#the dish has stones in it for standing on it’s good I hope the bugs enjoy it

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground,  and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.  

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x You #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Morales #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal #Fic #My fic #Reblogging to add to masterlist properly #Sundress Season

[panda-writes-kpop]

Take Me Away (TMA) Chapter 6:

A/N: Hi guys, girls, and non-binary pearls! I know that Take Me Away is a day earlier, but I have a good explanation for that. Due to my great planning schedule, I’ve finished the whole series way ahead of the deadline I set for myself! This means that I have no reason hold back these chapters from you if they’re done. This means that Take Me Away will go up to two chapters a week!! I hope you like this change, and I hope you love this chapter!! ❤️

Are you a bit behind of the series? Is this the first chapter that you’ve seen? Catch up by reading the Series Masterlist!

TW: Overworking + abuse of a household servant (please be nice to people and remember that this is a work of fiction!), mentions of not eating/sleeping, glass breaks, bugs, medicine

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you to do all of this for me. Not many people are so gracious to someone they don’t know.” You softly admit.

“It is no issue at all. As soon as you’re feeling better, come downstairs. I’ll help you find someplace to stay.” The woman turns and places her hand on the door handle.

“Wait!” You call out to her. “Can I at least get your name?”

The woman gives you a warm smile.

“Ah, my bad. You probably would want to know my name. I’m Dami, and this is the apartment above my shop.”

“Dami, it’s, ah… nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” You reciprocate her smile.

“Y/N…” She repeats the name softly. “Take as much time as you need. I am in no rush at all.”

With those words, Dami exits the room, and you’re left alone with the warmth of the fireplace.

What was that?

An introduction. What else was that supposed to be?

I mean, it was nice, but I fainted outside in the cold. That’s not the most flattering first impression.

I pulled a lot of strings to get you here, Y/N. Don’t be mouthy to me.

What do you mean by ‘I pulled a lot of strings’ ? Are you really just a disembodied voice?

You’ll find out soon, Y/N.

God, could you be a little less cryptic and a little more helpful?

Fine. Go downstairs after you’re done with your drink, and meet Dami there. She’s arranged for you to stay in a home with another family… but it’s not going to end well.

Not going to end well? Do you mean for me or for the family?

I wish I meant the family, Y/N. I truly do.

…How bad is it?

A strong reminder of your home at best.

Oh, god, it’s that bad…

I can only do so much, Y/N. You’ve gone through so much, and I don’t wish to see you suffer anymore. Life, to a certain extent, is about overcoming the pain that you experience. I want to do more, but I can’t.

Thanks for the effort.

Anytime, Y/N, anytime.

You gently sip the drink until it is gone, and then you head downstairs to meet Dami.

~

You place the mug in a nearby sink before walking into the shop area of Dami’s place.

Wow, this place is really cozy and relaxing.

Incense burns in a small glass dish as the shelves of herbs and bitter medicines meet your eyes. A shelf of books is tucked away into a back corner, along with a chair and a small table that has a candle on it. The counter of the shop runs along the opposite side of you, and its stone composition is mostly covered by a nice purple tablecloth. A small oak door divides the shop from the outdoors, and Dami is standing close to the door along with an older couple.

They don’t look much older than 40 or 50.

Considering the fact that the life expectancy of this time period is much shorter than yours, I’d say that they are pretty old.

I don’t want to think about death anymore than I have to.

Suit yourself.

You nervously walk towards the party of three until you catch Dami’s attention.

“Ah, here is the person I was telling you about. Y/N, meet Mr. and Mrs. Kim. They’ll be taking you in until you can get on your own feet.” Dami explains as she gestures towards the couple.

A bit of anxiety develops in your body as you greet the couple in front of you.

“We’ve really needed an extra hand around the house. We’re so glad to meet you, Y/N.” Mr. Kim talks as Mrs. Kim nods her head.

“I feel the same.” You mumble as the cogs in your head start turning.

I’m going to be doing all of their housework, and they’re going to treat me like crap because they think I’m less than them.

Bingo.

The three of them chat for a while until you hear a carriage approach.

“Well, it’s been great seeing you, but we have to be on our way. C’mon, Y/N.” Mrs. Kim waves you forward as Mr. Kim holds the door for both of you.

You climb into the carriage, and you watch Dami wave at you all through the tiny window as the carriage pulls away from her small abode.

~

A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you tirelessly scrub the dish in the sink.

God, why does it have to be so warm? The weather back home is so much more comfortable than here.

You sigh in relief as you place that final dish out to dry.

I’ve finally finished washing their clothes, scrubbing the floors, dusting, and washing the dishes. Maybe I can have some free time…

“Y/N, I need you to run out and gather a few things from the market.” Mrs. Kim calls from another room.

Damn it.

“Yes, ma’am.” You tiredly say as you walk into the room.

I’ve been working to the bone for two weeks with no sign of Dami anywhere. Is this suppose to be a romance, or absolute torture?

Have patience, Y/N. Good things come to those who wait.

I don’t need the proverbs, but thanks for the help.

You bow before grabbing the paper list from the matriarch of the house.

“I need you back in two hours. You still need to tend to the garden while I take the girls to meet their suitors.” She waves you off as you bite your tongue.

Those girls are just as much of a nightmare as their parents, and I’m glad that I don’t have to deal with them.

You quietly slip out of the back door of the house. You had been given a small shack in the back of their house to live in. With no money or furniture, you had to do the best with what you could.

I haven’t had a proper meal or slept well in two weeks. I miss my bed and actually edible food.

You enter your shack for a brief moment, just so you could change out of your working clothes.

You exit the shack, and you enter the house unnoticed.

Good. I’m not trying to draw attention to myself.

You carefully walk through the house until you reach the front door.

This place would be so beautiful if I didn’t dislike the people who lived in it.

You quietly open the front door so as to not disturb the family.

~

Eggs, milk, bread, and silk. I’m just missing cinnamon and nutmeg.

You recount everything in your small yet overflowing basket as you walk through the market.

I haven’t seen a spice seller here, and I don’t have much time left.

As you round another corner, you see a cart full of spices.

Thank goodness!

You happily approach the cart with the small amount of money that Mrs. Kim had given you along with the note.

I might even have some left over to buy something for myself.

It doesn’t take you long to grab the cinnamon and nutmeg, and you quickly walk over to the seller.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, but those have been spoken over. In fact, most of the cart has been bought already.” The owner gently takes the spices from your hand.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“You don’t have any extras?” You ask softly, and the owner shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry, but you’re more than welcome to speak with the person who bought them.” The owner gestures behind you.

You turn around, only to see Dami looking back at you.

“Y/N? You look so… different from when we first met. Have you been doing alright?” Dami gently asks as she approaches your side.

I suppose that it’s not the best idea to tell her what’s really been going on?

Now you’re starting to get it!

“I just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.” You wave off her concerns.

“You look like you haven’t eaten in days. Are you sure that you’re okay?” The concern in her voice strikes you as her eyebrows furrow in worry.

Why does she care so much for someone that she met once, and then handed off to some stupidly rich people?

“I’ve just been… struggling to adapt to everything. It’s all so new and overwhelming.” You ashamedly look away.

“I see.” Dami backs off for a moment. “Why are you here, then?”

“Mrs. Kim sent me to grab some things from the market,” You gesture to the basket in your hands, “and I haven’t been able to locate any cinnamon and nutmeg.”

“Here, take these.” Dami slips past you and grabs the spices. “I was just grabbing extras for my shop, but you should take them.”

She places the spices into your basket. You attempt to hand her the coins that you have, but Dami closes your hand around the money. Your stomach clenches as a slight blush rises on your face at her touch.

“Keep it for yourself.” She insists as she looks at the spice display.

“Thank you.” You instinctually bow before scurrying off to the Kim Manor.

This is so embarrassing. I wish that we didn’t have to meet under these circumstances.

~

Another day passes in the Kim household, and you’re back to doing your long daily list of chores. A knock on the door interrupts your afternoon window washing.

“I’ll get it!” One of the Kim girls cries out before knocking you over to get to the door.

I’m so looking forward to never stepping another foot in the household again.

You hear the girl converse with the stranger at the door as you pick yourself up and finish washing the last window.

The youngest Kim peeks into the room. “Hurry off, Y/N. We have company, and we don’t need them seeing you like that.”

The venom in her voice causes you to move at a faster pace.

The last thing I need is her tattling to her parents.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Kim. I’ll get out of your way immediately.” You collect your cleaning supplies before quickly abandoning the room.

You place the supplies into a cabinet before heading into the kitchen to work on putting the dishes away from yesterday. You hear two sets of footsteps enter the living room from the front room.

“We have company!” The youngest cries out before running off.

Another set of gentler footsteps enter that room.

I know it’s bad to eavesdrop, but they’re literally in the room next to me. I can’t help it…

“Ah, Ms. Dami. What a pleasant surprise!” Mr. Kim’s firm voice rings out from the other room.

Why is Dami here in this house?

“I could say the same. Do you have a place where we could chat?” Dami gently asks.

“Here is fine. What do you wish to discuss?”

“I have some concerns about Y/N. I ran into them at the market, and they look like they have not been doing well. Do you have any idea why this might be?”

A heavy blush covers your face.

She cares that much for me? I thought Dami was just being nice yesterday. She wouldn’t just show up at the manor house if she did not care for me.

“No, I had no idea. I’ll make sure to address it immediately.” The tone of Mr. Kim’s voice causes goosebumps to run over your skin.

That doesn’t sound good.

“You wouldn’t know of anyone who would be preventing Y/N from sleeping or eating, right?” An unmistakable sliver of anger enters Dami’s voice.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would say that you’re accusing me or someone in my family of abusing a poor immigrant. You know that we’re not those sorts of people, Dami, so why enter our home and accuse us of such a thing?”

God, he’s such a liar.

You hear someone clear their throat, and you look over to see Mrs. Kim glaring at you.

“How dare you eavesdrop into private conversations!” She accuses before marching over to you.

You can no longer hear Dami or Mr. Kim over the sound of your rapidly beating heart. You can only watch in horror as Mrs. Kim raises her hand and connects it with your face.

You only whimper as the impact sends you to the floor. The dish that you were washing collides with the floor, and it makes a loud sound on impact.

Trying to hold back tears, you sniffle as you look up at Mrs. Kim.

“Now look at the mess you’ve made. This better be cleaned up before dinner.” She hisses before quickly exiting the room.

With shaky hands, you’re able to collect the glass without cutting yourself. You dispose of it in the garbage before grabbing a broom. You gently sweep up the small shards of glass as tears gently fall down your face.

“Hey, is everything alright here? I heard something break.” Mr. Kim walks into the room before speaking.

“I just dropped a plate, sir.” You mumble as you look him in the eyes.

“And you’re crying because…?”

“The sound startled me.” You lie as you sweep the glass over to the garbage can.

“Oh.” He shrugs before moving aside. “Our visitor was concerned about you. See, they’re fine.”

Mr. Kim gestures to Dami as she enters the room. You refuse to look at her as you carefully put the glass into the trash.

A gentle hand on your back startles you.

“Let me help.” Dami says as you move over.

She grabs the washcloth from the sink before gently picking up the glass with the wet washcloth. You watch her every move as she cleanly and efficiently moves the glass into the trash can.

“It’s a trick that I learned. When you work with a lot of glassware, you’re bound to break something once in a while.” Dami explains as you look at her in admiration.

“Ah, how useful. I’m glad you showed Y/N that.” Mr. Kim states before leaving the room.

You set the broom aside as you brush more tears out of your eyes. Dami gently observes you as you return to washing the dishes.

“Did the noise scare you?” She gently asks.

More tears flow out of your eyes as you slowly nod your head.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles before gently wrapping her arms around you in a gentle yet welcoming embrace.

You don’t hesitate to hug her back.

This is the nicest anyone has ever been to me since I got here.

With that realization, you start sobbing as you let out the stress of the last two weeks.

Dami simply runs her hands through your hair as you start to calm down.

She starts to talk as your tears turn into sniffles.

“I promise that you can stay at my shop when I get a little more room, okay? You’re obviously not happy here.”

“Really?” You look at her with more optimism than you’ve had in days.

“Absolutely. Anything for a friend.” She smiles as you slightly squeeze her.

I’d like to have a friend, especially right now.

~

Dami kept good on her promise, and within a few days, you were moved from the Kim Manor to Dami’s small home. She had set up an extra bed for you to sleep on in one of the back rooms of the shop. She apologized multiple times for the size of your bed, but you were so thrilled to have a bed that you didn’t care.

You often fell asleep looking at mixtures of herbs, and sometimes, you couldn’t help comparing your relationship to Dami with those mixtures that sat on wooden shelves.

Our relationship is a confusing mixture of emotions. She gives so many mixed messages, and I don’t know where we stop being friends and start being more.

Dami brought you breakfast every day, and she always sat by your side so you would have someone to be with. Most of the time, she would simply read a book while you ate. Your eyes wandered to her or the only window in the back room.

I wonder if she looks at me the same way I look at her…

Dami liked to gently run her hands through your hair during slower days at the shop. She taught you how to run the shop alongside her, so it was hard to escape her intoxicating presence.

She liked to intertwine your hands while you idly sat and waited for someone to walk through the doors. Dami wouldn’t talk often during those times, but you valued her sweet voice when she talked.

Especially whenever she compliments me!

She didn’t often compliment you, but they were so genuine and sweet that you often found yourself craving her praise whenever you did something well.

“You’re doing great, Y/N. You’re such a bright student, and you wouldn’t have an issue learning anything.”

“I wish that I was as good with people as you are. You always know what to say to people. I suppose that’s why we make a great team.”

“Did I ever tell you how much your smile makes my day? Your whole presence makes me happier every single day without fail.”

Words like those never fail to make a sea of butterflies appear in your stomach. You always blushed whenever she said or did something that you interpreted as romantic, but she always ignored your reaction to her perceived flirting.

I guess I was wrong, then… but she’s giving me so many signs.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want to gather some ingredients with me? I could use an extra hand.” Dami’s voice pulls you out of your daydream.

“Of course.” You smile as Dami takes your hand.

“Come, then. We have no time to waste.”

~

You’re confused as Dami approaches a field of flowers a bit before the sun sets.

“I just need a few of the flowers over there.” Dami points to a small group of flowers at the top of a hill.

She hands you a glass jar as you eagerly run up to the hill.

These flowers are so beautiful! Wait, did she say what kinds of flowers she needed?

You’re confused, and you try to look back at Dami for help. She’s gently plucking a few flowers from the bottom of the hill, so you decide not to bug her.

You look at the flowers again, only to see a small firefly floating in the air. The soft glow from its back lights up the small area of flowers for a moment before fading away.

I never was able to catch fireflies as a kid… I’m sure that I could catch a few now!

You don’t hesitate to chase after the small lightning bug as his body glows once again. You quickly catch the bug before gently placing him in the jar. You screw on the lid, and you watch as the bug glows once again.

You watch as the field of flowers begins to glow as more fireflies appear around you. You can’t help but try to catch them as you begin to laugh merrily.

This is the most fun I’ve had in years! I feel like a child again.

As you catch your fifth firefly, you stuff him into the jar before screwing the lid on for the last time. You watch as the five of them create a wondrous display of tiny lights for your eyes.

“Dami!” You call out. “Dami, look!”

When you get no response, you rapidly look around, only to see Dami staring at you from the bottom of the hill. She’s sitting down with her head in one of her hands while giving you a look of pure admiration.

The soft realization hits you as you blush heavily.

Dami set this up, and she’s been watching me the whole time.

You gently make your way down the hill as you try to think of what to say.

How do I say anything to her? I’m even sure what to think myself.

“Were you watching me the whole time?” You softly ask as you reach the bottom of the hill.

“You caught me, I guess.” A slight blush rises on her face as she stands up to meet you.

You clutch the jar of fireflies closer to your chest.

“Did you even need anything in the first place?” You jokingly accuse her.

“Not really. I heard that the fireflies come out during this time of day, and I wanted to take you out to see them.” She says.

“Then why not ask me directly?”

“...Because that would imply my strong interest in you.” Her blush grows slightly stronger as you decipher her words.

So instead of directly asking me on a date… she tricked me into going on a date with her so that I wouldn’t think it was a date. What kind of logic is that?

The logic of a lovesick woman, Y/N.

Oh god, you’re right.

“What makes you think that I’m not interested in you? I mean, I’m here and we’re having this conversation. That obviously has to mean something.” You reason with yourself as the words come out of your mouth.

“Do you want it to mean something?” Dami asks.

“Of course I do! I’ve been silently admiring you for weeks and I really want to be here with you. Why wouldn’t you think that I-”

You’re shushed by the warm sensation of Dami’s lips on yours. The jar of fireflies slips out of your hand as you enjoy the sweet feeling that surrounds your body. You immediately wrap your arms around her as her hands meet your waist.

She pulls you close as soon as your lips disconnect from hers.

“I’m sorry for not saying anything earlier.” She mumbles into your ear.

“I’m glad you said something now.” You whisper back.

You both stand in silence while wrapped in each other. The fireflies surround you in a swarm of beautiful lights. You can’t help but admire the serene scenery around you.

Could I ask for anything better than this? I think not.

~

The soft feeling of lips on your forehead causes you to stir from your sleep.

It’s so early. Who’s waking me up?

You roll over to see Dami standing over your bed.

“Good morning, dear. I brought you breakfast. How did you sleep?” She asks as you sit up in bed.

You yawn for a moment before answering.

“Good. I’m just a bit sleepy.”

“That’s good.” She smiles before placing the tray on your lap. “I’ve got to take care of a few things in the shop before I open. Just meet me there when you’re ready.”

Dami presses a soft kiss to your cheek before exiting the room. You find yourself missing her warmth as you stare at the food in your lap.

This reminds me of the food cooked at home. It’s been so long since I’ve been home… Has it been weeks? Months? I just cannot remember anymore, but I’m so happy that I couldn't care less.

Don’t you miss home just a bit?

I do, but I’m happy here. Shouldn’t that count for something?

It does, Y/N. I’m just reminding you that you still have four more lovers to meet.

Am I going to die again? Please, I can’t do that anymore.

No, you’re going to be fine, Y/N. Just breathe and relax. You’ll be back home once the day’s over.

Thanks for the warning. Now I can properly say goodbye to this whole world, along with Dami.

You’re welcome. Enjoy the day and I’ll see you in another night.

…Bye, I guess?

You carefully eat the warm food as you try to think about what to do to make this last day count.

~

Dami wraps her arms around you in a tight back hug as you watch the sunset together.

It might have been a less than eventful day, but I don’t regret anything. I feel at peace now.

“Thank you, for everything.” You mumble softly as the sun sets past the horizon.

“You know I’d do anything for you, Y/N. You don’t have to thank me.” Dami kisses the back of your head.

You giggle as you pull her arms around you more.

“I just want to let you know how much I love you.” You smile as you fight to stifle a yawn.

“I love you too.” She mumbles, and you break out of her embrace to give her a soft kiss on the lips.

