#its half past 7 in the morning now too:(((

[neidermayers-mindd]

⚠ CONTENT WARNING — smut. Pure smut. (And some fluff?) p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy!); fingering, oral (fem receiving), Max Verstappen is a mean asshole in the paddock but a softie out of it (mostly); praise, lots of praise, mentions of alcohol and drinking; badly translated Dutch (sorryyy); reader is AFAB fem identifying. MDNI 18+.

Author's note: Sometimes Max Verstappen does things to me I cannot describe. The idea came to me and I just started writing. Also the reader is part of Scuderia Ferrari because, eheh, forza Ferrari. (Gonna write Leclerc stuff as well soon, watch me.)

All it takes is a win — Max Verstappen (Formula 1) x Scuderia Ferrari!(fem)Reader (SMUT)

Being a Formula 1 driver was anything but easy.

Sure, you had your moments when you'd spend time with the grid filming funny videos for the fans and doing weird challenges — but, once you had to get serious, the workouts and practice snapped you back to reality.

You were now part of Scuderia Ferrari — it's been a few months since you joined, and your teammates, Charles and Carlos, weren't all that bad, cracking jokes and pulling pranks on another like some high schoolers. You felt like home with them, laughing 'til morning when you'd celebrate each Grand Prix, getting drunk and all.

Your biggest issue was, however, your boyfriend.

Relationships in the grid were mostly kept a secret — you didn't need the news to holler with spicy details of the well-known Formula 1 drivers, so much for the reporters keeping an eye on all of you 24/7. If there was anything going on, it stayed within the paddock.

So, apart from Charles and Carlos, who found out against their will, nobody knew you were dating Max Verstappen. The world champion. The best of the best, or whatever made his ego inflate.

One issue you had about your boyfriend was that he'd be too cruel and unforgiving during race week. He didn't mean no harm, but it did hurt when he always expected you to do better, as he was personally involved in your training as a driver. It's like he wasn't pleased with you at all, and, Hell, even Charles told him to take it easy.

"Hey, no," the Monégasque spoke out when Max was halfway through one of his tirades again, "let Y/N be. She's learning throughout." His arms crossed, staring the Dutch down, in spite of his usual relaxed expression.

Carlos joined in, getting a bit concerned about the situation. "You can't be ordering her around like this. Trust me, we all learned in our own ways." This only earned a frustrated huff from Max, walking away from the scene as if nothing had happened in the first place — and you swore you could feel your heart beat through your Nomex underwear and Ferrari race suit.

—

You didn't even register when half of the season went by you — and, soon enough, you were ready to participate in the Austrian Grand Prix.

The race went smoother than expected — you were fully focused, your signature red Ferrari car driving past the others, smoothly operating (ha) the machine as if it was made for you.

The realization dawned onto you as the race ended and you completed your last lap, noticing only two cars past the finish line — the Red Bull cars, which were Max and Checo's.

You came third place.

Exiting the car as soon as you thought of it, you looked around, taking your helmet and balaclava off and feeling the fresh air on your sweaty face, hearing the overjoyed crowd around you.

You didn't even see when Max came and embraced you with all of his might, only noticing the joy in his eyes through his helmet. Checo followed suit, giving you a friendly embrace and congratulating you, to which you replied with the same approach.

You heard the announcer beam through the speakers, feeling pure happiness course through your veins. "And L/N comes third place on the grid, Ferrari makes its way on the podium by the end of the Austrian Grand Prix..."

This is worth celebrating, right?, the small voice in your head asked itself, unsure whether your boyfriend's reaction from earlier was genuine or not.

—

You've long changed out of your race suit and into your usual clothing, waiting in the hotel room for the hours to pass so you'd attend tonight's party; you shook hands and embraced way more people than you probably thought existed in the perimeter of the circuit and the paddock, eventually coming in your hotel room soaked from the habitual champagne bath on the podium — you were sticky, but happy.

After taking a shower, you got to this point, scrolling on your phone and reading the news pages about the race from earlier, smiling to yourself. You couldn't help but sulk when you noticed Max on each photo on-line, wondering if he was truly proud of you, if this even mattered to him.

Then, as if Max read your mind, he texted you, your phone buzzing in your hand.

'Where are you?'

You answered back, your digits tapping away on the screen.

'In my hotel room, why?'

On the other side of the phone, Max was still in the paddock, slightly frowning at your change in mood — you were on the podium, you came third place! Was there something wrong? Did you want to do better?

'Why did you leave all of a sudden?'

You reply immediately, 'The party's only later tonight. There's no point hanging around until then. I'm getting rest.' You knew you were lying — you didn't feel that tired, being used to the schedule and all. You just didn't want to endure another of Max's scoldings.

As if he read through your excuses, he types, 'Ok, I'm coming over.' You sighed at Max's response — sometimes, even outside the circuit, he was way too stubborn.

—

The door to your hotel room opened, as you didn't bother locking it; in comes Max, having, too, stripped of his race suit in exchange for more comfortable clothes, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. His blue eyes don't roam around the room — they look directly at you, in your direction. "What happened?" He asked, still seemingly puzzled by your change in behaviour.

The man sits on your bed, next to you, waiting for an answer; he still didn't bother leaving his race mannerisms where they belonged, still being oh so demanding. You don't bother responding; that is, until his hand finds your jaw and cups it so you can face his direction.

"Speak to me." He speaks out, tone still demanding, and you sigh, giving in to the man who was, although an ass sometimes, your boyfriend. Yours.

"Are you proud of me?" Your voice came out as meek, already expecting the worst answer; you can see Max's eyes slightly widen, taking in the information he needed from that question.

"So that's what it was?" Max spoke no higher than a whisper, his gaze softening. "Do you seriously think I'm not proud of you, schat?¹" And, as you shook your head, he realizes just what you're talking about, your reaction and the way you didn't dare face him.

"No, no, Y/N.." He moves onto the bed so he can hold you, shifting the two of you so your face buried in his chest, strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace. "No, it's not like that. I am proud of you. I'm proud of every single thing you do, lieverd.²" Your lack of response concerns Max further, and he removes you from his warm embrace, looking into your eyes. "Please believe me."

You couldn't. You speak out, "Then why are you so cruel to me? Why do you keep bossing over everything I do?" His breathing stops for a moment, now knowing your perspective. "No, I don't mean it like that.. I am trying to help, I know how demanding Ferrari can be." His lips come in contact with your cheek, peppering small kisses on your face. "Schat, no— I just want to help, please— 'm sorry."

You feel yourself melt in Max's embrace; however, you couldn't shake any of the things that have happened before. "You're too cruel." You repeat, voice softening until it can't be heard anymore. "I know, I know", the Dutch speaks, palpable regret in his voice. "'m sorry, liefde.³ I'll do better," his words started sounding reassuring, "promise."

"Y/N— I'm especially proud of you for today. You came third place, and this was a tougher race. You did it, I'm so proud, I promise you", the man spoke between kisses, now placed on your jaw and lips. "Promise, I promise."

You went forward to taste his lips more — sweet, soft and a slight tang of victory champagne — and your eyes fluttered shut, Max's hands moving from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you in closer, even closer than imaginable; he sighed in relief, although you might be, a bit, still mad at him for not showing enough support this season.

"Come on," the blonde pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips with his, "let me show you. Let- please, let me show you how proud I am, schat. Please." He looked at you with soft eyes and a slightly parted mouth, slight blush on his cheeks as he fiddled with the waistband of your sweatpants. "Promise, I promise I'm proud. So proud, liefde, I promise you."

You were sure Max didn't drink apart from a few sips of champagne, and you didn't even partake in the celebration other than bathing with the alcohol instead of ingesting it. The decision prompted you to give Max a nod, and he complies, your lips meeting once more, with more hunger, as his hands shimmied your sweatpants down to expose your underwear. He followed suit, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, tugging them down just enough to get to his boxers, hardening member confined under the cotton material.

His kisses trailed on your jaw and neck, lips sucking on the soft flesh enough to make your breath hitch, and he hummed in response, tongue sliding over the soon-forming hickeys to compensate. "So sweet, schat", he spoke against the skin of your neck, making you shiver in his hold, his lips moving further down on your collarbone before nearly yanking the shirt off your body, relishing in the fact that you weren't wearing a bra.

"Your body is so pretty", he sighs out, lazy smile on his face as he seemed like he was talking to himself, making a mental note of how pretty you thought you were. "And so ready for me", he now hummed against your sensitive, hardened nipple as he wrapped his lips around it, giving it a nice, gentle suck; Max loved hearing you whimper like that, a sign that he was doing everything right.

When your hand reached for his cock, palming it through his underwear, Max stopped, his breath hitching in his throat before looking at you, aroused and slightly glad you were considering his pleasure as well; however, now was not the time. "Y/N, it's my turn to make you feel good", he gently told you, taking your hand off his shaft, which you were sure throbbed under your very touch. "We'll.. we'll do me later, yeah? I want to make you feel good." He continues pressing soft kisses on your body, enjoying how you shuddered merely from his lips, and how your hands went in his hair to give it a gentle tug.

Max's hair smelled like shampoo, soft and silky under your touch, as you had two handfuls of the blonde locks in your very hands. He hums in response, nearly bewildered internally at the fact that so little did so much to you, and made sure he'll make you do more than just tug on the strands.

When he got low enough, Max switched positions with you, his large hands setting you on the bed just where he was sitting moments ago — he got on his stomach, pressing his lips against the material of your underwear. The teasing came to a halt when he tugged it down completely, discarding it somewhere, and the sight alone made Max grow harder, his aching cock pressed against the mattress, and he tasked himself just how he'd managed to be together with someone so beautiful. If perfect wasn't the right word to describe a human being, he coined that term just for you, and you only, ever since he laid eyes on you.

"So wet, schat", Max exhaled on your clit, and you sighed out, the hot air from his mouth blowing right against your sensitive spot. Prying your legs open further and holding onto your thighs, Max dove deeper up against your clit, licking long strands with the flat of his tongue and alternating with the tip, then moving upwards to your nub, giving it a gentle suck. He wasn't surprised when you moaned out loud, but rather entranced — one of his hands left your thigh and got to rubbing the bundle of nerves as he lapped hungrily at your clit. "You taste so good, Y/N. So good for me, letting me make you feel this good", he groaned out, getting pleasure just from eating you out, feeling his underwear stain with drips of precum. "Fuck— so sweet, so fucking good f'me, so perfect, Y/N" — if words didn't make you feel anything, now they did, because Max's tone of voice was nearly desperate; not to get himself off, but to make you come on his tongue and face.

Out of instinct, your hips thrusted forward, something you've never done — Max's words have never had this much of an effect on you, not that they didn't — and his eyes widened in silent amazement, looking up at you with a slight chuckle. "Feels good, hm?" He gives you a teasing lick up your clit, looking right in your eyes as he did so, enjoying how flushed your face was and how your eyes closed as soon as his tongue made contact with the sensitive area. "Mhmm.. Max, please, I want to come," you pleaded, and he complied.

"Anything for my champion. Anything f'you, schatje⁴", Max moaned against your clit, moving down as his tongue penetrated your cunt, feeling how wet you were and how much more wet you can get, the warmth of your insides sending delicious sparks right down to his cock. "Y/N, so fucking good..." He hushed against your entrance, tongue then going in and out at a faster pace while his digits were working on your nub, thumb rubbing in circles until you couldn't take it anymore, screaming out his name and coming on his mouth and tongue.

The Dutch hummed in appreciation of his own skills, then looking up at your fucked out expression with a teasing look, placing one last kiss on your puffy clit despite your whimpers, still oversensitive. When he kissed you, his tongue sliding in your mouth to massage yours, you could feel your taste on his buds, and it made you ache yet more, legs closing in to squeeze your thighs from the overall sensation. Max noticed — he hummed against you, fingers going down to your pussy and then right inside of you, coating them with slick as they pumped in and out.

You broke the kiss through erratic whimpers, feeling overwhelmed by the sensations, but you had to admit that Max's fingers, now curling against your G-spot, felt better than his tongue, reaching so much further inside you — he breathily whispered in your ear, his other hand toying with your nipple, "You like it, hm? Vind je het leuk hoe ik je neuk, schat?⁵", and you let out an almost audible 'yes', hearing him chuckle to himself. "C'mon, Y/N, take it like a champ, huh? Like the champion you are. So pretty, my pretty Y/N."

Before you know it, you came a second time around his fingers, and the Dutch fucked you through another of your orgasms, then taking his fingers out of your hole to lick them clean almost obscenely, making a slight 'mmf' sound when his taste buds made contact with your juices.

"Think you can take me now?" Giving him a nod, he continues, "You deserve me, you deserve my whole cock, huh, liefde?", Max lowly spoke, his voice getting breathier as he takes off his underwear; his cock, aching and as hard as it could get, was leaking small drips of pre-cum, and he sighed at the feeling of not having his obvious arousal confined any longer.

"'m so hard for you, Y/N." He aligned himself to your cunt, taking your legs and placing them on his shoulders. "God, so good, so perfect — all mine, my champion, yeah?" You nod, but that wasn't enough; Max took his cock in his hand again, slapping your clit with it and earning a muffled whine from you. "Say it. Come on, schat." He encourages you.

"I'm... I'm all yours, Max- your champion, I'm your champion", you made the effort to sound self-reassuring, to which Max kissed your forehead, responding with a soothing pitch in his voice.

"You are, Y/N. I'm so proud of you. For everything you have done and for everything that you are, I'm proud of you, yeah?" He peppered you with kisses, slowly entering inside you, and you gasp — getting used to Max was a repetitive mannerism, as he'd stretch you out oh so nicely around his cock. You felt it throb as Max's balls hit right under your cunt, and he kept gasping and whispering in your ear about how much he loves you — and you loved him, too.

As soon as you adjusted to his size, Max started moving his hips, pulling out just enough to leave the tip inside you then slam back inside — no, the domineering, rough side of him didn't remain in the paddock as intended. Soon enough, the bed creaked with both of your bodies' movements alone — the wooden headboard of the hotel bed hitting the wall whenever the Dutch would thrust inside of you, deeper, faster.

"There we go", Max spoke in your ear, sending shivers down your spine, his voice having dropped to a mere, husky whisper — "Vind je dit leuk, mijn liefste?⁶" His hands found your legs, squeezing the fat of your thighs as he kept fucking you, so sweetly but roughly, making sure you'd feel today's win for days after this.

You let out a shaky moan at the mixture of feelings — anger from earlier, dissipating in the overwhelming pleasure and sensitivity, as Max had fucked you raw through the build-up of another orgasm. Looking up at him, his entranced expression, how he looked so ready to let loose and fill you up with his cum, was so arousing, and you couldn't help but reach your hands to cup his jaw, fingers running around the stubble on his face; he gives you a satisfied, self-confident smile, mouth parting exactly when his head falls down, letting out moans of his own.

"Hell, schat, gonna come so deep inside you. Yeah? So proud of you, s'fucking proud, you deserve my cum, all of it, Y/N", Max gasped out, trying to maintain his composure just enough to praise you through it all, to make you feel self-reassured and proud of yourself. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he let out a guttural moan as he pumped hot, sticky cum inside of you, filling you up — you felt yourself come around his cock, squeezing him of what it's worth, milking him until he couldn't come anymore.

His body fell on top of yours — he still had his tee on, and you were bare naked under him, both sweaty and still recovering from each other's highs. "Ik houd van jou⁷, Y/N. I'm proud of you, yeah?" You heard Max, although muffled from his face being buried in the pillow, right next to your head, and you smiled to yourself, one of his hands finding your hair to caress it, and your hands rubbing on his back gently.

"I love you, too, Max." Indeed, your win was worth celebrating.

TRANSLATED DUTCH WORDS/PHRASES

1 — schat = dear/darling, also translates as 'treasure'

2 — lieverd = also darling, word expressing endearment

3 — liefde = love

4 — schatje = baby

5 — "Do you like how I fuck you, dear?"

6 — "Do you like this, my dear?"

7 — "I love you."

#mv1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #f1 smut #f1 #mv1 smut #mv1 imagine #f1 imagine

[strawberrynightmare]

Mikey, Baji & Inupi getting whacked while they're trying to wake you up

Content warning: These take place during/after a sleepover! Tickling, something awful happens in Mikey's fic

Mikey

~Modern problems require modern solutions 🤠

~Late, late in the night, you were playing all kinds of games. Cards, truth or dare, illuminati, board games, video games, fire boy and water girl, you name it. Mikey was reaching the peak of competitiveness and you were not far behind.  

~And you would have been long knocked out had it not been for the sugar rush the two of you were on. Needless to say… the two of you were more than a bit hyperactive. 

~It was good after two am that a blood-curling crisis made its way into your blissful playtime. 

The two of you looked at each other in horror, as if to make sure you were not imagining things. But this dreadful situation went beyond human imagination. After a few minutes of deadly silence, your lover spoke in a quiet, shaky voice. 

“We ran out of snacks.”

~Even though the two of you stocked up so well beforehand, it was all gone now. After some good 15 minutes of crying about it, a rock paper scissors match began. Of course, the loser had to go through the hardships of getting their ass up, dressing up, going to the nearest 24/7 convenience store and buying some more food. 

~And he lost.

~As he dragged himself through the room, you could swear it looked like he was going to his own execution. He mumbled under his breath but the two of you were so out of it, you didn’t care and he didn’t even know what he was mumbling in the first place.

~He was back pretty soon but still found you passed out on the floor of his room. Your boyfriend didn’t think much about it when he began to gently kick your side. 

“Wake up, y/n I’ve got your favourite cookies.” ~Guy who looked and sounded like a zombie

~He knelt down to unpack the two bags of snacks while continuing to nudge you with his hand. And next thing he knew was a kick to his jaw as you shifted from laying on your back to your side. 

~He blinked a few times, instinctively touched his chin, sat there for a while, then stood up to turn off the light and fell asleep next to you. 

~Via the two of you trying to figure out how he got a bruise on his jaw after you woke up. 

Baji

~Aaand he took that personally 🙄

~It was definitely not a great idea to have a sleepover at his house on a Wednesday, but he got a bit impatient. For three whole days, you listened to him complaining about not sleeping well and insisting that the cure would be you sleeping over. 

~”What is it? I’m telling you, my mom likes you anyways. And if I sleep well, my grades will be better too!”

You’ve slept well for so many years, and the good grades were never in sight.”

”That’s foul, y/n!”

~In the end you settled for a study sleepover. Instead of messing around, the plan was to study together for some time and then go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Yeah, the plan was all it was.

~You were able to go through two pages of your textbooks before getting utterly distracted and doing whatever the hell you wanted. You ended up sneaking out even before the clock struck midnight and enjoyed the city basked in the night to your heart’s content. It was heavily past 2am when you came back and it was only because it started raining.

~Soon afterwards you fell asleep cuddling into his chest with his arm around your shoulder.

~And he recklessly followed you into the land of dreams without any awareness of what was going to happen in the morning. 

~He was woken up by his mother at the usual hour. Mrs. Baji brought you two breakfast straight into his room and as he was half awake, she urged him to wake you up as well. In a half-awake state, he barely began to complain and tell her to wake you up herself before she cut him off with “I tried”.

~In his defence, he thought that shaking your arms lightly and calling out your name would be enough to wake you up. Jokes on him, you didn’t even budge. He tried everything his mother ever used on him, taking away your blanket, rubbing your back, hell, he even tried to wake you up with a kiss - nothing worked.

~He was absentmindedly poking your cheek while trying to come up with something else. All he could think of was a glass of cold water or calling his friends. It was then that he suddenly got smacked in the face with a pillow. The force of the hit was enough to have him rolling out of the bed. His traitor pillow was dropped right next to him. All you did was roll onto your side. Still asleep. 

~If his loud ‘HAA????’ didn’t manage to wake you up, you might as well have been dead. Anyways, prepare because he took that as a declaration of war. How does a sleeping person prepare for anything

~He climbed back, pushed you onto your back and began to mercilessly tickle you in all the weak spots he was aware of. He even took a feather out of his pillow and began tickling your feet and that was the final straw, for you to wake up completely disoriented, fall from the bed and instinctively kick your boyfriend off the bed. Both of you ended up on the floor, but Baji didn’t even notice that. He was too busy patting himself on the back and praising his genius for managing to wake you up.

~All while he existed there in a half-conscious state, trying to comprehend the whole situation. 

~And then he dragged you to school. You were late because waking you up almost took him a whole hour. 

~Surprisingly, he managed to take the test and actually answer enough questions for you to consider him passing it. 

~So now he has an excuse to invite you in more often. Although he did learn to only do this on weekends so that you can sleep for as long as you wish, Sleeping y/n is the one person he’s too afraid to face again.

Inupi

~Bro gave up 💀

~It happened during a sleepover. The two of you were on the couch and watching a movie late in the night. He excused himself for a while when he noticed someone koko calling him. The call lasted longer than expected and when he came back, you were already asleep.

~All he wanted was to gently wake you up by rubbing your cheek so that you could move to his bigger and more comfortable bed. Totally not because he wanted to cuddle you. Not at all. 

~But then he got smacked with a pillow you  were clutching to your chest so hard, the force made him fall backwards and land on his ass. You were still asleep as he sat there, trying to comprehend what just happened. 

~He wasn’t even sure whether you were just pretending to sleep to take the sofa or it was really just you reacting to unwanted stimuli. 

~He sighed and simply went back to his room to gather the blankets and cushions. Then, he slipped a cushion under your head, gently fixed it into a more comfortable position and wrapped you up in a blanket. After that, he just made some adjustments for himself and sat next to you, leaning his body on yours.

~This fixed the issue the two of you always had. The issue was called ‘Who takes the bed?!’. While he insisted that you should take it, you insisted that it was his bed and you were fine with the couch. But he was also fine with the couch and he couldn’t just- sleep comfortably in his warm bed and make you sleep out there. Sharing the bed felt so intimate that none of you dared to suggest it although i know some of ya simps would jump at the first gotten chance to share a bed with him

~...So the two of you are now sharing a couch, but he swore that the next time, you’re taking the bed even if he has to drag you in there himself.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokrev #sano manjiro x reader #mikey x reader #sano manjiro #mikey #baji keisuke #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #baji #inui seishu #inui seishu x reader #inupi x reader #inupi #inupi seishu

[hey-kae]

A kiss, a Cake, a Flight, and a Heart Attack

Or four mornings where Charles wakes you up.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Request: read here

Warnings: Language, sexual implications, slight nudity, google translate italian (once), mentions of burns and fire, charles needing to stay away from the kitchen.

a/n: one thing about me is i will have charles mess up in the kitchen… But i actually had fun writing this and i hope you’ll like it! It’s a long one cause i added a bit to the request so buckle up (thank u @stcrgazings for helping me with this one) & Big, big apology to the person who sent the request cause it was sent in october🙃

A kiss and i’m all yours for the day:

He’d been awake for hours now, moving from room to room, doing random things, fidgeting around the apartment, struggling to find something to occupy himself with.

He had this habit that occasionally classified as a bad one. By six in the morning, he’d be up and running no matter what, even on his days off like it was the case today.

Sometimes, he would go to bed at night with the decision made that he was gonna sleep in the next day, only for his biological clock to ring it’s alarm right as the sun begins to rise, his body too used to waking up early.

The situation was no different this time. He woke up at a quarter to six, refused to get out of bed for over half an hour, hoping and praying he’d go back to sleep until he lost hope and stumbled out of the bedroom with stomping feet, and now he was awake all alone, sat on the balcony with a cup of fresh juice on the table by his side, gazing at an elderly neighbor in the apartment accros from him as the man sat watching TV, drinking coffee and chatting with someone that was out of Charles’ field of vision.

The sunlight was still a soft glow, slowly illuminating the streets, casting Monaco under its golden, calm spell, and in the midst of this scene was Charles, looking so serene, but oh so bored with his legs propped up on another chair as he waited for the clock to tick a bit more, anticipating the moment when you’d finally stretch your arms above your head and groan in bed, signaling that you were awake, not happily but awake all the same.

He waited over an hour like that. He scrolled on his phone, listened to music, read a few pages of a book he had bought a few days ago, made himself breakfast and ate it… It seemed like he did so much, like a lot of time had passed but when his finger met the screen of his phone in a gentle tap and his eyes read the numbers on the screen, he let out a loud groan at how early it still was. It wasn’t even seven yet and so he sat patiently until that patience wore thin after a few moments.

Hoping it was now a decent hour to wake you up, he tapped his phone screen again to check the time, only to be disappointed once more by the numbers reading just a few minutes past 7.

“Putain.” Fuck. He mumbled to himself and threw his head back.

It was a day off, and what he loved about his days at home was that he got to spend them with you, but he couldn’t help that he was an early riser and you just about despised the morning, and so he waited.

Around eight, his patience had run out and his boredom levels had skyrocketed.

Usually, you woke up around 9:30 and so, he sat there for five more minutes, his mind getting decently creative with the gaslighting methods it was pulling on itself to reach the conviction that it was close enough to nine thirty.

It wasn’t, it really wasn’t but Charles got up nonetheless, leaving his cup and book right where they were as he headed straight to the bedroom as not to give himself any time to rationalize this.

His hand reached for the cold knob, he opened the door and peaked his head inside to sneak a look at his soundly asleep girlfriend.

You looks so peaceful and relaxed, asleep on your stomach, the fluffy covers blurring the outline of your body, leaving him to admire what was visible: you hiding your face in his pillow, hugging it close to you simultaneously.

An advantage of him waking up before you every day was that he got to witness this, the fact that you found comfort in his scent lingering on his side of the bed and on his pillowcase. Sometimes the sight gave him a weird sense of melancholy, especially on days where he was in a rush, with nowhere near enough time to appreciate this. Sometimes, i tugged at his heart since it left him picturing you asleep, all alone while he was across the world from where he was supposed to be, right by your side.

Today, it made him smile widely as his heartbeat picked up its pace.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him again then started taking cautious steps to the bed where he got back in under the sheets with you and slowly pried the pillow out of your grip, replacing it with himself.

He pulled you into his chest, grinning widely when he felt your arms subconsciously wrap around his waist and your head snuggle into the crook of his neck like it was instinct, his shirtless state making this so much better for him.

Mindlessly, his hand reached for your hair, his fingers brushing through it carefully while he leaned his face forward and placed a quick kiss onto the top of your head, making you snuggle further into his chest.

With a lingering smile, he spoke in a low voice, “Bonjour, chérie.”

Instantly, that made you groan, because even in your barely conscience state, you knew that little sentence was Charles’ morning shenanigans kicking off.

“Uh-uh.” You grumbled, hiding your face completely against his shoulder, hoping he would take the hint, and when he went silent and still for a few minutes, you really thought he did. You fell back into deep slumber while holding him, falsely assuming he was gonna leave you to be.

However, this was Charles, insistant as ever. His silence was in fact just him plotting.

“Baby, come on. Lève-toi.” Get up. His voice was soft and hushed as his hand slipped down your body, under the sheets and right under your oversized shirt -his shirt that you were sleeping in, his fingertips delicately meeting the soft skin to lightly trace patterns up and down your back, eliciting goosebumps on your skin, the feather feel of his touch making you arch into him instinctively.

Your complaint was half-hearted, spoke into his neck in the form of a groan of his name, the vibrations of it sending a shiver down his spine.

“Oui?” He whispered, feigning clueless about the fact that this was a complaint.

“Fuck off.” You mumbled back, making his lips twist up in a smile that slowly progressed into a slight chuckle that you too felt against your chest while Charles allowed his head to rest against the headboard.

“Tu veux pas te réveiller?” You don’t wanna wake up? He asked, already knowing the answer to that.

“Too early for baguettes.” You whined again, rolling off his body, back onto the mattress, covering your head with the pillow to tune your annoying boyfriend out.

Meanwhile, Charles was trying to figure out who even mentioned baguettes, because he sure didn’t.

“Baguettes?” He frowned.

“Ugh…” you sighed, “English, Charles. Too early for french.”

Just as your muffled voice met his ears, his laughter took ahold of him, shaking his body and the bed along with it.

The plan to keep your eyes shut under all circumstances, the only guarantee to another meeting with sleep, was failing. You gave up and peeked at him, tossing the pillow onto his head, “I hate you, Leclerc.”

Charles, with a quick reaction, grabbed the pillow and held it to his chest while your hands rubbed at your face, moving up to angrily toss back your hair that had covered your face.

You propped your body up on your elbows and rubbed your eyes again, pouting as you did so, leaving Charles, who still had a soft smile lighting up his features as he watched you with soft eyes, to take in the adorable sight of your messy hair and pouty lips.

“That’s okay, amour. You’ll go back to loving me in an hour.” He smiled, in his head the scenes of the many forced early mornings replaying.

“No, ‘cause i’m going back to sleep.” You remarked, frustration bubbling in your chest at his insistence.

Forcefully, you yanked onto the sheets, forming them into a cocoon covering you up to your head.

“But, baby… I’m home with you all day today.” Charles sounded disappointed now, but you were too sleepy and not awake enough yet to argue with him on the subject.

However, in your head, you were wondering why the fuck did a day off need to start as early as school does? It was truly beyond you, the answer to that question.

“Alright, then…” you heard him rustle off the bed, sighing as he did, “I did tell Andrea i don’t wanna train today so i can stay here with you,” he explained as he started opening and closing closets and drawers, “if you’re too sleepy to spend time with me - which is totally fine by the way, i’ll just give him a call and tell him to meet me at the gym or something.”

You blinked your eyes open at the statement, the disappointment tainting his tone and the fact that he so desperately wanted a full day with just you just now sinking in. You wanted to spend time alone with him as well. It would be so utterly disappointing if you woke up later to realize you had wasted this opportunity.

By the sounds of it, Charles was already dressed since you heard zippers being pulled up and clothes being tossed around.

Blinking your eyes repeatedly, you sighed and prepared to interrupt his plan, but before you could, you heard him unlock his phone, probably preparing to call Andrea.

Hurriedly, you pulled the duvet off your head and mumbled, “Charles, wait…”

However, there he was, stood in the middle of the room, grinning like an idiot, still shirtless and in his sleep shorts.

His trick had worked perfectly and now you were awake and he had absolutely no plans whatsoever to meet up with Andrea and as you glared at him with a piercing gaze, he broke out in a laugh and practically jumped on top of you, the covers still covering you cushioning his weight as his arms wrapped around you.

“Good morning.” He smiled widely while looking down at you.

“That was low, Leclerc.” You pushed at his shoulder, frowning deeply.

With one eyebrow raised, he replied, “I can still call Andrea.”

“You know what? Maybe you should. You are a pain in the ass at this point, Charles.”

His arms snuck around your waist to firmly hold your body to his as he flipped the two of you over so you were comfortably laying on his chest.

“Now you’re just hurting my feelings.” He playfully said, watching as your head found it resting place on his shoulder, “I though you would like that i’m all your for the day.”

The annoyance on your side was beginning to waver, a small smile now replacing the frown on your face as you spoke against his skin, “You’re all mine every day.”

“Of course i’m always yours, baby.“ His heart was beating faster as he spoke and admired your slowly relaxing features, “I just mean i’m home with you today.” Charles kissed your forehead.

“Um, i do love that, bébé.” You reassured, your hand trailing up to his cheek, you fingers running along his jawline, feeling the stubble that had grown, “It’s just your morning chronicles that i hate.”

“Just think of it as more time together, all alone in our apartment.” He replied, leaning into your touch, “Now, give me my good morning kiss.”

That, you would never refuse so, your lips met his in a sweet kiss throughout which, you felt his hands on the smile of your back, hugging you to him as your lips moved briefly against his before you relaxed back on his chest, accepting your fate that your day was gonna start now.

“What time is it?” You asked out of curiosity, yawning at the end of the sentence and lifting yourself a bit, getting ready to get out of bed.

Instead of an answer, Charles just gave you a tight-lipped, wide smile and pulled you back down, telling you he loves you right against your ear.

“What’s important is that we’re gonna spend so much time together, n’est ce pas?” …right? The cheesy smile he was displaying showed you one thing. It was still early as fuck.

✩★✩

A cake and a weird smell:

The previous night had been amazing. The party was loud and chaotic but absolutely perfect. The music was picked right to your taste, the drinks were all your favorites and all the people you loved were all gathered under one roof, all having fun with seemingly no other cares in the world.

And Charles… he was - and is - the best boyfriend on so many different scales. His insistence on making every day special went above any beyond on special occasions, especially on your birthday. He had organized everything to utmost perfection, planning every detail of your birthday party himself, down to the type of confetti used and the font on the “Happy Birthday” banner hanging elegantly on the entrance of the club he had chosen for the occasion.

In fact, he had planned everything down to his own appearance for the night, picking out your favorite clothes of his, styling his hair how you liked it - just the right proportion of messy and put together, using your favorite perfume of his and putting on the ring you loved so much.

Last night’s surprises were perfect and the way he took care of your every need once the two of you were finally alone, in the dimly lit environment of your bedroom, was even more than that.

Even falling asleep in his arms was perfect, but now, at past ten in the morning, he was awake and out of bed and you were back to hugging his pillow to make up for his absence.

Charles had woken up later than usual today due to how late he stayed up last night, but as soon as he was awake, he put on some sweatpants and headed right for the kitchen, pulling an apron over his bare chest before starting to dig through the cabinets, pulling out all the ingredients and utensils he needed until he was left with a pile of stuff on the counter. His eyes were still scanning the things he prepared as he grabbed his phone and rung up his mom for help.

“Maman, j’ai besoin que tu me donne la recette la plus facile que tu sais pour faire un gâteau.” Mom, i need you to give me the easiest cake recipe you know. He rushed over the phone and when his mom started telling him what to do, he put her on speaker and started following the directions silently, only interrupting the flow with small remarks such as “Attend, y a des coquilles d’œufs dans le bol.” Wait, there’s eggshells in the bowl.

Charles, for once, was more than meticulous with absolutely everything. He had triple checked the amount and the label of each ingredient he added before mixing with extra caution to make sure he wouldn’t be making a mess. By the end of the preparations, he was so sure this cake would turn out just like his mother’s, delicious and homey, made with so much love and that alone left him beaming as, in his mind, he imagined your reaction to him waking you up to something he made you himself.

Once he poured the batter into the cake mold and put it in the oven, he said goodbye to his mother and went to check on you.

Like always, he was grinning like an idiot as soon as his eyes met the sight of the one he loves so dearly. He stilled in his spot and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest while he silently watched you sleep, your bare back and your messy hair being the only two clear parts of you that were showing. Still, that was enough to leave him with thoughts of his love for you and for the simple thought that you were his girl, that he was the one you loved.

Charles, in opposite to all other mornings, was being extra cautious not to wake you up just yet. That would ruin his plan, what would subsequently put him in a bad mood since he’s been planning this for weeks, the only thought in his head while doing so being the smile you’d give him when he woke you up with another surprise, this time one that’s just yours and his to see and remember. Days ago, he snuck out while you were busy and bought you the gift he would be giving you today.

Sighing contently, he closed the bedroom door again and headed for the living room where he sat down for a total of about 10 minutes since he was unable to stop checking on the cake, anxiously waiting to decorate it with the candles he had secretly bought and hid in the highest cupboard, the only one you couldn’t reach. However, he eventually got carried away when he had to take a call related to the mechanics of this season’s car. The issue was that the car was doing everything but functioning according to calculations and so the call went on for longer than he was expecting and he was getting worked up over the conversation, what bugged him even more because he was supposed to be in a good mood today.

“Mi dispiace, devo andare. Forse ne parleremo di nuovo domani?” I’m sorry, i have to go. We’ll talk about this again tomorrow maybe? He ended the conversation and rushed to the oven, already cursing since the smell invading the kitchen wasn’t quite right.

With oven mitts ready, he opened the door and a whiff of smoke burst out.

It was bad.

His eyes narrowed to protect themselves from the heat and smoke as he grabbed the cake pan and brought it out onto the nearby counter.

Immediately, his shoulders dropped and his heart sank at the sight.

The cake looked burnt to a crisp, dark as coal. It looked so bad, he had to bite his lip and look away so he wouldn’t break out in a stream of cuss words.

What was he supposed to do now? He wanted this special moment with you so badly, it was making him feel helpless that he wouldn’t get to surprise you like he had been planning.

He angrily turned off the oven and closed its door back up.

His mind was racing and he was indescribably angry now as he paced back and forth, wishing he had some sort of a back up plan, but he didn’t because he really thought this was foolproof, and it would’ve been if it wasn’t for that damn call.

Charles felt hopeless now. This was supposed to be your own little private celebration of your birthday after a very public party yesterday, something to remember years down the line when you’re all grown, most probably married, after you’ve had kids that would steal most of your privacy, leaving you to reminisce on moments of recklessness and affection that you shared unbothered during your dating days, these current days. This morning was supposed to be special.

“Bordel de merde.” Fucking shit. He cursed, tossing away the mitts still in his fist before storming out of the kitchen onto the balcony, trying to escape the awful burning smell filling the apartment.

The road below was busy and loud. Thankful for the distraction, Charles watched while still trying to figure something out, his eyes following a pedestrian running along the sidewalk until a store down the street caught his attention, making an idea spark in his head.

Within a minute, he was dressed and out of the apartment, practically hurling down the sidewalk until he burst through the door of the shop, a patisserie.

“S’il vous plaît, dites moi que vous avez un gâteau que je peux acheter immédiatement.” Please, tell me you have a cake i can buy immediately. He blurted with no greeting, taking the two workers who instantly recognized him by surprise. They stood there dumbfounded and staring at him like he was a ghost until one of them snapped out of it and went up to help him.

Luckily, there was a few plain white cake that they make for last-minute orders, so they wrote on it what Charles had asked them to and just like that, he was hurrying back home with relief, the smile having returned to his face.

He wanted for this to seem more laid back so he changed back into his sweatpants, deciding that there was no need for a shirt, then he opened just about every window in the house to let out the awful smell and he cleaned up the kitchen before taking a look around to made sure everything was spotless. Once he was satisfied, he got the cake out of the box, reached for the hidden candles and meticulously placed on in it, grabbed the small bag that had your final gift from it’s hiding place and he made his way to the bed.

He rested the objects in his hands on the nightstand and he climbed in next to you, burying his face in your neck, sealing a quick kiss against the soft skin there.

“Bébé…” he started softly, his hand moving your hair away and massaging your shoulders as he moved around to kiss your cheek, his soft trail of cautious kissed trailing towards your exposed back.

Even in your sleep, a shiver ran down your spine when his lip met the spot between your shoulders and without even knowing it, your head tilted to the side to give him more room to kiss your neck.

Charles knew you like he knew the back of his own hand. You absolutely melted the second he would start kissing your jawline and you neck. It was by far your favorite place to be kissed and he always acknowledged that, always payed extra attention to the supple skin under all circumstances. No matter the situation, he loved your reactions to his soft kisses.

Like always, he awaited the response and watched your body respond to him with a small lazy smile on his face. His hands moved down your sides, down to your waist until he was able to pull you to him while you groaned at him, taking the covers with you before accepting your fate and snuggling up against him.

You leg hiked up until it was resting on his waist, locking him in beside you for the moment as you reveled in the feeling on his fingers tracing down your spine and his breath fanning on your forehead.

He know you wouldn’t complain about the time he was waking you up at today, but he also knew it wouldn’t be any easier to wake you up. Your hatred for waking up was a staple of your personality and so, over the time, he came to the conclusion that the slower and the softer he woke you up, the better your mood would be, so he planned to let you take your time today.

Your thumb moving on his waist where your arm was resting was enough of a sign to him that it would be minutes before you would flutter your eyes open and blink up at him lovingly like always.

His arm remained around your body while he folded the other under his head, giving himself just enough leverage to be able to quietly gaze at you.

He had an amazing ability to catch the hints you throw and to pick up your cues with perfect accuracy, enough accuracy to know his cue when it came, so for now, he just littered kisses anywhere he could reach, the top of your head and cheeks mostly, making you smile as you slowly took awareness of the room, the surrounding sounds and the texture of Charles’ sweatpants against your bare legs.

Judging by the smile slipping your sleep, today might actually be one of the rare good mornings that you actually enjoy and Charles was ecstatic. All he wanted was for you to be happy and comfortable. That was the case for every second of his being, for every day of his life since he first laid eyes on you, so one can only imagine the amount of joy he wished for you on the morning after your birthday. He felt something foreign to him every time he spent a special occasion by your side, something bigger than him and beyond his understanding, like he would literally offer you his world and all of the stars just as soon as he finds a way to wrap them up into a present decorated just as beautifully as you were.

There was a breeze traveling through the apartment, tickling your skin in its passing, giving you goosebumps that got you pulling the covers up to fully cover your body, frowning and pouting as you did so, successfully pulling Charles’ heart into a spontaneous dance that oftentimes took him by utter surprise. Loving you was so special, so rejuvenating that Charles knew he would never get used to it; it would always feel new and fulfilling.

He couldn’t resist it. He leaned over, kissed your lips lightly and pulled away smiling, the thoughts in his head still intoxicating him, but he was surprisingly met with an objection in the form of your arms wrapping around his neck, bringing him back in for another kiss with your eyes still shut.

His hand rested on the side of your neck as he kissed you, this thumb moving so delicately along the skin while you scooted closer and closer to him, never giving up a chance to be in his arms. For a minute, thoughts of cakes and gifts got lost between your lips and his and the way they moved in synchrony against each other, as if all along, they were meant to find each other in the deepest and darkest depths of life, like you and Charles were always meant to find each other, and so he kissed you.

He kissed you with everything in him, with every ounce of love he’s ever felt in his life, all while under the charming casted spell of your hand on the side of his neck, comforting every bad thought that had ever troubled him.

He didn’t have it in him to pull away, so he kissed you until you broke away and looked up at him with sleepy, but shining and glimmering eyes, ones so full of love, it made him blush ever so shyly as a wide smile creeped up on his face, lighting up his features and prompting him to wrap you in a tight hug while you giggled against his chest, a smile on your face – a rare sighting at such a time.

That’s when he snapped out of it, right as you whispered a hoarse but soft “Bonjour” to him.

His body was still shielding the sight of the cake and gift away from you and for that he was thankful. He didn’t want the surprise getting spoilt.

He straightened up just as you lifted yourself off him, still using the fluffy duvet to cover yourself up as you stretched your arms in front of you, you eyes tight-shut as you yawned one last time and turned sideways to face him.

Charles was quick and opportunistic. Within those few seconds, he had grabbed the cake and held it up in front of you. He was just lighting the last candle as you turned to face him, your brows instantly raising as a big smile appeared on your face.

“You did not.” You sighed, the feeling in your chest indescribable.

“Tu mérites le monde. Ça, c’est rien.” You deserve the world. This, it’s nothing. He grinned, bringing the cake closer to you, but you couldn’t even shift your gaze away from him at that moment.

Your eyes locked with his happy ones, the color of them seeming way lighter as he looked at you for a second too long, making you chuckle and look down as your cheeks heated up. He couldn’t help it though. The way you looked at him always captivated him, the thought that someone could love him that much, as much as your looks were telling him that you do, giving him an urge to drop everything and run away with you.

“Come on, bébé. Make a wish.”

You looked back up at him and shut your lids, the one wish you could think of after such an amazing birthday being plainly obvious. You repeated it three times in your heart, hoping and praying that it would come true before you blew the candles and opened your eyes to the sight of Charles swiping his finger across the lettering – “Joyeux Anniversaire, mon cœur” Happy birthday, my heart – gathering whipping cream before leaning closer and putting it on your nose, making you laugh while he took in just how happy you seemed, just how happy he was and just how adorable you looked.

He wanted to keep this memory. Years down the road, this sight of you would be one of the things he’d want to show your kids.

“Peux-je prendre une photo?” Can i take a picture? He made sure to ask, his eyes sparkling as he smiled.

Laughing, you replied, “Mon cœur, je suis nue.” My heart, i am naked.

You looked down at the covers pulled up to right under your neck.

“I’ll make sure there’s nothing showing. Plus, it’s only for me to see.”

You thought for a mere second then you nodded and gestured for him to hand you the cake. You posed for him, pulling a silly face at first that efficiently showed you your favorite sight in the world, Charles’ dimples as he smiled from behind his phone.

He inspected the photos a few minutes later while you hugged him with a fluttering heart just before he gave you the gift he had prepared then made sure to feed you enough cake for three birthdays.

However, as soon as you were out of the bedroom, a burning smell invaded your senses, making you question Charles about it, prompting him to tell you the story of his burnt cake with embarrassment tinging his tone.

“Aw, baby.” You hooked your arms around his neck and pulled him in, planting a kiss onto his blushed cheek, “I still appreciate that, Charles. You are adorable and you’ve done more than enough for me these two days, bébé.” You reassured, inching you lips closer to his until they met in a passionate, feverish kiss.

It was safe to say that was one of the few mornings you actually loved, if it counts as a morning.

✩★✩

A flight and a bit of a fight:

Just because the location and the bedroom were different didn’t mean the morning dynamics between you and Charles changed, except this time, he had no choice but to wake you up in a hurry, fully knowing he’d have to face a grumpy girlfriend for the first hour of the day.

For the first time in a while, you had taken the decision to accompany Charles to a Grand Prix, packing up and taking off with him mid-week, both of you beaming at the thought of extra time together.

Make no mistake, it had all went amazing but then Monday morning came around and you had to catch the flight back home, at 6:30 in the morning, meaning you’d have to be at the airport even earlier than than.

It was a personalized hell for both you and Charles, you for obvious reasons and him because he’d be on the receiving end of the complaints. There was no way this was gonna end with anything but a fight, but it was the only flight to Nice airport with an opening and you had no other option than to board it.

Charles, tired from the weekend and in need of sleep as well, wasn’t too happy about the timing either, but he pulled himself through it. He got up while it was still dark outside and got everything ready, even preparing the suitcases and carry ons to go, leaving you asleep for as much time as he could, but the clock was ticking closer to the time you’d have to get going and he had to wake you up at that point.

He headed to the kitchenette in the suite beforehand, preparing your coffee for you in your travel cup, hoping that would help his case a bit and when he had no other choice but to go disturb your sleep, he grabbed the cup and very quietly entered the bedroom, drew the blinds and neared the bed, putting the travel mug on the nightstand and crouching down by your side.

“Baby…” He started, hating this already, “You have to wake up.”

No response.

He sighed. “Listen, mon coeur, we can’t do this today.” He brushed back your hair and kissed your cheek, “The flight won’t wait for us.”

No response as well.

“Oh, c’mon. You knew i had to wake you up early today.” He shook you by the shoulder, just enough that you stirred.

He thought that was a good sign, a really good one but then you grabbed the duvet and covered your head with it and he groaned in such annoyance.

He didn’t have the energy for this, not today. He was just as exhausted. He also needed a lot more sleep and his burning eyes were a constant reminder of that.

“Baby,” he practically shouted, “get up. Get up.” Charles repeated, then said your name so many times and he still got nothing.

He called for you again, leaning down above your sleeping figure now, “You have ten minutes to wake up. We can’t be late.” He tried to keep his voice gentle but he was struggling. He was in such a bad mood, it was astounding. He also wasn’t a fan of the time of the flight but what was he supposed to do?

Charles just kept trying and retrying to get you up until his patience had started wearing thin.

He grabbed the blanket and pulled it away from you, grabbed your hand and started tugging on it gently, cooing your name like that’s gonna help.

