and started to delicately massage it, coaxing a few moans of relief out of him. Her nimble fingers were definitely a gift from the Gods. She managed to soothe the knots in his leg with great accuracy. All day, he had to focus on the utter chaos happening in the village that he didn’t have the time to focus on himself and his discomfort, ignoring the pains coming from his leg begging him to take the weight off of it. She carefully avoided the small blister forming near the bottom of the stump.

“Mmmh, this feels so good.” Hiccup sighed with pleasure as he closed his eye, focussing on the sensation.

“You’ve been standing for too long, babe. I know the Midsummer celebration is stressing you out, but you’ve got to start listening to your body when it tells you to rest.” He opened his eyes, looking at her hands doing their wonders underwater.

“I know, I know. But it’s a bit hard to do that when we keep progressing backward each day. I swear to Odin, every time I look away, someone messes up something, I just can’t do it.” Astrid’s hand rose to swipe Hiccup’s bangs back, revealing his beautiful green eyes. Since the start of the preparations a few weeks ago, he didn’t have the time to let her cut his hair.

“You can’t do it on your own. Remember, you have me. You have your mom, Gobber, Eret and the gang. We’re all here to help you. You just have to accept the help instead of shouldering most of the responsibilities. We’re willing to take some of the load off you.” She said as she grazed her thumb over his dark eye bags. “I can assure you that not only the work will get done much faster, but you’ll be more productive with a rested body and a peaceful mind.” She kissed his forehead. Hiccup wrapped his arms around her, making her sit in his lap. He savoured the rare peaceful moment he had with his beloved wife. She had the gift of shutting all the voices tormenting his mind and the gentle touch to relax his body in the blink of an eye. She was everything to him. He could be the best version of himself when she’s with him and never took her for granted; not since the betrothal gift incident.

“Just don’t forget you’re still human, there’s so much your body can handle before it shuts down.” She added.

“Yeah, you’re right. I might have been pushing myself pretty hard.” Hiccup replied, raising his head to look at her. There was a warmness to her that he never thought she would ever have; especially directed towards him. He remembered her words of encouragement back on the clifftops, as he was losing hope. I am the person I am today because of you. Over the years, he saw how she started to warm up to him and the rest of the people. She had been trained for years to be this fearless, unemotional warrior. Back then, the fear of losing the people you love was at its peak, so she was quick to learn how to shut her feelings down and just train from dawn till dusk. Today, she was a softer and warmer person; which didn’t mean she was weaker by any means. But with the end of the Dragon War, she has found herself a partner that saw her as an equal. They both found themselves a new purpose in life and didn’t have to fear the threat of a dragon raid any longer, which allowed them to find happiness along the way. They were happy here.

Astrid got off his lap and reached for the soap that was earlier placed at a reachable distance. She looked back at him. “Soak.” And so, he plunged his head underwater before coming back up with his bangs fully covering his eyes. She stifled a laugh as did he. “I haven’t planned to cut your hair today, so I’ll do that next laugardagr, you think you can survive until then?” She started washing his hair with the soap in her hands.

“You made a whole schedule just to help me relax? A schedule? Did I mistakenly marry Fishlegs?” This earned him a pinch on his nipple. “OW! You know they’re sensitive. I did not deserve that!” She laughed as she brought her hands back to massage his scalp. The nipple pinching forgotten, his eyes rolled back into his skull, fully appreciating the head massage. “Ooh yeah, that feels nice.” Astrid brought his bangs back down to cover his eyes and gathered the excess foam and piled it upon his head in the form two horns. She exploded in laughter at the ridiculous sight. “Wha- Astriiid!“

“You look like Snotlout’s pet yak! Oh Gods- I can’t!” She wheezed.

Hiccup was not impressed and got rid of the foam and swiped his bangs back, exposing his frown. His small smile betrayed him though. It was rare to see Astrid lose composure and in a burst of full-blown laughter. It made him break his frown and laugh with her.

“You, young lady, are in reeeally big trouble. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Yakkity’s long lost brother?” She joked.

“Okay, that’s it, come here you!” He grabbed her by the waist and started poking her sides, knowing very well she was ticklish there. “I shall not tolerate this type of disrespect on my island.”

She tried to grab his arm, but this time he was prepared and pinned her arms by wrapping an arm around her and continuing tormenting her with the other. How she wished they were fifteen years old again. “N-No- St-Stop!”

“Then say, ‘My husband is the strongest and most handsome Viking in all of Midgard’. Say it.”

“Hahaha, N-not on yo-your life!” Having minimal movement of her arms, Astrid tried to reach downwards instead of fighting the death grip he had around her. She pinched the inside of his thigh, so very close to his precious jewels, making him jump. “Astrid! No!” He stopped tickling her but kept his arm around her.

“I will pinch higher if you don’t let me go, babe.” She tried to catch her breath from all the tickling.

“You’re awful, absolutely awful.” He whined as he let her go.

“You’re lucky this is your relaxation time.” She said, a small glint in her eyes.

“Oh yeah, what kind of torment would you inflict on your poor one-legged husband?” He challenged.

“Something that would require you to use your cane for the next day or so.” She fired back; a small, dangerous smile etched on her face. Hiccup’s eyes widened and he gulped. “But we’re both tired and I did promise to take care of my sweet husband, haven’t I? So, behave.” She flicked his exposed forehead.

“Ow. How did I get myself into this mess?” He rubbed the sore spot.

“You kidnapped me and threw me on top of a tree.” She replied with a straight face.

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, you’ve had soap in your hair for long enough, rinse.” She ordered. He dived in again, washing off the soap.

“Can I wash your hair?” He asked.

“But it’s your time off.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours too. You worked just as hard. You deserve to be taken care of too.” He replied.

“You worked harder.” He rolled his eyes.

“Astrid, this isn’t a competition. I want to take care of my wife. Will you let me?” He grabbed her hand and slowly spun her around in the narrow tub and made her sit between his legs.

“You’re always looking for an excuse to touch my hair.” She jokingly said. There was an element of truth though. He loved touching her hair, combing his fingers through her long strands. Since they have gotten married, he insisted on combing and braiding her hair in the morning. There was just something intimate and therapeutic about touching her hair. She was protective over it, never letting anyone but him touch it. The first time she let down her hair for him was during the incident that left her temporarily blind. She was not able to see how much soot covered her precious hair, so she entrusted it in his care. He remembers his heart beating so fast that he thought it was going to burst from his chest. He felt honoured, and has been craving to touch her beautiful golden locks ever since.

Astrid on the other hand, hated when people touched her hair. It was her pride and joy (after Stormfly and her axe). As a child, every time her mom would braid her hair, she would always pull too hard, leaving her sore. The twins were more chaotic when they were kids. They would get away with anything because kids will be kids. As a prank, they decided it would be funny to set her hair on fire, forcing her to cut it above her shoulders. That day, she saw red and very nearly beat them to death. They were all severely punished for it, but no one has ever attempted to touch her hair ever again. He remembered that day very well, it was probably the first time he saw her cry. That’s when he learned how attached she was to her hair. The way she preened on it every night since they became a couple on the Edge reminded him so much of Stormfly. Her dragon always made sure there was not a single hair out of place after a flight. It amused him how she trusted a dragon more than Vikings to manage her hair. Stormfly had the gentle touch that Astrid craved someone to have. She always wanted her rider to look the best.

“Well?” Astrid asked as she looked back. Hiccup’s thoughts were cut off.

“Oh...Uh yeah, my bad.” He started to massage her scalp as she did him.

“Okay, I’m done. You can rinse.” He said after working on her hair for the past couple of minutes.

She dipped her head underwater and got rid of the soap before emerging again.

“Thanks.” She turned her head and smiled at him.

“I should be thanking you; this whole ‘bath’ idea was yours. It felt nice.” He kissed her exposed shoulder as he embraced her.

“Well, don’t thank me yet. We’re not done.” She patted his hand.

“Not done?”

“What, did you really think that was it? Come on, let’s get out before our skin shrivels up like a prune.” She got out of his arms, turned around, and grabbed him. She helped him up and guided him to the chair, passed him a towel, and proceeded to dry themselves before taking his prosthetic and putting it back on his stump. She started to put her clothes on, so Hiccup followed suit until she stopped him.

“Nuh-uh, just wear a towel, I highly doubt you want your clothes to be stained with oil.”

“What?”

“A massage, Hiccup. I’m going to give you a massage. Gods, even a blind man would know how tense you are just by standing near you.” She answered.

“Why are you getting dressed then? Don’t I get to give you one?”

“Next laugardagr, after I trim that overgrown mop of hair of yours. Gods have mercy on my shears.”

“S-Shears?! And by the way, my hair isn’t that bad!” Hiccup dramatically exclaimed. Astrid rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen a man with that much hair on their head, I swear if we shave everything off, we’ll have enough to make a scarf. No need for sheep anymore.”

“First, I’m a yak, now I’m a sheep? Is that how you see me, Astrid? Nothing more than livestock? How you wound me.” He brought a hand up to his heart. Astrid let out a cackle.

“You are such a drama queen. Come on, get up your highness, there’s fresh meat to be tenderized before I chop it off and feed it to the village.” She helped him up and headed towards their bedroom.

“Please Astrid, can you be any more creepy?” It was his turn to roll his eyes.

They finally reached their room. The shutters were sealed shut, preventing most of the light to penetrate the room. Candles were illuminated, giving off the same soothing atmosphere as downstairs, cutting them off from the agitated outside world. The bed was covered by a large towel, probably to avoid the oil soak into their sheets. Astrid made her husband lie down on his stomach, removed his prosthetic again, and sat on his butt. She started tracing his back muscles with feathery fingers which made him shivers. While Hiccup was still a lean man, he definitely wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old, shy boy that she found herself falling in love with. He quickly gained muscle mass thanks to dragon-riding and her extensive sword fighting lessons. Just like all the other riders, he started to lose some after the dragons’ departure a year ago. He remained, in her eyes, the most beautiful man ever.

She caressed his back and leaned forward, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, making him sigh lovingly. He was clearly enjoying her pampering and she wasn’t about to stop any time soon. She reached for the small vial that was ready to be used from their bedside table and poured the contents in her hands and rubbed them together to heat it up a bit. Astrid proceeded to rub his shoulders first, trying to undo that visible tension. She added her bodyweight as she tried to loosen those knots that caused his painful backaches.

“Mmh, yeah that’s the spot.” Hiccup moaned as she rubbed a specific sore area. She continued her ministrations for a bit and slowly moved onto his lower once she was satisfied with how loose and relaxed his shoulders became.

“How are you feeling?” She asked while kneading his legs.

“Like a newborn yak.” He replied, his voice muffled by the pillows. She sniggered, happy that he’s enjoying this so much.

Hiccup can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. He truly thought he was going to melt into a puddle under her magic hands. He knew he didn’t know when to stop working. His muscles could be aching and his bones could be breaking, but he never stops until someone does or until he collapses. He had big shoes to fill and couldn’t bear to let his village down. Not when his father did a tremendous job at leading. Once Stoick finally admitted to his blindness, he saw so much growth and potential in his son, and Hiccup did his best to uphold what his father saw in him. While Stoick had to lead alone for years, Hiccup couldn’t be any more grateful to have an amazing partner by his side, supporting him. He knew he wouldn’t remain sane had he lost her like his father lost his wife. He was no idiot. He saw how he struggled when his soulmate was believed to be dead and couldn’t possibly see a future without Astrid. She was everything to him and more. The entire village knew that. They weren’t being led by the Chief and the Chief’s wife. They were Chief and Chieftess. Equals. One couldn’t function without the other. Some would say that they’re too dependent on each other and would lead the tribe to their downfall. But the Berkians knew better. Together, they were stronger than anyone.

“Turn around.” She ordered. And he complied. She sat back on his lap and leaned down to kiss him. He quickly wrapped his arm around her and savoured their kiss. They should do this more often. He missed having some quality time with just her.

Just as his hands started traveling a bit lower, a large grumbling sound resonated across the room. They separated and looked at each other. The couple started laughing.

“Well, someone is hungry. When was the last time you ate?” Astrid asked.

“Honestly, I can’t remember.” He sheepishly replied. She sighed. “Go sit in front of the hearth and let your hair dry. I’ll go grab some food from the Great Hall, I’ll be back soon.” She passed him his prosthetic and headed downstairs, leaving their household on the quest for food.

He doesn’t know how long he had been staring at the flames when she came back, a basket in hand. She approached him and sat on the floor beside him, handing him the food.

“Thank you, Milady.” He smiled at her.

“Sorry about not having any meals prepared at home.” She timidly said, looking down at her bowl of stew. “I tried to cook something from my mom’s recipes but my cooking skills are still pretty subpar. No matter how hard I tried, it just wasn’t perfect.”

He recognized those words. It just wasn’t perfect. That’s why it took them so long to become a couple, to begin with. He knew he was romantic when it comes to being in a relationship. Even before he set his eyes on anyone, he already thought of perfect scenarios with his soulmate. All the gestures and gifts; anything to quench this loneliness he felt as a young boy. He wanted his partner to feel loved. That’s why the medallion incident hit him hard. Since when did he start neglecting Astrid, causing her to feel that exact same loneliness he once felt? He never thought she was a romantic, being a hardcore shieldmaiden most of her life. But he learned that she also longed for love, she was just better at hiding it. At that time, he was still self-conscious. He has never heard her telling him that she loved him, but hearing her share her insecurities, he realized that she has. So many times, through a variation of loving gestures that she reserved for him and only him. He felt guilty for being so blind, which is why he made up for it. She deserved the best. She deserved perfect.

“Hey.” He scooted closer to her, their shoulders bumping. “This seems pretty perfect to me.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “You have no idea how eternally grateful I am to have you. This whole thing you’ve prepared for me is just perfect. I love it. I love you. So much. Whether you managed to cook an intricate meal or just brought food back from the Great Hall wouldn’t have changed anything. You did this for me, and it made me so happy. And I get to spend some time with you. I couldn’t ask for more, Astrid. Thank you.” He tenderly kissed her lips.

“I’m glad.” She paused. “And relieved.” She confessed, a smile on her lips.

They happily ate in silence, occasionally striking a conversation or just randomly stole a kiss from each other; just enjoying each other’s presence.

Their empty bowls were cast aside as they cuddled in front of the fire; savouring this rare moment of peace and quiet. Hiccup ran his fingers through her now dry hair.

“Will you let me braid your hair?” She looked at him for a few seconds before nodding and turning her back to him. He delicately combed through her silky golden tresses with his fingers, undoing the small knots and separated her hair into three parts. He expertly twisted the locks in a loose braid. Usually, Astrid wouldn’t braid her hair when going to bed as it provided a thin layer of heat for her neck. Winter in New Berk was just as merciless as Old Berk, but right now, they were approaching the hottest days of the year. While the air was still cool when evening came, she didn’t need that much coverage as the fire heated the room to a perfect temperature.

Astrid passed the leather band that was hanging on her wrist to her husband as he finished tending her hair. He attached it and swept her hair over her shoulder. Placing a light peck on the nape. She shivered at the contact and fell back, trusting Hiccup to catch her, which he did. He pressed his lips on her now accessible forehead. She laid in his arms for a while, just relishing the feeling of having his arms around her and the small, tickling kisses all across her face.

“Is this what you’ve been up to the whole time when you said you wanted to go home?” He asked.

“The failed cooking took most of my time.” She lamented.

“Did you have time to rest?” Astrid looked away. She knew she needed extra time to do the cooking, but she didn’t expect to fail that hard. In the end, it took much more time than she expected. Not that she felt like she needed a break, her husband needed it more than she did. But she was hoping to have more quality time with him. Unfortunately, after the fourth try, she decided to throw the towel.

“I’ll rest when you do.” Just as she said that the blonde Viking let out a yawn.

“Well, someone is getting tired.” Hiccup teased.

“I’ve been tired since our beloved Goddess Sol decided to show off all her glory even more so than usual.” Hiccup fought back a yawn that didn’t go unnoticed by his wife. “Seems like I’m not the only one that’s tired. Come on babe, let’s get you to bed.” She freed herself from his embrace and got up, lending a hand to help her husband up too. They headed upstairs, leaving the dirty dishes for tomorrow.

Once in their bedroom again, they undressed and put on their thin nightwear, hoping to finally get a comfortable night of sleep. They got in bed and Hiccup spooned her, letting her get comfortable in his arms. They sighed in content.

“Astrid?” He hesitantly called out, hoping she didn’t already fall asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“You know you don’t need to thank me”

“I know, but you always seem to know what I need before I even do. So, I want to thank you. I really appreciate it. I love you, Milady.” He kissed the back of her head.

She squeezed his hand that was resting around her waist. “I love you too.” She sleepily answered.

He tightened his arms around her as he let sleep consume him.

Gods, how he loved that woman.

oOo

So this one-shot was written while I was writing another Hiccstrid story. I just needed a break since I was having a writer's block and I desperately needed some heartwarming fluff because the other one is heavy, at least for me it is. This one-shot could possibly have a potential smut scene one day, I just have no idea how to write those yet.

The other story will be posted soon, depending on how inspired I am. It's either going to be a long one-shot or a short chaptered fiction. To this day, I have written around 11K words, and it could possibly reach 20K. All I'm going to reveal for now is that Astrid is going to have a bad time. Hopefully you guys will be interested.

Also, would anyone be interested in a separate one-shot on how Astrid got that scar? I don't know why, I love Astrid so much that I need to read/write Astrid!Whump fics.

#hiccstrid fanfiction #fanfic #hiccstrid #married life #Astrid Hofferson #Hiccup Haddock #httyd #httyd 3

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fuzziemutt · 3 years

Text

Do You Understand?

Chapter 1/9 - Link to MasterList in reblog

Summary: Connor knows he isn’t the most.. knowledgeable... about emotions but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand them ever. If they weren’t going to take him seriously then he wasn’t even going to try interacting with them anymore. What could possibly go wrong?

Tw: I’m placing all possible tws here that could apply to the story. Possible ableism (this is not explicit but what Connor goes through can be similar to it), dissociation, very emotionally harmful coping mechanisms. Self worth problems. Trauma responses that go unnoticed. Please let me know if I need to add any more.

This started as a vent fic that extended outward into comfort, it gets worse before it gets better.

Notes: This is my first multi chaptered fic, I’ve never done this before. I did write the whole story in entirety prior and scheduled the other chapters to slowly release. The original vent was honestly quite different than what ended up being written, and I don’t know how it turned into this huge thing.

Also: There are no ships in this, this is all platonic. The only relationship status is that Hank is Connor’s dad even if they don’t quite acknowledge it.

Also also: This is Connor Pov. We mainly focusing on his thought processes throughout and they aren’t particularly healthy. (Connor also has ADHD)

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Connor knew he had trouble expressing and understanding his emotions. It wasn't a secret. He'd often find people looking at him with confusion, and sometimes wariness, with his lack of response to many things. He was a prototype. Sure he had one of the most advanced social relations software to date, but Cyberlife cut corners with the amount of articulation his face could produce, his current model wasn't meant to live long and to be disposable after all.

It doesn't help that he also just didn't know how to express what he was feeling in the limited ways he could. He "lived" most of his trial runs and current time in severe denial out of fear of deactivation so he'd rather ignore them than process them. It wasn't healthy but it was safe. Familiar.

That didn't mean he couldn't feel. He felt lots of things like guilt, hatred, fear, the occasional spark of joy. Too many things sometimes, in fact, that led him to having a nasty habit of adamantly ignoring it all, manually storing it away for later to keep his composer and stay in fully functioning order. Sure this led to people often ignoring his own desires and doing things that severely hurt him with no mention from him. But he was fine. He chose this after all.

However, even with all the quarantining and ignoring, he couldn't help the anger that bubbled under his skin and in his throat right now.

"Hank, I understand that you're angry but-"

"You think you understand? You don't understand a shit, Connor! How could you?! I get you're your own person and everything now, but I never see you express anything beyond mild displeasure!" Hank yelled back. Connor was glad they were at Hank's house at least to provide some sense of privacy but saying he felt unhappiness at being yelled at was an understatement.

Connor went to open his mouth in defense but Hank cut him off, "Of course you don't understand! How could you ever understand any emotions! You keep acting like a-" he suddenly went quiet, but Connor knew.

"Like a what, Lieutenant?" He asked, making sure to keep his LED a yellow slow turn, but he couldn't help how sharp his voice came out, how his eyes hardened to a fine point.

They stared at each other for several tense seconds before Hank seemed to deflate a bit and looked ashamed.

"Like a machine," he spat out, still tense and upset but his fury gone.

Connor simply nodded, quarantining what he could to not lash out and stood up silently.

"I will be taking Sumo out for a walk to allow for us to take a breather before we both do something we regret. I will return," he said, shoulders tense and voice strict. His movements felt stiff as he tried to hold himself back from continuing this fight, grabbing the leash and patting his side to call over the old dog.

"You can't just run away-" Hank tried, stepping closer as if to grab Connor's arm to stop him. But Connor's ice cold glare, almost threatening posture and clenched fists seemed to stop him. They kept forgetting that Connor wasn't just meant for integration but also intimidation, he once was a deviant (killer) hunter after all, and he can be intimidating when he so pleased. Hank seemed to suddenly remember the rumors of Gavin getting his ass handed to him by Connor in under a minute flat by how he backed away uncertain.

Connor left and came back a bit over half an hour later. Hank would apologize and Connor would accept it, even if that anger still simmered deep inside, and they'd go back to joking and discussing work matters like nothing happened. Friends sometimes fight after all. It was fine.

Despite how much Connor hated those accusations of him being incapable of understanding, they. Kept. Happening.

Not just with Hank but others as well. The people who he thought were his friends, the Jericrew, even Nines the RK900, kept pulling the same shit. Connor knew they all experienced deviancy differently than him, Nines also had the gift of a face with full articulation that he couldn't help but envy, but it irked him every time.

"Let's switch topics for Connor..."

"Oh I should have talked about this with someone else..."