Afterwards, a yawn escapes your lips.

“Let’s get you to bed. You need the rest.” She insists as you walk to the bedroom.

You carefully climb into bed as you pull the covers over you. Dami takes your hand and gives your hand a kiss. You, in return, press a kiss to her cheek.

You both chuckle at the affection before you yawn again.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.” Dami leaves your room as your tired mind does not fully register her words.

“I’ll see you then, too.” You mumble sleepily before slipping into a long and peaceful sleep.

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[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

sleeping on the blacktop

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, blood, gore, mentions of death, vomiting, medical terminology (that i know absolutely nothing about !! i am not a doctor or an emt—almost all of my knowledge is from an anatomy class or tv so—don’t come for me pls), my ramblings about fate and free will, i also gave the baby a name (sorry if you don’t like it :( i just hate having y/d/n, ya know? too much work)

word count: 8.5k

synopsis: while harry is away on tour, his wife and baby get into a car accident

author’s note: please, be mindful of the warnings and don't read if you're uncomfortable with anything mentioned and sorry for the sort of rushed ending... other than that, i hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

“You don’t need to do that,” Anne says from behind her, and Y/N flinches, nearly dropping a plate. She got lost in her thoughts, staring out the window in Anne’s kitchen.

“You cooked. It’s the least I can do,” she says. Anne grabs a rag and dries some of the dishes. Gemma is keeping Rhiannon occupied in the next room, and from the peals of laughter, it’s the happiest she’s been in days. Y/N sighs, wiping her pruned hands on a paper towel. If she’s being honest, she’s not doing too well; Rhia has had a hard time adjusting to not having Harry around all the time, causing a varied sleep schedule and more bouts of fussiness in general, and Y/N struggles keeping up.

“How’re you doing?”

Y/N hesitates. She contemplates lying. She doesn’t need one more person worrying for her, and she doesn’t want people to think that she can’t take care of her own child by herself. Harry already worries enough, even though she’s assured him many times that he doesn’t need to be.

She knows that he feels guilty for not being there all the time, but she would never force him to stop touring and doing what he loves, partly because she’s afraid he’ll resent her. Despite him being across an entire ocean, she never feels like he is far; he’s always willing to stop anything when she calls, and he tries his hardest to talk with her twice a day. She always keeps him as involved as possible, sending daily updates and photos.

“It’s tough,” she admits, “but it’s getting better, no need to worry about me.” She offers Anne a weak smile.

“Can’t help it,” she says, pinching her cheeks lightly.

Noticing the dimming sky, the sun sinking below the line of trees in the yard, Y/N sighs.

“We should probably go,” she mutters, slipping into the next room. Despite how tired she is, she can’t help the smile that takes over her face when Rhiannon looks up at her, showing her gums.

“Time to go, bug,” she says, light and lilting. Rhia kicks her legs, making her almost lose her balance. She’s too confident for her own good, like her father; she’s only just started sitting up on her own and thinks she can wiggle around without falling.

“You sure you’re okay to drive, love?” Anne asks from behind her. Y/N rolls her eyes, yet smiles fondly at her protectiveness.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only a few minutes away.”

Ever since Harry left for tour, Y/N has been staying in their lake cottage to be closer to Anne. It’s only a quick 20 minute drive away, which has been helpful during the days when Y/N needed to catch up on sleep, and Anne is always happy to help. She didn’t like to do that very often, feeling like she was taking advantage of her mother-in-law.

The cottage was a cute little thing, perfect for just the two of them, and Y/N was glad to get out of their shared home; it was too big and empty for just her and Rhia. Harry was always able to liven up any place they were at, but now that he’s gone, it felt hollow and dismal.

“You know you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got plenty of room,” Anne tries to convince her one last time. As much as Y/N appreciated her worrying, she didn’t want to impose, and she’s sure that Anne wouldn’t want to listen to a fussy baby, even though she would deny it to the end of her days.

Y/N puts Rhia in her coat with little resistance, which is surprising, but she only had a short little nap that afternoon, and they had a busy day.

“I know, Anne, but I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N says. “Besides, Rhia sleeps better in our bed, and you need all the sleep you can get, don’t ya?” She tickles her daughter’s little bloated belly, making her giggle sweetly. Once she’s strapped in, the baby stretches and tries to put Y/N’s fingers in her mouth.

“You know I worry about you,” Anne sighs, kneeling next to Y/N.

“No need to worry,” Y/N smiles. Anne tucks the woven green blanket under Rhiannon’s legs. It’s the same blanket Harry had when he was a baby, barely held together with a few threads and love. Y/N stands, hoisting the carrier up to her hip.

“Call me when you get home, yeah?”

“Course,” she says, pressing a kiss to Anne’s cheek.

When they’re settled in the car, Anne stays out on the porch, watching them until they’re safely on the road, offering a wide smile and an air kiss. Y/N is so thankful to have her shoulder to lean on.

It’s a clear night, which Y/N is thankful for, no fog or rain, which isn’t an often occurrence. She stops at a sign, brakes squealing slightly. She stays there for a second, feeling the familiar burn of exhaustion behind her eyes. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Da, da,” Rhiannon mumbles. Y/N reaches behind her, barely able to reach her on the opposite side of the back seat, and she grabs onto her fingers.

“I know, peach,” Y/N sighs, “Miss daddy, too.”

She never considered how fragile life could be until she met Harry, not in the sense that death is an imminent and constant force, more in the sense that everything, her goals, her view on life, and her priorities, shifted when she met him. He became her influence, and she was willing to go through hell or high water just to be with him.

In summation, it takes all but five seconds for your life to completely change, for better or for worse.

There are dozens upon dozens of tiny events that build up and push you toward that one big moment that will change your life. Nothing is set in stone; different choices lead you down different paths, and your paths are constantly changing, either for better or worse, and slowly but surely, you’ll finally reach the top of that mountain. Every choice you questioned, every sacrifice you made, will come together in due time, just know that you’re working toward a greater purpose.

Y/N has never been a big believer in fate, that everything is beyond your control and that everything is already set in stone, but perhaps there is some truth to it. Fate could have pushed her to leave home when she was young. Fate could have put her on a safe and stable path when she went to university that landed her a good job when she was fresh out of her internship, and fate could have brought Harry into her life.

But she will never claim fate as a sole guide to her life. Fate is not responsible for her success nor her mistakes; that was all because of her hard work and integrity, her youth and ignorance. To her, fate is simply an excuse. People want to put blame on something, and when things seem out of their control or when they make bad decisions, they don’t feel quite as guilty. They’re willing to take credit for good things that happen but won’t when it affects them negatively.

Say, perhaps, that fate brought Y/N to that intersection, then maybe it was fate that planted the trees that obscured her vision; perhaps, it was fate that made the lights in the post go out that evening.

If so, fate has a twisted sense of humor.

If not, why wouldn’t fate give her any time to react before the impact?

How could fate be so cruel?

—

Working as an EMT, there are always certain risks you accept when you are on the clock; not only are you surrounded by an unbelievable pressure, there is always the ominous cloud looming overhead, a thin thread between life and death threatening to break at any moment, and it’s your job to keep them stable until they arrive at the hospital.

Not too hard, right?

Being able to save people from the brink of death and reuniting families makes almost everything worth it, but there are always scenes that stick with you for the rest of your life, and for Leslie Greene, this is one of them.

What stands out the most is the sound of a crying baby.

She’s seen some very horrific accidents: cars that have been reduced to nothing more than a ball of cheap scrap metal, with blood coating the shattered glass, to DOA’s, where the impact made them look unrecognizable. She has seen a lot of unspeakable things and had a lot of good people die on her watch.

But never has she ever had a baby present at any accident scene. That’s new.

Those cries will probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

“I didn’ see ‘em,” the man slurs from the police car. He has a bloodied lip and a slight bruise forming around his neck from the seat belt. The stench of rum rolls off him with every breath. He sits back, eyes dull and hooded, like he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

Another EMT meets with her half-way to the other vehicle, lodged against the ditch across the way.

“Driver side sustained some serious damage. The baby has no discernible injuries, but another ambulance is a minute out to take her.”

From the driver’s side, Leslie can see the baby on the opposite side of the backseat, the car seat still tightly in place. The baby flails about, legs and arms kicking with strength. The car is twisted and mangled, but most of the damage is on the driver’s side, the door latched closed. Shattered glass cracks beneath her boot.

When they’re finally able to get the car door open, the woman, barely even mobile, opens her eyes slightly, but she flinches back at the bright lights. Blood drips down from her hairline, bruises already forming on her eyes from the impact on the steering wheel. Blood pools on the leather seat as she shifts with discomfort.

James, a newbie who has never been to a scene with this much damage, breathes out shakily. Leslie turns to see his lips curling, close to dry heaving.

“Go get the baby, yeah?”

He nods quickly, pale in the face, and scurries to the other side. The baby is soothed only momentarily before her wails continue. The woman’s eyes snap open fully this time, panic clear on her features. She tugs fruitlessly on the seat belt, a pained groan leaving her when she moves too quickly.

“Please, don’t move. My name is Leslie. I’m here to help.” She presses a hand to her chest, feeling the woman’s racing heart. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she grits out, her eyes fluttering dangerously. From how she reacted to the lights, she probably has a concussion. Leslie cuts the seat belt, and glass falls onto the blacktop, clinking musically until they settle, like they’re sleeping. Through the gloves, she can feel how warm she is, sweat beading down from her forehead. Glass has settled in the divots of her wool sweater, but not before cutting her skin, caking the pearl necklace peeking from the neckline in blood.

“Y/N, I need you to turn a bit. I need to see where the bleeding is coming from,” Leslie says softly, inching her slowly onto her side. She sighs as more blood pools, gushing down her back and soaking her jumper further. It’s from a rib that broke through the skin. She can only hope that they didn’t puncture an organ.

“Does that hurt?” She asks as she puts pressure on the skin.

“No,” Y/N whimpers, eyes fluttering closed. When they get her on the stretcher, with minimal blood loss, she stirs with life again, her trembling hand reaching onto the sleeve of Leslie’s shirt, painting it red.

“Rhiannon—my baby girl—is she…” She swallows back tears.

“She’s fine.” Leslie knows that it’s unwise to lie to a patient; perhaps, she’s not entirely lying, but it’s never a good idea to give a victim a sure diagnosis without actually knowing anything. There may have been no physical signs of trauma to the baby, but internal problems are a very real possibility that they won’t know of until they get to the hospital.

She knows that she shouldn’t lie. It takes seven minutes to get to the nearest hospital, but it’s time that Y/N may not have; despite how quickly they were able to get her into the ambulance, she’s losing a lot of blood.

“Thank you,” Y/N sighs in relief, clutching onto her hand. Her wedding ring nearly cuts through the gloves from the pressure.

“Of course,” Leslie says, easily putting her on an IV.

“My husband,” she gasps suddenly, her arm jerking about. “Harry—he—he’s gonna be worried. ‘M supposed to call. He has to tell her goodnight—“

“Y/N, relax,” Leslie coos. “We will contact your husband. You need to focus on yourself, yeah? Don’t close your eyes, Y/N.”

Leslie can see the fear in her eyes; it’s something she’s grown very familiar with, but it’s not just fear for her own survival. She can see how scared she is for her family. She struggles to keep her eyes open, resilience and weakness fighting for power. Like any mother, she’s fighting for her family. She’s fighting to be able to hold onto and kiss them one more time.

She is trying so hard to fight for her family.

But at the same time, it’s so easy to give in.

“If I don’t make it,” she slurs, breathing quickly out of her nose. The blood from her nose slips down into her mouth, making her cough.

“Don’t say—”

“If I don’t, I need you to tell Harry that I love him, and that…” She lets out a pained whimper, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault, love.”

Her lip quivers, teeth chattering.

“I’m just sorry for everything.”

Leslie knows exactly what that means. She’s making amends, apologizing for not being able to fight. A lone tear slips from her eye, but Leslie wipes it away.

“I will.” She promises, gripping her hand tighter.

Only two more minutes.

Y/N gives her a thankful nod, and as if she has finally made peace with the world, she falls limp, the light leaving her eyes.

—

Harry has always enjoyed New York, and it’s not very often that he is able to stay for longer than one night. There is just something about it that’s completely different from London or L.A. that he likes about it; He couldn’t imagine actually living there, with the massive crowds and fluctuating weather, but it’s a nice place to visit, very different from what he’s used to.

He’s halfway through the tour for his most recent album, and New York is the last stop before he gets a short break to go home. He has a show tonight at Madison Square, a radio interview in the morning, and then, he’s home free. He’s been looking forward to this break before the tour even began. Don’t get him wrong, he loves performing and meeting fans and traveling the world, but now that he has a family, it gets more and more difficult not being there for the people who need him most.

“So, I heard,” the interviewer begins, smiling widely.

Sadly, Harry has already forgotten his name. The interview was supposed to be a short little thing for social media, only supposed to take 20 minutes, so he could prepare for the concert that evening, but it’s been nearly an hour, and there are no signs of stopping any time soon. Harry holds off yet another yawn, the lack of sleep from the night before washing over him. He’s having trouble focusing.

“You’ve got a baby girl.”

“Yes,” Harry beams. Even though he wants to keep his baby out of the limelight, he can’t help the excitement that fills his chest whenever she's mentioned. He can easily go on and on about how wonderful and sweet and perfect she is. He tugs on his pearl necklace, biting on his lips to keep quiet. He and Y/N agreed that it would be best for Rhia to grow up as normally as possible, which meant only posting about her on his private social media and avoiding busy places so as to not be seen, but some things were simply unavoidable, like interviewers trying to get him to let something about her slip to get their five-minutes-of-fame. It seems rude of him to completely ignore their questions, so he just sticks to very short, vague answers.

“How are you adjusting to fatherhood?”

“Uh,” he laughs, fiddling with his wedding ring. “It was a struggle to begin with. I will admit that, but it’s getting better. We’re still learning how to adjust to everything.”

He says it like he’s actually there, actively helping Y/N, even though he's on the other side of the world. He hasn’t seen his daughter in nearly two months; video chats have absolutely nothing on the real thing. He isn’t helping Y/N put Rhia to sleep when she’s feeling particularly fussy or feeding her at two in the morning, so Y/N can finally get some well-deserved sleep, and he’s not there to play with her or comfort her.

It feels like he’s lying.

He’s a sad excuse of a father. That’s what he really is.

The thought makes the smile fall from his face, but he’s quick to force another one; if there’s anything that he’s learned after years in the public eye, it’s how to fake emotions. The interviewer gives him an understanding smile. He’s older, but not too old, only having a few years on Harry, age wise, but the wrinkles beside his eyes and the nicked ring on his finger suggest years of familial experience.

“I completely understand. I have three boys of my own, and—”

“I am so sorry,” Jeff, Harry’s savior, says suddenly from behind the camera. “D’ya mind if I borrow Harry for a second?”

The interviewer nods.

“No problem. Take 15?”

Harry feels a twinge of guilt as he stands quickly from the chair, happy to finally have a break.

“Thanks,” Harry sighs, brushing past Jeff to the refreshment table. “‘M exhausted. Maybe it’s ‘cause of Rhi, but every little thing wakes me up. Swore I heard her cryin’ last night.” Jeff is quiet, fiddling with his hands nervously. Harry doesn’t notice how quiet the man has gotten, and he opens a bottle of water, rifling through his bag.

“Isn’t it almost 3? Y/N should be callin’ soon.”

“Harry,” Jeff says again, stronger this time. Harry still doesn’t notice how his voice breaks slightly, wobbly and hesitant.

“Yeah?” Harry drinks nearly half of the water, not sparing a glance up. He fishes for his phone, only to remember that he left it in the car. He sighs and turns. That’s when he finally notices how shaken up Jeff is, pale and nervous.

“What’s up? Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he laughs, downing the rest of his water before tossing it in the bin.

“Harry,” Jeff says again, soft and somber, and it makes Harry stop. Dread settles in his stomach, deep and heavy. Jeff has never been one to be the bearer of bad news, and he tended to beat around the bush. “Why don’t you sit down?” Jeff tries to guide Harry over to the cheap stool in the corner of the room, but he rips his arm from his grasp.

Harry has never been one to let his mind run wild; he’s the calm one, who looks at reason and logic. He's the one to tell everyone that everything’s going to be fine; he’s the one who takes everything in stride, like water rolling down his back. Bumps in the road are nothing. He’s the one that comes up with solutions and executes them with ease, but with the way Jeff is treating him, his heart races.

“What?”

“There’s been an accident,” Jeff says slowly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

It takes a second for Harry to process his words, but when he does, he stumbles back.

His mind automatically tries to reason with itself, that maybe it has nothing to do with him. Perhaps, something went wrong at the venue, and they would have to postpone, lengthening his stay for only a couple more days. Maybe, Mitch got food poisoning and will be unable to play that evening. There are dozens of reasonable explanations as to why Jeff pulled him aside, but Harry knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have such a mournful look in his eyes, if it isn’t anything less than very serious.

Okay, fine, there was an accident. That could mean so many different things. An accident doesn’t even necessarily mean that they are in grave danger; they could be walking away unscathed.

“W-what? I-i-is it Gem? Mum?” Endless scenarios flicker in his mind, each one worse than the last. The one thing that he doesn’t even consider is it being Y/N or Rhiannon. His mind refuses to go down that road; if it did, there’s no way of knowing how he would react. He doesn’t even consider the possibility of them being in trouble. He hates how long Jeff is taking to tell him, as if holding off will soften the blow. Irritation starts bubbling below the surface, and he finds it hard to keep calm.

“Harry,” he says, shaking his head. “Anne called me. There was a drunk driver, and they’re headed to the hospital now—”

“They?”

His heart stops for a second, and it feels like his chest collapses in on itself. His body feels like it’s reacting to a stressful situation, with adrenaline and fear and anger, but Harry isn’t thinking with a grieving mind; it’s cloudy and slow, delusional, even. He shakes his head.

“No,” Harry mutters, taking a step forward. He can feel tears burn in his eyes, and he makes no move to wipe them. “It wasn’t…” Harry can’t finish the question. It makes him nauseous. Jeff nods solemnly, which, in any other circumstance, would have been answer enough. “Say it,” Harry snaps.

It’s unreal, like a dream. This didn’t happen to him, not his family.

They’re safe. There’s just been a mistake. That’s the only reasonable explanation to everything. Someone made a mistake. Maybe a fan thought it would be funny to pretend to be his mum, and they somehow got Jeff’s number. It had to be a horrible, awful, repulsive joke to get some attention or something; as implausible as that seems, it’s the only thought that makes sense to him because he can’t possibly understand the weight of the truth. He doesn’t know if he can handle it.

His girls are fine.

They have to be.

“Harry—” Jeff tries to calm him down, seeing a bright red flush to his skin, frustration seeping through every pore. Anger isn’t becoming of Harry; Jeff has only seen him angry a couple of times, but never to this extent: red in the face, words shaky, eyes glassy.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“It was Y/N and Rhiannon.”