“Baby, please.” He was practically whining now, shoulders slouched as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Fuck off.” Charles heard you mumble into the pillow. Usually that would be a sign of progress but today he took it personally for some reason.

“Great. Perfect even. I’ll just leave you here.” He let go off your hand and covered you back up before crossing the room and leaving it, heading into the main chamber of the suite.

“Je vais me perdre la tête dans cinq minutes.” I’m gonna lose it in five minutes. He was mumbling to himself as he paced back and forth, aware he couldn’t just leave you here. He wouldn’t do that, he loved you too much to be that cruel with you, so he found himself huffing and stumbling back into the room, preparing himself for another round of frustration, the time passing making his anxiety rise as it did.

Much to his surprise though, he walked in and was greeted with the sight of you sat in bed with a blank expression on your face, but hey! Your eyes were opened at least!

“Bonjour, bébé.” He said, his tone still tinged with the annoyance he had been feeling. He still attempted a smile nonetheless, but he was slightly scared of your expression.

“Fuck off, Leclerc.” You replied, gesturing for him to get out.

“Oh, ne fais pas ça!” Oh, don’t do this! He groaned and came closer, “Tu savais qu’on doit se lever tôt aujourd’hui, pour qu’on prenne le vol.” You knew that we’d have to wake up early today, to catch the flight. Charles attempted to remind you, now kneeling one knee on the mattress.

“Get out, i don’t wanna fight. And stop it with the baguettes again.” You curtly replied, not giving a single flying damn about logical reasoning for the time being.

“Baby, don’t be like this.” Charles pleaded.

“Charles, please. You act like you’re still getting to know me. Get out so i can get ready. Us talking means us fighting right now.” You stormed off the bed, “I’m up now, you can fuck off for a few minutes.”

The sentence ended with you disappearing into the adjoined bathroom, aggressively locking it behind you, leaving Charles to roll his eyes all alone by the bed while you repeatedly splashed cold water on your face. Yeah, Charles might be right, but it was too early for you to comprehend it all the same.

All the final preparations for the flight home were done in utter and tense silence, from getting dressed to organizing the carry ons and how you were gonna fit everything into them, dividing all the remaining possessions you had between your backpack and Charles. The communication in that concern was done through death glares and tossing things at each other from across the room.

“On a tout. Allons y.” We have everything. Let’s go. Charles said half an hour later, signaling you should get going now.

Coffee then flashed in your mind, the thought of going without it being torture. You can still make one in your travel mug before leaving, you figured so you left Charles tapping his foot on the floor by the door and disappeared back into the suite to get your caffeine dosage ready. Only then, you realized you had no idea where your travel mug was and you had no recollection of putting it away. Charles must’ve done that.

You sighed in frustration and called his name. Seconds later, he was by your side.

“My travel cup…” you mumbled, your voice still hoarse.

Smiling slightly, Charles stopped your search through the hotel cupboards, “Viens.” Follow me. He grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the entrance where the table by the door had your cup, your phone and your headphones.

“I made you your coffee, ‘cause i knew you were gonna be in a bad mood.”

With a snap of a finger, you started feeling guilty about how rude to him you were being when he was being this thoughtful. After all, he was just making sure you wouldn’t miss the only flight home available.

“C’mon.” He handed you your things and took care of the backpacks and suitcases himself before he opened the door and gestured for you to walk out in front of him.

You gulped as you took in his soft expression, the smile on his face being your enemy for once because it made you feel astronomically bad.

“Merci.” You murmured, cheeks heating up as you walked past him, giving the quickest and shiest of kisses on the cheek, making him grin and shake his head.

On the plane later, when he pulled your legs onto his lap, his thumb caressing your ankle as he assured you that you can go back to sleep, you slipped out the apology you felt like you owed him.

“I’m sorry…about earlier.” You said, looking down at your lap.

“T’inquiète pas.” Don’t worry. Charles reassured with a loving smile that slowly evolved into a chuckle, “I know you by now, i don’t take your morning insults seriously anymore. Ma princesse déteste les matins, je l’ai compris. T’en fais pas.” My princess hates mornings, i got it. Don’t worry. He said as a joke, one that was true to both your knowledges. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead as you blushed further.

“Je t’aime.” I love you. You mumbled to him in reassurance and reaffirmation before you gave him a brief kiss on the lips.

“I know, don’t worry. I love you too.” He pulled you to him, his arms around you as he hugged you back to sleep.

✰★✰

A heart attack and you’ll be the death of me:

Charles was so sure he had it covered.

As he tiptoed around the room in the faint dawn light, he was so sure he could go about his morning without disturbing you.

He woke up early as usual, at 5:30 sharp.

Strike one was his alarm waking you up, what earned him a quick death glare from you while you were mostly asleep, just peaking out from under the covers to give him that murderous morning look of yours while he fumbled around to get to his phone and silence it.

He smiled at you then; more like grimaced actually, then he slid out of bed and went straight into the bathroom, where he took a quick cold shower because “he’s a psychopath like that” as you described him. He just found it energizing on mornings where he had no motivation but a ton of things and trainings to accomplish throughout the day.

Dripping in water, he patted back into the room barefoot with a towel wrapped around his waist, whistling a tune stuck in his head, then stopping himself from doing that once his eyes met the sight of your sleeping figure, only for the messy symphony to resume mindlessly in a minute.

Part of your bedroom floor was hardwood while the remaining parts were porcelain, incredibly shiny porcelain that was a true hazard when wet, or when the person walking on it had bare feet and was leaving a trail of water behind him, but Charles never learned that. Charles himself was in fact the hazard at that point.

He continued the trajectory towards the wardrobe and drawers that had his clothes, in other words, the slippery part of the room, barefoot and leaving a trail of water to mark his trajectory, and the minute his foot met the shiny flooring, he was struggling to steady himself. In his own vocabulary, he had no grip. Softs in the pouring rain type of catastrophe.

Strike two was him using the duvet covering you for leverage.

His foot inevitably slipped and glided along the shiny flooring and down went Charles, grabbing onto the duvet covering you as if it was a solid that would sustain his weight while he collapsed, yanking it off the bed as he did.

He landed on the floor with a thud and widened eyes and the sheets fell on top of him.

Sleep wasn’t your main concern then, not when you bolted awake to find your boyfriend, in all his might, on the floor whining in pain.

Your heart skipped a beat as worry took over you, effectively waking you up within seconds.

“Fuck, are you okay? What happened?” You jumped up to him, crouching down by his side, your hand grabbing his as you attempted to help him up. Instead, he was dragging you down with him until he utilized his own strength to help you lift him off the floor. You tried hard no ignore the way he was still fumbling to keep himself covered as you helped him up, you tried really hard because if you didn’t you’d end up laughing and feeling bad later.

“Are you okay?” You asked worriedly as you sat him on the bed, visually inspecting his body for any bruises or injuries while your heart beat out of control.

“I’m okay.” He answered, rubbing over his back and wincing then adjusting his towel as if he just realized that he severely lacked of clothing.

“You’re sure?” You asked again and he nodded.

“How many times have a told you not to walk barefoot over here after showers, Charles?! You fucking scared me, you idiot.” The anger set in as the worry faded.

Time and time again, he almost slipped because of this, only this time he made actual contact with the floor instead of grabbing onto a dresser or something nearby. Time and time again, you’ve told him to watch out but here he was, frolicking around the bedroom with this wet feet with no cares in the world, not even for his safety.

“Okay, maman.” He got up and kissed you with a bit of an eye-roll, “You go back to sleep and i’ll get going in a bit.” He grinned.

“I will go back to sleep. Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

Smiling at the care peaking through your anger, he reassured you again.

“I’m sure, don’t worry.”

You took a once-over at him, scanning every part of him to make sure all was actually well, your breathing just starting to go back to normal as you did so, but worry still riddling your thoughts.

It wasn’t easy to wake up to the person you love collapsed on the floor. He scared you – for him- beyond words.

“Baby, i’m okay. I swear.” He chuckled and pulled you for a quick hug, interrupting your examination.

“Okay…” you yawned and made you way back to the bed, “If you feel anything wrong during the day, tell me so I can go with you to the doctor.” You mumbled to him just as you pulled the duvet back onto the bed, covering yourself up completely with it.

“I don’t think I will need that, but okay, mon coeur..”

You hummed back at him and he went back to getting dressed, wearing socks – Ferrari socks, and slippers this time.

His usual gym attire is what he went with, pulling on some shorts and a Puma shirt and trainers. He grabbed everything he needed out of the room so he wouldn’t have to disturb you again – phone, headphones, car keys, gym bag… - and he headed out into the kitchen to prepare himself a quick breakfast.

Charles stood in front of the fully stocked fridge, his hand on his waist as he scanned his options, a slight pain in his lower back distracting him.

The scene of the fall started playing in his mind and he couldn’t help laughing as he imagined how he must’ve looked like, loosing control over his steps and tumbling down the way he did.

Shaking his head with a smile on his face, he grabbed eggs out of the fridge, olive oil from the counter, salt and pepper from the drawer and a pan from the lower cabinet before he started the stove to make himself some scrambled eggs.

He couldn’t recall the first time he made eggs alone. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure where he learned how to make them since he had no recollection of anyone giving him a rundown on how it’s done, so how did he know how to scramble eggs?

What if he didn’t know and he just never messed up badly enough before? That is what he convinced himself of.

He never thought of the amount of oil he should use while making this. He never noticed how much time he let the oil heat up, nor how much it took for the eggs to cook. He never measured how much salt and pepper he seasoned them with.

Charles frowned as he watched the oil pour into the pan. How did that come naturally to him? Why did it come naturally if he was never taught how to do this?

The fall must’ve had some effect on him, he thought. There was no other explanation for these thoughts in his opinion.

With a quick shake of his head to come back to reality, he pushed those thoughts aside and figured he’d better focus on the task on hand.

He followed the stream of oil pouring out of the bottle in his hand and looked down to find the pan half full of oil.

Now, he wasn’t precise about the amount but he know for sure that this was way too much.

“Merde.” Shit. He sighed, his hands already working the stopper off the bottle of oil so he can pour the excess back in. He wasn’t thinking of the fact that this was probably gonna end up in a slippery mess. It did.

The stopper slipped out if his grip and flew across the kitchen. Half the unwanted oil ended up on the counter, dripping down onto the cabinets and onto the floor as he stood and watched, dumbfounded and annoyed.

“Tu me blague ou quoi?” Are you kidding me? He groaned in frustration, stomping over to the table in the corner to grab tissues to attempt cleaning this mess.

Charles distributed paper towels over the oil and left them to soak up the liquid while he went back to preparing breakfast, figuring he’ll just clean afterwards when he washes whatever dishes he ends up using. They’re not gonna run away, now are they?

He clicked the stove to life and watched the blue flames hide beneath the seriously well oiled pan.

Soon enough, the oil was making sizzling sounds and he started contemplating whether he should add the eggs now, not understanding why this felt so complicated today. Nonetheless, he grabbed the eggs and starting shifting his attention between them and the bubbling oil.

He scratched his head in contemplation as his eyes remained fixed on the stove, his arm supporting his slouching posture against the counter right by him, right where his mess resided. It seemed like he was waiting for some cue to tell him when he should do what, and so he went back to contemplating if he even knew how to do this.

It seemed like he took to much time to consider this and before he knew it, right before his widening, panicking eyes, a catastrophe ensued.

He didn’t know what to do and for a second all the years of reaction time training were all down the drain.

Charles stood still with wide frightened eyes that served as an artist’s palette on which the blue-green and the alarming orange started mixing. Alarms bells were ringing in his mind but he still stood motionless.

Charles watched as a huge flame erupted from the oil in the pan, casting a vibrant orange glow all over the kitchen, its warmth so close to his face making him quickly step back. He was repeatedly cursing under his breath as he tried figuring out what he was supposed to do. Every curse word in every language he knew took a turn and got used again and again and again until he started fumbling around the kitchen for a solution, just hoping and praying he wasn’t gonna burn the apartment down on a lovely Tuesday morning.

Luckily, Charles was just far enough to be unharmed but as the fire erupted, crackles escaped it and landed all over the kitchen, marking random objects with its signature.

In his panicked state, Charles didn’t have any recollection of oil-soaked paper towels that would be a huge fire hazard, especially when an open flame was raging mere inches away from them. He was too busy trying to get to the small emergency fire extinguisher he knew he had somewhere in the kitchen.

His hand was still trailing along the counter as he searched with fear through the lower cabinets and drawers for the red bottle. He kept searching as the fire spread on and as the tissues started burning as well and before he knew it, his hand on the edge of the countertop was feeling exceptionally warm.

He looked up quickly, but he wasn’t quick enough. The flames were spreading all over the marbly surface, dangerous close to him, right by his arms.

Quickly, he pulled back his hand but it was a second too late. He had burnt his hand and forearm and without him knowing it, a scream of pain left him mouth.

In the bedroom, you were still soundly asleep, not aware of the catastrophe your boyfriend was causing just in the room near where you were, unaware that he was at risk and that the whole apartment was at risk.

Under a thick layer of blankets, you were asleep like a baby, until you heard an alarmed scream and the clatter of metal, but the sound that made your heart drop wasn’t that. It was the distinct sound of a fire, a crackling that was faint but alarming enough that it was all you heard as you stumbled out of bed and out of the room, tripping over your feet, the few seconds it would take you to reach the origin of the sounds feeling like a damn eternity.

“Charles!” You called, a smell of smoke meeting your nose just as your eyes caught glimpse of how golden the light in the kitchen was, an orange light of a fire.

Your eyes widened and you mindlessly ran up to the door, slightly scared of what you might see once the space was in your line of sight.

You were just hoping and praying Charles was okay. Everything else could be managed.

“Charles”, you called for him again before you took a deep breath and ran into the kitchen. It felt like you blood was draining when you eyes caught sight of your boyfriend hunched down in front of the lower cabinets, the fire maybe a meter away from his hair as he nervously dug through the shelves, waving his left arm furiously through the air.

“Charles, what happened?” You ran up to him, pulling him farther from the flames.

His eyes, panicked as you’ve ever seen them, were still searching throughout the kitchen for a glimpse of red.

“Where’s the fire thing?” He practically shouted, asking about the extinguisher as he went on with his search.

With no further words spoken and both your hearts beating a million times per minute, you immediately went back to resolving things. Luckily, you knew the fire extinguisher was in the cabinet by the kitchen balcony door so you grabbed it and got to work, ending the fire just as the the oil-streaked cupboard door was starting to catch sparks.

Charles was panting and feeling lightheaded, the pain from the burn starting to make itself known, so as soon as he saw you had it covered, he allowed himself to fall onto the floor, dropping his back against the wall as he attempted to catch his breath.

Once you were sure the flame was put out for good, you dropped everything and allowed yourself to take a deep breath before the worry replaced the adrenaline high. You rushed to Charles’ side, hoping he hadn’t hurt himself.

He looked up at you as you crouched down in front of his, worried sick, the look in his face being one of pure fear.

“You’re okay?” You asked, exhilarated.

“I’m sorry, i’m so sorry. I don’t know how-“ he gasped for air, “-it happened.”

“Mon coeur, arrête. Show me your hand, I think you burnt it.”

Shakily, he lifted his arm into your line of sight and you had to wince at the sight.

“Oh, baby.” You started getting up, “I doesn’t look to good, Charles. I think you should get it checked out. Does it hurts?”

“Starting to…” he sounded out of breath.

“C’mon. Je t’amène à l’hôpital. You can get it treated in the ER.” I’ll take you to the hospital.

You knew he was in pain because he didn’t object like usual. He just nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, Charles was sat waiting for his turn, which they assured would be soon, and you were sat next to him, trying to distract him from whatever pain he might be feeling.

“Tu peux appeler maman? Dis lui de venir ici?” Can you call mon? Tell here to come here? He said after going silent for a few seconds, wincing as he did so.

You looked at him, wishing you could ease his pain immediately, “Oui, ne t’inquiètes pas.” Yes, don’t worry. You gave him a small smile that he tried weakly to return, “Et Andrea? Tu peux lui dire ce qui s’est passé? He’s probably waiting for me still.” And Andrea? Can you tell him what happened?

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

You got up and made the calls, struggling to find a way to tell Pascale and Andrea what happened without scaring them to death, and you managed, all while keeping an eye on your boyfriend, watching him take deep breaths. Just as you put your phone away, he got called into the ER and before he went in, he gestured for you to come along, using his good hand to do do, waiting until you joined his side and intertwined your fingers with his to follow the nurse.

Around noon, after Charles had been given painkillers and had gotten his arm and hand wrapped in gauze, you sat with him in your bedroom, the door to the kitchen closed to hide the mess neither of you wanted to acknowledge just yet.

A movie was playing on the screen of your laptop sat on top of your legs while Charles rested his head on your shoulder.

Neither of you were speaking or saying anything, the chaos from earlier being enough noise for a good while.

“Sorry I woke you up so early.” Charles whispered to you.

“Charles, shut up. Imagine me caring about sleep in this situation.” You softly kissed his forehead, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” You practically whispered, genuinely overwhelmed by the thought.

He sighed heavily and snuggled his face into your neck, “Je sais vraiment pas qu’est-ce qui s’est passé.” I really don’t know what happened.

“We all have bad days, this one was just extra bad. I’m just glad you’re safe.” You tried reassuring, moving around so you were hugging him, keeping his injured limb in mind.

Charles, feeling down and upset, stayed silent and snuggled up to you, “My superwoman…” He softly and innocently kissed your jaw, “Tu nous a sauvé, toi. Je n’avais aucune idée c’était où l’extincteur.” You saved us. I had no idea where the extinguisher was.

You smiled softly and trailed your hand through his hair, “I was so scared for you, mon coeur. You gave me a heart attack today- twice.” You chuckled, threading your fingers gently through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and giving him a small kiss there, “You’ll most definitely be the death of me, Leclerc.”

Charles giggled just a bit before mumbling a small “Désolé” sorry against your skin and falling into comfortable silence.

“Two weeks without racing though…” You thought out loud a minute later and felt him let out a whine of annoyance against your neck, the sound slowly turning into the softest of laughs ever, his chest shaking against yours.

Obviously, this situation wasn’t pleasant and this morning would for sure be a bad memory, but he was okay and that was all you could ask for after such a scare.

a/n: manifesting and praying that last situation never happens to him

#charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc oneshots #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshots #f1 x you #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #f1 one shot #f1 imagine

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

#jake smut #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin fic #jake seresin #Glen powell #Jake hangman Seresin #top gun: maverick

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 7

Part 6

It took Damian the rest of the afternoon to prepare for his trip to Amity Park. Jon helpfully agreed to cover for him, on the promise of a copy of the upcoming Cheese Viking 2 and getting filled in on all the hot Bat gossip afterwards. Wasn’t friendship grand?

Pennyworth thankfully agreed that ‘bonding time’ between the Super Sons was a good use of fall break and even took the time to ‘Prepare some healthy snacks for the young Masters, lest you eat junk food the whole week’. The task also handily distracted the butler while Damian packed the Batwing with all the necessary surveillance equipment he would need and set up the program to spoof his flight data. Damian had no doubt that Father wouldn’t be fooled for long, but with the Bat it was always better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

The flight to Illinois was mercifully uneventful. Damian rappelled off in the middle of the eponymous city Park, then instructed the autopilot to take the plane to a wooded area outside city limits and park there in camouflage mode. Once he was sure his arrival had gone undetected, he changed into civvies and with his backpack full of gear set off in the direction of Fenton Works on foot. In jeans, sneakers, a dark hoodie and a baseball cap he looked like any other kid his age, even if he was out after curfew. Damian made sure to stick to the shadows and ducked behind cover whenever a car passed him.

All in all it took him until the early morning hours to arrive at the correct address. Intellectually, he had known the Fentons operated their workshop out of the family home, but he was in no way prepared for the monstrosity of a building that greeted him. Damian couldn’t help but stop and stare in disbelief.

What had once started out as an ordinary brownstone building had a glaring neon sign out front, proudly proclaiming the company name. Perched precariously on the roof was a gigantic metal structure that looked like a cross between a cartoon UFO and an observatory. There was no way this was legal or sane. If something like this had popped up in Gotham it would have been flagged as a Rogue hideout and bugged to hell and back. Hell, Damian was half tempted to break in immediately to start planting cameras but was held back by the likely presence of a custom security system. Mad scientists were rude like that and Damian didn’t want to tip his hand too early. He would have to at least wait until he was sure the Fentons weren’t at home.

Damian tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and strolled past the building at a fake casual pace. The windows were dark and the building was silent, except for the faint hum of the neon sign. This early on a Saturday morning, the residents were likely fast asleep. He spotted an electric scooter chained up next to the stairs leading up to the entrance and made the deduction that it likely belonged to Daniel. Under the guise of retying his shoelaces, he dropped to one knee and surreptitiously attached a bug to the vehicle. Ideally he would get the opportunity to bug Daniel himself, but for now this would have to do. Hoping that no one had noticed him, Damian continued down the street.

He had researched the area ahead of time and had found an apartment a few buildings down and across the street that was advertised as available for rent and was unoccupied. Breaking in and disabling the home alarm was child’s play, and after making sure he was alone in the apartment, Damian settled in to begin his surveillance.

He pulled the handheld radiation detector out of his backpack and after making sure it was operational he slipped it into his pocket. With no way to boost its range he would have to get pretty close to Daniel with no major obstructions in the way in order to verify if he had been in contact with the marked bills he had slipped Phantom. But Damian was confident in his ability to stay undetected. After all, Daniel had no reason to suspect he was being stalked by a curious Bat.

Damian kept himself occupied by listening to the local radio broadcast over his comm. The hosts sounded like chipper twenty-somethings, excitedly shilling for various local events happening over fall break, in-between shilling for local businesses. Why anyone would want to eat at an establishment called the Nasty Burger was beyond Damian. Whenever they stopped nattering to play actual music it was a blessing even if the appeal of the songs was entirely lost on the young vigilante. Finally, at 8am they had an actual news segment. Most of it was covering major US and global events, nothing Damian hadn’t already heard. Elections, natural disasters, rising tensions in Bialya…

“...and in local news, the City Library has announced that clean-up after last week’s ghost attack is finished, and they will be open at their normal hours on Monday!” the female host said cheerily, as if she was talking about the weather. “As usual, we would like to remind our listeners to keep their third eyes peeled for any ghost sightings! In case of a ghost attack, follow standard protocol and head to your nearest ghost shelter. Thank you! And here’s Mark with sports!”

Damian was flabbergasted. Ghost attack? This city experienced supernatural incursions and treated it like it was a normal occurrence? He’d read that the Fentons were ghost hunters, but he hadn’t thought anyone was taking them seriously! If Amity Park was under attack on a regular basis, how come the Justice League didn’t have a file on the city? Surely the news should have leaked to the outside world by now!

It was rare that Damian was caught so utterly wrong footed. His cursory research into Amity Park had turned up nothing like this! He was itching to get back to the Batcomputer to do a deep dive on the city and its history. Unfortunately, all he had on him was his phone which was ill suited for serious data compilation. At best he could scour local news sites and social media for any hint as to what was going on.

After half an hour of fruitless searching, he gave up in disgust. There was no mention of ghosts anywhere, save for the Fentons’ own website. Yet the news report had been almost blasé about the subject! Something was rotten in the State of Illinois.

All he could do for now was stare out the window at the Fenton’s front porch and hope his quarry made an appearance soon.

At 9.13 AM there was finally movement at the Fenton house. A dark-haired teenager in jeans, a light T-shirt, a backpack and a bicycle helmet bounded down the front steps and unlocked the electric scooter. It was unmistakably Daniel.

Damian hurriedly packed away his things, grabbed his backpack and left the apartment. He made sure to rearm the security system and lock the door, leaving no trace of ever having been there. Of course Damian wasn’t about to pursue his target across the rooftops of an unknown city in broad daylight. He would just have to wait for Daniel to arrive at his destination and follow him there. He retrieved his phone and pulled up the tracking data. It looked like the teen was headed towards the city center.

Damian tuned his comm to the listening device he had planted and set off towards downtown Amity at a light jog. For a while, all he heard was background noise. After about ten minutes, Daniel came to a stop.

“Hey Tucker, ready to go?” That had to be Daniel.

“Hey Danny!” a second male voice answered, “I was just waiting for you. Sam says she’ll meet us at the main entrance of the mall.”

“Sweet. Hopefully we can grab something cool from Game’O’Rama if we beat the rush.”

“You said it, my dude. Come on!”

The tracker resumed its movement. Now that he had a destination, Damian used his phone to call a cab. There couldn’t be that many malls in a city this size.

Daniel and his friend ‘Tucker’ kept up a steady stream of idle chatter on their journey. Damian learned more than he ever wanted to know about the attractive qualities of the female students at their high school, the tediousness of the homework assignments they had received for the week and the reviews of recent horror movie releases. Inconsequential chit chat as far as Damian was concerned. Once the pair arrived at their destination they parked their scooters and were soon out of range of the listening device. Damian cut the transmission and spent the rest of the short cab ride trying to find information on Daniel’s companion. Since they were apparently classmates and he had a first name to go on, it didn’t take long to narrow it down to Tucker Foley. Damian made a mental note to investigate him in depth later.

The mall was moderately busy when he arrived but nowhere near as bad as Gotham. Luckily there was a floorplan displayed at the entrance and it didn’t take Damian long to find the Game’O’Rama store. Predictably, it was dedicated to video games, gaming accessories and memorabilia. A sign in the window announced a major weekend sale, likely what had drawn Daniel and his companions. Damian slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses to conceal his eyes and meandered into the store. Wandering between the aisles, pretending to examine the games on offer, it didn’t take him long to find his quarry and Damian got his first good look at the trio.

Daniel was almost a head taller than Damian, slightly paler and with his dark hair mussed up from the scooter ride earlier. His clothes were slightly threadbare, and not the kind that was intentional. His white T-shirt bore a faded NASA logo and his jeans were frayed at the cuffs. He had dark circles under his eyes, though not nearly as bad as Drake got when he was on a case. Nonetheless, for the moment he seemed cheerful and at ease. He was examining the back of a disk case.

“I don’t know Tuck, I’m not much for medieval fantasy,” he said amusedly, “and a lot of these monsters look like ghosts we’ve seen. I get enough of them on a day to day basis, I don’t need them in my video games too.”

Again, this talk of ghosts.

The African American male next to Daniel had to be Tucker Foley. He was just a few inches shorter than Daniel, with his hair in shoulder length dreadlocks partially covered by a red beret. A matching red T-shirt with white Atari logo and baggy camo pants screamed nerd even before you got close enough to notice the black rimmed glasses and the clunky looking device he was tapping away on. Where did he get it from, the middle-ages?

“Look, the reviews are pretty great, and if we avoid everything ghost related what’s even left?” the boy argued, “You can’t let ghosts ruin your fun, man.”

“Tucker’s right, Danny.” the third member of their group chimed in. She was dressed head to toe in black, with a sheer, lacy top, a knee-length skirt, fishnet gloves and stockings and a pair of combat boots. With the thick soles giving her added height, she was almost as tall as Daniel. She wore eerily pale foundation making her dark purple lipstick and eyeshadow pop out even more. She had a small nose stud with a matching purple stone. Her earrings were shaped like spiders dangling from a web and she wore a pentagram necklace. Damian knew some of his schoolmates belonged to the goth subculture, but Gotham Academy’s dress code heavily limited such self-expression on campus. He guessed this girl was either really dedicated to the style or really dedicated to pissing off her parents. Maybe both.This had to be ‘Sam’.

“Besides, if Technus couldn’t ruin gaming for us no one else should either!” she continued.

“Fiiiiine,” Daniel sighed, clearly playing up his reluctance. “but if Amity gets attacked by an army of goblins next I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’!” He double checked the price tag. “Splitsies?”

The girl scoffed and plucked the case from his hand. “I’ll take this one, you can pay for lunch later. Why don’t you two go ahead to Pineapple Republic for those jeans you wanted? I’ll catch up to you.”

“If you’re sure. Thanks Sam!” Daniel leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I guess we’ll see you there.”

“Yeah, thanks Sam.”

“Go on, shoo!” she laughed and headed over to the cash register as the boys left the store. Making a split second decision, Damian grabbed a random game from the shelf and got in line behind Sam. He leaned slightly towards her, pretending to examine the figurines behind the counter and stealthily stuck a bug to her skirt. Now he could listen in on their conversation without having to risk being noticed.

After paying for his purchase he wandered off in the direction the other teens had taken. He would just have to leave the game somewhere ‘accidentally’ at the earliest opportunity. Pretending to check his phone he tuned his comm to the frequency of the new bug. 

“...I think those are still a little short on you.” Sam said amusedly.

“Man, I’m glad I finally got my growth spurt, but having to replace most of my wardrobe is gonna be a pain in the ass!” Daniel complained.

“Look at it this way Danny, this could be your chance to branch out. A whole new style, a whole new you!” Sam countered enthusiastically.

Damian walked towards the source of the signal. He didn’t follow the trio directly into Pineapple Republic, instead heading into the shoe store across from the clothing store. Browsing there would let him keep an eye on the entrance.

“Let me guess, would this style include black, black and more black?” came Foley’s snarky voice.

“Black is timeless, I’ll have you know,” Sam sniffed in mock offense, “and Danny does look good in it. Just try it?”

“I don’t know Sam, I don’t wanna blow my allowance on clothes that don’t feel like me.”

“Oh! We could always try the thrift store, they have plenty of cool stuff! And upcycling is great for the environment.”

“Uh, hard pass,” came the flat reply, “I would like to survive the year with some of my dignity intact, please.”

“Yeah dude, if Dash and his cronies caught wind of Danny going to Goodwill or something they’d never let him live it down.”

“There is nothing wrong with buying second-hand!”

“Says the girl in $500 guaranteed cruelty free designer boots.” Foley shot back.

“That’s different!” Sam sputtered, “And besides, I don’t see why you still chase the approval of those jerks.”

“Easy guys, settle down,” Daniel said placatingly, “Sam, you know it’s different for us. You might be able to brush off Paulina’s snarky comments, but I can’t just brush off Dash trying to rearrange my face. I’d rather not paint an even bigger target on my back.”

Sam gave a loud sigh. “Ugh, stupid high school politics. I can’t wait to graduate.”

“I dunno, if things go according to plan you’ll have to deal with real politics, Ms Future Administrator of the EPA Manson.” Daniel teased.

“You mean Senator Manson.” Foley chimed in.

“Madam President Manson!”

“Stop it guys!” the girl laughed, “I’ll leave the political ass kissing to someone else. I just want to save the planet! But I gotta get my doctorate first.”

“Well if you do end up having to take over the country to do it, there’s one thing to keep in mind,” Foley said sagely, “You can’t be much worse than President Luthor.”

The two replied with fake gagging noises while Foley just snickered.

“But seriously, since you brought up mixing up my style… I was thinking of getting my ears pierced.” Daniel said hesitantly.

“Really? Ooh, do you want studs? Danglers? An industrial?” Sam gushed excitedly.

“Well… aw nuts.” Daniel’s voice was suddenly tense.

“You know what?” Sam rushed out, equally tense, “I think you should go and try these pants on. In the changing room. Right now.”

Damian frowned. What the hell had happened? He glanced out the shop window but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly, he heard distant screams and the sound of glass breaking. It’s almost like being back in Gotham.

Part 8

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #damian wayne #robin #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right) #no beta we die like danny #tucker foley #sam manson #help the length of this fic has run away from me #team phantom is 16 btw #damian is 12

[4dbarbie-archive]

4dbarbie remix: You're dreaming from memory

4dkelly notes: This could be a good introductory pointer for those new to non-dualism. Probably my last remix for a while because they always start off as a fun or great idea that ends up taking way too much time and mental energy lol. Also I know it says 4dbarbie remix and it's because I extracted all the text from her posts but almost half of this adaptation post is made with direct or adapted excerpts from the book I Am That by Nisargadatta Maharaj as she often incorporated his words into her posts so it might be more accurate to call it a 4dbarbie and I Am That remix. I've marked extracts that are from the book with an asterisk (*). My highlight colour key: key concepts are in pink, action points in purple, really important points in red, my notes (which are minimal) in blue

There is nothing that exists. Only you do. 1 The only thing you know for sure is: 'here and now, I am'. Remove the 'here and now', the 'I am' remains, indisputable. The world exists in memory, memory comes into consciousness; consciousness exists in awareness and awareness is the reflection of the light on the waters of existence. 2*

The person is a very small thing. Actually it is a composite, it cannot be said to exist by itself. Unperceived, it is just not there. It is but the shadow of the mind, the sum total of memories. Pure being is reflected in the mirror of the mind, as knowing. What is known takes the shape of a person, based on memory and habit. It is but a shadow, or a projection of the knower onto the screen of the mind. 3*

You (Self) are projecting this very moment live. Nothing is happening to you, I mean literally. Nothing is out there. 4 Everything you see and experience is only a mental condition, a dream-like state, easy to dispel by questioning its reality. It's you imagining it as real and fighting it with all your might that keeps it alive. In this dream, you imagine yourself to be a process, to have a past and future, to have history. In fact, we have no history, we are not a process, we do not develop, nor decay. 5*

When you sleep at night, you think the world you're dreaming of is real. You wake up in the morning and you go on living in a different world, which you also think is real. But while you were in the first dream you had no memory of this world, did you? You come into the waking state and forget all about that dream (because you dismiss it as unreal & imagined so you have no reason to care once the experience is over). You're present in a second dream, and you deal with this one because now that's "what is real". But there is no difference between sleeping and waking, awareness is the background of both. You just think the waking state more real because you've dreamt it over and over and reinforced your belief. They're equally imaginary. 6

Each and every moment is projected on your consciousness but in reality, there is no link or cause between them. Memory gives the illusion of continuity and repetitiveness creates the idea of causality (e.g. I have blue eyes because I take after my mom). When things repeatedly happen together, we tend to see a causal link between them. It creates a mental habit, but a habit is not a necessity.* Drop it. You, now, even if recreated completely from memory and appearing the same, are still doing the creating/projecting live. It is all memory carried over into the now. You never move, your mind does. You don't arrive anywhere, you've always been there. You don't become, you already are. 1

Memory seems to being things to the present out of the past, but all that happens does happen in the present only. It is only in the now that phenomena manifest themselves. Thus, time and causality do not apply in reality. You are prior to the world, body and mind. You are the sphere in which they appear and disappear. You are the source of them all, the universal power by which the world with its bewildering diversity becomes manifest. 7*

You recreate the world every day from memory. There is no yesterday but your memory of it. There is no tomorrow but your thought of it. You are moving from now into now, and nothing has reality but in your mind. In deep sleep you are no one, no thing, you are not aware of being anything. You are just aware of being. There is no world, no one, not even 'yourself'. 8 In the absence of the mind, even the sense 'I am' dissolves. There is no 'I am' without the mind. All experience subsides with the mind. Without the mind, there can be no experiencer nor experience. 8*

Consciousness creates the mind which projects the world, built of memory and imagination.* You create a world, then you create an ego in it that is desiring some thing - look at it, you are doing that now. Stop the urge to create and recreate worlds of desires. 1 You don't have to live by memory. You can see the world as it is, a momentary appearance in consciousness. 7*

See all as a dream and stay out of it. While it lasts, the dream has temporary being. It is your own desire to hold on to it that creates the problem. Let go. Stop imagining that the dream is yours. 5*

Realize your true being, all else will follow and take care of itself. You will no longer feel the need to manifest or get things, because you see you are the one imagining the things. You already are, and if you want to observe yourself as 'something', you can. After you rid yourself of your belief that you are the ego, you no longer feel compelled in any direction whatsoever. You do not feel like you need to be the body you imagine you were born with (because you were never it in the first place), or watch Sandra's from afar. You’re free to do or not to do whatever you want; you are dreaming, and you know you are dreaming, there is nothing to fear or fight, because all is yours. The thing to do is to establish that permanently, for all time. Then you can play any part you so desire, and be totally unaffected by it. 3

Free from memory and expectation, you are fresh, innocent and wholehearted. Needing nothing, you are unafraid. Whom to be afraid of? There is no separation, we are not separate selves. There is only one Self, your Self. 1*

Become aware that the waking state is just a dream and life will forever be a breeze. 6 When the world is real, it is heavy. When the Self is real, the world is light. 3#

References

4dbarbie posts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

* Text excerpts from I Am That by Nisargadatta Maharaj

# from Keys to The Ultimate Freedom by Lester Levenson

#remix #4dbarbie #nonduality #non duality #nondualism #non dualism

[irafuwas]

Love that Lets Go Summary: Lilia Vanrouge has witnessed the rise and fall of great nations, has criscrossed the world, traversing distant realms strange and unknown, but never before in his life has he faced a challenge as grievous as this: parenting a teenager. Or: Silver stops calling Lilia "Papa", and Lilia loses his mind. Content Warnings: blood, explicit language, contains depictions of animals being hunted and butchered, canon divergent Pairings: There's like one reference to past Lilibaul, but otherwise, none. Length: 38k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

A/N: I began working on this fic last summer, right after I finished Electric Dreams, and was able to complete the general outline and write about a third of it before I promptly abandoned the project for over half a year. By the time I started working on it again this past January, Book 7 had progressed greatly on the JP server, and pretty much everything that I'd written regarding Lilia's background and his involvement in Mal's upbringing/their relationship had become uncanonical in the meantime ://// I decided to go ahead and keep those parts in the story unchanged from how I had them last summer, partly so I wouldn't have to rework the plot, and mostly because I am lazy. So the setting is more or less the same as the game, but with some major changes in Lilia and Mal's pasts, with no major Book 7 JP server spoilers for those wishing to avoid them.

I.

It was a speculative day, the kind that could not fix upon a proper humor or color, hesitating in turns between the brilliant bustle of spring and the sultry lull of summer. The morning air was thin and cool, not unusual even that late in May, but several months would pass by that afternoon, so that a sticky July heat would descend upon the valley once the sun reached its zenith. In the evening, there would be a light rain. All this the boy Silver calculated as he stepped outside.

The sky above him was a perfect meadow of morning glory and larkspur, bordered by a flourish of honeysuckle and cockscomb as golden-red as amber sap. He thrust his hand high above him, wishing for a moment he could pluck one of the dandelion clouds from its indigo plot and press it for his collection. It would be his secret treasure, and he would not reveal it until his friend Sebek next designed to inflame him. He carried within his mind a catalog of every expression and shade his friend could take, and this he now opened and paged through while he wandered towards the pig pen and lean-to that stood opposite his home, contemplating what combination of flush and scowl the other boy would respond with. He smiled at his private entertainment while he walked.

He was one of the few beings awake on that land. An industrious blackbird chirped quietly off in the distance, but the surrounding forest was otherwise silent, the pine trees and giant firs still dozing in the early morning shade. He was not, however, lonely; nor was he in want of more. His heart was light, and it gently thrummed with the same anticipation that had slipped into the hearts of all the valley’s creatures as of late, just as the sunlight slipped into their skin. May was an in-between month, an intermission, a time for Nature to enter her great chrysalis and prepare for the summer months to come. She would re-emerge sometime in late June, the earth’s prodigal daughter carrying in her arms the red-ripe wildberries she’d hang in the thicket all around him, the bright yellow coreopsis and vetch of the softest pink she’d set down in the meadow near his home, and the pearl white blossoms she’d drape across the canopies of the sweet bay beyond the fields. And she would beguile, too, the whip-poor-wills into beginning their annual summer serenades, allowing the robins and the orioles to retire from their heraldic duties at last, having spent several weeks announcing the season prior.

“There are two summers,” his father had once explained to him years ago, when he was very small. He held up two fingers while he spoke. “There’s the summer that starts on June 1st every year. That one’s based on dividing the calendar into four periods of three months each.”

“Three months each,” the little boy repeated with a nod.

“And then the other summer, the real one, starts on the solstice.”

“When’s the solstice, papa?”

“Easy,” the man grinned, “it’s when summer starts!”

The boy memorized this and all his father’s other teachings as his catechisms, and he knew, based on his observations, and based on all he'd ever learned from his masters - his father and the stars and the entire natural world around him - that the solstice was but a few short weeks away. This knowledge captivated him, and when he awoke at twilight each morning, he would spend a few minutes lying completely still in bed, nearly holding his breath, listening for those first few notes of the whip-poor-will’s call.

After releasing the animals from their detainment, he watched as the small procession of cows and pigs and chickens trod dutifully into the adjoining pasture. He would wait to fill their troughs later; each creature would automatically find for itself its morning fare amongst the acres of dew-wet grass – on this day the milk cow and her calf selected a patch of dark green clover for their breakfast, and the pigs beside them dined noisily on tall stalks of chicory, their pink brows misting over with sweat as they feverously chewed. The chickens, however, quickly stumbled upon a single, tender petunia they had overlooked all month. Gathered around the shining lilac jewel, they could not decide who amongst them would be permitted to destroy it. A forum was immediately convened, with each hen arguing her case in turn, and Silver gathered their eggs while they debated. Their hues were as soft and as delicate as a watercolor wash; some were tawny brown and speckled, others a faded green or blue. They reminded him of river stones, and they felt as smooth as clay in his work-worn hands. Each one he gingerly wiped against his pant leg before depositing into his wicker basket.

He had, for a time, believed – largely due to his father’s persuasions – that a bird’s diet determined the color of its eggs, and he’d spent one summer collecting armfuls of nasturtium, cone flowers, and bright red peonies every single day from the meadow by their home, attempting to invent an egg as ruby red as his father’s eyes. But while the chickens had delighted in their daily carmine feast, his efforts proved fruitless, the egg shells failing to develop even the slightest indication of a blush. When the truth of his father’s scheme was revealed later that fall, Silver had not rebuked him. He'd only blamed himself for being deceived, and for neglecting to include some beautyberries and rosehips into his mix, secretly believing that this was the true genesis of his failure.

The chickens resolved their quarrel by the time his basket was full. In celebration, he scattered a few handfuls of scratch over the ground for them. The bits and pieces of grain could not have delighted the small party more even if it had been the rice thrown for nuptials, and Silver turned and left them to their devices.

On slow days, when he had little else to do but drink in the air and watch the sun move across the sky, he liked to sit in the pasture and listen to them talk. The tall grass would form four walls all around him, and the hens would often come sit next to his verdant cabinet, offering to him their confessions through the screen of sorghum and fescue. They were perfect in their gesticulations, and he particularly enjoyed the mechanical way they moved their heads; it was as though invisible strings were jerking them this way and that, moving not unlike the marionettes his father had once brought home on one of his travels. There was, overall, a hilarity to their character that he missed in his other animal companions – the cows were too listless, he thought; the pigs, too cavalier.

The pigs he favored the least. He had helped his father erect a new fence along the south side of their property last summer, working sun up to sun down for over a week, and it had taken only a single afternoon for one of the boars - newly purchased with money his father didn’t have to spare - to rip a hole through the wire mesh and lead his brethren into the open forest, never to be seen again. He had been with his father the morning the vandalism was discovered. It was one of the few times in his life he’d seen the man angry, and he had been unsympathetic towards the species ever since.

He glanced at them occasionally while he backtracked to the vegetable garden beside the cottage, quickly looking away when they returned his stare. He walked around the fence that protected the garden, giving it a cursory inspection before stepping inside. There hadn’t been any break-ins yet, but he had noticed the shallow, hoof-like indentations that would sometimes manifest in the soil around the gate, and he could tell, too, that something heavy had been pressing itself against the fence posts lately, evinced by the unnatural angles a number of them were now inclined. However, the pigs defended their innocence with a brazen confidence that stupefied even his father, and the animals had so far been spared of any further interrogation.

He entered the gate and filled the watering can sitting by the pump. The alternating rows of green and orange and red and yellow buds dotting the area convened into a checker pattern, as though one of Ma Zigvolt’s gingham dresses had been spread out over the ground. He carefully stepped over and around and in between every sprout and seedling, dancing, almost, as he worked through each row, providing only just as much water to the young plants as they demanded, pausing only when he reached the tomatoes. His father was severely particular about them, fussing over the vines like a sculptor would his block of clay, and would, at the end of every season, declare that he had grown the "best tomatoes this side of the valley", but as he was one of few fae who grew them, and perhaps the only one who enjoyed their tart taste, his countrymen gladly indulged him in his boasting. Silver tilted his watering can and aimed the stream into the soil around the base of the plants, avoiding the foliage as he’d been instructed. He hummed to himself as he continued his ministrations, his thoughts drifting brightly towards the harvest to come.

Soon, there would be fresh corn pone and hoe cakes and yellow squash fritters fried in pools of marble white pork fat, heaping bowls of piping hot green beans sauteed in pats of golden yellow butter, and tender, fresh baked apple dumplings topped with a creamy homemade vanilla glaze, all washed down with the coldest, sweetest lemonade the valley had to offer. And he and his father would make preserves – of everything; jams and jellies from the wild raspberries and blueberries they’d gather from the forests, and from the bushels of strawberries now growing in their garden, and they’d pickle cucumbers and beets and radishes and fennel and bell peppers and cabbage; the tiny root cellar under their home would transform into a museum over the summer - its shelves filled to the brim with rows upon rows of glass jars containing their colorful fermented treasures, with giant slabs of dark red elk meat and pale pink sausage links hanging from the hooks lining the ceiling, and pounds of wild-caught bass and catfish curing in salt baths on the floor, nearly every specimen in that small space a self-contained microcosm of bacterial delight.

Silver was not one to favor any season over another; he found pleasure in the flora and fauna of his surroundings all year round. But so long as his father was strictly supervised in the kitchen, it was summer fare that delighted him more than anything else, and he wished every day for the watermelon and the strawberries to ripen faster, and for the honeybees to finish constructing their summer combs.

A pine warbler’s sharp trill snapped the boy out of his daydreams. The sun had at last emerged above the umber line of the horizon, and the golden edges of the sky were rapidly fading into a soft baby blue. The land was rapidly beginning to awaken. He could hear the low drone of the honeybees as they pushed past him on their way to the meadow, and the goldfinches warming up for their morning performances in the forest yonder. He hurried to complete the rest of his chores, invigorated by a mixture of excitement and hunger and still that same dull throb of anticipation in his heart.

When he was finished at last, Silver lay down on the grass, tucking himself under the blanket of fog that hung low over the ground. He could hear only the cows lowing and the chickens murmuring and the wind brushing up against the pine trees. And if he lay still enough, he could hear even the earth itself breathing. If he pressed his ear against the damp soil, he could hear the planet exhale, could hear the molecules of water vapor rising through the air, lifting themselves off the slick blades of grass, unifying and condensing into the wave of fog that rolled across his body. His world was now perfect. And it remained perfect for half an hour longer, until his father threw open the cottage door and called him inside for breakfast.

The air grew warmer and warmer as the morning languidly transitioned into afternoon. Pleased that his prediction had been correct, he suggested to his father, Lilia, that they begin making their way to the Zigvolt's before it grew too hot, and the man agreed. The mass of burnt scrambled eggs his father had prepared for breakfast still festered heavily in Silver's stomach, and he quickly wolfed down a plain butter sandwich and an apple for lunch. His gangly body could get by on very little, and the Zigvolts always had refreshments at the ready, anyways. He grabbed his knapsack from his room and accompanied his father out the door. Together, they followed the dirt path that led from the clearing into the forest.