"It was rude of me to assume you understand-"

"Oh.. Sorry I know you don't understand-"

"You know he doesn't understand-"

"He won't understand-"

"He can't understand-"

Each time he heard that word, understand, Connor felt that broiling anger rise just a bit more. Each time they never even asked how he felt before the assumption, he felt his trust disintegrate bit by bit. He was a master of masking his emotions to get the emotional responses he wanted, but even he had a limit when anytime he saw his friends he felt nothing but hateful bitterness below his false pleasantries. He even stopped willfully hanging out with all of them, even Hank, as it grew harder to fight down the urge to scream and yell and make them understand.

It all came to a head during a meeting with the Jericho leaders, Nines tagged along as well as he said how much he missed seeing him outside of work. They were discussing how to handle the androids that still had severely negative responses to humans after all this time since the revolution. He was in the middle of talking about a solution of creating areas in New Jericho that would absolutely not allow humans and could run independently when North rounded on him.

"I'm sorry," in a very much not sorry tone, "but how am I supposed to take your option any bit seriously when you don't understand any of these androids' struggles mister 'my best friend is a human'."

"North-" Markus warned. The others even tensed up staring at Connor.

"No seriously. He could never understand their struggles," North plowed forward with no hesitation.

Connor felt something snap inside of him. He felt his LED burn bright red, his back straighten, fists clenched, and his features shift into that bitter anger that he tried his best to keep under wraps. He could see how everyone grew more than just tense but wary even; he even saw a flash of fear in North's eyes.

They insisted he was nothing more than a machine who didn't understand. That he'll forever be Cyberlife's pet (killer) deviant hunter. So he'll show them the hunter that was conditioned, threatened, who thrived on his own anger and fear through every grueling training session. The side that he kept pushed down as much as he could.

He couldn't help the bitter laugh that came out of him, "understand... You know what? I'm starting to think I fucking hate that word."

He knew he was scaring them with how North backed away quickly and the others started coming forward as if to protect her from him. His anger worsened at that but a small part of him felt a bit of twisted satisfaction at how they're finally treating him seriously. He could even imagine Amanda whispering praises for being the threat they wanted from the back of his CPU.

"Has it never occurred to you that I might have problems with humans as well?" His hands expressed where his face couldn't, trying to contain the energy thrumming in his body, "has it never occurred to you what I might have gone through hm?

“Oh wait. You never asked. You only accused. Have you ever thought about how my serial number has a 54 at the end of it? Did it ever occur to you that I have to exist with the memory of 53 deactivations constantly and the fear that I might be the 54th for merely breathing wrong? Who do you think did that? Who do you think reminded me day in and out that I was nothing but an expendable machine made to kill, to never ask questions because it meant deactivation or my internals torn out while I was awake. Humans. Humans did that but no, just because I trusted Hank not to do the same, I don't understand?"

He knew he was slowly growing erratic and unstable with how aggressively his hands moved and the way everyone backed away from him. The way he loomed over them with his presence didn't help their nerves he was sure. Or how he slowly stalked towards them as if a predator was cornering its prey. But he couldn't help it, the thrumming pulse in his core needed to come out and by hell was it coming out now.

"Not only that, but I apparently don't understand emotions too! I may be a deviant but emotions? They're off the table!" He couldn't help the second bitter laugh, a tinge hysterical, "no no. None of you took the time to ask me how I was handling these emotions and instead just assumed I didn't feel them! Because I'm ‘just a machine’. This guilt, fear, and self hatred I feel every waking moment? Lies because I'm just a machine. Even this anger I'm expressing right now? These are lies too aren't they? The nightmares I get of my countless deactivations and the numerous deaths that stain my hands? All just my programs malfunctioning because I'm just. A. Machine."

"We didn't... Connor we didn't know-" Nines started, his sadness and fear clear as day on his face like how they wanted Connor's to be. The others were solemnly nodding along too as if this would appease him.

"Because you never. Asked. Because none of you ever truly fucking cared!" Connor roared in response, slamming a fist down on the metal table next to him. All their eyes snapped and starred at the large dent he knew he left behind but he didn't care. He let himself breathe heavily, taking a second to find himself and his self restraint again.

And just like that, he locked up those pesky emotions like everyone expected him to. He knew the people before him didn't actually desire him to show any negative emotions just like them, they proved it just now with how they're looking at him. He took one final deep breath, fixed his tie and let his face slip back into its emotionless mask except the cold, closed off glare didn't leave. He even felt that that was going to be a permanent feature now after today and couldn't help the internal chuckle at the irony how he finally was showing the emotions they desperately wanted him to show.

No one said anything as he moved towards the door. There was still tension in the air, fear, anger and confusion swirled in various manners of their eyes. Nines seemed split on treating him like a threat and reaching out to him, maybe even to pity him. Markus also looked like he wanted to say something, but he just looked away in the end. North had fearful eyes but a look that seemed to say 'I was right we couldn't trust him'. Josh held Simon behind him, and he looked almost sad if his distrust didn't say otherwise. Simon refused to take his eyes off the clear fist shaped dent in the table, still as a statue. Connor vaguely wondered if they'd replace that table because of him just like how they so easily replaced him with Nines when given the chance.

No one made a move to stop him from leaving. He couldn't tell if it was out of fear of him showing those (killer) hunter colors again by snapping an arm or if they're realizing just how badly they fucked up. He couldn't tell which choice he wanted more either. He hoped it was the latter.

"You're all hypocrites. To me, you're all no better than them," was the last thing he hissed out before slamming the door closed behind him. He heard the way the frame and wall around the door shook and cracked from the force but again, he didn't care. He wasn't going to play nice anymore if this was how they felt like treating him. He was programmed to be amiable, calm but he was also programmed to be obedient and he knew how that went. A bit of anxiety existed of how much damage he did and how easily he almost lost control back there, but he just ignored it again as he rushed down the hall to leave.

No one followed him.

#i write #dbh #detroit: become human #connor rk800 #hank anderson #connor rk900 #markus rk200 #north wr400 #josh pj500 #simon pl600 #connor whump #connor angst #long post

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tiredassmage · 3 years

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Character Profile ❅ Astor Caulfield

But the AU one. Also yes, I just took a bunch of pics in one set, shhh, am lazy atm.

BASICS ---

Name: Astor Monroe Caulfield

Age: 28 years (By approximately Heavensward)

Nameday: 17th sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon

Race: Midlander Hyur

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Martial Status: Single, though still mourning

OC Tags: ch: astor caulfield, vs: dragonsong (the first being his overall character tag, the second being specifically for our lovingly dubbed heretic au x,D, which this sheet is for!)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ---

Hair: Dark brown, usually pulled back into a single, neat braid, though occasionally simply done up in a ponytail. When free, full length hangs roughly about his mid-shoulders down his back. He somehow manages to keep it relatively neat, despite the relatively frequent travel - part of why it’s usually tied up.

Eyes: A pale crystal blue, almost gray if you catch him in the right (or wrong) lighting.

Height: 5 fulms, 10 ilms.

Build: Average, with broad shoulders.

Distinguishing Marks: Little physically that isn’t covered by general physical descriptions. The stark contrast of his dark hair and pale eyes is usually enough to stick to people, if they’re trying, and the way his hair is always braided back.

Common Accessories: Generally carries a full deck of arcanima, regardless of current job. Generally wears a relatively simple band with a small design of blue gems set into it resembling ice or crystal. A simple leather necklace with an aged, once silver (at least in color, if not partially in material) charm usually worn freely over robes and other clothing - an inheritance from his mother.

PERSONAL ---

Profession: Scion of the Seventh Dawn, he supposes, if you’d want to be technical. Generally speaking, just an adventuring companion to the Warrior of Light. Previously, a high-ranking member of Iceheart’s band, and something of an unofficial keeper of their knowledge.

Main Job: Astrologian and, later, Summoner, learned in the course of helping the Scions and Warriors of Light combat the persistent primal threat.

Hobbies: Gardening, a light and quiet enthusiast for drawing (he keeps a small journal of sketches of various landmarks and such from his adventures that he also keeps little scribbles of notes in, don’t perceive him, especially if he didn’t tell you). Let him hear of animals in need of rescue or adoption at your own risk because he’ll probably at least really consider taking them on himself. Occasionally indulges in a little fortune telling with his deck. Not that he’d admit it. And not that he’d do it for just anyone. Usually for his own peace (or opposite) of mind.

Languages: Possessed of the Echo, but native to the Eorzean Common Tongue, both spoken and written.

Residence: He hasn’t really felt settled anywhere since he left Tailfeather and Anyx Trine behind, but likely has a small retreat of a residence either somewhere in Gridania or Revenant’s Toll, so as not to be too far from Scion operations when necessary.

Birthplace: Tailfeather, the Dravanian Forelands. A little north of it, technically. But it’s the closest town, and that’ll do.

Religion: Though not exactly practicing, had offered his beliefs to the Twelve, and selected patron in Nymeia, the Spinner, though adventures since would have made him question a fair bit of things.

Fears: Disinclined to be totally alone, abandoned. Wildfires. Being manipulated and used as a tool or weapon, particularly against the few he does cherish. Not being fast enough to save someone else he loves - and, worse, not being able to do a damn thing even if he was there.

RELATIONSHIPS ---

Spouse: Ysayle. No, he’s never quite recovered, even by Shadowbringers, though he has learned to live with it, to carry his grief and move forward, instead of being held back.

Children: None, currently. Though he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.

Parents: A father he didn’t know too well, lost to bandits on the roads when he was sixteen, and his mother, Gaia, lost when he was eighteen to illness.

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: None by blood, though the Scions are something of a found family, with time. He has also endeared himself to several of the dravanian residents of Anyx Trine, and got no small amount of delight in working with the younglings.

Pets: A hunting hawk named Zephira he nursed back to health from a broken wing.

TRAITS ---

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

HABITS ---

Smoking: Never

Drugs: Never

Alcohol: Occasionally, and only lightly. Usually socially.

ABOUT ---

Born and raised in the Dravanian Wilds to a humble hunter and trader and healer who had spent some time studying in New Sharlayan before she had left, Astor would see little of his father in his youth, though he’d know him to be a decent and loyal man. He was closest with his mother - almost insparable, they were just as much friends and as family. From her, he soaked up as much of her knowledge as she could share, eagerly taking after her in learning healing arts from conjury to the art of the astrologians. The young boy was particularly entranced with the art of drawing magic from the heavens and their representative cards. Together, him and his mother ran a small clinic from their home just north of Tailfeather, occasionally traveling into town to trade and work with the hunters there.

On one of his hunting and trading trips, his father was killed by bandits and thieves when he was sixteen, leaving just him and his mother with little closure on the who of the deed - not that it mattered. Knowing wouldn’t bring him home, and they still had lives to lead for themselves, and patients to tend to, so they carried on. Sadly, one might have said it was the first strike of tragedy, as his mother feel ill no more than two years later, and, despite his best efforts both physical and magical, her condition refused to improve until she passed shortly after his eighteenth nameday. Though the boy struggled to grieve the loss of his closest friend, he persisted their work in the clinic for two more years before the Calamity struck and changed everything as all had known it.

In the cold and snows that followed, Astor met Ysayle, and the pair of dreamers quickly grew close. Astor packed up to follow her where her dreams would lead them - into revolution, change for a better future, and an end to a war that had mired so many lives for far too long.

Over time, he became one of her most trusted comrades, filling a role akin to a second-in-command, often tending to their forces himself in the wake of skirmishes and conflict with Ishgardian forces and otherwise. When finally the Scions and the Warriors of Light entered the fray, it was with wariness and caution he met these would-be heroes. His trust would not be so easy to earn; he would not risk all they had worked for thus far - beloved, just hero of the realm or just some overzealous knights filled with lies and duty. Though, if Ysayle deemed them worthy of trust and cooperation... he would concede, for now. But he’d be keeping a very close eye on them.

Ysayle’s eventual death struck him hard and shook him to the core. He was quick to withdraw from their new would-be companions in his struggle to process the loss, though he ultimately agreed to see the battles through to the end - their vision, their dreams, could not end here. As Ishgard entered a period of reform and unrest in the wake of Thordan’s defeat and demise, Astor withdrew further to Anyx Trine, preferring to spend his time with the dragons - the better to perhaps find his own footing in the new unstable ground the nation tread upon.

Eventually, the mage would re-approach the Scions and Warriors of Light and ask, if they would permit it, something of a second try... He... had not exactly been warm with them before then, but... they had helped, when it wasn’t their fight, really... And Ysayle had believed in them. Trusted them. And this was all real... it was really happening... And he couldn’t stay.

He needed a new purpose, a new direction. One he could, perhaps, call more of his own. He would join them in their battles and adventures, if they would be amicable to it... For those they had lost. For those they could yet save.

#character profile #ffxiv ocs #ch: astor caulfield #vs: dragonsong #my ocs #posting this at middle of night o clock but here take it no editing we die like fools #that way it doesn't waste away in my drafts or brain or smth #he's actually a good boy brent he just has a lot of grief to work through #wants to be ur friend okay

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kryptsune · 3 years

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World Building Wednesday! (AU edition)~

The Hunt (Fellswap)

*I am going to start off with some basic information just to start!*

The Surface: The surface has been overrun by corrupt leaders. It is very much the concept of big brother. They are a council that presides over the affairs of the world. If you are seen as a threat you will be immediately thrown into “prison” without a trial. They hold occasional public trials in the guise of being fair. Just as WTU claims, the very concept of magic is a threat to them so those that have it are quickly disposed of but leaders don’t always do the dirty work themselves. No. In fact, they use another source by means of execution…the monsters. More accurately it is very similar to the idea of throwing your enemies into a kind of gladiatorial arena. It is not technically considered an execution if circumstances lead to death. The humans are not stupid they know what is going on. Some believe in rebellion against the state and some wonder if the monsters could fix their corrupt world. Either way, the corruption continues and they are not above tossing innocents into “the pit” if it suits their agenda. “The Pit” (aka the Underworld/Underground): The underworld is broken up into different factions by location. The only location without a faction or any type of ruler is The Ruins, because of its size and its isolation this is where humans try to reach for some form of Salvation. Asgore, the caretaker, has made it into an encampment for those that have fallen (the innocent ones). It is almost like a refugee camp. Unfortunately very few make it to Asgore’s safe haven. He does his best. Poor goat dad. He is not like canon Toriel however as he will use violence if necessary as he knows that humans are simply using them as tools to get rid of who they deem criminal. There are signs of old campfires, broken tents, and habitation. Before The Ruins is, of course, the main factions. “Snowdin” is the beginning and Crimson is one of the most powerful in the Underworld.

The Layout of the world: New Home= The Capital Snowdin= Magmire Waterfall= Windyspires Hotland= Tundra

The Underworld is backward to its original layout. The humans end up trapped in The Capital instead and they have to make their way to The Ruins to escape. So it would go like this: The Capital -> Tundra ->Windyspires ->Magmire. The closer the faction to the capital the higher the rank in other words because both Grimm and Crimson live in Tundra. Crim is the lord making him one of the most notorious. He is known for being a loyal “dog” to his queen. Whether that be out of loyalty or self preservation is unclear. Each faction has a lord or lady that rules over it. The ones loyal to Toriel’s (As a side note she is known as the ice queen) regime and their supposed way of life. This also means the closest ones receive the most benefits. Tundra is the one with the most prestige and of course other monsters are trying to strip that title from its current holder, The Crimson Lord. Due to Crimson’s loyalty, he is almost exempt from any wrongdoing in the Queens’ eyes which means he can do pretty much anything he wants. Which is dangerous and I will explain why in a bit. I have a faction ruler list sitting here so I am going to add that to this as well. They are as follows, of course, this does not account for potential power struggles during the story: The Capital -> QUEEN: Toriel Dreemurr Tundra -> Lord: Crimson Lady: N/A Windyspires -> Lord? (I mean she wouldn’t want to be called a lady SHE IS TOO TOUGH FOR THAT!): Alphys Lady: Undyne Magmire-> Lord: Grillby Lady: Muffet “It’s Hunt or be Hunted”: The motto of this verse. After so many centuries of humans being disposed of by monsters they become aggressive. In addition the anger toward all of humanity begins to fuel violence in the monsters. The hunts deter monster on monster violence. It also adds fuel to Queen Toriel’s fire that one of the humans that fell down the first time killed her son. This of course is a lie as Asriel seeks refuge with his father in The Ruins. He helps as much as he can watch his mother lose her mind from afar. It saddens him but he refuses to be a part of this new world order. That is when they realized that humans weren’t just falling into the Underworld. They were throwing throwing the worst of the worst. Their undesirables, criminals, and anyone that dare went against their own agenda. At first, they just captured them and held them in the Capitals network of catacombs but then some began to escape causing damage across their “New Home”. Toriel wouldn’t allow it. A proposal turns it into a game of cat and mouse. The humans are detained and released and then the monsters hunt them down. It used to be about protection but now it’s become a sick twisted death game. The forests of Tundra are littered with traps and deadly pitfalls along with the rest of the locations.

The Brothers Grimm:

Grimm is the wilder of the two brothers and is very much a predator type. His name is derived from the mythos of the Grimm or Black dog. I wanted to keep that dark omen symbology in both his name and design. He slinks around in the shadows so that the black dog aspect is not far off. He also loves watching from trees. He enjoys the catching and hunting aspect of his job and even plays around with his “toys” when he finds them. He will specifically call anyone “chew toy” in a mocking kind of way. That does not mean though that he will not spare you if he catches you. He is naturally curious by things. He also has a little skele tail too. Unlike his brother, Grimm doesn’t really have an ego he just finds his job fun. He is like a giant untamed wolf. Grimm has a love of sweets as well. He admires his brother but he is not bound to his brother. In other words this is not a master, dog dynamic. He is, however, the more accepting of the two. If he is asked to do something he doesn’t approve of then he most likely won’t. Also just because he has the whole puppy thing going on doesn’t mean he isn’t smart and cunning. Again he likes to play around with those he finds sometimes not even dragging them back to his brother for a while. If you are a threat he will kill you but if you’re not you can probably get on his good side. If he thinks you are cute he will probably flirt with you too. He is not beyond that. He plays the part of the dog quite well. Crimson is more sophisticated. He doesn’t go out on “hunts” himself often as he has a faction to rule over but those brought to him will see first hand that he is an insufferable flirt. He is prideful, egotistical, and commanding. He also has a bad habit of keeping mementos from those he deems worthy (what those are… you don’t want to know). He is stern with his brother and seems very outwardly cold to most unless he is playing up his charm. He is not someone you want to make angry as Toriel considers him to also be the Bloody Lord. His weapon of choice is a rapier. His drinks of choice are red wine and champagne specifically the pink kind. Crimson’s incisor teeth also have that vampire point to them. They are longer than the rest of them. There is far more to Crimson than just a ruthless skeleton lord.

The Ultimate Unlikely Hunters: This backstory will involve Grimm and Crimson’s unusual infliction and conditions. They were both experiments under Rivers research team in the beginning. Having been weak monsters as children unable to gain any LV they had to think of a way to survive. They did not seem to possess the ability to wield magic. Tired, injured, and without hope Papyrus carried his baby brother all the way to Windyspires banging weakly on the metal plated doors. The Royal scientist at the time, Dr. River Styx, took the boys in. River cares about the two brothers and he gives them a choice if they want to become stronger as their souls are not capable of it on their own. Grimm takes the offer hoping it will save his baby brother offering to be the first test subject. At the time Undyne was nothing but a teenage prodigy lab tech watching the events of soul manipulation take place. At first the process works. Pap is able to conjure new bone like attacks with magic and all seems to be well. The results cause River to start the experiment on Sans next. By this time complications have already begun to show signs. Pap seems to be more short tempered and aggressive even with little things. His mood swings cause him to lock himself up being monitored day by day.

Sans has never seen his gentle brother this aggressive before forcing himself to look away as they have to strap him down for a follow up experiment. He tries to help his brother the best he can and takes on the older brother role due to Pap’s inability to think clearly. Even he is starting to change. The longer this situation continues the more Sans becomes numb to the feeling. That is until one day Pap’s condition takes a turn for the worse causing him to lash out, bones shifting and elongating. He drops to the ground in agony transforming into a skeletal beast like wolf tearing the entire lab apart. Sans on the other hand continues to take care of his brother but he too is feeling some strange side effects to the soul manipulation. It turns out that each monster’s ancestry buried deep within their soul draws upon a primal power. Not all monsters were about love and compassion in the beginning. Bringing this primal trait to the surface causes adverse physical and biological changes within the two. Sans is more gradual as he starts to be in immense pain. His soul struggles to keep itself together but even he snaps lunging at a lab tech. He zeros in on their soul pulling it from their chest and sinking his teeth into it, draining it of its life force. The pain is suddenly gone. He realizes that he needs souls essence and power to keep that hunger/thirst at bay. It gives him extraordinary abilities. He remembers a long time ago reading about a monster that humans had such a fear of, the vampire. As he comes into power he realizes that humans concentrated soul traits are even better than monster souls. The blood has a high concentration of soul essence which sustains humans as well as monsters (yes the monsters bleed in this). His brother learns to control this new beast within himself but not before he nearly claws his brothers socket out, hence the signature scar. Crimson has scars on his entire body from trying to reason with his once feral brother. They slowly work their way up to eventually ruling the second most powerful kingdom in the entire Underworld with exception to The Capitol. The constant hunts keep both the brothers conditions satisfied. No one is quite sure how the two skeleton brothers became this way after River’s disappearance, all except Undyne.

*This is just to get started! If you have any questions about the characters, how the world works, the layout, story, any of that go ahead and drop me an ask I would love to answer them!*

#undertale #WBW #Worldbuilding Wednesday AU edition #underfell #Fellswap #undertale au #underfell au #The Hunt #friskys multiverse #kits multiverse #multiverse #The Crimson Lord #Crimson #my au #Fellswap au #fairytale aesthetic #lore

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oohnoniall · 3 years

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A Court of Fire & Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 6

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)

She was in his arms when he woke the next morning. The storm had passed, leaving nothing more than a light condensation on the windows of his bedroom. The light was distorted as it came through the window, hitting Lyriel almost perfectly. She was asleep, perhaps for the first time since she had come to the Spring Court. Her brow was smoothed, her fingers clenching around the blankets as though they were a hilt of some sort.