That is the absolute last thing that he wanted to hear.

Even though, deep down, he knew that they were in trouble. From the first moment Jeff said his name to how sickly he looked when he told him to sit down, Harry knew, deep in his heart and mind, that his family is in trouble. He just wasn’t willing to accept it or even think about it, as if that could change reality. Until Jeff said those five words that confirmed his worst nightmare.

And he feels his world come crashing down, but he’s stuck, frozen, mind not moving nearly as fast as it should be.

“My—my…” He stutters, throat closing. “My girls?” The ache in his chest increases tenfold, and he holds onto his, feeling the racing of his heart and his quick breathing. “You’re fuckin’ with me,” he scoffs, rage building. He shakes his head with denial. “What kind of fuckin’ prick—”

“I wouldn’t joke about—”

Harry knows that. Y/N and Jeff are close. Hell, they even considered making him their daughter’s godfather. Jeff would never joke about something this serious, and Harry knows that, but he isn’t willing to accept the reality because the reality is nearly too much for him to comprehend, to carry on his already weak shoulders.

“No, they’re not,” Harry closes his eyes, hands slipping through his hair like it normally does when he’s anxious. He tugs on it, but the pain is nothing compared to the sick feeling in his stomach or the crack in his pounding heart. He honestly feels like he’s going to be ill or pass out, feeling his mouth dry up, his hands clamming up, and he begins to feel light-headed.

“Y/N’s just about to call me. It’s Rhi’s bedtime.” He rambles, not listening to Jeff.

They can’t be going to a hospital. He talked to Y/N just this morning when he couldn’t fall asleep. He spoke about his worries and doubts and guilt that he felt for being so far away from them, and Y/N soothed all of his fears and reservations, reminding him why he does what he does. Before she left, she told him that she loved him, and he could hear Rhi babbling away in the background, content and happy and safe.

“There’s a plane leaving in a half an hour—”

“And I sing to her. That's the only way she’ll sleep through the night. She hasn’t been sleepin’ very well these past few days,” he says, lost in his thoughts. His words begin to slur.

“Harry, listen to me,” Jeff says, holding onto his shoulders, trying to keep him grounded, from falling apart. Harry doesn’t get anxious often, but when he does, everything comes to a startling halt; he’s not used to it, and he lets it overwhelm him until he can’t function. That’s the last thing anyone needs.

“No, no, they’re fine. They’re fine. They’re—” He swallows, and like a wave, realization dawns on him, drowning him. His family is in the hospital, and he’s not there with them. “Oh, god,” he cries, feeling bile burn his throat. He sinks to his knees, hand pitifully covering his mouth to keep from vomiting. His vision darkens. It feels like the walls are crumbling down, and he’s stuck, frozen and alone, with no one coming to save him.

Just like his girls.

“Harry, you can’t shut down, not now,” Jeff says, kneeling beside him. “They need you.”

He knows that. He needs to be strong for the both of them, so he wipes away his tears, clenches his jaw, and pushes everything down, even if it feels like he’s choking. He has to be strong for the both of them.

The drive to the airport is a blur. He swallows back his tears until his head feels like it’s going to burst and holds his breath until he can see black spots in his vision, but most of all, he’s numb. A small part of him is still trying to convince himself that this is all just a big misunderstanding, but the larger part, the part that’s screaming the loudest, tells him he’s being irrational and selfish.

It takes 7 hours to get home; he has to travel across an entire ocean to get to his family.

How unfair is that?

He wants to blame the world, God, fate. He wants to curse whatever force existed, but behind all of the hate and accusations and judgement, he is nothing more than a guilty, broken shell of a man.

He’s angry with himself, mostly, with the choices he’s made, with how selfish and greedy he was, and how inconsiderate his actions have been for the past few months. He can’t believe that he could be so self-centered, taking Y/N for granted. She’s his wife; they’re supposed to be partners, equals, and he treated her like she was disposable while he traveled the world, living out a dying dream.

He wishes he was there, to not only prevent it, but also to tell her just one last time how important she was to him and tell her of the pain that would spread in his chest at the possibility of losing her or their child; he wants so badly to show his love for her. In four days, they would have been celebrating six years together, and in that time, he has never doubted his love for her. He knew, from the moment they met, that she was meant to be with him until the very end. They were soulmates.

Now that he might lose her and his baby, he feels like his soul is being ripped out of his chest, leaving nothing but a gaping, painful void.

Jeff sends him a link to Twitter and a message: Harry, take all the time you need.

The post says: Due to a personal emergency, Harry will not be able to make the show at MSG this evening, and all tour dates from this moment forth will be canceled until further notice. Know that he wishes he could be with you all, and please, respect his privacy in these trying times.

He calls his mother shortly after, but she doesn’t answer. When he tries Gem, she picks up after a few rings, shaky and winded. He sighs, trying to quell the tremors in his hands. His lips quiver.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Gemma explains what happened to the best of her ability, that Y/N just left to go back to the cottage after eating dinner And that Anne received a call from the hospital, after he didn’t answer his phone (that part stung to hear).

“Please—” He begins, but his voice teeters and breaks at the end. He can’t help the tears that slip down his cheeks. Exhausted and weak, he finally cries. He cries for his wife, his child, and himself. They’re not heart-wrenching sobs, where he’s keeled over, grief and anxiety spilling out of every pore, but they leave him breathless, chest aching.

“Please, tell me everythin’s gonna be fine.”

Her silence is answer enough. She can’t promise him anything. It’s too early to tell, and she’s not going to lie to him, either, not when his wife and child’s life is in the balance.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Gemma admits, “but I will call you as soon—”

He hangs up before she can finish.

—

Rain thunders onto the broken concrete, a flash of lightning brightening the dull sky. Despite the rain, the earth nearly brimming with life, the hospital is dead. There’s not a soul going in or out. The lights flicker eerily in the corner of his eye. It’s four in the morning, so it’s not much of a surprise, but the sight of it being so lifeless just feels wrong.

His mind is moving quicker than the world can keep up with, it seems, and he feels like it goes against the laws of nature. It’s a strange feeling when you feel like you’re falling apart, but the world continues on; most people on the street wouldn’t bat an eye or even pay any notice to him as he’s deteriorating before their very eyes.

As irrational as it is, it feels wrong. It feels wrong that everyone else is able to go on while his life is crumbling.

He called Gemma when he landed, and there were still no updates on their condition. He broke dozens of traffic laws to get there, and now, he stands outside the entrance, still wearing his wool jumper from the day before, smelling like an airport, with rain soaking his hair. Droplets slip down his cheek and jaw, livening the dried tears from earlier, and they seep into his mouth; he can taste the salt.

He’s just staring at the flickering sign.

He can’t move.

Well, that’s not really it; he can move, he can feel, and he can see, but he doesn’t want to move.

How fucked up is that?

He doesn’t want to go inside. Despite all of his fears, and his longing for answers, and his need to see his family, he can’t move.

Because that would make everything real.

If he goes inside, if he pushes past those doors and sees the doctors, he can’t deny it anymore. When he goes inside, he has to face the very real possibility that he could lose his wife and daughter. He isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to handle it.

He’s being selfish. He knows that. He should be running inside, yelling at doctors and nurses to tell him what they’re doing about his family. He should be trying to do something, anything to see his wife and daughter.

But why is it so hard to move his feet?

And why does he still feel so numb?

He breathes in the cold air, burning his tender throat.

When he finally opens those doors, past the point of no return, he’s welcomed by a blinding light and the scent of antiseptic. The inside is just as lifeless, with dull white walls that leaves his head throbbing and dingy carpet that scrapes against his boots. He follows the signs, leading to the waiting room.

A new round of tears fills his eyes when he sees his mother’s familiar figure. He hasn’t wanted to just completely collapse into her arms, crying, in years, but now, he just wants to be in the comfort of her presence, to forget the world.

But he can’t, just like Jeff told him, he needs to stay strong, for them. He can’t shut down. He breathes out deeply, raises his head, and calls out for his mother.

Anne turns around, and when he sees Rhiannon pressed tightly to her chest, safe and sound, he feels more of his strength return, like he can breathe a little easier. He feels his knees weaken, but he keeps moving. He doesn’t feel quite so empty and broken and numb, a small ray of hope filling him for the first time in hours. He cups the back of her little head, thumb caressing the soft baby hairs. They’ve gotten thicker since the last time he saw her.

“She’s fine, Harry, just a little shaken up,” Anne says, smiling slightly.

His happiness is short lived when Gemma stands from behind Anne.

“Y/N’s in surgery right now. All we can do is wait,” she says, her eyes ringed with red, mirroring his own.

“Da,” Rhia says, and he smiles, a single tear running down his cheek. He wipes it and sniffles.

Y/N pretended to be upset when that was Rhi’s first word. She said it only hours before he had to leave. They were in their home, and Y/N was helping him lug his suitcases out of the bedroom when he heard it. It sounded like another babble, but it became clearer until—

“Da,” she squealed, bouncing in her little jumper chair. “Dada.” She hit a little plastic toy ring on the tray

“Y/N,” he called out for her and knelt down in front of his baby. She rushed out of the bedroom.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Say it again, peach, show mummy,” he cooed, and Rhi repeated it, again and again, reaching for her father.

“I carry her around for nine months and feed her out of my tit,” Y/N whined, “and this is the thanks I get?”

They laughed, nevertheless. It was a bittersweet moment, as he looks back on it now. He was so happy that Rhiannon was growing and learning, but she was growing up too fast for his liking. He lifted Rhi up out of the chair and pressed a gentle kiss to her chubby cheek, tears stinging behind his eyes.

“She’s just daddy’s little girl. Aren’t ya, peach?”

She left a slobbery kiss, well, her version of a kiss (which was more tongue than lip) on his nose. He scrunched up his face, and her features pinched together in return, mimicking him.

“See, jus’ a little mini-me you are,” he said, tickling under her chin.

And when she called out to him after saying their final farewells in the airport, it made it even more difficult for him to leave.

Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t leave.

He should have listened.

He’s knocked back into the present when his baby girl looks up at him, eyes lit up with innocence, completely unaware of the dire situation they’re in. They’re not in their London home, and Y/N’s not there with him. His lips wobble, nose burning. His chest hurts, whether from unshed tears or from the thought of actually losing the love of his life, he doesn’t know.

He cups his baby girl’s cheek.

Rhia has Y/N’s eyes. He loves her eyes. When she first opened them, as he held her for the first time, bundled tightly in his arms, he cried big, fat tears until they were all dried up. He felt nothing but love for this little human because she was a perfect mixture of him and Y/N. He loves Rhiannon’s eyes, but now, they serve as nothing but a deathly reminder of his wife, who could possibly not survive these next few hours.

She gives him a gummy smile, her little tongue slipping out over her lips. There’s some white peeking through her gums, and his heart aches. He wipes some drool from her chin, and she reaches for him, but he backs away.

His stomach sinks, and he wants the ground to swallow him whole. His mother looks at him softly, not a shred of disappointment apparent on her face, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own daughter. His throat closes.

How could he be so weak?

Rhia’s smile drips down, but she lays her head back on her Nana’s shoulder. Anne cups the girl’s head, wrapping the thinly woven blanket tighter around her; sadness and pity present in the air.

“‘M gonna check in with the nurse, see how Y/N’s doin’,” he whispers, backing away, and he stumbles down the hallway, following the signs until he sees the nearest nurse, clad in pale blue scrubs. Even though he’s sure the nurse expects him to look nothing less than distraught, he smooths down his clothes and clears his throat, trying to quell the cries building, lips quivering pitifully.

“Do you have any information on Y/N Styles?” His voice is watery and broken.

The nurse looks at him with sad eyes, warm and understanding, like his mother’s. How does everyone else know what he’s feeling besides himself?

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” she says, and he simply nods. He doesn’t have the energy to be upset or press her anymore. The heaviness on his chest building, he doesn’t even try to stop it anymore. He just wants to wallow, curl up and cry until he’s finally able to wake up from this nightmare. He hates the feeling like he’s just given up, accepted that Y/N may not come back from this.

He wants to fight, but all of the fight he has left him as soon as Jeff told him the news.

“Thank you,” he whispers, heading back to the waiting room. He sits down silently on the chairs next to Gemma, the worn wood squealing from the sudden weight. Anne paces in front of them, rocking Rhia back and forth, like she has been for the past few hours; call it a nervous tick or a mother’s instinct, but holding Rhiannon calms her.

Gemma glances at him in the corner of her eye, unsure of how to comfort him in such a situation. He can see her

“I can’t hold her, Gem,” he says weakly, and she looks at him, finding his gaze held on the small little bundle in their mother’s arms. She sighs. “What if—” There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He covers his mouth with trembling hands, trying to push back the cries swelling in his chest.

“What if Y/N dies?”

It’s one thing to think about it, but saying it aloud breaks his heart in two.

Y/N has been a constant in his life for six years, and in that time, she became his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his stability, who held his heart so close to her. Then, he thinks about his baby girl, who has had her mother for barely seven months, just to have her ripped away so easily because of some drunk who didn’t know when to quit, and he thinks he’s going to be sick again.

It takes only one mistake to set off a series of irreversible events.

Exhausted, he doesn’t fight the sob that comes out, his shoulders shaking as more and more. He heaves for breath, curling into himself. Gemma wraps an arm around him, and he cries into her shoulder. He feels useless, sinking further into the endless pit in his mind. He’s never considered the possibility of Y/N never being there with him, holding his hand through the fire, and now that possibility is very real; he can’t face it.

When he’s run himself dry, he finally looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and swollen cheeks.

“If she dies, I dunno if I could even look at her,” he admits. “To see her eyes...” Gemma just listens. She knows that there’s nothing she could ever say to make the situation any better. She holds her brother’s hands tightly. “I should have been here,” he says, nodding softly.

“Harry, there’s nothing you could have done. It’s that prick’s fault, not yours,” she says angrily. She’s trying to keep calm, for everyone’s sake, but it’s difficult when it feels like her family is being torn apart.

“I would’ve been driving,” Harry insists. “I would be the one in there, not her, and they would’ve been safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Gemma argues softly. She’s never seen him like this before, but that’s to be expected in the situation they’re in. He’s normally such an optimistic person, and to hear him degrade himself is almost too much to handle.

“If she does make it—”

“When she makes it,” Gem snaps.

“She’s gonna hate me. I know it.”

“She has never blamed you for anything, not when fans gave her shit, not when paps would follow her, and especially not when you had to leave. There are some things that are simply out of our control, and she understands. She understands that you can’t be there all the time. She understands that this is your job, and your job has made you who you are today. She won’t blame you for this either, so don’t blame yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” he sighs. It’s true. She does not understand what he’s gone through. She doesn’t know what it feels like, but she knows that the damage is already done. There’s no use in looking back and analyzing everything to see what they could have done differently.

“I should’ve been here.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“Harry?” A shallow, unfamiliar voice speaks from behind him, making everyone raise their heads.

Anxiety spikes in his stomach. He wonders how anyone could have recognized him, since there is absolutely no one else in the hospital, and how insensitive they would have to be to come talk to him while he’s in such a state. Anger bubbles within him, his skin turning hot as he turns to face the woman.

The blood on her uniform makes him pause.

“My name is Leslie. I was one of the first people on the scene.”

“Do you know anything?” She shakes her head sadly.

“But I was with your wife in the ambulance. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you and…” She coughs, hesitation clear on her features. “And not to give up.”

She probably doesn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words because when he stands and tugs her into a hug, she tenses, hesitantly wrapping her arms around him. Again, like when he saw his baby girl, hope warms him, blanketing and strengthening him.

It’s like Y/N is speaking to him through her.

“Thank you,” he whispers, offering her a weak smile. Just as they part, an older woman rounds the corner. Everyone sits up a little straighter, the air becoming a little tenser, when she gets closer to them.

“She’s resting, now, but she should be up in a few hours,” the doctor smiles.

Harry wants to crumple to the ground as a weight lifts from his chest, and he can finally breathe. He’s run ragged, a broken cry slipping out of his blubbering lips. He tugs Gemma into his arms, who returns the embrace wholeheartedly. Such relief and warmth fills him that he can barely hear the doctor as she continues.

“There was some pretty severe internal bleeding, but we got her stabilized. She also had a couple broken ribs, nothing that time and care won’t heal. After we do some more tests, she should be released in about a week. I can show you to her room, if you’d like?”

“Yes,” Harry cries.

When they reach Y/N’s room, Harry pauses outside and turns to his mother. Her eyes, noticing the confliction in his eyes, are soft and understanding. He never thought about seeing her in such a state until now, but least she’s still with him, his little fighter, just like Rhi.

“Mum, can I, uh…” He nibbles on his lip, holding his arms out.

“Course,” Anne says, moving the baby in his open arms.

“Hi, peach,” he says, smiling. She sleeps contentedly, her features relaxed. His heart twinges as she burrows herself into his chest, and he wraps the blanket a little tighter around her.

“We’ll go to the cottage and get some extra clothes for you all,” Gemma says, knowing that Harry needs this time alone. She tugs her mother, who hesitates but soon follows.

He expected her condition to be poor, but that doesn’t stop the burning in his eyes when he sees her, hooked up to what seems like dozens of machines, her face swollen, and stitches along her hairline; she looks so fragile, so broken, but her heart beat is strong, breathing steady. As if sensing her father’s discomfort, Rhi burrows further in his arms, snuffling lightly.

He settles in a chair next to Y/N’s bed, one hand holding hers while the other arm cradles his baby.

“Gave daddy a scare earlier, peach,” he coos. “Daddy’s sorry that he wasn’t there with ya.”

He promises her many things, that she’s safe, that nothing will ever happen to her, and that her mum is safe, too, but most importantly, he promises to be there for her. He cries silently, careful to keep the tears and painful jolts of his chest from waking Rhi. He just can’t help it. After the dust settles and the smoke is cleared, the gravity of the situation weighs on him: he could have lost the two most important people in his life, and he would not have been there.

A nurse stops by to bring a bassinet for Rhiannon and to check on Y/N, who is doing wonderfully, especially after such an invasive surgery.

Y/N wakes after about an hour, just as the sun peaks beyond the horizon. Harry is still up, of course, watching his girls, finding comfort in the heart monitor. He pushes the bassinet back and forth with his foot.

“H?”

He beams when he hears her voice, gravely and worn, but it’s her voice nonetheless, comforting and warm. He wishes that he could hold her and kiss her until his love heals her wounds, but he has to settle for holding her hand and kissing her forehead for the time being.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, tears slipping past her swollen eyes. “It happened so fast.”

“What are you sorry for, lovie? You did absolutely nothin’ wrong,” he says, brushing back her hair.

“You had to leave because I wasn’t being careful enough, and I—”

His heart aches, eyes glazing over. He hates that he made her feel like his job was more important than her.

“No, none of that,” he says, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter. Listen, this was not your fault, and as far as tour goes, it’s not nearly as important as you two. I would drop everythin’ if you needed me to. There is nothin’ that I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right? You both are my life, now; I made that promise the day we got married and the day she was born. You both are my number one priority, and I haven’t been treating you like it. For that, I’m so sorry.”