Lilia had settled down there decades prior, appearing in the neighboring town one day with little more to his name than a few gold coins in his pocket and a raggedy shawl strewn across his back. He'd been a drifter for decades, having retired from the local military under circumstances he never cared to divulge, and while some of the townsfolk were glad to welcome him home, most others thought him a stranger. A pack of these skeptics descended upon him one evening, cornering him in the run-down hostel where he'd been temporarily residing. They poked and prodded him with their questions, asking him why he had left and where he'd been to and why he'd now suddenly returned, at times turning away to whisper amongst themselves, as though evaluating a head of cattle. To each of their scathing rebukes he simply replied, "Doesn't matter anymore." He repeated those three words like a mantra, like a prayer to exorcize the specters gathered around his bed. His defense was as solid as a leaden curtain, soundly deflecting each and every one of the inquisitors' attacks, and when they finally scattered that night, rendered stupefied by their defeat, Lilia gathered up his sparse few belongings and vanished amongst them.

He ultimately bought his property from a man who'd recognized the name "Lilia Vanrouge", but not the mysterious little creature attached to it. The landowner was however only glad to finally rid himself of the place; it had been sitting vacant for years, long overgrown with its own miniature forest of brambles and weeds, and he was easily dismissed with what little money Lilia had to offer. There was a dilapidated cottage the last tenants had left behind, as well as the rotting remnants of a barn that hadn't been touched in ages, and the water pump, rusted over from decades of unuse, snapped in half the first time Lilia tried to use it.

He began making renovations immediately. He patched up the roof on the cottage and spent a week removing all the cobwebs and rat nests he could find inside. He cleared out the overgrowth suffocating the area and tore down the old barn, erecting a lean-to for his cows and a coop for his hens in its place. He sectioned off a small plot of land next to his house for a vegetable garden, and sowed his new fields with the fervor of a devotee. Decades of working the land yielded a soil heartier and more robust than anything the locals ever seen, as though the very earth itself was repaying him in kind for liberating it from its long imprisonment. His tomato plants bore him perfect rubies bigger than his fists. His corn and his wheat stood like giants, towering high above his head. He found his heart lifting up and growing lighter and lighter together with the green stalks soaring up into the sky. All these things slowly grew in tandem with his household - he'd added another wing to the cottage when he took in Silver, and the garden, having more than tripled in size since it was first built, now produced a far greater variety of colorful fare than Lilia could have ever imagined. It was, in all, a meager living - a little home with little in it, the glass jar of rainy day funds sitting above the fireplace never to be full, always repairs around the property to be made, always hand-me-down clothes and toys to be mended - but it was enough for the man and his child, regardless.

When Silver grew older, Lilia began letting him operate the homestead on his own when he went traveling, a leisure he'd picked up in his older age. He would leave Silver a list of rules to follow and projects to work on while he was gone - in addition to his regular everyday chores - which he adjusted for each season, such as chopping firewood in the winter, and making preserves in the summer. But above all, no matter the time of year, and barring an emergency, he absolutely forbade Silver from leaving their land. Lilia had marked off a boundary for him years ago: the river to the west, a felled oak tree to the north, the meadow to the south, and the base of the nearby mountain range to the east. Lilia trusted his son, minimally, to the extent he had no doubt the boy could procure the food and water needed to keep himself alive when left alone. But the mountains and the deep forest and even the castle town he did not trust, didn’t believe in the sincerity of the light that flooded the silent earth bordering their home.

Five miles separated the Vanrouge’s homestead from the Zigvolt’s home. Five miles that cut through the forest that extended far beyond Lilia’s land. As such, Lilia would supervise his son's travels to and from his friend’s home. They only ever walked - teleportation magic gave Silver extreme vertigo, and Lilia found his powers could no longer cover the long distance as easily as in his youth. But it was a pleasant journey, and the pair quietly admired the same mass of towering pine and spruce trees they'd admired hundreds of times before as they continued down the winding road. The forest was handsome in its late spring attire, adorned in a thick flush of bright green foliage, and the charming white faces of the star flowers and wood anemones peeked at them from amongst the undergrowth as they passed by. Overhead, a symphony of chaffinch and dunnock calls accompanied the gentle stir of the treetops brushing against each other in the wind.

Silver often called on the Zigvolt’s. The youngest of the three children, a boy named Sebek, was the only non-animal companion he had his age. They had first met a number of years prior, when Sebek apprenticed under Silver's father, and while their rivalry had been immediate, their friendship had formed only slowly, over years of tense acquaintanceship. Sebek had held a grudge against Silver since the day they’d met, or possibly longer - that much Silver had been able to determine, but he could never puzzle out what he’d done to injure him so. He was frequently agitated - over Silver’s abilities, his actions, the clothing he wore, the way he walked and the way he talked. He was “wound up tighter than an eight-day clock”, as his father would often laugh. Had Silver grown up interacting with more children his age, had he an index against which to measure his friend’s volatile attitude, then he would have understood that Sebek was simply a very immature boy – he’d not yet outgrown his foot-stamping tantrums and his jealous remarks, but there was never any true venom behind his words, only that primal, juvenile desire to convince himself and the adults around them that he and Silver were equals. But Silver liked him, at any rate; there was only so much one could do to persuade a rabbit or a songbird to gambol with one, or to explore make-believe worlds that stretched far beyond their animal imaginations, and Sebek was as eager a daydreamer as he. Even a child’s heart can be a guarded thing, as Silver’s was, having matured in a world comprised of only a small handful of faces and an even smaller stretch of land, but he’d long placed Sebek in that corner of his heart only his father and Malleus and the blue birds and honeysuckle otherwise occupied, and he cherished his friend for his outbursts and rare affections, both.

It was an “off day” for the boys - neither had any training exercises scheduled, and Silver looked forward to their rendezvous. He figured they'd be spending most of the afternoon outside, in light of the pleasant weather. Later in the summer, when the heat would spoil their entertainment, they'd move indoors, reading comics and old almanacs together in the Zigvolt's parlor, sprawled out like a pair of lazy tomcats on the cool hardwood floor. And if he was lucky, Ma Zigvolt would invite him to stay for dinner (he was always too shy to ask). She was one of his strongest allies, and had rescued him from his father’s well-meaning meals on more than one occasion. He kept his fingers crossed as he walked, hoping she and Pa Zigvolt wouldn't be staying late at the dental clinic they operated.

Once they entered the deepest part of the forest, Lilia cleared his throat, signaling that he was about to speak. Silver braced himself. His father was a habitually cheerful and easygoing man, able to make merry with nearly anyone that crossed his path, but the man's good humor came at the cost of his interlocutor's, at times.

First, Lilia asked what plans he had with Sebek for that afternoon.

"Not much."

Lilia shrugged off the curt response. They'd crossed several miles already, and the afternoon heat was prickling at his fair skin. He chastised himself for neglecting to bring a hat. He next asked, smiling broadly this time, hoping both to coax his son and to take his mind off the heat, if Silver was excited for all the fresh vegetables they'd soon be harvesting from their garden.

"I guess."

Still not discouraged, Lilia dispatched his probes once more, asking if Silver had any requests for dinner, and whether he'd read or heard anything interesting lately, but the boy deflected each one with a “Yes”, or a “No”, or an “I don’t know”. Silver had recently discovered that the briefer he kept his answers, the quicker he could get his father to stop talking, and this observation proved itself true once more, the man quitting his examination a few moments later. A feeling of discomfort prickled at his skin as the heat did his father's; the perfection of that morning a few short hours ago now seemed to him like a distant memory. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

By and by, the dirt road transitioned into a gravel walkway, and the Zigvolt’s farmhouse at last came into view. It was a noble building - tall and spacious, constructed from dense heart pine lumber, the eggshell white finish still shining brightly after so many years, with a towering red brick chimney that rivaled the surrounding cottonwood trees in their noble height. An amber light glowed softly from one of the windows. Silver and Lilia stopped before the stairs leading up to the front of the wraparound porch, where a clothesline heavy with freshly washed bed sheets rocked gently in the breeze. Ma Zigvolt was known to perfume her wash, and sunny notes of bergamot drifted down to them in waves.

The pair said their goodbyes, but when Lilia leaned forward to kiss the boy’s cheek, Silver moved away, ducking and turning around so quickly that Lilia stumbled as he fell through the empty air. He steadied himself hastily, his arms whirling for a moment before plummeting to his sides, his puckered lips collapsing into a frown. The rejection stunned him. His mind hastily reassembled and played back the insult it had just witnessed, finally ascertaining after the third repetition that he had not just been struck.

Wide-eyed, he croaked, “Silver?”

The boy took a step towards the house, his back turned to Lilia. “I’ll see you later,” he grunted, as though struggling under the weight of his father’s heavy gaze. And then he stormed up the porch, threw open the front door, and disappeared inside without a second glance.

Lilia stared imploringly at the silent house, but it offered him no answers. He shook his head and sighed. “The hell’s been going on with him lately?”

Sebek’s older sister Iris emerged onto the back porch carrying a tray of milk and pound cake. She set the tray on a small table by the door and began arranging the glasses and plates. She’d been away from home the past year, busy with her university studies, but had returned for the summer. Her absence had been difficult for the family – for Sebek most of all. 

Though he was now the apple of her eye, Iris had been opposed to the idea of a younger brother at first. She’d spent the first few months of her mother’s pregnancy curled up against the low swell of her belly, regaling the child - her new little sister - with all the fantastic plans she had in store for the two of them. But when her parents returned from a doctor’s appointment one day, a set of grainy monochrome photographs in hand, and they announced the baby was, in fact, a boy, she felt the faceless black thing staring up at her from the pictures had betrayed her. She staunchly refused to address her mother’s stomach for the rest of the pregnancy.

Ultimately, Sebek entered the world as an absolute bear of a baby, all rolls and dimples and folds and milk white skin that smelled as sweet as honey. The first time Iris saw him, he was dozing open-mouthed, lying curled up on the pillow of his mother’s breast. He looked like a dollop of pure butter, and with that single glance the girl was thoroughly convinced of his perfection.

As the baby matured, growing conscious of himself and of the world around him, his burgeoning mind, incredibly receptive to every new stimulus that entered his environment, quickly took note of his sister’s eager affections, and it wasn’t long until he ascertained that his incapability was the trick to his own allure. A halfhearted grumble would earn him a kiss, for example; a miserable wail, liberation from his crib. It was almost cunning, the way he’d play the fool for her, wrapping her tighter and tighter around his plump little finger with every feigned ineptitude he devised. “Oh, Sebby!” Iris would laugh, scooping his doughy mass into the cradle of her arms when he'd whine to be held. “You’re just a helpless little thing, aren’t you?” And the baby would bat his cub paws at her and smile his gummy smile, as if to say, “Just you wait and see!"

When their brother Horace, the eldest of the three siblings, moved into his own apartment in the castle town a few years ago, Sebek had been secretly pleased, for their mother now looked to him for help with splitting firewood and mending the fences and tilling the garden. He knew his father could not be entrusted with such things - Linus Zigvolt was a kind and good man, but he was also foolish. And boring. And unforgivably human. Sebek’s mother and his sister - and his grandfather, when the man was in an affable mood - were the center of his juvenile universe. His father and brother merely orbited them. And whereas Horace’s departure had been no more noteworthy to him than the changing of the seasons, his sister had taken with her a sense of stability he still hadn’t grown accustomed to living without.

She was a tall, muscular girl, with a broad, handsome face that was rimmed by the family’s trademark scales. A star member of her school's track and field team, she had recently broken the district's shot put record, a fact which her parents and grandfather had been proudly mentioning at least once every day since. Although soft-spoken, like her father, she was also in possession of a tongue as caustic as her mother’s, and more than one naïve suitor had abandoned his endeavors a much meeker man than when he’d met her. Her long, green hair was bundled in two intricate fishtail braids that trailed down her back – a style popular amongst valley girls her age – and she brushed away a loose strand from her face as she straightened out the napkins. Her mind dimly registered that she'd need to schedule a trim before returning to school.

Content with her work, Iris turned to the garden and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting, “Sebby! Silver! I brought you guys some snacks!”

The boys rose from behind the jumble of cardboard boxes they’d been working on taping together. They raced each other to the porch, politely offering Iris their thanks as they sat down at the table. Silver gingerly cut into his cake, careful not to scatter any crumbs. Iris had always thought of him as bird-like, with his wiry frame, and his too big head that hung so awkwardly from the end of his long crane neck, and she was struck once again at his meagerness as he pecked at his meal.

After observing them for a few moments, she asked, “Why’d you drag all those boxes into the yard for, anyways?”

“That’s – I mean – ‘Tis our fortress!” Sebek explained between mouthfuls of cake. “We’re defending our home from those wretched ne’er-do-wells yonder!” He pointed towards the garden with one hand and shoveled another piece of cake into his mouth with the other.

Iris followed the line of Sebek’s outstretched finger. Beyond its glaze-covered point lay a pair of rabbits, lazily nibbling on a patch of grass by the boxes.

“Ooh, so you guys are playing pretend again?” She smiled as she put her hands on her hips. “Are you knights this time? Do you want me to be, like, your damsel in distress again or whatever?”

Sebek’s face reddened. “Sissy, stop it!”

Iris laughed and pinched his cheek. He resigned limply.

“Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your little fun.” She turned away, and then added, “I’ll be in my room, so just shout if you need anything.”

Sebek huffed as his sister closed the door behind her. He scrunched up his round little face and balled his fists. His cheeks were permanently ruddy, flushing darker or lighter depending on his level of agitation, and it was clear by their scarlet hue that Iris's words had hurt him. Silver pushed his empty plate away and stood up.

“Come on, Sebek,” he sighed, rubbing the other boy’s back placatively. “You can be the General of the Right this time. I’ll ask some birds and rabbits to be the townspeople, and you can come save us.”

Often, Silver’s ability to brush off any injury with the placidity of a rock would only inflame Sebek’s rage further, but he permitted his friend to coax him back into the garden. As he watched Silver recruit a regiment of forest creatures for their schemes, he decided there was fairness in the world yet.

Baul Zigvolt was dozing in his rocking chair when Lilia returned that evening. He was perhaps the progenitor of his family members' incredible statures. His wife had been a modest woman, of average height and unremarkable in her build, but he in turn was a veritable mountain of muscle and hardened flesh, so massive that the top of Lilia’s head just barely reached the enormous blocks of his shoulders. He was squeezed into his chair rather than sat upon it, and the wood groaned threateningly as he rocked. The family’s only pet, an equally massive black tomcat with a lone white spot on the tip of its tail, was sprawled comfortably by his feet. The creature was as lazy as it was amiable, having not once dispatched any of the vermin that made merry of its owners’ grain stores, but the children were so enamored with its corpulence that their parents could not bear to rehome it. It shared with Baul a passion for evening naps, and neither of them stirred as Lilia approached.

The two men had served in the Imperial Guard together for centuries, and though they’d stepped down from their posts and re-entered civilian life ages ago, having both established households and produced children, and were now enjoying all the slow pleasures of retirement, Baul still offered advisory services to the Guard on a voluntary basis. The truth of Lilia’s retirement, however, had never been fully absorbed into the folds of Baul’s brain, and he continued to address his erstwhile superior as “General” at their every meeting. “It’s just a bad habit!” he’d defend himself sheepishly when rebuked. But he would soon disremember his error, and would, in the next breath, refer to Lilia by his long-vacated position once again.

“Hello, Baul.” Lilia dipped his head in greeting.

“Evening, General,” Baul murmured, slowly blinking his eyes open with a yawn. “You come to get your boy?”

“Yes, do you know where he is?”

Baul leaned forward and jabbed his thumb behind him. “Yeah, he and Seb are playing out back.” He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes again, opening them once more a second later. “Oh, and while you’re at it, could you tell Seb he needs to get home before nightfall?”

“Oh?” Lilia raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite unlike you to worry about him,” he replied with a smirk.

“Hell if I care!” Baul huffed, crossing his arms. “We’ve been seeing bear tracks around here lately, and I don’t want him to come crying to me if he runs into one of the dumb bastards. That’s all.”

“I see, I see,” Lilia laughed. He reached out and stroked the cat’s head, cocking his own head as he did so. "Well, I don't hear them close by. Can I wait here until they come back? They're probably off playing in the woods somewhere."

Baul huffed again. "I certainly wouldn't mind any if you'd like to take a seat."

Lilia stepped onto the porch and lowered himself into the chair across from Baul with a groan. He was occasionally stricken with bouts of rheumatism, and the frequent trips to and from the Zigvolt’s that year had been taking their toll. Baul raised an eyebrow as Lilia pawed at his back, but made no comment on the subject, electing instead to remark on how nice the weather had been lately, and how excited his grandkids were to go swimming in the river that weekend. Lilia offered in turn the latest updates on his own son. The men exchanged these little stories about their children and grandchildren as passing travelers exchanged their wares. They would file away each anecdote into their hearts for safekeeping, and take them out later to smile at when left alone.

Their habitual pleasantries concluded, Lilia asked Baul if he'd noticed anything unusual about Silver that afternoon.

"Unusual?" Baul frowned. "In what way?"

"Ahh, was he..." Lilia searched for the right word. "Quiet at all?"

Baul scoffed. "He's always quiet. Never met a child made so little noise in my life. I always wondered how he turned out like that, being raised by a loudmouth like you."

"Hey!" Lilia frowned.

"Hah! Sorry, sorry," Baul replied with a laugh, throwing up his hands in defense. "But I mean, other than that, only thing I noticed is the kid's been growing like a weed lately. Guess that's one more thing where you don't have to worry he'll take after you. Heh."

Lilia paid no heed to his baseless fibbing, and instead concentrated his thoughts towards one of his oldest pleasures: finding ways to agitate Baul. He never wished to start any real fights, but was simply possessed by the natural urge to tease him, as a child might like to prod a sleeping bear. Baul found the topic of his son-in-law particularly sensitive, and Lilia grinned as he formulated his attack.

"And how's dear Linus? I heard from Silver the clinic's been pretty busy lately."

Lilia's ploy worked immediately. A vein throbbed on Baul's forehead. "That human is fine, far as I know."

"As far as you know?" Lilia looked at him quizzically. "Aren't you here almost everyday? When's the last time you spoke with him?"

"Hell if I know. I don't give a damn what he has to say."

Lilia rolled his eyes. "Will you ever get over yourself?"

"No!" Baul grunted automatically, flushing hot red once he understood Lilia's insult. "The hell's that even supposed to mean! General!"

Lilia laughed. "Oh, come on! Why can't you just cut him some slack already? I still can't believe he agreed to take your last name like you wanted, with the way you treat him."

"Hmph! One of the few things he's done right by me."

Like so many of his fae brethren, Baul did not favor humans. He and Lilia had witnessed their evils firsthand during their time in the service, and they had watched, powerless, as so many of their friends and comrades, so many of their hopes and dreams and aspirations were crushed and destroyed under the iron heels of their enemy. Over time, after peace treaties had been signed and all the war flags had been taken down and neatly folded and put away, Lilia's heart had softened enough to accept humans with a frivolous neutrality, going so far as to adopt one to raise as his son, but Baul's had not. He was immediately suspicious of the handful of humans that came to live in the valley after the war, turning up his nose at their strange wares and customs and ways. When even more of them began to pour into the castle town, he and his wife sold their house and fled to a small homestead in the forest.

But fate continued to torment him, and he ended up a widower shortly after their first and only child, Thalia, was born. Even through all of his pain, he found his daughter was perfect - more perfect than anything he had ever seen. He was at first cautious in his parenting, aware at all times that he might one day lose her, too, as he had lost so many others before, but the child embraced all the challenges of her life with a ferocity that stunned him, and his concerns quickly proved themselves unwarranted as the years went by. She grew to be a tall and proud woman - she was heavyset, soft and plump in all the places her father was lean and hard, and more beautiful than a dahlia in full bloom.

They remained close after she moved out, meeting together for dinner most nights, and he thought nothing of it when she mentioned she'd started working at a local dental clinic. She would now and then talk about her boss, a human who'd immigrated to the valley some years ago, and to Baul's dismay, her innocent admiration quickly burgeoned into something more serious. Her infatuation with the human felt to Baul like a betrayal. He and Thalia fought when she announced she was courting him, they fought when she announced her engagement, and they fought when she announced she was pregnant. It was Horace's birth that finally allowed for their armistice, and his arms trembled the first time he held his newborn grandson. A child's eyes are the truest mirror one can face, and when Baul gazed into the wet emerald panes peering up at him, he realized for the first time in his life how ugly he had become. He locked himself in his room when he returned home that night. All alone, he reached as far and as deep as he could into his heart and ripped out the black seed of his hatred, casting it far away - farther than Zeus could launch his bolts of lightning or Thor his hammer.

But even though he'd finally been able to make peace with his daughter, nothing could be done to mend his relationship with his son-in-law. Linus had been intensely curious of the world around him from a young age, and the interest he'd developed in fae dentition during his studies had drawn him across the ocean and into Briar Valley upon his graduation, where he established a successful dental practice that treated both human and fae patients, alike. He was a pinched and narrow man, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, and his heavy-lidded eyes had never lost the childlike spark that so often betrays us as we grow older. It was this spark that had first piqued Thalia's interest, and he was just as obsessed with his wife as she was with him. There was very little of him to see in their children - they had inherited neither his shaggy black hair nor his brown eyes, neither his wiry frame nor olive complexion; their mother's genetics had overpowered his so completely it was as though Thalia had simply sculpted each child from the white clay of the earth by herself. But he fiercely adored them, regardless, showering them with praise and affection, and with an abundance of sugary treats that would make other members of his profession light headed. Over the years, Baul had grown to appreciate Linus for his kindness and for his intellect, and for his devotion to his family, but still could not stand how weak he was, and how small. He was a foot shorter than his wife and several hundred pounds lighter - a miserable twig next to a glorious oak tree, and Baul often complained that he would "snap in half if he sneezed too hard." Worst of all, he was magicless - a transgression Baul knew he would never be able to forgive. He could only tolerate the man, and offered him no more mercy than that.

Lilia shook his head, exasperated. "My god, I'll never understand how Tally puts up with you. Woman has the patience of a saint."

"Yeah," Baul murmured. "Yeah, she does." He folded his hands in his lap and contemplated.

They rocked in comfortable silence. The sun drifted leisurely towards the horizon, and the golden-orange sky looked as soft as an oriole feather. A nightingale, determined to outwit its rival suitors, began his serenade an hour early. Lilia had come to that place with the sole intention of retrieving his son, but the evening breeze dislodged that singular thought from his mind, and it floated away to join the cloud of fireflies gathering in the front lawn. The cat observed all of this with great interest. It was suddenly wide awake where the two men beside it were growing slowly unconscious, its body twitching with the primordial knowledge that night would soon fall.

Silver and Sebek found the pair fast asleep when they returned an hour later.

II.

Sometimes, when the sun seems to hang frozen above him, stubbornly refusing to give up its domination to the pleasant respite of night, when there are no chores to distract him with and his boy isn’t around to tease, Lilia will wander - usually carelessly, at times with a pointed determination - into the dim labyrinth of his mind. It would always astound him how, despite nearly seven hundred years of escapades and follies, despite almost a millennium of joy and heartbreak and unrest and sorrow, there were so few memories for him to parse through. Some of them had simply faded away as he grew older, others had burst into his consciousness and then vanished like spring lightning, dragged down by his heart into an unknown place where they could no longer hurt him. When he’d at last reach the center of that great maze, he would cling onto the earliest memory he could salvage from its shadowy depths, and always he would find himself next blinking his eyes open into the dull light of the castle barracks. He was no longer certain if the memory was from the day he’d enlisted, or if it was from a time much later in the service. He only knew that he must’ve already been an adult then, that he must’ve already accepted all the solitude and responsibility that had been thrust onto his small shoulders by the forces that determined his life.

He'd been told by the queen, along with all the lords and ladies and every other manner of noble and aristocrat he had ever served, on numerous occasions and under no pretense of kindness, that the royal family had taken him in as a young orphan, but he could not remember if that was true. He was certain, at least, that they had given him his name. "Lilia" was derived from the fae word for lily flowers, a plant whose legends and symbolism encompassed grand ideals of hope and purity, and something about it - the sound of it, its grandiose meanings, the way it would catch itself on his teeth, as though his body could not recognize what it was he was trying to say - had always felt wrong to him - foreign, even, so that he always felt like the people addressing him were talking to someone else. Out of discomfort, he often went by his last name, instead. "Vanrouge" had a sharpness to it that he found suited himself much more - both the sharpness of his temperament, and of his body. He was bony and stunted in height, his back no broader than the sticks used for kindling, and he stood shoulder height or lower to most adults his age. The nobility was not beyond recoginizing his strength and his talent in magic, however, and for all that his self-proclaimed benefactors gave him - a place to call home, people he could call family, military prestige beyond his wildest dreams - they took away just as much. Their orders came down like axe heads, and for centuries he dutifully served under their beck and call, acting as a guard dog for them one day, a scapegoat another, an undertaker the next, folding for them like a blade of grass forced flat by the wind.

He stumbled through the years as haphazardly as a tightrope walker, going only where he was told to go and doing only what he was told to do. He worked to the point that he could work no more, and when his incapability was discovered, he was immediately ordered to resign. It was one of the few times in his life he had ever felt afraid. Each and every one of the sovereignty's commands had been a link in a long fetter that bound him to their sides, but it had also been his lifeline, and without it, he feared he would be lost. The day of his resignation, he received one final order to remove his things from the barracks before leaving. The truth of it all pierced his mind like an arrow just then. He realized all at once that the tiny room with its cot and its chest and its wardrobe would be his prison cell no more, that the four walls that had been closing in on him for centuries had finally halted in their paths. He realized the thing that had been beating in his chest all his life had not been stamped out, had not been taken away from him - he had lost his dignity, his strength, even some of the people he had permitted himself to love, but not this. He smiled as he left the castle, made giddy by the greatest secret he knew he would never be able to tell. The discharge papers in his hands suddenly seemed to him like a pardon.

However, he had spent so many years bowing down to others he found he did not recognize the world when he finally stood up and looked at it again. With nothing more left in his life to guide him, he left his homeland shortly after his expulsion. He traveled from country to country with no real destination in mind - if a locale displeased him, he simply packed his things and departed for the next. As the years went by, he gradually began to operate with less and less reason, doing everything and anything he could "just because". Time had molded the clay of his person into a confusing and crude shape, and after decades of slow disentanglement and reformation, of reclaiming all the good things he had been forced to cast out of his heart, he discovered that his truest pleasure was to simply live by his whims. When he at last exhausted his traveling funds, he returned to the valley, settling down only because he'd never done so before, and was curious how well it would go. The people around him pitied him, as one often does those whom Life seems to have forgotten in its haste, but he was far too absorbed in his newfound self-indulgences to pay them any mind.

Even the acquisition of his son had been unplanned. He'd periodically scavenge from the ghost towns that dotted the countryside, in search of tools and good lumber he could use for his repairs back home, and on one such excursion, while searching through the rooms of a crumbling little cottage located deep within the valley's eastern forests, he found a human baby, fast asleep in its cradle. It was gaunt, with an evident pallor to its face, and Lilia quickly concluded it had been abandoned; the stagnant air in that place told him no other living being had been there for days. When he turned to leave, not wishing to disrupt Nature's process, an idea struck his mind so suddenly and so violently he had to steady himself against the doorway before he fell. What if he were to keep the child? What if he, a fae, were to raise the very flesh and blood of his nation's most ancient enemy? The notion intoxicated him. His head spun as he slowly returned to the crib.

"Now wouldn't that be a lark," he murmured as he raised the child. It blinked up at him weakly with eyes the color of the aurora, and Lilia was immediately convinced of his own genius.

"Let's get you something to eat, you poor thing! I'm quite famished myself, you know. You have excellent timing," he said with a wink. The baby watched him silently as he carried it back home.

He thought it would be simple. He knew from his time watching over the infant Malleus that babies needed little more than food, play, clean diapers, and naps. His first charge had flourished splendidly in his care, and he had no doubt his second would do the same.

But Silver was difficult. After its initial, desperate feeding, the baby, seeming to finally remember it was in possession of lungs and a vocal instrument, began to cry incessantly. If it wasn't in Lilia's arms, it cried. If it went a moment too long between feedings, it cried. Even when it slept Lilia was not safe. If he set it down for a nap and attempted to leave the room, it would awaken immediately, understand it had been abandoned once more, and would cry. There were times - random, and frustratingly rare - where it would suddenly stop in the midst of one of its fits, and smile at Lilia so sweetly he'd wonder if someone had snuck in and swapped the child for another when he wasn't looking. Once he realized his legendary frivolity had met its match, he began consulting with the Zigvolts on a regular basis, as Pa Zigvolt was the only human in the valley he trusted. It was the height of summer then, a time he'd usually spend taking refuge in the cool shadows indoors, but he did not mind walking the five long miles back and forth between their homes, preferring even the heat over the child's endless screaming. Pa Zigvolt assisted him to the best of his abilities, imparting to Lilia all the knowledge he had acquired over the years as a then-father of two, and Silver's fits ended a few months later as abruptly as they'd started.

The second hurdle arose when the little boy began to talk. His first, crude word was "Ba pa", and it took several days for Lilia's mind to finally register that he was the intended recipient of this title. He'd planned to have Silver call him by his first name, just as he'd been forced to do when Malleus was little, and hearing the child acknowledge him as its parent made him uncomfortable, as though both of them were breaking a rule he didn't know the name of. The baby, however, refused his every plea for reconsideration, and gradually figured out all the tricks of human speech as he grew older, learning to perfectly pucker his lips, and mastering the rhythm of the two syllables he so desperately wished to string together. He would repeat "Papa" throughout the day, singing out "Papa, Papa, Papa!" with the joy of a hymn. But for Lilia, each utterance was like a stone launched against the walls he had built up around his heart, and when they collapsed and faded away into nothing, he realized his discomfort had vanished with them.

He would later realize, too, that where he'd long forgotten much of his early life, he found he could now remember, to an almost startling degree, much of what he'd seen and experienced ever since he took in the boy. He could still remember a freezing day in January over a decade ago, when Silver had chanced upon a lone snowdrop shivering off the cold in the meadow near their home. The flower had fascinated the boy severely; he sat before it, stone still, tilting his heavy head this way and that, trying to understand the small creature’s drooping frame. Eventually, Lilia came over and accompanied him in his study. He had seen snowdrops countless times before, while marching through the countryside, while working on the clearing, but only then, as he knelt in the snow with the young boy at his side, both of them shivering quietly in the late winter light, only then did he finally realize its perfection. He could still remember, too, the snow slowly melting later that year, and Silver pointing out to him the magnolias blooming in the copse behind their shed, and the daffodils and tulips breaking through the frost that blanketed their small garden, and the linden trees releasing their sweet perfume. He could remember Silver revealing to him with a boyish surety the strangeness of rain showers on sunny days, and the comfort of the mist that lingers on cool autumn mornings. So many sights and sounds and sensations had passed by him all his life in a blur - colorless and dull, abstract and undefined, and when his son entered his life, it was as though a bolt of lightning the color of the aurora had struck the earth and finally given all these things their color and meaning.

But Silver had begun to change recently. Not physically - no, he still had the same rosy, cherubic little cheeks; the same bright blue-grey eyes; and the same sweet, half-crooked smile that Lilia would proudly boast about to all who would listen, and even to those who would not. It was his attitude, his tone of voice, his humor that had changed, and Lilia had not noticed it willingly, at first. Where he'd always been so agreeable and forthcoming, so that Lilia was unsure if the boy had ever kept a secret from him in his entire life, he was now secretive and temperamental. At times, Silver would whirl on him like a wildcat, his eyes narrowed, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, upset at something Lilia could not understand. There was always a strange look to his eyes during these flares, not quite panicked, yet not angered, either. He looked, if anything, confused - as though he could not believe the truth of the thing he'd just done. When he was amicable, he was as loquacious as a monk. He'd also been showing a newfound apathy towards Lilia's jokes and teasing, and to his presence overall, expressing more and more his desire to be left alone. Most alarming of all, Silver had recently stopped addressing him as "Papa", and now called him "Father", instead. It felt as unnatural as if a songbird had stopped singing. He found it vulgar. "Father" was harsh, adult, stern - formal and distant where his previous moniker had been so intimate and sweet. He'd pleaded with Silver more than once the past month, asking if anything was wrong, demanding to know why he was acting like this, but the boy was unwavering in his defiance, curtly assuring him each time that everything was fine, before excusing himself to go be alone his room once more.

Lilia ultimately decided not to push the matter further, presuming Silver would recover his good attitude in due time, and had instead been focusing his attention on preparing the homestead for summer. The garden work and other miscellaneous chores had all been welcome distractions, but an incident the past week had revived his concerns.

He and Silver had gone to the Zigvolt's for dinner. Ma Zigvolt prepared a feast of grilled corn cobs, roast venison slow-cooked with creamy golden potatoes and carrots, and a whole pile of her buttery homemade biscuits. The pair ate heartily, having both worked up a respectable appetite from hoeing weeds together all that morning, and as usual, they stayed with their hosts late into the evening, if only so Lilia and Baul could talk, and so Silver and Sebek could listen. It was the boys' greatest pleasure in the world to gather in the parlor and listen to them talk. Sometimes, they would simply muse on the recent weather, or discuss local politics. Other times, they'd tell stories - the boys always begged for a story. The former war heroes would weave tales about all the faraway lands they had journeyed to and the greatest enemies they had ever faced, and about fearsome beasts the children had never heard of and stars they'd never seen - “Men’s talk”, as Ma Zigvolt would scoffingly call it. But there was always softness in her voice whenever she rebuked their late-night gatherings. Horace and Iris used to join the small audience, too, but gradually stopped as they grew older, claiming the men's yarns had lost their appeal. It was one of the few things Sebek disagreed with his sister on - he worshiped her, but understood at his young age that even an idol's opinions could be wrong, at times.

The boys' habit was such:

Sebek would sprawl on the bearskin rug before the fireplace, and Silver would curl up against his father’s chair, his head resting on the man’s lap. Lilia would play with his son's hair absentmindedly while he spoke. It could’ve been the shining hands of the angel Gabriel himself carding those gentle fingers through his hair and the boy scarcely would’ve noticed a difference. This was his great reprieve, the most delicious reward after a long and tiring day of chores and training and schoolwork and hard labor; a time for him to sigh out all the aches and pains that gripped his thin body and a time for him to rest.

Lilia knew all this. He had always known this. His son’s heart was a rose; he needed only to whisper the boy's name and its petals would unfurl for him.

The meeting last week had proceeded as usual, at first. Dinner was enjoyed by all, the fireplace was lit, Baul and Lilia took their seats in the parlor, and Sebek planted himself on the bearskin rug. But when Lilia smiled at Silver and set his hands on his lap, his palms upturned, the boy turned away, sitting down in front of the fireplace next to Sebek, instead.

In that moment, Lilia realized Silver's strange behavior the past month was a symptom of an issue far graver than he could have anticipated. When they returned home that night, he consulted his trove of parenting books after Silver went to bed. He'd bought a number of them when the infant Silver had begun his fits, turning to them for advice whenever the boy fell ill or reached a new developmental milestone. He hadn't read any of them in ages, and he sneezed as a cloud of dust billowed when he pulled them down from the shelf.

He flipped through the yellowing tomes one by one, smiling whenever he came across a dogeared page. Each bookmark and scribbled note he could trace back to a specific period in Silver's life, and the memories of those first few stressful years he now counted amongst his greatest treasures. He worked through the tall stack throughout the night, giving up at dawn with a sigh. Were he a more sensible man, perhaps he would've taken note of the fact that his entire collection was made up of books concerning a human's first few years of life, and that his son was now thirteen.

III.

A massive thunderstorm exploded into the valley in early June. It seemed to have materialized from nothing, catching the residents off guard like a cottonmouth's strike. On the first day of the storm, Lilia presumed it was nothing more than a typical summer shower, and felt confident it would quickly pass. On the third day, he remarked he had never seen anything like it before in his life. By the fifth, he was too stunned to speak again. The rain fell down in sheets as thick as pure marble. The sun and moon and stars all vanished beneath a sky as dark as bruised flesh, and only the candles melting above the fireplace gave any indication that time had not stopped. Some days, the rain would harden into hail, and it would pelt the earth like white meteors for hours on end. The deluge pounded on for over a week. The first morning after the storm, the valley denizens stepped cautiously into what seemed like a brand new world. Entire villages had been washed away in some areas, and miles of farmland now stood underwater in others. The river, engorged with rainwater, had flooded over, transforming large swaths of the surrounding forest into a veritable swamp. Carcasses of the animals that hadn't escaped the disaster - deer, boars, turkey, elk, wolves, snakes, predator and prey, young and old - drifted in a black line down the muddy waters. Buzzards whirling their death dance filled the skies.

The Vanrouge's clearing, located uphill, had been mostly spared - a drowned chicken the lone fatality. But the corn fields had been left flattened, and the thatching on the cottage roof lay in shambles. Silver and Lilia worked quickly to dig a maze of deep trenches to help drain the excess water from the garden and pasture. They ripped out the molding stalks of corn and salvaged as many of the clean cobs as possible, hanging them to sun-dry from a wooden rack they'd erected in the yard. "The animals will be glad to have them, at least," Lilia had sighed.

Realizing they were quickly running out of nails and boards to finish making the repairs, Lilia decided one morning to head into the nearest town and replenish their dwindling supplies. Before leaving, he found Silver lying on his stomach in the living room, peering intently into a bird identification book he'd received for his birthday. He called out to the boy while he finished getting dressed.

“Silver, darling?”

Silver’s face, framed on one side by an illustration of a juvenile blackbird peeking out from its nest, and on the other by an adult in flight, emerged from between the pages of his book. Without looking up, he replied, "Yes, father?"

He still on that “father” thing? Lilia swallowed the annoyed groan building in his throat. “While I’m gone, could you butcher one of the shoats, please? I just noticed we’re about to run out of pork belly.”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it today.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Lilia grabbed his leather coin purse from the table by the door and secured it to the hook on his belt. He threw a light cloak over his shoulders, anticipating more rain, and glanced at Silver across the room while he fussed with the clasps.

The boy had retreated into his book.

Lilia sighed. The past week had been quiet. Even with the hail exploding all around them and the wind howling and the rain pounding like sledgehammers against their home, it had been quiet, because Silver had hardly spoken a word the entire time. The child's voice seldom rose above a pleasant murmur as a habit, and yet its absence had made the little cottage seem so much vaster and emptier than it really was; there were times during the storm Lilia had felt like the only living thing in the world trapped within its black fury. He hovered at the door for a moment, debating if he should try to kiss the boy goodbye, but his every attempt at parental affection the past month had been met with hostility, scorn, and disgust, and he feared any further attempts would only end the same. Electing for the path of least resistance, he opened the door and departed without another word.

Silver waited for the door to click shut before he pushed his book aside, sitting up with a grunt. He grabbed his pig sticker from his room and slipped on his work boots and gloves. Butchering was laborious work, more so than even his father's rigorous training regimes, and he gripped his knife expectantly while gathering his things.

The clearing glittered with rainwater as he stepped outside. The air was heavy, weighed down by a thick layer of petrichor, smelling somehow both earthy and sweet at once, and it felt like he had to push through it as he walked, as though he were swimming upstream. While struggling towards the pig pen, he contemplated his soggy surroundings. The wet ground was as dark as umber. The chickens, equally as wet and as dark, were scratching dejectedly at the mud, and the cows looked on wisely from underneath their dripping lean-to. He was thankful the garden hadn't been harmed. The brightly colored heads of the newborn squash peeking out from their leafy cradles lifted his heart where the rest of the world drooped and dripped so miserably around him. On the second day of the storm, when it was evident the rain and the wind would not soon abate, he and his father had rushed to cover all the plants with heavy sheets of plastic in a last-ditch attempt to save them. The covers had served them well, having prevented the incurrence of any vegetative losses, and though they now sported deep abrasions where the hail had struck them, Silver found the markings as noble and as handsome as any other battle scar.

Upon reaching the pen, he selected the smallest of the shoats, doubtful he could handle one of the larger animals on his own. The blade of his pig sticker shone dully in the dappled light. The mahogany handle felt cool in his sweat-slicked hand. With a practiced surety, Silver plunged the knife up into the pig’s rib cage, and the animal collapsed to the ground. He cleaned the blade in the grass while he waited for the body to stop moving. After the shoat finally stilled, he hoisted its heavy body onto the metal gambrel hanging from the tree by the shed, and then he began the long work - extracting the tender leaf fat hidden deep within it.

He grabbed the set of butcher knives from the shed and used the longest one to cut into the hide. The skin was rough against his hands, coated with a thick layer of wiry hair, and he grunted as he ripped it off. The head and wet mass of guts and other organs he removed from the torso as quickly as possible, discarding them in a pile far behind them, where he did not have to look at them and remember what he had just done. He slowed down to a comfortable pace as he began removing the leaf fat. The pigs had been enjoying a hearty diet of sweet potatoes, mulberries, and corn for most of the year, and the shoat he'd selected was richly packed with thick sheets of candle white fat. He plunged his knife into the carcass and began separating the fat from the muscle, working in a rhythm, stopping at times to put down his knife and use his hands to tear back the white slab, then picking it up again to continue cutting. He dislodged the mass with one final flick of his knife and deposited it into a bucket by his feet. Once rendered, it would be used not just for cooking, but also to make soap and candles, as a poultice for minor burns and wounds, and as lotion for chapped skin.

After swapping his knife for a bone saw, he split the carcass in half, and then hung both pieces inside the smokehouse. In a few days, once the meat had tenderized, he and his father would finish quartering them and divvying up the meat, grinding some of the portions to make sausage, and putting aside others for bacon and jerky.

He could feel beads of sweat crawling down his back like a line of ants as he plodded over to the water shelf to wash his hands. He figured by the sun's position there were still a few hours of morning left. Might as well see if I can't hunt something he thought, having already exhausted all the distractions the clearing and the cottage could offer.

He washed himself hastily, glancing in the mirror as he dried his hands against his pant legs. He was a demonstrably plain boy – not outstanding in height or wit or strength or speed. His body was lean and wiry, his hands prematurely calloused from years of grueling work, and only the few meager lumps of baby fat that clung to his face protested weakly that he was, indeed, just a child. The only remarkable thing about him was his eyes – they were a brilliant blend of amethyst and steel blue, almost prismatic in nature, seeming to change color with the rise and fall of the sun. The few adults in his life often remarked on their beauty, but Silver never paid their compliments any mind - in truth, he rejected them. He'd always thought his eyes plain, just as he thought the rest of himself plain, especially in comparison to the fae, and if there was any one thing he begrudged Sebek for, it was the serpentine pupils he'd inherited from his forefathers. He frowned at the mirror, then averted his gaze from his dissatisfied reflection.

Before leaving, Silver printed on the back of a used envelope a short note for his father, letting him know he was going hunting, and that he would return home before supper, and this he left on the counter, held in place with a coffee tin. He then retrieved his crossbow from his room, and left the clearing, cutting a path straight North, far away from the bloated river and its poisons. Huge puddles of muddy water dotted the trail before him, and the damp ground squelched noisily under his boots. The trail was bordered by a lavender frame of honeysuckle in full bloom, but the trumpets sagged poorly, still heavy with water. His father had said it would likely take another week or two for the land to dry completely.

Silver had observed the storm with great interest. Pa Zigvolt had once told him how people in other countries conceived of the beginning of the world, and in one version, he spoke of when the planet was all water, and a god had sculpted the land and the sky and all living creatures, and Silver had wondered during the storm if this was how the world had looked during those primordial seven days, or if perhaps that wrathful god had come back to restart its creation. Never before in his life had he seen so much rain, so much wind and lightning and hail all at once before. The sky was one ocean and the land was another. The rain seemed to move back and forth between them, falling and rising, the drops of water shining like the million wings of a dragonfly swarm. He processed novelties such as these almost programmatically. If he understood something, then he determined he would not fear it. His comprehension was a beam of light he could shine upon his abhorrations, it would cut through the shadow of his uncertainty and allow him to see the face of the thing, to touch it, and to understand it. He was afraid of very little: the forest at night, adders (he'd been bitten once as a small child), all the various tinctures and teas prescribed for his occasional afflictions, and his father's Halloween performances. Darkness was one thing he'd studied and studied since he was very young, but had never been able to puzzle out, perhaps because it did not end. It was too broad, too immeasurable; he could lift up one corner of it and step underneath it and walk a thousand miles and still never glimpse its face. Even when it receded during the day, he felt it prowling beyond the safety of the clearing, like a panther in waiting. The storm, too, had seemed infinite in its wrath, but it had ended, and now it was gone. Now there was only a liquid world, shimmering, iridescent, like one great droplet of water sitting on an endless spiderweb.

The frenzied drumming of a male grouse sounded off in the distance, beyond a thick wall of fir and aspen. Following the clamor, Silver slipped into the underbrush. He moved over the wet leaf litter as quiet as a shadow. The performer soon came into view, perched atop a fallen cedar tree. It was in the midst of a thunderous crescendo, beating its spectacled wings so feverously the air around it seemed a solid tawny blur. Silver dropped to a crouch, stalking slowly forward until he reached a mass of undergrowth tall enough to conceal him. Kneeling in the grass, he loaded an arrow into his crossbow, disengaging the safety as he raised it to his shoulder.

A noise above drew his attention. A red squirrel, high up in the tree beside him, was glaring at him, its eyes blazing as fiercely as its bright copper fur. Silver held his breath. If the squirrel let out a warning bark, the grouse would surely hear it and scatter. His gaze flew between his observer and his target - the bird had paused in its performance, its small black eyes scanning the tree line where he was hiding.

After a few tense moments, the squirrel disappeared into the privacy of the canopy with a huff. The grouse cocked its head, alert, but not alarmed, and then resumed its drumming. Silver quietly let out the breath he'd been holding and moved his finger over the trigger. The arrow soared through the air and struck the grouse with a heavy thud. It fell to the ground, disappearing behind it's earthen stage.

Silver stood up and thrust his crossbow behind him. He rushed in long strides to the log and hoisted the grouse's limp body with one hand, his own body still thrumming with adrenaline. A scarlet blot bloomed in the animal's chest where his arrow had pierced it. The sight of the blood immediately muted all his excitement. He whispered an earnest "Thank you" to the creature before slipping its thin neck up under his belt and turning around. As he stood there, awash in the late morning light, contemplating the still-warm body resting against his thigh, his mind finally acknowledged that he knew this place.

One day, a few months ago, on his way home from collecting armfuls of wild sorrel and burdock in the forest, Silver had discovered a great horned owl sitting atop a towering oak tree while passing through there. The creatures were rarely seen during the day, typically active only during crepuscular hours, and Silver carefully set down his leafy bundle upon spotting it, taking the opportunity to quietly study the bird for as long as it allowed him to. He concluded that its long, brown ear-tufts reminded him of the projections in his father’s hair, and he smiled, pleased by the genius of his observation. When he walked up to the tree and craned his head back, the owl slowly blinked its yellow eyes down at him in perplexment.

“Could you please help me?” Silver asked.

“Whooo?”

“You, silly bird!” he laughed. He explained that he'd learned a new word recently, and desired an audience before which to practice his pronunciation.

The owl obliged his request and swooped down to a branch directly before him. He unfastened his cloak and draped it around its neck, carefully hooking up the fastener so as to not pinch its feathers.

He stepped back to admire his work. “Looks good to me,” he murmured to himself, nodding. “Now, I want you to please pretend to be my papa- I mean, my father.”