Tamlin's heart ached as he took in the gentle slope of her nose. He tried not to focus on her lips and the gentle way they were parted, her breath coming out in the softest snores. Mother above he did not need this.

Slowly, he untangled himself from her. He did not know when he had begun holding her. Perhaps sometime after the storm had passed. He wished he knew. He wished he could remember how it had felt to first wrap his arms around her. At least then he would have that memory. He would have been able to think on it when she eventually found someone better.

Even if he kept her in the Spring Court, he was certain she would find someone else. Someone who would spar with her, who would laugh with her, who would give up a mating bond for her. She deserved that. Even if he would want to kill whoever tried to get close to her.

It wasn't fair. He knew it. He knew that he was holding her to a different standard. There was no excuse for it. Maybe if he was a better man there would be. Yet, he was anything but a better man. It seemed as though the whole world was right about one thing. Tamlin was a bastard. A brute. Someone who would trap their mate and marry another woman

Wouldn't his father be proud?

The thought made him sick. He had to shove it down, shove everything down as far as he could as he began to ready himself for the day ahead. He did it as quietly as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Lyriel. She needed more sleep. He didn't know if she would take it well should he actually tell her that.

From what he knew, Lyriel didn't take most things well. At least if they came from him. He had no idea how she reacted around other people. Maybe he just antagonized her. Or it was her way of fighting back against the bond that neither of them truly wanted.

She shifted, a soft grunt escaping her. A shiver went through him at the sound.

Mother save him. He knew that he should just leave her there. That he should not think of what other sounds might come from her throat. How he could make them.

Tamlin quickly finished strapping on his bandolier before he slipped from the room. He willed himself to not return to that bed. To stay as far from her as he could. He worried that her scent would be all over him. Worried that Feyre would be able to scent it. It had been a mistake. But not one that he could find himself regretting.

This whole thing was a mess. One that Tamlin had never foreseen. He had always assumed that he would never find his mate. He had thought the Mother would be cruel in letting him go his entire life without that bond. He had gotten over it.

It seemed that she was cruel in another way.

Tamlin huffed softly as he shoved open the door to his office. He hated to hide himself away, but it was the only thing he could do. After Amarantha had been dealt with, his lands had cleared of the beasts roaming them. Now, he was focusing more on rebuilding villages and his lords' lands.

Occasionally, he would find something prowling. It was easily dealt with most of the time. That or he would have to go and deal with one of his lords. They had been more of a nuisance than he had ever imagined. He had assumed they would be supportive, especially after the hell they'd been through for forty-nine years. Yet, it appeared as though all of them wished to see him fail.

Tamlin did not have many supporters.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Ianthe stated as she looked over at him. She was sat in front of his desk, a languid smile on her face as she took in the room. "I hope you slept for once. The Spring Court needs you at your best."

He hid his irritation as best he could. He hated to show Ianthe when he was displeased with her. He wouldn't risk losing his High Priestess. Not when the Spring Court needed her now more than ever. Yet, it did feel far too early in the morning to be dealing with her and her schemes.

"Good morning, Ianthe," he said lamely. He sat down at his desk, not bothering to ask why she was there. She had a habit of telling him before he could say a word.

"I've already written up the letter to Kallias," she seemed too eager. There was no reason for her to hate Lyriel. Not that he was aware of at least.

She hadn't found out the truth, had she?

"It won't be necessary," Tamlin cursed himself for how quickly he'd said it. "Lyriel and I spent last night speaking about her actions. We'll be seeing a different side of her."

They wouldn't. But the lie had slipped from his lips as easily as a breath. Perhaps he should ask her to keep up appearances, to keep from bringing too much attention to herself. However, he was almost certain that this would just make it worse.

"I suppose that's why her scent is all over you?" Ianthe's eyes darkened, the look making her look less beautiful and more like a vengeful spirit of some sort. He would not say it but it did scare him just a bit.

His fingers curled around the arms of his chairs. His claws biting at the skin. "It was a long conversation."

"Tamlin, if you've fucked the girl it's just another reason for us to be rid of her."

"I haven't laid a finger on her." It didn't matter that he wanted to. It didn't matter that she haunted his thoughts in the late hours of the night. He would never hurt Feyre in that way. Would never hurt anyone by betraying their trust like that. He was a monster but he was not cruel.

"Of course you haven't," Ianthe sat forward, her eyes twinkling in a predatory way. "I won't judge you for having needs, Tamlin. But you might think of the Cursebreaker."

His spine straightened as he realized just what she was doing. He knew that Ianthe had her ways. That she plotted and manipulated things. But he had never expected her to go after him. He had always assumed that she would use it for him.

"I think of Feyre constantly. Mind your tongue, Ianthe. I've done nothing wrong." Tamlin's claws slipped from the skin, causing him to nearly wince. Contrary to popular belief, he felt the pain that came with losing control. He did not do it for fun. Even if the world thought it was something he had fun with. The world was quite wrong about most things that had to do with Tamlin.

The door burst open before she had a chance to respond. Lucien stood in the doorway, a letter clenched in his hands and an easy grin on his lips.

"Tam, you're going to want to hear this," he stopped once he noticed that Ianthe was there. His easy grin slipped from his face, a tension coming to him that Tamlin had not noticed before. He wondered if he could sense the tension in the room or if Ianthe just bothered him that much. He knew which he assumed it was. But that didn't often mean that he was right.

"Ianthe, we'll discuss this later," he told the priestess without a glance. She was going to threaten him? He would show her exactly who she was dealing with. He had been known to be petty on occasion.

Ianthe bristled but she stood nonetheless. "Of course," was all she said before she slipped out of the room. She sent a glare his way before disappearing down the hallways. He just had to hope that she would not be going to find Feyre. Not now. Not ever.

He would rather die than hurt her. Knowing he spent the night with Lyriel? It didn't matter the context, it would hurt her.

"What is it Lucien?" He asked as his friend stepped into the room, shutting and latching the door behind him. Lucien sank into the chair that Ianthe had vacated, tossing the letter onto the desk.

"We've received word from Cari," Lucien never used the woman's full name. If Tamlin hadn't of known better, he would've assumed that he was sweet on her. "Rhysand has shockingly not said a damned word about his plans. But she does know something about Azriel."

Tamlin's brow rose as he picked up the letter. It was coded. The words were written in the small footprints of her green finch. She and Lucien had spent weeks with the creature devising the code. Tamlin had never really gotten his head around it. But his spymaster had been too proud of it for him to tell her to change it.

"What exactly does she know?"

"Besides the fact that he doesn't want a mate unless it's Morrigan?" Lucien began to smirk slightly as he watched Tamlin. "Well, apparently the shadowsinger has been watching the human realms. According to Cari, he's spending more of his time there than at the Night Court. It makes you wonder what exactly they're doing over there."

A soft sigh escaped Tamlin's lips. "That doesn't tell us anything! Just that the Night Court is interested in another Feyre," he wasn't completely certain that was the case. However, there was something that told him it wasn't.

There was something else going on. Something that he was unsure if he wanted to know. He knew that Prythian was not safe. Hybern would surely send another monster to their shores. War would come sooner or later. They could not just sit around and wait for it.

Despite knowing this, Tamlin knew that he would try to ignore the signs as long as possible. They had already been through too much. He didn't think he could stand going through all of it again. He couldn't stand putting his people through hell after telling them that it was over.

He had lied to so many people in his life. What was a lie to protect them?

"Or that something's coming and we need to prepare for it," Lucien pointed out with a soft sigh. "Besides, we all know that there's no one that could replace Feyre. She's unique."

That was one word for it. Tamlin knew she was better than unique. She was ... Perfection. Everything that he had ever wanted. Someone who was actually worthy of him and of being the wife of a High Lord. Feyre was everything to him. She was the one person that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Still, the news about the Night Court was distressing. He began to pace the room, his fingers twitching towards the knives on his bandolier. He didn't think about how he had seen Lyriel do the same thing. Her fingers constantly itching for a blade when she was concentrating. He didn't think about it because he had not truly realized they did the same thing. Why would he when his mind was constantly elsewhere?

"Should we send scouts to the human realms?" He questioned, speaking more to himself than Lucien. "They might think we have another curse if we do. Fuck."

His head tilted back, golden hair falling just to the middle of his back. He wondered how in the hell he was going to get anyone to understand the stresses. How was he going to deal with managing the blunderings of the Night Court as well as his feelings for a certain Winter Court soldier and his upcoming nuptials? It was all too much for any man. He didn't think anyone would have dealt with this nearly as well as he had.

But considering he spent most of his nights sleeping as a beast at the foot of Feyre's bed, that wasn't saying much.

Something had to give. It had to be soon. Otherwise, he was destined to run the Spring Court into ruin. The thought alone made him want to be sick.

"I need to think," he announced. Lucien nodded his head, understanding clear on his face. That was the one good thing about Lucien. He always seemed to understand Tamlin. He knew that sometimes it was just better to let the beast wander off on his own. It was better to keep away from him. To give him space and time.

He slipped out of his office, his fingers gripping the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his chest. He missed the days when he didn't have to keep his knives close. He missed when he could travel his court with nothing more than his fiddle. He missed writing about the beauty of his lands, of witnessing a child's smile when they heard his music. He doubted he would ever get a chance to experience that again.

Soft words escaped his lips as he walked out of Rosehall. He had never been a mumbler until becoming the High Lord. When problems became too much, he was either prone to letting the beast out or talking to himself. One was definitely a bit healthier than the other. Even if he wasn't sure which it was at times.

Tamlin hardly paid attention to his surroundings as he walked. His feet taking him in the direction that he needed to go. His mind too distracted by whatever it was the Night Court was planning. None of it made sense. Why were they so focused on the human realms? Why was his spymaster so worried about the whole thing? Why did he want to question everything and not leave this whole mess up to Lucien and Cariaru? That should've been his go-to. He should've been focused on the wedding and getting rid of these feelings he had for Lyriel.

The Night Court really did have to ruin everything. Didn't they?

He strolled into the maze of roses. It was not the ones his father had given his mother but something she had done herself. She had taken him to the maze at the northeast corner of the grounds often as a child. They'd played for hours while his father trained his brothers.

He missed her most of all. He knew that it was shitty and that he shouldn't have missed one of his family members more than the others. But he did. His mother had been the only one who had ever seen him and cared. The only one who had wanted the best for him. Maybe that was why it hurt the most that she was gone.

The scent of roses had once been overwhelming to him. He had thought that it would one day drown him. That he would die by an overwhelming amount of roses. They had wound up in his nightmares. But now ... Now they calmed him. Now he realized they were more of a birthright than anything to ever be afraid of.

He sank down on a stone bench that was still slightly damp from the storm that had ravaged them last night. He didn't mind it. The chill bit into him and kept him thinking critically about what was happening.

He rested his elbows on his knees, his forefingers resting on his top lip to keep himself from speaking anymore. The wind blew through his hair, his eyes fluttering to a close. He would figure this out. Somehow, he would figure this out.

The human queens had to have something to do with this. Maybe Azriel hadn't told Cariaru yet. They had only known her for a few months. It wasn't long enough for her to gain their trust. Soon though, she would be able to give them the information they required. Soon Tamlin would know exactly what was happening beyond his borders. At least, he hoped so.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him. The restless energy that had been building in him suddenly ceased. Whoever was approaching him would find that sneaking up on the High Lord of Spring was one of the stupidest decisions that one could ever make.

"Tamlin," her voice was soft, soothing his soul more than anything else ever had. What he wouldn't give to hear her say her name a thousand times. His name had never sounded like a song before. But Feyre made it sound so beautiful that he wanted to cry.

"Feyre," he turned his head towards her. He tried to smile, tried to make her feel as though everything was fine. That he was at ease. Yet, would he ever be at ease? He had no hopes of understanding the Night Court. Nor did he know how he was supposed to marry Feyre when it felt as though everything was quickly beginning to change. It was a mess that he did not quite know what to do about. "What are you doing out here?"

"I needed some fresh air," she admitted as she sat down beside him on the bench. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. He wanted nothing more than to keep her close for the rest of his life.

At least then he would be able to protect her. He needed to protect her.

"You didn't come to bed last night." He stiffened at that. Ianthe had been able to smell Lyriel on him. Would Feyre? Had she been able to figure out different scents yet? He didn't know but he hoped that she hadn't. Hoped that she was still so confused about that and everything else that came with being a High Fae.

He felt like the world's shittiest person just for thinking it.

"I had work to attend to. Nothing serious," he added quickly. "Just precautions. I don't want anything ruining our wedding."

He tried to ignore the grimace that flashed across her expression. He had been trying to ignore the fact that whatever bond that had once been between them was quickly evaporating. He no longer felt that strong pull towards her. He knew that she avoided him as much as he avoided her. But he was fighting every single day to get that spark back. Maybe this whole thing was Lyriel's fault. Maybe they both just needed some time apart. Time to just process all that they had been through. All that they continued to go through.

But if she was away from him he would be unable to protect her. Who knew what the other High Lords would do if they found out anything about Feyre. He was keeping her as safe as he possibly could by keeping her contained.

He just didn't know that it was slowly killing her. He didn't want to know.

"Are you alright? You look like you haven't slept in days," he said, his green eyes almost glowing with the concern that he felt for her.

Feyre nodded her head, sheets of golden brown hair falling around her. "I'm fine, Tam. Just ... Just concerned with how fast everything's been happening."

He could understand that. Could understand how frustrating the whole thing must have been. She had died, been brought back, and was now about to marry him. It had been a long few months. A long time that had somehow not been long enough. He wished he could have done more to help ease her into the whole thing. Wished that they could put off the wedding longer. However, he thought it would be the best way to put all the horrible shit behind him.

Behind them.

Feyre deserved to not worry about any of this. Not to worry about Amarantha or Hybern or any of it. She had done enough. She deserved to rest.

"We'll get through it," he promised her as he gently took her by the hand. "We always do."

Her hand felt stiff and cold in his. It felt more like the hand of a corpse than of the woman that he loved. What had changed between them? Had they been through too much? Could they ever go back to what they had been? They deserved a happily ever after. He had been her fairytale prince. She had been his knight in shining armor. They were done now. They could sit back and rest without worrying about any of it.

Yet they were broken. Perhaps they always had been. Two broken people who had tried to make each other whole. It just wasn't working this time.

They had been broken down beyond repair. Tamlin just could not see it. He could not begin to let her go.

#tamlin #acotar #Tamiel #acotar fluff #acotar fanfic #tamlin defense squad #tamlin x oc #tamlin fluff #Lyriel #lyriel chaeren #tamlin x lyriel #lyriel is just here to give tamlin migraines #lyriel is a badass #tamlin rosehall

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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 3 years

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There was a prompt by @frances-the-red:

Oh no! Geralt lost his engagement ring! 😱 What happened and how is the godling Hansi involved? (Just a silly little prompt if you ever become bored. Love your writing! 🧡)

I changed the engagement ring to wedding ring because there has never actually been an engagement, let’s just say that’s not a Nilfgaard custom ;) Also, I changed Hansi to the more common Johnny. I think nobody will understand the joke anyway and English-speaking gamers just know him by this name. Hansi is his name in the german dubbing (which is the same as Johnny) and that happens to be the name of my favorite Heavy Metal singer, too. And I love that you prompted me with it :)

One last thing: I had to alter the outcome of a specific Witcher 3 quest for this. Usually, Sarah only meets Johnny if you throw her out of the house where Corinne meets her. So for this story, let’s just assume it went a bit different.

Enough babbling! This one is called “A seeker enthralled by a flame” (Avantasia lyrics this time), read under the cut or on AO3. 5330 words, rated G.

The second of waking up, Geralt realized something was fundamentally wrong.

This had nothing to do with the fact that dull rays of the sun shining through the curtains indicated morning was already advanced. Nothing to do with him waking up in a foreign bed. Or that half of his body was hanging out, as if it missed the habit of a much larger bed. All of this was not unusual. So what was it? When his eyes opened, Geralt immediately knew where he was (in Novigrad), what he had been doing the night before (getting drunk with Dandelion and Zoltan out of pure reunion), and why he was here (a contract, of course, and this was a stopover on the way back).

Nothing of all this was wrong. What he could see of the room without moving his head (possibly one too many beers) was normal. A guest room at the Chameleon, furnished with Dandelion's somewhat exuberant taste and clearly refined by Priscilla's hand; fresh flowers and fruit on a sideboard. The fingertips of Geralt's right hand brushed wood. It took him a moment to realize that his arm was hanging out of the bed, touching the floor. The floor felt normal, as did his body, which was slowly waking up and painfully reminding him that he needed to pee.

But he was not ready yet. His mind was still trying to trace this feeling, even if it might well have been only a vague thought from a dream. Lost in thought, he involuntarily began tapping a kind of rhythm on the floor, an odd imitation of what Emhyr did when he became impatient. And then he understood. An ice-cold feeling ran through his abdomen, and the natural need was gone.

The ring was missing.

Hastily Geralt raised his hand, straightening in the bed, bringing his fingers close to his face, staring. His ring finger had a small, light-colored indentation, an imprint that made it even more evident that something was missing. His wedding ring was gone. Against better judgment, Geralt jumped out of bed and carefully examined the floor; he even crawled under the bed, checked every crack, combed the whole room.

It was simply easier to assume that the ring had slipped off his finger (it sat perfectly, he never took it off, not even when he put on gloves and went into battle) than to believe someone had dared to steal it from him. That was ridiculous. Stealing from a witcher? In one of the hottest establishments in town (a fucking wicked, disgusting town full of disgusting subjects, well). Even drunk as he had been last night, that was not possible. Who would dare to enter his room without him noticing (impossible) and pull a ring off his finger?

It was undoubtedly a valuable piece, but the silver... Geralt's eyes immediately darted to the wall next to the bed, although he had long known what he would see. The swords were still there, leaning neatly against the wall in their scabbards.

That didn't make any sense. Who would steal a ring when there were two swords whose common material value was significantly higher? Indeed, the blades were almost unsaleable – no merchant in his right mind would buy witchers' swords, especially those whose engraved runes were more than clearly traceable to the owner. Nevertheless, Geralt hurriedly began to check the rest of his equipment. The armor, the saddlebags... everything was there; nothing was missing.

Geralt sat down on the bed, resting his slightly aching skull on his hands. Had he perhaps lost the ring during the evening? Or – even worse – had he, in a frenzy, agreed to use the piece as a prize in a game of Gwent? He was notorious (well, in the eyes of a certain man at least) for occasionally doing idiotic things, but Geralt thought something like that was out of the question.

Besides, he didn't want to imagine that possibility because it would have meant that, in a few days, he would have had to confront his husband to tell him he had lost the ring. The symbol of their love come true, the flame that he always carried with him like the one in his heart....

"Silly. And you're hyperventilating."

There wasn't really a voice in his head, but he could imagine it very well (and that was very close to what Emhyr would actually say before he found out the ring was gone). Besides, the voice was right. Geralt took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. If the idea of being robbed seemed absurd, at least there was a way to find out if it was valid. All he had to do was focus on possible clues in the room. However, that was easier said than done; after all, he was in Novigrad, in a much-frequented house – supposedly the most popular in the whole city. Looking for traces in this room was like telling a dog to search through a massive pile of shit to find out if his best friend had been there.

The same was true for the smell. However, chance aided him �� this room didn't seem to be used quite as often. Perhaps Dandelion indeed did keep it only for friends at all times, or maybe he exaggerated his establishment's popularity. In any case, most of the traces and smells that Geralt's senses picked up were older and not of concern. Quite clearly, his own smell still hung in the room, an almost visible cloud of alcohol, leather, horse.... well, he had arrived only a few hours before. But there was something else. More like a hunch that someone else had actually been here – a kind of whiff, an indefinable but strangely familiar smell, as if he had sensed it once before, and a tiny trail of footsteps, as delicate as if that had been just a ghost. But a ghost would have left no visible traces at all.

Even these were almost impossible to see, smell or feel. It was strange, but at least a better explanation than that he had simply lost the ring. Still, what creature would have managed to pull the thing off his finger and disappear with it completely without a sound and almost without a trace? There was only one way to find out, and, if possible, before anyone saw him without the ring. Now it didn't seem like such a good idea that he had presented it so openly (because he was damn proud of it).

Geralt left the Chameleon like a suitor who had fallen asleep over his secret lover – very quietly. No one was awake yet anyway. He disappeared without a message, which was not that unusual, and sneaked out through the back exit. It was challenging to follow the delicate breeze on the streets and impossible to make out the tracks anymore. Almost as if the thief had fled across the rooftops – a not so unlikely possibility. Besides, the city itself stank of all the shit that places like these stink of: too many people and their numerous vices.

His motivation was high (if not desperate), so his focus was tremendous. The sight of a witcher trudging through Novigrad with a grim expression on his face, looking neither left nor right, was not common even here. As so often, his reputation preceded him, and if he had bothered to look into the eyes of the people who hurriedly avoided him, he probably could have guessed which of the numerous things said about him they were most likely to believe. He didn't care anyway. Geralt followed the fleeting trail of a breeze mixed with so many smells that it became almost impossible to keep track of it.

Twice he lost it, once he almost lost his nerve, and yet he held on convulsively to that one delicate scent. It led him out of the city, which was good; it would be easier to track now. Only briefly did he give up following the scent because, outside the city gate, he was sure to find it again. The trail led directly away from the main road, which didn't surprise him. The brazen thief surely had not been interested in encountering any guards. So he unhitched his horse from the capable businessman who had recently started running a livery stable near the entrance.

*//////{<>==================-

It went cross-country, over meadows and fields, which Geralt had to ride around as a precaution if he did not want to incur the farmers' wrath, and he lost valuable time, but never the trail. Whoever had taken the ring had been nimble, and they were several hours ahead of him. But he wondered where this would lead. The ring had hardly been stolen by a magpie that had flown into its nest with it. So why through the countryside and into the forest? Maybe the thief just wanted to hide and wait because there was no direct way to the next town from here, and Geralt still considered it doubtful that it would be possible to sell the ring, just like the swords. However, some crazy collectors paid a fortune for witcher's memorabilia. Maybe there was a black market for his wedding ring. This was such a monstrous thought that he already imagined what he would do to the thief if….