“Harry—”

“It was selfish of me to think that I could live in the past and the present, live the life that I used to while trying to be a father and a husband. It wasn’t fair of me, and I am so, so very sorry, babylove.”

He kisses her, careful of her bruises, and she sinks further into the bed, comforted by his warm words and tender touches. Her eyes, fluttering with exhaustion and filled with tears, refuse to close, as if she’s afraid that he’ll be gone by the time she wakes. He runs his thumb along her cheek, mindful of the swollen areas. For the first time in what feels like years, his mind is calm, basking in the feeling of happiness as he’s finally able to feel and see his family, safe and within his reach. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and as he sees her nodding off, he presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, whispering.

“Rest, lovie, I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

She falls asleep with a faint smile.

Perhaps, fate isn’t cruel as many think. Just like anything, it can be merciful and loving for those who are worth mercy and love.

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes angst #not my gif #credit to owner

[snidgetwidgeon]

Insurrection Recollections Series: Royal Etiquette & Funding

Zelda sighed and began distracting herself with the clouds rolling by through the large windows of the Reception Hall. About a quarter of the size of the Great Hall, it was filled with amenities for entertaining delegates, courtiers, and their guests. At ten in the morning on Mondays, however- when nothing social was ever scheduled- Governess Beatrice utilized the space to teach young ladies from the upper and middle classes in Castle Town, as well as the noble families across Hyrule, about etiquette. She was currently standing at the head of the table, which was draped decoratively in neutral linens, and decked out with just about every dish, glass and piece of silverware one could imagine; including those that featured on the tables of all the races in Hyrule. Eye-catching pops of color were provided by the matching table runner and napkins, all in complementary shades of red, but to Zelda, it seemed frilly and way over the top.

Governess Beatrice must have known, or planned herself what the display was going to look like today, because she matched it perfectly. She wore a deep crimson gown over a cream chemise with long sleeves trailing from her elbow. In her hand, she held a fan which Zelda could swear was permanently attached to her body if it weren’t for the fact that it always changed to align with her elaborate ensembles. She was also partial to big hair and small hats.

As she droned on, Zelda went further into her daydream and thought she could see the Royal Crest in the clouds. Perhaps it was a sign from Hylia. Maybe if she prayed now, the power would come to her. What if she didn’t even need her robe, heirloom jewelry, or to be penitent before Hylia’s statue? Maybe she just needed to be open to celestial signs in the clouds. She clasped her hands under the table and moved her lips silently in prayer, eyes locked on the crest that had already begun to morph out of shape.

“Princess Zelda? Princess, may I have your attention please?” After no answer, Beatrice smacked her fan on the edge of the table. “Princess Zelda! Pray tell, what is so important that you are ignoring my class?”

Zelda snapped out of her focus and looked sadly at her instructor, “I thought I had received a sign from the Goddess.” She looked down at her hands, “But she has not answered my prayer.”

Beatrice was taken aback, reprimands dying on her tongue. “I see.” She did feel somewhat sympathetic, though still frustrated. When Zelda had first joined her classes, she been instructed to allow the Princess to seek the divine if she felt naturally inclined. After recalling the directive, Beatrice opened the fan with the flick of her wrist and offered graciously, “Perhaps your Highness would like to retire to the chapel to continue communing with Hylia?”

Zelda closed her eyes and nodded wistfully.

“Very well then, you may be excused.” Beatrice clipped.

Zelda stood and elegantly held her hands in front of her the way she knew Governess Beatrice liked. When she stepped away from the table, an attendant skillfully blending into the wall nearby, approached to push her vacated chair back in. They immediately returned to their position of observation.

Before she made her way out, she made a request. “Governess Beatrice, could Lady Agitha please accompany me?”

The two were inseparable, Beatrice noted, and the lesson was nearly done so she couldn’t see too much harm in it. “Lady Agitha, you may join the Princess. I expect you both to be diligent and learn from your peers what you’ve missed. Perhaps you can invite some of them to tea before Thursday.”

Agitha had leapt from her chair and practically scurried over to Zelda. She hadn’t yet grasped the finer points of subversion.

Beatrice clapped her hands, “Ah, ah! Girls... decorum.”

Zelda gave Agitha a look to ‘cut-it-out’ and took her friend’s arm in her own. They departed, Zelda’s steady steps guiding Agitha’s giddy ones.

~~~

It had been a few months of constant tedium and Zelda found that she could not always sealshit her way out of it. Twice a week, they learned how to speak, walk, stand, sit, breath, and exist as a lady. If it had to be done, there was a proper way to do everything, even blow your nose. But no one ever dared break wind. As far as Governess Beatrice was concerned, ladies did not poot.

Zelda’s eleventh birthday was approaching and Beatrice was using the event as a reason for the girls to begin perfecting their curtsies. First, they began by learning basic form. Once the general sweep of the leg, the dip of the head, and suspension of the arm was well practiced, she started to demonstrate the different levels one observed for varying degrees of rank. Zelda had been exposed to this all her life but Governess Beatrice was exceptionally exacting and expected nothing less than perfect preciseness. She thought of attempting escape again but she’d already done it twice this month. Anything more would surely attract suspicion.

Just as she started to feel a brain melt coming on after the fiftieth-odd curtsy, the Governess called an end to their lesson for that day. She entreated them to practice before later in the week when they would continue, and her excitement was practically terrifying when she announced they’d be presented with a varied wardrobe to study with. The morning was sure to be overflowing with petticoats, laces and frills.

Zelda wondered if she could play sick, or hide in the library. She much preferred it there, and recently she had managed to make a friend with an acquaintance of the Head Librarian Laslin. Her name was Impa and she had come to Castle Town recently with her older sister from Kakariko Village up in the Necluda mountains. They were here to research Ancient Sheikah Technology and were apparently already well informed on the subject. Zelda didn’t know much beyond the fact that the Astral Observatory was Sheikah. She adored that part of the castle and held dear a few faint, but very warm memories of her mother teaching her about the constellations.

“I’ll say it one more time ladies. You’d do well to practice on your own because we will be staying on this until you have all transformed into elegant herons.” She finished in the sing song voice that she thought made her seem nice, but really just grated on everyone’s nerves.

Zelda’s legs were so sore the following week after the extra curtsy lessons that it reminded her of the time she had tried ballet. The stiffness of her thighs made everything difficult, even using the lavatory; especially in her court dress. She smoothed the skirts and made sure everything was back in place before returning to the high tea being held in the courtyards. She was hoping she could get away with doing nothing more than sit and look pleasant for the rest of the afternoon, but just as she made herself comfortable under the pavilion, Governess Beatrice announced that they would be taking a stroll through the gardens.

Zelda sighed and rolled her eyes, which her friend Agitha had seen and giggled. She came to join Zelda as the sore Princess got up again and took her arm. “It’s better if you keep walking around you know,” she imparted as if she was full of infinite wisdom.

“How do you know that?” Zelda asked skeptically.

“Because my older brother told me. He goes on lots of adventures.” She paused as they both received parasols upon entry to the gardens, and ignored Beatrice’s spiel extolling the virtues of parasols. “He gets to do all the fun things with father while I have to stay here ‘because it’s tradition’,” she quoted her mother in a mocking voice.

“I thought brothers were no-good troublemakers.” Zelda stated with an air of query.

“Mine’s ok... most of the time.” Agitha laughed at her own joke while Zelda smiled, then continued, “When we’re both at home he helps me to find the best bugs.”

Zelda halted in shock and pulled Agitha to the side of the path so the other girls could pass. She whispered excitedly, “You like hunting for bugs!?”

Agitha dropped her parasol over their heads to whisper back, “I have a collection! I haven’t been able to add to it for a while though. Too much lady stuff to do,” she spat out with a scrunched face.

“I know the best rocks to look under, follow me!”

They were suddenly a flurry of giggles disappearing around the corner of a hedged bush. The other girls rolled their eyes and the teacher’s pet of the bunch took it upon herself to go and inform the Governess that there had been a break of rank in there very serious garden stroll.

Zelda dropped her parasol to the ground carelessly when they arrived in her old hunting grounds. There was a garden bed separated from the gravel path by a curved line of medium sized stones. She dropped to her knees and began turning them over one by one, inspecting the microcosm under each. Agitha joined her on the ground after folding and leaning her parasol against a bush with slightly more decorum, but once she was into the bugs, all sense of propriety was forgotten. They dirtied their dresses in the upturned soil and Agitha stood back up to hold out a layer of her skirts to make a receptacle. She directed Zelda which bugs to throw in and they devolved into fits of giggles as they rediscovered one of their beloved childhood activities. When they were found, Governess Beatrice was beside herself at their display of unladylike behavior.

All the other girls had followed to see what the commotion was about and were entertained beyond measure that the Princess of Hyrule was in trouble. They stood in their pristine, high tea finery, with slightly agape mouths hidden by dainty gloved fingers.

“Lady Agitha! Princess Zelda!” Beatrice’s head kept jerking back and forth between the two of them as if she couldn’t decide whom to admonish first. She decided on the royalty. “Princess Zelda, stand up at once! You have completely dirtied yourself!”

Zelda stood and brushed some of the dirt off the fabric over her knees. She started to tip the rocks back to rights with her foot while Beatrice turned her frustration to Agitha.

“And- Lady Agitha!” she admonished while straightening her back.

Agitha clutched her skirt closed around her waist and started to feel distraught that she would lose her new friends.

“What in Hyrule are you doing? It is very improper to be showing your petticoats in public. Put them to rights this instant,” she demanded. When Agitha hesitated, she became cross. She snapped her fan and came closer in an effort to appear more intimidating. “I said fix your dress, girl. You look like a harlot!”

Zelda glared daggers at the woman and vowed to get her back somehow, but Agitha took care of it herself.

Fear gave way to anger and she decided to unleash her new army upon Beatrice in frustration for not being allowed to be who she was any more. She hated growing up. With a dramatic cry of, “Have them, then!” she flung her dress open and the bugs were hurled in her direction.

The woman proceeded to scream, throwing up her parasol and flapping her fan all over to get the critters away. As she carried on, all the young ladies started laughing... and Agitha curtsied.

~~~

Four Years Later

Agitha kept moving restlessly from the parlor table to the tall balcony windows, peering out at the long and empty road leading up to the Windvane Manor.

After hearing her sigh for the umpteenth time, her older brother Theudric drawled, “At this rate, you’ll dull the marble. Why don’t you busy yourself and go check on the refreshments?” He was draped on the chaise lounge reading and when she came back over to scowl at him, he smirked.

“And miss her arrival? Absolutely not!” Her hip bounced a little and she admitted, “Though I do need to powder my nose.”

Just as her dress swished around the corner and out of the room, Theudric yelled, “Agitha! She’s here!”

“Finally!” She came peeling back round, almost slipping on the polished floors, and raced to the window only to find the same empty cobblestones. She heard her brother snickering behind his book and stomped over with a withering glare. “You remember the last time?” she threatened. “What ended up in your bed?”

His eyes went wide and he fell silent, burying his face in the book again, but his shoulders were still bouncing slightly.

It was still another three quarters of an hour before their guest arrived. Zelda appeared bright and cheerful, too excited to be tired from her journey, and refused offers of an afternoon’s repose. The opportunities to spend time with her friend were dwindling far too much so she wanted to take advantage of all the limited time they’d have. If she could give up sleep she would.

Agitha held her for an age in a warm embrace and then brought her to the parlor where they could all have luncheon. The moment they entered, Theudric snapped his book shut and stood ramrod straight, a slight color entering his cheeks.

“Zelda, you remember my brother, Theudric?”

Zelda smiled as he approached and gave a curt bow. “Princess Zelda, it is my pleasure to receive you to the manor. Lord and Lady Windvane send their apologies since they are away on business.”

“Thank you, and please give them my regards when they return,” she performed a small curtsy.

“Right,” Agitha announced. “Are we done with the pleasantries? Let’s eat! I’m famished.”

They gathered around the table and Theudric jumped to Zelda’s side to pull out her chair. “If you’ll allow me one more pleasantry.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Agitha stood near her own chair watching the lingering interaction and then cleared her throat.

Theudric shook his head a little in exasperation, “Oh, of course. Let me get that for you Aggi.”

They caught up while they ate and shared their latest interests. Agitha declared that she had a lovely surprise for Zelda in the lower storerooms of the house and Zelda spoke about her obsession with ancient Sheikah technology after the Divine Beasts had been discovered. A new friend, Dr. Purah, had lead the excavation for the last one in Eldin about two years prior and her younger sister Impa had begun advising the King on the subject. Zelda had since signed on to help where she could.

As she continued regaling her company with anecdotes about her translation work, Theudric sat riveted; he was so impressed with her academic achievements. A lot of people held the incorrect assumption that the Princess frittered away her time in court. She did make appearances in court- he had seen her himself on a few occasions when he went to the castle with his father on business- but she hardly wasted her time there. In fact, it seemed to him that she stayed the bare minimum that was acceptable. He vowed from then on that he would defend her honor and brilliance to anyone who stated anything to the contrary.

When he joined in the conversation and spoke of what their parents were up to lately, Agitha put on her most irksome, bored face. “Theu, that’s not interesting in the slightest- Zelda, have you had enough?” she interrupted herself to change the subject. “I can’t wait any longer to show you my new collection.”

Zelda laughed and regarded Theudric with a look of apology. “Forgive me Master Theudric, I appear to be summoned to the bowels of the house. Will you be joining us?” she asked as she stood.

He rose with her out of respect and opened his mouth but Agitha cut in, “He will not. He told me earlier that the day was so lovely he might go riding, and it’s about time I got you all to myself.”

Theudric put on mock dramatics, “I’m afraid I can’t join your Highness as I have a previous engagement with my horse. Missing an appointment with her would be a most egregious offense.” He bowed deeply. “Please forgive my absence.”

Agitha rolled her eyes and Zelda smiled bemusedly. She heard pandering like this all the time but it was much more palatable when delivered in jest rather than earnestly. It could become very tiring when people tried too hard and spoke only to her rank instead of to her person. It was why these less frequent opportunities to visit her friend away from the castle had become all the more important. She could relax and be herself out here, especially with Agitha. The only other respite she had was Gerudo Town and a trip there was even harder to wrangle as her responsibilities grew with each passing year.

“That’s quite understandable,” Zelda related. “My Rune also gets temperamental if I don’t visit him regularly.” She dipped her head and took one more little triangle egg sandwich from the table as Agitha dragged her off. “Enjoy your ride!”

Agitha led Zelda downstairs to one of the cooler, stone-lined basement store rooms. Behind the heavy wooden door that Agitha held open for her, Zelda’s breath was taken away by all of the glass terrariums lit by a plethora of lanterns. Each one had a manicured ecosystem and held from one, to many different species of bugs. Zelda bounced from one to the next as Agitha stood back, pleased with her reaction.

“This is wonderful Agitha! How did you manage to curate this?”

“Mother finally caved and said I could pursue my entomology hobby as long as it ‘doesn’t interfere with my other obligations’,” she quoted, exaggerating her mother’s shrill voice.

“I’m so happy for you. Oh! What’s this one? It doesn’t have a sign yet.”

Agitha approached to get a closer look. “Ah, that’s one of the rainy beauties, a Thunderwing Butterfly. Mother had a cow when I went to collect it because I was running around the meadow in a downpour.” She sighed, “Honestly, I’m so glad when she goes away because then I can just do my thing without her fretting over me.”

In a soft voice that sounded wistfully sad, Zelda offered a different perspective. “I’m sure that whatever she does, she does it out of love.”