The owl stared at a toad loitering by Silver’s feet. It looked up and blinked its spotlight eyes at him slowly.

Flustered, Silver continued. “Oh, if you just sit there, that should be okay! I’ll go ahead and start now. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

He cleared his throat and straightened his back, crossing his arms. “Hello, Pa-, erm, Father. Today, I’m going to go play- I mean!! I’m going to go train with Sebek. I’ll be back for dinner. Farewell!”

He spun around and marched off, swinging his arms importantly, just like he’d seen the imperial guards do on his rare trips into town. After a few heavy steps, he stopped and turned around again, nervously searching his spectator's face for any sign of reproach.

“...How was that?” he asked after a moment.

The owl bobbed its head excitedly, but Silver could not determine if the gesture was meant for him, or for the toad that was now clinging plaintively to his feet. He reset his stance and repeated the exercise from the beginning. Again and again he stuttered through his short speech and pumped his arms and stomped across the ground, and then turned around to be greeted by a feathery face as unintelligible as some ancient cipher. This cycle continued for so long his pile of greens had begun to wilt by the time he was at last satisfied.

His request had been sincere, if not misguided. The new moniker he'd chosen for Lilia sat as heavy and awkwardly as a foreign word on his tongue, and he'd often lapse into calling the man "Papa" as a course of habit, which he'd aimed to rectify through this practice. But there was another, graver reason why he'd felt so anxious that day - a secret dilemma had been plaguing him for weeks.

He had discovered, unwillingly, and to his great alarm, that the adults in his life had suddenly developed an irritating air about them. He wished, for example, to push away Ma Zigvolt’s pinching hands when they reached for the roundness of his face and to flee from Pa Zigvolt’s awkward attempts at conversation. Baul and his father’s stories had lost their wonder, too, no longer coloring the quiet expanse of his dreams. And his father, by far, presented the most extreme case of this mysterious ailment.

It was as though, after thirteen long years of worshiping the very ground he walked on, Silver had woken up one day with his mind rewired to find everything the man did purely annoying. When he'd suddenly start to sing in that strange, deep voice he could conjure on a whim, or when he’d pester him with questions, asking him how his day was, and what he and Sebek had gotten up to, or when he'd declare to the world what a splendid, hardworking boy he was, instead of laughing or smiling or nodding along, as per his customary response, Silver instead found himself praying for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Even Malleus had changed. All his life, Silver had approached the young prince unabashed and forthcoming, as he was never taught the fear that lurked in the hearts of many of the valley’s citizens. Indeed, for Silver, Malleus was one of the precious few cornerstones of his meager world – he was a comforting shadow in the dim haze of Silver's infantile memories, and the green glow of his magic was as reassuring to him as the North Star’s guiding light. More than anything, he was someone - the only one - who’d come visit Silver when his father was away.

Lilia had resumed traveling for leisure after Silver was old enough to look after the homestead on his own. He was never gone long, in his own opinion, only a week or two at most. He'd pack the fridge full of questionable food for the boy, leave him a list of chores and rules to follow that was, at times, as questionable as the food, kiss his cheek goodbye, and then promptly disappear to whatever locale he'd selected for his itinerary that month. He'd always send Silver postcards of the places he'd visit. They often arrived faded and torn, or sopping wet from the rain, but Silver kept each and every one of them, regardless if damaged or illegible, or otherwise totally destroyed, in a little box underneath his bed. When he lay down to sleep at night, in his mind he would reach his hand underneath his bed, open his box, and quietly step into the distant worlds contained within the postcards.

Some nights, he and his father would stroll through the glass-topped bazaars of the Shaftlands, their arms heavy with paper shopping bags filled to the brim with newly purchased clothing and trinkets and toys, slowly moving through the crystalline cloud of cologne and parfum drifting out from the stores and boutiques, each establishment a gem of its own, the arcade an endless line of diamonds, amethysts, pearls, topaz, and rubies; then this vision would vanish, and he and his father would be pulled another thousand miles away to the golden plains of the Sunset Savanna, where sky touched the earth, where a boiling sun raged like an angry god above a scorched plateau of rock and grit and sand and red clay dust, and they would journey across this shimmering land marveling at all the beasts and vegetation Silver had only ever read about in his books, and would likely never see for as long as he lived.

He'd spend the entire night thus traipsing from one postcard to the next, so that by the time he awoke in the morning, he'd crossed nearly half the planet in his sleep.

This habit he continued for over half a year, at which point Malleus at last learned of Lilia's departures. Often kept detained at the castle by mountains of paperwork and other bureaucratic trivialities that left him too exasperated and too occupied for leisure, he did not regularly call on the Vanrouges, and when he'd taken a rare opportunity to drop by their cottage one day, many years ago, he was surprised when Silver opened the door and informed him that his father was gone. Silver did not notice anything strange about Malleus's reaction, at first. He'd gotten another postcard recently. On the front, an image of massive, stone towers rising high into a cloudless turquoise sky, their spires terminating into crowns shaped like pyramids; on the back, in his fathers prim script, a short note explaining the structures were called "obelisks'', and that they were monuments dedicated to the local gods of that region. All of Silver's dreams lately had been of endless deserts and great golden towers and the ancient kings and queens that once ruled over them, and when he saw the pair of black obelisks that were concealed in Malleus's slit pupils, his fantasies materialized temptingly in his mind once again.

But Malleus's low voice, inquiring on Lilia's return, pulled him back to the clearing and the small cottage and its plainness for a moment. Trying to focus, he stated bluntly that his father would not be back for another week.

"A week?" Malleus said, his tone halfway between a scoff and a cry.

"A week," Silver repeated absentmindedly, busy trying to determine how a pharaoh's headdress might sit between Malleus's horns.

When his gaze drifted lazily back to Malleus's eyes, he finally realized the man was angry. The black obelisks had vanished, and all the kings and queens in his mind bowed their heavy ornate heads, crumbling away to nothing in the face of the prince's quiet rage.

From that day on, Malleus dedicated himself to visiting Silver as much as possible when Lilia was away. He would bring with him cakes and pies he'd stolen from the castle's kitchen, and books he'd snuck out of the royal library, and they would sit together and enjoy these treasures in the living room, or stroll through the forest when the weather was fair. These visits made Silver feel very important, a sensation he seldom had the privilege to enjoy, and he'd imagine he was a duke welcoming a fellow aristocrat to his palace whenever Malleus stopped by. The lonely late-night journeys through his postcards melted away into this new pleasure.

As Silver matured, he slowly began to comprehend the gravity of Malleus’s periodic decampments. It first felt like nothing more than a small discomfort, as though he were wearing a garment a size too small. As time went on, the discomfort only grew, transforming from a minor inconvenience into an ever-present malaise. But Silver was attentive as he was reticent, and he’d noticed how, when he’d caper with Malleus through the forests, the pixies living in the oak trees and the river would whisper and whisper all around them, their high voices a chorus of reproachful chimes. And he’d noticed, too, the confusion that had flashed across his father’s eyes the day he’d confessed to these secret visits. Silver collected these observations as his evidence, examined them, and concluded that Malleus was doing something wrong. But to accuse their crown prince of misconduct required a level of brazenness that far exceeded his capabilities, and he'd waited several months until he finally voiced his suspicions.

He broached the topic the spring prior, when his father had departed for a week-long sojourn in the Shaftlands. That first night, Malleus appeared at the cottage door with a pan of freshly baked apple strudel in hand. After they were sat at the table and Malleus began cutting their portions, Silver at last revealed all his concerns.

When he finished speaking, he watched Malleus’s hand slow down as it moved the knife through the steaming pastry.

“I…” Malleus pursed his lips in thought, lifting them into a soft smile a moment later.

“I remember how I felt whenever Lilia would vanish on one of his excursions when I was little, and I suppose I simply wish not for you to feel the same.”

“But that’s-”

“You needn’t worry, Silver.” Malleus laughed gently, pushing a plate heavy with warm strudel towards him. “I shan’t get into any trouble - so long as my grandmother remains none the wiser about all this, that is,” he finished with a wink.

Silver was at once overcome by a rush of joy and shame and guilt and relief all combined together. His body, unable to process this strange emotional amalgamation, resigned to color itself with a vicious crimson flush. The chameleonic display was so severe it shocked even Malleus, and he spent the rest of that evening marveling at the different shades of red human skin could take.

Something shifted in Silver's relationship with Malleus that day. He felt it before he understood what it was. When his father returned from his trip, he revealed to Silver the truth that had been looming over him all of his life, and explained to him all the different rules that Malleus had been egregiously breaking for him for years on end. When the lecture was finished, Silver asked his father to leave his room so he could ruminate. He concluded that if it was wrong for Malleus to show him this kindness, if it had to be locked away and kept a secret, then he would keep his own secret - he would take his love for Malleus, for his brother, and he would bury it. He would construct a pedestal in his heart, as all the other valley citizens had long been taught to do, and place upon it the man he'd been too ignorant to realize had never truly been his equal and his friend.

He was bothered greatly – by his father’s antics, by the dullness of the adults around him, by the solitude of his strange and sudden affliction – and yet he never could find a remedy for his discomfort. It was like an insect had stung him in a spot his hands couldn’t quite reach, and the words to describe how he felt evaded him just the same.

All of this he considered once more as he left the forest, stumbling back home in a haze of speculation. By the time he reached the clearing, the darkened sky looked like a giant raven's wing stretched out over the land, and the treefrogs had already begun their evening serenade. Even in the low light he could feel their beady eyes staring at him as he approached the door.

Inside, the cottage was warm, and his father's humming radiated quietly from the kitchen. After slipping off his muddy boots by the door, he set the limp grouse on the counter and went to wash his hands at the basin.

His father stood before the cookstove, stirring a pot bubbling with a substance as black as tar. He looked up, and the smile he’d been planning to offer Silver rapidly faded away. Knitting his brow in concern, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

Silver swallowed thickly and nodded. “I’m fine.”

IV.

Summer crept forward like an inchworm. The land dried out completely within a matter of weeks, as Lilia had predicted, and one could now comfortably move around outside without fear of the humidity's oppression. The linden trees, made anxious by the pounding wind and rain, had been steadfastly clutching their bright yellow flowers against their leafy breasts since the start of the month, and had only recently just begun allowing the satiny petals to unfurl, as though acknowledging the valley's languid recuperation. Their delicious perfume billowed out across the entire nation, eventually overshadowing even the contaminated river's foul odor.

The Zigvolts had fared well through the disaster, their tall, white house still standing proud and pristine amongst a mess of downed trees and waterlogged foliage, not a single red brick from the chimney missing or otherwise harmed. Their neighbors, however, had not been nearly as fortunate, and the elder Zigvolts had agreed to close the dental clinic while they helped their friends repair their homes. The children eagerly assisted wherever possible, and they spent the better part of June lugging armfuls of wood and shingles, readjusting crooked fences, and clearing out dripping debris from the trails that weaved around their home. The entire family would work from morning until late at night, reserving one day a week to either relax or to see to any high-priority dental cases.

It was on one of these holidays, in late June, when Lilia and Silver dropped by in the morning for a scheduled call. The two families gathered in the parlor, the adults chatting amicably, while the children competed to see who'd had the most interesting experiences during the storm, but as noon rolled around and the boys lost interest in conversation, Baul suggested they go outside for an impromptu sword fighting lesson. The group thus disbanded, Lilia remaining with Pa and Ma Zigvolt in the parlor, while Iris joined her grandfather and the family cat in supervising the boys, taking turns cheering for her brother or for Silver as she saw fit.

After they left, Ma Zigvolt went to the kitchen and refilled the pitcher of ice tea she'd prepared that morning, topping up Lilia's glass for him before retaking her seat. Looking at him expectantly, she asked, "Now what were you saying before? About Silver."

“Ah, about Silver acting strangely during the storm?” Lilia waited for her confirmation before continuing. “Well, there was this one day I was able to get the fireplace going and I gathered up some blankets on the couch. And when I asked Silver if he wanted to come cuddle with me for a bit, he… he…”

Ma Zigvolt balled up her apron in her hands and leaned forward, wide-eyed. “He what?”

“He said no!” Lilia cried, throwing his arm over his face with a flourish.

“No?!” she gasped. “Not Silver!”

“Yes! I could hear my poor heart breaking in two on the spot.” Lilia slumped back in his chair. It was the first time he'd spoken to anyone about the problems he'd been having with his son, and he felt somehow encumbered by the weight of his confession.

Ma Zigvolt gently asked if he'd had any luck talking to Silver about his behavior, and he begrudgingly shook his head.

"He always says he's fine, and that's about as much as I can get out of him." He sipped his tea, setting his glass down on the table beside him with a frown. "It almost feels like he doesn't even like me anymore..."

Pa and Ma Zigvolt exchanged a pointed look. It was not unlike the one they'd share with each other at the clinic, when a patient, complaining of mysterious symptoms that had "simply popped up out of nowhere!" would throw themselves into the examination chair with a huff, only to confess after much prodding that they had been consuming a poor diet, and had been practicing even poorer dental habits.

Pa Zigvolt spoke first. “It’s normal for kids Silver’s age to go through a phase like this. It just means he’s growing up.”

Lilia blinked. “Growing up…?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ma Zigvolt continued. “We went through the exact same thing with Horace and Iris. Horace especially had it rough, the poor thing. You remember, honey?”

“Yeah, I remember it clear as day." He nodded solemnly. "He’d stay holed up in his room all the time, and trying to get him to talk to us was harder than pulling a tooth. It’s like he thought we were the most embarrassing people in the world.”

“Oh, but he still thinks that way about you, dear.”

“Tally!”

Laughing, Ma Zigvolt reached over and patted his knee soothingly.

Lilia considered their words. “If that’s the case, then I suppose I just don’t understand why he’s trying to grow up so quickly. For most of his life, I pushed him much too hard, had him undergo training better suited for soldiers thrice his age. The day I finally realized what an awful mistake I’d been making, I don’t think I’d ever felt so ashamed of myself in my life.”

“From that moment on, I swore to ease up on him and just let him be a kid, and to make sure he could enjoy his childhood as much as possible. Especially since I… Ahh…”

Lilia thought of the castle barracks. There had only been one window in his room, a pitiful little square cut high into the stone wall adjacent to his cot. It faced East, and for a few, meager hours in the afternoon, when the sun was positioned directly before the castle, a singular column of light would enter the window and illuminate that small, dark space. He thought of how he would lay transfixed in bed, watching the light glide across his body like a golden serpent, how he would thrust out his hands, trying to capture it, trying desperately to stop this one thing from exiting his life as everything else had, and how each time it would slip through his groping fingers like water and evaporate into nothing. He thought of marching for days, of the sharp iron stench of the battlefield, of the bone-deep ache that would weigh heavy like a stone over every fiber of his being. He thought of all the things he experienced growing up that he never wished for his son or any other child to go through.

Lilia swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Looking past Ma Zigvolt, focusing on the wall clock behind her, he finally continued, “When I was a child, I didn’t have the… the kinds of opportunities that he has, so I just want to make sure he makes the most of them while he can.”

"I see..." Ma Zigvolt sighed, folding her hands in her lap. She had grown up knowing Lilia to be an evasive - if not frustrating - man, and her father had warned her repeatedly over the years to be cautious in her prodding. He was like an uncle to her, and she dutifully acknowledged his seniority, if only in regards to his age, but he was also a fellow parent, and her neighbor, and where the wellbeing of children was concerned, she was known to reveal the full extent of her caustic rhetoric, so that more than once she'd had to quit all civility and rebuke Lilia for his parental failures. Still, she considered each of her questions carefully, as though treading across a sheet of ice, knowing full well that if she chose her next step incorrectly, it would shatter the man's trust and terminate the conversation.

After a moment, she asked, “And you two haven't had any fights recently? You don't think you've said anything that might've upset him?"

Lilia paused for a moment, and then shook his head again. “No, not at all.”

Ma Zigvolt pressed further, sensing his hesitation. “Well, regardless, you don’t think there’s anything you’re doing that might be making him act this way?”

She'd stepped too far. Lilia frowned. “I think I know my own child, Thalia. If he had a problem with me, he’d say so.”

"I wasn't trying to insinuate anything, Lilia."

“Alright.”

Pa Zigvolt glanced rapidly between his wife and Lilia. Confrontation historically made him nervous, and it was clear from their stony faces they'd reached an impasse. He rubbed his clammy palms against his pant leg and rose from his seat, asked politely if anyone would like another round of refreshments, and fled to the kitchen before receiving a response. Lilia's gaze followed him as he walked off, his thoughts drifting away together with the man's receding figure.

He could hear the children's laughter floating in through the open windows, Sebek's loud and exuberant, Silver's quiet and breathless. Other sounds poured in, blending together like a symphony. There was the harsh percussion of their wooden swords clashing together, ringing out at times as viciously as gunfire; there was Baul's voice, low and clear, gruffly barking out his commands in tune with each thunderous strike; and there was the shining thread of Iris's singsong voice, interweaving amongst the clamor as she called out her gentle encouragement.

But still through it all his son's voice came to him, as direct as a beam of light, sounding sweeter and brighter than the goldfinches chittering away in the cottonwood trees.

It'd been so long since he last heard his son's laugh he'd almost forgotten what it sounded like. For over a month, he'd failed to elicit from the boy anything beyond the faintest imitation of a grin, yet here he was, just out of arm's reach, laughing and smiling so freely it was like his body demanded it more than breathing. He looked away from the window and glanced at Ma Zigvolt. She sat with her back erect, her hands folded primly in her lap, her eyes closed, awash in her children's joy, her round face as radiant and golden as the sun. Lilia fought back the urge to call out to Silver, knowing he would only destroy this moment.

He thought again of the past few weeks, scrutinizing everything he'd said and done to his child. He sifted through his memories, upturning each one and twisting it around and inspecting it from every angle, but still he could not find any evidence of his error. And he couldn't make comprehensible, either, the notion that his son was "growing up", as the Zigvolts had claimed. How could he, when Silver only had taken his first, wobbling steps just the other day, when it was only just yesterday that he'd learned to string his words together and share his quaint little thoughts, when he was still so small - his body, his voice, his hands, all no greater now than they had ever been before in his entire life? Lilia bit back an incredulous scoff, humored greatly by the absolute absurdity of the notion. And yet - his son's laughter drifted into his consciousness like a spring breeze. Why this drastic change in his demeanor, then?

Maybe there is something I'm doing wrong. But I just...

Lilia cleared his throat. "I'll certainly need to mull this over some more, but if you have any advice, I'm all ears."

“Well…” Ma Zigvolt smiled, smoothing out her apron before folding her hands in her lap again. “I know I’m no expert, but I’ve found that sometimes, being a good parent means you gather your babies in your arms and you hold onto them as tight as you can. And other times, it means you let them go. And he's at a point in his life where you might just have to start letting him go.”

"Hm."

The Vanrouges departed for home that afternoon. Before they left, Pa Zigvolt pulled Lilia aside, and let him know he was more than welcome to come speak with them again about Silver's behavior at any time. Lilia thanked him, reassuring him that his wife had already given him more than enough to think about for a while yet, and politely declined the couple's offer to meet for dinner later that week. As he stepped through the door, he winked at Ma Zigvolt, and she grinned at him audaciously.

Silver retreated into his shell as soon as they stepped off their neighbor's property, but Lilia was for once too occupied to take offense, busy ruminating on his conversation with the Zigvolts. Their dinner that evening was silent, and he later fell asleep dreaming of the boy's twinkling laughter.

Lilia would come to regret rejecting the Zigvolts' offer. Over the next several weeks, Silver seemed to burrow deeper and deeper into himself with each passing day. The boy's emotional carapace was thicker than any suit of armor or garrison Lilia had encountered during his time in the service, and some days he receded so deeply Lilia would have to call his name multiple times and rap his hand against the table just to wrest the child's attention away from himself. It was all Lilia could do to maintain the fraying strand of his composure from completely snapping. He'd been hotheaded as a youth, and positively vicious to his troops as a general, but had sworn off his every inclination towards corporal punishment once Malleus was born. During this period he often found himself questioning the rationality of his vow, and would sometimes envision giving the boy a lashing, only to immediately chide himself for his own weakness.

Something sinister seemed to be building up inside their little home. It was as though there was a great coil lurking underneath the floorboards, one that wound itself tighter and tighter with each of their disastrous interactions. The palpable tension only further stymied Lilia's every attempt at repairing their relationship, and the blowout he'd been fearing finally materialized one afternoon in early July.

Silver had spent the better part of that day in a state of quiet agitation. He would approach Lilia, open his mouth, close it, open it again, and then spin around and march off to his room, proclaiming hastily he needed to close his window, or make his bed, or any other excuse he could find to justify his escape. Lilia would only laugh in response. The previous day, while cleaning the kitchen, he'd glanced out the window and noticed the boy speaking animatedly with the chickens. He watched for hours as Silver paced back and forth before them, waving his arms and moving his mouth rapidly as the birds pecked indifferently at the ground.

Since then, Lilia had been eager to learn the truth of Silver's recital, but he did not press the boy, choosing instead to bide his time sprawled out on the couch, flipping through a stack of traveling magazines he'd been meaning to read.

After an hour of consternation, Silver planted himself before Lilia, his spine erect, his shoulders drawn back, and stated with perfect confidence, "Father, there's something I'd like to ask you!"

"Hm?" Lilia lowered his magazine, his eyes peeking over an editorial on deep-sea diving in the Coral Sea. "What is it?"

Silver's shoulders slumped. He'd not gotten this far in his rehearsals.

"Erm." He nibbled on his lower lip. "Is it okay if I go to the Zigvolt's by myself today?"

Lilia blinked. He'd been hoping - expecting, even - to hear from the boy a teary-eyed apology for how poorly he'd been acting recently, or perhaps a plea for his forgiveness, but not this. After a moment, he muttered, "What?"

"Is it okay if-"

"Sorry, I heard you." Lilia sat up and placed the magazine on the coffee table. "Why are you asking that?"

"I dunno. I just thought I-" Silver licked his lips. "I guess I just thought I could go by myself now. And I know it hurts your back to walk all that way, so."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me, darling." Lilia said, inwardly cursing at himself for allowing the boy to notice his infirmity. He made a note to check the bathroom after they were finished talking, wondering if he'd neglected to put away his pain relief balm and bottles of medication where he typically hid them, at the back of the medicine cabinet.

Sitting up as straight as his bruised back allowed, he offered Silver a smile so brilliant it was as though he wished to expunge the shadow of the boy's doubt with its radiance. "I'm fit as a fiddle!" he proclaimed through gritted teeth.

Silver returned the smile, unaffected. "I'm glad. But I still wanna start going by myself."

Lilia's lips dropped into a frown. He shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Silver. But the answer is 'no'."

Had Silver heard those words at any other point in his life prior to that moment, he would have conceded, and bowed out of the conversation in recognition of his father's perfect judgment. But this time, rather than his usual disappointment, he felt a strange anger welling up inside of him, instead. He clenched his fists and set his jaw, ignoring the hiss of his instincts warning him that he was about to step into a fight.

"No? Why not?" he asked, interrupting Lilia as he reached for his magazine.

Lilia leaned back into the couch and bit back another sigh. "Simple, because it's not safe for you to go all that way by yourself." He spoke slowly and carefully, hoping an air of manufactured calmness would mask his irritation.

Silver's voice, in contrast, blatantly swelled with indignation. "But I stay home by myself when you're gone."

"Staying home by yourself is different. My magic is all over this land. Magical beasts and fae know not to come here, and you know that, too."

Here, Silver paused again. The hiss of his instincts had at that point deformed into a mangled screech, which he knew would soon summon the animal panic that had struck him before a handful of times in his young life - once when he'd gotten lost in the woods as a small child, and another when his father had fallen gravely ill after returning from one of his trips, and Silver had been powerless to help him. There was one, final question that he now wished to ask the man, though he knew the answer to it might hurt him. As his mind frantically tried to draw back the words already forming on his tongue, he hastily wrenched them out and spat:

"Well, what about when you drop me and Sebek out in the middle of nowhere for our training? We always get along just fine without you."

Lilia crossed his arms and looked away. "That's... different, too."

Silver's heart skipped a beat. "...How?"

"It just is-"

"How!" the boy cried, his voice bursting into a screech.

"Because I watch you guys the whole time! I've always been watching you when you train. I would never leave you alone like that, you're just a child."

Lilia realized too late the poison of his words. It spread immediately into Silver's heart. His eyes were two perfect shining wet opals; his tears fell silently - gliding, almost, lifting off as they fell from his face, as though afraid to mar his skin. He turned and ran to his room, hesitating as he took the door into his hand before, for perhaps the first time in his life, he slammed it shut. Lilia leapt from the couch and raced after him, hissing out a choked "Damnit!" under his breath as he tried the knob and found it locked. He pressed his ear against the door and called out Silver's name. At first, he heard nothing, and feared for a moment the boy had slipped out his window and fled into the forest, in repeat of that awful, wretched night from so long ago, but then he heard it - it was like a whisper at first, nearly as imperceptible as the clap of a butterfly's wings, but still he heard it, heard the stifled, quiet sobs drifting through the heavy panel of hardwood separating him from his son. Lilia stood there, petrified, listening, feeling as each of the boy's sobs pierced his flesh and bore down into the deepest folds of his heart, as if seeking him; as if they were his own.

V.

Once a month, when the moon casts aside her shadowy veil to grace the valley with all her beauty, the Zigvolts and the Vanrouges and their neighbors gather together in a log cabin at the edge of the forest, and they dance.

Regular merriment was a necessity for the fae - mirth coursed through their bodies like the blood in their veins, and any opportunity for celebration, any chance they had to raise their voices together and join hands under the soft light of the stars, they would take it. Baul would scoff and say they were all plagued by a sickness, Ma Zigvolt would click her tongue at him and say it was rather an inclination.

The monthly dance was a rare opportunity for Silver to socialize freely with the townspeople. His father had always been honest with him about his species' general attitude towards humans, and the boy understood very well that the glint in their gemstone eyes - some of them deep ruby red like his father’s, others mesmerizingly green like polished emeralds, or as molten as bright blue sapphires - was not always a kind one. Only on those full moon nights, when the whine of the band’s violins accompanies the forest symphony of nightingales and tree frogs calling out their lonely verses, when the humans and the fae breathe each other in and twist and turn and dip and whirl and spin each other out, only then was it safe for Silver to take their clawed hands into his own and look unabashed into the fire of their eyes. They could and they would return to their quiet judgment and whispered denouncements later, but not on those nights, not when their bodies burned hot with jubilation and the music bewitched them so.

It was for this reason, and for his love of the communal mirth he habitually longed for, as isolated as he was at home, that Silver looked forward to the dance each month with great excitement. The night before the July dance, however, a war had raged inside the Vanrouge household.

Partway through their silent dinner, just as Lilia had gotten up to refill his glass of water at the sink, Silver had announced, plainly, and without a moment's hesitation, that he would not be participating in tomorrow's festivities, and offered neither an explanation nor any willingness to compromise when prompted. But Lilia was equally insurmountable in his parental concerns, and he questioned the boy until his blood boiled. The conversation rapidly crumbled into an argument, before further disintegrating into an all-out screaming match.

They volleyed their rebukes at each other from across the dining table, both unbending in their determination, Silver deflecting each of Lilia's pleas and demands with an iron-clad defense that bordered on hostility.

"You're going to that dance whether you want to or not!" Lilia had nigh snarled at one point as he launched his next attack.

But his words had ricocheted off Silver as harmlessly as though they were filled with air, and he ultimately fired back a retort so scathing it made even Lilia's marble white skin flush in mortification.

Their clamor poured out the open windows and flooded the clearing, where the sows and the heifer in the pasture looked at each other in concern. A songbird that had perched on the windowsill for a moment’s respite burst into the sky a second later, alarmed by the ruckus within. After an hour of tense contestation, they finally reached an agreement: they would go to the dance, but would not stay the entire time. But the foul atmosphere from the great storm of their quarrel lingered in the small cottage, and the pair kept to themselves the next day, Silver sulking in his bedroom, and Lilia fussing in the kitchen, busy preparing a dish for the dance's customary potluck.

They convened in the evening. The partygoers traditionally wore their Sunday best, and Silver and Lilia both donned their black slacks, white button up shirts, and leather-soled shoes. Their jackets and vests they left hanging in their closets, the threat of the summer heat overpowering any inclination for gaiety. When Silver emerged into the living room, he was finishing buttoning up his shirt, and did not look up as he called out a quiet greeting to his father. It was the first time Lilia had seen him all day, and once the boy had completed his toilette and finally met his gaze, Lilia offered him a reconciliatory smile, which Silver at first returned, reflexively, then retracted a moment later, substituting it with a scowl in its place.

Shortly before dusk, underneath a blue-gray sky streaked with clouds of pure amber, they departed for the cabin, joining up with the Zigvolts as they neared the edge of the forest. Baul was not with his family, having excused himself to instead partake in an evening nap, and the small troupe reached its destination just as the last golden wisps of the sun had withdrawn into their equatorial den.

While Ma and Pa Zigvolt and Iris set off for the dancefloor, Lilia headed towards the tables at the back of the one-room cabin, Silver and Sebek in tow. He gingerly set down his tray of charred cookies amongst the other desserts while the boys took a seat. As Sebek gazed at the rows of meat pies and pound cakes spread out before them, Silver fidgeted in his chair.

The last of the partygoers having finally assembled, the band picked up their instruments and began to play. There was no electricity in the valley, and aside from the small handful of families that could afford imported record players, music was traditionally played live, both for private enjoyment, and for public celebrations. Most fae children, as a result, learned to master at least one instrument as part of their general education, and while Lilia and Malleus both were highly skilled in a wide variety of stringed instruments, Silver could play only a few, clumsy chords on the guitar - and nothing else - having suffered greatly under his father's abstract instruction.

The theme that night was "Rhythm and Blues", and the band played a selection of human songs that had lately entered the valley's cultural zeitgeist, a record-short 50 years after first debuting overseas. The partygoers danced uproariously, all of them eager to show off the new steps they'd been practicing the past month - twisting and turning and stomping their feet so thunderously the entire cabin shook from their gesticulations.

After the first song ended and a transitory lull settled over the party, Silver took the opportunity to finally voice his discomfort. Sitting up straight in his seat, he said, “I’m gonna go sit outside, it’s hot in here. You wanna come, Sebek?”

Sebek tugged absentmindedly at his suspenders while he thought. “I should like to partake in some of the fare, so I shall remain here with Sir Lilia for now.”

“Okay,” Silver replied with a shrug. He walked into the swarm of dancers just as the next song began, vanishing amongst the undulating crowd a moment later.

Lilia wished desperately to follow after him. He'd apologized repeatedly for snapping at Silver the other day, and for their fight the evening prior, both times attempting reparation through the offer of a new sword or other training implement, or ordering dinner from Silver's favorite restaurant in town - methods that had always proven successful in the past - but the boy had shot down any notion of making peace. Deciding to allow Silver his space, Lilia rose from his seat and cut a large piece of cake for Sebek, grabbing for himself a glass of berry juice before sitting back down again. He drank deeply; a familiar warmth began to pool in his stomach and radiated pleasantly into his skin, gathering up and pushing out the restlessness that had been plaguing him since the night prior, so that it lifted away from his body like the mist after a rainstorm. He downed the rest of his glass lethargically, only getting up to move whenever Sebek politely asked for another slice of cake.

The pair observed the dancers in silence together, Lilia apathetically, Sebek with great interest, his bright eyes jumping excitedly between his parents and his sister, narrowing in contempt each time the latter's current dance partner whispered something in her ear that made her smile. He resolved not to dance with the perpetrator, a young woman he recognized as one of his sister's classmates, if offered, and the prospect of this future rejection delighted him even more than his final bite of cake.

Half an hour later, Pa Zigvolt came staggering over to their table, his pinched face dripping with sweat. He stood before them for a moment, swaying slightly, trying to catch his breath, then cleared his throat and announced, meekly, “Seb, your ma said she wants to dance with you next.”

Sebek's heart plunged into his stomach. He nodded and slowly stood up, wobbling a little as he marched stiffly towards the dance floor.

After watching his son leave, Pa Zigvolt sank down into one of the empty seats with a groan. He took out his handkerchief, and as he began dabbing at his wet face, a pained smile formed on his lips. “What a woman!” he panted, amazed. “I’m telling you, she’d go all night if you let her.”

Lilia smirked. “Sounds like she’s just like her father.”

“Yeah,” Pa Zigvolt sighed. And then he frowned. “Wait, what…? What do you mean by that?”

“What did you mean by that?” Lilia countered with a gentle smile.

The color drained from Pa Zigvolt’s face. The layer of sweat he’d only just managed to wipe off suddenly rematerialized across his skin, and he nervously balled his soaked handkerchief in his hands. “I- I was just talking about dancing!!” he stammered in defense.

Lilia laughed. “Then we’ll say that I was, too.”

Exasperated, Pa Zigvolt clicked his tongue. He timidly glanced around the room, and, upon confirming none of the other partygoers appeared to have heard them, deflated in his seat once again, kicking out his still quivering legs in front of him to let them rest. He set his used handkerchief on the table and extracted a fresh one from his crumpled breast pocket while scanning the dance floor, and quickly spotted the shock of his son's bright green hair weaving through the crowd, heading towards Ma Zigvolt at the front of the cabin, where she stood towering above the other partygoers. Smiling, he resumed mopping his face, and quietly breathed a prayer of good luck for the boy.

“There you are, honey! I was waiting for you.” Ma Zigvolt smiled brightly as her son approached, and Sebek nodded in greeting. In stark contrast to his father, whose haggard breathing still rang out far behind them, his mother was the very definition of radiant; the cabin walls were lined with rows of glass lamps, each one burning a magic flame of an amber hue, and where their dim incandescence reached out and cupped her rosy face, her skin seemed to effuse its own milk white glow in return. She grabbed his arm and drew him flush against her, causing him to yelp in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure, and placed his trembling hands on her broad waist as she instructed.

They stood directly before the band, so close that Sebek could see his warped reflection in the gleaming brass of the saxophones; next to his doppelganger, within the piano's raised lid, was an umber copy of his mother, smiling gently at him. Turning his gaze, he watched as the singer stepped forth and clapped his hands, casting a simple spell to amplify his voice. The band members, thus signaled, each became animated in turn; one after another the horns swung in golden arcs up to their players' lips; the drummer and the pianist sat rigid in their seats; the guitarist and the bassist hovered their fingers over strings that seemed to vibrate in anticipation; finally, the singer, glancing around him, issued with a nod of his head a silent affirmation of their readiness, took a deep breath, and began to sing.

“Here they have a lot of fun

Puttin' trouble on the run

Man, you find the old and young

Twistin' the night away”

The dancers convened before the band immediately, some forming pairs, others choosing to shuffle on their own. The song called for a basic step, if danced solo: one need only to dig one's foot into the floor and twist it, as though "squashin' a damn bug", as Baul had once commented - with the elbows and hips swung in a similar, rhythmic fashion. Those who'd coupled up alternated this movement with a variety of turns, spins, and other footwork predominant in the swing style of dance. As they moved, the sound of their shoes scuffing and squeaking against the hardwood floor became a backing beat to the music.

The cabin was formed from stacked logs of hewn pine, affixed together with a mixture of mud and clay; the night's heat slipped through any miniscule gaps it could find in this rudimentary sealant - through the walls, the flooring, the roof - combining with the warmth that radiated from the mass of bodies packed together in that small space, so that the air within the building was as heavy and hot as the air without. Sebek's face quickly bloomed bright pink from the heat, and then dark red and splotchy; the impudent strands of hair he’d spent over half an hour in the bathroom slicking down fell limp over his eyes, heavy with perspiration. He understood at once his father's fatigued condition, and discarded the disgust he'd felt when he saw the man staggering to their table earlier, a newfound compassion taking its place.

“They're twistin', twistin'

Everybody's feelin' great

They're twistin', twistin'

They're twistin' the night away”

It was all Sebek could do to brace himself against his mother's thunderous exuberance. She swept him across the dancefloor as though he were a leaf caught up in a storm. His gaze shifted rapidly between her smiling face and his own shuffling feet, worried he might stumble and fall. Noticing this, Ma Zigvolt’s heavy body shook with laughter, her voice deep and rich like a dove’s call, and Sebek decided that he would never hear a more wonderful sound in his life. He soon forgot all his apprehensions; his shining white smile accompanied his reddened cheeks, and he nuzzled his face below the swell of his mother’s breast, as content as a nursing kitten.

A moment later, several of the dancers detached themselves from their partners and floated away. One of the Zigvolts' neighbors caught Sebek's mother, and his sister drifted over to take her place. He steadied himself against the thick trunk of her arm. She was wearing a pleated, pearl white dress, with a floral pattern sewn in golden thread along the neckline, the bottom falling down to just below her knees. The dress billowed out as she twirled, so that the hem unfurled around her like the petals of her namesake. Her pretty face was just as flushed as his, and her bright green eyes shone like pure jade; it was as though she had grown several years younger that night, no longer appearing to him as the young woman who had departed for college a year ago, but like the little girl of his infantile memories. They whirled and whirled, giggling until their stomachs hurt, as if sharing together in some great secret.

The floor groaned under a storm of stomping feet, the windows shook precipitously in their crudely cut frames. The crowd roared, voices low and high emerged from the swaying mass to accompany the singer at the end of each verse. Though there was not a drop of alcohol to be found in that cabin, many of them moved belligerently. They were intoxicated purely by the clang of the drums, the blare of the trumpets, the rumble of the singer's low voice - each of these more potent a drug to the fae than any other known substance on the planet.

At the back of the cabin, Lilia and Pa Zigvolt laughed and clapped along from their seats. Lilia's eyes darted around the room as he clapped, trying to locate his son, but the wall of dancers surging back and forth blocked his view.

“Lean up, lean back

Lean up, lean back

Watusi, now fly, now twist

They're twistin' the night away”

Outside, Silver sat alone on the doorstep. The sounds pouring out of the cabin washed over him in tumultuous waves. He'd heard many of the songs before, at prior dances, or on Pa Zigvolt's record player, and the familiarity of the music felt like a reassuring hand on his thin shoulders that night. He swayed gently to the beat, noticing at times how the slurred voices of the partygoers would rise above the band’s thunderous performance, and at one point he looked up and wondered if they had all grown drunk on the wine-dark sky.

He yawned loudly. The hot anger from his father’s recent injury still burned dimly in his stomach, and he wavered between his desire to snuff out the last few dying embers, or to let them fester still. He wasn’t used to this feeling, this irritation that clung to his tired flesh like a tick. His father had upset him before, over trivial matters that had seemed substantial to his child’s heart at the time – and once over something he understood was sincerely very grave – but he could not recall ever feeling truly angry towards the man.

All his life he'd thought himself plain and unmemorable, a pale, living blemish upon the fair folk and their preternatural beauty. But that day, when his father had revealed the truth to him, that was the first time in his life he'd ever felt ugly. The lone attestation to his maturation - all those miserable nights he'd spent in the wilderness as part of his training, often alone, other times accompanied by Sebek, cast hundreds of miles away from the clearing and all its conveniences, relying solely on his magical prowess, his wit, and a small set of tools to make it through the night - had all this time been a lie. Had any of his accomplishments been real? Had a single jot of his father's pride for him ever been genuine? What good was the torture of his training! What good was the endless exhaustion, the cold fear wrought by those awful, lonely nights, all the callouses and scars he'd been led to attain as a child and would now forever mar the alabaster of his flesh! To have ascended the black crags of the Forbidden Mountain, to have crossed endless deserts and forded raging rivers with trembling arms and legs, and yet to have failed to notice his father had been there with him the entire time! Or, perhaps he had noticed, perhaps he had noticed and merely pretended not to, to assuage the frightened little boy he now realized he truly was. Or, perhaps the man had secluded himself somewhere far beyond Silver's reach, perhaps he'd been observing him from behind the stars or the moon. But this last thought only wounded him further, as though even the heavenly bodies had betrayed him, too. He turned away from them now, not wishing for them to see him cry.

Humiliation is one of life's cruelest teachers, and that day it had taught Silver that nowhere in his house, nowhere in that land was he safe. Nowhere could he escape from the prison that was his father's gaze.

The dance proceeded languidly, drawing on as the stars drifted quietly through the night sky. Pa Zigvolt, having at last recovered from his wife's fervor, had left Lilia to go dance with his daughter. Alone, Lilia remained in his seat at the back of the cabin, tapping his feet on occasion, or humming along to the songs he recognized, but did not otherwise participate any further in the festivities. He tiredly declined each of his neighbors' offers to try their cakes and their pies, raising an eyebrow when he noticed, an hour into the party, that his own plate of cookies was still untouched. He angrily crunched one of the charcoal black disks - frowning not at its flavor, which he found as decadent as anything else his impotent taste buds could detect, but at his neighbors' general ignorance towards good food.

Upon exhausting their repertoire of fast-paced numbers, the band called for a short interlude, at which conclusion the singer cleared his throat and announced, “Alright, ladies and gents. We’ll be slowing things down a bit for these last few songs.” The band behind him reassembled itself; the guitarist and the bassist returned their instruments to their cases, trading them for a pair of violins, and a portion of the brass section retired entirely. The violins, perched proudly on their players shoulders, let out a long, plaintive note, and then the singer parted his lips once more.

His voice hitherto had been brash and booming, a perfect accompaniment to the vibrant music, but now it melted into something as smooth as velvet, flowing like a summer breeze over and around the audience, dripping into their hearts with the sweetness of honey. The thunder of shuffling feet was no more. There was only the slow swaying of couples - lovers with their partners, mothers and fathers with their children, and neighbors with their friends.

“I wish you bluebirds in the spring

To give your heart a song to sing

And then a kiss

But more than this

I wish you love”

Lilia perked up as the first verse concluded, his gaze darting immediately to the front of the cabin. He recognized the song; he'd first heard it decades ago, while on a weekend trip he'd taken to the Queendom of Roses. It was during a period of his life where he'd been "going through the motions", as he'd regularly complain to Baul, plagued incessantly by an ennui that so often strikes those transitioning into their twilight years. In desperate need of a distraction, he spontaneously booked a flight to the nearest country - he didn't care which one, only that the ticket was cheap enough to justify paying for a farmhand during his absence. On the evening of the first day of his trip, while having dinner in his hotel, he learned from the waiter that there was to be a jazz orchestra - or "big band", as the humans called it - hosted in the ballroom located on the establishment's ground floor, and that patrons could attend the performance for free. His interest piqued, he rented a suit from a local tailor, freshly pressed, and perfumed with a crisp eau de toilette he'd brought along with him, and ordered a bouquet of fresh roses sent to his room, the brightest of which he trimmed and placed in his lapel.

Fae and human relations had long cooled down to a congenial level by then, and he danced comfortably with a number of human partners that night, free from the vicious admonishments that had disturbed him on his prior travels. They danced the same dances the fae before him had been dancing all night, and the performance concluded with the same song the band at the front of the cabin was playing now. It was the only number he'd sat out for, not wishing to engage in the cumbersome intimacy that slow dances demanded, and he'd observed the other couples with great interest; they all swayed in a gentle unison, moving like the fields of tall grass that grew near the meadow before his home, so that he felt like he'd been cast under a trance while watching them. When he returned to Briar Valley later that week, he promptly disremembered everything about the song - its lyrics, its rhythm, its melody - his attention wrested first by his responsibilities on the homestead, and then by his young son.

It was a few months after his acquisition of Silver, when he and the child both were still suffering from the boy's interminable fits, for which Lilia had long exhausted all his patience and energy into locating a cure, that he finally recalled the song he'd once heard all those years ago. One morning, with the wailing infant in his arms, its little face bright red and puckered, he was despaired to find his usual consolation tactics - rocking the baby, swaddling it, offering it a moistened rag to suckle on - had all lost their effects, and he paced back and forth across the living room, debating if he should call on the Zigvolts again, or attempt to find an alternative solution on his own.

He was tired, both mentally and physically; the weeks lately had been passing him by in an endless, uniform blur, each day demarcated by whatever twilight hour the baby would surrender to its circadian needs and drift off to sleep. In the midst of his fatigued panic, something that had for decades been slumbering in the recesses of his mind finally awoke then; the lyrics and melody he'd long forgotten burst forth from the cerebral pit they’d been cast into, reassembling themselves as brilliantly as the molten birth of a newborn star. Parting his lips, his voice nigh higher than a shaky whisper, he began to sing, “I wish you bluebirds in the spring…”; by the end of the first verse, the child's loud cries had hushed into a quiet whimper; before the conclusion of the song, it had fallen fast asleep. It was like he'd discovered a panacea; from then on, any time Silver was upset or fearful, or on stormy nights when the thunder was too loud and the lightning too bright for him to be able to fall asleep, Lilia would gather the boy into his arms and sing to him, dispelling the child's every perturbation with the low hum of his voice.

Lilia's heart sank, realizing in that moment just how long it'd been since he'd last sung it for Silver, likely not for months, or for a year, even, and yet - he smiled; this was their song, and now here was the perfect chance to finally reconnect with his withdrawn and sullen child once more!

Trembling with excitement, he shot up from his seat. He fought his way through the throng of dancers until he found Silver, still sitting alone on the stoop outside. He grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him back into the cabin, but Silver dug his heels into the ground as they reentered the crowd.

“Stop it, I don’t want to dance,” Silver said with a glower.

Lilia sighed. “Oh, come now. Can’t you entertain your old man just for one song?”

“I don’t want to dance!” Silver repeated louder, putting as much stress on each word as he could muster. Some of the partygoers turned to look at them, and their curious stares made him flush.

Lilia tugged on the boy’s arm and offered him a reassuring smile. “Just this one song, and then we'll go home and you can sulk all you want.”

Silver ripped Lilia’s hand away, his face contorting into an angry grimace. “I said stop it! You’re embarrassing me!”

“But Silver! This is-!”

He pushed past Lilia and stormed out the door. Outside, the sky and the ground below it had merged into a single, black swath, so that his white head contrasted like a point of light against it, appearing like a star floating through the darkness. Lilia watched him walk away from where he stood frozen in shock, his rejected hand still hanging in the air. He did not move as the dancers silently drifted all around him; most of them did not turn to look at him, as though he were nothing more than a small obstruction in a stream.

“I wish you shelter from the storm

A cozy fire to, to keep you warm

But most of all when snowflakes fall

I wish you love”

Later, long after the last notes of the music had faded away, Lilia whispered, “But this is our song.”

VI.

Silver awoke the next morning long after the songbirds had concluded their matinal performance. The world outside was grey and silent, and he stepped through it as quietly as the pine boughs brushing together in the wind. He moved with confidence, his eyes habitually adjusted to low light, and followed a patch of wild coreopsis and daylilies that spread lace-like on the ground before him. They appeared to have claimed for themselves all the meager drops of sunlight that percolated through the clouds, shining like gemstones in the dim darkness.

He'd slept poorly last night, plagued by dreams of the dance, and his thoughts once more drifted away from him while he plodded through his chores, traveling far beyond the clearing, down to the cabin just past the forest's edge, where they pooled within it alongside the stagnant summer heat. Last night at the dance, a warmth had flowed from his father and into him where his fingers had touched his arm, and again and again, as he lay in bed upon returning home, he'd felt it anew, felt it erupt into the hot rage that had coursed through his veins when he'd stormed out the door. A part of him was sorry to have upset the man, having now belatedly realized his harmless intentions, but a greater part of him was struck by a deep frustration - his body ached with it; it prickled at his skin as though he'd bathed in poison oak, so that more than once he felt his face twist into a scowl while he worked.