Geralt stopped as if rooted to the spot. The scent ceased here, in a small clearing of beech trees, in the middle of a meadow, sprinkled with daisies and wild herbs. He had been leading Roach on the reins for quite a while because the forest had become too dense. Now he let go, patted her briefly, and whispered to her to be good and stay put, which earned him a snort that sounded almost contemptuous.

The trail might end here, but that didn't mean he had lost it. He perceived a presence that was trying to hide, but... Geralt looked up.

"Johnny," he said. "You can come down now."

Up there, perched in a treetop, sat the reason why the smell had appeared familiar to him from the very beginning. He had just not been able to assign it to the little godling immediately. In fact, Geralt had not expected to see him again at all.

"I don't want to," resounded a pitched voice from above.

"I can imagine, but I'd rather you come down. My neck hurts from staring up."

"That's old age."

"I'm sure you know something about that," Geralt replied patiently. "Come down now. I want to ask you something."

Johnny grumbled, and he played coy for a few more seconds, but he seemed to realize that he would not escape the witcher just by hiding in the tree. So he climbed down the bark as nimbly as a squirrel, but when he reached the ground, he still kept some distance.

"Long time no see, witcher," he chirped, though also with a certain mistrust – which, in Geralt's opinion, he had good reason to feel.

"Johnny, you know it's dangerous for you to show yourself outside," Geralt began carefully.

The little one grimaced.

"I'm careful. Besides, sometimes it's pretty boring to just sit inside all the time."

"You promised to watch Corinne – and Sarah, didn't you?"

"And I do! Really!"

Now a genuine smile covered the godling's face, who outwardly and also in many traits almost resembled a child. The smile might have as much to do with his conspecific Sarah as with the sorceress who had taken them in. They could have lived a pleasant life in the wilderness, where they would not have had to hide all the time. But the godling's natural kindness had driven Sarah to return to Novigrad as if she felt a connection with the oneiromancer, and Johnny had gone along. It was certainly not a forever bond, but it seemed to work.

"I'm sure you do," Geralt replied, "But listen.... is it possible you paid me a visit last night?"

Johnny's big eyes had an innocent look.

"Maybe?"

"And did you maybe take something that doesn't belong to you?"

Johnny scratched his head.

"Well, that would depend on how you define property, I guess."

Geralt sighed.

"My ring, Johnny. Why did you steal my ring? And don't even try to deny it. I know you have it in your little pouch."

Involuntarily, the godling's gaze went to the slim bag he carried over his shoulder. There could hardly be a more apparent admission of guilt, and he noticed his mistake immediately.

"Oh, unfair," he complained. "You tricked me. That'll teach me to play with witchers again."

"This isn't a game, Johnny," Geralt said, now noticeably more severe. "Give the ring back."

"Oh, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"I need it."

"For what?" sighed Geralt.

"That's a secret," the godling quickly replied.

"Johnny..."

"No, no, I won't be fooled again!"

"I'm sure Corinne doesn't know anything about it. Right? Would she approve?"

"You're not going to rat me out, are you? That's not proper between friends."

Johnny was visibly indignant now.

"It's not proper between friends to steal from each other, either."

The godling sighed.

"Oh, fine. Suppose you don't rat me out! Promise!"

Geralt counted very slowly inwardly to ten before answering, albeit through clenched teeth.

"I promise. So?"

"Well, if you can give anything on a witcher's word of honor.... I'll try to summon Liuba."

Geralt stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Liuba, the goddess of love?"

Johnny nodded eagerly. Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, I have no idea how this works among you godlings, but if Sarah isn't interested in you in that way, summoning a tricky goddess certainly isn't the best approach..."

"Dumbass. It's not for me," Johnny interrupted him. "It's about Corinne. She's been pretty lonely since she started taking care of us. She doesn't go out much, and even though we've offered to leave, she says she doesn't want us to. As far as we know, there are hardly any mages left in town. It is reasonably safe, but most are suspicious. And Corinne believes that no one who doesn't understand her powers can love her."

"Did she say that?"

Johnny sighed theatrically.

"We're magical beings, witcher. She doesn't have to say anything."

"All right, but... Johnny, you and Sarah are already very rare. Gods are – well, in many cases, just myths. Things made up by humans who found winter too cold and dark. And even if Liuba does exist, she may not be the best choice. According to her legend, she more or less killed a woman who asked her for help. Which technically fulfilled the deal to reunite her with her beloved, who happened to die on the battlefield at the same time."

"Hogwash," the godling replied contemptuously. "I do believe that gods exist. And that they are nothing other than magical beings, just like us. You should understand that, even if your magic is a flyspeck compared to what I can do. That they are myths, yes, that is a merit of the humans, and that's good because otherwise, they would have probably wiped them all out. This way, they've just forgotten many of them."

Annoyed, Geralt blew a strand of hair out of his face.

"All right, let's not argue about the existence of gods. Why does my ring have to be the pledge to call her?"

"It must be a symbol of true love," Johnny said seriously.

"Surely there will be enough love to be found in Novigrad..."

"You don't understand! What do you think I have tried already? Garters, lockets with drawings in them, love letters.... None of it worked. This may be a big city, but true love is rarely found."

"You stole all that?"

The godling shrugged.

"And a lot of wedding rings," he admitted. "But yours is special. There's much stronger magic in that."

"There's no magic in it at all," Geralt objected.

Johnny chuckled.

"You have no idea. There is destiny in true love, and the two combined are a rarity. Your ring radiates that. No wonder you don't realize it. You can't do anything but light fires and make people look elsewhere when you don't like them."

"That's not quite what..."

"That's some magic you don't know a thing about," Johnny continued. "Why you, of all people, have a ring like that is beyond me. There are far more beautiful wedding rings; believe me, I've had enough in my hand. But I haven't seen one that had an engraving like that. Even the metal was chosen with care. Almost all the wedding rings I saw were gold; yours is not."

"But what makes you think you can conjure Liuba here in the wilderness, of all places?"

"Ha, my dear, research!"

Johnny tapped his nose, a strangely touching gesture, even if it was meant to express superiority.

"Corinne had picked up some books so we wouldn't be bored. I honestly believe, secretly, that she genuinely thinks we're like children because of our shape. Well, anyway, one of the books was about local legends in the area. It was not difficult to get to the right place. The book said that some lovers claimed to have seen Liuba there."

"Did the book also say that it was dangerous?" Geralt asked dryly.

"It said that only true love could summon her," the godling replied unaffected. "Otherwise, Liuba would punish the callers. That's why I need your ring, you see."

"Well, let's say I believe all that; what happens if you succeed in calling the goddess with this pledge?" asked Geralt.

"She will accept the gift and fulfill my wish: that Corinne meets the love of her life. You know, she wouldn't have to take care of us. We can do it quite well on our own. But Sarah thinks we make sure her powers don't turn against her. I guess all this dream magic isn't that much fun."

"I can't let that happen," Geralt said seriously.

"What, you don't begrudge Corinne finding someone she loves?" asked Johnny indignantly.

"This isn't about Corinne. You can't give my ring to some goddess. This is my wedding ring, Johnny. It's very important to me."

"Weren't you listening? That's also one reason why it'll be so valuable to Liuba."

"I get it," Geralt replied grimly. "But it's my ring, and you can't have it. You'll have to find something else."

"I told you, I've already tried."

"All right... I'll try. I'll get you a pledge of true love that's just as good."

Johnny grimaced.

"I don't think that's possible."

"You do believe that you can summon a goddess, and I don't think that will work, either with my ring or if we sacrifice a virgin."

"That's barbaric," Johnny said indignantly.

"That's why we're not doing it," Geralt returned irritably. "Listen, you know I could just take that ring off you. But I don't want to hurt you or your, well, religious feelings. So I'm going to help you and get you another love symbol. I'm convinced it doesn't even have to be magical."

"But..."

"You don't even know her legend," Geralt continued. "The woman who summoned Liuba paid with jewelry. Among them was possibly a love pledge, a gift, but that's only part of the ritual, isn't it?"

Johnny nodded slowly.

"Well, there are a few other things required as well, I've already obtained them all, wasn't exactly easy either."

"You mean you stole those too."

"How could I have bought them?" the godling replied innocently. "So, what's your plan?“

*//////{<>==================-

Geralt didn't believe for a second that Johnny would succeed in summoning a goddess - let alone that she was anything more than a legend. What he did believe, however, was that maybe something was there. The fact that the information in Johnny's book pointed explicitly to a particular location was hardly a coincidence. Also that the ritual was described in detail – although the special ingredient, namely the love pledge, was mentioned rather vaguely in the book, as he had gotten out of Johnny after some more inquiring. Geralt thought it possible that perhaps something really could be summoned at this point, but certainly not a goddess. A specter, perhaps, or a cursed being, a corgowrath, a Shishiga… whatever it was, he believed it to be rare and old, probably dangerous.

He asked the godling not to try to start the ritual without him but to prepare it so that they could start right away when Geralt returned. Meanwhile, he rode back to Novigrad, spending an outrageous amount of money on a small silver box decorated with tacky rose petals made of tiny, inexpensive gems. Then he spent considerable time unobtrusively looking around for a mage or sorceress. He could by no means go to Corinne with his request without betraying Johnny – which he didn't want to do because it was clear to him that the godling meant well. But as a being exceedingly connected with nature, he lacked the sense for many human characteristics, and he did not grasp the danger that could hide in such magical incantation. Furthermore, Geralt was aware that he would only get his ring back safely if he played at least partially by Johnny's rules. And in the end, it was always about playing with these creatures.

He found a mage who, even if they officially no longer had to hide, made a somewhat nervous impression. Geralt had the box covered with a spell that he had thought about for a while and was reasonably sure that Johnny wouldn't recognize what was actually behind it. This took a while, and the mage relaxed a bit, even admitting at the end that he still slept poorly, albeit the city was safe for his kind again. However, prejudices did not disappear from people's minds so quickly. Emhyr held back on the presence of soldiers in the city; it was still a sensitive topic in negotiations. Of the northern kingdoms, no one felt responsible either, which is why crime still flourished in Novigrad. Before leaving, Geralt recommended that the mage visit Corinne – just for safety. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that he was traveling in the matter of love, after all. That was ridiculous, and besides, it was none of his business.

When he returned, Johnny had prepared the ritual. He had set up a circle in the clearing, made of half-burned candles and at least one unused one. In the middle of it, he had placed a pile of gifts, mainly jewelry and love letters, all stolen like the candles – like Geralt's ring, but it was not among the other stuff. The godling noticed Geralt's look and defended himself by saying that all of this was only for security, to strengthen the spell.

"I really don't think that's going to work," Geralt said, "not even with this."

He held up the silver box.

"For someone who possesses such a mighty token of love, you're surprisingly doubtful of its power," Johnny remarked pointedly.

"Maybe, but I'm a reformed skeptic when it comes to love."

Johnny shook his head.

"So, what did you bring?"

"In this box," Geralt claimed dramatically, "I had one of my memories magically locked away."

"What?"

"A memory of a loving moment."

"Memories are powerful," Johnny mused. "I just hope it's nothing objectionable?"

Geralt shrugged.

"Love has many facets. Ultimately, it's up to your goddess to decide, isn't it?"

The godling still looked a little indecisive, but finally, he nodded.

"All right, I'll tell you how we do it," Geralt continued.

"But I've read the book, I know..."

"Well, you can do it as the book says. But as soon as the time comes when the box is needed, you give me back the ring. At that exact moment, you hear?"

Johnny tilted his head.

"That's not stupid," he said appreciatively. "You think if your little box isn't strong enough, after all, Liuba will be attracted to the power of the ring. In the end, the memory in your little box might still be enough for her. Clever."

"Exactly," Geralt lied without batting an eye.

"That way, you can keep the ring, and I can still talk to her.... it's just a little bit of cheating. I like it," Johnny said. "Let's get started."

So they began. Geralt lit the candles in the order Johnny solemnly told him to. He had even stolen a flint, which Geralt thought was almost more dangerous than anything else he had done. Then began a litany of mumbled words, a strange mixture of elder speech and some gibberish. Maybe some swear words, who could tell for sure.

At some point, the godling reached into his little bag, and at last, Geralt saw his ring again. The sight of it stung him a little. Perhaps it was indeed strange how attached he was to this object. Still, he did not regard the ring as a mere object.

"It's time," Johnny whispered, his face a single mask of concentration, his big eyes half-closed.

Geralt held out his hand with the box. The atmosphere was strange. Evening had fallen on the small clearing; the light had given way to a pale gray, at the edge of which still hung the last pink of the setting sun. The birds' singing from the forest had stopped; not even the woodpecker, which had been hammering on some trees almost all day, could still be heard. Actually, all sounds had fallen silent, even that of small animals in the undergrowth. Although a gentle breeze was blowing, not even a rustle could be heard.

That was strange, but even stranger was that the air, which had been pure and clear all day, seemed to condense. Johnny had insisted that Geralt put down the swords, but he had placed them on the floor not too far from him and was now glancing at them. If any specter was indeed going to show itself, he had to be quick. The silver sword was prepared in case, but since he didn't know what he was up against, he had to decide on a possible potion at the last second. And he had to get Johnny to safety somehow.

"Now," Geralt hissed as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Promptly, he held out the box to Johnny. The latter’s eyes seemed even bigger than usual, and a delighted smile now appeared on his face. He took the box and gave the ring to Geralt, who immediately put it on his finger. At the same moment, a strange glow seemed to fill the air. Geralt stood waiting at the edge of the candle circle, his knees slightly bent, ready to make a daring leap towards the swords. It seemed to grow darker around them, while a bright spot of light remained in the center of the circle. The air crackled. Suddenly Johnny chuckled and lowered his eyes in a shy gesture. Geralt stared over at him, frowning.

"What's going on?"

The godling did not answer. He seemed not to perceive Geralt at all. Then he nodded and began to speak incoherently.

"That's right," he said, and "What mage?"

He chuckled again. Then he pointed to Geralt.

"No, he has no idea," he said.

The witcher wondered if Johnny had gone mad. Nothing was there. It seemed as if an apparition was about to materialize, but at the same time, as if something prevented it from doing so. Johnny spoke to the air. Geralt thought carefully. What creature could manage to make itself entirely invisible for a witcher, not even causing the medallion to vibrate? It was also strange that the changed atmosphere had nothing dangerous about it at all. Nevertheless, he thought it impossible that Johnny was talking to a love goddess right now – or that she would show herself to the godling, of all people, who had nothing to offer but a handful of jewelry and a small box covered with a strong but rather silly spell. This only confirmed his suspicion that it was not about a love pledge at all. Geralt took a quick look at his ring. The engraved flame on it seemed to glow red. He ran the index finger of his left hand over it. It was all in his imagination; there was nothing at all.

Just at that moment, the strange sensation hovering over the surroundings disappeared, and suddenly, the birds began to sing again. The light was back as before. Everything was exactly as before, just as if nothing had ever happened – only the candles had all gone out.

"What was that just now?" Geralt addressed the godling.

Johnny looked at him innocently, the box still in his hand.

"Look, she didn't take it at all. Nor any of the other stuff. She said she'd do it for free for me. You got all worked up over your ring for nothing!"

"Better safe than sorry," Geralt grumbled, "What did she say, your goddess?"

He sounded so skeptical that Johnny burst out laughing.

"You don't believe it even now, do you? I suppose you didn't see anything? Well, these gods play by their own rules, my dear. She said Corinne's already been taken care of. I don't know what that means, but I think Sarah and I won't have to worry about her anytime soon."

"I see," Geralt replied. He couldn't think of any other answer. He made a mental note to ask Dandelion to check on Corinne occasionally. While he didn't actually believe Johnny had been talking to a goddess, as long as he didn't know what he was dealing with, he preferred to play it safe. If there was some spectral being around, someone would have to take care of it sooner or later.

*//////{<>==================-

"You're late."

Emhyr, engrossed in papers in his study as usual at this hour, did not precisely toss aside his quill at the sight of Geralt, but he leaned back, regarding his spouse intently.

"Late?" asked Geralt, after closing the door and making sure they were indeed alone (occasionally, there were minions in the alcoves, scurrying out at a hint). Only then did he casually stroll around the table to pick up the kiss he thought he richly deserved. He got it, and it felt like he had actually been gone too long. The fact that he then sat down on the desk, however, earned him a disapproving look.

"You're crumpling important documents. All I’m saying is that, according to my information, you had already arrived in Novigrad about a week ago. Usually, you stay a day or two, then you head back."

"You sent your spies after me?"

"Certainly not."

"So you have spies in Novigrad?"

"Don't act surprised," Emhyr returned. "With your penchant for dubious adventures, you can't blame me for occasionally liking to know where you hang out."

"Dubious... pah."

Geralt grinned cockily.

"Then why didn't your spies tell you where I was if you think I should have been back by now?"

Emhyr didn't bat an eye, but at least he had to admit, "I'm afraid they... lost sight of you at some point."

"Well, maybe I just don't let myself be watched on my dubious adventures," Geralt countered. "I'll tell you about it sometime; however, right now, I want to get rid of the dust from the journey. Just this much: I was traveling in matters of love."

Emhyr folded his arms, raising his brows.

"Is this going to be some weird attempt to make me jealous?"

"Oh, would that work?"

"Sure, though it would be high treason."

"High treason?"

"Of course," Emhyr replied calmly, "betraying the Emperor is high treason."

"In that case," Geralt said, "it's a good thing your spies didn't get me."

He wiped away Emhyr's now slightly confused expression with another kiss. Before closing his eyes, he took one last look at his ring.

This story was probably better left a secret after all.

#writing #fanfiction #Emhyr/Geralt #Emralt #Witcher 3

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uponrightful · 3 years

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Unforgettable

So this isn’t my normal S.W.’s content.

I’ve been working on this for a college final, and thought I would share it.

(Note from the Author: If you’d like a little atmosphere while reading… play the original “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. It might replay once or twice, but I don’t think Rose would mind hearing it. :) )

A cast iron skillet with pork chops sizzled over the wafting heat of the stovetop. The worn silver handle sat turned away from the edge of the old Glenwood. It was a long ago formed habit after that same skillet had ended up in the floor, smattering gravy and fried potatoes to the floor. The pockets in her apron wouldn’t cause any problems tonight. Next to the pork chops sat a towering stock pot full of cubed potatoes, rumbling under a cloud of steam that poured over the sides of the cookware. Rose dropped her wooden spoon down into the pot, stirring just long enough to make sure nothing was sticking. She hummed a little tune as she went along, tending to the collard greens and bacon grease, letting the shaky sound of her voice carry her through the dinner preparations.

At one point she might’ve swayed to the King’s voice, loving the smooth piano and gently dancing around the kitchen with light feet. Maybe giggling at how silly it was for a young woman to be dancing in the kitchen. Labors of love had Rose’s wrists swollen and fingers crooked, detailing just how many nights she’d spent toiling away to soft sounds of music in the kitchen. Only now, she did well to lift the cast iron skillet onto the stove without making an awful racket when the weight became too much. Rose preferred to hum now, occasionally deepening her voice to sing a few words along with Mr. Cole. Her ankles protested the constant standing and so would her babies if they had seen her fussing over such a trivial thing as dinner on a Thursday night.

No doubt her daughter-in-laws would offer to mash the potatoes for her, or politely bargain with Rose to tend to the cornbread once it was done in the oven. With a wrinkled smile she would decline, knowing just how much longer the cornbread needed without a timer and that you needed to add buttermilk before thinkin’ about reaching for that wood-handled potato masher hanging on the wall. Bless them girls, they always offered to help but dinner never turned out quite right if Rose wasn’t the one “doin’ the fixin’”. Donnie Jr. didn’t like it when the collards weren’t greasy enough, and Billy always liked the potatoes a little lumpy. But tonight, only three pork chops simmered in the skillet.

It had become one of her newer habits -only about twenty years old now- where she cooked a little differently than she had before. No longer did she have to catch children running around her feet, or take a moment to step away from the Glenwood to tie a shoelace or button up a jacket. It was in the last twenty years Rose hadn’t bothered with buying the fattier cuts of pork opting for the new green-packaged medallions, always reading ‘low fat’ or ‘heart healthy’. The smaller portions and ‘grass fed’ options weren’t the only things that had changed for Rose. Now she needed a pair of glasses to see just a bit better to stir in a little more salt and pepper to the greens. Even the once-white paint on her stove had tinged a bit yellow despite umpteen tries at scrubbing away the aged tone on the iron.

In a different time she would’ve worn a pretty dress and a little heel as she cooked; Maybe going far enough to wear some of that light pink Avon lipstick she used to love. Of course she couldn’t really remember the last time she’d seen one of the order booklets on the church’s greeting table. All those trivial things had fallen to the wayside over time. Rose looked down at her feet, bare and blending in with the gnarled and knotted floor below her. A bright smile spread over her face at the sight. Her mother would’ve had a fit if she could see Rose cooking without shoes on. Even worse than being barefoot in the kitchen Rose neglected to wear a dress as well, preferring some corduroy pants and a sweatshirt with buttons sewn to the front in the shape of a heart. A Christmas present from many years back, given to her by Billy’s wife as newlyweds. Rose didn’t mind the thought of her own mother’s disapproval of her style, rather choosing to reminisce on that sweet Christmas so long ago and how much she treasured the button-embroidered shirt from her sweet daughter-in-law.

With shuffling feet Rose moved away from her place at the stove to set the dinner table. She pulled at the silverware drawer, making sure to gently guide it a little to the right so that it wouldn’t stick or make that awful squeaky noise. In the back of her mind, she momentarily reminded herself to pick up some beeswax and grease the darn thing instead of putting it off any longer. Billy had used some type of spray last month, promising that it would be better than her tried-and-true beeswax. But here Rose stood, listening to the sharp queak of the drawer pulling dryly across it’s wooden rails. Her shaky hands searched for the two best forks in the mess of mismatched cutlery, making sure that tonight the table would look its best with identical forks and knives. She wanted to celebrate the best way she knew how. After deciding on a set, she tucked them in the pocket of her apron. Just above her head in the cabinet above, Rose collected plates, little dessert dishes and salad bowls, stacking them in her hands with another precious memory playing out to that same sweet song she’d been humming all afternoon.