Agitha was about to argue but when she noticed Zelda’s face after turning her attention away from the butterfly, she understood what she’d done. “Yeah... I’m sure you’re right.”

~~~

The next morning, Theudric found himself in front of the mirror trying to make himself look extra spiffy. He’d already asked his valet to put out one of his smartest ensembles. It included a red vest with gold buttons, brown trousers and calf-high boots. He was about to second guess if it was too fancy when he got distracted by his hair and proceeded to fiddle with it for a good twenty minutes. There were only so many things he could do with a short brown mop so finally, he just slicked it back and finished with a spritz of cologne.

He came downstairs, ready to entertain but he couldn’t see the girls anywhere. Their breakfast was half eaten and in his curiosity to find out where they could have gone, he gulped a bit of apple juice and grabbed a boiled egg to eat on his way out.

He wasn’t expecting to run right into them after turning the corner of the garden hedge, so he covered his mouth unceremoniously as he chewed quickly, the pasty egg yolk clinging to his teeth and tongue.

Zelda looked up and smiled radiantly under her sun hat. "Good morning Master Theudric." She was bent over the rim of a new large terrarium on a table, carefully placing a bit of hollow log inside to add to the habitat.

“Yes,” he finished swallowing his breakfast, “it is indeed a very beautiful morning. What are you ladies up to?”

Agitha gave him a withering stare. “What does it look like, genius?”

“Give me a break, I haven’t even been able to have my coffee,” he defended himself. “Had to come looking for you instead, didn’t I.”

“And just in time too. This one’s almost finished,” she said as she placed seedlings in pre-prepared holes in the soil at the bottom. “You can help us carry it downstairs.”

“Oh! Ah, I just remembered,” he started with a pained look on his face. “I have this thing.” He started to retreat and Agitha produced a flat and unamused expression that made him chuckle. “I’m just kidding Aggi. Are we carrying it or is it heavy enough that I need to get Genly?

“Mmmm, yes. I think Genly would be a good idea. I saw him in the stables earlier when I went to get some manure.”

“Wow, you aren’t messing around,” he said with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Only the best for my babies,” she answered.

His brow raised skeptically. “Riiiight... I’ll just go fetch Genly, then,” he stated while letting his gaze linger on Zelda as she brushed her hands together to remove the soil.

He had just turned away when she looked up to speak, the thought of allowing some self indulgence crossing her mind. “Master Theudric, do you mind if I join you? I’d love to meet the mare that stole you away from us yesterday.” Of course all three of them had known it was a pretense, but she enjoyed keeping up the ruse.

Theudric curtly bowed at the waist and gestured toward the stables. “Absolutely, your Highness. Posy would be enchanted.”

“She’s enchanted by hydromelons and if you visit her without them she’ll be a right little piece of twatittude,” Agitha warned. “I’m going to water this in. Don’t take too long.”

While Zelda bribed her way into Posy’s affections, Theudric searched the stables for Genly and found him organizing in the tack room. He was a kindly, middle aged man who’d worked for the Windvane family since he was about fifteen. His family ran the Highland Stable down south but rather than taking on the business and starting a family as he would have been expected to do when he got older, he decided to make his own way and live quietly alone in a little house on the grounds.

“Ah, Master Theudric,” Genly greeted him with a smile under his bushy mustache, tipping his hat. “Going for a ride this fine morning?”

“Morning Genly. Not at the moment.” He was about to continue with his request when an idea occurred to him. “Though maybe a bit later. I’m afraid I’m just after assistance with some heavy lifting. Aggi needs a new tank taken downstairs to her lair.”

“Righto,” Genly said as he laid some rope on the table to return to later. “Always happy to help; point the way.”

Zelda opted to continue making Posy’s acquaintance. She was entertained by the fact that the temperamental mare was pacified by hydromelons. They weren’t the usual fare at the castle stables and she thought perhaps she should acquire some for Rune to try. Maybe it would help them to bond better.

Theudric wasn’t long in returning and Genly, who was in tow to head back to what he’d initially been doing, took one look at them and steered clear out the other end of the stables to do something else. He tipped his hat as he passed by, “Your Highness.”

She smiled and nodded, then regarded Theudric with a hand on Posy’s muzzle. “Well, shall we get back? Agitha will certainly be getting restless by now.”

He leaned against the gate of Posy’s enclosure and smoothed his hair back with one hand before saying, “Actually, I’m wondering if you’d be willing to humor me for awhile. I’d love to hear more about the ancient Sheikah research you’re into.” His face was all keen interest.

“I’d be wary of that if I were you,” she warned. “Once you get me going on the subject, I’ll forget the time and talk you to exhaustion, I’m sure!”

His lips turned up into a dashing smile. “Try me.”

She seemed reticent but still in good humor, so he pursued a different tactic. “How about a deal then?”

She forgot her manners and snorted derisively, accidentally startling Posy. “Of what sort- oh, sorry Posy, I’ll leave you to the rest of your melon,” she said as she put the remaining pieces in her feed trough.

“A hobby for a hobby. You tell me all about yours while I escort you to mine. That way, there will be mutually assured boredom.”

She enjoyed his company. He seemed to not judge her natural proclivities and she appreciated that. “I really can’t fault your logic, Master Theudric.”

“Please, call me Theu,” he requested earnestly.

Agitha had just arrived on the scene to find out what had been keeping them and rolled her eyes so hard her whole body teetered to one side. “Uuugh, you’re not taking her to the Collie, are you?”

“Why not? If we take the horses, it will be a fun, midday outing. We can take a lunch.”

“What’s going on at the Coliseum?” Zelda asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

Theudric began to speak but Agitha cut him off again, “Only his pet project which daddy is sooo proud of.”

Before Agitha could continue teasing, Zelda said earnestly, “It’s a wonderful thing to have a father’s approval. I think I’d like to see the hobby that garnered such a thing. Maybe I can get some tips so father can see the value in my hobby as well.”

Theudric’s ears perked up and he asked, “Are you short of funding?”

“Honestly, I can’t complain. The research has been well funded, but it has grown to the point where we need a second location. There is an energy source that must be tapped if we want to progress as quickly as possible.”

“Sounds very interesting.”

“You say that, but there’s a catch. It’s almost as far east as you can get, near the Village of Hateno.”

“Ahh, the boonies. Father calls it bum ffff- never mind,” he caught himself from almost being incredibly uncouth in front of the Princess of Hyrule and straightened his posture. He just found her so easy to be around. Quite a different flavor from other young ladies he’d socialized with.

She suppressed a chuckle and caught Agitha’s bored expression from where she was sitting on a bale of hay, twirling pieces in her hand and waiting. “Agitha, are you going to join us? I think a ride with lunch sounds lovely.”

“It’s ok. You two go on ahead.” She stood up and stretched. “I’m going to finish the habitat for the second tank. I’ll send something from the kitchen while the horses get tacked up.”

Theudric looked incredulous. “Thanks Aggi.”

She left the stables and just as he was about to continue his conversation with Zelda, she poked her head around the corner. “Don’t take all day, you hear?!”

Zelda waved cheerfully and had a look at the other horses in their stalls. “So Theu, who shall I get ready to ride today?”

“Oh! Um...” he quickly turned away from her so he could hide the warmth he felt on his cheeks, no doubt manifesting as a full on blush at hearing his nickname as he’d requested. He led her to a brown and white spotted mare about three stalls down. “We’ll have to take Daisy because she’s the only one that Posy likes hanging around with.”

“Daisy and Posy, hm? All we need is another flower and we’ll be on our way to a bouquet,” Zelda joked.

And she made silly jokes. He was a goner.

Theudric led Daisy out to introduce them and laughed nervously. “Actually, you’re not far off. All the horses have been bred at my Uncle Talon’s farm on the other side of the field and he’s a... a quirky one. Names all his horses after flowers.” He leaned over to look past Zelda outside, “I’ll just find Genly to tack up.”

As he brushed past, she touched his arm, “It’s ok, I like doing it myself. Besides, that way Daisy can get to know me better before we go. Isn’t that right, beautiful girl?” she cooed, gently stroking Daisy’s face.

Theudric felt rude for letting his surprise show but she was paying more attention to Daisy anyhow. “Alright then, let’s get ready.”

He collected saddles and reins from the tack room and they got to work. She asked him about his project but he only touched on it briefly, wanting to share the full story during their outing when he could show as well as tell. He did let on that it was his innovation to combine the annual Kingdom Games with a harvest market. It would be a whirlwind fortnight of competition and bartering, boosting trade in the region for smaller, local farmers, and trades people. It was also ideally situated to receive the quality gem crafts and fabrics coming out of Gerudo Desert.

Zelda sat astride her mount first and was glad she brought her hat as she rode out into the clear summer day. Genly came past with another tip of his hat and handed her a packed lunch. “This came from the big house. I hope you enjoy your ride, your Highness. I’ll take care of the girls when you get back.”

“Thank you, Genly,” she beamed.

He shrugged shyly over the Princess of Hyrule remembering his name and passed Theudric’s lunch to him as he emerged next from the stables astride Posy. The two horses nibbled at each other and snorted, but otherwise got on.

“Well, then. Shall we?” Theudric asked.

Zelda clicked her heels and set off at a cantor. “We shall!”

~~~

The moment Zelda pulled away and the last of her small retinue were out of earshot, Agitha turned on her brother with a look of disdain. "I hardly get to see Zelda anymore. I'd appreciate you not stealing her from me next time she visits."

He finished waving and rolled his eyes at her as he turned to go back in the house.

When he didn't say anything, she kept on. "Theu! Seriously, you used to pay us no mind whatsoever. Why are you butting in?"

He kept walking through the vaulted foyer and answered nonchalantly, "I like her."

She froze in a silent gasp but recovered from the shock quickly, catching up to him in a flurry of clicking steps that reverberated off the polished floor. "Well- then-," she struggled to retain the argument after such a bombshell. "Then go see her on your own time and-"

He whirled on her, having become slightly annoyed at her petulance, "Honestly, I don't know why you're so upset. If she likes me back, you two could end up being sisters, and then you can spend as much time with her as you like."

A loud and deep gasp filled the room this time, as if she'd inhaled all the available air in the house, "YOU'RE RIGHT!"

She then left him with a bemused expression as she made a mad dash to her writing desk upstairs. She'd begin matchmaking right away, starting with a letter to Zelda. Subtle hints, not too overt. She'd have to gauge if he was even on her radar. Probably not, all she talked about was ancient Sheikah tech...

She giggled as she wrote, imagining the day when they could be sisters.

#breath of the wild #fanfiction #writing #Royal Etiquette & Funding #Insurrection Recollections Series #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

[8bitpizzacoupons]

ღ + crystal and tweak?

I could've sworn I posted this already, sorry for the wait! Who’s the first to wake up in the morning: Tweak. They share a bed, and Crystal not only snores, but starfishes in her sleep. He gets woken up one way or another. He’ll let her have the bed to herself and get started on the day - he figures the rest will do her good.

Who’s the one to make breakfast: Tweak likes to cook breakfast. His go-to is eggs scrambled up with whatever veggies they have on hand. Something about whisking eggs and stuff together in a bowl is cathartic. It’s something to focus on so his mind doesn’t wander to… well, everything. More often than not, the smell drags Crystal out into the kitchen, but until then it’s just him and the quiet.

Who’s the one to serve the other breakfast in bed: Tweak did once, after a night where Crystal was up tossing and turning with pain. He figured it’d help, so she didn’t have to try to drag herself all the way into the kitchen. She shoved it off, sending eggs and toast all over the sheets, and snapped that she wasn’t some kinda frail, dying old lady who needed to be babied. He told her to go fuck herself. They haven’t talked about it since, and that was the last time he tried.

Who would suggest a quickie in the morning before work: Crystal would if either of them had jobs. As it is now, she sleepily offers sex as a thank-you for him having cooked breakfast. (She once tried coming on to him as he was cooking, wrapping her arms around him while he was at the stove, but it startled him and everybody got burned with bacon grease.)

Who chooses the movies: Tweak does, since they’re staying at his house and the only movies they have access to are his own. He asks Crystal to pick sometimes, but she’s not usually partial to anything.

Who initiates kissing during the moving, thus distracting the other from the movie all together: They both do, since they get high every time they watch a movie together. Crystal gets cuddly when she’s stoned, and she thinks Tweak is soft and nice and comfortable. If they don’t end up completely zeroed-in on whatever they’re watching, movie night dissolves into making out with popcorn-breath and then escalating from there.

Who orders lunch: Crystal orders, but Tweak pays. Except when Crystal orders and they make a break for it before the bill comes.

Who steals food from the other’s plate without asking: Crystal helps herself, Tweak allows it. They mostly eat food he’s cooked, so it makes him feel happy that she seems to like it so much. He takes from her plate, too, sometimes, but when she objects he reminds her that he’s the one who did all the work. He also gets a sense of what her favorite foods are and which things she’ll pick around, so he eats the stuff she doesn’t like.

Who curls up next to the other and falls asleep due to a full tummy: They’ll both just sit and end up snoozing on each other after a big meal. Crystal’s metabolism slows down a bit while she’s in recovery, and food’s kind of scarce since the whole county’s gone nuts, so when they have enough food for a big meal she tends to overdo it. She turns into a big baby when her stomach starts cramping, and ends up with her head in Tweak’s lap with him stroking her hair. He doesn’t mind.

Who distracts the other from trying to work at home: They take turns bugging each other while they’re busy, but Tweak does it more pointedly than Crystal does. He gets lost in his head easily and sometimes he just needs someone to bounce ideas off of, or just talk at so he can get all his thoughts sorted. It’s not uncommon for Crystal to be minding her business and then Tweak comes bursting in, talking a mile a minute and getting all worked up over something. Sometimes Crystal tries to help talk him through whatever’s got him all jumpy, but sometimes she just stops and listens while he gets it all out of his system.

Who asks to go get ice cream like a five year old: It only happened once, when the pair of them got the munchies and were both elbow-deep in a bag of stale potato chips. They got to talking about all the snack foods they missed that they couldn’t find before the reaping, and Crystal went “You know what I really miss? Ice cream.” They ended up venturing out into the war-torn landscape of Hope County, dodging peggie roadblocks and scouting parties, in search of ice cream. They found an abandoned grocery store that had some cartons left over, but they were just gooey, stinking messes since the freezer had stopped working. Crystal was ready to admit defeat, but Tweak told her not to give up. Two days later they made their way to the newly-retaken outpost of Lorna’s Truck Stop, which still had power, and buried in one of the freezers was a single mini carton of a slightly-freezerburned rocky road. They shared it on the roof and it was the best date Crystal had ever been on.

Who takes pictures of their partner eating ice cream: Neither one of them are sentimental enough for that. But Tweak thinks about how she looked sometimes, up on Lorna’s rooftop under the stars. The icy wind biting her cheeks until they went pink, tousling her wild tangle of curls. She was shivering - they both were, it was too cold out to be eating ice cream - but he could see the way her lips curled in a cocky little smile. She ate greedily, ungracefully, and every time she passed their plastic spoon to him her hands where sticky. The mental picture stuck with him.

Who makes a sexual joke about the dripping ice cream on their partner’s face: Neither, but Tweak has heard what she used to call it when she got ice cream on her face. He thinks it’s funny.

Who cooks dinner: Tweak does all the cooking, always. He likes to cook - he doesn’t think he’s good at it, but cooking is really just chemistry with less risk of acid burns. Crystal loves his cooking, and she tends to hover in the kitchen while he’s doing his thing. At first she tried to help him, and he tried to teach her some little tricks and techniques he’d picked up, but she never had a knack for it. She also ended up always standing right in front of the drawers and cabinets he needed to get to as soon as he needed to get to them. It drove him nuts. Now the most she’s allowed to do is chop the veggies on the kitchen table where she’s not in his way.

Who cleans up the kitchen afterwards: Tweak usually gets around to it after a day or so. Crystal helps dry the dishes and put them back. It’s a little routine they have. They both hate cleaning, but it’s nice to have a routine, even when the routine kind of sucks.

Who stays up until 2 reading: Tweak does every once in a while. A few years ago he drove out of the county to rob a community college bookstore a couple towns over. He’s got some basic textbooks on different types of chemistry - they’re nothing super impressive, but he likes to go over them. He’s also got his comic book and manga stash with him.

Who stares at their partner while their sleeping: When Crystal first came to stay with him, she was still recovering from some gnarly face injuries. The only time she was without her sunglasses would be when she was asleep, and Tweak found himself checking in on her from time to time. When he catches his gaze lingering too long, he feels weird about it. It seems unfair since she can’t do the same to him. And in general it just makes him feel like some kinda creep. He just thinks she’s really pretty.

Who kisses their partner while they sleep: Some mornings Crystal will roll over, half-asleep, and give him a lazy kiss. Sometimes she’s tired and thinks he’s someone else, but sometimes it’s on purpose.

#replies #ask meme #far cry 5 oc #tweak fc5 #oc: crystal

[dhufearchived]

@wldflwers​   SAID   :    WE’RE  HAVING  A  BABY.   I  REALLY  DIDN’T  THINK  IT  WOULD  HAPPEN  FOR  US.    (  caranthir  )

nefarious    little    voice    in    the    back    of    her    head,    murmuring    all    kinds    of    malevolent    truths    ;    elise,    who    would    allow    you    to    perpetuate    this    lineage    of    evil    ?    and    if    the    voice    has    mama's    unforgiving    tone,    there    is    no    water    pure    enough    to    dilute    the    damage    it    has    already    done.    even    if    they    have    talked    about    it,    and    they    have    ___    at    great    length,    as    they    always    do,    a    reassurance    ishtar    did    not    know    she    would    one    day    require    to    move    on    with    her    life.    but    every    step    ahead    is    an    easy    one,    as    he    is    there    to    make    sure    they    have    envisioned    the    path    they    must    trudge    on.    in    all    chaos    there    is    calculation    ;    and    more    often    than    not,    he    is    hers.    the    hand    to    her    compass,    always    pointing    home.    and    yet    !    even    if    they    have    talked    about    it,    the    voice    has    always    been    louder    than    the    shambles    of    the    outside    world    :    exquisite    negation    of    a    family    that    would    never    see    the    day,    for    she    has    ruined    her    first    &    second.    [    don't    you    think    you    have    had    enough    chances,    elise    ?    ]    

so    when    the    sickness    arrives    unannounced,    all    her    favorite    dishes    now    poison    down    the    throat    ;    even    the    button    mushrooms,    which    are    usually    absentmindedly    eaten    straight    out    of    a    bowl    in    front    of    the    tv    ___    well,    she    reckons    a    few    days    of    rest    are    required.    sickness    is    now    easier    to    accept    than    it    has    been    in    the    past,    because    caranthir    usually    lets    himself    be    bullied    into    playing    the    nurse.    she    acts    as    the    dying    maiden    &    if    he    sees    right    through    her    little    game,    he    does    not    seem    to    mind    it    too    much    when    it    means    actually    getting    rid    of    the    fever.    with    ishtar,    a    game    is    always    preferable    to    the    stone    cold    silence    that    accompanies    any    kind    of    tentative    offer    to    help    :    she    would    welcome    a    deadly    fever,    no    questions    asked,    if    it    meant    avoiding    the    terrible    ordeal    of    asking    someone    else    to    take    care    of    her.    and    if    they    have    yet    to    destroy    this    mechanism,    they    have    found    their    way    around    it    :    ishtar    demands    attention    rather    than    help,    and    caranthir    finds    a    way    to    translate    one    into    the    other.

but    this    time    is    different.    the    disease    does    not    go    away,    no    matter    how    many    times    she    demands    some    peace    from    her    body    :    two    weeks    later,    once    confronted    with    another    bowl    of    mushrooms    that    looked    tantalizing    and    yet    tasted    disgusting,    the    girl    breaks    down    crying.    khairos    on    her    shoulder,    his    small    head    against    her    cheek,    hiding    under    dishevelled    hair    as    her    shoulders    come    up    &    down    with    tearful    shudders.    the    crisis    lasts    no    more    than    ten    minutes,    but    it    feels    significant    :    ishtar    likes    her    fits    of    crying    the    same    way    she    likes    the    rest    of    her    dramatics    ___    they    need    to    be    purposeful    &    controlled.    they    are    never    chaos    to    her,    only    chaos    to    the    world.    and    this    ?    this    is    unbridled    chaos    with    no    explanation    :    she    hates    it.    one    thing    leading    to    another,    it    is    easy    to    come    up    with    ideas    :    a    cancer    (google's    idea),    a    pregnancy    (macy's    conclusion),    or    a    stomach    bug    making    her    very    very    emotional    (ishtar's    own    interpretation).

and    while    it    is    rather    difficult    (but    not    impossible    if    you're    determined    ...    and,    well,    ishtar)    to    demand    a    test    for    a    deadly    disease,    no    one    prevents    her    from    buying    a    pregnancy    test.    it    feels    forbidden,    the    old    feeling    of    doing    something    the    rest    of    the    world    will    judge    your    for    ;    but    ishtar    is    no    longer    eighteen.    the    lady's    look    is    hopeful,    telling    her    "    good    luck    "    &    ishtar    doesn't    know    how    to    tell    her    that    there    is    no    chance    on    earth    she    is    pregnant.    the    girl    has    few    actual    beliefs    (the    world    turns    &    we    turn    with    it    ;    my    body    is    mine    ;    i    am    my    mother's    daughter,    whatever    that    might    entail)    but    those    are    enough    to    lead    her    to    think    that    she    might    not    be    able    to    fulfill    her    end    of    the    bargain.    she    had    not    known    how    to    tell    caranthir    at    the    time,    but    she    does    not    trust    this    cursed    body    into    producing    anything    but    chaos    ;    and    if    it    did,    then    surely    she    would    end    up    being    the    same    mess    as    her    mother.    full    of    good    intentions,    &    still,    mother    instincts    operating    wrong.    

which    leads    us    back    to    the    present,    both    of    them  �� standing    over    the    test.    well,    caranthir    standing    over    the    test    while    ishtar,    fists    clenched    &    eyes    closed,    is    getting    herself    ready    to    apologize    for    her    body    ;    how    it    is    going    to    let    him    down,    day    after    day,    because    it's    never    going    to    be    able    to    create    life.    (mama    thought    she    was    the    devil    incarnate    but    sometimes    ishtar    only    sees    death    in    the    mirror.    ghosts    over    her    shoulders,    whispering    sweet    nothings    about    memories    she    helplessly    tries    to    push    away).    but    then    she    hears    him,    breath    catching    in    her    throat.    surely    he    is    mistaken.    «        we're    havin'    a    what    now    ?        »    tight    line    of    her    brows,    finally    peering    down    (only    one    eye    open)    at    the    singular    clear    line    on    the    test.    «        fuck.        »    a    long    exhale,    all    the    tension    leaking    out    of    her    body    with    it    :    fists    unclenching    as    well    as    her    opening    her    eyes    to    look    more    closely.    «        fuck.        »    and    that    one    is    final    :    she    turns    around    to    face    him,    visage    both    horrified    &    hopeful.    apology    stuck    in    her    throat,    maybe    we    can    adopt    or    our    family's    already    enough,    no    ?    but    this    ?    she    doesn't    know    what    to    say    to    this,    the    frenzied    look    in    her    eyes    giving    her    away    quite    easily.    «        how    did    tha'    happen.    we    ain't    ready.    lake.    do    we    even    know    what    babies    eat.    do    babies    eat.    wha    did    we    even    want    one    they    ain't    doin'    anythin'.    jesus,    i    reckon    am    gonna    need    to    google    search    everythin'.    carey.    am    so    bad    at    researchin'.        »    she    might    be    hyperventilating.    «        we're    fucked.    god.        »    

#wldflwers #pregnancy / #long post / #MODERN yeehaw . #ishtar : yea sure lets have a baby #ishtar in front of the test : VADE RETRO SATANA #she's gonna b happy once she remembers to breathe

[onepdumpsterfire]

Maelstrom

Reader . Straw Hat crew

Word count: 6623

Trigger warning: Death. Gore, I suppose. (spoiler: the reader dies then comes back to life)

if there are any triggers that you need specifically tagged, please feel free to tell me.