The animals, too, noticed his contortions. The chickens coalesced at his feet as he gathered their eggs; the pigs butted him gently as he refilled their trough; and the young calf, renown for its stubborn shyness, detached itself from its mother for once and loitered by his side, unsure of what to say. Silver sighed at all of this. His whole life he'd had a peculiar connection with animals. They would sense his vexations and his fears, and would come to him, unbidden, offering him their crude affections in a variety of forms - sometimes pinecones or hickory nuts covered with specks of leaflitter, other times poorly picked wildflowers still dangling with heavy roots, each of these gifts held with utmost tender in their mouths or little hands. But he had not the patience for their ministrations that day, and he dismissed the chickens and the pigs and the calf each with a scoff and a wave of his hand. The heifer, however, he failed to evade.

She was the eldest of the Vanrouge's livestock - a wise, if not shrewd, creature; only a year younger than Silver, they had tumbled across the clearing together in their infancy, and most of what he knew of animal husbandry he'd learned from her. That morning, she had refused to vacate the lean-to in protest of the dismal weather, and she was waiting for him there when he approached her with his milking pail and wooden stool in hand. Once seated, his hands and his attention preoccupied with stripping the foremilk from her teats, her broad body blocking the exit, she turned her heavy head towards him, and issued from her liquid eyes the same question that had been tormenting him all that morning: Are you alright? Her plaintive gaze struck him like an ambush. Ensnared, he fumblingly released her udder and stroked her sides, ensuring her through gritted teeth that he was perfectly fine. Satisfied by his response, she turned away, and leisurely resumed her meditations.

After finishing his chores, he returned to the cottage and forced down a tasteless bowl of oatmeal and some scraps of white bacon. His thoughts raced while he ate. Within his mind flew bits and pieces of anger, trepidation, worry, and sorrow, and these he took into his calloused hands and pressed together, trying to mold them into something he could understand, but they ultimately formed into an idea, instead. This discovery satiated him where his meager meal had not, and he smiled as he brought his dishes to the sink.

When Lilia stumbled out of his bedroom an hour later, half-asleep, and still clad in his dress shirt and pants from the night prior, he found Silver waiting for him by the front door, his canvas knapsack slung across his shoulders. As he began to yawn a greeting, Silver stiffened and cut him off, rapidly spitting out a gruff request to go to the Zigvolt's before turning to face him. His tone was so severe that his words struck Lilia's skin like a splash of ice water, causing him to sober immediately, and he numbly gave his permission with a slow nod of his head. They left together after Lilia got changed, Silver leading the way, Lilia trailing far behind him.

The grey curtain of the sky had pulled back to reveal an angry red sun behind it. Summer had reached its height then, and the entire valley was plainly sullen. The trees, seeming to sag in the heat, stood with their great branches drooping weakly; the songbirds concealed amongst them cycled between a restless dozing and a fitful agitation, too uncomfortable to sing. Silver, however, cut unphased through the stifling air. His hair blazed like white fire, and the shimmering light around him made him appear at times like a mirage to his lagging father. Upon reaching their destination, and after an exchange of curt farewells, Silver glanced behind him as he opened the front door, but all he saw was the thin line of the man's back receding into the haze of the forest.

Silver found Sebek upstairs in his bedroom, pouring over sheets of magical formulae spread out across the floor. He stepped gingerly into the room, being careful not to disturb any of Sebek's materials, announced himself with a throaty, "Hey", and then promptly launched into a recount of last night. He spoke so rapidly it felt like his words were slipping blindly off his tongue. He blinked away hot tears as he talked, his anger and his hurt boiling up each time he mentioned his father. When he finished, he sighed, and then began nibbling on his lips, unsure of what he next wished to say. Sebek waited patiently for him to continue.

Finally, after a tense pause, Silver grumbled, “He keeps treating me like I’m a dumb kid and It’s driving me nuts. I just dunno know what to do anymore.”

Sebek frowned. “And you’re certain you’ve cast aside all your childish whims?”

“Yeah,” Silver nodded solemnly.

“Hmm…” Sebek thought for a moment, and then his lips pulled up into a smirk. “Then I should think the solution is obvious, you twit!”

“And what’s that?”

Sebek crossed his arms. “Recall Sir Lilia’s and my grandfather’s old war stories. Whenever they carried out some grand feat or other, they’d be lavished with adoration upon their return home. Clearly, you simply need to accomplish some sort of heroic act, and then your father shall finally recognize the man that you’ve become.”

“Yeah…” Silver murmured, nodding his head again. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Sebek. That’s a great idea, thank you.”

The praise made Sebek swell like an adder. He puffed out his chest and jutted his chin. “Truly, you are fortuitous, Silver! To have a friend as clever as I!”

Silver smiled. “I sure am.”

Sebek was taller than Silver by a single, coveted inch. And he was stronger, too, heavy and thick everywhere his companion was gangly and thin. But still Silver was more skilled at magic and combat than him, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d bested his fellow apprentice in battle. Silver held over Sebek's head something he would never be able to reach no matter how much taller he grew: namely, the fact that Silver was older.

Sebek was only twelve, still just a child. Adolescence fascinated him severely, having watched it radically transform his older brother and sister before his eyes, and he was jealous that Silver got to enjoy all its mysteries before he could. Every morning, gripped with excitement, he’d snatch the desk calendar from his bedside table with trembling hands, eager to see if it was finally the day when he, too, would be permitted to enter that strange and curious world of young adulthood. And every morning his little shoulders would sag in disappointment as he read the date. He’d begun wondering lately if it would ever be March 17th again, thinking that perhaps the planet sought to deny him his wish, and was intentionally dawdling in its flight around the sun. The idea of a great conspiracy pleased him, which helped to placate his usual disappointment.

Now presented with the chance to prove his capabilities before all the adults around them, he trembled with excitement. They fell immediately to their plotting. First, Sebek suggested they apprehend a robber or other trivial criminal, but Silver quickly dismissed the idea, doubting its feasibility. He additionally dismissed Sebek's propositions that they search for long lost treasure and other such artifacts for similar reasons. When Sebek mentioned they could contact Malleus for assistance, Silver balked. He hadn't seen the man all summer, and hadn't heard his name in weeks - the young prince had been preoccupied with helping their country recover from the aftermath of last month's monstrous storm, traveling from waterlogged village to waterlogged village, magically repairing homes and rejuvenating flooded farmlands wherever he went. Silver rejected this proposal, too, explaining that Malleus likely wouldn't have the time available to help them, and noting internally that he'd only betray their schemes to his father, anyways, and they quickly moved onto their next point of contestation. After much debate, and much grumbling and whining, and following a short intermission to enjoy some of Ma Zigvolt's lemon pie, Sebek finally proposed an idea that the both of them agreed on.

A rogue grizzly bear had been making a feast of the local livestock over the summer, a missing sow of the Zigvolts and a milk calf of their neighbors amongst its victims. Any attempt the past month to detain or eliminate it had ended in failure, and it'd been outwitting the small community unlike anything the elders had ever seen. Recently, for example, a family living down the road had attempted to capture it after it had devoured several of their chickens during one of its nightly jaunts. They placed a series of foothold traps around the coop, buried under leaf litter, and totally de-scented using a complex spell, and awoke the next morning to find their yard blanketed with bloody white feathers, not a single trap containing within its undisturbed jaws even one strand of the creature's hair. Silver and Sebek decided they would bring an end to the terror themselves.

Its massive tracks had last been spotted heading into the Obsidian Forest - a congested strip of towering firs, spruce, and pine trees located to the north of the Zigvolt's. The trees there grew so closely together that hardly any sunlight was able to pierce through the thick canopy, casting the land inside of it into an endless shadow. One had the feeling Nature had forgotten that place in her designs; it was quiet as something alive should not be. There was no birdsong during the day, and neither the soft gurgle of the river nor the wind brushing against the trees. Tawny owl cries could sometimes be heard emanating from it at night - lonely, sharp trills that rang out almost like a warning. The fae were not known for being a judicious people, but they were perceptive, able to detect on their skin the slightest gradations in magic and other immaterial energies that even the finest tuned devices could not, and they stayed far away from the forest in confidence of its dangers.

Silver, however, was a human, and Sebek, a half-fae, and they had long viewed the forest with a simple, innocent curiosity, both unable to sense the unseen forces that made their countrymen so cautious of that unknown realm. As such, and with Silver consumed with thoughts of his redemption, and Sebek thinking of little more than all the praise their great adventure would earn him, they boldly made plans to meet together early the next morning before their parents awoke. Lilia regularly went to bed shortly after 11 o'clock, and Silver would make his escape several hours later. He would cut a path straight to the Zigvolt's, avoiding the long, winding trail his father had erected for him through his land, and would rendezvous with Sebek behind their home. They talked until the sun set and shadows flooded the room, but neither moved to turn on the light, for the excitement in their hearts brightened that dark space better than any candle or lamp ever could. Silver returned home that evening feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

Silver dipped his hands into the kitchen basin and splashed some of the cold water onto his face. The windows above him were a pair of jet black panes, dotted with a smattering of stars that twinkled distantly like lightning bugs. He couldn't remember ever having seen a sky so desolate before, and he marveled at the miniscule pinpricks of light as he slowly dried his hands with a terry washcloth, anxiously aware of each and every sound he made.

He completed one final circuit throughout the house before leaving. Moving on his tiptoes, he double-checked that the covers were drawn over his bed and the pillows beneath them were positioned correctly, and that his father was still asleep, the last of which he ascertained with a furtive glance thrown inside the man's room. When he reached the front door, he sank back down on his heels and bent over to re-lace his boots.

He'd packed his knapsack before going to bed, filling it with a handheld lantern, his canteen and compass, an emergency kit, a small bag of cornmeal and a cast iron pan, and some pemmican and soda biscuits he'd wrapped in napkins. His crossbow hung snug over his shoulders; his favorite hunting knife was nestled deep into the leather sheath hanging from his belt. He and Sebek had agreed not to come back until their mission was fulfilled, and if they ran out of provisions before felling their quarry, they'd be well prepared to secure more.

The house breathed him out like a sigh. The moon unfurled overhead like an orchid in full bloom, vastly outshining the indolent stars hovering around it, and it bathed his surroundings in a pale film of argent light. The broad, black blocks of the cows and the pigs asleep in their enclosures jutted out from the darkness, and the black pyramid of the chicken coop rose silently above them. He crept past the dozing creatures and slipped into the woods. His legs instinctively followed the same trail he'd taken countless times before. His feet he lifted and placed methodically, stalking as he did when he hunted, fearing that the soft crackle of the twigs and leaves underneath him might awaken his sleeping father from hundreds of yards away.

Presently, the felled oak tree that marked the northernmost boundary of his father’s land appeared. Its withered roots splayed out like the gnarled fingers of an outstretched hand, their grasp extending far above his head. He reached out and rested his palm against the trunk. Its bark was soft and brittle from decay, blanketed with a thick layer of moss and algae. He knew not if his father had struck down this once mighty giant himself, or if it had merely collapsed in its old age, only that he was forbidden from passing by its sentinel gaze on his own. He grabbed onto the slippery bark and scrambled atop the trunk, letting out a shaky breath as he stood up.

All of the land before him stretched beyond the confines of his father's territory. Each and every bush and tree and creature, every shadow, every undefined mass lurking in the darkness there was to him an alien, a stranger. Somewhere further beyond lay the Zigvolt’s homestead, and further past that, the Obsidian Forest. The mountains erupted in the distance like a row of black fangs piercing the sky. Behind him waited the clearing and the cottage, the toolshed and the garden, the wheatfield and the pasture and the meadow – each of these forming another slat of his boyhood cradle, another barrier around the only world he'd ever truly known.

He lifted a trembling hand and groped at the air. He'd been expecting some sort of rebound from broaching his father's magical perimeter, but it did not come. He leapt off the trunk and landed on the ground with a loud crash. The sound echoed viciously all around him and yet - there was nothing. No harsh cry of his name. No thudding of feet racing up behind him. Nothing. Had he successfully escaped? Gasping, he rapidly swung his head this way and that, scanning his surroundings. Here was the copper blur of a fox slipping through the forest undergrowth, there was the heavy grey body of a raccoon lumbering slowly behind it. And here, again, the silver outline of a barn owl peering at him from the thicket yonder.

He could see now that these were no specters, no apparitions - they were living things, with eyes like his and beating hearts like his, things that drank in the same sweet night air as him. All his fears vanished - it was as though he'd finally let out a breath he never realized he'd been holding in all his life. Re-shouldering his bag, he set off once more, his heart pounding with excitement, his body coursing with the ecstasy of this newfound freedom. He swept through the forest like a beam of moonlight. The five miles to the Zigvolt's he crossed in what felt like five steps.

Why was I ever afraid of this place? he wondered. Why was I ever afraid of anything in my life?

At three o'clock in the morning, less than an hour after he'd left the clearing, Silver stepped onto the dirt road that led to the Zigvolt's farmhouse. Breathless from his record flight, he took in long, quiet gulps of air as he neared the agreed-upon rendezvous location - the left-side porch, for there were no windows there - his eyes flicking occasionally to his sides, and to his rear, and to the spider web of starlight draped across the cottonwoods towering around him, his steps falling lighter than even the cloven feet of a vigilant deer. He immediately noticed the small, darkened figure hovering by the porch, and watched as it detached itself from the greater mass of shadows, revealing itself to be Sebek. His friend flashed him a triumphant smile, his little fangs shining bright white in the darkness.

"You made it!"

"Hush!"

Sebek's hands flew over his mouth. "Sorry!" he yelped as he turned to look at the house, his heart racing, but the stalwart building gave no reaction, remaining stone still, silent. Through his fingers, he sheepishly repeated, this time quietly, "Sorry." He quickly readjusted his knapsack from where it'd slipped down his shoulder, then hurried to join Silver in the road.

Silver rolled his eyes, grinning.

They padded cautiously through the darkness, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust from the earth beneath them, each one rising like an ochre breath before dissolving a moment later into the blue-black of the night. After walking for a length, Sebek pointed out from a row of identical log cabins his neighbor's home - namely, the one who'd recently tried to apprehend the beast after it'd feasted on their flock. They circled around back, ducking as they passed the lower story windows, and found, by a pair of crooked fence posts surrounding a small vegetable garden, a set of lumbering bear tracks that trailed away due North. Sebek crouched down and placed his hand in one of the prints. The massive groove was as broad as a dinner plate, so that even when he splayed and stretched out his hand as wide as he could, his fingertips stopped several inches short from the rim. The indentations from the claw marks looked like a set of daggers had been dragged through the ground. Silver swallowed thickly as he observed this. Tugging at Sebek's sleeve, he whispered hoarsely, "Come on, let's go."

The tracks led them further and deeper into the bowels of the adjacent woodland. Neither spoke, both of them gripped with a nervous excitement that bordered at times on trepidation. Occasionally, Silver's hands reached behind him for his crossbow, finding reassurance in the solidity of its metal stock. Sebek, too, had taken with him the children's rifle he'd received for his birthday last year. Purchased by his father while traveling overseas for a dental conference, he'd gloated joyfully to Silver upon receiving it, and had been treating it with the utmost care the past year, polishing it daily, and keeping it secured in a case he kept hidden underneath his bed. The fall prior, Silver had accompanied Sebek and his father when they'd gone duck hunting at the river and had received a turn using the weapon, with both boys dispatching several birds, each. Though Silver was amazed at its great strength, and though he found it a very lovely piece of craftsmanship, indeed, the sound of it firing hurt his ears, and he secretly hoped they wouldn't have to use it.

The trees gradually thinned out and fell away, receding into a tall, grassy meadow that, in turn, soon bowed down and terminated before another stretch of forest. But the shadowy structure looming before them was somehow different than all the other natural places they'd ever come across in their lives. It was darker than the night, silent; foreboding in a way that left them wondering if it was about to reach out a gnarled, earthen hand and strike them. This was the Obsidian Forest, and the bear's tracks disappeared within it.

The boys, having simultaneously come to a standstill at the edge of the forest, their hearts pounding, exchanged a tense look, then turned back to face the verdant bulwark. The moonlight fell like a curtain before them; Silver took Sebek's larger hand into his own and they stepped through it together. The air within the forest was several degrees cooler than without, and the shock of the cold was like jumping into the river on a warm Summer day. Sebek shook off Silver's hand with a grunt, and once freed, zipped his jacket and pulled up his collar. Silver, ignoring his friend's indignation, extracted his lantern from his bag, and lit it with a simple spell. He held up the device and slowly swung it back and forth it as he turned around.

All the light in the world was now contained within Silver's hands; everything around them was only an abstraction of what they understood to be total darkness. The copper glow from his lantern struck the surrounding fir trees, dimly illuminating the bone white bark covering their emaciated trunks. Their scraggly canopies converged together and formed a single, continuous, vegetative wall that strangled the moonlight within its matted foliage. The air was heavy with the clean smell of pine, underlaid with the rich musk of a humus that had been forming undisturbed for centuries. It was quiet, as the adults had described, but not completely devoid of sound - they could hear, emanating like an invisible vapor from the leaf litter, the silver song of crickets drawing their bows across their instruments; the wind had dropped its voice to a whisper, but they could hear this, too, threading through any microscopic gaps it could find in the leafy barrier overhead; and as they walked, there was the soft crunch of their boots sinking into the plush carpet of pine needles underfoot.

After a moment's consideration, Silver declared, "It's no big deal," and Sebek nodded mutely in agreement.

They'd been misled countless times before by the adults in their lives, having been warned of dangers they'd later discovered were, in truth, harmless in nature, such as cracking one's knuckles, or staying up until the early hours of the morning, and the Obsidian Forest they now added to this ever-growing list. But they remained cautious - Sebek walked with his hand looped around his rifle's strap, and Silver's eyes followed wherever the roaming light of his lantern touched the earth.

Their abscondment from home and their entry into the forest having now been completed, the final phase of their plan would be simple: they needed only to track the bear to its den, and kill it. This would not be unlike their usual training exercises, during which Lilia would deposit them in a remote location - often high atop some distant mountain range, or in the middle of a barren ravine - and they would be forced to survive on their own for days or weeks at a time, typically with an additional command to secure a target of Lilia's choosing, such as a wild animal, or an object he'd hidden deep in the wilderness. They had felled various species of direbeast before, both together, and on their own, and a bear would be no different. Knowing the creature's massive body would be too heavy for them to drag out of the forest on their own, they planned to cut off one of its paws to bring back as proof of their accomplishment, and would come back later to retrieve the rest, with assistance from the adults. Bear meat was a popular delicacy in the valley, and after the carcass was carved and distributed amongst the local community, Silver was determined to request a bottle of its golden oil - renowned for its anti-inflammatory properties - as a gift for his father.

Silver swept his lantern low over the ground, and with its pale glow as their beacon, they followed the tracks deep into the forest. They would occasionally notice movement in the darkness, fleeting figures and shapes that their nervous minds would automatically warp into the hulking mass of the bear, and each time, as they would begin to reach for their weapons, they would realize a moment later they'd stumbled upon nothing more than a small raccoon or an opossum on the prowl for food. They jumped at every such encounter, and at every unexpected noise that entered their peripheral - a heavy branch Sebek mistakenly stepped on rang out like a gunshot; a tawny owl's sudden cry boomed like a crack of thunder. For hours they proceeded tremulously; fear had been stalking them all that time like a shadow, and as the veil of darkness surrounding them lifted and gave way to daybreak, it vanished together with the night. They could not see the sun's yellow face above them, but they could feel its dappled light falling down on them like a warm and gentle rain. The canopy, which had hitherto been a solid, dark green streak, was now dotted with flashes of a vibrant cerulean blue.

With the night's vanquishment, they steadily grew more and more confident, feeling now important - older, even. They walked with their heads held high and their backs erect, pumping their arms and swinging their legs as though on the march. They kicked up cedar chips and pine needles as they walked, scattering them onto the ground like birdshot. The blood coursed through their veins hot as liquor; the temptation of glory drove them on like a whip. Each child began to envision himself seated like a king in the Zigvolt's parlor, regaling this tale to their neighbors and family, and joining a long line of men who had come before them - heroes and explorers, great and mighty conquerors of the strange and unknown.

They would stop - intermittently, and only for brief sprints - to rest, to drink water, or to re-lace their boots, and would then immediately resume their march as zealously as before. They hurried as fast as their legs could carry them, knowing that the creature would likely have returned to its den by that point, and that it would be fast asleep in preparation of its nightly activities - tracking it down before it awoke that evening would be vital to their success.

When they came across a noticeable gap in the canopy - a hole ripped open where a pine tree had collapsed, through which they caught their first, true glimpse of the sky since that morning - they agreed to take another short break. Amongst the various survival skills that Lilia had taught them was the ability to derive the time, and working together, they erected a rudimentary sundial using some branches they gathered from the ground. They calculated that it was presently midmorning, and that they must have covered several miles since entering the forest. They remained there for a few minutes longer, Silver sipping quietly from his canteen, Sebek dismantling their earthen clock. Languid clouds passed through the gap overhead. Silver recalled how, every winter, the pond near his home would freeze over, and yet he could still see fish swimming undisturbed beneath the thick panel of ice. He wondered if this was how they felt, watching the world pass by them silently up above. As he wiped his dripping mouth with his sleeve, he glanced over, and noticed that Sebek was frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm getting hungry, that's all."

Silver put his canteen away. "You brought some food with you, right?"

"Of course I did!" Sebek bristled. He slid off his knapsack and rummaged inside it, cataloging each of his belongings out loud, more so to himself, than to the half-listening Silver.

"I've got biscuits and cornbread, some jerky, some apples..."

"Uh-huh," Silver said, stifling a yawn.

"My water bottle, of course. Aaannnd..." He reached deep inside, smiling when he felt his fingers touch what he'd been looking for.

"Some of my mother's snickerdoodles, freshly baked." He pulled out a brown paper bag, shaking it with a grin. "Sissy has been hogging them, but I was able to pilfer a few without her noticing." He poured several of the cookies onto his hand before returning the bag to his knapsack.

"Would you like one?"

"Sure, thanks."

Silver gingerly took one of the cookies from Sebek's outstretched hand and bit into it with a sigh. The soft dough crumbled in his mouth deliciously, each piece dissolving like a sugar cube on his tongue. The almost overwhelming smell of cinnamon, the faint hint of vanilla, the rich, buttery aftertaste, all made him think of Ma Zigvolt. He'd overheard her lamenting the loss of the family's sow a few weeks ago - she loved each of their livestock like her children, and the bear's cunning attacks had wounded her pride and her heart, both. He imagined, upon their return home, how her face would break into a smile when they told her what they'd done, presenting the news to her as though it were a freshly picked bouquet. The image was somehow sweeter than the cookie itself, and he licked the sugary crumbs off his fingers, tasting little more than a delicious contentment.

They resumed walking. For over an hour the forest stretched on unchanging and uninterrupted, before it began to angle sharply downhill, transforming eventually into a semi-exposed slope. The incline was so severe they had to descend on their hands and knees, slowly zigzagging from one tree to the next, at times using the exposed roots and fallen branches to rappel downwards. The plateau they arrived at was bisected by a meager creek, appearing as blue and as thin as the veins running down their arms. They lay on their stomachs and drank deeply from it, bringing the crystalline water to their mouths with their hands. Silver shook his head like a dog when he was finished, spraying ice cold drops everywhere, and Sebek pushed him away with a laugh. A school of minnows, each one a silver grain of rice, darted away at the commotion, but the water striders on the surface above continued their skating, unaffected. They washed their hands and refilled their canteens before moving on.

The sunlight filtering down through the forest canopy gradually became more intense as the morning rolled into afternoon. Silver and Sebek had been talking with one another at length ever since daybreak - discussing their plans and their upcoming glory, and pointing out all the flora and fauna around them - and their conversations slowed to a comfortable lull as the air grew increasingly warmer. Unable to tell the time without a further break in the canopy, one hour blended seamlessly into the other, so that occasionally, when they blinked, they would open their eyes to a world remarkably brighter and warmer than the one they'd been in just a moment before.

Late in the afternoon, as they picked their way through a pleasantly mild Summer haze, Sebek suddenly stopped walking and threw out his arm, blocking Silver. His bright green eyes bore laser-like into the distance; his whole body stiffened like a bird-dog alerting to game.

Unmoving, he stated plainly, "I do believe we've been here before."

Silver blinked. "Huh?"

"That spruce tree yonder, with all the moss on it," Sebek said, now pointing, "I've seen it before."

Silver studied the tree indicated for several moments, but could not determine how it differed from any of the other dozen trees surrounding it. Shrugging, he said, "It probably just looks like one we passed earlier. Tons of trees have moss on them."

"I know they do!" Sebek huffed, gritting his teeth. "But that patch there's shaped like a star. That's how I recognized it."

Silver looked again. The patch of moss did indeed resemble a child's simple depiction of a five-pointed star, but his mind refused to accept what it had just heard.

"That's impossible," he murmured, shaking his head. "We've just been following the bear's tracks this whole time. How could we..."

Silver frowned. His incredulity obscured his mind like an eclipse. As he stared at the bear's tracks - crisscrossing the ground in some areas, and issued in a straight line in others - they began to swirl before his eyes, forming a nameless thing that Silver knew he'd seen before, and after a terse moment of contemplation, he finally recalled where.

He thought of a time, years ago, when he and his father had spent the whole Summer attempting to snare a devious buck. The animal had pillaged their vegetable garden every night for weeks, tearing up their sweet potatoes and corn, and even daring to defile Lilia's prized tomato plants, and had avoided all their various traps and attempts to trail it. One day, after sitting together for several hours in a cramped tree stand, they were able to witness its genius. After passing directly before them, it disappeared for approximately fifteen minutes, then doubled back, retraced its steps to just before the stand, and cut into the forest in the opposite direction, at a sharp angle, so that its path formed a "V" when viewed from above. Even the most experienced hunter - whether human or animal or fae - would likely follow the original set of tracks, which would appear - and smell - fresher, having been laid down twice, and by the time the error was realized, the quarry would have long escaped. The buck, as if having calculated all of this, strode off that day waving the chestnut flag of its tail in victory.

And now here again was that same whirlpool of footprints, now here again was that same irrefutable display of animal cunning. The eclipse passed his mind; the light of his revelation nearly blinded him - they must have been going in circles for hours.

His eyes flew wide open; his heart thundered so viciously he wondered for a moment if it was about to burst. His eyes darted wildly about him, as though hoping to find some form of consolation hidden amongst the leaf litter. And then, in a moment of clarity, he recalled a new trick he'd recently learned, the very same one he now knew adults had been using on him and other children all his life: he lied.

"It's fine, Sebek. I know exactly where we're going." He turned away, so that his friend would not see him nervously biting his lip. He pulled out his compass and held it out this way and that, making a show of orienting himself.

"The bear just circled around here to try and shake us off its trail. We'll find it if we keep going..." His eyes scanned the ground, trying to deduce which set of tracks looked the freshest. "That way."

Sebek, frowning sternly, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. After a moment, his face relaxed, and he slowly replied, "If you insist..."

Silver let out a shaky breath. Sebek's immediate acquiescence, which he at other times would only earn after much coaxing and arguing and persuasion, excited him. He experienced once more the feeling of being much older and more important than he really was, and wondered for a moment if this was the true pleasure of being an adult. He made a note to emphasize this part of the story when he'd later recount it to his father - how he'd outwitted the terrible beast where all others before him had failed, and how he'd led himself and Sebek through what was sure to be their darkest hour. They would return home heroes, indeed!

"Come on, this way."

Thus continuing their journey, they picked a new trail in the direction Silver had indicated. Portions of the sky peeking through the canopy slowly turned a golden orange, others light pink or red, forming a mosaic of the sunset. The bear would now likely be active again, and out roaming the forest with them, and when Sebek mentioned this, Silver hurriedly explained that they could still locate its den in the meantime, and lay in wait for it to return, to which Sebek, still in an unusually agreeable mood, only nodded. Their enthusiasm from that morning waned together with the fading sunlight. They plodded on halfheartedly for hours; identical trees and shrubs and rocks extended all around them for miles. They nibbled on their sticks of jerky and pemmican as they walked, breaking off and exchanging pieces of dried meat with each other in lieu of conversation. Sebek's apples and corn bread and most of their biscuits they soon finished off, too.

Finally, evening gave way to night, and the world around them was plunged once more into darkness. As Silver fished in his bag for his lantern, Sebek suggested they quit for the day and set up camp, but Silver adamantly disagreed.

"Just a little bit further and then we'll stop," he said, struggling to relight the lantern as he spoke. "The den's gotta be close by."

"Hmph!"

And again, an hour later:

"We're almost there, I promise."

"Hmph!"

They slogged on wearily. Periodically, Silver would command they stop, and, taking out his compass from his pocket, would double-check the accuracy of their orientation, then indicate with a satisfactory grunt that they could continue moving. They did not rest, otherwise. Low hills and mounds they climbed felt to their leaden legs like mountains; meager creeks and streams they crossed seemed to stretch on for miles. The trees, crowding down on them, reached out and scratched at their arms and legs and faces with wooden claws as sharp as needles. Foxes and barn owls screamed out from deep within the forest, and their fatigued minds, instinctually recalling legends of all the various monsters that lurk within such darkness, heard amongst their mangled cries the laughter of evil witches, and the terrible roars of bogeymen and other foul beasts. The stars shone coldly above them, ignorant of their torment.

Eventually, the line of the bear's tracks duplicated, and then further split into a third and a fourth set, all at various points overlapping and crisscrossing the first one. Silver felt his heart sink further and further at the discovery of each new set, and when they all converged and disappeared into a tangled copse of towering spruce and fir trees, he felt it stop moving entirely. Stopping, he drew the lantern in a wide arc before him; his steady gaze swept across the rows of identical giants like the roaming beam of a lighthouse, moving slowly, searching them, daring them to offer him what he was looking for, as though conducting a silent interrogation. His pale watercolor eyes, always so soft, hardened into steel. Sebek became at once afraid of him.

"Silver, what are you-"

"Quiet!" Silver hissed, waving him off with his free hand, his other hand tightening its grip on the lantern until his knuckles bloomed white.

And then - he saw it.

There, deep within the copse, standing just off to the left, partly obscured by the long shadows cast by its brothers, was the same spruce tree from earlier that day, wearing the same star-shaped patch of moss upon its wooden breast. They'd simply gone in another, massive circle around the forest.

"Damnit!" Silver spat. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!"

"Silver!" Sebek whined, but Silver ignored him.

He ripped his compass from his pocket and held it before him with trembling hands. Its needle pointed North. He spun around 180 degrees, yet still it pointed North; he spun a quarter further - again, North. His jaw dropped. No matter which way he faced or how he held the compass, its needle only spun and spun, racing in time with his pounding heart. He threw it to the ground in disgust.

His adam's apple bobbed precipitously. "I swear I..."

"You see! I told you so!" Sebek huffed, stamping his foot. "We're lost!"

"Shut up!" Silver growled. "I need to think."

For several, long hours leading up to that point, Sebek had been languishing under a terrible secret, the truth of which was that he had known, ever since he'd first glimpsed that verdant star, that they were utterly, and completely, lost. However, he did not wish to embarrass his friend, for although he found pleasure in showing off his strength and his intellect, and in being able to do things that other children his age could not, he was not a cruel boy, and had no interest in causing others pain, for which reason he'd decided against questioning Silver's judgment. He had trusted that Silver would architect for them some miraculous solution, just as he always had done any time they'd encounter an issue when training, but Silver had failed, and now Sebek was scared. The volcanic plug that was his faith in his friend having been destroyed, he finally erupted. "I don't like this! I want to go home!" he cried, his voice quivering. "This isn't fun anymore!"

"Fun?" Silver spat. "We didn't come all the way out here to have fun, Sebek!"

He stormed towards the other boy; the pine needles snapped and popped like firecrackers under his feet. His voice rose to a crackling scream. "We came out here so I could get my dad to trust me! And now it's all ruined!"

Sebek sniffled, cowering. His eyes shone with the threat of crystal tears. Silver's anger shot out of him as rapidly as it had come.

"Everything's ruined..."

Their venture was over, and what had they to show for it but their knobby little elbows and knees, scraped and bruised and smeared with blood; their filthy clothing, torn and stained with their tears; their ruddy, dirt-smeared faces; and their eyes, red and swollen from crying? What were they, but two scared little children, who would now sit down and fold their hands, prim and proper, and wait for their parents to come wipe their faces and clean up their mess? There would be no glory, no praise; no retribution against Silver's father. He half-expected the man to suddenly emerge from the shadows and begin chastising him.

Silver picked up his compass, wiped it against his shirt, and shoved it back into his pocket. He quickly glanced at Sebek, then ducked his head again, ashamed. Staring at his shoes, he grunted, "Sorry."

Drawing his sleeve across his soiled face, Sebek grumbled through the fabric an acceptance of his apology. He then turned and stepped behind the wall of foliage to collect himself in private.

Silver waited for him. He rolled a pinecone back and forth under his boot for a few moments before gently kicking it away. The air buzzed with the sounds of nature's nocturnal choir; its leading members, a cloister of tree frogs hidden amongst the copse before him - each one a piece of peridot, emerald, or jade - sang quietly, joining their crystal voices with the crickets and katydids plucking their chitinous strings. He could hear Sebek's hushed sobs filtering through to him, carried upon the silver chorus like a pine needle pulled down a stream. He wished to go join him in his anguish, to throw his arms around his friend and to weep with him, but the shock of his failure had drained his body of all its frustrations, leaving him numb. He knew there would be time to mourn later; for now, his only focus would be on getting through the night.

Once Sebek returned, his eyes and his face cleaned and dry, if not still inflamed, Silver cleared his throat and said, "Remember what my father would always tell us: Best thing to do if you get lost..."

"...is to sit your ass down, and stay put." Sebek finished with a shaky sigh.

Silver set down his lantern and knapsack, and after taking out his emergency kit and placing it to the side, began clearing out a broad perimeter in the leaf litter, attempting to erect a small fire pit. Sebek, as if suddenly roused from a stupor, dropped all of his gear and moved automatically to help him. They labored slowly, dragging their long, weary arms apelike by their sides, fighting weakly against a sea of pine needles that seemed to never end. Their calf muscles, having been deflated of all their adrenaline and fear, burned with each of their languid movements. Ten minutes later, with the ground now barren, and their skin freshly pricked and bleeding, Silver used his magic to ignite the pile of tinder they'd gathered, then turned to rummage through his belongings once again. Beside him, Sebek flung himself against his knapsack and kicked out his legs with a groan. He pillowed his heavy head under his arms and observed the fire silently. The flames dyed his face in a wash of vermilion, elongating the shadows under his eyes.

Silver glanced at him as he removed the emergency blanket from his kit, still disturbed by his outburst.

"I brought some corn meal with me. We can make some hoe cakes or something later, if you want," he offered gently.

Sebek sniffled again. "Ok."

Silver circled their meager camp, searching for a place to hang the blanket, ultimately deciding upon the outstretched branch of a sagging pine tree. One side of the blanket was coated with a bright orange material, which he positioned facing away from them.

"That's to help people find us, right?" Sebek asked, pulling out the remaining biscuits from his bag.

"Right," Silver replied without looking back. He straightened out the blanket and frowned.

If anyone's even looking for us.

VII.

Had you stayed behind at the Vanrouge's cottage after Silver embarked on his misadventures, electing to observe Lilia as he went about his day, up to - and including - his ultimate reconciliation with his son, then you would have witnessed the following:

Lilia awoke, as usual, shortly past 7 a.m. He did not own an alarm clock, preferring instead to let his body awaken naturally, gently roused by the golden sunlight filtering through his curtains. He lay in bed for a few moments, wrapped in the warm pleasantries of his blankets and his lingering dreams and the ebbing darkness, yawning leisurely, listening to the song thrushes chittering softly outside his window. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the curtains drew back and fixed themselves into place. That morning was a fine one. Where the sky had been grey and congested the day prior, it had since been painted over in the brightest blue, reminiscent of a stalk of larkspur, with not a single cloud in sight.

For five minutes Lilia indulged in this his usual morning pleasure, before, like clockwork, his reality struck him - he suddenly remembered every vexing instance of his son's tumultuous behavior from the past few months; felt anew all the dull aches and pains tugging at his limbs, felt the impending exasperation of the long list of chores that awaited him that day; each recollection pricked at his mind and his heart as though they were bee stings. He threw off his blankets and sat up with a scowl.

After grabbing a cup of tea, he settled himself at the dining table together with a gardening catalog that had arrived in the mail recently. He flipped through it halfheartedly, circling with a pen any seeds and supplies he planned to purchase for fall, his gaze occasionally drifting away from the pages of colorful produce, wandering over to and slipping out of the kitchen and living room windows. He thus swept through a third of the catalog before noticing the animals' absence in the yard, realizing a moment later that he had yet to see Silver that morning, too. Presuming the boy had slept in again, he waited half an hour further before checking his room, at which point a dull uneasiness had begun to form in his stomach.

The darkness in the little room yawned cavernously as Lilia pushed open the door. The heavy linen curtains were drawn tightly shut; the comforter was pulled up flush against the headboard of Silver's bed, a long lump protruding motionlessly underneath it. His uneasiness exploding all at once in a poisonous concern, Lilia flew across the room in rapid, broad strides, alighting to his son's bedside in an instant. He whispered, his voice slightly trembling, "Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?", and, after receiving no response, reached out to stroke the head of the lump, his lips pulling into a frown as the mass gave buoyantly under his hand. He wrenched back the blankets, stifling a cry as a mound of pillows tumbled out before him. He gingerly picked up one of the pillows and dropped it to the floor again, as though expecting to find his child concealed beneath it.

"Silver!" he shouted, glancing wildly around him, but the only response was his own disgruntled echo.

Frowning again, he put his hands on his hips. Where the hell is he?

Upon completing a thorough search of Silver's room - including his closet, his chest, his hamper, and underneath his bed - Lilia swept through the rest of the house and the root cellar, opening every door, and upturning every piece of furniture he could find, and when this, too, proved fruitless, he continued his efforts outside. He looked in the pig pen and in the chicken coop, checked behind the cow's lean-to and inside the shed, and, for good measure, even stopped to peer inside the empty flower pots in the garden. But each of these places and their inhabitants, whether living or inanimate, offered him no leads, and rejected all his inquiries.

Standing in the middle of the garden, he crossed his arms and considered all the oddities he'd noted that morning. Several items from the house were missing, including Silver's knapsack and crossbow, as well as some candles and other supplies from the kitchen, and the trick with the pillows was one he'd used himself in his youth for late-night abscondments from the castle. All of these observations he could trace back to only one conclusion: This was all just some sort of childish prank.

"That little...!" Lilia grunted, balling his fists. He turned and stepped towards the gate, intending to continue his search in the surrounding woodland, but the sound of the cow's mournful lowing stopped him in his tracks. None of the animals had been fed or watered yet, and the garden was in desperate need of another weeding. After a brief deliberation, he decided he would tend to Silver's chores in his absence, and then, he would return to the cottage, and he would wait - he would not indulge the boy in his games.

Any fatigue he'd felt that morning was immediately flushed out of his body and replaced with a venomous rage. He swept across the clearing like a tempest; the animals scattered before him in terror. He tore open their bags of scratch and grain and threw them to the ground, careless of the waste. He stormed back to the garden and began ripping up the tangled mass of weeds suffocating the ground, tossing muck-covered fistfuls of crabgrass and dandelions over the fence; the pigs, having recovered quickly from their fright, dove noisily for the mess.

His mind raced, his thoughts jumping rapidly between all the different ways Silver's return could occur. Likely, he would try to sneak into the house later that night, coming in either through one of the windows, up through the cellar. Or maybe, made shameless by his caper, he would stroll through the front door, kick off his shoes, and throw his bag to the ground, moving with the bold swagger of a yearling buck. Lilia would be ready for him either way. He would wait for him in the living room, on the couch, facing the door, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed and blazing. If the boy tried to sneak in, Lilia would hear him. If he came in through the front door, Lilia would see him. If he cried, so be it. If he whined and begged for forgiveness, Lilia would not give it to him. He'd had enough of the child's attitude, his insolence, his unwillingness to talk, his newfound proclivity to brush off each and every act of kindness Lilia tried to offer to him. Perhaps his own parental failures truly were to blame for their ongoing disputes, but he would not allow this blatant defiance to continue a moment longer. He would ground Silver - for a week, at a minimum - double his training exercises, forbid him from seeing Sebek- He crushed a dandelion in his fist. And have him do all the weeding that month! An impish grin flashed across his face as he plotted. The sun beat down on him reproachfully.

Hours later, frustrated and in pain, his clothes caked with dried mud and bits and pieces of crabgrass, he marched back to the cottage and threw himself face-first onto the sofa. He lay there for a few moments, unmoving, before a sharp spasm in his calf forced him to slowly, wearily, sit up. Palpating the now throbbing muscle, he realized in that moment just how much his anger had blinded him. Why didn't I just fucking use magic to do all that? Another stream of profanity poured from his lips.

He sat watching the hour hand of the wall clock slowly inch forward. He rose periodically, to glance out the windows, to refill his tea, to pace back and forth across the living room, his gaze fixed on the front door, his thoughts slowly congealing into the perfect, incendiary speech with which he'd lash the boy upon his return. But Silver did not return, not as noon rolled around, nor as Lilia prepared their dinner. By that evening, the molten rage in his body had cooled, hardening into a tense knot of worry.

Shortly before sunset, just as he'd risen to check the kitchen windows once more, a commotion sounded outside - something heavy was pounding across the clearing, heading rapidly for the cottage. Lilia leapt from the sofa and raced to the door, throwing it open with a scowl, the first in the long list of scathing remarks he'd been preparing for Silver all that afternoon poised on his lips, but both his anger and his relief evaporated when he saw that it was only Baul, rushing in long strides down the dirt path leading to the cottage. As the other man approached him and opened his mouth to speak, Lilia put up a hand to silence him. "Uh-uh, I don't have time for this today. If you're here for-"

"I'm not!" Baul huffed, tiredly swatting Lilia's hand away. "Please just listen to me, General."

Lilia crossed his arms and jut his chin, indicating for Baul to continue.

"You seen Seb today?"

"Sebek? No, I haven't. Why-..." His words trailed off, the answer to his question instantly forming in his mind.

"He's not... Don't tell me you can't find him?"

"We can't," Baul sighed. "We tore up the whole damn house, looked down by the river, all through the woods. Got some of the neighbors out helping us look. We figured he mighta snuck out to go play with your boy, so I came by to check."

"Sorry, but no, I haven't seen any sign of him today." Looking away, Lilia muttered, "...And Silver's gone, too, actually."

"Huh?" Baul's eyes widened in surprise. "Have you looked for him?"

"Of course I have!" Lilia scoffed. "I checked the whole clearing twice over. I'm thinking he just ran off somewhere because I..."

Baul raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, mirroring Lilia.

Lilia rolled his eyes. "He blew up at me the other night and probably just ran off for a while to get back at me. You know how kids are."

His apparent apathy inflamed Baul. He stalked over to Lilia, the dense column of his body twitching as he loomed over his former superior.

"That's it," he snarled, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull's. "You're coming with me."

"Wha-"

Moving at a speed that belied his great size, Baul threw his arms around Lilia, caging the smaller man in his vice grip. One moment, they were standing in the clearing; the next, the ground disappeared beneath their feet, and the world exploded into kaleidoscopic streaks of color rushing all around them. Caught off guard, Lilia hardly had time to close his eyes before they landed on solid ground again a few seconds later.

Baul released him carelessly and walked away. Lilia slowly staggered after him, clutching his head, his vision swimming.

His quivering eyes concentrated first on the red beam towering before them, then moved to the smaller white block standing beside it. A sudden shift in the breeze carried with it the clean smell of cottonwood. He knew this place - they'd hurtled five miles away to the Zigvolt's home.

"Fucking warn me before you do that!" he hissed. Over the ringing of his ears, his mind vaguely registered several voices - some talking softly, and at least one other crying, but he could not discern amidst his blurry surroundings whom they belonged to.

Baul asked if there'd been any sign of Sebek while he was gone.

A broad green shape came forward and congealed rapidly into Ma Zigovlt. She was dressed in her dental scrubs, her dark green hair pulled back in a fraying ponytail. "No! Nothing!" she cried while pacing back and forth.

The two shapes behind her then revealed themselves to be Pa Zigvolt, also in his work attire, and Iris, sitting together on the steps of the front porch. Iris was weeping quietly, her head buried in her father's neck.

Turning to Lilia, Pa Zigvolt explained that Iris had been left alone to watch her brother that day, and it wasn't until late in the afternoon that she'd discovered him missing, having gone to check his room after he'd failed to appear for both breakfast and lunch. When a frantic search of the house and the backyard proved fruitless, she rushed into town and alerted the elder Zigvolts, who promptly canceled all their appointments for that afternoon to help her look. They rallied the neighbors, forming several search parties to sweep through the surrounding forests and the river, and after several hours of unsuccessful canvassing, it was ultimately Baul who suggested they inquire by the Vanrouge's.

Pa Zigvolt turned again to his daughter, gently squeezed her arm, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and raised her head from his shoulder, allowing him to descend down the stairs. The family cat, which had been dozing elsewhere on the porch, promptly stood up, stretched, and padded over to Iris, taking her father's place. She scooped the animal into her arms and held it against her chest. She blamed herself bitterly for not noticing sooner her little brother was gone, and had been inconsolable for hours.

"Thank you so much for coming to help, Lilia." Pa Zigvolt said, shaking Lilia's limp hand. He glanced behind Lilia, then behind Baul, before asking, confused, "Where's Silver?"

"He's, erm..." Lilia hesitated, fearing another unpleasant reaction. "He's actually missing, too."

But the Zigvolt parents simply exchanged a silent look with one another, and Ma Zigvolt's voice was only gentle as she asked him to explain.

Lilia proceeded to recount his own experiences that morning, and by the time he finished speaking, the small group was in agreement that the boys had likely snuck away together. As they loitered in the front yard, heatedly discussing their next plan of action, a group of neighbors approached. One of them, an elderly fae known for his avid hunting, stepped forward, waving his hand.

"We found their tracks!"

"You did!? Where!?" Pa Zigvolt asked, his eyes shining in excitement - this was their first lead all day.

"Yessir, two little sets of feet headin' due North," the neighbor explained leisurely, scratching his arm. "We followed 'em a long ways and think we know where they're at. That's the good news."

Their hearts plummeted at his next words.

"Bad news is it looks like they went right into the Obsidian Forest."

The forest was still, the night air punctuated at times by the sound of Baul softly cursing at the branches and bushes impeding their way.

“I swear, when I find that boy,” he growled as he smacked away another insolent branch, “Ooh, I swear! When I find him, I’m gonna…!”

Lilia rolled his eyes. Baul had never so much as laid an unkind finger on any of his children or grandchildren, and his grumbled threats never resulted in anything more than a glare or a scowl or a frown.

They'd split up, Baul and Lilia forming one search party, Ma and Pa Zigvolt another, each covering their own half of the forest. The Zigvolt's neighbors remained at the house with Iris, ready to send out an alert should the boys return on their own, partly to keep the still despondent girl company, and partly out of a reluctance to come with them.