The table setting, milky white with small pink flowers painted along the rim of the dishes had been a wedding gift. Darling in their time -and still timeless in her opinion- as Rose set to work setting the table in the dining room. Again to her mother’s disapproval, she skipped adding a tablecloth before sitting the dishes and cutlery down in their respectful places. A table so well-used deserved to be seen, instead of being hidden under some plain white cloth. Little scratches in the varnished wood had once caused quite a fuss at dinner time; A dropped steak knife, or the unpracticed hands of a child dropping their fork onto the unprotected surface. Now, Rose could look at them with tenderness and a wisdom for the blemishes that life imprinted on everyone and everything. Seeing years of love and togetherness in the scuffed and scratched surface, just like in the growth rings of the planed wood that had been collected to make the table. The old thing was beautiful in its own unique way, and Rose couldn’t help but feel the same way about herself.

That internal clock ticking in her mind reminded her of the cornbread in the Glenwood, and additionally the pork chops that would no doubt be done by the time she added that buttermilk to the potatoes. Just as she’d already known, the cornbread came out the same as it always did… but not quite as good as she remembered her mother’s to be. Nevertheless Rose couldn’t help herself from sneaking a little nibble in an unsuspecting corner, enjoying the heavy weight of the bacon grease-soaked bread with a little nod of approval. Rose repeated the process of taste testing her other side dish, and tending to the pork in the cast iron with an expectant glance focusing on the back door just outside the kitchen.

It wouldn’t be much longer.

Dinner didn’t take a full two hours from start to finish, and more importantly Rose knew the drive to Dr. Nancy’s office in town only took eight minutes. If you were driving fifteen miles an hour down main street. The waiting room always took up twenty minutes of time, especially when that sweet receptionist wanted to know how everyone on the edge of town was doing with the annual hay cutting. It seemed Rose was the only woman who could find out how many more acres were needing laid down before a rainfall came.

Even Dr. Nancy knew that dinner was on the table at seven thirty though. She’d have Sam sent on his way long before Pat Sajack and Alex Trebek made their nightly appearances.

Normally the sound of gravel would set Rose into motion, delivering the serving dishes to the dining room, potholders protecting her wrinkled hands from the heat and subsequently the table. Filling cups with ice, and sitting them at their ritual place next to the fridge. Rose knew what time it was without even looking at the old clock above the ‘frigerator and even though she couldn’t hear the tires in the driveway anymore, it would only be a couple more minutes before that back door swung open on a bees-waxed hinge and a loud smack of the screen door following close behind. Another weathered smile broke her consistent humming. Maybe there were some things that didn’t change after all...

Struggling the most with the old cast iron, Rose managed to get it to the table without accident. The potatoes had been mashed, and transferred into a more presentable bowl resting on a crocheted potholder, browned from hundreds of bowls of potatoes. While the greens stayed in their skillet between the two other dishes, steaming temptingly up towards the dining room‘s light fixture. The salad Rose had chopped that morning rested in the middle of the table with a bottle of sour-cream base ranch accompanying it in a quart-sized mason jar. A pie also sat in the fridge, awaiting dessert time with the plastic container of sweet tea that had been religiously filled that morning as well.Of course none of that was considered ‘heart healthy’ but there were some recipes that didn’t agree with Dr. Nancy’s orders. Rose had never been royalty, or had any desire to be one. But in her heart of hearts this meal was more than worthy of being served to a king and queen… or the occasional doctor.

In her haste to bring the cornbread to the table, she’d missed the tap of the screen door on the doorframe, and the slow thump of boot heels over the hallway floor. Not even the rustle of a Woolrich coat unzipping and being hung on the coat rack just outside the kitchen alerted Rose that she was putting on quite a show.

“That someone so unforgettable… thinks that I am unforgettable too…” Rose sang, quite lost in her slow hustle of final preparations, unaware that her husband was standing with a big grin on his face. As terribly unaware as she was, Samuel couldn’t resist joining his sweet wife’s ode to Nat Cole.

“Like a song of love that clings to me, How the thought of you does things to me.” Sam’s voice wasn’t nearly as pretty as Rose’s, but he had sang just loud enough that her surprised gasp of realization had given away his little hiding place behind the wall.

They met in the middle of the kitchen, neither one wanting the other to walk the long distance. And as if they both still had the King‘s song playing, a gentle sway brought them together, right on time with the imagined strokes over ivory keys. The couple shared a little laugh, imagining how they must look to anyone out the window. Struggling to keep time with such a slow tempo, nevertheless letting their dinner get cold. This didn’t keep them from enjoying the moment, taking each other’s weathered hands and rocking gently to Rose’s light hum. She rested her head against his chest, cherishing the slight bump of his leather glasses pouch in his shirt pocket and the smell of freshly cut hay filling the room.

“Who are those two?” Sam’s warbly voice spoke out, rocking them in a circle towards the small shelf on the wall of the dining room. In the middle of family portraits, grandchildren, and children hung a monochromatic picture of Rose and Sam smiling brightly at each other. It had been taken ages ago… almost a lifetime.

“Hmm,” Rose paused in fake contemplation. “No idea. Must be as old as the hills by the looks of that old picture.” She chuckled when Sam’s eyes glowed mischievously at her little jab. Sensing that Sam might’ve been thinking the same thing she patted his shoulder knowingly.

“Well, you might be right there.” Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. “But I can’t imagine having spent sixty-two years married to anyone else.”

Sam ducked his head down pressing a soft kiss to the love lines between Rose’s greyed eyebrows, sighing contentedly. Her brown eyes had turned golden over the long years, reminding him of just how rich he was standing in the middle of the family kitchen. Even the soft circles she rubbed against his back soothed away the stiffness he’d felt sitting in the drivers seat of the truck.

“Happy Anniversary, dear.” He murmured into her hair.

“Happy Anniversary, my love.” She smiled brightly back at him, glowing just as brightly as she had sixty-two years ago today. “How was Dr. Nancy today?” He chuckled in response, extending his arm to let her take a slow spin, careful not to let her get too dizzy.

“Tickers ticking like it should be.” He paused, focusing on catching her hand after the turn-about, easing her back against his chest. “She did say to lay off the blackberry cobbler…” He added softly.

“Oh that woman… I already told her I was using fresh blackberries. Not frozen.” Rose sighed, thinking about how there was no pleasing the young doctor. “One day she’ll understand how nice it is to have a nice slice of pie after a hard day’s work.” Sam let out another chuckle, this time he was more than happy to oblige his wife with a little more good news from Dr. Nancy.

“I have more good news dear.” He waited for those bright golden brown eyes to look back up at him, waiting expectantly. “I didn’t have to schedule another appointment for a whole year.” His eyes glittering with a mix of tearful relief, and pure adoration for the prospect of another whole year with his best friend.

Tears welled in Rose’s eyes, followed by an unsteady little cheer of laughter. Her soft hands rubbing gleefully up and down his back. The two tightened their hug, still gently swaying as if the kitchen itself had put them under a spell where aching joints and deep wrinkles didn’t exist anymore. A room that didn’t remind them of how difficult life could be. The kitchen, with its wood-burning Glenwood was a sanctuary. A place where both Sam and Rose could forget about the bustle of appointments and prescriptions and celebrate a life full of love, all while swaying back and forth to King Cole.

#unforgettable #rose #sam #oc #grandparents

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tumbleweed-palmer · 3 years

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Just the Way You Are: Jimmy Palmer x Breena

Jimmy would be an absolute liar if he tried to claim he wasn’t freaking out about tonight. He was freaking out, really really really freaking out.

Breena Slater had asked him out on a date. She had finally asked him out.

He’d spent what seemed like forever pining over the pretty embalmer who occasionally came to retrieve bodies for one of the local funeral homes…though in actuality he’d only been pining over her for about a month.

Of course, Jimmy had been hesitant to take it beyond pining hopelessly at the sidelines.

Breena Slater was gorgeous and so passionate about her job, not to mention intelligent and pretty good at her job from what he’d heard around the grapevine. She was a talented embalmer, especially for someone as young and new in the industry as her. She usually worked only behind the scenes embalming bodies, but work had been busier than usual lately and the funeral home was short staffed. So, she’d wound up drawing the short straw to pick up bodies from NCIS.

That had put her in Jimmy Palmer’s path and soon enough it had placed her in his longing gaze.

There was one huge problem though. Hitting on Breena Slater over a corpse heading to the funeral home just seemed tacky to Jimmy. So, he hadn’t dared to even attempt it. Jimmy knew he wasn’t always the most appropriate guy on the planet given his usual bad habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time more often than he’d care to admit. Of course, he had a bad habit of making poorly timed jokes at the worst times.

He feared that this bad habit would rub a raw nerve with Breena. So, he tended to just keep his mouth shut when it came to the overwhelming desire to even attempt to flirt with her.

Jimmy was sad to say he had taken the cowards way out and bitten his tongue choosing instead to make heart eyes at Breena wishing that the situation was a little less professional so he could actually make an attempt to at least ask her to the movies.

Apparently his constant heart eyed expression had at least sent a signal to Breena who was apparently much smoother than him because she’d finally spoken up the week before her voice soft and gentle. “There’s this new coffee place opening nearby It’s supposed to be pretty nice, cozy too.”

Jimmy had eagerly nodded his head totally missing the hint. ”Oh, I love iced coffee. I know the sugar is horrible for me, but I do love them especially with the caramel drizzle and whipped cream.”

Breena had given him a small smile thankfully not minding how oblivious he truly was as she spoke again. “I was thinking of checking it out. Would you be interested?”

Jimmy could admit he’d been stunned. He was tempted to pinch himself and check if this was actually happening.

Apparently she took his silence as rejection because she began to flip through the paperwork she’d been holding a little quicker averting her eyes as she spoke again. “If you would rather not, then that’s fine. I know this is an odd environment to ask someone on a date in. We can just forget this happened if you aren’t interested.”

Jimmy wanted to kick himself as he finally snapped out of it and spoke. “No, I mean…yes, I mean yes I’d like to have coffee with you…and dinner too…if dinner is okay? We could do coffee and dinner too… If you just want coffee though that’s okay too, no pressure.”

Her laugh had made his heart flutter as she’d spoken amused by his stumbling remark. “Dinner would be nice. Is Friday okay?”

Friday was okay.

Now it was Friday evening and Jimmy was becoming gradually more and more anxious.

He’d at least forgone both the contacts and the pomade in his hair, as well as the cologne that Gibbs had compared to a French whorehouse…not what Jimmy would have hoped it was reminiscent of but Ducky seemed to agree having called it wretched.

Ducky had seemed to hint that Jimmy would be better off just being himself. Breena had seemed to like him as is, so that was worth something wasn’t it?

Still though Jimmy was horribly anxious.

He knew he was shaking as he entered the coffee shop and met her eyes. Oh God, had she just been sitting here waiting for him? He should have gotten her flowers but he’d second guessed himself and had decided against it. He was terrible at buying flowers and he couldn’t decide what to buy. Roses seemed too forward but daisies seemed too juvenile.

He took a deep breath trying to work up his confidence. It was hard to do when she was so stunning. she’d dressed quite nicely for this date, a cheery yellow top and a nice black skirt. It was a change from the more subdued grays and blacks she wore at work.

He made his way to her his stomach in knots as she stood to greet him. It only knotted further as she gave him a friendly hug he trying hard not to lean in too far to take in her perfume. It was a wonderful sweet rosy scent. He could drown in that smell, he felt his cheeks flush thanking whatever higher power that was listening that he didn’t blurt this out.

Things were going surprisingly well as the date progressed…well they were going as well as expected. Jimmy had stumbled a bit over his words but still.

Of course after a little bit talk turned to their professions though they’d chosen to keep their voices down knowing the details of both of their jobs weren’t for the comfort of the common public.

Jimmy had let himself become more comfortable as this talk started though a tiny part of him had to question if he was risking proper evidence protocol with this discussion, but he was sure he wasn’t as long as he didn’t give any names or deeper details.

He moved his hands describing it all as he spoke. “It was amazing, the wax the embalmer used for restoration was still mostly intact even after almost a decade. It was amazing to see such an amazing restoration still so intact after so many years. Dr. Mallard and I were stunned. It of course didn’t make the autopsy any easier but it was still a fascinating sight.”

Breena was interested in the conversation until she became distracted by Jimmy’s waving hand coming into contact with her cup of tea spilling it all over the table the lukewarm liquid spreading fast, some of it getting on her purse and ruining the half eaten muffin she’d been nibbling on, on the table,

Jimmy moved fast his hands frantic as he sopped up the mess with paper napkins his words rushed. “I am so so so so sorry. I am such a giant klutz. This is almost as bad as that time I dropped a dry ice frozen pumpkin in Autopsy. I can’t believe I spilled your tea all over everything.”

He spoke again frowning as the paper napkins began to turn to pulp in his hands. It seemed like the mess was just getting worse. He felt his stomach drop as he caught sight of her purse which was now partially covered in tea though Breena had moved it from the puddle forming on the table. “I ruined your purse, I am so incredibly sorry. This is so embarrassing.”

Breena was fast to speak gently taking the ruined napkins from him the calm in her voice taking him out of his sense of humiliation. “Jimmy, It’s fine. You didn’t ruin anything. It’s just a purse.”

“But it’s suede.” He exclaimed distinctly remembering a pair of suede loafers he’d once owned that had met a similar stained fate. Suede was a finicky fabric, so impossible to clean if it became wet and stained.

“And I can still clean it. It’s okay really. Even if it’s ruined, it’s still okay. It’s just a purse. There was no harm done.” Breena insisted her gentle smile so contagious that Jimmy couldn’t help but to return it.

She spoke a small frown crossing her features as they cleaned the remainder of the mess from the table. “Wait a minute…did you say you dropped a pumpkin frozen in dry ice in Autopsy?”

Jimmy smiled eagerly going into the story explaining how Dr. Mallard and he were trying to test the effects of dry ice, on a cadaver’s organs, using a pumpkin.

As Breena listened intently Jimmy couldn’t help but to feel his anxiety fade. He couldn't stop himself from speaking hoping he wasn't pushing for too much too soon. "I was actually wondering if you would be interested in stopping by NCIS later this evening? Uh....I...if you want, I mean...I know you stop by all the time for work, but I thought maybe I could introduce you to everyone."

He let out a sigh of relief as Breena spoke the sweet smile on her face soothing his nerves so easily. "Of course, I've heard so much about everyone. I'd love to meet everyone."

Ducky was right. Breena seemed to like Jimmy just the way he was.

#this hurts now that we know what we know #jimmy palmer #breena palmer

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pluto-art · 4 years

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Out of the Cold, Out of the Cavern

Type: Fan fiction (PatB) / Self-insert/Y/N/OC (sort of...) Genre: Hurt/Comfort (what else?) Words: 4,841 Rating: K+

Fan Fiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13724127/1/Out-of-the-Cold-Out-of-the-Cavern

As usual, I recommend the fan fiction version, which includes all of the italicized words.

Thanks to @shuunthenonbeliever, I was inspired to finally write this. :)

“One-sixty… one-eighty… two hundred,” the plump woman said, sliding a packet of bills off her jewel-laden fingers and into yours, like water pouring out of a spout.

“Thank you,” you replied, hesitant to pocket the load with those two, round, black eyes still staring at you, burrowing into your soul. They belonged to a young girl, nine or ten in age, perhaps, with short, auburn hair, her little white and turquoise dress bouncing up and down as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting, watching.

“She’ll need watch every weekday from three to nine,” instructed the woman, barely even looking at you or her daughter as she checked her purse for something. “If you have any trouble you have my work number.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“But you’ll be no trouble. Will you, Elmyra?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am. Nopey nopey nope! We’re gonna have so much fun laughing and cuddling and playing with all my fuzzy whittle animals!” screeched the girl, in a voice that scratched like sandpaper.

“Yes, dear. Be good to your new babysitter, all right? Mommy has to go to work now.”

“Bye byeeeeeee!!” Elmyra waved, smiling widely in mock innocence as her mother stepped out the door.

“Bye,” you called out, a bit half-heartedly.

As soon as the door snapped closed, Elmyra turned to look at you expectantly, beaming.

“All right. She’s gone. You can go play with your pets,” you said.

“Yaaaaaaaay!! I’m coming, my fuzzy whuzzies!”

And off she hopped, skipping down the hall and around a corner ever so gayly, to a spot that you knew to be her bedroom, where all manner of horrible and unspeakable things happened.

You turned, leaned against the front door, and inhaled a long, deep breath of air, practically sliding against the thing as you counted out the greens in your hand -- one one-hundred, a fifty, a ten, and two twenties. Yep. Checked out.

You pocketed the loose change, paused, then got up and stuck it in your backpack instead. It’s not like it was going anywhere for a while. Besides, you hated carrying around more than you needed to in your small pants pockets.

Tossing the backpack next to the living room couch, you collapsed onto said couch and took a gander at your new surroundings.

It was a quaint little abode. Could have done with a new paint job, perhaps, but the yellow interior and old-style furniture wasn’t completely abhorrent. The whole cottage was rather cute, in its own weird way, sporting the occasional gothic chandelier that would have looked much more at home in Edward Scissorhands’ house, or a wastebasket that was far too frilly and posh to even be used for its original purpose. But the seating was comfortable, the cable was working, and, best of all, the fridge, stuffed to its seams, was, according to Mrs. Duff, 100% at your disposal. If there was anything that solidified a job offer for you, it was free food.

Not that the job was all chipper and charm. You knew what you were getting into when you took it, and the intermittent screams coming from Elmyra’s bedroom, as well as the cat that nearly bit your finger off from earlier as you tried to coax him out from under the kitchen table, were stark reminders of that. Everyone in the city of Burbank knew who the Duff family was, whether it was personally or from the horror stories passed down the school halls. Most who visited their house, unless they were a close family friend or relative, never wanted to step back in it again. It was common knowledge that you only went to Elmyra’s if you wanted a nice, long day of yelling and suffering, and all in your dorm would have rather died than take on the job of babysitter when it was posted online. But you took it. You took it… partially ‘cause you had no choice. What with a full-time college schedule and not much else in the cupboard save for ramen and three-day-old apples, cash was in short supply and desperately needed, and even though the last thing you’d rather do was keep watch over this kid, you also couldn’t find a job anywhere else. Besides, the pay was good. Excellent, in fact. Two hundred every Friday. You might even splurge on Chinese this weekend.

Sliding the remote off the thick, wooden table, you flipped through the channels, one-by-one, finally landing on National Geographic. The narrator was deep in discussion about the living habits of bats. Appropriate, you thought, as Elmyra flitted out of the room, make-shift cape trailing behind her and blindfold on, zoomed into the kitchen and grabbed a packet of cookies before zipping back into her room, sounding very much like a bat as she laughed in a loud, screeching tone the entire time. You did a double-take as she slammed the door behind her. Were there… other voices coming from the room? No. That’s silly. You shook your head. Crazy.

The next couple of hours went by surprisingly uneventfully; so much so, in fact, that you wondered if there was any basis in the rumors that floated around about the Duff residence being a literal “house of horror”. Some even said the place was haunted. It wasn’t until 6:55 PM, when you went to remind Elmyra that dinner was almost ready, that you got a whiff that things weren’t… quite what they seemed.

Of the menagerie loose throughout the house, Elmyra owned a total of one cat, a parrot, a turtle, and two white mice. The turtle hid. The parrot squawked. And the mice? The mice… talked.

“Narf! Hello there!” the taller of the two said, as you meandered into the room. You cocked an eyebrow and hesitantly lifted a hand to wave at him.

“Hi…,” you replied, a little taken aback.

The shorter mouse didn’t look up at you. His focus was heavily trained on a notepad rife with complex calculations far beyond your intellect. He was scribbling away as if his life depended on it. He also called you a “disposable hindrance”, albeit indirectly to his associate, something you didn’t entirely appreciate, but you also didn’t dare talk back. Not yet.

“Oooo. Munchie time! Come on, little mousies!” Elmyra cheered, and she grabbed both rodents tight around the neck with her short, groping fingers, stuffing them into her shirt pocket as she ran out of the room and in the direction of the kitchen.

You stood behind for a moment, nonplussed. Okay then.

A soft shuffling down the hallway made you turn. It was the cat. He still looked quite wary of you.

“Hey, kitty,” you cooed, gently but not in a childish fashion; more like you were simply greeting a friend. “You gonna let me pet you this time?” you asked, bending down and holding out a hand for him to sniff.

Tenderly, cautiously, the cat stepped up to you, wagging its tail slightly behind him. You narrowed your eyes. A wagging tail wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when it came to cats, but this was… different. The closer he got to you the more he wagged it, as if he was… excited? Curious? He sniffed your hand… and licked it. Odd. Then he peered up into your face, lolled out a long, pink tongue, and barked.

You sat back a little, wide-eyed, as the cat-dog jumped up onto your legs and actually started licking your face. It was… weird. Cute, but… weird.

After a few hearty licks, the cat, satisfied, jumped back down, scratched itself, and ran off to play with a ball. You wondered why he hadn’t come up to you before. Perhaps he still had more of the cat than the dog in him. You also now understood why some people claimed that this house was “haunted”. Two talking mice and a barking cat. Not exactly “spooky”, under your terms, but definitely unusual. You wondered what other treasures this quirky household held. Pirate bones? Dinosaurs? You had to admit it was rather exciting.

Shuffling back into the kitchen, you found Elmyra at the table, greedily shoveling the macaroni and cheese you’d made for her into her mouth as she watched a cartoon program on tv. The mice sat beside her in a little highchair, both now dressed as infants, the big-headed one looking absolutely miserable. Now and again, Elmyra would shovel a huge spoonful of mac and cheese into one or the other’s mouth against their will. Lanky mouse didn’t seem to mind it too much. Grumpy mouse turned to look at you with an expression that read: “shoot me”.

“Elmyra, be careful with how you feed your pets, okay? They might not like too much mac and cheese…,” you suggested, cautiously, frowning a little at the big-headed mouse in pity.