Summary: Reader was betrayed by their past comrades and left in a cage for the rest of eternity. straw hats stumble upon them and  decide to help them.

Nami’s pov.

A harsh current pulled at The Sunny, dragging us closer and closer to the raging whirlpool behind us. 

We raced around on The Sunny, trying to get her to move away from it, but its claws took hold of us before we could even take control from the waters. Roughly pulling at The Sunny one last time, it sucked her into its glistening wrath.

“Not like this, Sunny,”  Franky yelled at his most prized creation, “You will not go down like this.” He pulled on the helm, hoping to salvage any form of power.

But the current was too strong, and before we knew it, the whirlpool took us from its lip down to its pit; swallowing our screams with its ear-splitting roar up to the very end.

-

We should be dead. The raging waters should have destroyed our ship and drowned us for trying to defy the sea’s fury; but it calmed at the apex of the whirlpool, making the Sunny swirl to a dizzying stop before it started moving in the same lazy path of the current at the whirlpool’s center. “. . .What . . . just happened?” I’m amazed at our continued death-defying luck, and it seems most of the crew did too. They either stood incredulous at the events or celebrated our, once again, unbelievable escape of danger.

As are many of the moments here, it didn’t last long before our captain decided to do something stupid.

“Hey! there’s an island!” Luffy pointed towards the very center of the whirlpool that caged us in. “Franky, turn The Sunny! We’re stopping at the island!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stretched out his arms on the railing. “Gomu gomu-no...”

I should have known that he would think very little about the situation we’ve gotten into. Walking over to him, I try to take hold of him before he can launch himself. “Oh, no you don’t. You are going to help-” Without a care in the world, our reckless captain slingshotted himself off The Sunny, yelling about finding a good restaurant on the island before I could finish my sentence. 

“That idiot captain.” A vein practically burst out of my forehead as I shook a menacing fist at the spot where he once stood. “When I get my hands on-” taking in a long breath, I calmed myself. There’s no point in getting mad at that idiot captain right now. Let’s just anchor the ship somewhere secluded so that I can RIP HIM A NEW ONE.

Soon after, my anger towards Luffy’s rash personality dissipated and began to get replaced with a crawling sense of dread. Even before we anchored the ship, I felt there was something wrong.

The island seemed so still. So… quiet, besides the constant cascading water surrounding us there weren’t any sounds of bugs or birds or ANY animals. It’s getting hard to believe that this island was inhabited by anything, let alone humans.

To add to the ominous feeling the island gave off, the beach ended as soon as it began. The small strip of sand that surrounded the island like a halo turned into stone more than a yard in, and the few plant life that was here miraculously thrived from between the cracks on the rocky floor. No grass, no trees, just bushes, weeds, and a tall rugged mountain that seemed to be too steep to even be called that. It appeared to be more of a tower that onlooked the rest of the island. Looming over everything like a guardian that promised safety only to backhand you with its cracked and coarse hand.

Few of the bushes seemed to have some food to eat, but all of it were poor excuses for berries. Too small to carry any nutrients and too little to sate any hunger. I’m sure that even if you collected all the berries in this place it wouldn’t even be enough to constitute as a meal.

Without even looking I knew that the water surrounding us would be the same. Devoid of all life, plant, and animal alike. Had we really survived? Or do we await a less abrupt ending? One where we prolong our inevitable doom by scrounging up any food we can find or starve.

Looking over to the thrashing water that surrounded us, tumbling over itself to create an impenetrable gate, it seemed to be harsher than what we’d crossed to get in here. Was it even possible to get back out? With the way things looked if we even tried we’d get ripped to shreds. I don’t think The Sunny can survive that.

My concerns were interrupted when Luffy came running back to us yelling that he hadn’t found a town or village on the small island. “Of course not! Do you not see how deserted the island looks?”

“That’s right, Luffy!” Usopp joins in my scolding, “we should worry about how we’re gonna get out! Or what we’re gonna eat! Our food won’t last forever!” At least there’s one person here that’s reliable. I can always count on Usopp to be grounded!

“We can just eat fish-” I quiet the thundering dumbass with a hit to the head, “obviously not! There are no fish here!” With a huff, I look over to our cook, “Sanji-kun, can you ration out the food?”

“Yes, Nami-swan!” Hearts practically bulge out of his eyes as he praises my genius. disregarding that one, I need to make sure the whining resident glutton of the ship gets the message.

Glaring, I grab the scruff of Luffy’s vest, “EVERYONE’S on a diet until we get out or miraculously find food on this godforsaken rock.”

“Bᵤₜ ₙaaaₘᵢᵢᵢᵢ”

“No buts.”

“Bᵤₜ ₙaa-” Giving him another hard knock to the head, I dish out the rest of the orders.

Zoro is gonna go scout the island more thoroughly, taking Chopper with him because he wanted to see if there were any herbs he could use for medicine in between all of the weeds. Robin went to go check out the stone tower mountain with Franky and Luffy, who would have gone anyway even if I had told him otherwise. Usopp and Brook took charge of seeing if the sea was really as barren as the rest of this place in the Mini Marry. Lastly, I’m gonna go explore the island, map it out, and try and find any clues that explain why this place is so lifeless.

-

After an hour of looking around, I've come to the conclusion that this place makes no sense! If an underwater volcano erupted and created the island not so long ago then maybe it would make sense but by the looks of the untamed, patchy shrubs this place has been here for much longer. Not to mention, after an eruption, the first life that forms is lichen that slowly breaks away at the rock that formed; but it’s as if a sheet of rock landed on top of this island, killing everything that couldn’t claw its way out through the cracks. More so, it looks like it’s sealing everything beneath it so that no other life passes. It’s purposefully trying to keep any vegetation from growing.

The longer I walk around the island the more off it becomes. I should get back and tell the others what I found. Hopefully, Robin was luckier and found better clues about this place in the tower.

-

As I approach The Sunny, I can see that all of them are back and… there’s someone with them.

So there was life here?

How is that even possible?

Either way, I have a piece of my mind to give to this person about the island.

“Look who we found in the tower.” Robin gestures towards the new person in the group, “this is Y/n.”

“Thank you, Robin. I can always count on you.”

“Luffy and I were there too, y’know!” Franky yells at me.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, Y/n-”

“Don’t ignore me!” 

“- how long have you been here? How did you manage to survive? Is there anything that’s edible here, other than the barries?” I give them a look like they’re our saving grace. Maybe, just maybe, there could be hope for us after all.

Reader’s pov.

They’d introduced themselves already; the black-haired woman that initially found me in my safe haven had done the courtesy, even going as far as telling me what each of the people on the crew did. That includes the redhead that approached us with a worried expression that soon turned to absolute bliss as she laid eyes on me. She must think I can get them out of here or find them some supplies, but she will soon be disappointed.

After a small one-sided exchange from the redhead and… Franky… she bombards me with questions.

“... no, sorry. There is no food here…” The life practically saps out of her eyes as she deflates into a feeble state of worry. “You all should leave if you can. This is no place to live.”

“Says you!” the long nose speaks up. Usopp, was it? “You live here don’t you? If you’d fallen in after us Brook and I would have seen you when we were searching around the island and we didn’t see any boats or wrecks!”

“Plus, you’re all alone here. What happened to your crew?” Chopper the tanuki braves his fear and speaks from behind Zoro. Well, not quite. He’s more hiding his face than his body.

“Maybe they ate their crew.” Usopp and Chopper scream in terror at Robin’s attempt at humor. “Don’t say that, Robin! They wouldn’t... R-r-right, Y/n-san.” Stuttering, Usopp tries to give me the benefit of the doubt so as to land a better standing with me. “W-we’re all friends here right, Y/n-san?”

“Maybe I did.” Usopp ashened at my words while Chopper yelled that I’d be restrained.

Such a lively crew. It's been a while since I’ve had such a nice interaction with… Well, anyone. Looking off to the side, I make note of the time of day. It’s nearly sunset, they should get out while there’s still light, if they even can. At the very least they should die trying. What this place is… What this place becomes after dark. They won’t survive for long if they stay here.

“All jokes aside,” admitting that I was only joking seemed to calm the scaredy cats, though what I’m about to say will raise their anxiety once more. Poor them, thrown one thing after another. “It’s getting dark. There are things on this island that come out during the night-”

“The caves dug into the floor Chopper and I saw, there was something inside,” Zoro steps forward, already knowing the answer to his upcoming question. “I felt something was in there, that’s what you’re talking about, right?”

“Yes, there are creatures here who burrowed down into the rock of this island,” turning behind me, I face the tower again, “they won’t go into the tower, so if you need it, you can stay there for tonight.”

“But take anything you want from your ship, those creatures will ravage everything on it.” I raise a hand to stop their upcoming complaints, “it would be best to leave right now so that the ship has a better chance to make it over the whirlpool, but there is no helping it if you have no idea how to cross it yet.”

Letting them finally say what’s on their minds they hurl a flurry of complaints at me.

Luffy: can that thing even hold up? When we went to go see it, it looked like it was about to fall over!

Franky: I’m not leaving my baby alone with whatever those things are!

Usopp: What are those things?!?!?!?! Do they only come out at night?! Am I the only one worried about them?!!

Zoro: I’ll cut them all down.

Sanji: Nami-swan, Robin-chwan! Your prince will protect you!

Nami: Thank you Sanji-kun

Chopper: I wasn’t aware there even was an entrance to the tower.

Robin: I hope we don’t get eaten…

Brook: Same here, I doubt I’m any good. I’m all bones yohohohoho

Taking a deep breath, I try to answer whatever questions or complaints they have. The tower will probably hold. No guarantee, though. It’s the safest bet to make it through the night.

The things leave when daylight hits.

They can’t just sail around the island until those things are gone in the morning because they are a type of magical creature that learns and evolves. (The creatures would struggle to swim at first but soon enough they would become exceptional at it and catch up.)

You can’t just cut them down because they’re immortal beings that re-generate.

“Well, not quite beings, considering that they were made from magic to mindlessly attack whatever is in the cage.” I corrected myself, gaining more inquiries. “Magic? Cage? Is that what the whirlpool is? What is it keeping inside, if not those creatures?” Robin seems to be one of the more inquisitive people on the ship, considering how gung-ho the others appear to be, I’m glad they have someone that they can count on. Such loyalty and trust from comrades is one thing that I miss most from the outside world.

“Hahaha those are good questions, maybe I’ll answer that some other time,” I turn on my heel, not really caring if they take my advice or not. “It’s a long story and it’s about to get dark. We should head inside.”

I’m not gonna stay out here to be live bait to those THINGS.

Suddenly a warm, cream-colored thing snakes around my abdomen before yanking me back, full force. Nearly making me spit out my heart, may I add. What the ABSOLUTE FUCK?

Flying past the ship’s railing, I land on the hard mast, knocking the wind right out of myself. “Ah, sorry. Sorry, shishishishi.” Luffy stands above me, laughing at my expense. That stupid face makes me want to throw him into the ocean. A devil fruit user huh? I hope he sinks, bastard! I prepare to scold him, but he cuts me off, “you’re coming with us, right?”

“I- wa- No! I can’t ‘come with you’!”

“Huh? But why not?”

“Because the cage won’t let me! Believe me, I’ve tried! It just drags me right back… I can’t… I can’t leave.” Pushing past Luffy, I try to jump ship but it seems they have other ideas. His arm now tightly secured to my waist he tells me they won’t let those things hurt me. That I can leave with them. To the outside world.

His words and the full confidence looks his crew gives us almost makes me fall to my knees. How can they believe so blindly in someone? Putting so much faith in someone can only lead to betrayal. They can’t be serious. This isn’t real.

I try to worm myself out of his grasp. Pulling and pushing at Luffy’s skin, kneading away at his arm but his hold only tightens. “We’ll get out, Y/n. Don’t worry.” He isn’t looking at me, rather choosing to stare as the last sliver of light vanishing and a tidal wave of misformed creatures rushing towards the departing ship.

They were all butched, they looked like the person who made them once intended them to look human only to change their mind at the last moment. Some of the creatures looked sickly, with stick-like bodies that clashed with bulbous limbs. Dried out, pale skin that cracked under their every jagged movement, spilling blood with every jerk of their body. Their faces so sunken and hollow you could barely tell there were eyes in the black sockets that reflected back the murky color of the dim moonlight.

Others had random limbs that were too long for them; elongated further than they should have to contradict the rest of their proportions. Their skin sagged on their forms and their orifices oozed a dark and coagulated purge liquid that slopped down with their every step.

They crawled at an alarming speed with their spidery appendages, falling over each other’s tangling limbs. They pulled on each other to get to us. Gnarled limbs clawing, biting, ripping each other open to get farther ahead.

Their dark gray blood painted the stone beneath them as they healed themselves then tried to get past again. Shoving, piercing, and sinking their teeth into one another turned to push each other underwater when they got to the sea.

They took no breaths between the waves that pulled them or the body pushed them under; they didn’t even look like they cared that they were drowning themselves.

They had one objective.

Destroy the occupants of the cage at any cost. 

“Oh, god! What are they doing?!” Usopp yelled from the stern, firing off a few rounds with his slingshot, kabuto. Zoro, Sanji, and Chopper stood beside him observing the horrific sight. “Stop firing at them! It’s useless, that won’t make them stop!” I yell back at him, finally managing to free myself from Luffy’s arm. Whether they heard me or not didn’t show, all four of them began to throw any attack they could at the creatures.

“Have a little faith, Y/n shishishi,” Luffy smiled at me, “we’re gonna get out of here.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk over to the railing. “If you guys wanna take your chances with the cage that’s fine, but leave me out of it.” I prepare to leap over the railing only to be pulled back again. “Are you crazy?! Those things will rip you to shreds if you go into the water!”

“No, crazy would be staying here, and at the very least it’ll give you some time to try and go through to the other side! Look!” I pointed back to the mass of bodies that dived down before springing out of the water, almost taking out Usopp when they collectively reached out for him. “I told you those things learn, it’s just a matter of time before they manage to get on board!” 

I pleaded with them to just let me buy them some time. I can’t leave but at the very least I can do that! I can do one nice thing to the only people that I’ve seen in centuries! To the people that tried to save me with their stupid blind faith.

But Luffy stubbornly refused to just let me go. No matter how many times I told them I’d be fine.

The waters sped up as we neared the edge of the whirlpool, leaving the creatures to get pulled under. “There isn’t much time before they resurface, or until the curse... I need to leave. I can buy you time! Please!” I am practically on my knees begging, but they won’t even listen to me.

“Luffy! We only have enough Cola reserves to make a small coup de burst,” Franky shouted over the white noise of the gushing water, “The wind that’s surrounding the whirlpool is being sucked in from the outside. If we don’t time it right we might end up being engulfed by the waters!”

“Alright, Franky! I’m counting on you!”

“Aye, captain! I’ll do it at the last possible moment to ensure we make it through!”

Panic sets in the pit of my stomach, “no, I can’t. I can’t!” I pull and punch at Luffy,  “I won’t make it! Let go of me so you won’t be left behind with me, Luffy!”

“No.”

“Luf- Lu.” I nearly choked on my own words when I got a glimpse of the wide horizon line.

I thought I’d never be able to see such a beautiful eternity again. I’ve never made it this far, the water would only get more aggressive no matter how hard I tried with whatever unlucky ship was dragged down here. It would always drag me down under or pull me back to the island.

 We’re getting closer and closer, the boys in the back are holding themselves against the creatures and Luffy isn’t letting go.

Can I… Can I actually leave this place?

Can I be free?

Tears distort my vision before falling freely down my face, “can I leave? I can be free?” I look up at Luffy for confirmation. Light seemed to radiate off of him. Could you be my savior? 

“Of course, Y/n! Shishishishi!” Luffy lets me go, now satisfied knowing that I won’t try to jump off. I look out into the ocean that I haven’t seen In lifetimes and I can’t help the hope that swells in my heart.

I can see the outside again. 

I’m gonna be free

I am gonna be FREE

All too suddenly the familiar weight on my neck constricts my airway.

No. I’m so close. no. No. NO! 

The chain that binds me to the island finally shows itself. Shortening the closer we get to freedom.

How cruel to have me believe I could actually be free. 

The chain pulled me back with such a crushing force that it immediately snapped my neck. 

Sanji’s pov.

We were so close. So close to leaving this hell hole and then a chain appeared around Y/n neck. It pulled them back into the water and dragged them all the way back to land. All of the creatures that pursued us stopped immediately, taking more interest in Y/n’s body that flopped in and out of the water with the dragging force of the chain. The creatures jumped on to them, injecting their claws into their soft skin to secure their hold on them.

“Stop! Turn around! Y/n fell off!” Luffy yelled up at Franky. 

I agree with Luffy, we may have just met Y/n but I heard about how they were willing to jump into the water to give us time to escape. There’s no way we can leave them behind after that!

“As the navigator, I’ll make sure to keep the ship safe, captain.” With an unshaken voice, Nami assured Luffy, “Go to the island and get Y/n back. We’ll keep The Sunny going around to keep her safe until you get back!”

“D-don’t worry c-captain. I’m a b-brave warrior of the sea! I’ll protect the ship!” Shakily Usopp raised a thumbs up to Luffy.