And so Lilia and Baul, and Ma and Pa Zigvolt, elsewhere, had been canvassing the forest for several hours, intermittently calling out Silver and Sebek's names, with no response other than cricket song or the occasional owl's cry. The bear's tracks - several sets of them, as it were, overlapping one another and forever winding like a loamy, coiled serpent - provided their only guideline, as the plush leaf litter hadn't absorbed the children's much lighter prints.

However, to their great luck - and to Silver and Sebek's misfortune - the boys had misoriented themselves as soon as they'd stepped foot into the forest, for as they'd trudged through the early morning darkness, their senses and their judgment obscured both by the endless shadows and the heavy fear in their hearts, they had failed to notice the numerous times they'd looped around and mistakenly followed a different set of tracks, some which had been laid earlier that week, others at the beginning of the month. The combination of the forest's perfect uniformity, its paucity of light, and its impregnable secrecy had been leading its diminutive invaders astray from the very beginning. As such, the children had only wandered a few miserable miles during their entire journey, and Baul and Lilia did not have to walk very long to find them.

Presently, the direction of the wind shifted, bringing with it the heavy smell of smoke; Lilia and Baul automatically moved to follow it. The spectral grey tendrils, unable to fully penetrate the canopy, congealed, hanging in a bloated cloud above them, through which murky haze the red light of a fire glowed softly in the distance. The men picked up their pace as the light grew stronger; Lilia soon rushed ahead of Baul, breaking into a run. But it was not the fire's glow that urged him on, that guided him, that drew him through that endless darkness - it was the moonlight of Silver's white hair, brighter and dearer to him than any star, that was his beacon.

"Silver!" Lilia shouted.

"Who's there!?" Silver shouted back, whipping his head around. Spotting the two men, his jaw dropped, and he turned to shake Sebek, who'd been dozing on his shoulder. The boys rose, Silver quickly, Sebek groggily, rubbing his eyes in confusion. Before Silver could take more than a few stumbling steps, Lilia ran to him and pulled him into his arms, and for the first time that summer, Silver allowed his father to embrace him. He ducked his head into Lilia’s neck, felt the man's pulse thundering against his skin, felt in turn as his own tempestuous heartbeat finally calmed after so many long hours of strange terror. Overwhelmed, Silver opened his mouth, and he cried.

Watching the pair, Sebek, the poor creature, threw a nervous glance at his grandfather - the man’s stony face was anger itself. The child felt wretched, and he wished for nothing more than to be held. He drifted towards Silver and Lilia, his wet eyes downcast, feeling as guilty as a whipped hound approaching its master. Before he could begin his pleas, Lilia opened his arms and pulled the trembling boy into a hug. He was at once unburdened, and his relieved sobs soon joined Silver’s.

For Silver and Sebek, the men were their heroes in that moment, their guardian angels - two mighty pillars of light within the black maw of that abominable forest. Go ahead, weary children, dry the pearls of your tears against their shining wings. But do not forget – the Lord’s angels must deliver judgment and salvation in turn. Look now as the one takes up his golden scale, and the other his blade.

The interrogation proceeded as follows:

Although the boys had, while waiting for their rescue, vowed not to reveal the true purpose of their mission, fearing the truth would only worsen Silver's predicament, they had failed to devise an appropriate excuse for their disappearance. Caught off guard, they first claimed that they'd merely wandered into the forest on accident, after having lost their bearings in the woodland behind the Zigvolt's property, but Lilia dismissed the claim at once, knowing his apprentices would never dare be so careless.

The boys retracted this statement, drew a few paces away to convene privately, and then offered a new story, one of a monster that had chased them all the way out into the forest.

“What kind of monster?” Baul pressed.

“A scary one?” Sebek shrugged.

A jury of nosy tawny owls convened spontaneously in the trees around them. They balked wordlessly at the children's flimsy defense.

Just then, and by chance, while shaking his head in frustration, Baul noticed that Sebek's hands were trembling. The movement was so subtle, so minor, that it was only perceptible when the breeze shifted towards them, so that the light from the campfire hit the child's hands just so. Baul nudged Lilia with his elbow and jut his chin towards the boy, indicating his tremors. With both men now focusing their gazes fully on Sebek, Lilia asked once more why the boys had gone into the forest; Sebek crumbled immediately under their wrath.

“W-We just… We wanted to go hunt the bear that’s been killing off the livestock so we…”

“…So you snuck off without telling anyone?” Lilia asked.

“Yeah…”

“It’s my fault, sir,” Silver said, stepping in front of Sebek.

“What?” Lilia and Baul replied in unison.

“I was the one who wanted to go. Sebek didn’t wanna come but I made him. Please don’t get mad at him.”

“Silver!” Sebek squeaked. He opened his mouth to object, but Silver silenced him with a pointed glare.

Baul crossed his arms and looked over Silver, directing his gaze at his grandson. “Is that true, Seb?”

“…Y-Yes, sir.”

“God damnit,” Baul hissed. “You damn kids had us tearing up this whole fucking forest just for-”

“Baul, please,” Lilia sighed. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just get the kids back home.”

“Fine!” Baul threw his hands up and stomped off, muttering under his breath.

Lilia clicked his tongue and turned to the children. “You two, put out your campfire and follow us - and be quick. I’ll light the way with my magic.” Sebek and Silver’s pale faces shone faintly in the cold darkness, as white as the moon. They nodded dully, stunned from Baul’s outburst.

Lilia sprinted down the path Baul had taken, calling after the green and white hurricane crashing through the trees ahead.

“Baul, wait!”

“What!” Baul shouted without looking back.

“If you’d just stop for one second so I can apologize to you-”

“Apologize for what!?”

“For Silver!”

Baul finally stopped.

“I’m sorry, General, but what in the actual hell are you talking about?”

Lilia shook his head in exasperation. “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to apologize for what my child did. He caused you and your family a lot of trouble, so I-”

“Oh, for crying out loud. I was standing right next to you when he said sorry. He doesn’t need his damn pappy covering for his ass.”

“I understand that. But regardless, I need to take responsibility as his parent.”

The thick pillar of Baul’s neck tensed as he worked his jaw. “…You really do still think he’s just a little kid, don’t you?”

“What?”

“I said,” he growled, taking a heavy step forward, “you really still think he’s just a little kid. Don’t you?”

“Yes? He’s only thirteen, Baul.”

Baul blinked at him slowly. “You know, I’ll be honest with you. The day you brought that kid home and said you were going to raise him, I thought that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard in my entire life. But that right there takes the cake.”

Lilia pinched the bridge of his nose. Clinging onto his last, frayed strand of patience, he hissed out through gritted teeth, “Would you please enlighten me to what it is you’re trying to get at?”

Baul spat at Lilia’s feet. His yellow-green eyes blazed like canary diamonds. “Your boy’s growing up, General. He’s becoming a man. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

Lilia scoffed. “You think I don’t know that? I just-”

“Bullshit! You know what I bet?" Baul licked his lips. "I bet you haven't even noticed he's already taller than you now, huh. All that fucking yapping you do, bragging about each and every little fucking thing he does, and not once have I ever heard you mention it.”

Lilia stared at him incredulously. He recognized the taunt - it was the same one Baul had attempted to provoke him with earlier that Summer, but as Lilia opened his mouth to rebuke him, he quickly closed it again, suddenly overcome by an almost paralyzing sense of apprehension. He's not taller than me... right? He tried to recall the last time he'd looked at Silver - truly looked at him, not in anger or in contempt; not as an object of his frustration nor the progenitor of his grievances; not begging him to please tell him what was wrong and to just talk to him already. He realized with a start it must've been months ago, before the sudden change in Silver's demeanor, perhaps around his birthday, or earlier, for he saw nothing more than abstract glimpses flash before his mind's eye, of Silver's back turned to him, of Silver storming away from him, enraged; of Silver snapping at him with heavy tears welling up in his opaline eyes. But still- No, it wasn't possible, he would've noticed. For what were the past thirteen years of him centering his entire life around the child if he had not? What right had he to call himself the boy's father, to claim the child as his son, if he had failed to notice something so monumental? His son was just a young boy with cherubic little cheeks and bright blue-grey eyes, who would beam at him with the most precious little smile - half-crooked, his thin lips pressed into a rosy crescent moon, and that was the truth. 

“That's not...”

Baul roared over him, drowning out the rest of his halfhearted response. “And now he’s sneaking off and lying to you and taking the blame for shit he didn’t do, and you honestly still think he’s just some dumb little brat who needs his pappy to wipe his ass for him!”

Lilia winced at each of his words, as though they were daggers striking his skin. Noticing the other man's sudden trepidation, Baul paused.

"Honestly, you just..." Slowly, he began summoning the patience one required when attempting to convince Lilia Vanrouge of his own failings, and as his anger dissipated, he thought suddenly of his daughter. His expression softened, settling halfway between a scowl and a lopsided smile; his voice softened, too. “I know how much you're hurting here, but my god, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

Baul continued speaking, but Lilia could no longer hear him, could not wrest his attention away from the uneasiness still gnawing painfully at his heart.

Just then, Silver and Sebek emerged from the surrounding thicket, as if beckoned by Lilia's anguish. His gaze flew instantly towards his son.

The boy's face was filthy, covered in a greasy film of sweat and grime and dirt, with pine needles stuck to his forehead and leaf litter entangled in his hair, and a thin line of blood on his cheek where a branch had scratched him. The steely blue-grey eyes peering at him from above the sharpened cheeks evoked an almost hawkish appearance. He was angular, scrawny, gaunt - nigh spectral in the pale glow of the lantern in his hands. Who was this gangly youth? This stranger? Had his mental image of his son been all this time nothing more than an exaggerated caricature, a farce cobbled together months ago, or years, even?

“We got the campfire put out," Silver said, panting, trying to catch his breath. As he raised his arm and drew his sleeve across his wet brow, the pale circle of lamplight suddenly fell upon his father's face. His skin blazed bone white, and his bloodless lips, parted slightly, were frozen in a silent gasp, as though he were dazed; he looked cadaverous. Silver gulped and took a step back. "...Is everything okay?”

"Silver, stand up straight." Lilia's voice curled out into the chill night air like a fine mist, softer than a whisper, yet the pure animosity with which he spoke betrayed the threat underlying his words, so that the boy immediately drew himself to his full height without a second thought.

Lilia stumbled mechanically towards Silver and cupped his face in his hands, swept his eyes down from his chin up to his lips, to his nose, tilted his head back to meet the boy's gaze- Ah! There it was, Lilia felt it, felt the microscopic contractions in the taught fibers of his neck as he yawned his head back, hardly more than a few degrees, scarcely lifting it above his eye level, could almost hear them as they cried out in pain, and yet - he was looking up at his son! Lilia's palms suddenly grew cold despite the warm flesh they cradled; his hands moved on their own, weakly pressing into the face, as if making one final, feeble, desperate attempt to mold it into the infantile visage beginning to rapidly crumble inside his mind. He choked back a quiet sob and dropped his arms to his sides, receding a few steps away, visibly distraught. The whole torturous act had lasted but a mere moment, during which time Silver had stood petrified, as though caught in a trance. He now sluggishly raised his own hand and traced his cheek where his father had touched him. He shivered; his skin felt like ice.

Baul went to Lilia and spoke at him rapidly in fae language – talking too quickly for Sebek’s mind to translate, and wholly incomprehensible to Silver’s – before turning around and walking off.

Lilia stared at Silver again, opened his mouth after a moment, then closed it, deciding he would talk to the boy later, in private. Taking a deep breath, he began telling the children to follow him, but was interrupted by a thunderous crash off in the distance. The three of them pointed their gazes simultaneously to where the sound had erupted - a freshly felled pine tree, behind which stood a black shadow so towering the boys feared for a moment that it was the bear come to ambush them.

However, to their great relief, it was only Ma Zigvolt who stepped out into their lamplight, casually shaking off the pine dust from her hands. Upon spotting her son, her face broke immediately into a wide smile, while Sebek's, in turn, scrunched up as he began to cry.

“Mama!” Sebek wailed.

Ma Zigvolt rushed over and engulfed his small body between her arms. He nearly disappeared underneath her frame. “Oh, thank goodness!” she heaved, swaying gently as the tight coil of her nerves slowly unwound.

“Is everything… Okay…?” Pa Zigvolt panted as he emerged from the darkness of the forest a moment later. He coughed into his sleeve, and then gasped once he heard Sebek’s quiet sniffles floating out from the cage of his wife’s arms. The long search had exhausted him, had strangled his lungs and poisoned his mind with fear, but the boy’s hushed sobs invigorated something within him, rousing a force in his heart greater than even the weariness hanging heavy from his limbs like iron chains. He lurched forward, breathing heavily, taking one shaky step after another, stumbling as he covered a short distance that to him felt like miles. At last, he lifted his leaden arms and wrapped them as far as he could around his wife’s quivering back, collapsing into her with a sigh.

“Oh, thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness!” Ma Zigvolt whispered again and again.

Lilia and Silver watched them from afar. Silver soon looked away, awkwardness prickling at his skin.

Presently, Lilia cleared his throat, announced loudly that he and Silver would be leaving, and, after waiting a moment for Pa Zigvolt to wave them off, he turned to his son, and motioned with his head that it was time to go home.

Lilia threw himself on the living room sofa with a mangled groan. He and Silver had reached the clearing shortly after midnight, their long trip culminating in several grueling miles of Lilia carrying his exhausted son on his back, trudging almost bent in half for over an hour. He'd set aside Silver's portion of dinner that evening, a plate of sausage links and biscuits that had since grown cold, and this Silver bolted gratefully before excusing himself to take a much needed bath. Consumed with a sudden restlessness, Lilia busied himself while he waited, returning the animals to their enclosures, washing the pile of dishes festering in the kitchen sink, and straightening out the piles of books and toys and other various knick-knacks strewn across the living room. He went to rap his hand on the bathroom door after fifteen minutes had passed, concerned Silver might have fallen asleep in the tub, and, after receiving a quiet response, had staggered back to the living room, where his own fatigue finally struck him.

He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously, occasionally wincing as hot tendrils of pain shot up through his spine and flared out into hips. His thoughts flit rapidly between each of his aching limbs, between the anger, the fear, the sorrow that clouded his mind. While they were walking back home, he could hear Baul's words repeating over and over again, overlapping with Ma Zigvolt's remarks from a few weeks prior, and mixing together with his own, anguished thoughts that had paralyzed him as he'd finally realized how much his son had changed. A part of him, a part that he'd for so long fought to viciously stamp out and silence, knew that Baul was right, and that Ma Zigvolt was right, too. He realized now he just hadn't wanted to admit it.

When Silver at last emerged from the bathroom and came to sit beside Lilia, he did not react at first. The boy - the youth, his child, his son, the stranger - stared at him silently. His eyes, though sharper and slightly narrower than how Lilia remembered them, still bore that same, auroral hue that had first captivated him so many years ago, and he found himself being slowly drawn out of his frantic ruminations as he met Silver's gaze.

Folding his hands in his laps, he took a deep breath, and asked, "Alright, so what's the real reason you did all this? Because you were mad at me?

Silver fidgeted in his seat and nibbled at his lip. His eyes darted to a corner of the living room. "No. I mean, yeah, I was mad at you."

"Over what happened at the dance?"

Silver's gaze jumped to the other corner. "The dance and... other stuff."

Lilia recalled immediately all their quarreling from the past few months, the long days that would pass without Silver uttering even a single word to him, and the even longer nights where he could hear him quietly crying in his room next door. His heart ached for the boy. He reached out to drape his hand over Silver's. “Baby, you know I-“

Silver swatted his hand away and retreated further into his side of the sofa. “You’re doing it again!” he whined, his voice cracking.

"Doing what?"

"You keep treating me like a little kid!"

"You-!" Lilia swallowed his retort with a grimace. Exhaling slowly, he admitted grudgingly, "You're right, I am. And I'm sorry. I'll try to stop doing that."

Silver's jaw dropped open. He couldn't recall his father ever having conceded to him so easily before, if at all. Quickly recovering from his shock, he sat up straight and said, "Umm- I mean, yeah! Please do that." He crossed his arms and nodded sagely, with the air of one who has successfully negotiated for terms that are completely in one's favor.

"Now, I can understand you ran off because of what's been going on recently, but what about your behavior from the past few months?"

Silver uncrossed his arms and tilted his head quizzically. Noticing his confusion, Lilia explained he meant the very same quarrels that Silver had previously mentioned, as well as his sudden adoption of the moniker "Father".

"I dunno." Silver shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, the "Father" thing's 'cause Sebek told me about it a while ago."

Lilia blinked. "Told you about what?"

“He told me… Ah, wait.” Silver straightened his back and puffed out his chest, pointing his eyebrows sharply together like an arrowhead. “He said, “Silver! Why do you continue to refer to your father as “Papa”!? Are you not turning thirteen years old soon? It’s positively childish!”” Deflating into his usual stoic expression, he continued, “And then he told me if I wanted to be a real knight, then I need to hurry and grow up already.”

Biting back an incredulous snort, Lilia summoned as much tenderness his weary body could muster, and said, smiling, "Listen, you don't have to do everything Sebek tells you to, you know. You can call me 'Papa' all you want. If somebody doesn't like that, that's their problem."

"But I don't..." Silver looked away again. His voice dropped to a whisper, as though hoping that if he spoke his next words quietly, they would hurt his father less. "I don't want to."

Lilia's smile vanished. "You don't?"

"Uh-uh."

"...But why?"

"I just..." Silver frowned. "I don't know. You keep asking why I do this and that, but I don't know how to explain it. It's like every time I try to catch my thoughts, they up and fly away from me. And then you just keep on badgering me more and I just get so mad."

Silver had expressed similar sentiments numerous times before over the past few months, but although there were no stunning revelations to be found in his words, no breakthroughs to be made in understanding the transformation in his demeanor, Lilia, for the first time, listened to him. Lilia had stumbled blindly through that whole Summer, feeling as though he were trying to walk across quicksand, ever fearful that the next blowout with his son, that the next new symptom of his strange ailment would lead to some sort of irrevocable, irreparable damage to their relationship, but as he listened, he felt the ground beneath his feet finally, slowly begin to solidify at last.

They quietly conversed for half an hour longer, at which point Silver began to yawn and rub at his eyes, nodding off a few minutes later. Lilia stood up, intending to carry the boy to his room, only to immediately drop down onto the sofa again with a pained cry. Rubbing deep circles into his lower back with one hand, he leaned over and gently shook Silver awake with the other.

"Go on and get to bed. We can iron out your punishment some other time."

"Okay." Silver rose slowly, dragging his feet as he plodded down the hall. Standing before his door, he turned around and stammered, "I love you," before disappearing into his room.

"I love you, too." Lilia replied hoarsely, fighting to speak past the lump in his throat.

With a grunt, he lifted his leaden legs onto the sofa and lay down flat on his back, sighing pleasantly as the worst of his pain began to subside. For over an hour he drifted in and out of a restless slumber, after which he stiffly sat up, and, this time rising without issue, limped quietly across the floor and down the hallway to Silver's room, steadying himself with a quivering hand against the wall.

Silver lay fast asleep, sprawled out face down atop his barren mattress, his blankets and several of his pillows still scattered across the floor from Lilia's frantic search that morning. A soft smile tugged at Lilia's lips. He must've passed out as soon as he lay down, the poor thing. Not trusting he'd be able to stand up straight again should he bend over in his present state, he instead cast a cleaning spell, and watched as the blankets and discarded pillows silently rose from the floor and arranged themselves neatly into place on Silver's bed. His eyes flicked back to Silver as the emerald sparks of his magic began to fade away, but the boy did not stir.

He cupped Silver's cheek, swept his thumb across the warm skin, moved his hand up to his hair, and began picking out the bits and pieces of pine needles and leaf litter Silver had been too exhausted to comb out while in the bath. His thoughts began to wander again while he fussed with a difficult knot.

Loss had accompanied him all his life; it was as regular to him as the changing of the seasons, as inevitable as the mighty storm that had swept across their nation and all the other natural disasters that would someday follow. But when he found Silver, he'd believed, selfishly, foolishly, stubbornly, that here was something, the only other thing besides his own heart, that he would be able to keep for himself, that life could not take away from him. Perhaps therein lay the reason why he had tried for so long to remain ignorant of his son's maturation, why he had fought so desperately to prevent the boy from growing up, from growing away from him. But he knew now that he'd been wrong, for he had split his heart in half long ago - long before he had ever left the castle. One half he had given to Malleus; the other lay before him now, curled up against the palm of his hand, breathing quietly, the moon's silver glow shining faintly in his hair.

And though he did not have a name for it, he could feel as something new was beginning to slip away from him once again, just as the soft strands of moonlight slipped through his fingers.

“And that's okay,” Lilia breathed out with a shudder. “It'll be okay. And I’ll try. I’ll let go.”

Lilia brought his folding stool into the garden and set it down amidst a semi-circle of empty buckets and baskets he'd arranged between two rows of low bushes, and, after sitting down gingerly, careful not to agitate his back, began picking off handfuls of snap beans from the bush before him. It was the second week of August - time for the Summer harvest at last, and when finished here, he would move onto the squash and eggplants next, then the bell peppers and tomatoes, then the watermelon and strawberries; the sweet potatoes he would leave for Silver to dig up on his own. Having recently satisfied the terms of his punishment, during which period he'd spent several weeks completing additional training exercises and chores every day, Lilia had granted him a short holiday, and he presently lay fast asleep in bed. Though working on his own, he moved quickly, and filled two of his buckets by the time Silver awoke later that morning and approached him in the garden.

He'd already combed his hair and gotten changed, with his knapsack slung comfortably across his shoulder. He'd grown another inch in the past month, and his face seemed miles away as Lilia looked up at him.

“Father, may I visit the Zigvolts?" he said plainly, studying his father's face. "The robins told me Sebek got a new astronomy book he’s been wanting to show me.”

Lilia dragged his sleeve across his wet forehead and nodded. "That's fine. Will you be having dinner there?”

“No, I don’t plan to.”

"Alright."

While Lilia returned to his picking, Silver shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other, his gaze jumping between his father and the forest path beyond their home. After a moment, he licked his lips and asked, “Did you, uh, want me to wait for you?”

Lilia shook his head. He looked up at his son again and smiled.

“No, you go on without me.”

Song credits

“Twistin’ the Night Away” written and recorded by Sam Cooke

“I Wish You Love” recorded by Sam Cooke, written by Albert Beach

Title is taken from the Hannah Montana song by the same name.

Just for the sake of transparency, some parts of this fic took very heavy inspiration from Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's book "The Yearling", particularly the first two chapters.

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #baul zigvolt #malleus draconia #twst #twisted wonderland #txt #(although im tagging malleus he is not actively in the story. hes just mentioned in flashbacks)

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 9

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |-| Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58

A/N: Sorry this chapter took a while! Please enjoy some filler fluff as a reward for your patience

The January cold was a biting, painful thing, with the uncanny ability to burrow its way deep beneath any clothing, regardless of the layers everyone at Thorpe Abbotts had desperately piled on for protection. Thick, wool socks and scarves were always in order, and a few of the elderly women in the village had begun to make a pretty penny by selling them on to disgruntled pilots who had never before experienced winter outside of California.

Major Kidd had given her Egan's sheepskin jacket. Well, he less gave it to her than he did leave it in the mechanics' hut for her, but she appreciated the gesture nevertheless. The sleeves were too long, but she made do, as it was loose enough on her to fit comfortably over her work overalls. Combined with the wool tights she'd stolen from George, and the fingerless gloves she'd found at the bottom of a drawer somewhere, the weather was almost bearable. Almost.

It had snowed overnight. There was too much ice on the roads to cycle without endangering life and limb, so Frankie had been forced to commandeer a phone and summon Lemmons in one of the jeeps. The man had looked so miserable upon his arrival, that it had been impossible not to laugh. Hat tugged down past his eyebrows, scarf pulled up over his chin, his face was only half visible, and what sliver she could see was contorted in a frown. His gloves were made of bright orange wool, and she suspected the women in the village had run out of the more appealing colours by the time he sought them out. Grinning to herself, she clambered into the jeep, stomping snow off of her boots as she sat down.

"I don't like this country anymore, Frankie," Ken complained, voice muffled by his scarf.

She laughed. "Oh, sweetheart, if you think this is bad..."

He was stricken with a look of complete and utter fear, and Frankie let out a snort. "It gets worse?"

"Probably!"

This information put him in a foul mood for the rest of the drive, muttering and grumbling to himself about 'goddamn snow' and 'goddamn ice' as they pulled up to the runway, tyres gouging fresh marks into the undisturbed blanket of white. They were both left sorely wishing they had finished their work the night before when the weather had been more palatable, but there was no getting around what they had to do now.

The metal of the planes' exteriors was frozen to the touch, bare fingertips left raw and red as they worked away at replacing and tightening various bolts and rivets, breath blooming in frozen clouds in front of their faces. Every five minutes they would have to step away from whatever they were doing and run a few laps around the place just to warm themselves up, aware of what a ridiculous sight they must have made.

"Think they'll go up again tomorrow?" Ken asked, panting as he jogged on the spot behind Frankie, occasionally pausing to throw in a few star jumps.

"Not if the weather doesn't clear up - they'll need better skies than this if the navigators want to get anywhere," She shrugged, pausing halfway through tightening another bolt to jump up and down, attempting to restore feeling to her legs.

"Everyone else is in bed right now," He complained.

"Lucky bastards."

The pair must have appeared entirely absurd, chatting away with stony, irritated expressions as they stomped and jumped around entirely out of synch, and they counted themselves lucky that there wasn't a single other soul out there that morning to bear witness. A lit cigarette hung from between Frankie's lips, the embers only just succeeding in warming her face. Their cheeks and noses had both turned red after only an hour out in the cold, and by the end of their second, neither could justify staying outside any longer.

Kicking the snow off their boots, they shut themselves in the mechanics' hut, the light that hung from the ceiling swaying in the drafty breeze - the result of a ceiling gap that they were unable to locate. Turning on the gas stove that was usually only used to make terrible coffee, the pair pulled up their chairs beside it, holding their frozen hands above the small flame until feeling returned to their fingers.

"I forgot to ask you about your Christmas," Frankie huffed, rubbing her palms together, creating heat from the friction.

"That was nearly a month ago," He pointed out.

"I know. Just felt a bit bad about not asking."

"It was good, yeah. Sammy's folks had a goose, I dunno where they got it from," Lemmons chuckled, pausing for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a glimmer of something in his eye. "How was your Christmas?"

She frowned at him. "I told you before. Good."

"...Mhm."

A sudden knock at the door took them both by surprise, heads snapping towards the unexpected sound. Brows furrowed, they glanced at one another, neither one wanting to get up from their spot beside the stove. "Door's open!" Ken called.

They could hear the sound of someone awkwardly fumbling with the door handle, and Frankie was about to get up when it finally opened. Rosie had to use his foot to pry his way inside, a steaming cup of Red Cross coffee in each hand as he shuffled through, flakes of snow still resting unmelted in his hair. His face was flushed pink, and he wasn't wearing anywhere near enough clothes to protect him from the cold, snow encrusting the soles of his boots.

"Hey!" Frankie beamed, pulling up another chair for him between her and Lemmons. "Jesus, were you trying to get hypothermia?"

"Brought coffee," He said simply, voice still slightly shaky as he sat down, holding the tin mugs out to the mechanics. "And uh-" Reaching into his pocket, Rosie produced a crumpled paper bag containing a couple of doughnuts. "Don't tell Helen. Was only supposed to take one."

"Gee, thanks, Cap," Lemmons nodded gratefully, shooting Frankie a pointed stare that she pretended not to have noticed. She nodded in agreement, both hands wrapped around her cup, feeling the heat seep through the metal. The Red Cross coffee always tasted so much better than the crap they had in the mechanics' hut, and she resisted the urge to grin at the gesture, especially as she realised he had brought nothing for himself.

They drank in silence for a while, the only sound the jagged, laboured breathing of one trying to wear off a chill. "...So, uh..." Rosie began, hands folded in his lap as he looked between the others. "...Work going well?"

"Y'know, I can go somewhere else if you guys want," Ken pointed out, peering at them over the rim of his mug.

"No!" "No!" Frankie and Rosie blurted simultaneously, assuring him hurriedly. "You need to keep warm, Ken," She told him.

He had slurped down his coffee quickly, the winter cold cooling it down so that it wouldn't burn his throat. Shaking his head, he pushed his chair backwards out of the little semi-circle they had created, scraping loudly across the floor. "The fuel cans we asked for arrived yesterday, I should go pick them up before I forget."

"You sure?" Frankie asked, getting up to trail after him as he made his way to the door. "The snow'll probably start melting soon, you should wait until it's not so icy."

"No, no. Now's good," Lemmons nodded determinedly, smirking at her as he opened the door, a gust of cold wind blowing its way inside. "Thanks again for the coffee, Rosie!"

"No problem, Ken," He nodded, tipping an imaginary cap at him as the mechanic disappeared outside.

Frankie paused a moment to process what had happened before letting out a huff of laughter. Rosie was still sat beside the stove, watching with a smile as she crossed the room towards him. She leant down, and he craned his head up to meet her, their lips meeting in a quick kiss, as casual and comfortable as a long-married couple.

"He definitely knows," She pointed out, lowering herself back into her seat and propping her legs up across his lap, his elbows resting gently on them.

"Oh yeah," Rosie nodded in agreement. "Have you properly told anyone yet? Only, I haven't - I was waiting until you wanted to."

"Oh, I've only told George, she won't tell anyone. But I tell her literally everything, so y'know."

"Yeah, yeah, I expected that," He continued nodding, pausing after a moment as a stricken look of realisation crossed his face. "Wait, does that mean you told her about when we-"

"No! No, not about that, Jesus," Frankie giggled, nose creasing as she took another sip of her coffee. A smile spread across Rosie's expression as he took a moment to actually take in her appearance, his thumb rubbing back and forth along the hem of her trousers.

"... Is that Egan's jacket?"

"Mhm," She hummed, wiping her top lip as she put down her mug. "Kidd left it for me. It doesn't fit-" Frankie flapped the ends of her sleeves to illustrate the point, making him chuckle. "-but the thought was nice."

"God, I absolutely humiliated myself the first time I met Egan," Rosie shook his head slightly, his cheeks reddening. "Kept talking about flying in my goddamn skivvies, I was pretty sure he only brought me to meet you so that you two could both laugh at the weird new Captain."

She laughed, taking one of his hands in hers, absent-mindedly twiddling his fingers as she spoke. "I'm sorry, you flew in your what?"

"Jesus, I'm doing it again, this is like a recurring nightmare. It gets real hot in Texas, right, so we practised flying in our underwear to stop us from over-heating - but of course I decided that was the best possible story to introduce myself to the Majors with. I mean, Christ, I still don't know what I was thinkin'."

"Well, the first time I met him I absolutely destroyed him in a drinking contest, so he's been offered his fair share of public humiliation."

"That... does help, actually," He admitted, and she grinned, running a hand through his hair and messing up his curls as she rose to her feet. His gaze followed her, tilting his head upwards, a few loose curls hanging in his face. "Where are you going?"

"Funny thing is, I actually have this thing called a job," Frankie teased, zipping up Egan's jacket as she headed for the door. "I have to, like, do it, and everything."

"Wow, that sounds really hard, I'm so impressed," Rosie replied flatly, a smirk curling his lip.

A gust of wind blew a cloud of snowflakes in through the door as she opened it, flipping her collar up to her chin against the breeze as she stepped outside. Lemmons was waiting there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and his unexpected presence startled her, snow crunching beneath her feet as she jumped, sucking in a sharp breath.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Ken shrugged. "Thought I oughta give you a minute - didn't wanna interrupt anything private."

Frankie's eyes narrowed, glaring at him as they made their way back towards the hardstand. "Oh, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Can you seriously look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong?"

Turning on her heel, she stared at him, their gazes locked for a long, awkward moment of silence. She gnawed at her lip, saying nothing, until suddenly she broke, scoffing as she stomped away. "Fuck you, Ken."

"Told you!"

Before he could move, she had slung an arm around his neck, forcing him into a playful headlock. Lemmons squawked, wrestling against her unrelenting grip until he dug his fingers into her side, and she released him with a yelp, their hair both dusted white with snow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It took three days for the weather to subside - three days of icy roads, relentless snowfall, and trying not to freeze on the hardstand. Every day like clockwork Rosie had brought the mechanics fresh, hot coffee, filling flasks with the stuff to satisfy more and more of the ground crews, who were growing steadily more irritable with each inch of snowfall. The pilots were grounded for the duration, but even the pub seemed too great of a trek under such circumstances. The only sanctuary was the small, cylindrical heaters inside the Nissen huts, and in the evenings many took to sitting around them to keep warm.

Early morning birdsong came as an unwelcome sound as Frankie's eyes peeled open, adjusting to consciousness as sunlight streamed in through the window above her bed. A gust of air hit her face as her bedsheets were ripped off of her, and she flinched as she waited for the sudden chill to grip her. But it didn't.

"George. What the fuck," She grumbled, pressing her palms against her eyelids as she sat up, hair knotted and sticking out at random angles on one side of her head.

"Get up. Snow's thawed, they'll be flying today."

The woman had a disturbing knack for always looking immaculate - golden hair falling in perfect curls, red lipstick that never smudged, and clothes that always fitted perfectly. George always told her that it was just that she put in the effort, but Frankie tended to suspect some sort of witchcraft.

"Well fuck me, in that case, why didn't you wake me up sooner?" She huffed, her hairbrush getting stuck halfway through a knotted patch. For a moment, she couldn't quite bear to deal with it, and just let it hang there, weighing down her scalp on one side.

"Thought you should get some beauty sleep before you see off your darling pilot," She teased, her voice taking on a sing-song quality. "Although admittedly, I wasn't expecting you to wake up looking like you'd been dragged sideways through a thornbush," George added, and Frankie let out a cry as she yanked on the hairbrush, dragging it forcefully through her hair until it fell straight.

"I'll drag you sideways through a bush in a minute," She muttered, rubbing at the sore spot on her scalp with one hand as she pulled on her coveralls with the other.

"I just think it took you long enough to finally snog him, you might as well try not to look like a dying cat whenever you see him."

"Oh, piss off!"

Huge meltwater puddles lined the roads on both sides, the grass reduced to muddy swampland, sodden with what remained of the snowfall. Frankie pedalled slowly, careful not to slip, calling out in greeting to the men who passed by in their jeeps, tyres kicking up water, spraying her legs and staining her trousers.

Her breaks screeched loudly to a halt as she stopped in front of a half-melted snowman on the side of the road, the last remaining evidence of the village children's play. Their laughter had filled the air since the first snowfall, the only remedy to the constant, freezing misery. The snowman's head was close to toppling off, its carrot nose drooping pathetically. She couldn't help but chuckle as one of the pebbles they had used for eyes slipped from its perch, landing with a thumb in the damp grass. She wondered if it had snowed back home, if Alice and Jill had made a snowman of their own. As a child, she'd used her mother's old scarf and gloves, the scent of perfume still lingering on them after so many years.

Another jeep rolled past, cutting it too close and too fast, a spray of puddle water splashing all the way up her back, the cold soaking through to her spine. Frankie let out a yelp, her train of thought lost as she flipped off the driver in his side mirror and began to pedal again, resuming her steady, cautious pace as the airstrip came into view.

The Riveters were gathered around their B-17 when she arrived, packs slung over their shoulders as they readied to board. Letting out a huge yawn, Frankie dismounted her bike, letting it lie on the tarmac as she approached, the uncomfortable stick of damp fabric against skin making her squirm. The moment Pappy saw her, he frowned. "D'you just get up? They've run the checks on our bus already, right?"

"Your plane's been ready to fly for days, Pap - I was out here in the snow making sure of it while you lot were warming your feet by the fire," She rolled her eyes, squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

Rosie was visibly fighting a grin as she approached, Bailey shooting him a confused look at his expression as he passed, clambering into the belly of the plane. One by one, the flight crew filed inside, hauling themselves up through the hatch in a series of grunts, until their Captain was the only one left standing on the tarmac. The moment they were alone, he let his smile show, a red tint flushing his cheeks. "Ma'am," He teased, tilting his cap at her as she approached.

Frankie smirked, stepping forward until their fronts were pressed together. "So... what number is this now?"

"Seventeenth mission," Rosie nodded.

"Hm. Not too shabby."

"Why thank you, dear," He grinned, leaning down to press his lips to hers. Just as Frankie began to reciprocate the kiss, a thought popped into his mind, and he pulled back, eliciting a tut of disappointment from her. "Y'know, I had this idea earlier that I'd bring you flowers, but it's too damn cold for 'em. Thought I'd let you know anyway, so you can appreciate the thought."

She hummed. "Duly noted," Grinning, she resumed the kiss, her teeth accidentally grazing his lip as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. Hands grasping at her back, his brow furrowed at the sudden dampness, but he figured she might send him away if he ruined the kiss again. He could smell the oil on her clothes, but the scent he had once found acrid now only succeeded in reminding him of her. Even miles up in the sky, hanging perilously over enemy territory, there was something calming in that smell, a constant tether to home.

The pair had been so engrossed in their embrace, that they had failed to notice Pappy reappearing through the hatch, sent to retrieve something they had forgotten in the jeep. But the moment his feet hit the tarmac, and he took in the scene before him, he froze, releasing a sort of strangled grunt that alerted them to his presence, springing away from each other, hands raised to wipe any evidence of the other from their mouths.

Wide-eyed in a mixture of shock and horror, he spoke in angry whispers, closing the hatch most of the way to muffle the sound. "Are you kidding me?!"

Rosie held up his hands as if begging for mercy. "Look, Pappy, I was gonna tell you, it's just-"

"I owe George so much money," Pappy huffed, running a hand across his brow.

Frankie frowned. "... You what?"

"We had drinks last week, we were betting on how long it'd take for... this to happen."

She resisted the urge to laugh, noticing how Rosie seemed to be suppressing a smile. "George already knew about this last week."

His expression was horror-stricken, face growing ever-redder with every second that passed. "... Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Rosie let out a chuckle. "I think you just got scammed, Pappy."

Brow furrowed, expression contorted in fury, Pappy muttered to himself in indecipherable fury as he marched over to the jeep, retrieved his forgotten cargo, and stomped back towards the plane, pausing briefly to interrupt his incensed murmuring. "Happy for you two. Or whatever," He sighed, waving a hand in their general direction as he failed to meet their eyes.

As soon as he was safely inside the plane and out of earshot, they collapsed into laughter, his utterly outraged frown seared into their minds. Rosie wheezed as he caught his breath, "I think George is using your friendship for evil," He pointed out, succumbing to laughter again as Frankie let out a cackle.

"I am not letting her collect on that debt," She shook her head, face flushed red, cheeks creased with a smile. Frankie looked up as she felt his hands against her face, palms cupping his cheeks as he brought her face to his, their foreheads simply resting against each other's as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

"I will see you later," He spoke softly, the tip of his nose brushing against hers.

"Yeah, you better," She reached up, straightening his tie. "I'll be really pissed off otherwise."

"And we can't have that."

"Nope."

With one last smile, Rosie pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, and Frankie scoffed as he pulled away, wiping her face with the back of her hand. He smirked to himself as he climbed up into the plane, arms burning with the weight of his body as he hauled himself up through the hatch. Navigating his way through to the cockpit with ease, he slid into the pilot's seat, feeling Pappy's gaze burning into the side of his skull.

"...Yes Pappy?" He asked after a moment of silence, his co-pilot shaking his head side to side, never retracting his penetrating stare.

"I fuckin' knew it."

#masters of the air #masters of the air oc #masters of the air fic #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #ken lemmons #pappy lewis #oc: frankie #oc: george #fic | i'm your man

[eddies-house]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Five - Cold Eggs

W/C: 6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mentions of drinking

Some early morning honesty on the rocks. Eddie is fucked. In every sense other than literal.

A/N: I'm getting giddy over these two please tell me yall feel the same

Masterlist

Prev | Next

The Munson bachelor pad wasn’t as boyish and messy as you initially thought.  You were sober enough to make that observation.  It was cozy, much like your own home and was around the same size.  The kitchen was probably the messiest part of it however you didn’t get a peek at the bedroom which you assumed could also be very disheveled.  There were cereal boxes left open on the counter, Cocoa Pebbles being the one that caught your eye along with a neglected box of Rice Krispies that laid on its side.   

A few too many pots and pans cluttered the stove top and some empty cans of soup and Spaghettios were left to collect dust near the sink.  His refrigerator held a collection of magnets, some being letters from the alphabet, although quite a few were missing, and others were ads from a pizza place and a few fruits and vegetables with cartoony faces.  Among the mess on the counters, you also noted a few empty liters of soda and some crushed beer cans.  Budweiser to be specific.

Other than that, the living room you’d been sitting in was tidy.  There was a clearly used checkered blanket bunched up on the corner of the couch you’d been occupying for the past several minutes and a few car catalogs littering the coffee table along with a copy of Lord of the Rings, bookmarked with a coupon for ground beef clipped from the local ads.  Next to that, an ash tray nearly overflowed.  

His wallpaper wasn’t as ugly as yours, which you envied.  It was maroon with even darker stripes alternating, creating a dark but homey atmosphere.  The wall sconces on the other hand, we’re tacky.  They looked more medieval than anything, almost like torches.  The light wood floors contrasted with the walls and at your feet was a frayed rug that looked like it had seen better days.  Not dirty, just tattered.

In the corner sat an acoustic guitar painted with the words ‘this machine slays dragons’ and next to it was an electric guitar, red with cracks of black.  You’d never seen one like it before and it seemed to be well loved from what you’d heard every day, the endless guitar solos bleeding into your eardrums daily.  At least he was getting his money's worth out of it.

You continued eyeing your surroundings, taking in the habitat that was Eddie Munson’s home when your gaze lands on a particular object that piqued your interest.  It sat atop a shelf near the door, a lonely Garfield mug.

Before you could further examine the mug or even think of reasons as to why it was displayed, if it was even displayed, or perhaps it was abandoned in a hurry out the door, Eddie emerges from the bathroom just off the living room.  His curls are now wet ringlets toward the bottom, and instead of wearing your puke, he wears a red sweatshirt that reads ‘Indianapolis, Indiana’ on the front along with some baggy black sweats.  Despite his comfy clothes, his face is still decorated with that grouchy frown you’d grown used to.  Did this man ever relax his face?  His eyebrows were still pinched together either in thought or in irritation.

“I-um, I’ll wash the shirt and um the–the boots.”  You stutter, rapidly standing from your perch at the edge of his couch.

Though still a little tipsy, more coherent thoughts flooded your mind.  Guilt plagued you as you thought about the blanket of barf that coated his shirt and boots about a half hour earlier, abandoned on the front porch.  You were smart enough to avert your gaze when he lifted his shirt off of his torso just to let it wrinkle up on the wood planks to be dealt with later.  It wasn’t your fault that you’d caught a glimpse of the tattoos that adorned his body, some kind of dragon if you remember correctly, wound from his waist up to his ribs.  The others you didn’t have long enough to distinguish their imagery, though there were several along with what appeared to be some scarring of some kind.  You couldn’t be sure, the darkness from the night not allowing you a clear picture along with your hazy mental state.

“Don’t worry about it.”  He dismisses while you bashfully sit back down on the edge of the couch.

It was hard to grasp whether he was pissed at you or just at life in general.  You would take full responsibility for the vomit but everything before that was on him.  Yelling at you over a pile of broken plates seemed far more degrading based on his tone, the way he reprimanded you and painted you as this stupid girl, unable to stand your ground.  Maybe it was better that he fired you, you wouldn’t be subject to his obnoxious mood swings where he seemed to take everything out on you when shit hit the fan.  

You continued watching Eddie move about his surroundings, taking in how he interacted with his day to day environment.  What did he look like fully relaxed?  Lounging around, playing his guitar without a care in the world.  It was difficult to picture; the image of a moody man with a tensed facial expression the only one you could seem to conjure up every time rather than the vision of him with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, enjoying coffee out of that stupid Garfield mug.  You wonder if takes his coffee with cream and sugar.  Maybe just cream?  Or just sugar?  Maybe he drinks it black, that would be the most sensible option if you were going by his grouchy nature.

“Gonna find my keys, then we’ll go back to the bar to get yours.”  Eddie decides, shuffling through some items on the kitchen counter.  

The irony.

Agreeing with a hum, you allow yourself to lean further into the couch while trailing your finger over the faded plaid pattern, lines of beige crossing over white that temporarily held your focus.  The clinking of empty beer cans against the linoleum counter can be heard, and then footsteps into the bedroom just off the living room to your left.  Two idiots with misplaced keys under the same roof.

It feels as if the couch begins to mold around you, welcoming you into its springy cushions that otherwise wouldn’t be very comfortable but considering the night you had and the state you were in, you felt like you were on a cloud.  Your thoughts drift back to curious visions of Eddie.  What did his hair look like first thing in the morning?  Was it as wild as you imagined?  Curls sticking up every which way, frizzy and matted?  Or was it somehow still perfectly messy?  Boyishly messy.  

Did he take those chunky rings off every night, leaving them on his nightstand until the morning?  How many more tattoos did he have?  What movies did he watch?  What did he do for fun?  You suppose plucking at his guitars was a main contender with the way it would constantly invade your ears.  Obviously he read, your eyes catching that copy of Lord of the Rings on the coffee table again.  Maybe he worked on cars too, based on those car part catalogs.  

The image of him working under the hood of a car, all sweaty in some kind of tank top occupied your brain, his usually tense face hard at work with grease smeared along his cheek.  And his hands.  His hands would be coated in oil and he’d pull a rag out from his back pocket to wipe them off.  Then he’d smile and reveal those deep dimples framing his face so perfectly.  And then you would–

“Uh, Bambi?”

Eddie’s voice doesn’t do much other than cause you to stir in your sleep, snuggling a pillow while curling into yourself.  You were nearly drooling, completely content.  He couldn’t help but stare a little longer than necessary before realizing what a creep he was being.  Was he supposed to wake you?  If he was, he felt wrong doing so with how peaceful you looked.  He rolled his eyes but truthfully, he didn’t mind having a guest for the night.  

Maybe he’d be able to get some sleep for once.

–

Tossing around as the springs beneath you squeak, your mouth feels like it had previously been filled with sand.  Not an ounce of saliva coated your tongue, you were severely dehydrated.  You flung the knitted blanket that had rested on top of you off–when did that get there?  You don’t remember grabbing a blanket before drifting off into a deep slumber.  

This wasn’t even your house.

Collecting your thoughts, you recall that you had been sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch before apparently falling asleep.  It was still dark outside, signifying that it had to be early in the morning which meant you’d only slept for maybe two or so hours.  A lamp set atop a beat up side table in the corner was the only thing illuminating the room now.  Sitting up and stretching, your bones ached from the way they were piled on top of each other in the position you had been sleeping in.  Your right arm had pins and needles running up and down it from being cut off from circulation for so long.  

The groan that threatened to escape you was held in your throat as you scooted forward, only to find a full glass of water right there on the coffee table.  This was beyond embarrassing, this was humiliating.  If you could scurry out the door and across the yard back to your place you would, but you were in this predicament due to your own negligence.  