You knew, of course, about this kid’s harsh treatment of her pets. Everyone knew. But her parents were rich, and could probably buy out the police station and the A.S.P.C.A. if they’d wanted to, and so no one said anything. Still, as an animal-lover, you were curious. Just how badly did she handle her critters? Maybe you could do something to relieve their pain while you were there? And the situation was bad, certainly, but you’d seen worse, and there was only so much you could say besides, at least while she was awake. Too much rebellion and you’d probably be fired. That being said, you fully intended to assist in giving the poor things a little reprieve once Elmyra went to bed in an hour, and so you let the macaroni-shoveling slide… for now.

8:00 PM came and went, with little deviation from the norm aside from Elmyra quickly popping into the kitchen again at 7:23 PM, opening the freezer, and succinctly closing it before racing back into her bedroom. You shrugged at the gesture, barely turning around from the tv, figuring she probably just went to grab some ice cream. Thankfully, Elmyra not only went to bed early, but also was a heavy sleeper, so by the time 8:15 rolled around she was already obediently in bed and snoring, needing only a reminder from you ten minutes prior. The lanky mouse opened an eye as you peeked in. He was sleeping in the bed with her.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making to close the door, but the little mouse sat up.

“Wait! D-Do you mind checking on Brain? Elmyra said he went to Antarctica, but… he hasn’t been back in a while. You’ll go look for him, won’t you?” he asked, twisting his tail as he said it.

“Sure. I’ll look for him,” you responded pleasantly, and you meant it. The mouse smiled.

“Oh, thank you!” he whispered, tucking back into bed. “Good night!”

“Night,” you whispered back, closing the door softly behind you.

You frowned. Antarctica? More than likely, cranky mouse was simply hiding somewhere, but internally you promised to keep an eye out and check a few cupboards.

Several drawers, a pantry, numerous cupboards, and a couple of closets later and you still couldn’t find the little mouse. You even checked the higher areas of the house, wondering if “Antarctica” meant somewhere scalable and colder. Your first thought, of course, had been the freezer, but that was preposterous. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Would she…?

Out of pure curiosity, you headed back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl from a cupboard as you did so. You were hungry anyway and figured that a hearty helping of ice cream before you left in half an hour certainly couldn’t hurt. You had free reign of the fridge, after all.

You set down your little blue bowl on the counter. You grabbed a spoon from a drawer and set it in the bowl. You even snatched a couple of Oreo cookies from an Oreo cookie box nearby and plopped them next to the bowl for good measure. Could never be too careful.

Noticing that Elmyra had left a box of frozen fruit pops on the counter without putting them back, you shook your head, grabbed it, opened the freezer door…… and dropped the box onto the floor with a loud plop. Hastily, you whipped off your red sweater, reached into the freezer, and pulled out a little white ball of frozen fur and whiskers.

“Oh, you poor baby,” you cooed, cradling the small mouse in your sweater as if he were precious cargo. You tittered. “Goodness. You poor thing. She actually put you in here??”

Closing the freezer door, you brought the mouse up close, pressing a finger to where his heart would be. His eyes were shut tight, and he was curled so firmly about himself that it took a little doing to get your finger up to his chest. He didn’t stir as you moved him about. There was a heartbeat… barely, faint as a whisper. It was a miracle he was still alive.

Almost instinctively, you cupped him in your hands, brought him over to the sink, and slowly turned on the faucet, checking that the water was lukewarm before carefully sticking him under the steady stream. You didn’t want it too hot right off the bat. Even a warm temperature might be a shock.

Two minutes later, after you’d let the (hopefully) stimulating mini waterfall wash over him, you turned off the faucet and proceeded to dry him off with a towel -- softly; slowly. He still hadn’t stirred, not even a little, and you gulped. Were you too late..?

8:35 PM. The stillness of the night, save for the now dimmed volume of the television, found you sitting once more on the couch, this time with a fuzzy occupant in hand. Big-headed mousie -- the… Brain… he was called? -- lay cradled in your arms, encompassed about with a very soft, very woolly blanket indeed. It was the fluffiest you could find in the house. Nothing less would suffice, in your mind. You could only imagine how frightening of an ordeal it must have been, shivering, cowering in a freezer for an hour, not knowing if the next breath you took would be your last….

A thumb gently stroked the snow white fur of the sleeping mouse, and you couldn’t help but massage that oversized head of his from time to time, muttering to him in soothing tones as you did so.

“You poor thing…. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you in there earlier,” you apologized, even though he probably wasn’t listening. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, the only indication that he wasn’t dead being the steady beat, beat, beat of his thumping heart every half a second.

“You gonna blink for me, sweet heart?”

And then, as if on cue, the little mouse sloooowly blinked, opened his eyes, and stared at you.

“Hey there, little one,” you whispered, smiling at him. “Atta boy….”

His eyes began to shift around, rapidly, and he frowned, as if trying to take in all at once where he was and what had happened.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” you reassured him, readjusting your grip a touch as you continued to hold him close to your chest. “I’ve got you. Elmyra’s asleep. She can’t do you any harm. And if she tried I wouldn’t let her.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, and subsequently shut it again, as if at a loss for words. Perhaps he really was speechless, or perhaps he was still a little stiff from having been locked up in the freezer for so long. Whatever the reason, he continued to stare at you, almost unblinkingly. As you went to pet him again, he reeled back, breathing faster than normal.

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay,” you said calmingly, pausing a mite before resuming your soft massage of his head. “It’s all right, little one. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

And slowly, hesitantly, he settled.

“‘Antarctica’,” you mused, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you survived that. Poor thing….”

You continued to talk to him; comfort him. After a solid five minutes of being stroked and cooed to, he actually leaned into your hand. You could tell he enjoyed the massage, reluctant as he was to admit it. A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little fellow, even if he had been a bit of a butt to you earlier. How often did this kind of thing happen to him? Weekly? Daily? How often did he bath in this torment? You decided to ask him.

“Does she do this kind of thing to you often?”

He nodded, gaze still trained on you.

“Like… daily?”

He nodded again. You sighed.

“I’m so sorry….”

He actually shrugged.

“It’s… my life,” he coughed out, in a deep, chocolatey voice that was a little raspy. It was almost comical that a voice that low could come from something so diminutive.

“Well, it shouldn’t be your life,” you countered. “You don’t deserve any of this.” He simply blinked at you.

“How long has she had you for?”

He shrugged again.

“Over a year..?” he guessed.

“Over a year…. Sheesh…. How are you still alive?” you asked, actually chuckling a little… and regretting it immediately after. This was no laughing matter.

“I… I don’t know,” the Brain admitted, his body vibrating for a second as it released a shiver. For once, he looked away from you. “I don’t know….”

There was something in the way that he said “I don’t know”, something in the way his voice quivered a touch as it floated off into the air, that made your heart break in two. It was as if he himself couldn’t believe they’d held out as long as they had; that they hadn’t given up all hope by this time. It was a dry admittance, a sad admittance, and he blinked rather rapidly and sniffed after saying it, as if trying to bite back tears.

Any animosity you’d had for such a creature had completely dissipated by this point. His honesty. His helpless quaver…. They’d destroyed it. With all the more tenderness, you rocked him gently to and fro, taking extra care to massage his whole little body, as best he’d let you anyway, trying to iron out every last bit of pain trapped in those delicate bones. He barely even resisted, save for asking once why you even bothered to help him in the first place.

“Because I think you needed it,” was your blunt response.

He’d looked away a little shyly at this, before turning back to look into your eyes.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and it sounded sincere.

You simply nodded, smiling at him, continuing to rub out the pain as best you could.

8:47 PM. You tossed a frown at the clock. Mrs. Duff would be back in about thirteen minutes. The time you had spent with your new charge hadn’t felt like enough. You were fully aware that you couldn’t take him back to your place for extended relief. He’d have to return to Elmyra’s room, or, at the very least, be put back somewhere in the house before the mother arrived. This posed a bit of a problem, however, for by this point he’d fallen back to sleep in your arms. You stopped rocking him back and forth for a moment to simply… look at him.

He was so small. Much smaller than expected for a pet mouse. Perhaps he’d been a field mouse in the past? A body that fragile shouldn’t be thrown around in a house by a volatile little girl. He should be cared for; comforted; loved.

8:48 PM. He was actually snoring, so quietly it was barely audible. Despite yourself, you leaned down… and kissed him on the top of his head. He stirred, but didn’t awaken.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, swallowing thickly.

You looked at the clock. 8:49 PM. You sighed.

You couldn’t do this. You knew you couldn’t do it from the moment you opened the freezer door and saw him lying in there. Two hundred dollars a week wasn’t worth it. You were going to be fired and that was that. Screw the money. The thought of leaving the two mice in such a condition as this was unbearable. You couldn’t rescue all of her animals, of course, and you hated the idea of stealing, but this one had almost died.

8:50 PM. You groaned. This wasn’t going to be easy….

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sunday morning saw you bright and early, topping off some pancakes in your dorm room with maple syrup, cutting up a few tiny pieces, and setting aside said pieces on a small napkin on a table. Two little white mice immediately stepped up. You smiled at them as you dug into your own, much larger portion of the breakfast, watching the sun rise beyond the balcony.

In the end, you’d chosen the lesser of two evils: voluntary departure. The moment Mrs. Duff had returned home, you’d politely thanked her for the payment, but regretted that you didn’t think you could continue to operate as babysitter. She’d been disappointed, but not surprised. It wasn’t the first time a new hire had quit so suddenly. The turn-over rate with Elmyra was high.

And so you left, leaving the two mice behind at the house, but had returned the next day around 1:00 PM while Elmyra was in school and her parents were preoccupied. She had a tendency to leave her bedroom window open, you see, and it didn’t take much convincing to persuade the mice to consider new living arrangements. The taller one, whose name turned out to be Pinky, was a bit uncertain, and felt bad about ditching without even a note of thanks or apology, but the Brain said it wouldn’t matter, that Elmyra would get over it soon enough and find some other tiny rodents to torture, and so Pinky relented. Not that you could blame him for being hesitant. You also felt bad about literally kidnapping them in this way, but you couldn’t think of any alternative.

Watching Pinky happily lick maple syrup from his lips, however, and observing Brain take notes on a pad while he chewed on pancake satisfactorily, you felt it had been worth it. Pinky still felt a bit guilty about ditching Elmyra so suddenly, but he seemed to adjust to change surprisingly quickly, and sweet breakfast food every morning was a-okay in his book. Brain was still getting used to you, and spoke only when necessary, but he hadn’t forgotten the freezer incident. When he did speak to you it was fairly formal and polite, and he’d even let you scratch behind his ears now and again. Pinky was undoubtedly the friendlier of the two, and you enjoyed spending time with him, talking about movies and playing board games, but there was a special place in your heart reserved for Mr. Grumpy. You figured that would always be there after what had transpired several nights prior. All you could see whenever you opened a freezer door now was an ivory, frost-bitten body trembling in your hands.

Bright sunlight was pouring into the dorm room now, alighting the chairs, the tables, the dishware…. Smiling, you stood up, plate in hand, and stepped out onto the porch, choosing instead to rest in one of the outside seats, the better to enjoy the day’s warmth.

Several minutes later, as you popped a piece of pancake in your mouth, something, or someone, crawled up into the chair beside you. You looked down. It was Brain.

“Hello,” you greeted him pleasantly.

“Hello,” he replied. He licked his lips a little timidly. “Umm….”

“Yes?”

“I…. Well, I… I just wanted to say that… you’ve…. Well, it’s… it’s nicer here than at Elmyra’s….”

“Glad to hear that. I would hope so,” you smirked.

“And… I…. Well, I… um…,” he stammered, scratching at his neck.

You smiled.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You’re welcome.”

He looked up at you, then back at the sunrise. A minute passed. Quietly, inconspicuously, he sidled up close to you, and leaned his entire body against yours, closing his eyes as he did so. Your heart warmed at this show of trust. Oh….

Gently, so as not to startle him, you brought up a hand and began massaging him.

“I love you, little one,” you whispered under your breath.

In response, he pressed closer against you. It wasn’t at all what you expected from him, but you gratefully accepted it all the same.

You both sat like that for a long time, enjoying the touch of the sun’s rays, Pinky finally joining in some moments later as he snuggled up to his friend. Brain actually wrapped an arm around Pinky... and smiled. Pinky hugged him back.

A grin tugged at the corners of your mouth as you watched them, before turning your attention back to the sunrise. Hot pancakes. A beautiful view. Soft mice. And no Elmyra. It was nice.

As you petted the two little fuzzies cuddled up next to you, warm and full and far away from any girls who would put them in freezers, one thing became absolutely decided in your mind: no amount of money could ever substitute for this.

The End

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Author’s Note:

I promised myself I’d never do a self-insert. Granted, that applied more to drawings, and even then I’ve made a couple of exceptions in the past, but writing out this kind of thing is still a bit embarrassing to me. I feel like it tampers too much with the canon universe, but, then again, so do AUs and even fan fiction in general. Every story is a “what if”.

This one came about, however, because I was inspired by a friend of mine, Shuun. She’d written a very sweet little story called Haven Forbid (which I suggest you check out), that was, in turn, partially inspired by a soft idea I’d had in which a young woman, taking on the job of Elmyra’s babysitter, discovers Brain trapped in the freezer and proceeds to nurse him back to health. The idea in general is one I’ve had for months and months and months. Whenever I daydream about cuddling and comforting Brain, it often comes back to this particular scenario. So, yes, it’s a flat-out self-insert. Ha-ha. I just normally don’t like sharing these things publicly, but Shuun inspired me to be brave. Heh. :)

Although this is written with a y/n perspective, the character of the babysitter is basically me. This is what I would most likely do if in this situation. Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain is a show that I not only abhor, but that hurts my heart terribly. The pain I feel regarding Brain, watching him get beat up, tossed around, thrown against walls, choked, and all manner of other despicable things, is nigh through the roof. So dearly do I yearn to rescue him from such a predicament that I’ve literally been in tears thinking about what he had to endure in that show, even though it’s technically not canon. He can be a little butt himself sometimes, but he absolutely did not deserve any of what he was put through in that series.

Hand me a little frozen Brain and I’d do exactly what you saw in the story. Let me warm him; hold him; love him; tell him he’s not alone…. He’d probably balk at a majority of it, but, deep down, he wants to be comfortable and secure as much as the next person. I have so much love for this little fellow. A lot of the time he needs a kick in the pants, to be certain, and occasionally he’d rather be left alone than spoken to, but once in a while, even though he’d never admit it, I think he also needs a kiss to the head.

(As a side note, the title of this story was… paaaaartially inspired by the famous “Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire” chapter title in The Hobbit.)

#pinky and the brain #fan fiction

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sweetcinnamcn · 3 years

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Family Dinner || Self-Para

Summary - Ian and his three older siblings come home for a family dinner after which his mother gives him a talking to plus a little something something for the upcoming Bachelor Auction.

WC: 2,630

Without Tommy there to back him up, Ian slips into old habits too easily. It’s hard for him to not let his brothers’ joshing get to him, and each quip at his expense makes Ian’s smile that much more strained. Everything from “Hey Schoolboy!” to bets on how much cum he’s been guzzling seems to be on the table tonight, and since they’re drinking they’re a bit more abrasive about it too. Ian really doesn’t like being around his brothers when they’re drinking.

“Huh, buddy?” Ian had retreated inwards and completely zoned out of the conversation. It wasn’t until Harrison clapped him on the back that he even realized all three of his siblings were looking at him. His mouth falls agape as he tries to think of something—anything—to say, but Donovan’s snort beats him to the chase.

“Space cadet strikes again. How’s the view from the clouds Lieutenant Dumbass?” he chortles, both his brothers laughing boisterously now. Ian laughs along with obviously less zeal.

Annette only shakes her head, moderately eye-rolling at her brothers. “Please don’t mess with him like that. Ian’s no fun when he starts to turtle up.” While he’s sure she means well, comments like that only ever get his big brothers laughing at him harder. This is why Ian doesn’t enjoy family dinners without his younger in attendance.

“What’s wrong, Annie? Junior too busy to be his white knight so you’ve got to fill the vacancy?”

“Not that he needs it. He’s a grown man and we’re just kidding around. Ian knows it. Look at him! Life of the party!” Harrison points right to the smile glued to Ian’s face. That gets a smile out of Annette which she attempts to hide by taking a sip from her wine glass. Harrison and Donovan never hide when they’re laughing at him. This is why he needs his little brother. Ian always feels invisible, pushed aside, belittled, and a bunch of other things he’s not good at vocalizing whenever he’s at home. Tommy always knew how to save him.

“Have you guys spoken to him recently? I know he’s super busy, but I can’t ever get him on the phone anymore—”

“Time zones, buddy. We’ve been over this. England is a few hours ahead of us, so you can’t just call him whenever.” So what if Ian has to count on his fingers to get an idea of what time it is for Tommy, it’s not like he forgets he has to! Though … he doesn’t say anything to reject the implication about his understanding of time zones either.

“Nah, he’s been dodging me too! He goes and claims a princess and suddenly “His Highness” is too good for us.”

“His Grace. Tommy is only going to be a duke by marriage and—”

“Yeah ok, we get that you’re jealous of his royal assent, but seriously Annie couldn’t you at least try to not sound bitter whenever he comes up?”

That’s how things have always been between his siblings. They have a brash, witty sense of humor and even Annette’s found a way to navigate those waters effectively. She can take it and dish it out without sacrificing the austerity she places in her classification. Ian was never as good as her. All he could ever do was smile through it all. As they continue to bicker amongst themselves and Ian starts to wish that Mother let him at least have a glass of wine like Annette got, he sees his father come into the room. He can’t help his sigh of relief.

“Boys, mind the volume. Really, I don’t know why she lets you drink on empty stomachs. You both get so belligerent!” It’s only a gentle scolding on his part, no hints of genuine irritation are found on his face. His brothers know this as well and both take a large swallow of their beers in response. Walter McCallister, the perfect claim for a woman like Clarice, the perfect father to both wrangle and console the children she bore as they needed. Ian’s always felt closer to his father, and for more reasons than their shared classification. He was hoping to get a chance to speak with him privately at some point before dinner was over, but hasn’t gotten to yet. “Dinner is about to be served. Why don’t you all wash up and come take a seat? Your mother is hungry and she is not in a patient mood tonight,” Walter informs before Ian can get a chance to say something. All buzzed except Ian, the McCallister children file out of the room. Ian starts to perk up a bit after his father gives him a gentle shoulder pat on his way out.

Dinner was delicious, and in typical McCallister fashion, it ends as they always do. As soon as Clarice puts her utensil down, Ian, Annette, and Walter all get up from their spots to clear the table. The Dominants will continue to sit and chat for a while. They’ll drink and have fun waiting for the others to bring dessert and coffee if desired. Those three only get dessert as an occasional reward, so none for them tonight much to Ian’s disappointment. There’s a delicious-looking lemon cake in the kitchen just calling his name. He’s even so bold as to try and finger swipe some icing off of it, but Annette slaps his hand away before he gets a chance. Ian is mid pout when a single command makes him go rigid.

“Ian, darling,” Clarice calls out from the dining room. “I’ll be taking my dessert in my study. Be a dear and bring it up to me.” The tension in the kitchen is palpable. Annette and Walter keep cleaning, but even Ian knows they’ve each got a nervously watchful eye on him. Being alone with Mother in her study only means one thing: prepared to get chewed out.

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, dejectedly cutting a suitable piece of cake for Mother and bringing it up. He has to suffer the typical “Ooo you’re in trouble”’s from his lounging brothers as he walks by. It’s not like they’re kids anymore so he doesn’t understand why they get such a kick out of it, but much like when they were, Ian shrugs away from their scrutiny so hard that it looks like he’s trying to make his head disappear. ‘Turtling’ as Annette so aptly put it, warranting even more joshing at his expense while he hurries to Mother’s study.

A deep sigh at the door and then a knock, Ian’s typical ritual. He can’t remember a time in his life when he left this room feeling good. He enters once prompted and sets the cake down in front of her, then steps back from her desk and stands there, waiting patiently. This is a common routine and Ian’s had plenty of practice, though he does think that her having him watch her eat it is a bit much. It feels like a punishment. Then again, so have their last few chats.

“Mm! That was absolutely divine. I swear, your father’s skills in the kitchen have never once diminished over the years. I do wish you could’ve enjoyed some…” Her voice and expression are cheery, but her eyes seem very cold. Even the way Clarice cleans the fork intimidates Ian. She’s quite skilled at making him feel naked in a not-fun way. “…then again, you haven’t been a very good boy, have you?”

“No Ma’am, I have not,” he says without hesitation. Confessing it out loud hurts so much. In a single sentence, weeks of “good boys” have been erased. Until he gets claimed, there’s only one Dominant who gets to dictate how well Ian’s behaving, and Clarice McCallister’s margins for grading are very clear.

“Huh,” is her only response, those cold eyes of hers repeating every scathing critique she’s voiced recently. There’s no need to rehash them, Ian knows full and well how he’s failed and why he’s failed. “Ian, I’ve been very patient with you. Men in our family attending Lowell has been a great honor for generations. You are the very first to turn that honor into an embarrassment. You should feel embarrassed by your inability to get claimed. It’s no one’s fault but your own.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I’d be able to reimburse myself for nine years of tuition.”

“I know. I’m—” A single quirk of Clarice’s eyebrow is all it takes for the words to die on Ian’s tongue. He looks down at his feet, unable to handle her disapproving gaze. He feels choked up like a hot coal is burning through his throat. The ground below starts to look blurry as well. Ian is doing his best not to cry. He knows Mother hates seeing that. “I’m trying really hard. I help out and I talk to a lot of Dominants. I have a lot of friends! But I … I don’t know why no Dominant wants me. I do everything you suggest and it—”

“Maybe you should spend less time screwing around with taken locals and put your energies towards getting serious about getting claimed.” He visibly winces at that interruption, because in his heart he knows there’s a lot of truth to it. “At this point, I’m not sure which is more humiliating. The fact that you’ve been there for nearly a decade, or the fact that your highest accolade is getting labeled as the school slut.” That one hurts even more, but he has a tool to use. Luckily, in his increasingly stressed frame of mind, he remembers to take it out of the toolbox his therapist has been helping him build.

“Dr. Addams says—”

“I’m the one paying for your little headcase pow wows with Dr. Addams. The last thing I want thrown in my face right now is whatever Freudian bullshit he told you to spout at me.”