“Yes! Leave it to us, Captain!” Brook chimed in, soul solid at the ready.

“Oi, Captain. Don’t keep all the fun to yourself. We’re coming too.” Zoro and I stood resolute on our decision. 

“Shishishi alright! Let’s go! Gomu gomu-no!” Luffy stretched his arm over the railing, while the other wrapped itself around us. “No! Wait! Luffyyyyyyyy!!” Our idiot captain wants to kill us! Launching us straight into a rocky shore, this ASS!

“Stop throwing us everywhere, Luffy!” I raise my hand to give him a hard knock to the head, the moss head agrees with me by giving him one too. “Sorry, sorry.”

Sorry, my ass. Grumbling I take out the cigarette box before fishing in my pocket for a lighter. “Alright, Y/n was dragged off somewhere near the tower thing, so let’s head there to look for them first.”

“Yosh! Let’s go!” without a second thought, this reckless idiot rushes straight in, leaving us to catch up.

It didn’t even take long to reach the tower, the island was small. Which is why it surprised me how many of those things there were. How far had they burrowed under the island for there to be this many?

The mass practically moved as one when they noticed us. Descending on us with such ferocity that it would have left a weaker man feeling helpless.

“Sit back and watch, marimo! I’ll take them all out.”

“Big words for such a small man, curly.”

“You shitty- Watch me!” I ran in yelling the name of my starting attack ‘Joue Shoot’ hitting my mark right in the face and sending it, along with every creature behind it, flying.

We aren’t making any headway! Every time we push forward we are pushed back with the same strength. One after another, every enemy we took down bounced right back up, better and stronger than before.

The ones I was fighting got tougher, callused skin and became resistant to the fire from my ‘Hell Memories’ attack; and to make matters worse, those things have started learning my attacks, and a quick glance can confirm that the others are having the same luck. Luffy’s creatures are doubling their speed, increasing their bulging muscles so that they look like Luffy’s Kong Gun. Zoro’s opponents broke their arms, shanking their bones through their skin to make imitation swords.

These things are fucking monsters. They don’t seem to be able to feel any of the pain we’re inflicting. We can’t keep the same mindless pace they do! We take a hit and keep all damage from it!

“Luffy, this isn’t gonna work, we need to retreat for now!”

“Oi, shit-cook! You think these things are just gonna let us retreat!”

“Fuck off, pea-brain!” I kick one of the creatures over at Zoro, “Let’s make them chase us-” the stupid marimo threw on back in retaliation, “obviously they’re gonna chase us no matter what, ero-cook!”

“Just listen, dick head! We make them chase us around the tower; when they leave an opening we can just grab Y/n and run!” There’s no time to fight over this! I sky walk over to Luffy, “Let’s go! Now!”

“Come on, Zoro!” finally taking the hint, Luffy rushes off behind me. 

The monsters bolted with us to the right, but they were smarter than what I’d anticipated. While most of them did follow, there was still a large group guarding the entrance to the tower. They knew what we came for and won’t let us take Y/n so easily. We circled around the tower. Once. Twice. Three times, and still those things didn’t give us an opening. I can’t stand this! We’re just chasing our own tails here!

Impatience at away at us, but the first one to act on it was Luffy.

“They’ll never leave the tower alone! So if they won’t give us an opening we’ll make one!” Luffy threw his arms at me, a silent command that I understood all too well. “Armée de L’Air,” I positioned myself to throw Luffy, “Gomu Shot!” Launching Luffy off with a kick, he rocketed himself straight to the center of the tower.

The tower collapsed almost entirely on itself. Luffy would have just gone straight through it if he hadn’t reached back to hold on to the base and sent himself back in a rebound, effectively clearing the rest of the tower.

Rubble and ash covered the creatures as they all rushed back to the tower. “C’mon!” The moss-head shouted over to me, having seen the opening just as well as me.

. . .There’s something wrong.

The creatures surrounded the tower but weren’t fighting back when we attacked them to get past. They weren’t even moving. Just staring straight ahead to where Luffy should be. As odd as it is, I won’t slow down just because those freaks stopped. I need to get to-

I wasn’t prepared for this. It’s not…. It can’t.

No.

Luffy had a dark shadow casted over his face as he kneeled next to a bloody and gored out Y/n. Their neck was broken by the chain that pulled them away. Skin shredded off and placed in piles around the both of them. Their bones were broken. Protruding. Piercing through in white splayed out spikes from the pink muscles, slathered in blood. Their abdomen slashed open and organs ripped out.

Had the monsters been eating them?

Their arm missed its hand. The leg was torn off. A stray foot laid across from them, mangled. Bitten. 

If those things wanted to eat them they had done it already. They had plenty of time!

But they didn’t.

Looking into the horde of creatures. They all stood still, watching us. Grotesque faces with gnarled teeth bared at us…. Smiling. They're smiling at us.

"Damn it all! Those things were just toying with us."

The creatures went wild at my words. Screeching and shoving each other, but never passing the remaining debris of the pillar that still circled around us. They’re waiting for us to get out of here.

“We can’t stay here,” Zoro pointed at the back of the throng, “some of them have already left. Probably towards The Sunny.”

“Luffy, we can’t bring Y/n with us. They’ll be safe if we leave them inside the circle. In the morning we can bury them but for now, we need to head back the ship.”

-

No words were exchanged on the trip back. All three of us fought as much as we could against the wave of creatures that pursued us, eventually making it back to the ship by sunrise.

 The creatures hissed and hollered in pain when the soft rays of the sun became too much for them to handle. Their gray skin almost seemed transparent in the growing light.

Those thing’s bodies looked like luminescent meat bags carrying distorted skeletons inside. Too warped and bent to look anything like the humans they were initially mirrored after. The things clawed at their eyes, blinding themselves as they rushed back to hide in their caves.

After the last of the nocturnal creatures retreated, we docked the ship again.

Then the dreaded question came.

Nami asked if we’d managed to retrieve Y/n but she was only met with grim looks that turned the exhilaration of having won another breath of life sour. 

“It’s not fair! Y/n just wanted to be free… they just wanted...” Luffy trailed off, glancing back to where their body should be laid. “We should take them with us and bury them out of here.”

“It won’t be that easy, Luffy.” Zoro tried to reason with him.

“We can’t just leave them in this cage!”

“We don’t even have a coffin! Are we supposed to just stuff them in a box and keep them in the freezer until we can find the next island?!”

As much as I’d like to take them with us, Zoro does have a point. We can’t just carry around a brutalized body with us. “Luffy, we don’t know when we’ll reach the next island. It could be weeks! We can’t-”

“Yo,” A voice greets us from beside me.

“Hey,” I give them a quick glance before getting back to what I was saying. “Anyways, we can’t t-”

Was that?

.  .  .

“You’re supposed to be dead!” 

“Oh, shit. Am I?” Y/n’s tone was light, as if they hadn’t just been mauled to death by beasts. “The hell do you mean ‘am I’!?” 

Reader’s pov.

After being magically resurrected, one would think that people would be surprised, confused, or maybe astonished? But curly over here seemed pissed.

“Thanks for the warm welcome, bud.” Putting on the saddest looking face I turned around, “guess I’ll just crawl into a cave and die again...” 

“N-no, that’s not what I-” Sanji reached his hand out to stop me.

“Ahahaha I know, I know. Don’t worry about it….. Though I suppose I do owe you guys an explanation for this.” 

It’s been so long since I had to explain to someone what happened that day… 

No. 

It wasn't just that day. Things were off since before that, but I didn’t pay attention to the signs. God, why didn't I? 

I keep asking myself that.

Why didn't I back out when I had the chance? Why couldn't I just let sleeping dogs lie? 

Either way, on that day, everything went wrong.

-

Long ago, when the world was in a time of mystic and wonder, the practice of magic was common throughout the four blues. Most things that could be done with magic were done with magic. Magic was so common that even the most secluded tribes used some form of it. And so, as with any type of power, people began to abuse it. People began to use dark magic to rule and terrorize. 

Don’t get me wrong, magic isn’t inherently evil, but neither is it good. Magic is a form of science. It follows its principles and has its limits. People’s intentions, though, can be either-or.

Order had to be put in place. A council of the noblest, wisest, and strongest magic users was made. They became the authority; their rule was final. And in an act of democracy, they input a system that would not let them become all-powerful.

That’s where the seven covens come in.

The seven covens (separately) ruled over the four seas, the new world, the grand line, and the calm belts. The members of the covens were chosen by the people and, unfortunately, that’s where it started.

After magic regulation rules and laws came into place, people were angry that they couldn’t use it freely and unchecked as they did before. When the ones who were strong stood on top of those who lacked it. They couldn’t rule over people as tyrants or terrorize others for their amusement and gain; but it also meant magic couldn’t be used to ease everyday life either. Magic was monitored, you had to seek permission from a coven to use stronger types of magic for your work and some forms of magic were even banned.

Curious people that tried to see how far they could push the boundaries of magic were furious when their research was trashed. With magic now limited, underground organizations began to arise. I was part of one.

Since magic is a natural part of the world like waterfalls or clouds, that’s why I wanted to explore all of its nooks and crannies! It’s the same as when man first evolved enough to wonder what was beyond the island we were born into. 

We wanted to explore the whole world back then! And this should have been the same as that. It’s normal to want to know our extent of power and knowledge. I just wanted to explore magic’s limits and push past them. It should be like training to sword fight or lifting weights. It should have been the same.

We could have used our findings for so many wonderful things!

But I was naive.

Banning together with a group of people whom I thought shared the same passion for the unexplored and unknown….

In the shadows, we did our research and found so many new ways to use magic! So many new types! We were doing so good.

We wanted to find a way to bring what we’d found to the world.

We wanted this.

We…

I wanted this. 

As much as I want to believe otherwise, the signs were there from the beginning. But they were my colleagues. . . my friends. I gave them the benefit of the doubt at first.

We came up with a plan to get ourselves elected for the coven. We wormed our way in like maggots then ate our way up. 

We were going to instill new rules. Be more lenient towards magic usage for businesses. Introduce a research team for magic that would take us out of the underground. Slowly release our findings.

That was as far as I would go. They left me in charge of the research team while they went behind my back and found new dangerous and unstable magic. They used it to hurt people and to gain authority. 

They’d cart away lost civilians, people who were so forgotten from society that if they were to disappear no one would notice.

They breed them to keep their human supply going. Then they’d used them as guinea pigs.

Eventually, I did find out what they were doing, but by then it was too late. The plan had gone too well and now they were inside all of the covens except for the ones in east and west blue.

I tried warning the council, but my old comrades found out before I could.

They branded me a traitor and punished me with never-ending torment. Sealing me away in a whirlpool that would cancel my powers, where as long as I was inside I would never age. I would never die.

They put me on this island that would never bear enough fruit but would always have enough to have me desperate for scraps. Lastly, they added those things so that I’d fear their wrath and power for the rest of eternity.

Between slowly dying of hunger or dehydration over and over again and being mauled to death, the thing that hurt most was them branding ME as the traitor. They betrayed ME.

They USED me.

The people I thought of as friends.

-

Taking a deep breath, I finished off my story. 

“...Y/n… that was a really sad story and all, but what do you mean magic?” Out of all the questions, I didn’t expect Usopp to ask that one. 

“... what do YOU mean?” I shared a look with all the members of the crew. How could they not know about magic? It’s everywhere??? “Y’know magic. Like what brought me back to life and is keeping me from leaving this place.”

“Like witches, with wands and brooms?” As much as it worries me that they don’t know about magic, I have an even bigger question, “what the fuck do brooms have to do with this?” 

“Ah, well witches fly around... on them…” With every passing word, Usopp’s face got redder and redder, a telltale sign of his growing embarrassment under my judgmental gaze. “Of all things someone could make fly, why a broom?”

“I uh… I don’t know…”

  The conversation carried on until finally, they told me about the outside world. Apparently, the most magical thing that there was out there were the devil fruits that granted their users powers, like Luffy’s rubber body. 

In a way, I was kind of glad that almost all traces of magic were gone. That meant that my comrades from back then failed.

My guess is that after their reckless abuse of power, magic was banned; or at the very least only used by those of the highest standing.

In time, magic must have dwindled, little by little until it just disappeared. 

With so much time passed and with how things turned out, it’s hard to believe that any of my former friends survived.

That must mean that they tethered my cell to an object. If whatever the object is gets destroyed... I could have a chance of leaving this place.

“... Luffy… do you… do you still want to help me escape?”

Luffy’s voice didn't waver.

He said it as if it was the most obvious thing.

No hesitation. No doubt.

At that moment, I swear, the sun shone brighter than it ever had in this cage full of torment. His bright gaze made it feel like every horrid year I had spent trapped had somehow vanished. It gave me something that I hadn’t had in a long time.

He gave me such a knee-bending sense of hope that I could have cried. He had such conviction that it made me believe that I would soon see the outside once more.

In the evening, after I gave them some information that could help them find the object that kept this cage alive, the straw hats tempted the ferocious waters again and this time I wasn't on the ship.

Before they left they made me a promise.

One day, they will be back.

They will set me free and we’ll explore this new world together.

I’ll keep waiting.

No matter how long it takes, until that day.

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece luffy #one piece zoro #one piece sanji #one piece nami #one piece franky #one piece brook #one piece chopper #one piece usopp #one piece robin #monkey d. luffy #straw hat luffy #roronoa zoro #Pirate Hunter Zoro #black leg sanji #cat burglar nami #tony tony chopper #god usopp #Nico Robin

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 31

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 31: The Wayward Minister

My Dearest Reverend,

Mary Beth and I have decided to get married, and we would be most thankful if you would do us the honor of performing the service. It is to be held up at the Winterson Bed and Breakfast near Emerald Ranch as soon as possible. If you would prefer not to ride, I have included $5 in this envelope, which should be enough to buy you a train ticket from St. Denis. We will wait for you until June 30th. If you have not arrived by then, we will travel to the church in Valentine, no hard feelings.

I ain’t much of a man for the Bible, sir, but I do remember one verse you gave to me many a year ago, from John I believe: “He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone.” Something like that. The folks who own the Wintersons’ establishment are real nice, and they will not judge you nor any of us. I know that, should you choose to come, you will be as clean as you can be. I have nothing but faith in you, sir.

I have similarly sent for Dutch and Hosea, but seeing as we are all wanted men in a great deal of shit these days, the rest of the gang must be left behind. We hope to see you soon.

Sincerely,

Arthur

Swanson had been lying in the weeds at Shady Belle when he received the letter.

“You alive?” said Karen, nudging him with the toe of her boot. Of course, she meant it in a colloquial way, but the question, to Reverend Swanson, was one of deeply profound meaning. “Hello?”

“Yes,” he said, sitting straight up, coming out of an existential nightmare in which bugs crawled all over and inside of his body “Miss Jones.”

“Got a visitor.” She walked away.

Standing there now was a young man wearing a messenger’s cap. He could have sworn that it was Arthur Morgan twenty years ago. “You Reverend Swanson?” the boy said.

Swanson rubbed his eyes. It was not Arthur. It was not twenty years ago. He had a splitting headache. “Yes, I’m Swanson,” he said. He took off his hat. He stood slowly, one foot at a time and dusted off his pants at the knees. “How can I help you?”

“I got a letter here for you on express delivery from Mr. Arthur Morgan.”

“Arthur?”

“Yes, mister. Big man with a pretty horse? Looked like a gunslinger if you ask me, but I ain’t got no interest in his work. No, sir. He paid me double to see I get this here letter to you by this very morning, and I’d appreciate it, mister, if, next time you talk to him, you could confirm my success.”

“What?” said the Reverend. The kid seemed to be speaking a hundred miles per hour. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

The boy with the letter nodded. He was tall and lean but in an awkward sort of way, and he smoked a cigarette as he handed over the envelope. He wore simple clothing that suggested he was of a lower class family, miners probably. Annesburg no doubt. He did very much remind Swanson of Arthur when Arthur was real young—just a kind of blot-on-the-town but good intentioned, maybe a little more put together around the edges than Arthur ever was but the same softness in the eyes. He carried with him a leather messenger bag, and inside of it was a book by Mark Twain, though Swanson could not see which. It warmed his heart that the boy was somehow literate, and he wished to save his soul but he had his own soul needed saving first, and in the meantime, could do nothing but tip the boy generously with a handful of coins from his pocket and send him on his way.

“Thanks, mister,” said the boy. “The man Arthur Morgan said he was not expecting your reply, so I’ll be leaving now. Do you know where I can find a Hosea Matthews?”

“Yes,” said the Reverend. “Hosea—he should be in St. Denis. Check the saloon. The fancy one. He’s, uh, in his late fifties. White hair. He’ll be with a somewhat younger, singular looking man in black”

“Thanks a lot.”

”What is this about? Young man? Do you know?”

“I got no idea. You have a good day, mister.”

“Oh. You, too.”

The boy got back on his horse and rode away.

Upon reading Arthur’s letter, Swanson wiped his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket, picked up his valise, which contained his Bible and all of his earthly belongings and set off walking through the bayou to clear his brain. He had done this many times. Some people were afraid of this place, but he knew that if you just left the gators alone, they would leave you alone, and he was unafraid of night folk, because he knew that should they take his life it was meant to be and karmic retribution for his sins. They were unaware of their own barbarism, thought Swanson. They were just living the life handed to them as any other. He walked all the way to St. Denis. It took several hours.

When he got there, he went to the saloon and bought a bowl of soup and drank water to kill his headache and recuperate. He did not order any whiskey. He then walked through the clean streets to the church where it was less clean, and there were orphans and a couple of Mexican men learning English from a Bible with one of the Brothers on the steps. Swanson had been coming here for some weeks now, visiting with the Mother Superior Sister Calderón. She was providing him guidance as he journeyed toward redemption and sobriety.

He found her inside, sitting at a table in the kitchen, eating lunch alone. The church was otherwise empty aside from a few who sat with their heads down in the pews. Sister Calderón was eating a steak with a fork and knife and just finishing up when he arrived.

“Reverend,” she said, smiling. “Come, join me.”

He sat down at the table across from her, feeling disheveled. The sun came through the simple window overhead, looking like a bright square. “Good afternoon, Sister.” He removed his hat.

“This is a surprise,” she said. “I thought we were meeting tomorrow.”

“I thought so, too,” said Swanson. “But something has come up.”

“Oh?”

He took a deep breath and examined the brim of his hat and the stitching where it was coming apart around the edges. She got up to place her dishes in the sink and to pour him a glass of water. He drank some and looked down at his hands. “I received a letter from a friend today.”

“What is your friend’s name.”

“Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

She lit up in recognition. “Yes, I know Mr. Morgan. He has donated to the church and done me many favors. He is your friend?”

“Yes,” said Swanson. “I’ve known him a long time. I did not know he was affiliated with you here.”

“We, too, are friends,” she said. “He is trying to atone, like you and me.”

Swanson smiled at this. It brought him joy.

“What did he say in his letter?” said Sister Calderón.