With no other options available to you, you gulp down the lukewarm water, just grateful that your tongue was no longer dryer than the Sahara desert.  But it still wasn’t enough.  Your thirst seemed unquenchable, at this rate you’d need approximately five more glasses.  So you stood yourself up, legs shaky and stomach a tiny bit queasy, and wobbled over to the kitchen.  You’d have to pace yourself to avoid throwing up a bunch of water since your stomach was so sensitive right now.  Food was out of the question but water was a necessity.  

Twisting the sink handle with a small screech of the metal, you fill the glass with a shaky and weak arm before sipping away.  

Slowly.  You remind yourself.

It must have taken around eight minutes to finish that second glass of water, coaching yourself through it the entire time.  You grew tired of drinking it but persisted anyway.  As you reach to fill a third glass, you’re startled by a figure in the doorway to Eddie’s room, unable to make out any features in the dim lighting.  With a yelp, you manage to drop the glass in the sink, it clanking around noisily but thankfully, not breaking.  

“Shit, why are you awake?”  Eddie asks, hands raised in surrender as he emerges from the shadows.

“Why are you awake?”  You counter.

He raises a brow, clearly wide awake.  He didn’t even have that gravelly, sleepy voice.  Maybe he hadn’t even gone to sleep at all.  There was no evidence that his hair was any frizzier than before and his face didn’t have that puffiness to it when you wake up.  It’s also possible that he just looked perfect when he woke up but if you’re being honest, no one really woke up perfect.  

“I, uh, I was reading.”  He admits, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh.”

An awkward silence trickles in, causing you to cross your arms as a means to close in on yourself, steadily backing up until you hit the counter behind you.  Eddie maintains eye contact with you as he retrieves his own cup from one of the cabinets, filling it up and chugging it down with ease.  You suddenly feel so out of place, like you were supposed to leave but there was nowhere else to go.  

“I, um, I’m sorry for…for the puke.  A-and for falling asleep.  I didn’t mean to intrude.”  You tell him honestly.

He only nods.  

“I can go…sit on my porch until you go into the bar.  And I’ll get my keys and be out of your hair.”  

A few drops of water roll down his chin as he continues drinking, the back of his hand coming up to swipe the liquid away.  He appears to be lost in thought, eyes concentrated on the counter in front of him where a few rogue Rice Krispies live.  You let your legs carry you a few feet away, your goal being the front door until he speaks up again.

“I’m not gonna be responsible if you get eaten out there.”  He grumbles.  

“Eaten?”

Eddie looks you up and down as if to say ‘are you serious?’.  To be completely honest, you hadn’t taken into account the wildlife that thrived throughout the area before you moved in.  Now you were looking more and more dumb by the minute.

“Bears?”  He offers an anxious head tilt.  “We have fucking bears here, Bambi.  You can’t just wander around in the middle of the night.”

“I wouldn’t be wandering.”  Why were you trying to make an argument?  Out of all the things you could fight him on, why were you choosing whether or not you’d get eaten by a bear?  “I would be sitting on my porch.”

You felt like the dumbest woman on the planet and you knew you should’ve stopped talking but the words just…came out.

“Bears can reach your fucking porch, you know that, right?”  

His large eyes bored into you in disbelief, his mouth slightly hung open as he awaited your answer.

“Y-yeah.”  You gulp.

“God.”  He scoffs, turning away from you, perplexed before muttering something under his breath that you happened to also catch.  “Christ, they shoulda turned you away.”

“Who?”  You pipe up, feeling a bit daring.

For a moment, he turns to stare at you blankly.  It’s almost as if you’re the only two people awake and if either of you happened to raise your voice in the slightest, it would awaken the town.

“The assholes that sold you that house.”  He just about whines, his voice an octave higher, frustration obvious in his tone.

The refrigerator light briefly appears over the blue and green tiled floor as Eddie opens it, reaching for something before turning around toward the stove and kicking the door shut.  

“What–what do you mean?  Turn me away?  What’s that supposed to mean?”  You ask in offense.

“I mean…”  He cracks an egg into a pan, followed by another.  “They shouldn’t have sold it to someone so clueless.”  Another egg.  

The shells are discarded in the sink, further cracking into smaller pieces at the impact he’d thrown them.  

“What?  Were they just supposed to reject me until someone more ‘qualified’ came along?”  You try to catch his gaze, ducking your head as he reaches for the salt and pepper.  “And–are you seriously making eggs right now?”  

You earn a scowl from him as his pan begins to sizzle, his hand quick to grab a spatula from one of the pots on the stove to flip the eggs.  This had to have been some weird dream or manifestation.  And there they were again, those three numbers falling from his lips in a whisper as his eyes shut temporarily while his eggs simmered.

“I was already qualified before you came along!”  He raises his voice, not quite to a yell but not very quiet either.

Silence. 

Your eyes must have bulged out of your head, Eddie’s features softening by the second.  Regret settled in his eyes, your face the vision of pure horror and all because of him.  

He got impatient.

His therapist would be disappointed in him.  And so would Wayne.

“I-I just…I was going to, um…”  He starts calmly.  “I was gonna buy it.  And, and I was—”  His breathing is now shallow, his eyes wet and pleading.  “It–it was–I don’t–”

“Eddie.”  You whisper, trying to break through whatever trance he was in.

He seemed stuck in his own head, eyes darting back and forth while he struggled to find words.  The eggs were on the verge of burning which prompted you to reach over him and turn the stove off.  The spatula he previously held clung against the tile.  

“I-I–um, I was–”  

It’s as if he isn’t even in the room, totally removed as the same few syllables fell from his tongue.

“I’m–I-I–”

“Eddie, it’s okay.”  You attempt to soothe him.  “Do you wanna sit down?”  You ask, trying to catch his eyes but failing as he squeezes them shut.

Again with the counting.

One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.

All under his shaky breath.

“I-I’m fine.  ‘M fine.”  His voice cracks, eyes opening timidly.

When you go to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, he flinches, a gasp leaving his lungs.  Forcing yourself a few steps backward in order to provide him the space he needs, you recognize a hint of fear within him.  It’s not of you, it’s something else yanking at his thoughts.  

“Sit down, let’s sit down, okay?”  You instruct, gradually lower yourself, waiting for him to follow your actions.

Nodding, he slowly slides his back down the side of the counter, falling into a position where his knees were to his chest, hands resting against the floor.  You join him, still keeping your distance but wanting him to know that despite the previous tension, you were being supportive through his episode.  Whatever it may be.

“Breathe.”  You tell him, just as he had done with you back at the bar.  “In…and out.”  You encourage him.

He follows, his breathing still labored but improving.  Continuing for a minute or so, his shoulders finally loosen up, his face relaxing.  You let him guide the situation from here, if he wanted to talk or remain mute.  Either was okay.

Moments pass, the hard kitchen floor causing you discomfort that you willingly take, not daring to shift around too much as to keep the tranquility finally falling over the two of you.  Instead, you take interest in the wood grain of the cabinets, eyes wandering around each curve like a maze, sometimes identifying shapes along the way.  A dog’s face, a ghost, and occasionally the haunting silhouette of a human.  

Sneaking a glance at Eddie, you find that his eyes are shut as he rests his head against the cabinet behind him, his hands fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie, tying little knots and then undoing them just to repeat the process.  Your watch indicates that it’s 4:03 AM.  You would usually be sleeping however you can’t really offer yourself much sympathy when it seems this is the norm for Eddie.  He always had tired eyes though you’d never put much thought into it until now.  He must not be sleeping.  Which could also be a contribution to his moodiness.  

“I’m gonna lose the bar.”  Eddie speaks up from beside you, eyes still shut as he continues to fidget.  

“Hm?”  You turn your full attention to him.

There’s a pause, a moment of thinking.  You can tell as he opens his eyes and side-eyes you, not with malice but more so to collect his thoughts.  Lips pinched in between his teeth roughly, you could almost wince at the way blood surfaces from the poor abused skin.  Not too obvious, but obvious enough as you await clarification, the tiniest bit of crimson seeping out from behind his teeth only to be left to dry out on his perfectly shaped lips.  Then he breaks the silence with a heavy exhale.

“I, uh, I’m pretty close to losing it.  Can barely pay the bills on the damn place.  Been going downhill for a few months now.”  He elaborates, spinning a ring around his finger repeatedly .  “I was gonna use the rest of my savings that my grandpa left me to buy that house.  Rent it out.  I talked to a friend who’s really good with all that financial shit and he said I could get a steady income and most likely keep the bar running and profiting again.”

“Oh.”  You whisper, a huge sensation of guilt overtaking you.

“Not your fault.”  He sighs.  “Guess I’ve been kinda taking it out on you.”

Now he avoids your gaze, far more interested in the cracked tile beneath him.  A curse can be made out from just under his breath while he buries his head in his hands, running them up and down his face, almost as if to relieve some of his stress but having no such luck.  His admission catches you off guard, not at all suspecting that this morning would turn into honesty hour.

“No.”  You reply quickly.  “I mean…yes.  But I-I didn’t know.  If I knew–”

“Don’t give yourself a stroke, Bambi.”  He cuts you off, turning to look at you.  “I’m not proud of how dick-ish I’ve been.  It’s nothing personal though.”  Eddie confesses, seemingly annoyed with himself.

Sincerity floods his eyes, a cry for help.  But how were you supposed to help him?  Before you can muster up some kind of response to his almost-apology, he continues.

“I-uh, I just can’t lose this bar.  I inherited it from my grandpa and he had been running it for…years.”  Behind his persistence, there’s hints of defeat.  A bitterness that you’d come to recognize in the last few weeks.  “And, uh, I didn’t know ‘im for very long but, I kinda feel like it’s my responsibility.”

“Didn’t know him for very long?”  You asked before even calculating the consequences.  You had no right to pry into his personal life.

His hands begin to move up and down his shins, a self-soothing gesture from what you can tell.  Eddie was very fidgety, and you’d only just started noticing.  

“Yeah.”  He whispers.  “I moved here like four years ago.  Some bad shit happened back home and I–”  There’s a moment of hesitation, a sudden panic lurking behind his gaze.  “I can’t go back.”

You want so badly to ask him where ‘home’ used to be but decide against it.  He had already willingly offered you more information than you would have originally been brave enough to ask for.

“Anyway, I never really knew my grandpa until I came here to live with him.  He died last year.  I’ve been trying to keep things afloat since then.”  He explains, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand.

“I’m so sorry.  I-I didn’t know.”

Genuine sympathy drips from your voice, the kind that felt like hot honey running down a sore throat during flu season.  During the moment it feels…good.  Comforting.  In the way that only his mother ever was in the brief time they had together.  And then the sting returns.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”  The walls are rapidly raised once again and god knows when you would get to peek through the cracks again.  “We should, uh, we should get to the bar so you can get your keys.  And your car.”  He suggests, pulling himself up from the floor with a groan.

“Wait–what about your eggs?”  You mention, gripping the edge of the counter for leverage as you stand.

The eggs were long forgotten about, now all sad and cold in the pan.  Unappetizing.  One of the yolks had somehow broken among the commotion of Eddie’s panic and left a disgusting coating around the gaps, that eggy-wet-dog smell nauseating you.  They were trash in all honesty but Eddie didn’t seem to mind, quickly lifting the pan and grabbing a fork to shovel them into his mouth.

You can’t fight the urge to stare, cold eggs and runny yolks being tossed into his mouth without a second thought.  

“What?”  He glances at you in irritation.

“You could’ve at least heated them up.”  You complain, nose crinkled in revolt.

He rolls his eyes but his annoyance quickly melts away, a fraction of a playful smirk pulling at his lips, eyes gleaming with something captivating.

–

The scent of tobacco and motor oil invades your nose, the smells of Eddie’s truck, much different than the little pine tree air freshener in the car he’d driven you in last night.  The engine rumbles down the road, startling the birds as he drives by.  Some kind of guitar riff blares through the radio, his ringed fingers tapping along against the steering wheel.  Instead of his sweatshirt and sweatpants, he now wears a long sleeve covered with his leather jacket along with some ripped up blue jeans.  As far as you’re concerned, he’s way underdressed for the brisk morning air, only getting colder and colder by the day.  Though, he may run hot and the drop in temperature just doesn’t faze him.  Even so, it’d make you feel better if he at least put on a heavier coat.

Regardless, you can’t seem to control the shivers that rattle your body, your teeth nearly chattering, jaw clenched tightly.  You were mentally scolding drunk-you for forgetting your jacket at the bar and though you were on your way there now, it didn’t do you any good with the way you were practically an ice cube.  It was apparent that the heater of Eddie’s truck wasn’t very efficient as the air coming out was slightly warm but not warm enough to relieve the cold nipping at the exposed skin of your arms.  You could see your breath, only further reminding you of how cold you truly were.

Attention was the last thing you wanted as you subtly moved your hands that rested politely in your lap, up your arms to offer the tiniest bit of skin-on-skin warmth.  Any kind of relief would do.  You only hoped he wouldn’t notice as you began to move your hands back and forth as a means to create some friction, more heat.

Buy a large, fuzzy, soft coat, ASAP.  You note to yourself.

As a distraction, you begin to identify objects within the truck, a solo game of ‘I spy’ if you will.  At your feet, there’s a small crate of cassette tapes.  An impressive collection, mainly metal and rock from what you can see.  Maybe a few folksy ones behind those based on the labels, John Denver being the one that stood out to you.  Then, another car parts catalog on top of the dash.  An empty can of Dr. Pepper in the cup holder.  Or what you assume to be empty.  A definitely empty cigarette carton abandoned in the other cup holder–

“Shit, here.”  Eddie says, reaching behind into the back seat only to magically pull out a denim jacket covered in several patches and pins.  

Evidently, you weren’t playing it as cool as you thought, clearly somehow exposing that you were in fact freezing.  He showed no emotion as he urged the jacket into your reach, eyes still focused on the road.  Your hesitation only had him pushing the denim into your hand, wordlessly cautioning you that he wouldn’t have your modesty or insistence that you were fine.  Clutching the rough fabric in your hand, you pause to stare at him, as if he was going to change his mind any second.  He doesn’t.  Only keeps his eyes forward, brows furrowed in that grumpy manner.

His nose is pink again and you were willing to bet that the tips of his ears matched if they hadn’t been hidden by his wild hair.  Even his cheeks were dusted with the lightest rosy shade.  Fall looked good on him.  You couldn’t even imagine how amazing Summer would look on him.  

Quickly, you undo your seatbelt and shrug the jacket on.  It’s cold from living in the truck all night but warms you up regardless, much cozier than your bare arms out in the open.  And it smells like Eddie, a smell you can’t quite pinpoint to one specific thing.  A little bit like cigarettes, maybe a hint of cologne, spicy but not overpowering, and a whiff of rubber.  It almost smelled like a garage.

The sun was just rising on the horizon, the lake coming into view perfectly as if to put on a show.  Hues of orange painted the sky, birds chirping and squawking as they announced the arrival of a new day.  An apricot dream accompanied by peachy tones.  

–

The Bourbon was a shell of itself at 5:00 AM.  The morning was bright and early though the bar wasn’t ready to awaken just yet, not until the evening when it thrived.  Until then, it slept peacefully throughout the day, forgotten about until Happy Hour.  Ribbons of light snuck in through the blinds, illuminating the smallest sections of the tables and the floorboards.  

The lights quickly took over that magical early morning feel as Eddie emerged next to you, hands tucked into his pockets while you scanned the room.  And there they were, your keys.  Sat right on top of the bar just as you had remembered.  Your jacket, however, was nowhere to be seen.  

Bummer.

You could’ve sworn you grabbed it from the back lockers before you declared war on Eddie last night.  It wasn’t there either, your locker devoid of your belongings other than a pad of paper and a pen.  

“Have you seen my jacket?”  You ask Eddie, checking the barstools just to be safe.  Nothing.

He had slipped right back into work mode, even at the crack of dawn.  You suppose it's fair though, the information he had shared with you in the quietest hours of the morning resonating in your mind.  Work never stopped for him.  

“Hm?  No, I haven’t seen it.”  He answers, collecting the dirty rags from their designated bin behind the bar to start them up in the wash.

With a soft pout, you trace your steps in your head but can’t seem to recall where you’d left it, your brain failing you.  Maybe it would eventually pop up again, it wasn’t anything special anyway.  It just happened to be one of the heaviest jackets you owned so you would have to remember to stop by one of the shops to search for something equivalent.  Beginning to pull your arm out of the sleeve of the jacket you currently wore, Eddie’s voice stops you.

“Just–keep it ‘til you find yours.”  He says.  Like he knew.  

Were you that obvious?  Girl moves to a random town miles and miles away from home only to be unprepared for the weather conditions in which you would think she would be aware of before committing.

“No, it’s–”

You immediately shut up when you see his expression, something that says ‘for the love of god, just listen’ with glaring eyes and furrowed brows.  Instead of fighting him on it, you offer your gratitude in the form of labor.

“Um, I could stick around…and help.  If you need.”  

Your words float in the air, so delicate it makes him want to vomit; not out of disgust but out of confusion for whatever feeling was swirling around in his head, making him dizzy.  Each word was too sweet, cavity inducing sweetness that he wanted to lick up like icing.  He wasn’t used to being presented with such regard, a candied offer delivered right from your pretty lips to his ears.

“If I still have a job.”  You add.  Sugary syllables pouring from your lips unintentionally.  He may have a heart attack from the amount of sugar.

Eddie collects himself, clears his throat as if to also clear his conscience, not succeeding.  You’re so unlike everything that he knows.  He knows of friendly conversation and boyish banter, endless nights followed by endless days without sleep, he knows of his shitty attitude that comes around more often than not, but he’s never been one to know pure kindness, a certain tenderness radiating from you and seeping into him.  Sure people are kind to him, especially here.  But you’re something else.

“Yeah.  Yeah, ‘course you have a job.”  He affirms.  

The small smile you grace him with makes him want to jump off of a bridge.  Because he is such a cruel being, such a monstrous man awaiting further punishment from the universe for being much less than gentle with such a sweet-tempered, sympathetic human that may even be a gift from god himself if Eddie believed in all that.  

And then Chrissy crossed his mind.  He could not endure another loss.  Chrissy was never even his but he used to mourn what could have been had she lived.  Perhaps she was his first love.  A miserable little middle schooler pining after Hawkin’s Sweetheart all the way up until highschool.  And the moment he got close enough, she was gone, right in front of his poor traumatized eyes.  It was enough for him to swear off love for good.

For some reason he was finding himself wanting to dial back on that promise.  He had only known you for around two weeks and was going back on his own word.  It was freaking him out, making him want to yank his hair out from the roots and collapse onto the floor.  He felt like a teenage boy again, going through puberty and trying to work out all of his jumbled feelings and hormones.

You were staring at him expectantly and it was only then that he realized he had been lost in thought.  A pool of thoughts actually.  Maybe even having a revelation?  

“You can uh…”  He clears his throat, nearly hacking up a lung.  “You haven’t…you haven’t eaten, have you?”  

Internally, he’s scolding himself.  

You’re gonna get hurt before you can even get close.  People are not meant to love you, Munson.  It’s been proven time and time again.  Quit while you’re ahead.

He was too far ahead anyway.  Would he ever learn his lesson?  

People are not meant to love you.

“No.”  You answer sheepishly.  “But I-I’m fine!”  You try to say convincingly.  The reality was that your stomach was swallowing itself, the fact that your dinner had been four tequila shots was not favoring you.  

“Bambi.”  Eddie says sternly.

God she’s gorgeous.

He was fucked.

“Okay…fine.  I haven’t eaten.”  You admit.  “But I can help out a little and then–”

“C’mon.”  He demands, abandoning the bin of dirty rags to head for the kitchen.  

And on the way, he reasons with himself as you follow.

Just be friendly.  There’s nothing wrong with being friendly.  We can be friends.  Stop scaring the shit out of yourself.  She wouldn’t even like you beyond that.  No one would.  

“So, what are you feelin’?”  He asks, knocking his knuckles against the metal worktop.

“Oh, I-I don’t know.  Whatever is easiest.  You know what, I can just go get something from one of the shops, I’m sure that little pancake place is open by now.”

“You don’t trust my cooking?”  He jokes, amusement written all over his face.

To be fair, he hadn’t given you much reason to trust him since you arrived.  But somehow, layers were starting to peel back and you were getting the tiniest glimpses of his true self.  And you’d be stupid not to indulge when he had practically propped the door to his mind right open.  At least for the time being.

“Should I?”  There’s a huge grin on your face, a stupid grin that you try to conceal but can’t.  “I dunno, you kind of have me wondering if you’re gonna spit in my food or something.”  You quip.

“Ouch.”  Eddie feigns hurt by bringing a hand to his chest.  “You think I’m that scummy?”  He asks, raising his brow playfully.

“Oh, the scummiest.”  You banter back.

“You’re breakin’ my heart Bambi.”  He frowns before disappearing into the walk-in freezer, discarding his leather jacket on a hook on his way.

Truth be told he was breaking yours too, with his handsome face and his dumb smile, deep dimples you could think about for hours, and those eyes.  They told a story, a tragic story that maybe he would never care to share.  And that’s what broke your heart.  Suffering in silence.  You knew that feeling all too well.

“By the way…”  Eddie shouts from the freezer before appearing once again.  “I’m Eddie.”  He sticks his hand out toward you, two eggs held in his free hand.  

You look up at him, bewildered.  

“I never asked for your name.”  He reminds you with a shit-eating grin.

The Eddie you met weeks ago was gone as far as you were concerned.  All within a few hours, he seemed to warm up to you.

The scary dog was rolling over…for you.

~end~

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things au #stranger things fic

[skzcollision]

churchboy!felix x afab!reader (7/7)

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genre: fluff, smut, teen angst

synopsis: certain expectations come with being a pastor’s daughter. in everyone’s eyes you are a properly behaved girl, albeit rather timid. according to your parents, you aren’t as devoted to the church as you should be. they entrust you to an old family friend’s son, deeming him to be a good influence. these circumstances bring you two closer together and stir up all kinds of emotions.

MINORS DNI

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Did I ruin you?”

Felix blinks down at you through his lashes, eyes still puffy from sleep. A long beat of silence ensues as he tries to comprehend what you just asked him.

“Ha?” He scrunches up his nose in a way you find comical.

You laugh, then shake your head, turning your face back down. “Nothing. Just– thinking out loud.”

Finally succumbing to the soreness behind your lids, you let them slide back shut.

Your rest is cut short when you feel the sheets rustling and the pillow shifting beneath your head. Felix is too intrigued now to go back to sleep.

“No, talk to me.” He raises himself on his elbow.

You open your eyes, but don’t necessarily meet his. They bounce around, tracing the lines of his cupid’s bow, then his jaw. You rack your brain for a reason as to why you had even asked that in the first place.

It seemed to have slipped out on its own accord, with your thoughts running a mile a minute as you watched your lover rise to consciousness that early morning.

Maybe that question has always been at the back of your mind.

“Like, if we hadn’t met… you’d probably still be going to church, still be living with your parents.” You lock your eyes onto his, lips pulling into a tiny smile. “You’d still be a virgin.”

Air shoots out of his nose and his shoulders shake with a chuckle. “Okay, well you know I was going to move here to the city anyway. School’s in like a week, so what difference does a few more make– and technically, we are both still virgins.” He squints his eyes. “Half virgins.”

“Mm,” you relax beneath his touch as his fingers find your hair. “You get what I’m saying though?”

He shakes his head slowly, his words coming out the same. “Not really.”

You sigh, pushing yourself to sit up against the headboard. “Well you don’t really see anyone else anymore– we’re pretty much spending every waking hour together. Have been for like the past few months. And now, every sleeping hour too I guess. I drag you out here to the city, stressing you out with my family problems–“

“Woah, woah…” Felix grasps your hands in his, moving to sit up. He lowers his head to meet your eyes. “What, you think you roped me into this or something?”

“Something like that,” you nod, breathing out unhurriedly. “I doubt this is how you wanted to spend your last few weeks before school starts again.”

“Listen,” he pulls you into his arms, gently prodding your head to lay against his chest.

“I’m here with you, because I want to be. It is not because I feel sorry, or obligated. I spend every moment with you only because I want to. Even when things are tough, even when you get all snappy and bratty with me, I’m still going to want to be here. You understand?”

He lifts your chin, the purest form of sincerity in his eyes when he says, “this is fully my choice.”

You hold his gaze and nod in understanding, almost mesmerized by his words and the look on his face.

A shaky sigh slips past your lips as you muster up a response. “You think I’m bratty?”

His chest reverberates with deep laughter, the sound rolling through your ear. “Yes,” he smiles down at you in admiration. “You are… many things.”

You narrow your eyes, eventually pulling your gaze away when you feel like his is too much to handle. “I don’t know if I should feel insulted or not.”

Truly, you’re more ashamed than anything. You’ve had such a short temper lately, and he has been more than patient with you.

He chuckles, planting a lingering kiss on your hairline. “Feel like going out today?”

A gentle breeze rolls over you, ruffling your hair as you walk alongside the salty sea. The sunset paints the pale blue sky with a pinkish orange hue, warm sand sifting around your bare feet with each step.

Wanting to make the most of the remaining days of your summer, you and Felix spend all day doing touristy things around the city—something you never got the chance of doing despite living nearby all your life.

You have only been here a handful of times and even then, rarely got to do any proper sightseeing. Your parents believed that such activities were a waste of time, and only brought you to the city whenever you needed some new clothes or if you had an important appointment.

A leisure stroll at the beach is just what you need after a long day in the bustling city.

The deep timbre of Felix’s voice breaks you out of your reverie.

“You know, I’ve been wanting to talk about things for a while now.”

You glance to your side where the golden light hits his profile, highlighting the freckles across his pink-dusted cheeks.

“I’m glad you shared that with me this morning,” he says with a smile.

Your eyes drop to the shimmering sand. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not that good at communicating.”

“I know,” he says. “But is it okay if we keep talking like this?”

You nod, but not without the hesitation showing on your face.

“So what else has been on your mind?”

“Felix… I didn’t mean now.”

“Come on, healing time.” He skips in front of you, holding your sides. “Please? I don’t want you to keep these feelings to yourself. I can feel it stressing you out.”

You draw out a long sigh and meet his eyes, gentle but pleading. “Can we go sit in your car then?”

The walk back is a relatively long and quiet one, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you spill everything that has been weighing on you lately.

A heavy silence settles upon you as you sit side by side, watching the sun kiss the horizon. He doesn’t speak, and only reaches over the console, threading his fingers through yours.

“I guess– I thought all of my problems would be solved if I just got away from my parents, but somehow things are… worse. I just feel more lost than ever, I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know who the hell I am.”

He nods profusely, thumb sliding over the back of your hand. “Yeah, I don’t think people get to know who they are ‘til they’re like in their 40’s, maybe even later. Maybe even never– I mean, that’s not to say you never will.” Felix offers a smile. “Do you think I know what I’m doing?”

To that, you only shrug.

“No one has their life figured out at this age– and even if you make plans, nothing is guaranteed... it’s better to just enjoy and cherish every moment while you still can. Life will work itself out.”

You both fall silent once again as you let his words sink in.

It feels as though a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, not all at once of course, but at the very least everything that needed to be said has been said.

You have been holding back due to fear—not of being judged by him, but burdening him with your worries. Although you’re beginning to realize that your relationship has taken a hit from your reticence, and you’re grateful for the gentle push Felix has given you to express your feelings.

His hand nudges against yours. “Did I make you feel better?”

Your face eases into a smile. “Yeah, those were some pretty wise words, Lix. I’m impressed.”

He then reaches over, a wide smile of relief on his face as both hands cup your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“For what,” you laugh at the unexpected proximity.

“For trusting me enough to tell me these things.”

You shake your head, lifting one hand to run your fingers through the strands of hair that stick to his temple.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you… I just don’t like dragging you down. I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“I don’t like seeing you sad either,” he says in between kisses to your wrist.

You lean over to bring your lips to his, a soft but urgent kiss. He envelops you in his arms and you melt further into him.

Felix pulls away for a brief moment. “Hey, don’t hide from me anymore, okay?” He murmurs, breath hot against your wet mouth. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” you assure him, gripping the back of his neck to connect your mouths again.

What started as an innocent kiss escalates into a whole ‘nother thing, quicker than any of you expected. Even with him pressed up against you like this, you somehow don’t feel close enough.

Much to your disappointment, he withdraws himself from you before things can advance any further.

You whine, burying your face in his neck. He laughs, breathing hard and stroking the back of your head.

“Let’s go home first.”

“No…” You protest. Your lips land on his skin, sucking lightly. “Need you now.”

There are no other cars around and his windows are tinted. No one would see you, unless they were intentionally peering inside.

He caves. You practically throw yourself into the back, Felix in tow.

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT

You move together in the cramped space, a feverish heat building between your bodies as you grope each other in the most unseemly places.

Your fingers trail up underneath his shirt, feeling the ridges of his stomach before pulling away to admire the exposed strip of skin.

A particular memory resurfaces at the sight.

The day your father had him baptized in a lake, both of you just shy of sixteen; the drenched white fabric of his shirt sticking to his body and revealing his shredded abs. That had been the time your infatuation for him began.

And now here it is in front of you again, in an entirely different context.

Felix emits a faint laugh at your gawking then quickly shoves his shirt over his head, cocking a brow at you as if to say better?

Smothering his chest with open-mouthed kisses, your hands slowly make their descent to the button of his pants.

More clothes come off, hands shaking and moving eagerly with excitement. You have already been intimate in more ways than one, yet this is the first time you are in front of each other baring it all—stark naked in the backseat of his car.

Still, you find him so beautiful, better than anything your mind could ever conjure up. With that dark look in his eyes as they roam desirously over your body, you know he feels the same way about you.

A chorus of moans rumble against your mouth as you deftly reach a hand between you to wrap your fingers around his leaking shaft.

He rests his head against the window, practically crumbling beneath your touch. You don’t take your eyes off each other this time when your mouth slides over his cock.

“Baby…” He gently pushes on your shoulders as your tongue drags along the underside. “Baby, please…” He speaks sluggishly, his tone hushed and raspy. “I’m not going to last.”

“Why,” you lift a brow, pulling your mouth away but not ceasing the movements of your hand. “Are you saving it?”

His eyes widen in fear that he had misread the situation. “I kind of assumed that we would– I mean, o- only if you want to,” he stammers.

“M’just teasing you.” You smile, wrapping your arms around him as you sit upright. “Of course I want to.” You pepper kisses along his jaw. “I’ve been wanting to do it for so long.”

To your surprise, he suddenly drops to the floor of his car, and with a light prod of his hand, you let your thighs fall open. He guides your legs over his shoulders, his mouth so close to where you want him.

Finally, his tongue laps over your clit—and you’re giggling without even realizing it, feeling giddy and almost drunk with delight.

“What?” He raises his head, smiling lightheartedly.

“Nothing, I just...” You caress his cheek, gazing upon him with affection. “Baby has always sounded so corny to me, but I like it when you call me that.”

“Mm,” he hums before lowering his mouth back onto your cunt. “Feel good, baby?” His dark eyes glitter with amusement as his face disappears between your thighs.

You can only moan in response, fingers flying to his blond locks, writhing desperately.

Eventually his fingers join his lips, slipping into you with ease. He goes down on you tenderly, the same way he would kiss you on the mouth. Less impatience than last time, and taking his sweet time working you up.

Soon enough, you unravel on his tongue, clutching a handful of his hair tightly in your fist. Felix groans low against your cunt, licking you up, rutting against the leather seat.

“Need you inside, please…”

A look of alarm flashes across his face as you drag him over you. You lay yourself down, adjusting as well as you can with the cup holder poking uncomfortably at your back.

“Shit, I just realized– I didn’t bring anything.”

“I’ll take a pill in the morning,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Felix…”

He can’t bring himself to refuse you now; your lashes wet with tears from your previous orgasm, lips pink and swollen from kissing as you wiggle beneath him, begging for him to take you.

A quiet growl rips from him as he ravishes your mouth with an impassioned kiss, his cock gliding across your slick cunt. You moan at the familiar sensation, brought back to the last time you were both tangled up like this—doing it in a place you weren’t supposed to, just like you are now.

Pain blooms when he finally enters you.

It’s a tight fit, you’re afraid he won’t be able to go much further.

“Mmph,” he groans into your mouth, arms shaking with effort. He separates from you momentarily, concern evident on his face. “Relax for me baby, can you do that?”

You nod, trying your hardest to loosen up for him. Anything he can do to alleviate the pain, he does. His hands don’t stop touching you, softly caressing every part of your body he can reach. His mouth is everywhere, scattering kisses along your face, your neck, your collarbones.

It takes a few moments, but with his gentle touch and words of praises, telling you how you’re doing so well for him, your pain ebbs away.

Felix’s movements are a little clunky at first, but he gradually finds his rhythm, responding to your cues, and going with whatever feels right.

You begin moving as one, your bodies molding to the shape of each other, driven to give and receive pleasure.

“You’re so warm…” He whispers in between a kiss to your forehead.

“Does it feel good?” You blink innocently up at him, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“You’re seriously asking me that?” He drops his head and laughs softly against your neck, bringing a sly smirk to your face.

It doesn’t take long for your orgasms to approach.

His body drapes over you, enveloping you with his affection and warmth. Hips rocking together, minds hazy from pleasure—until all you see, taste, and feel is each other.

Time seems to stand still in this moment, and god, you truly would love to be stuck here forever.

“I love you,” he sobs against your neck. “I love you so much.”

You repeat his words, and with your hands clasped next to your head, you finish together.

You have yet to figure out your place in this world; but right now, here with Felix, is where you have felt the most at home.

⭒

author's note: sorry it took me a while to get this out! i was struggling for a bit with writer’s block. thank u all so so so much for responding very kindly and interacting with my posts. it has been rly encouraging. idk if i’ll do another series in the near future but i definitely plan on writing more so if u want to be added to my permanent taglist just let me know!

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#lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz felix #skz smut #stray kids #skz fanfic #lee felix fluff #skz fluff

[suguwuus]

Could you write a connor x daughter of Athena. Where she has been at camp for a year, but they have known each other for about two weeks and he flirts a little too much in training and she thinks he is being mean. but in the end they make up.

★ nice

oh em gee my first req i feel like spongebob on his first day with his shiny lil spatula and squeaky shoes

p.s. so sorry this took so long i was so very sick when you sent it in and then exam week left me bruised and broken and so sleepy 😭

wc: 2.4k words

Who the Hades is this guy? Or more like, who the hell does this guy think he is?

You stared at the hunched-over figure wiping your bronze weapon down with a cloth, whistling as he went. It was too casual for someone like him to be doing something like that, especially with your weapon.

You recognized him as one of those Stoll brothers. They had been at camp for almost as long as you had, yet it seems that he's been popping up and about into your business these past few days. And he had been doing it a lot. Offering to carry your things, greeting you good morning and good night, even going so far as to try and make your bed for you. It was strange. Suspiciously strange. And you didn't trust him. From what you've heard and seen around camp, he was a prankster, an awfully resourceful two-faced troublemaker who could ruin your day with two paperclips and a cup of orange juice.

You thought he was no match for you, though. After all, you were equally crafty and clever as well, if not more than him. You thanked your mother, Athena, for both those skills and the grace to notice the signs this early on.

Gods, what was the purpose of all of this? You couldn't figure him out. You had some ideas, some guesses, but you couldn't pinpoint anything exactly. You needed direct contact with him; you needed to observe him up close so you could finally see his true intentions. Did he get bored and were you his new target? Was he doing this for a bet? Did you do something recently to catch his attention?

So, it was strange. Strange that you two have been skirting around each other for the past few years, not talking unless forced to and if you did, you only exchanged small talk. Why was he now all up in your business? Was he plotting something? You remembered when he put a tarantula in your half-sister Annabeth's bunk. You thought that was the last time you'd see those two boys.

"You look like you're plotting to kill him."

You jumped. Said Annabeth stood behind you, holding a plastic bag full of something you could only guess was your cabin's deposit of trash. Every other morning someone would do this to keep the cabin clean—and every morning Connor would greet you. Today, he added an offer to wipe your weapon down. You reluctantly agreed, vulnerable at 7 in the morning.

You knew you shouldn't be driven by rumors and gossip, shouldn't judge a book by its cover. But your overly paranoid self just refused to try and get to know the boy.

You pursed your lips and turned to Annabeth, sucking in a breath. "What's he like?" You asked.

"A little shit," Annabeth replied, and your heart sank. "But," she continued. "He's a reliable little shit. He's not evil or anything like that. He just has a talent for getting on people's nerves, him and Travis. It's a Hermes kid thing. Why?"

You glanced nervously to the side. "He's been doing the absolute most for me recently. Asking if I need help with anything, greeting me every time we see each other. We're not close. We're not even close to being close."

Annabeth took a few moments looking over at him as well, a small smile on her face. "Hmm. Well, I can't say anything for sure. But there's a very low chance he's doing this out of malice."

You cringed. "So..."

"Just wait and see where this goes," She advised, swinging the plastic bag. "If he hurts you, beat him up." Then she went away.

You scratched your head, starting to walk away from your cabin. That was...sort of helpful? No worries. You could handle this. It wasn't everyday you dealt with someone with the first name Connor and last name Stoll, but it wasn't everyday that you climbed the lava tower, either, no? And you survived that. So how hard could a boy be?

Quite hard, as it turned out to be.

You watched him stand up, stuffing the dirty cloth in his pocket. He then looked around the camp, walking in circles as if searching for someone. You knew he was looking for you, so when he turned in your direction you reluctantly waved a hand, but not enough to be obvious or easily noticed in the bustle of the camp.

When he spotted you, he jogged up to you like an excited dog, haphazardly swinging your weapon. He held it out with calloused hands. "Here!"

"Thanks. Erm, Connor." You added his name for good measure and took your weapon back. You inspected it quickly. No tampering, as far as you could see. It was clean, too. You looked back up at him and nodded. He had done a decent job. An honest, decent job?

"Did you just wake up?" He blurted out, sporting a smile that made you feel...what, self conscious? His words didn't help.

"No, I've been doing errands while waiting for you." You kept your answer plain and simple. "Why?" Without realizing it, you smoothed out your shirt.

He saw where your hands were going and chuckled, his eyes crinkling as if you just cracked a joke that amused him twice as much as the average pun did. "Don't worry, sunshine, you're not the ugliest thing I've seen in my life."

And the he walked away whistling, probably going off to tie someone's shoelaces together to trip them up. What the fuck? You thought, still processing what had just happened. What was that all about? Don't worry, sunshine?

You bet Apollo was laughing at you from Mount Olympus with the way the sunlight was shining right onto your face as Connor walked away, blinding you as you stood there in confusion.

You eyes searched the assortment of campers for Annabeth, some tiny bit of support you could anchor yourself to. She wasn't there. No striking grey eyes of hers among the orange shirts. You grit your teeth, accepting your defeat.

Well, not exactly your defeat. Not yet, at least. Hopefully not.

You gave Connor your best glare as he walked up to you in the middle of the arena. He swung his sword in his hand back and forth as if this was a game to him. Luckily for you, you also saw it as a game. A fun game to try and get to learn a thing or two about him. You wanted to observe him, close up? Here was your chance.

Sword practice. Sparring. Percy as the instructor overseeing the match. Perfect.

"Shake hands, guys," He said, standing between you and Connor. He then nodded at the boy. "No cheating, alright? No extra tricks."

"Yeah, yeah," He said, tapping his foot. You saw how he seemed almost giddy, but when he met your eyes, his smile melted and he cleared his throat.

You held a hand out. He shook it, not taking his eyes off you. He had a serious expression on, devoid of all humor or teases. "Nice shirt," he mumbled. And then he was off, stepping backwards until he was a reasonable distance away from you.

Shaking the confusion out of your head, you got into position, holding your weapon as you adjusted your stance.

Percy gave the signal and you two were off, celestial bronze clashing against one another. Your ears rung and you tried to not let the sun blind you.

Frustratingly enough, you couldn't observe much except for his physical traits (a light spray of freckles across his nose bridge, a nasty looking scar on his knee and a bruise on the other one, a hand with only one fingernail painted cherry red; unsurprisingly enough for a son of Hermes, he seemed to be ambidextrous) and that he was awfully talkative.

"I might have trouble focusing, but I'm multitasking right now, see? Your face is distracting, but I can handle it." "You're nice to look at when you're cornered like this, you know? Cute and mad, I should piss you off more!" "I really like your lack of enthusiasm all the time!"

Parry. Strike. Slash. Clang! The tip of his sword grazed your jaw and you swiped at his shins. Contrary to his blabber, you stayed silent except for grunts and the like, determined to finish him off.

Someone in the audience of campers yelled for Connor to focus. Instead he laughed. Soon you ended up with your weapons pressed against each other, screeching as the material of each grinded against one another. You were face to face with him now.

"You seem a little rusty, maybe you should consider practicing with me—"

That was your last straw. You pushed him back, so hard that you ended a few feet away from him, and charged, but at the last second swung to disarm him from his waiting sword instead of striking. With your momentum, you wrapped an arm around his neck, pushing his head upward, and stepped behind him, holding your weapon to his throat.

Victory.

"You know, I'd say something, but I don't think it's very audience friendly, I think it should be reserved for someplace without overbearing coordinators or nine year olds," He giggled.

You released him after Percy gave you the signal. Of course, you had to be somewhat polite. So you maneuvered his body so he was facing you, standing properly now. You took his clammy hand and shook it, looking him straight in the eye.

"Good duel," You said, nodding, chest still rising and falling from the intense practice match.

"Yeah, yeah, good duel," Connor replied, stumbling over his words. "Percy didn't...didn't have any comments for us, y-yeah, that's...that's good, right?"

You nodded again, and he let go of your hand, swallowing and glancing at the floor. He wet his lips, as if there was something he was itching to say, something stuck in his throat.

"You...you have nice eyes." He walked away with something you might have called a scurry.

Tilting your head in utter confusion, you heard a voice and felt a hand tap your shoulder. You turned around to see a little girl of about 12 years old. Strands of her dark hair stuck to her chubby cheeks from sweat. "Return the compliment. That's pamahiin, you know." She shot a cautious glance at Connor's turned back.

"It's what?"

"Superstition where someone curses you in the form of a compliment. He's been saying all kinds of things since the start of your match!"

"That doesn't sound like a Greek superstition to me. Where'd you hear that?" The girl left before you could finish. You shook your head. Silly kids.

You decided you had some business to attend to, so you jogged after Connor, following him down the path to the archery range.

"Hey," you called. "Connor!"

He slowly turned around, looking anxious. "...Yes?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You're being strange. You kept talking during sword practice—you never do it that much, and you keep offering to do things for me. Are you following me around? Why did you compliment my shirt out of the blue right before we started?"

His brain seemed to load. And then he smiled. "You watch me during sword practice?"

"Sometimes, when there's nothing else to watch. The point is, you're acting off!"

He cleared his throat. "Well, erm, you know, I've just been seeing you around and I wanted to get to know you more. Wait, I complimented your shirt? We're all wearing the same ones."

You stepped closer. "No, are you up to something? Trying to get under my skin? Everything you say is somewhat backhanded and it feels like you're planning to get me in trouble, or both of us in trouble. If you don't like me, just say it straight to my face." You clenched your fists as you finished.

His expression morphed and looked horrified. "Oh, my Gods. No, I'm sorry."

You stared hard, waiting for him to explain himself.

"Shit, Y/N. That, uh...that wasn't...oh man, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I mean, I am mouthy all the time, but I didn't want you to think of it like that! I do, I'm complimenting you, I guess we just don't match up in terms of what's a 'nice' gesture or not.

"I'll say it straight, then. I'm being nice to you, trying to say nice things. Because I think you're nice."

You raised a brow. "...Nice?"

"Yes, nice. And I really liked practicing with you. And greeting you in the morning and at night. And you. I like being nice to you even if you don't understand my little pickup lines sometimes."

"So you weren't trying to be mean?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Ah...okay. I see. That's...fair. I guess I was just paranoid." You slowly nodded, understanding his defense. You could see him nervously putting his thumbs through his belt loops.

"Mhm." He looked to the side. "Oh, and by the way, maybe the thing I said this morning was confusing, you're not ugly at all, I think you—everything about you, is very, pleasing to the eye."

You chuckled. "—Is nice."

He let out a relieved laugh at how you had caught on. "Yes, exactly that. Oh," He perked up, looking behind your shoulder. When you followed his gaze you saw some campers walking towards him, and they did not look very happy. He put his sword back into his scabbard and tied his shoelaces, which had come undone.

So he was a prankster. Obviously. But he wasn't as bad as you thought. Not mean, just a little mischievous at times. You definitely were just paranoid. It's not everyday you got that many compliments. Puzzling ones that needed comprehension, yet still compliments. And he was easy to talk to. Not mean at all. Come to think of it, you hadn't fallen victim to his or Travis's pranks lately, not in a long while—

"That's my cue," he reached over and awkwardly patted your shoulder, averting your gaze. Despite that, he was smiling ear-to-ear. "See you sometime, okay? Bye!"

"Bye...!" And he dashed away, leaving you beaming in amusement. Wait, pickup lines? Those were pickup lines to him?

Nice? Nice as in flirting?

#— suguwuu's posts #connor stoll #connor stoll x reader #pjo #pjo oneshots #pjo x reader #OCHO MENTION 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 (no one here knows who she is) #merry christmas sorry this was saur late omfg #connor kissed me under the mistletoe stay safe yall xx #me when im delusional #guys im going delirious actually #charlie bushnell is so fine but i feel like im cheating on connor #girl that is NAWT your man that's his antagonist older half brother

[megalony]

Daddy’s Girl

This is a Prince Eric imagine requested by @el--i​ I hope you like it honey, feedback and other requests are much appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts​ @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps

Masterlist

Summary: When their daughter is sick, (Y/n) and Eric take care of her during the night.

Enjoy.

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

Rubbing her eyes, (Y/n) slowly trudged across the room towards the bed that was calling her name. Her legs felt like jelly and her head was swimming so deep that the room was spinning on its axis around her. She didn't know what time it was, it had to be some time past midnight but before four because the moon was still bright in the blackened sky.

This was the third time tonight that Luna had woken up crying and although she had originally been whimpering out for Eric, he had been asleep and (Y/n) didn't want to wake him. He had settled her to bed and been back to calm her down at midnight, it wouldn't be fair for (Y/n) to wake him and make him calm their daughter down, again.

The moment her hands reached out for the bed, (Y/n)'s eyes fell closed and she crawled into bed, feeling half asleep already.

Her head hit the pillow and a soft smile tugged at her lips when an arm hooked around her waist and a hard chest nuzzled up against her back.

"How is she?" Eric's voice was laced with sleep and showed he was barely awake, the same as (Y/n). He tucked his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder, pressing his lips to her skin.

"She was sick again but she's gone back to sleep now."

"If she wakes again I'll go stay with her."

The last time Luna was sick during the night, (Y/n) had woken up alone and gone to find Eric crammed into Luna's small bed, his legs dangling off the end and their daughter sprawled out on his chest, fast asleep. (Y/n) knew if Eric had gotten up earlier to go see to her, she would find him in the morning laid in her room with her. Luna had the amazing ability to wrap Eric around her little finger, any time she cried, she wanted Eric. When she fell, he picked her up, when she woke up he would sing her back to sleep.