“I-I just—”

“Would you quit mumbling like an idiot? Don’t slouch like that. Stand up straight, hold your head up high. If you have something to say, use your voice, Ian. How many times do I have to tell you this? Appearance is everything. Fix yourself, now!” He lifts his head but has to sniffle. Ian is full-on crying by the end of that and he just couldn’t hold his tears back any longer. Clarice’s eye-roll in response only makes him feel worse. “My sensitive little boy, what are we going to do with you?” she sighs, shaking her head. Ian stands perfectly still, trying to compose himself even though he knows he’s failing. The night has been a lot for him and he’s feeling raw from it all, but he knows what’s coming when Mother stands and walks around her desk. He’s thankful for it.

For all her talk about hating hysterics, she’s very good at dealing with Ian’s. She tenderly grasps the back of his head and brings his face into her neck, embracing her son. Ian wraps his large frame around her in turn, sobbing uncontrollably now that he’s been given the all-clear. He’s incoherent, inconsolable, but Clarice’s soothing touches calm Ian down. When she feels he’s gotten enough of it out of his system, she pushes him back gently by his shoulders. One hand goes to cup his pitiful face, stroking his cheek with her thumb as he whimpers out the last of his outpouring. “Ian, it’s just you. Even Tommy’s grown up and done it now. Not to mention he’s taken our ‘marrying up’ speeches seriously. I mean, he’s claimed into royalty! It’s bad for my image to have you still at Lowell with not even a prospect while all your other siblings have done so well. We need to change that, right?”

“Y-Yes Ma’am. I’ll try harder.” Eventually, she smiles and he smiles through his teary eyes in return. He must’ve finally said the right thing.

“Good boy.” There it is, the two words that uplift him more than everything else. A single phrase is capable of washing away all the cold pricklies and replacing them with warm fuzzies. He’s feeling better already. “But what am I always telling you?”

“My looks are my most important asset?”

“Exactly!” she praises. “You’re such a beautiful boy. Though, you could probably benefit from shedding some weight. Did you have to get so bulky?” Ian’s used to criticism being attached to Mother’s compliments. Her standards are extremely high. “I don’t expect you to be able to come up with a solution, which is why I’m going to help you. When Harrison was at Lowell, I did something for him before the Bachelor Auction. I’ve decided I’m going to do the same for you.”

He starts to wipe his face and continues to compose himself when Clarice turns around to her desk. He can’t see what she’s scribbling out, but after hearing some paper tear he figures what she’s doing. “Now, I know I’ve expressed my hesitation about doing this before, but Ian the auction has only ever resulted in you being a glorified whore for a night. How many times were you purchased by someone who had actual intentions of claiming you?” Out of eight times, the answer is none, and the pause it takes for him to mull this over is long enough for the rhetorical nature of Clarice’s question to be apparent. “My point exactly. This year, you’re taking matters into your own hands.”

Ian looks at the check, amazed at the amount. He’s never held that much money in his life, and it means the world to him that Mother has faith in his ability to do this.

“But Ma’am—”

“No buts, just promise me you’ll spend it wisely. Don’t waste this opportunity. Choose a Dominant carefully, one you have a shot with. It’s okay to think of a game plan too. In fact, you should ask Annie for tips. I’ve never seen anyone wrap a Dominant around their finger quite like her.”

Ian nods, sniffling still but smiling nonetheless. “Thank you, Mother. I won’t let you down. I’m gonna get a great date and I’ll get claimed. This will be my last year at Lowell, I promise.” Clarice smiles and dismisses Ian with a nod. He holds the check to his chest, feeling like he’s living a dream. Mother is right, this year he’s not leaving anything to chance. He’s going to make the right choice and finally get claimed.

The next couple of days on campus, Ian tried to keep his ear to the ground and figure out who he’d focus his bidding efforts on. Annie gave him some tips for how to plan the date in a way that’ll keep a Dominant interested, but that doesn’t help him choose. It’s not until he gets some alone time in the game room that he makes up his mind. Feeling the green of the pool table reminds Ian of a memory he hasn’t visited recently, only because he failed to find the need. But now … it’s giving him inspiration. “It’s settled then. I know what I’m going to do,” he says to himself, resolute in a way that’s almost uncharacteristic. Ian isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to live up to his promises by going for who he’s thinking, but he’s sure that it’s the best option given his predicament. “The Bachelor Auction is just around the corner. I have to make sure I’m ready. I’m going to land a Dominant, bring him home, and Mother will be so proud she’ll call me a good boy a whole bunch. I’m sure of it.”

#family dinner;;#self para

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blake-belladonna-defence-force · 5 years

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Tag

Based on that RWBY Chibi skit of Blake and Yang playing tag because A) Blake’s lil amused noise/ giggle was bloody adorable and B) I have this headcanon that Blake could be a lil shit when she was in a good mood. Ruby thought it was amazing, Yang adored it and Weiss did as Weiss does: suffer. Sorry, Weiss.

Set back at Beacon just before the Vytal Tournament.

I feel like I’m about to fall into writer hell with the rest of you because now I’ve written one fic, two more ideas scream at me to write them.

But here ya go. A lil bit of bumbleby fluff with a touch of angst...

There is one parallel and one reference in there that I couldn’t help but put in.

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Covert missions were a standard part of being a huntress. They required one to be alert and aware of everything, including oneself. Yang knew what had to be done; her target was right in front of her. Sneaking up on the mark would be easy.

Slowly, Yang inched her way towards the lone figure. She had to be careful; they were known to be quite dangerous. She couldn’t afford to die now, not when her team needed her. She crept forward until she was close enough and launched her attack.

“Tag, your—oof!” Only to kiss the dirt. “Stealth really isn’t your thing, Xiao Long.” The calm, familiar sound of her partner’s voice sounded more than a little condescending. “Oh shut your up.” She shot back as she rolled over.

“Make me.” Yang looked up at Blake. The faunus stood with her hip cocked, examining her nails nonchalantly. Yang was more than smart enough to recognise a challenge when she saw one. Without further ado, she jumped up and launched herself at Blake again; only to be met with an empty shadow clone. She glowered at her friend.

“Blake...

“Yang…” Great. She was being mocked. Well, she wasn’t going to stand for that. She immediately tried to propel herself towards Blake again.

And again.

“You know, Yang, they say that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

And again. Why did she do this to herself?

“Blake! You! Are! It!” She growled playfully. She was, without a doubt, annoyed but seeing Blake having fun always tended to overrule any grievances that she may have about the girl.

“Am I, now? Aren’t you meant to actually catch me?” Yang made an offended noise in the back of her throat. Blake smirked at her cheekily, tucking her arms behind her back and leaning forward. “Let’s see how well you can keep up, little Sunflower.” And with that, Blake winked at her and ran.

Yang blinked in stunned silence before shaking herself out of her stupor and made chase after her. Blake was apparently in what Yang had come to affectionately refer to as “lil shit mode”. This simply meant that whenever Blake was in a particularly good mood, she tended to become especially cheeky with her friends. And occasionally their teachers. Blake was the one out of team RWBY with most detentions for a reason, after all. But considering that the two still clashed occasionally, Weiss tended to suffer the most. Mostly because Yang adored these rare moments of playfulness and outright encouraged it and Ruby tended to make things worse by falling into hysterics. So, the amount of puns and jabs thrown at their poor little Ice Queen tended to double on these days, much to her chagrin.

But on this day? Apparently, Blake was planning on messing with Yang. Well, Yang wasn’t going to complain. She did love it when she was feisty. But, unfortunately for Blake, the brawler wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She kept her gaze firmly locked onto the back of Blake’s head, hoping against hope that her partner would mess up eventually. They ran around the court yard and down a path, eventually making their way to the gardens. Blake hurdled over a small bush and into a grassy sitting area and surprisingly missed her footing. Yang, who was right behind her, took advantage of the raid slip up and reached out to grab her…

Only to once again fall forward; the only difference being a hand that reached over and grabbed her arm, twisting her around in mid air. The result was Yang landing on her back, only to be promptly pinned down by a heeled boot.

“Don’t ever underestimate your opponent. You never know what tricks she might have up her sleeves.” Blake grinned down at her, such delight in her eyes that Yang couldn’t stay mad even if she tried.

“Ya know, smugness isn’t a good look of you, Belladonna.” She retorted. She chose to ignore the fact that said retort was a bold faced lie. Blake rolled her eyes and stepped off of her, calmly sitting down next to her.

Yang promptly sat up and draped her arm over Blake’s shoulders, heart swelling with affection when Blake reached up to entwine their fingers together. When Blake first started to be physically affectionate with the team, Yang had been surprised. Blake hadn’t seemed like a touchy-feely person but then again, some people take a lil longer to get there.

It was always little things; squeezing Yang’s hand when Cardin was close to getting a facial reconstruction, reaching out to adjust Ruby’s hair when the younger girl fell asleep at their desk or even a supportive arm draped over Weiss’s shoulders. It was incredibly endearing. And that was all without mentioning Yang’s favourite ones!

She had noticed that when she would do something kind (especially anything regarding tea or books) for Blake, that the other girl would slowly blink at her and lean over to butt her head into Yang’s shoulder, murmuring a quiet “thank you” and go back to whatever it was she was doing beforehand. Eventually, she was able to determine that the slow blinks and head butts were their own brand of affection for the faunus and slowly, Yang found herself picking up these habits subconsciously. She wondered if Blake was aware of it. She had only just picked up on it herself. But while her train of thought was on Blake and affection…

“Sunflower? Really?!” She teased lightly, gently butting her head against Blake’s. The resulting huff causing her to giggle into Blake’s temple. “It fits.” Blake defended, faux offence lacing her words. Yang hummed thoughtfully. “If I’m a Sunflower, does that make you my Sunlight? Ya know, ‘cause I always turn to look at you?” “Oh my God. You are such a dork.” Yang merely grinned and jumped to her feet, ready to offer Blake her right hand and help her up.

“C’mon, Ruby wants us to meet up with her and Weiss to go over some last minute stuff for the Vytal Tournament.” And with that, both girls made their way back to the school. But not without Yang sneaking glances at Blake’s smiling face. She knew that Blake hadn’t had an easy life. That somebody that she had trusted had hurt her. She saw the way Blake reacted to certain situations. She didn’t even want to think about what could have caused her to be so closed off. Yang desperately wanted to help her partner but she knew that Blake didn’t need a knight in shining armour to come save her. But the shorter girl sure as hell deserved to have an ally to stand against whatever war was raging on inside her head. Yang was determined to be such, silently making herself a promise.

“I’ll make it my mission to be there for her. For as long as she’ll let me. Starting with this tournament.”

Yang knew she was playing with fire. All she had to go off of was their short time at Beacon together and a hopeful heart. She doubted that Blake would stick around forever. Nobody ever did. But she truly believed that Blake would talk to her. She trusted her.

Maybe that trust would become her pyre, but she couldn’t deny that there was something about Blake that made her think that maybe burning wouldn’t be the worst way to go if it was within the depths of molten gold eyes.

#rwby #bumbleby #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #fanfic

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peter-parcoeur · 4 years

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“When you’re gone” - Part IV

PETER PARKER x READER (Tony Stark’s daughter)

warning: lots of angst in this chapter & irondad+spiderson feels hitting hard

Previous chapters: one || two || three Comment if you like it ♥

IV.

Peter was sat in the bus on his way back home when he started thinking about a way to talk to Y/N without her spatting back at him or avoiding any eye contact. There must have been something, any topic that could possibly break that massive ice wall she had built around her.

What if she refused to talk to him? How awkward would it be to be locked in his own bedroom with a girl who hated his gut? That’s when he realized: in about an hour, Y/N would be in his bedroom. A girl. In his bedroom. No girl had even been that close to his intimacy and suddenly, the thought of it made his throat dry from all the nervousness he had built in just a minute.

When the bus stopped, Peter started running as fast as he could to get home, using a couple swings from his webs to get there quicker. Slamming the door behind him, he rushed to his bedroom and sighed desperately at the sight in front of him.

A complete mess.

Usually, he wouldn’t be too bothered about his unkempt “personal space”. After all, the only people who were allowed to walk in there were May, Happy (occasionally) and Ned who happened to be even worst on the personal hygiene scale. Needless to say, his best-friend never complained about Peter’s smelly socks all over the floor, his untidy bed and all the obvious signs that screamed “nerd alert” like his Lego Death Star from Star Wars or his video games scattered all over the room.

Picturing Y/N Stark standing there in the middle of this mess almost gave him a panic attack.

He had now less than an hour to get rid of all of his shameful toys, tidy up his room and remove the obvious smell of a 17yo virgin who’d rather spend his nights gaming or streaming porn than try and get an actual girlfriend.

It took him half an hour to hide any shameful hint at his loneliness, hoarding his closet with his toys, clean up the room and make his bed. Running out of ideas as his brain had gone to FULL PANIC mode, Peter went into the bathroom, hoping to find some kind of home fragrance that would give his bedroom a fancy, sophisticated smell. Unfortunately, all he could find were May’s favorite perfumes. Without a second thought, Peter grabbed the first one in sight and sprayed his bedroom with it. The bottle made it seem like an expensive “haute couture” smell.

“That’ll do” he thought.

“What are you doing?”

Peter jumped at the sound of May’s voice. She was coming back from work and now standing in his doorway, staring at him through her thin glasses.

“Err, a bit of clean-up?”

“Are you sick or something?” she joked, obviously surprised at her nephew’s unusual activity.

“No? I mean… I had all of this energy and… I felt like… It was overdue, you know” he stammered, kicking a comic book under his bed with his foot.

“Okay, cut the bullshit, your room smells like Coco Chanel’s farted in there” she laughed, raising her eyebrow until he dared to admit the reason behind his sudden change of habits.

“Okay, okay but let’s not make a big deal about this?” he started, waiting for her to nod.

“There’s this girl –“ he started.

“Ooooh a girl!” she beamed “you’ve got a date?”

“What? No! why would I take a girl on a date in my bedroom!”

“Dates often end in a bedroom” May stated before correcting herself “not that I would allow it under my roof!”

“It’s not a date, May… We have this assignment, so we’ll be working here, maybe a couple hours a week?”

“Oh, well, that’s cool”

“Can you please, PLEASE… not make it embarrassing for me?”

“First of all, wow… yes offence? And second, why would I do that?”

“You tend to do that actually”

She smiled, only because she couldn’t deny it.

“I promise I’ll behave. Who’s the girl?”

“Y/N Stark”

“As in---“

“Yes”

“Wow. Okay. Are we okay with this? I mean, are you… okay?”

Peter shrugged, quite unsure about the whole situation. He had been so busy cleaning-up his mess to make it less awkward for him that he had completely forgotten about how she’d feel. Right now, he could only hope for the best.

“I guess we’ll see?”

May nodded and walked into the room to peck the top of his head.

“You should open your window, it smells like a hooker died in there”

“That’s actually your perfume?”

“You don’t know everything about me, sweetie” she smiled, pinching his cheek before she left his room “I’ll be in the living room doing my thing, you know where to find me… And keep that door open, we don’t want any baby spiders running around this place a year from now!”

Peter rolled his eyes and grunted at the awkwardness of this conversation. Looking around him, he felt quite proud of himself at the sight of his neat, organized bedroom. It actually looked like a place where he’d love to have his first kiss and a couple more first times.

Not that he had this in mind with Y/N. At least, not until now he hadn’t.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a knock on the door at 6:30 sharp, which reminded him of Tony’s typical habit of showing up on time wherever around the world. May watched him walk to the hallway, trying to keep it cool when he was actually halfway between a good run and a steady walk. He had now changed clothes to one of his only “great” sweater, with his sleeves rolled up and a fresh pair of jeans. If May hadn’t promised to behave, she would have commented on his fancy “this is not a date” new look.

Nervousness kicked in when he opened the door and saw her standing there with her backpack hanging on her right shoulder. She was wearing some sort of Gym apparel, skin-tight yoga pants and a cropped sweater that gave him a quick glimpse of her toned stomach and tiny waist. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail and her glistening skin made it look like she had jogged to his place.

“Hi” he said, almost out of breath as he realized she looked even better make-up free and wearing the most casual sports clothes. He felt suddenly stupid for wearing his good sweater now.

“Hi, sorry for this” she pointed at her outfit “I thought I would have some time to change after my dance class but I didn’t want to be late so--- here I am”.

Peter couldn’t help but smile as she said it. She didn’t want to be late.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I just hate to be late” she added when she realized he must have heard his side of the story and now making up his own scenario about how she couldn’t wait to see him again. None of this was an option on her side.

“It’s okay” he blurted “come on in”

Y/N was pleasantly polite and nice to May as she introduced herself when Peter thought she would be hating on the Parker’s name over ten generations. When she complimented May’s outfit, Peter thought about how his life would be if he ever managed to date a girl like Y/N and what a major upgrade that would be.

When Y/N turned around, May gave her nephew the thumbs up, mouthing “I like her!” with a bright, encouraging smile on her face. Peter simply answered with a sign of his hand miming a throat cut that could only mean “please shut up”.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked when they entered his room.

“Water would be nice”

Peter excused himself as she dropped her backpack to the floor, her eyes exploring his room with a noticeable curiosity. When he came back a couple minutes later with two glasses of water, Y/N was standing in front of his desk, scanning through the pictures on his wall.

Squishing his eyes shut with complete despair, Peter realized he had forgotten to take off the most important parts of his room: Tony’s pictures.

“Hmm” he coughed “here’s your--- water” he hesitated, handing her one of the glasses.

“Thanks” she whispered, barely noticing him as her eyes seemed glued to the picture of her 8yo-self smiling brightly in Peter’s arms. He looked exactly the same as today, only less broody.

Peter didn’t know whether to speak at all or just stand there awkwardly as she processed her thoughts. It was probably creepy for her to see herself as a child in his arms while standing there next to him, looking like he’d never aged. For a second, it seemed like her wall had collapsed and she was actually reachable. Her eyes were haunted with a mix of nostalgia and sadness but she didn’t seem angry anymore.

“Weird, right?” Peter blurted out when he didn’t know what else to say.

“What is?” she asked “This situation or the fact you keep a picture of a little girl on your wall?”

Peter frowned. Maybe that wall was still there after all. Luckily, some of his biggest strenghts were his patience and obstinacy.

“I only keep it there because it’s a good memory. I had a good day and I wanted to remember it… That’s all. Sorry if it creeps you out.”

She seemed surprised with his honesty, but it was nothing next to his own surprise when she answered.

“It was a good day, yeah” she said, her face daring to show some hints of a smile in the corner of her lips before her eyes drifted to a picture of Tony and Peter and all signs of happiness faded away.

She turned around quickly and looked for a place to sit, her nose sniffing as she quite obviously tried to refrain from crying.

“We should get going, my mum wants me home by 8pm” she said, grabbing a notebook and a pen as she sat on the bed when she failed to find a desk and/or a chair.

The tip of her nose had turned red from the rush of sadness she had felt, looking at her father’s smile on this picture. To think of the pain she was going through made Peter feel worse than ever, so he decided not to mention anything personal as long as she didn’t give him a greenlight.

That didn’t happen until the next hour.

They had been working on their assignment for over an hour when Y/N suddenly seemed unable to contain herself any longer.

“What could he possibly see in you?” she snapped, smacking her pen on her notebook with a hard tug that made Peter jolt with surprise.

“Excuse me?” he asked, bewildered at her sudden mood swing.

“I’m sorry I just--- I’m trying to understand what my father could possibly love SO much about that he felt the need to travel back in time and just…. Abandon me.”

She had said it. The word she was dreading to speak out loud.

Her father had abandoned her so he could save another kid.

Getting up from the bed, she paced his room back and forth as she tried to compose herself so she wouldn’t cry in front of him. Peter felt terrible now. Never in a million year had he thought about her side of the story. How could she think Tony had abandoned her?

“He didn’t abandon you, Y/N, how can you say that?”

“Oh really? And what do you call it? Some heroic sacrifice? BULLSHIT! You weren’t there! None of you fucking Avengers were there to see it!”

“See… what?”

“The look on his face when he came back without you” she sniffed, turning around to face him now, wiping her face with the back of her sweater as tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“I hoped and prayed he would come back… I thought he had died up there, just like all of you… I was heartbroken and just when I’d completely lost hope… He came back from freaking Space with that blue chick!” her voice was cracking up with emotion by now, Peter wished he could’ve walked up to give her a warm, comforting hug, but she seemed furious at him.

He realized just how much she resented him when she kept on talking.

“I was so relieved, it was genuinely the happiest day of my life… To have him back, I felt lucky, I felt blessed…” she paused “but do you know what his first words to us were?”

Peter shook his head no.

“I’ve lost the kid” she said, recalling her father’s words as vividly as ever.

Peter looked up to stare into her eyes, his own watering from the aching pain in his stomach. No one had ever told him about this before Y/N. To hear this was a terrible reminder of his loss.

“You think that’s painful? Try and have your father losing sleep for months, staying up all night trying to figure out how to turn things back so he can bring YOU, precious Peter Parker back.” She snapped “He didn’t do this to save the world, he wanted to save you! He left me and my mom knowing this would be a one way trip!”

She was properly crying now, sobbing through her words as she recalled the day he left her, never to come back again.

“I’m—“ Peter started “I’m so deeply sorry Y/N… I didn’t know… I—“

“Of course you didn’t! That’s what makes it so hard for me to hate you!” she bawled, unable to contain herself now at the wound inside her heart seemed to have opened wide for the first time since the funeral.

Peter instinctively got up and wrapped her in his arms, hoping she wouldn’t punch him for even touching her. She rested against his chest, rigid as a tree so he wouldn’t feel any of her weaknesses. He could feel her shaky breath against his neck as she sobbed uncontrollably on his shoulder. Resting one hand behind her neck, hoping to soothe her, Peter went completely silent until she felt ready to speak again.

“You know the worst part of this—“ she started, freeing herself from his arms like she wouldn’t allow herself to be that close to him –

“I was actually sad when you didn’t come back with him, can you believe it?” she used both of her sleeves to wipe her eyes off, unbothered about how messy she looked now.

“Part of me was extremely thankful to have my dad back, but I couldn’t help thinking about you. Isn’t that just hilarious really? I cried when he told me about everything, how you vanished in front of his eyes, how you… apologized and cried and… I was genuinely heartbroken because for some reasons, I adored you! Just like my father did!”

Peter was loss for words, it felt like a truck had run over him about ten times. He was just standing there speechless, looking at her with tears in his eyes.

“It haunted me for weeks… But I had my father so I guess, I couldn’t be mad at the universe about a teenage boy from the Queens! But then my father left and suddenly… I’d lost you both.”

She paused, slightly out of breath from all the crying.

“My favorite person in the entire world, my universe, my role model, my guardian angel… and you, that nice, funny guy I had an irrational childish crush on! How stupid really, what a joke.”

Never in a million years would Peter had thought about this. To think she was actually sad he was gone was unthinkable, even if he knew how much she seemed to appreciate him as a child. Talking about this brought back memories from the past, how every time he visited Tony and his family, Y/N seemed so happy to see him. Tony even often joked about how he would become her favorite person someday, never hiding his jealousy whenever Y/N asked for ‘her best friend Peter’. All of this seemed surreal now that she was his age, standing there looking both flawless and broken.

“I don’t know what to say, Y/N… I wish I could do anything, I swear—“he hesitated.

“I swear I would take his place in the blink of an eye if I could turn back time once more… I never asked for any of this to happen, I don’t even recall the snap, it’s just a blur… Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real and I expect to wake up and everything’s back to normal”.

She could tell he was as upset as she was now, only slightly more disturb by his own memories.

“I know you’re going through the worst kind of pain right now but… I’ve lost him too.”

“Don’t you dare!” she threatened “he wasn’t your father!! How can you—“

“HE WAS THE CLOSEST THING I HAD TO A FATHER!!” he cried out, completely losing it now as he realized all of his father figures were long gone.

“You’ve lost your father… I’ve lost three.” He sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head buried in his hands at the thought of his own dad, his uncle Ben, and now Tony.

“I think you should go” May’s voice came out of nowhere, unexpected. None of them knew how long she had been standing there but her face said it all. She couldn’t handle the pain Peter was going through.

Y/N watched as May stood in the doorway with a concerned look.

“I’m sorry Ms Parker” Y/N simply stated, powerless. As she walked closer to Peter to pick up her backpack from the floor, he never looked up to meet her gaze. Part of her wanted to show some sign of support, a hand on his shoulder, a pat on the back, anything, but she couldn’t. That pain mixed with resentment was too conflicted, that wound was too fresh.

“Do you want me to call Happy so he drives you home?” May asked as she realized Y/N seemed to be as distressed as her nephew.

“I’ll walk. Thank you Ms. Parker”

With that, she left the room.

May sat next to Peter on his bed as soon as they both heard the front door closing.

“So… that was a shitty date” she smiled, wrapping an arm around Peter, hoping her usually goofiness would save the day, once again.

“Really, May?”

“Sorry… Do you want to talk about this? I can do adult talk”

“I think I’d rather be alone if that’s okay” he sighed, finally lifting his head up to wipe off the tears from his eyes. He looked drenched from all the energy he had left in his body.

Of all of May’s qualities, Peter appreciated the fact she wasn’t over reaching when he asked for privacy. She knew how to be discreet and how to respect his need for loneliness. He knew he could always count on her any time of the day.

“I’m just saying this” she added while leaving the room “this could either end with a physical fight… or the most intense love story”.

“May, please” he sighed “now is not really a perfect time for jokes”.

“You just wait…” she smiled before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Peter immediately crashed against his pillow, feeling drained.

As he tried to fall asleep, he felt something poke his back and reached for it only to find out Y/N’s had left her notebook behind. Out of curiosity, he flipped through the pages, mostly homework and notes from different classes, until a piece of folded paper dropped from behind the front cover.

Part of him knew this wasn’t right. He wasn’t usually that curious but somehow, he felt the need to catch a glimpse.

His heart sunk in his chest when he recognized Tony’s handwriting.

The two couple words were enough for him to lose it.

“Give this to the kid—“

#Peter Parker #Spiderman #Tom Holland #Peter Parker x Reader

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hollenka99 · 4 years

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The Vlogger

Summary: With no choice but to keep going, Chase meets others like him and starts his second chance at life with them.

Warnings: Suicide, alcoholism, self deprecation, depression

@egopocalypse

As soon as Chase Brody pulls the trigger, he regrets it. Not because the rapid loss of blood is dizzying or he knows he may have something to live for. Instead, he rethinks things due to the pain. There's a hole in his skull, a hole he put there himself. If he knew he'd remain conscious, he wouldn't have bothered with the gun. So he's stuck there on the ground, the camera crew hovering uncertainly as an ambulance is called. The thing is, he doesn't want to actually die, doesn't want his children to grow up without their dad. He just wants a way out. No matter what he does, he can never fix the situation at home. Now Stacy was taking them from him. If he won't get to watch them grow up then it should be because he made it impossible, not Stacy. He believes that was the logic that got him in this situation. It was a stupid piece of logic. If the ambulance doesn't hurry up, he won't have much longer to dwell on it. For fuck's sake, why couldn't it have been instant? He can't even shoot himself properly. Now is not the moment to admit that may actually be a good thing. He finds himself waking in a hospital bed. As sure of his abilities as he is stern, Chase doesn't know what to make of the German doctor attending to him. The guy's bedside manner could do with slight improvement at times. However, Chase can't deny he's helpful when he needs to be. Chase find his left arm doesn't work as it used to. Apparently, he suffered damage to his premotor cortex. He won't be able to perform complex actions with that arm, whatever the hell 'complex actions' meant. Physical therapy is advised. He's too preoccupied by the fact he wrecked part of his brain to listen too intensely. That hadn't been in his list of things he'd hoped to achieve. Well, he supposes he had wanted to mess things up in that area of his body. But... the fatal kind. Not that he really knows what he wants in general. Except probably stopping the shitshow that was commonly referred to as his life from plaguing him further. He wants Stacy. And the kids. He wants to be the father and husband of a happy family. He wants to be happy himself. Dr Schneeplestein provides him with an address after he lets it slip he has nowhere to go after being released. It's where the doctor's friends live. They are always open to welcoming a new inhabitant. Chase's isn't convinced he should bother. Schneeplestein suggests he should at least think about it. Well, it's not like he has anywhere else to go. He might as well give these people a chance. Jack is really friendly once he arrives at the house. After checking Chase was aware of Sean, he calls someone named Marvin to the living room. Marvin is clearly a very cold person. The welcome he delivers is the opposite of Jack's. One had made him feel like he was welcome, the other seemed to want him gone immediately. Well fuck you too, Marvin. Despite being quiet and somewhat of a loner, at least Angus didn't seem too bad. Chase doesn't know how to react when Jack directs him to a private clinic within the building. He's even more at a loss for words when Dr Schneeplestein is there, greeting him. Okay, yeah, he gets it. While the doctor may not live in the building, he was an ego himself. Chase had noticed the similarity in appearance when it came to the guys here. Over the coming days, Schneeplestein checks up on him. He promises it is okay to call him Henrik if wants. Their discussions develop into a mix of formal medical stuff and informal getting to know each other better. Schneep reveals he is himself a father of three. He suggests Chase talk a little bit about himself. Okay. Well, his name was Chase Brody. He ran a YouTube channel called Bro Average where he performed trickshots. Occasionally well rehearsed stunts too. He had been married to a woman called Stacy. However, she had just announced she wanted a divorce. She was planning to take full custody of their two children. Their names are- they are... Wait, why couldn't he remember their names? Did the incident take some of his memories? Shit, don't tell him he's fucked up his memories as well as his arm. But he's been thinking about the situation since waking up, here and at the hospital. Wait, no, he was just thinking of them as 'the kids'. Why the hell hadn't he noticed before now? He was a bad father, just like Stacy had- "Chase?" "They're my children, how can I not remember their names?" "I did not either." The doctor reassures him. "Maybe talk to Jack, he is good with names. Helped me remember." He does indeed speak to Jack. They reach Noah without too much issue. It takes several names to get there, sure, but his son's name is fairly common. His daughter though... this was taking forever. Even Jack sounds like he's losing hope as the suggestion of Daisy is accompanied by a sigh. Chase is so thankful this is the one to stir something within him. Encouraging Jack to keep on the plant-based route hits his helper with a second wind. A handful of names later, they finally reach their destination of Willow. Willow and Noah. He remembers now. He can see a 4 year old girl with dark hair who loved mint choc chip ice cream. Then there was her 3 year old brother who loved to chat about anything and everything. They may not have been born at the right time in their parents' lives but he by no means loved them any less because of that. Not everyone has memories of rocking their daughter to sleep while studying. He'd love to hold those two again. As the days and weeks go by, Marvin remains distant. Chase approaches Jack, needing to know what the hell the magician's deal was. He learns there had been another ego, a 16 year old superhero who'd arrived in July. At the beginning of November, Jackie had slipped out to clear his head. Suffice to say, he was yet to return home. Marvin and Jackie had been becoming close friends at the time of his disappearance. He was simply grieving more noticeably than Jack. Jack also takes this opportunity to discuss a second mystery ego. Antisepticeye was very dangerous, not to mention unpredictable. Jack had caught glimpses of him prior to his official appearances on the channel in October. Anti was the one behind Jack's throat scar. Understandably, he'd rather not go into that day. What was important was that Chase did his best to stay safe from Anti, now that he was aware of him. Anti had attempted to kill Jack, abducted Jackie and recently, hijacked Sean's PAX panel entrance reel to threaten the audience. If Chase ever found himself in Anti's sights, run. Drop anything non-essential that may slow him down and get the hell out of there. Eventually the interactions that seem forced melt into something nicer. It's still clear the memory of Jackie will remain superior to him. However, it was good to be more than tolerated by Marvin. Things are easier like this. As it turns out, the magician is actually a pretty cool dude. He's really into plants and able to do a lot of cool stuff with his magic. Please keep everything made of iron away from him though. The first time he bought alcohol, he pretended the intention was innocuous. He'd had a shitty few months. It would just be to take the edge off a bit. Better to get a little tipsy than try to permanently escape again. 'A little tipsy' soon becomes stumbling to bed drunk. Which inevitably results in painfully frequent hangovers. It's a good thing he doesn't have to save money for rent or anything. He can keep this habit going for longer. Of course, this behavioural change doesn't go unnoticed. Jack encourages him to limit himself to a bottle a day, if he needs to drink at all. He understands and appreciates his concern. However, it wasn't exactly his place to dictate what Chase could and couldn't do. This talk still has an effect on his drinking habits. He gets better at hiding his stash. The best thing about the bedrooms in this house were that they changed to fit the needs of the ego whose bedroom it was. This in turn meant he had a mini fridge without asking for it aloud. Jack and Marvin grow more desperate with trying to get through with him. There are weeks were he does genuinely attempt to make an effort to improve. Those attempts don't usually go well. At least there are two people cheering him on. Stacy's even been more approachable about the split during the past month or so, which was pleasant. She still wants full custody though. Especially because she's aware of his issue with alcohol seemingly developing into something likely diagnosable as alcoholism. That would be motivation enough to get him to stop. It only makes him feel worse when he gives in to temptation. At the end of July, Jack invites him and Marvin to marathon the Harry Potter films. He's had an argument with Sean and needs the distraction. Following the end of the second film, Marvin leaves for a moment to take a bathroom break. He turns to his friend on the other end of the sofa. "I-" A pause to question whether he should even bother with this line of conversation. "Jack, I don't get you, dude." "Uh, okay. Where did this come from?" "I don't know. I just don't get why you bother with Sean. You always seem to be at each other's throats." "Why did you try to hang on to your relationship with Stacy for so long?" "Hey, don't bring her into this." "Well?" Chase gives the most exaggerated shrug he can muster before crossing his arms, curling into himself on the sofa as he does so. The best Jack is getting out of him is a mumble. "Dunno. Still love her. Kids." "Yeah, well, Sean and I have quite a history ourselves. What can I say? We can't really go our separate ways by this point. He's an asshole but I still love him despite it. It's... it's complicated. We've known each other since we were kids. We were there for each other back then and we are still down to hang out now. I mean, that's what happened today. He's a busy dude and I don't expect him to drop everything for me. Yet we still make time for each other." Jack pauses to pick up his glass. "Want me to top you up before we start Prisoner of Azkaban?" "Jack." "I was made to be his friend. I can't... not be. Like I said, it's complicated. So, top up?" Days later, he spots Jack stumbling towards where Henrik was privately working on something. When he asks if his friend is feeling well, Jack waves him off, excusing it as 'probably nothing serious'. The words sound strained, as if he's attempting to keep his lunch in. Chase would call him out on the blatant understatement, were it not obvious Jack didn't want the fuss. The first clue he gets is Marvin leaving his room to hover restlessly in the corridor. The magician murmurs about something in the air feeling off. Chase suggests opening a window to aid air circulation, only for Marvin to snap that it wasn't like that. Besides, it was August and fairly warm. Most windows were already open. The second is Henrik being heard loudly speaking his surname. It doesn't sound right, almost like he's not the one to have said it. Marvin freezes at this. This has clearly shaken him for some unknown reason. As rapidly as the noise had stopped Marvin in his tracks does it cause him to pivot and march in the direction of where Schneep is working. The final hint of what is unfolding is Marvin's desperation. He's at the door to the med bay, pounding it with any spell he can think of. Chase rams into it whenever he is sure he isn't at risk of being unintentionally hit. They cry out to Henrik and swear they're coming to help. The locked door receives a series of abuse in a matter of minutes. The door finally gives. Marvin blocks his view temporarily but he sees regardless. There are too many wires and machines for him to comprehend they're all attached to one person. If he'd known, he would have swapped places with Jack in a heartbeat. Henrik is nowhere to be found. Chase's first encounter with Anti has robbed him of two of his good friends. His and Marvin's lifestyles change immediately. Marvin rarely has time to practice magic. Chase, similarly, puts Bro Average to one side. They both focus on providing Jack with the best care their inexperience can form. They are way in over their heads with this. However, Jack remains alive. They must be doing something vaguely correct. The 17 year old in the stolen outfit appears at their door a month on. Chase originally assumes this is a new ego. Oh, Marvin is going to be livid. He already lost his cool when Robbie showed up. Let's not even mention when Sean attempts a visit. Either way, the kid looks completely shattered and like he could collapse in a heap any moment now. He struggles to focus on the sentence he's trying to finish. This ego really is out of it. What kind of video did Sean upload today that it produced someone so wrecked? The teenager sways a little. Chase moves to steady him while Marvin is spouting the same shit about how Sean better not have created another ego. Tired of Marvin's anger at this specific moment, he calls him over to help. The magician barely enters the hallway before the newbie crumples into Chase's hold. He glances back at Marvin, a second away from encouraging him to assist him already. The haunted expression on his friend's face prevents that. Oh. This was Jackie. Of course it was. The two of them place him in the medical bay. Marvin withdraws into himself. Especially in the following days. He spends all his time hanging around Jackie. All he talks about is Jackie and how he's doing. Jackie, Jackie, Jackie. Listen, Chase is glad Jackie has returned home. Ecstatic, even. It's just... things have drastically changed in the household in barely any time at all. First it was Jack slipping into a coma. Now it's Jackie showing up after months of no clues regarding his whereabouts. It doesn't help when the teenager sticks to Marvin's side wherever possible and acts wary of Chase. He supposes he gets it. Marvin is the only person, other than Angus, whom the young superhero recognises from his pre-Anti life. Meanwhile, Marvin, who has spent close to a year missing his friend, wishes to protect him as much as he can. Either way, Chase gently inserts himself into the friendship group. He's heard about this guy a fair bit and felt his absence in the grief of those who'd loved him. He wants to get to know him. It took a couple months for Marvin to be chill with him. Chase would rather not return to being rejected once more. That's why he continues to be Marvin's person to spill his woes to and the one to let Jackie know he's not judgmental of the potential symptoms of PTSD on display. October isn't a good month. An ego named Shawn Flynn is born on the 5th as a result of Sean's video involving his Bendy voice role. On Halloween, they find it very suspicious that an ego who got a personal video hasn't shown up at their home yet. Didn't this guy also have pictures on Instagram as of earlier this week? He really should be here. Especially seeing as he had his own room waiting for his arrival. Chase volunteers himself to speak to Sean. As it turns out, that was the right move. When Sean lets him in, he is introduced to Jameson Jackson. It goes down as well as expected. Chase brings Jameson home and give him the house tour. As they travel around the building, he ensures Jameson knows Sean is not to be trusted. When the new ego argues that their creator had accommodated him, Chase decides this moment was as good as any to visit the medical bay. "This is Jack. He's a prime example of what happens when keep trusting Sean and believing he actually cares. We're not shitting on Sean for the hell of it. We do it because he's a dick and we'd rather not force anyone else to lose their friend." Chase takes a stabilising breath. He shows Jameson to his new room and suggests he familiarise himself with it this afternoon. If he needs anything, feel free to give him a tap on the shoulder. He has to admit, Sean has balls. Not only did he trick Jameson into being his friend, he's trying to get Chase to sympathise with him too. Sean even has the nerve to give some sob story. Obviously, he'd twist the truth to get his way. Chase is smarter than that. It's not like he's to blame for Sean being overloaded by the need to keep up with the upload schedule. That was purely Sean's own doing. Then he has the audacity to pull the Jack card. Oh, fuck you. How dare he?! So what, Chase is just supposed to become Jack 2.0 until Sean bothers to wake him up? No thanks. Unlike Jack, he requires sleep so it's not like he can help without consequences. Besides, he's got his own shit going on. Maybe Sean recalls the whole 'depressed and suicidal guy who's going through a divorce' thing he'd centered his character on. "Chase, please, at least think about it. Jack is in that coma because I was stressed and resentful. I don't want to risk making things even worse. I know I'm just repeating myself now but less time focusing on videos means more time for me to work out how to fix everything." He does think about it. Okay, fine! If it's just to keep the channel going then whatever. The channel is necessary to keep all of them healthy. He'll do it for Jack's sake. Anything to increase the chance of waking him up is worth it, right? Even if it means going against his morals. He nearly throws Sean's offer back in his face a month later. It was simply a charity stream. All that was supposed to happen was a nightly break in the 2 day event. He will forever hate CCTV footage and security from this point onwards. What the fuck did Anti do to Jackie that Silent Night triggers him? The night is spent ensuring two things. One, that everyone, especially Jackie, felt as safe as they could be in a stressful situation like this. The second objective was to observe the feed for the whole night. They sleep in the living room and take an hour long shifts to monitor the glitches. A doctor moves in during January. As much as they need the medical help, Dr Jacksepticeye is hardly Henrik. Either way, an ego is an ego. Chase is glad he's not the only one who is uncomfortable watching the stranger overseeing Jack's care. They just need Henrik back. Things can be generally alright after that. After much negotiating from both parties, Stacy agrees to allow him some custody. She'll have the majority of it but she's fine with weekends being Chase's time with them. Yes, yes, god yes. He'd obviously prefer to have it more evenly split. Maybe alternate weeks or Monday-Thursday morning for one and Thursday afternoon-Sunday for the other. But weekends? He gets to see Willow and Noah for 2/7 of the week? He'd take an hour a year if that was the most Stacy was willing to compromise. The others surprise him with a small party, complete with cake, when the arrangement becomes official. That first weekend can't come soon enough. He has a talk with Jackie about mental health and coping mechanisms after he catches him binging on his secret whiskey stash. Trust him, hangovers are no fun. Stop trying to force your raised metabolism to submit and become intoxicated. Frequently battling with your head is exhausting. Drinking yourself silly is not the answer. No, don't ask why he resorts to alcohol. Do as he says, not as he does, you know? Please tell him you're aware he's down to confide in if you want. No, no, don't cry. It's all good. Marvin doesn't have to know a single thing. Anything else you wanted to say? Zero judging, he swears. Early May finally provides them with their favourite German doctor. Like Jackie, Henrik's wellbeing has certainly seen better days. To think, the three of them had been having some dumb debate about Spider-Man moments before the big reunion took place. This is the beginning of the 10 days where Chase believes things can be good for the egos. The only thing missing is Jack's consciousness. A week later, he provides Sean with a video he'd edited himself. The level of trust they have between each other now means Sean doesn't check the video's contents. It is for this reason that the comments come flooding in before his creator's wrath does. Sean deems the mistake irreversible and the video therefore eligible to stay up. Chase can only hope it doesn't lead to any more issues. The weekend passes without any problem. On Monday, he notices Willow forgot to bring her doll back to Stacy's. He might as well return the toy. It is with annoyance that he realises Stacy's probably experiencing a power cut. Albeit dangerous to have done so, Chase considers it lucky that he was carrying that lighter in his pocket. Come on, work already. Stupid thing. The flame is tiny but at least it's something. Better than exploring blind at any rate. As Chase wanders through dark hallways, he becomes increasingly aware he may be endangering himself. After all, this home was meant to be displaying signs of life. Where were- Faint laughter. Children's laughter, undoubtedly. Oh God, that sounded like Willow and Noah. A girl screams. He wants to run to her. Fuck it if it's clearly a trap. His daughter's in trouble and he'll expose himself to whatever's frightening her without a second thought. He wants to sprint and he knows he should. Yet something keeps him at a cautious pace. His frustration grows as whispers are cut off by what sounds like Noah crying. He's coming, he swears. Daddy's coming. Just hold on. The whispers intensify as he turns the corner. This new hallway is bathed in red. Chase has better visibility but it wasn't necessarily a good thing. The room at the end of the corridor is completely soaking in the colour. It leaks onto the surrounding walls. The only object blocking the light is the silhouette. "Who's there?" The silhouette's head steadily twists over its shoulder. A second passes. An eye illuminates green with an unnerving crackle. It does nothing to acknowledge the questions its current prey begs to have answered. "Where are they?" Chase cries. "What do you want from me?!" There is no time to scream or escape. There is only the erratic approach. And as quickly as a video can cut to darkness, they are both gone.

#jacksepticeye #chase brody #creator au #my writing #writersofjack #tw suicide #tw alcohol #tw kidnapping

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