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

Nuzzling her face into the pillow, (Y/n) let a groan tumble past her lips as she started to wake up. It was too much effort to try and open her eyes so she strained her ears to work out why she was awake. She could hear Eric's soft breathing above her and she could feel his chin resting on top of her head. Somehow during her sleep, she had shuffled further down the bed, dragging the pillow along with her.

Eric's arm had stayed secured around her waist and his chest was glued to her back like they were merging into one.

The room was still dark, (Y/n) squinted and tried to open her eyes and the moonlight was beginning to fade, but the world outside wasn't waking up yet. The sun was still hidden beyond the horizon and the moon's fading light was glistening into their bedroom.

(Y/n) let her eyes fall closed again and shuffled a little further back until every inch of her was pressed into Eric and she could feel him hum in content in his sleep.

"Daddy..."

(Y/n)'s eyes began to flutter and her head started to spin again as she tried to wake herself up but it was hard when every inch of her was desperate to stay asleep, curled up into her husband. But if she didn't want up now, then Eric would have to wake up. One of them had to move.

A yawn escaped her lips and she moved her head around on the pillow, slowly opening her eyes to try and see where her little girl was. Her voice sounded distant and quiet, maybe she was in the doorway. Luna's room was adjoined onto their room so if ever anything was wrong or she got scared or had a nightmare, she was never far away from them.

From the very moment Luna was born, neither (Y/n) nor Eric would stand for any servants or nurses looking after her. She was their daughter and therfore if she woke during the night, was ill or needed medicine or needed anything at all, she would come to them.

"Sweetheart," (Y/n) could feel herself falling back to sleep even as she spoke but she tried to fight off the feeling.

Her eyes scanned across the foot of the bed towards the door before she looked around the room and her eyes tried to focus on the small figure standing right in front of her at the side of the bed.

"Help."

Eric's eyes shot open and his body jolted against the bed when (Y/n)'s scream rocketed through his ears and sent shockwaves through his body.

He jerked forward, pushing his chest onto (Y/n)'s back while simultaneously pulling her back into him and coiling around her like a human shield. His legs were tangled with hers and he couldn't seem to move properly or quick enough but he didn't know what was going on.

His chest was heaving and his head snapped to look around the room and find the intruder. There was a bat tucked under Eric's side of the bed which his mind was intently trying to focus on in case he had to take a dive to grab it and defend them.

He scanned the room but when he looked straight ahead of him, his brows furrowed and his chest tightened until he could scarcely breathe.

Moving his arm that was wrapped around (Y/n)'s waist, Eric fumbled about on the nightstand until he managed to curl his fingers around the lamp and turn it on, illuminating the hazy blue and black room with a golden aura. Tears welled behind his eyes and every muscle in his body tensed until it felt like he was going to snap in two when his eyes set on his baby girl.

"Oh God!"

Luna was stood at the side of their bed, tears falling from her eyes that were a mixture of tired and scared, but it was her face that sent her parents reeling. Blood was everywhere. Blood was painted over her nose, mouth and chin and smeared onto her cheeks from where she had tried to wipe it away. It was all down her neck and splattered on her nightdress like she had tucked into a bowl of strawberries before bed.

Eric practically jumped off the bed and scrambled onto unsteady legs in front of his four-year-old. His hands cupped her bloodied face and tilted her head from side to side to try and see where she was hurt.

"Baby, what happened, were you sick? Did someone... talk to me baby girl."

His eyes briefly scanned the room as if to make sure there was no one lurking in the doorway or hanging around a corner ready to pounce and attack them but the room was empty and safe. He looked back at Luna and tilted her head up before gently opening her mouth to see if she had thrown up all this blood because if she did he would have to hurry and send for the doctor immediately.

"Daddy, my nose... I'm sorry." Luna gently touched her button nose that resembled her mother before she held her hands out towards her dad who looked down to see them covered in blood.

She had never had a nosebleed before. She woke up thinking she was going to be sick but when she looked down, her nose had unleashed a river of blood that splattered down her face, onto her clothes and her bed and she didn't know what to do or how to stop it. Just as Luna reached her parent's room, the bleeding stopped but she was still covered in blood.

"Shh, it's okay baby. Let's get you cleaned up."

Eric gently scooped her up in his arms and sat her on his hip as he stood up to his full height. His erratic heart was starting to calm down now he knew no one had come in and attacked his little girl and he wouldn't have to call the doctor since it was a nosebleed. The thought of Luna coughing up blood sent Eric's mind reeling, he couldn't be dealing with that sort of panic because he knew the kind of illnesses that would cause that and it could have been fatal.

Leaning over the bed, Eric pressed his free hand to the back of (Y/n)'s head and kissed her temple, feeling her hands hold his sides for a few moments.

The sight of their daughter stood at the side of the bed drenched in blood had almost made (Y/n) faint. She couldn't help but scream when it looked like Luna had been attacked or was dying, asking for help in such a feeble, terrified voice like that. She wasn't going to get that image out of her head.

Luna tucked her face into Eric's neck and coiled her arms around his neck as he headed into her room and turned the light on. The sharp intake of breath vibrated through to Luna and she whimpered into his skin, fearing she was going to get told off at the sight of her room.

The pale lilac covers were splattered with crimson and had a large patch drying in the middle. Half of the pillow was soiled with blood that no doubt had seeped into the pillow itself and the bed sheet was dotted with smears of blood matching the little droplets on the carpet and the bedside table.

"Okay," Eric rubbed his temple at the sight of all the mess from one little nosebleed. It was going to take a lot of cleaning. "You can sleep with me and mummy tonight and we'll sort this in the morning."

There was no way Eric was cleaning this up now, not when Luna needed comfort and they all needed sleep. It could wait until morning when Eric found one of the maids and could politely ask for her help getting rid of the stains. The pillow and sheets would have to be binned which wouldn't be a problem.

Grabbing fresh clothes from the chest of drawers, Eric turned off the light and left the room, passing through his room again to reach the adjoining bathroom. He flicked on the light before he gently sat Luna down on the side of the sink.

"Let's clean you up baby."

Once the sink was filled with warm water, Eric threw her bloodied gown in a corner and stripped himself of his shirt when he looked down and saw it too was covered in blood.

The sink looked like a crime scene when Eric was finally finished cleaning the blood off them both. And when he looked at his little girl sitting on the side of the sink, his heart swelled and cracked at the same time. She was rubbing her eyes trying her best to stay awake but she was wobbling and flagging, in desperate need of sleep.

Eric picked her up once again and headed back into the bedroom and his eyes softened when he looked over at (Y/n). She was laid back down and her eyes were almost closed, she was on the verge of sleep but when she saw them both, she smiled.

He was seconds from climbing into bed and snuggling with his girls when Luna whimpered in his arms.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"I feel sick."

Eric reasoned with himself that he wasn't tired anymore, anyway. Luna had given him such a fright that he was now wide awake with the image of her covered in blood engraved onto his mind. So he turned off the bedside lamp so the room was back to a hazy dark blue colour with the moonlight streaking in through the curtains.

He shuffled Luna down in his arms until she was curled up on his bare chest and stomach, her legs coiled up to her stomach and her head on his collarbone so his chin could perch on top of her head.

He walked towards the window and began to pace up and down near the balcony doors. His feet were slow shuffling along the carpet and he rocked his arms up and down so Luna was swaying up and down on his chest just like he used to do when she was little. When Luna was a baby and wouldn't settle, Eric and (Y/n) would take it in turns to settle her and Eric found rocking her and pacing up and down worked a treat in getting her to sleep. It was a habit she hadn't grown out of.

"Can you sing, daddy?"

"Sure, close your eyes then."

(Y/n) tiredly opened her eyes that adjusted quickly to the darkness around her. She could feel the bed was empty but it didn't take long for her to find Eric or realise why she was now awake. She snuggled back into the covers and tried to stay quiet and pretend she was still asleep so she could keep watching the endearing sight before her.

"...Time may change the shoreline, but time will not change me."

She watched Eric pad barefoot across the carpet in small lines in front of the balcony, but it was his voice that captured her attention the most. He was singing her favourite song in such a quiet, deep tone which sent shivers up and down (Y/n)'s spine.

He had Luna in his arms who was fast asleep, curled up into his chest like she was a little baby curling back into the fetal position. Clearly Eric wasn't ready to go to sleep just yet, he was too content singing to his daughter and holding her while she slept to go back to bed.

"In these wild, uncharted waters, come find me."

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

Opening her eyes, (Y/n) adjusted to the brightness seeping into the room and glanced around before a soft smile formed on her lips. She was laid on her side, facing the two most important people in her life.

Eric was sprawled out on his back, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed and his curls were hanging all around his head. Luna was laid out on his chest, her head buried in the crook of his neck and his arm looped safely around her back. Even in his sleep, he was holding her secure against him, trying to keep her safe and sound in his arms.

Luna's hand was clasped in (Y/n)'s while they slept.

Singing had done the trick to send her off to sleep for the rest of the night and she clearly hadn't been sick or had another tremendous nosebleed since.

Shuffling closer, (Y/n) leaned her head on Eric's shoulder and let go of Luna's hand so she could loop her arm over Luna's back and on top of Eric's arm so they were all entwined together.

A hum passed through Eric's lips and his hand moved to squeeze (Y/n)'s arm before he rubbed at his eyes to wake himself up. He was tired, he was beyond tired but he didn't want to sleep anymore. His chest was aching from having Luna sprawled out on top of him like this, it made it a lot harder to breathe deeply when she was pushing down on him but it didn't really matter. His little girl was comfy and finally asleep, Eric would stay crushed and out of breath forever if it gave Luna some comfort.

Keeping hold of Luna's back and the back of her head, Eric shuffled until he was sitting up in bed, leaning back against the headboard. When (Y/n) moved to tuck under his arm into his side, he kissed her and pulled her closer.

"My girls."

#prince eric #prince eric imagine #prince eric x reader #imagine #eric x reader #the little mermaid #the little mermaid imagine #the litte mermaid live action

[kookblurx]

1920 - jjk [ chpt 6. ]

→ SUMMARY: a photo of a beautiful smiling boy; an old tree in your grandparents garden ... and a feeling of sadness. all those things are connected to each other ...

→ GENRE: time travel au; changing fate au; rencarnation au; university au; death; sickness; historical setting; trigger topics; smut; dirty talk; switching between present and the past.

→ chapt. 5 / chapt. 7

→ RATING: 18+

→ NOTE: HUGE DISCLAIMER, this story plays in a fantasy setting. the world YN lives in doesnt exist, neither jungkooks. so please dont mention anything just because its not historically correct. this is piece of art. so yes, jungkook wears armor like a knight and no there are no guns in his time period. thanks.

JUNGKOOK MASTERLIST ♡.°₊ˎ PLAYLIST FOR THIS CHAPTER

The Present

a grunt escaped your lips as the sun peeked through the half open yellow curtains. squinting one of your eyes, sun only became more brightly with each second. a bit clumsy you tried to reach the digital clock on the top of your nightstand. while doing so your phone got knocked on the ground, for the time being this wasnt something which bothered you. another grunt left your lips as the clock showed 8am in the morning, it was still too early to be awake. the events from last night werent present in your mind as you climbed up onto your bed. surrounded by your fluffy blanket, you cuddled deeper into the mattress. as soon as your eyes finally gave in to your tired body something shifted beside you. you didnt even had the time to turn your body around as someone grabbed your right wrist. with a strong pull, your body was turned onto your bed. automatically your eyes widened as you looked into the face of a young man who was hovering over your body. still sleepy you couldnt tell who this man was and how he got into your room.

"its really bold of you to sneak into the bed of a man like this"

his voice was husky as the corner of his lips curled up into a small smile. you heard that voice before, that soft voice. the back of your neck grew hotter as your eyes try to make sense out of this situation. slowly they travelled down on the man's body, as they reached his abdomen and you finally saw the bandages, everything clicked. last night came back into your mind as you looked back into his face. there it was, the cut on his cheek.

"I-I didnt mean to ... wait this is actually my-!"

jungkook still had his smirk on his face as he moved closer to you. one of his hands cupped your cheek before he rubbed with his thumb over your ear a bit. right now you could die out of embarrassement. the back of your neck grew hotter with each inch he came closer to you. by now you were even able to feel his breath on your skin.

"Ugh ..." escaped from your lips as your whole body twitched.

no guy ever touched you like this, at least not on your ears. while you were wiggling underneath him, jungkook clearly enjoyed the few. his thumb travelled down from your ear to your neck.

"You are really cute ... i should thank you properly for saving me yesterday" so he knew who you were, he wasnt playing around.

you were to embarrassed to even move or pushing him away. with every inch he moved closer your whole face heated up more. you surely must look like a tomato right now. before his lips could touch yours the phone on the ground suddenly started ringing. that was the moment when you regained your senses back. with a strong push you managed to get rid of jungkooks body as he fell to your right side onto the bed. but before you were able to grab your phone from the ground, Kook grabbed your wrist again. this time he pushed you behind his back as he had one of your scissors in his hand.

"Stay back Y/N! Whatever this thing is .. i wont let it harm you!" you couldnt see his face but he sounded serious.

of course he would be worried .. jungkook never saw a smartphone before, let alone ever heard of one. with a soft chuckle you placed your hand onto his wrist before you slowly remove the scissors.

"dont worry, it wont harm me ... or you. See?" as you moved over to the edge of the bed you took the phone into your hands.

jungkook widened his eyes as you were pressing something. as you finally held it to your ear he came closer. of course on the other line was none other than jimin:

"hey jimin, what is it?" "hey ... i just wanted to check if .. last night was a dream or if hes still with you?" "well, i wish it would had been a dream but he's here and healthy as it seems ..." ".... can i come over?" "sure. you will be more of a help than i am ... you know more about his family and stuff. might be helpful" "got it. see you later"

after you hung up jungkook still looked at you like you were some kind of alien. unfortunately you didnt had the time to explain to him what that phone was. it was probably better for him if you were planning to send him back. who knows what such knowledge would cause in the past.

putting the phone away on the nightstand you finally was faced with a bigger challenge: how on earth should you hide him from your grandparents.

"is ... everything okay?" jungkook sounded worried as he moved closer to you, to the edge of the bed.

it was really suprising how he wasnt confused about this new place. suddenly you remembered that he lived here, in this same mansion. maybe this place wasnt too strange to him.

"let me ask you something ... do you know where we are?" your head turned into his direction.

"... hm ... i would say we are in my mansion ... i looked out the window earlier and saw the tree but ... " for a moment his eyes looked around your room "i guess ... im not really home?"

it nearly broke your heard because of his last sentence. thats right, he was home but at the same time he wasnt. with a sigh you stood up from your bed and walked over to the closet. luckily your grandpa stored some of his "old clothes" in your closet, so you wouldnt need to steal from him. hopeful that they would fit Jungkook you chose a pair of jeans and a basic black Tshirt. of course he was wary of the pants and the shirt. jungkook was a knight and only wore linen clothes. with your help he managed to change his clothes without opening his wound again. even helping him to get dressed was embarrassing because of the stuff that happened earlier.

you couldnt ignore how well build his body was and how his biceps flexed while putting on the shirt. but that wasnt enough. the pants fitted just fine, the shirt on the other hand was too small and flattered his tiny waist too well. gulping you rushed over to the door, making sure that your grandparents werent near. in the meantime you scolded yourself for acting like a damn teenager in front of a grown ass man. yes, he was good looking but that wasnt a reason to crush on him like this.

"w-wait here for a moment okay?"

after jungkook nodded you slipped out of your room and down the stairs. the foyer was empty so you made your way into the kitchen. no one there, good. after checking the big garage you finally came to the conclusion that your grandparents must be away at the moment. with fast steps you ran back into your room, ordering jungkook to follow you down into the library. even if they would came back, that was your space. while you were here they would never disturb you by walking in.

Inside the Library:

"woah ... this is huge! ... but wait, normally it shouldnt have this much of books" jungkook walked around the various shelves as he raised an eyebrow. "can you ... maybe tell me what is going on here?"

you this question would come up sooner or later but you would have preferred it when Jimin was here. with another sigh you sat onto the ground were some of the papers were still scattered around you. slowly you picked one of them up. it showed his photo, all smiling. it was this damn photo which ruined everything. you just wanted to jump to the moment were this photo was taken. instead you ended up on a battlefield. curious jungkook sat down beside you and snatched the paper out of your hand.

"hey! wait!" you wanted to get it back but to no avail.

jungkook's face grew serious as he studied the paper "... those are ... informations about me. where do you got all these?"

"thats ... okay listen. this might be crazy but i brought you here .. this isnt 1920 ... you are in my timeline and ...here you are already ..-"

"dead."

the word sounded so bitter that it gave you a sting inside of your heart. at the same time you prayed that this revelation wouldnt change something drastically in his timeline. before you could reach out your hand, something got thrown against the balcony window. this must be jimin. leaving jungkook with the papers you ran over to the window to open it. outside you helped Jimin climb up again but as he managed to stand on solid ground again, he didnt walk inside. instead he grabbed your arm, looking at jungkook who was still reading through the various papers

"its really him huh? fuck ... i dont know how you managed that but i think we are in big trouble ..."

"you dont need to tell me that ... im already trying to find a way to bring him back as soon as possible .. but for now its good you are here" slowly you pushed jimin inside before closing the doors.

"huh? why? you mentioned something similiar over the phone earlier"

"its ... Park Jimin is you ancestor and he was Jungkook's best friend. you two look really alike and share the same name ..."

"ah i see .. you want to give him some comfort huh?"

you nodded as you watched how jimin walked over to the confused looking jungkook. as he tapped him on the shoulder a jolt went through jungkook's body. to your suprise he immediately hugged Jimin. expecting that jimin would refuse that hug you were more suprised as he hugged kook back. the scene in front of you was really sweet but at the same time your mind drifted back to earlier as kook ran his fingers down your neck. your cheeks began to burn again as you shaked your head. this wasnt the time to think about such things.

the moment you sat back down next to the guys, jimin already explained to jungkook that he isnt really the jimin he was looking for. somehow jungkook seemed to understand this much.

"so ... that must mean jimin found a nice girl and had a family with her huh?" a smile spread across jungkook's face

"uh yeah you could say that" jimin on the other hand rubbed over his neck, slightly nervous.

"what about me? are there any ...great grandkids or something from me? do i find a wife for myself!"

jungkook seemed so excited as he looked at the both of you. at the same time jimin and you could only look at each other. the fact that jungkook's family tree ended with him, made your heart feel heavy. you didnt want to tell him the truth. that he needed to die without every finding love.

"jungkook listen you-"

as jimin started to speak he suddenly froze mid sentence. confused you waved with one hand in front of his face but there was no reaction at all. this could only mean one thing. the fairy was back. suprisingly jungkook wasnt frozen and looked as confused as you.

a book got knocked from the shelve as the fairy revealed herself. her blonde hair was messy and strands of it fell into her face. quickly you stood up just to take her into your hands

"oh god what happened ... you look horrible"

"we ... we have a big problem ... HUGE PROBLEM .... " the fairy was completely out of breath.

jungkook also finally stood up from his place and walked closer to the two of you "what happened?" compared to your shaky voice, his was more serious.

slowly the fairy finally lifted her face "we are doomed .."

"what do you mean! talk to me finally!" carefully you shaked the fairy in your hands a bit

"its .. its jimin"

Taglist:

@junecat18 @hellbornsworld @stupendouscookiehumanmug

#bts #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts fake scenarios #bts fanfiction #jungkook #bts reaction #bts reactions #bts hard hours #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #kpop imagine #kpop imagines #kpop fanfiction #bts edits #bts x reader #bts jungkook #jimin #jimin x reader

[bean-doge]

"The red of setting sun", Akira x Shoutarou SS

“I feel like time has stopped. Like I’ll always be here with you, never ageing.”

“......”

“So I don’t mind if this sunset continues forever.”

“I wouldn’t mind it either. It’d be nice if the time has really stopped.”

Railway crossings with the lowered gates, the backs of tired people, the persimmon trees in someone’s garden were all passing by the train window, basking in the orange light.

I was looking at it standing by the door. Autumn was slowly taking its toll; it made me feel strangely relieved, and I let out a quiet sigh.

    

Akira-kun was standing right next to the Soshigaya station ticket gate.

His hair was even more ruffled than usual, and he was wearing round glasses, which didn’t suit him at all.

According to his words, all influential mangakas had glasses, so he felt more motivated when wearing them.

This all meant that he had a deadline coming.

Of course, these glasses were fake and didn’t have lenses in them.

He pulled his hands out of the haramaki and opened them towards me.

“Welcome back, Shou-chan~!”

…But why did he sound like he was on the verge of tears?

When I slowly approached him, he hugged me tightly and started patting my head and shoulders.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I came to pick you up!”

“Aren’t you busy drawing your manga?”

“I was so worried about you, I couldn’t do anything else…”

“You’re too anxious. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Nothing to be scared about.”

“That’s good to hear.”

But even when Akira-kun finished checking if I was okay, he still looked upset.

If I smile at him, he'll smile back.

With a forced and bitter smile, as radiant as the setting sun.

“Let’s go home together.”

We walked at a distance too small for friends, too big for lovers, but just enough for a family.

     

Actually, the world has been coloured by the sunset for two days already.

For some reason, the night hadn’t come after the evening yesterday, and, of course, without the night, the morning didn’t come either.

The hands of the clocks struck 12 or 7, but the landscape remained just as it was at sunset.

     

When I say ‘world’, I mean just the small place where I live. But for everyone else, it only happened in the Setagaya district.

“Can we stop by the greengrocer shop?”

“Sure. What d’you wanna buy?”

“I thought that yesterday’s curry would taste better with eggplants.”

“Shou-chan, you’re a genius.”

I didn’t understand why the sun wasn’t setting or why we were led to think so.

Strange events like this happened quite often and usually resolved by themselves without any explanation.

And that’s why people on the streets seemed to continue living by the clock with the usual expressions on their faces.

It was half past seven.

Hearing the trumpet of the ramen shop made me feel strange.

As if I were dozing off, and everything surrounding me has been a dream.

“I heard that nights when the sun doesn’t set are called white nights. Seems like they happen often near the South Pole.”

We bought a big autumn eggplant and were heading home when I started telling Akira-kun what I learnt today.

“They said so on the radio in the cafeteria where I went for lunch.”

“Nah, no way we’re gettin’ those in Tokyo.”

He hunched over more than usual, his chin dropped, and walked a bit uncomfortably.

He was the only one in the town who seemed to be nervous.

“It’s too creepy that the sun’s not goin’ down…”

“If you leave Setagaya and go to Shinjuku or Machida, the sky will go back to normal. And when you return to Setagaya, it’ll be sunset again.”

“It makes no sense, really~...”

“What if we’re seeing a rare natural occurrence now?”

“No way it’s natural…”

Not holding any worries like Akira-kun, I blinked slowly, looking at the strange sunset.

He became even more anxious, seeing how low my sense of danger was.

“Well, at least it’s not that troublesome that the night doesn’t come. You can just wrap yourself in the futon when sleeping, and the sun won’t bother you. And it feels good to wake up when it’s bright outside.”

“You’re too quick to adapt…”

“Do you really hate it that much?”

“‘Course I do… Night’s good because it’s night; mornin’s good because it’s mornin’.”

“And what’s good about the night?”

“At this season, the bell crickets are creaking. And the moon looks pretty. Yesterday, we couldn’t see it at all because of this sunset.”

“...”

“Sunset’s also good, but I don’t wanna miss other beautiful things ‘cause of it.”

“You sound just like a writer today.”

“Mangakas are writers too, y’know?! Our sensitivity is what sells our works!”

After that, Akira-kun scowled at the sunset.

But I still couldn’t see it as anything but dazzling and beautiful.

“Akira-kun, do you ever feel suffocated when looking at the setting sun? Sometimes I get scared by it. …But not today.”

“?”

“I finally understood why my chest hurts so much at sunset. The sinking sun and the day ending turn into loneliness, sorrow, and sentimentality, and it makes me feel miserable.”

But now I’m calm.

The never-ending sunset made me feel safe.

“I feel like time has stopped. Like I’ll always be here with you, never ageing.”

“......”

“So I don’t mind if this sunset continues forever.”

“I wouldn’t mind it either. It’d be nice if the time has really stopped.”

“......”

“But it’s not like that, right? I still have my deadline tomorrow, and the trains still run on time.”

…He’s right.

I flipped the calendar, and the curry I ate in the morning tasted better than yesterday, having sat overnight.

“It’s boring to see the same scenery every day. I hope everything comes back to normal soon, so I can see different landscapes with you~”

“Akira-kun……”

“Even when the night comes and the morning comes after that, we’ll always be together. And, ‘course, even when we become old geezers.”

Akira-kun held my right hand.

His hand was hot after being warmed in the haramaki.

And his smile was soft—not bitter at all.

I thought that his vermilion-coloured cheeks were way more beautiful than the sunset.

Suddenly, the feeling of anxiety overcame me, and I dropped my head.

“...Usually things like this end quickly. Why does this one go on for two days already?”

“Well, maybe the guy who usually deals with all this got into some trouble?”

“That would be bad…”

“Or maybe they’re daydreaming like you just now.

“......”

“But they better come to their senses soon and do something about it!”

He raised his eyebrows and showed me a thin and comical smile, fitting for someone playing a supporting role.

I couldn’t help but smile in return.

“How’s your audition today?”

“Horrible.”

“Thought so. So I bought you a ‘get-better-pudding’.”

“I’m glad. Genuinely.”

“And if it went well, it would be a ‘celebration pudding’.”

“How convenient.”

“I also got a 'request pudding’... Can you help me put on solid colours when we get home…?”

“I’d do that even without the pudding.”

When we got closer to our house, the sun suddenly went down.

First Venus twinkled in the sky, then the bell crickets started creaking.

Curry was even better than in the morning; just as I thought, the sweetness of the roasted eggplant made the taste stand out.

Nothing happened—nothing at all. Just another day went down as usual.

     

Please, tell me if there are any mistakes or places that sound weird

#uuultra c #adelta #akishou #kagome shoutarou #kozuka akira #bean doge translates

[bowieandqueen11]

Being Scotty’s Best Friend Would Include...

Request: I'm so excited you brought up Star Trek! I was wondering if you could do some hcs for having Scotty as a best friend. I'm such a big fan of your writing. I hope you're having a great day!

Oh my gosh I’m always here for a little Scotty love and it’s been far too long since I wrote for Star Trek! Thank you darling :)

Warning: mentions of drinking alcohol, and mentions of injury/needles! 

(I do not own Star Trek or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @whoophoney.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

I love my Scottish icon so much but since he takes on literally 100% of the stress for keeping this beautiful old ship afloat, he is on the brink of an exhaustion induced mental breakdown 24/7. Sometimes you have to go down to Sickbay and rope Bones into helping you; the look of panic on Scotty’s face when the two of you step out of the turbo lift and come literally sprinting towards him is something behold. With only minimal squirming, the two of you manage to rope yourselves around his arms and drag him down to his room just to get a few hours of bloody sleep. You stay, flopping down on his sofa because you know Scotty too well, and in two jiffs he’d be making a beeline straight for those sliding doors again. Bones even decides he can finish off his last bits of paperwork in the corridor, helping you keep watch. 

You and Scotty manage to finally come to a halfway point: he’ll stay in his room, but only if he can curl up onto the settee next to you, and fall asleep with his chin smushed against the side of your face. He has a massive crick in his neck when he wakes up the next morning, stretching his arms out past your head while you shake a glob of his slobber off your shoulder, but it’s worth it to see how bouncy he is back down in engineering. 

Sometimes when things are a bit slower on the Enterprise the two of you will have drinking competitions down in his office. Chekov happens to wander past one afternoon, and comes in laughing when he spots you desperately trying to hold back your laughter as Scotty wiggles his eyebrows on you. He nearly jumps out of his seat in a fit of giggles when you accidentally spray half of the whiskey in your mouth out over his uniform, but poor Chekov decides to wander over to your desk right then and gets most of it on the side of his face. 

To be completely honest, the joy the two of you bring to each other is so infectious, that most of the Enterprise’s crew seem to gravitate towards the two of you at one time or another. One night, you and Scotty were sitting in a couple of desk chairs in the recreation room, nothing but the pearls of picked starlight whirling in the open expanse behind your head to keep you company in the dim room. The two of you are trying to speak over each other, gossip and idle chatter passing easily between the two of you as you unwind after a very long week down main engineering. It’s a very chill, warm, and comforting vibe that Jim walks in to: your legs are slung over Scotty’s lap as you nod at whatever topic his mind has jumped onto now, and he stops every so often to over you his whiskey bottle and steal it back once you’ve taken a sip. Jim likes to just sit in the same room as the two of you, because the constant stream of familiar chatter immediately drowns out and calms the storm of anxiety that brews up slowly in his head.

This man has an absolutely abysmal sense of humour, and you adore it. The ship could be in the middle of an intense attack, sweat dripping down both your faces as you make a run to the engine, trying to stop a couple of the blades from spinning off in a fiery blaze that would destroy half the cabins. Despite you literally hauling his ass through a small shaft, your grip on his legs tenuous at best as you try to dangle some equipment out from the loops of your belt, Scotty decides it’s the best time to try and crack terrible jokes to alleviate the tension. Well, he says ‘tension’, but to be completely honest he knows how afraid you are, and it breaks his heart to think that he could die without even trying to help you. 

Well, he tries to crack jokes until the ship lurches sideways, and then you’re dangling from the railings around the engine while Scotty holds onto your shoulders ‘scooby doo’ style.

This man is seriously, genuinely, incredibly protective over you. He sees you as his sibling: the closest thing he has to family (before he gets close to the rest of the crew as well), and so if he finds Spock to be a little too... demeaning towards you, even though he doesn’t mean to be, he will 100% shove you behind his back. The incorrectly filled out paperwork Spock was trying to hand back to you flutters down to the floor, and Spock raises an eyebrow in measured surprise as Scotty’s fingers encircle your wrist. Then the pointer finger comes out wagging, his mouth goes off running, and you’re pretty sure you can hear him yell ‘go ahead, fire me! You bet your arse you won’t be able to find two better engineers in all the universe, laddie!’

Spock, frozen in place and confused with the interaction, just turns his head to you and offers an apology once Scotty finally cools down a little. Once he heads back to the bridge to recount what happened to an incredibly amused Jim, Scotty’s tight grip onto your wrist turns into a bone crushing hug. He mutters his own sincere apologies for letting that happen into the top of your head, hefting your feet off the floor and spinning you around, his face burning red as his chin bumps against your forehead.

He has this little check in he likes to do with you (well, mainly to check in, but also to tease you a little in the proper brotherly fashion.) You know you should probably run away when he starts slinking over to where you’re tinkering with your wrenches, with a sly smile on his face. He’ll come leaning against the wall beside you, running the back of his knuckles down the side of your face fondly, before gently slapping the side of your cheek a couple of times. You always do your best to try and poke him on the shoulder back, but that little bugger is fast as lightening as he ducks away from you and runs down towards the corridor. Sometimes Bones has wandered tiredly into one of the medical supply closets, nearly being knocked down onto his ass as you run past him with a little goblin grin and a big wave. He should have known rightly, as he opens the door, that Scotty would be hiding in here. Scotty, however, is incredibly surprised, and falls down from the pipe he’s hanging onto from the ceiling down onto a stack of shelves. 

Bones just sighs and heaves him up, his tricorder already out and scanning his head as he leads him down to Sickbay. He knows to get on his comms immediately and notify you because: 1) the two of you have this kind of sixth sense where you know when the other is in trouble, so you’re already perched on the edge of Len’s desk, immediately yelling at Scotty before the two of them have hobbled through the door. And 2) Scotty, like Jim, absolutely does his best to escape Sickbay at all costs and it drives Len insane, so he needs your help to keep him in his biobed. Bones does his best to stitch up the gash in Scotty’s leg as you loop your arm around his left and haul him back down. Between muffled swears, Scotty trying to jerk you off, and you patting the beads of sweat away from his forehead gently to comfort him, Scotty begins to ease into it. 

I feel like the two of you would be the type to try and tease Jim any chance you got. Say, if there’s some huge ballroom event held down at base that the crew all go to? You and Scotty are definitely on the dance floor, having a competition to see who can stand on the other’s feet the most, and waltzing terribly back and forth in front of poor Jim and whoever he’s currently trying to hold a conversation with. Eventually he just gives up, and the two of you are beat in your terrible dancing only by Jim and Spock, who he’s managed to coax to the edge of the floor and is currently just doing a slow box step in place around Jim’s arms lmao.

Sometimes you’ll head back to your quarters after a long shift to find Scotty’s bent over behind greeting you. Turns out, once he turns around in surprise with a sheepish grin, that he has spent his break fixing bits and bobs around your room. Eh, there’s a few concerning bolts scattered around your floor, and your shower now has an extra knob that you’re far too terrified to turn, but he’s so sweet bless his heart. He gets this massive, sunshine filled, proud grin on his face when you thank him for helping out, and comes clambering over towards you to engulf you in a bear hug. He has a hard time telling the people that he cares about that he loves him, so acts of devotion are definitely this man’s love language. He’s just trying to show you how much he cares in the only way he knows how, so please squeeze your arms around his waist and grip onto the broad expanse of his back, because it’s the best way for him to understand that you return the sentiment.

The two of you usually spend your shore leave together: either the two of you find a random, deserted planet and do your best to spend the time curled up asleep on the shore of a serene beach, or he takes you back to Glasgow to visit Fran since she loves you so much.

He pretends, fervently, that he’s not incredibly dependent on you being around, but bruh. If the plans ever need to change, or you receive a message on your communication device about an emergency situation back at Starfleet you’re being sent for, Scotty will act really mopey and upset for the rest of the trip because he truly misses your company so much.

#star trek #star trek imagine #scotty #montgomery scott #scotty imagine #montgomery scott imagine #scotty x reader #montgomery scott x reader #scotty headcanons #montgomery scott headcanons #star trek headcanons #star trek tos #star trek aos

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Bear || Chapter 2

Pairings: Wanda x R || avengers (platonic) x R

Word count: 3K

TW: swearing, violence, hangover, injury, fainting (more like getting knocked out but ok), implied trauma, vomiting, medical inaccuracies (maybe maybe not), concussion (+ adjoining symptoms)

Summary: You join your uncle tony in the avengers, it wasn’t your original plan but you never planned for your powers either so here you are. Now your at the avengers tower and falling for the girl of your dreams. With a haunting past and interesting abilities can you navigate your way through the challenges of being a hero? After a mission gone wrong and a cruel twist of fate the team starts digging for answers. Can tony keep them from finding out the truth?

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

A/n so far i have four chapters planned out for this series so i hope you guys like it lol

The next morning when you woke you were grateful for nat making sure you hadn’t made a complete fool of yourself. Your splitting headache subsided slightly with the pain medicine and still in your pjs you slipped on your fluffy triceratops slippers and shuffled out into the kitchen. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat when she saw you. You were so cute with your bed head and pj’s with the cutest slippers she had ever seen.

“Ahh theres the party animal.” Tony said slapping you on the back.

“Too loud.” You groaned “need coffee.” After nudging tony away nat pressed a warm mug of coffee into your hands.

“Im not sure how how you like it but its better than nothing.”

You took a sip humming at the taste as your shoulder slumped in satisfaction. “Perfect nat thank you.” You said shuffling over to the table and sitting next to Wanda.

“It’s Clint’s morning to cook so we’re having pancakes. I hope thats ok.” Nat said sitting on your other side.

“Sounds perfect.” You grinned.

“You obviously don’t know Clint very well then.” Nat teased and laughed when she felt a burnt pancake hit her in the back of the head thanks to Clint.

“Shuddup” he huffed and went back to cooking pancakes.

About half an hour later the team was sat munching on the pancakes Wanda had cooked after Clint nearly set the tea towel on fire trying to fan the pancakes which were also on fire.

“Damn these are really good thanks Clint.” You teased and Wanda rolled her eyes zapping you with a small flick of red magic. You burst out laughing and nearly choked on the pancakes but nat started smacking your back hard enough that you stopped. She handed you some water and you shot her a grateful look as you took small sips.

You were about to make another comment when Jarvis piped up.

“Ms Maximoff, Ms Romanoff and Ms L/n director fury is requesting your presence in the meeting room.” Jarvis said and you groaned in sync with Wanda as nat stood up.

“Duty calls.” Nat winked and dragged you and Wanda out of the kitchen.

It was a simple mission really. Nothing you hadn’t done before with tony before … well … before everything. So far nobody had seemed to question your ability to fight like a pro or the way you naturally seemed to have all the experience to match some of the older team members like Natasha or Steve even. But they had just assumed tony had trained you or more likely paid someone else to train you. They could not have been more wrong. But you preferred it that way.

You threw a few things in a bag before stripping down and changing into your new suit tony had designed. By spinning your ring on your left pointer finger left then right then left again the suit appeared starting at your finger tips and then melded over the rest of your body. It was red and black. Kind of like peters suit but the mask was a skull mask. You weren’t ready for the world to know who you were and you had valid reasons for it. Throwing a few knives onto your belt and a gun on your waist you stepped onto the jet a few minutes before Wanda. Wanda did a double take at your outfit. She had to admit you looked pretty badass. Black combat boots, your mask, your suit and an old tactical jacket with the logo ripped off the sleeve and chest made you look awesome.

As you stepped off the jet you walked up to Wanda deciding to take a chance and get some adrenaline running. You whispered in here ear your lips almost touching her neck. “I love the outfit, but I’d love it more on the floor of my room later tonight.” With that you went on your tiptoes and kissed her cheek. Wanda flushed, the two of you had been flirting for a while but nothing so outright as of yet. Until now. Wanda couldn’t wait until the mission was over. Carefully she tried to retrain her mind trying to focus on the mission.

The mission was going well, good even. Nat had taken the floor above and Wanda the floor below. You were in the middle. Te hydra base was nearly empty on a skeleton crew. Things were going too well and you knew your luck would run out soon. Rounding the corner and walking down a long hallway you stopped and pressed against the wall hearing voices in the room beyond the door.

“Nat” you whispered into the earpiece. “I’ve got company.”

“Ok I’m coming, Wanda meet me at y/n’s location. Do not engage until we get there.”

Your luck however had finally run out as the door opened and the men saw you.

“Shit” you swore and pulled out your gun. Dodging the bullets and taking out the guards was second nature although you were a bit rusty. Once most of the men had fallen or run you entered the room cautiously. When suddenly a guard appeared from nowhere and punched you in the face. Your mask cracked and fell to the floor. Your cheek bled from where it had cut you. Quickly you took the man down. After taking a minute to breathe you heard a slow clap. Your body stilled, swivelling on your heals you pulled you gun on the man and froze. It was him. The man who had haunted every night terror you had since you escaped. Your blood ran cold. Ice stilled in your veins and you were afraid your heart would stop beating. Hell it felt like it had. Your breathing stuttered and you didn’t register Wanda and Natasha arriving still frozen in place.

“Guards.” The man said and before any of you could react a burly man threw you into the wall. Your head collided with a sickening crack and you fell slumped on the floor, back still against the wall, out cold. “Y/N!” Nat yelled and ran over to you while Wanda jumped into action and fought off the two men who escaped.

Nat held you close to her in her lap and check you over. She knew you would have a nasty concussion and a hell of a headache when you woke up. But what concerned her most was that you froze. She had never seen you so afraid before. And it puzzled her why this seemingly random hydra scientist had such an impact on you.

“Wanda can you cover us?” Nat said into coms “we need to get her out of here she’s out cold.” Nat said and Wanda agreed.

Careful not to jostle your head nat scooped you up and carried you bridal style in her arms out the room. Carefully she jogged slowly making sure the action wasn’t moving your head too much until you could be properly assessed by Bruce back at the compound. Wanda stayed close behind making sure to cover the three of you and taking out any of the guards along the way. Nat had actually just gotten what they came for moments before you ran into trouble so at least the mission was a success in some senses.

When the three of you finally reached the jet Wanda carefully took you from Nat’s arms who gave a tight nod before going to pilot the jet. She would be back once they were up in the sky and she could put Jarvis in control.

Wanda laid you down on the floor with your head in her lap. The jet didn’t really have anywhere else for you to lie down so the floor was the best option. She carefully stroked the hair from your eyes and inspected the cut on your cheek. It wasn’t deep but it was bleeding. Reaching for the first aid kit without standing up she used her magic to bring it over. Carefully she cleaned the cut with some anti sceptic before putting on a plaster to keep it clean. And because you wouldn’t know any better she pressed a small kiss to the bandaid and stared lovingly down at you. Sure she was worried you hadn’t woken up yet but you looked so peaceful lying there. Carefully she checked your pulse and was glad to feel it strong adjacent her finger tips. She hummed and went back to running her hands through your hair. She paused momentarily as your eyes fluttered but stayed shut. Carefully you opened them winced and then closed them again.

“Don’t stop” you murmured and Wanda smiled softly before running her hands through your locks again. “‘S too bright” you mumbled and used your arm to cover your face. Wanda carefully pulled your arm away.

“No none of that. You need to be carefully y/n/n you probably have a nasty concussion and we need to get you to Bruce before you start touching your head.” She said and pulled you closer to her front as you were now fully curled up in her lap. Tears pricked your eyes as the headache hit you in full swing.

“Aww bubs come here.” She said hating to see you in pain. she pulled you closer again and you hummed into her stomach as she still was carefully stabilising your head. Wanda giggled slightly at the vibrations on her skin and hummed in content. Soon after Natasha returned and sat beside Wanda.

“You two look comfy.” She smiled.

“Shhh too loud.” You whimpered and both girls hearts broke for you. Nat hadn’t been speaking loud at all you simply had one of the worst headaches you had ever felt in your life. You buried your face into Wanda’s stomach again and missed the concerned looks the girls exchanged before looking back at you. They smiled slightly at the soft snores they heard coming from you a few moments later.

“Should we wake her up?” Wanda asked concerned

“No she probably needs all the rest she can get its a long flight home anyway. Also here take this you never know if she’ll need it.” Nat said handing Wanda a plastic sick bag.

“She might be sick?” Wanda asked raising a brow and badly hiding her concern. Nat simply shrugged.

“It can happen with bad concussions so its better to be ready than be covered in it.” She said masking her own worry better than Wanda could.

You slept for a few hours before you felt the plane start to descend. Without opening your eyes you felt yourself being lifted from the floor and the warm tingling of Wanda’s magic surround your head as she carried you inside keeping your head stable with her magic. You turned you face into her chest and she chuckled slightly.

“You sure are cuddly aren’t you.” She said smiling softly and you simply gave a sleepy hum of agreement.

“Come on cuddle bunny lets get you to Bruce baby girl” she said mind running back to the way you had kissed her on the jet before the mission. She wanted more but knew you needed help first. She would ask you to be her girlfriend later your head was more important right now anyways.

Nat’s silent footsteps followed Wanda as the three of you headed towards the med bay, nat had alerted Bruce already that you were coming. They were almost in the clear, nat still had the sick-bag in her hand as you stepping into the lift. However your stomach and head did not like the jolt as the lift began to move and nat noticed your face pale as the nausea peaked.

“Y/n/n? Are you ok?” She said carefully. You shook your head as a spike of pain hit and a slight green tinge took your skin.

“Gimme that.” Wanda said urgently as she used her magic to put the sick bag under your chin. Because she didn’t have any hands free nat quickly went to help Wanda. Guiding the sickbag to your chin and holding it there with her nimble fingers. A second later you threw up into the plastic sick bag and sobbed slightly as it made the pain in your head worse.

“Shhh shh shh” Wanda shushed whispering encouragement and sweet nothings in your ear as you heaved again. Nat frowned at you feeling bad you were sick and she couldn’t help. Nat held the hair from your face as you finished and went limp in Wanda’s arms. Body no longer tense as you stopped throwing up. Nat brushed the hair from your face and e your eyes fluttered they knew you were awake ad hadn’t passed out again, you were simply exhausted.

“Are you done y/n/n? Not got any more?” Nat said carefully

You weakly hummed a no snuggling further into Wanda’s chest. Nat took the bag away deciding to believe you. She wasn’t grossed out she and Wanda had seen much worse. She tied off the bag and as the lift opened the two of them stepped out, you still in Wanda’s arms as nat went to find Bruce and discard of the bag.

Wanda went to set you down on the bed, freezing when you began to whine as she was concerned she had hurt you.

“Y/n?” She said sounding alarmed, if you were sick again she didn’t have anything else to give you. “Whats wrong sweetheart?” She asked carefully.

“Stay” you said in a small voice as you tugged the collar of her shirt. She was pleasantly surprised and sat on the medical bed with you laid on-top of her. A moment later nat and Bruce arrive and nat raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything but Wanda’s cheeks heat regardless. Bruce hurries to your side gently positioning you so he could see your face and he began to feel the back of your head. After hearing you were thrown into a wall he wanted to first check the site to make sure there was no bleeding.

Satisfied there was just a large bump he laid you against Wanda again. Wanda hummed and noticed nat was holding another sick bag, she raised a brow at her and nat mouthed ‘just in case’. Wanda nodded and drew circles on your back and Bruce shone a light in your eyes to check the pupils reaction. After a few more tests and a scan, Bruce determined that you had a bad concussion which made nat scoff as she predicted it from the start.

He said you were free to go back to your room but to stay away from screens, bright lights, loud sounds and to rest for a bit. He then turned to nat and Wanda and told them they would need to monitor you just in case due to the severity of the concussion. Bruce said that if you got worse or they grew concerned to check in with him and if needed bring you back to a reevaluation. He rattled off a short but concerning list of possible symptoms to expect but reiterated concussions were different case by case. He handed nat a couple more sick bags before discharging you with some pain medicine. Wanda sighed as she realised you still weren’t going to let go. She stood with you in her arms still. Its not that she didn’t want to spend time with you but she did simply want a shower. This time the lift didn’t seem to set you off but nat was ready regardless. As Wanda walked into the room you were glad you had put your drawings of her and nat away before you left. Your sketchbook was on the bedside table along with your pencil-case of essential supplies. You clung to Wanda who sat on your bed.

“You take a shower I’ll take the first shift.” Nat said peeling you out of Wanda’s arms and taking her place on the bed.

You nuzzled into her still only half understanding what was going on.

“Thank you i wont be long.” Wanda said shooting nat a grateful look as she headed for the door.

“Take as long as you need we’re gonna have our hands full with this one.” She said jabbing a thumb at you while you began to snore softly in her arms. Wanda held back her desire to coo at your cute form, instead she settled for a shower and slipped out the door.

You barely remember nat feeding you the pain medicine but you do remember it tasted like burnt cardboard and paint. As an artsiest you had eaten your fair share of paint, accidentally of course. Painting before lunch and then it getting in your food. Only small amounts though nothing harmful.

Wanda returned a while later and swapped spots with nat who carefully handed you to her and by some small miracle you stayed asleep. Wanda prayed you would stay that way until nat returned from her shower, she knew how to care for people and despite being experienced she felt out of her depth with you, she didn’t want to make a mistake and hurt you in anyway. But she knew she wouldn’t.

MASTERLIST

#marvel #the avengers #wanda maximoff #wandanat #natasha romanov #sicfic #wanda marvel #natasha romaoff #wandanat comfort #wandanat x reader #the bear series #mcu #reader #y/n #concussion #i forgot to tag this when i posted it lol #shapeshifting #teleporting #powers #enhanced reader #wandanat x r #wandanat x y/n #avengers #avengers compound #set when they are all alive #nat is alive #no splattasha #medical stuff #injury #illness