“He said that he is getting married,” said Swanson, “to a girl that has been traveling with us now for some years. She is a very kind young woman, been kinder to me than I believe I deserve. They have both been kinder to me than I believe I deserve. Arthur, he—he saved my life, some months ago when I was at my lowest, most reprehensible point, and now he has asked if I would…officiate them in matrimony. Provide the service. Up in Emerald Ranch, very soon.”

“Mr. Morgan is getting married?” said Sister Calderón. “That is wonderful news. And for him and his beloved to ask you to take part in such a special day, that is a rare blessing.”

“I do agree, Sister,” said Swanson. “I do. But I am afraid. I don’t know that I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To preserve him and his beloved and unite them before the eyes of God. I have been wayward far too long, Sister. I am a bad man. I am unworthy.”

Sister Calderón sighed in her wise way. She placed her hand on his. “Reverend, you are not a bad man.”

He shook his head.

“I know that I cannot make you see that. You must see it for yourself. You know, Mr. Morgan is always saying the same thing to me. I am a bad man. He is working on this, the same as you, and he would not have sent for you if he did not think you were worthy of his cause. It is this way he chooses to communicate your worth to you.”

“I know that’s supposed to make sense,” said the Reverend. “I known Arthur since he was a teenager.”

“I believe you should take this leap,” she said. “Of course, it is up to you. But you should go. That is the clear path. It is a sign! It is your opportunity to confront your fears, confront your God and begin to make amends. To give the gift of love.”

Swanson picked up the cup, swallowed some more of the water. Overhead, the crucifix on the wall seemed very heavy and mundane. A fly was tapping at the window from the inside, searching for escape. “Will you accompany me?” he said. “Sister? I cannot let him down. I am far less likely to do that if—if I am not alone.”

She smiled again, squeezing his hand assuredly. “I will. We will take the train, first thing tomorrow morning.”

They sat some time longer, speaking of Arthur and his beloved, and then of Christ and other mysteries.

Hamish rode about half a day behind Arthur and Mary Beth. He wanted to cut over to Moonstone Pond, spend some time in solitude, fishing. He didn’t often make it far from the lake up there on his own. He assured them both that he would be okay.

Now, camping in Ambarino for one night, Mary Beth caught a fish, and Arthur cleaned it up and cooked it for them. The fire made beautiful sparks that went up like little plumes, and the weather was fine.

“I might never get bored of this,” said Mary Beth. She had good color in her cheeks that night. She said she was feeling better. She had a handful of pebbles and was tossing them into the fire one by one. “Camping.”

“I never really knew you liked camping,” said Arthur, frying up the fish. “I always thought you was more of an indoor girl. Before, of course. Could just be the way you seem.”

“Can’t really be an indoor girl when you live most of your life on the run,” said Mary Beth. “Shady Belle might be falling apart but it’s the first warm house I’ve called home in…years.”

Arthur smiled. “I imagine Shady Belle was a beauty in her time.”

“I'm sure she was."

After dinner, they played several games of Hearts. Mary Beth complained that she was no good at Hearts. Arthur wouldn’t let her win though. He was trying to smoke less and had taken up chewing on reeds and sticks and branches instead. This part of him was familiar and it made him seem younger. His hair had grown out now, down to the very tops of his shoulders, and it had gotten lighter being in the southern heat for so many months, blanched from the daylight, and his eye lashes even looked kind of blond. On their final hand, she studied him closely and reached to put one stray lock of hair behind his ear. This made him look at her casually, but then he kept looking at her, chewing that reed, and he grinned and put the loose hair behind her ear, too. “You’re real pretty, you know that?” he said, tossing the reed to the dirt. “I’m sure I’ve told you that a thousand times, but it’s true.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“When we get married, I don’t want anything to change,” she said. “I just wanna be your wife.”

“Ain’t nothing gonna change,” he said. “Save for maybe our location, eventually. And, well.” He nodded to her tummy—still flat. It wouldn’t grow for a little while yet. “We’ll have company.”

“You’ll still read me poetry?”

He smiled. “Yes, I will.”

“Do you think Dutch will come?” said Mary Beth.

Arthur sighed. He shrugged. “I hope so. I don’t know that it’ll feel the same if he ain’t there.”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth.

They heard some nightingales, and then a distant loon. The fire blazed and crackled. The sky overhead was so black, and the stars were so clear.

He kissed her, and she took off his hat and grabbed him by the collar. Sometimes, she could still sense his near surprise upon being touched with her reckless abandon. Like he was delayed, and it took him some time to let go, but once he did, it drove him. As a gunslinger, Arthur was full of swagger and aloofness for the craft, but when it came to his personal life, he had been closed for too long, never opening up to anybody, hiding himself so as to never have to apologize to the world for existing. He had a beautiful soul, but few had seen it.

She pushed him onto his back in the weeds, throwing her full weight. She knew she was kind of clumsy in most respects, but it didn’t really stop her. He seemed to like that about her anyway. Like he had to hold her steady. She had him out of his belt and suspenders in what felt like seconds and hiked up her own skirt. He got a desperate grip on her, and she wanted it to go fast, like a freight train. They were out in nature. He stayed beneath her the whole time, talking to her, telling her things in his deep, comforting voice. He was some kind of elegant man. When Arthur finished, his eyes were closed and his head stretched back so she could see the cords and the muscles in his neck. She touched them as he came, and she thought about how long she’d known him as nothing more than a friend and the parts that had changed between them and the parts that had stayed the same.

“Maybe we could go to St. Denis after this,” she said when it was done. They had crawled into their tent now, and he had his arm around her and one of his hands piecing through her hair. “Like on a date.”

“You wanna go on a date with me in St. Denis?” said Arthur, smiling with his eyes closed.

“Sure. We could see one of them moving picture shows.”

“That would be nice.”

“You think Dutch is gonna want us to do something?” she said. She had her hand on his chest, which rose and fell in even fashion. “Didn't you say something about a poker game on a river boat? Seems like it’s time.”

Arthur sighed. She looked up to try and guess what he was thinking.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just don’t really feel like thinking about river boat poker games right now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be sorry.” He looked at her. “We should go to sleep, Miss Gaskill. I wanna get going early tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she said. She reached past him to turn down the lantern. “But it ain’t gonna be Miss Gaskill much longer, remember.” She kissed him on the cheekbone.

Arthur seemed confounded by this, but pleasantly so. “You’re right,” he said.

They both looked up then, as they could hear the wind picking up outside and rustling against their tent. It was only wind, but for some reason, it surprised them. They waited. The wind held steady and then died down and then picked up and held steady agin. They looked back at one another and then nestled in.

“Goodnight, Arthur Morgan," said Mary Beth.

“Goodnight, Miss Gaskill.”

“You are a damn cheater, John Marston."

They were sitting around the table with Lawrence and Lizette, playing blackjack for pennies. Jack was already upstairs sleeping. It was a little after nine o’clock.

“That’s a lie,” said John, collecting the pot. “I’ve never once cheated at cards. That was always Arthur’s thing.”

“Oh, please,” said Abigail. “Like he never taught you.”

John laughed at this. “Believe me, he tried. He used to make me sit for hours. Him teaching, me listening. But I wasn’t no good from the start. Just too honest, I guess.”

She shoved him, laughing.

“I think you’re both pretty damn good,” said Lawrence, cleaning his glasses with a delicate yellow handkerchief. “At least you’re giving me a run for my money, and I’m quite good.”

“Not a lot to do but play cards when you’re camping in the wilderness,” said Abigail, straightening her ponytail. “Even the women learn gambling.”

“It’s a valuable skill,” said Lizette, in earnest. “Especially for a woman. Nobody would ever suspect it.”

John gathered up the cards then, his turn to deal. The kettle hissed from the kitchen. Lawrence got up to take it off the fire. He poured the tea and offered a little rum to go with it. They all said yes. “What what was it you said about Arthur?” He was pouring the tea into four neat and pretty porcelain tea cups. They had a very lovely blue filigree. “That cheating cards was his thing?”

“I don’t think he does it much no more,” said John, shuffling, “but when we was younger, like real young, he used to pull the wool over every fool gambler’s eyes in town. A real hustler. He can count cards, memorize the order of a deck, predict when they’ll turn up in a pile, and he also has some sleight of hand.”

“Like magic?” said Lizette.

“Yes, ma’am. It used to be one of his true specialties, always an ace up his sleeve.” John laughed to himself.

Lawrence passed around the tea cups. “It must take a great deal of intelligence to hold the ordering of an entire deck of cards in one’s mind. He sounds formidable.”

“I never thought about it like that,” said John, scratching at the scruff on his chin, “but he always was sort of like that. Smart, you know? He hides it pretty well.”

“Too well,” said Abigail. “It ain’t right. A man shouldn’t have to hide.”

John sighed, started dealing the cards. “No, he shouldn’t.”

“You know, when we first met Arthur,” said Lawrence, sitting down and sipping his tea, “he and Mary Beth were posing as married grain farmers who had been robbed.”

“No shit,” said John. Abigail cleared her throat, socked him above the knee. “I mean, uh, tell us about that.”

Lawrence smiled. He liked them. They were a very young couple, they tried hard, and their boy was extremely well-behaved. “Well, Mary Beth came to our door flailing, saying her husband had been beaten up and they'd been robbed of their wagon, full of corn. They were looking for a place to stay.”

“Corn?” said John.

“That sounds like Mary Beth’s idea. She plays a pretty good hysterical wife.”

“That, she did,” said Lawrence. “Of course your man Arthur, he’s no corn farmer. I could tell by his guns and his demeanor alone. But like you two, they were charming and polite, and they seemed in love. It’s hard to distrust people like that. Though Arthur did have a gunshot wound—more like a graze in his arm that I stitched up for him. I still am not sure how he got it.”

Abigail was red in the cheeks. She was smiling down into her porcelain cup. The idea of seeming in love made her both self-conscious but also relieved. “I’m sure it was nothing,” she said. She sipped her tea. “Arthur's a tough specimen, and he's had a lot worse.”

This seemed to concern Lawrence, but Lawrence said nothing.

“So you was in the war?” said John, gesturing to the Union kepi hanging by the door. “Arthur said you was from Illinois. I am, too. Though I don’t really remember it the way I should.”

“Yes,” said Lawrence. “I was born in a city called Rockford.”

"What did you do in the war?" said Abigail.

"I was a medic," said Lawrence, adjusting his glasses. "I was no innocent, but I never saw true battle."

“What you saw might’ve been a fair bit worse than battle,” said Abigail. “Nursing wounds ain’t no picnic.”

Lawrence seemed to find this very interesting. “No, Mrs. Marston. It isn’t.”

She blushed again. “Just Abigail. Please.”

“Have you nursed many wounds, Abigail?” he said. Then he shifted in his seat a little. He seemed pensive. Lizette reached for his hand. He squeezed it once and smiled at her, then he took a long drink of his tea.

"More than my fair share, I reckon."

“You said something before, about that. It bothered me.”

“Oh?” she said. She looked at John, mortified, then back at Lawrence. “I—I’m sorry. I didn't mean it—to be a bother—”

“No, no. I didn't mean it like that,” said Lawrence. “I'm very sorry. I just meant—you said that Arthur’s had a lot worse. That’s what bothered me."

"Oh."

"We've looked after them now, a couple times. Him and Mary Beth. They seem okay, but I get the sense they're always running. We care about them. What did you mean by that? What happened to Arthur?”

Abigail felt John taking her hand under the table. She was embarrassed. "I—"

“You should ask him,” said John, stepping in. “He’ll tell you.”

Lawrence smiled, impressed. He nodded. “I’ll do that,” he said. “And I’m very sorry again, Abigail. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you'd done something wrong, or to put you on the spot.”

She looked up at him. He was a very nice man. She was not used to someone being so concerned, and certainly not a stranger. “It’s fine," she said. "I’m just—I don’t like makin a fool of myself. For obvious reasons. Maybe I'm a little too touchy.”

“You’re perfect,” said Lizette. She placed her little palm on Abigail’s cheek. “Do not be so nervous, child.”

“Thank you,” said Abigail. "I appreciate that."

Just then, they heard the rustling of a horse outside. Abigail and John both perked up, glancing at one another. Then they looked at Lawrence who was still deep in thought.

“I thought they wasn’t coming till tomorrow,” said Abigail.

“Perhaps they’re early?” said Lizette.

“Could be,” said Lawrence, surfacing. He pushed back from the table, slowly. He seemed to gather his thoughts, and then he seemed to quickly disengage and went to the door. He picked up his shotgun. They all waited until they heard knocking.

Lawrence cracked the door open, left the chain pulled, his usual approach. John was standing between the front door and the kitchen table, a little like an attack dog. It was just habit. Abigail and Lizette just sat, waiting. “Can I help you?” said Lawrence.

But the voice, right away—it was familiar. “Yes, is this the Winterson establishment?”

“Hosea?” said Abigail. She smiled, got up from the table. “It’s okay. It’s just Hosea.”

Lawrence glanced at her, then back at John, who nodded, then back to the man through the door. “Hosea?” he said.

"That’s me. I’m here for the wedding.”

Lawrence closed the door and dropped the chain. He set his shotgun down on the floor beside the door jamb. Then he opened the door again, all the way this time. Hosea stepped inside, removed his hat. He was alone, and he was a sight to see.

Abigail rushed to him. She hugged him, tight. He smelled like the cold air outside and just like Hosea. “You came,” she said.

“Of course I came,” said Hosea. “You think I’d miss Arthur’s wedding? Where are they?"

"They ain't here yet," said Abigail. "They're coming tomorrow."

"Good."

“Where’s Dutch?” said John. “I thought Arthur sent for you both.”

On the other side of the room, the clock made its low chime. It was ten o’clock. “No Dutch,” said Hosea. He and Abigail parted and he smiled at John, a little strained. “Not this time, son.” Hosea approached Lawrence then, held his hand out in a steadfast, very upright fashion. “Lawrence Winterson, I assume.”

“Yes, sir. You're not the minister, are you?”

“No,” said Hosea, smiling. They shook. “No, I’m just a friend. A very old friend. My name is Hosea Matthews.”

“Well, it’s wonderful to have you, Mr. Matthews. Come in, come in. We’ll show you to your room.”

“Thank you, good sir. The ride was long, and I’m quite tired.”

“Of course.”

Lizette went with them both upstairs. She insisted on turning down the linens for each of her guests. While they were gone, John and Abigail stood by the table where the cards were all scattered about with the abandoned tea cups. They both looked at the cards, and then Abigail looked at John. “What’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothing,” said John. He seemed pissed off. He went out to the porch, his boots heavy on the wooden floors.

She followed him out, closing the door behind them. It was cooler outside, so she tightened her shawl. He lit a cigarette, gave it to her. Then he lit one for himself. They stood and smoked for a while. She awaited him nervously, wishing she could just read his damn mind. She knew something was wrong.

Eventually, he shook his head and looked down at his hand, holding the cigarette. “Jesus Christ."

"What's wrong?"

"You heard Hosea. Not this time.”

“What?”

“Dutch isn’t coming. Not this time.”

“Oh," she said, almost relieved. "So what?"

“So, when the hell is Arthur ever gonna get married again?”

Abigail took a long, deep breath. She tossed her cigarette to the wood and stamped it out with the toe of her boot. She was trying to see the reason in it. Truth be told, she didn't hold as much faith in Dutch as those boys did. Hosea, yes. But not Dutch, and she wasn't surprised. “I see what you mean," she said, trying to be kind. "But maybe...maybe he didn’t wanna leave the camp unguarded. Or maybe he was afraid of bringing danger, John. I mean, he ain’t exactly low profile as far as criminals is concerned, and you saw what he did to Colm O'Driscoll. Try not to jump to the worst possible conclusion until we know what's going on, if you can.”

John stepped out to the edge of the porch. It was getting windy. You could see it coming across, blowing the long grasses and hear it rustling through the trees. It seemed to mildly disturb the horses. A lonesome hound wandered across the lawn then. It was a strange sight and it sort of startled Abigail. The hound had big, floppy ears. It went over to sniff at something on the lawn, but it was disinterested in the two of them. It disappeared into the darkness, like a ghost, keeping its watch.

“You think Swanson’ll make it?” said Abigail.

John finished his cigarette, looked back to her. He them seemed to soften. He came over and took her hand again, just for a moment. He looked down at her knuckles. Her bones were delicate. Compared to his, they were like little works of art. “I hope so,” he said.

“If not, we’ll all just go to Valentine,” she said. "They got a nice church there, with plenty of pews."

He smiled. He gave her back her hand. “You always know how to look on the bright side, Abbie.”

She got bashful from this. She really tried.

Meanwhile, Reverend Swanson slept in the church that night back in St. Denis. Sister Calderón had offered him a cot, but he wanted to sleep in the pews where it was cold. He stared up at the ceiling, which was unadorned but beautifully constructed. He had his hands folded together, resting on his chest. He lie very still. He heard many strange noises in the church that night—like mice, and there were bats up in the belfry. It was windy, too, and the wind had come on quickly, and it was blowing against the building, sounding like ghosts, whistling and rattling the window panes. At some point, Swanson found the courage to close his eyes, and to dream. Once, he had been a great minister. He could command entire rooms. Entire congregations of good, god-fearing people. It had been Swanson, in fact, who had counseled Dutch on the art of passionate oration long ago. Of course, Dutch was a different kind of minister, but still.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #reverend swanson #sister calderon #abigail roberts #john marston #jack marston #hosea matthews #rdr2 fanfic #the lily farm #sorry not quite the wedding yet #i had more to do first #<3

[a-butterfly-on-his-tummy]

Without Kale

“I’m gonna take Ethan upstairs. He needs to be fed and put down for a nap,” you say, bouncing your chunky thirteen month old son in your arms. “Would you mind making Grace some lunch?”

“I can do that.” Harry stands from his desk and makes his way towards you and your son, planting a sweet kiss on your temple before leaning down and giving one to your son as well.

“I think we have some extra chicken in the fridge and a few pitas. You could make the chicken and kale salad sandwich she loves so much.” Smiling at Harry, you make your way out of the office and into the living area.

“I’ll have to look and see if we have kale. I think I used all of it yesterday in my smoothie.” Harry’s teeth clench in an awkward way and his lips spread in a grimace as if he is saying “oops”, worried we may be out of a tasty part of the meal. “We might have to compromise, then go to the store after Stud wakes up from his nap.” He searches the living room for his daughter, but she is nowhere to be found. “Where is she?” Harry asks as you make your way up the stairs to Ethan’s bedroom.

“Outside with Poppy! Will you feed the dog as well? Please?” You ask with a pleading look because feeding Poppy isn’t your favorite thing. Harry insists on wet dog food multiple days during the week to mix things up for her, and let’s be honest, the smell makes you want to vomit. Today is a stinky food day for Poppy.

“Will do. Have a good nap, Stud.” Harry calls to your son as you continue to his bedroom.

Harry saunters into the kitchen, humming a upbeat tune softly. The water pours from the faucet, and he pulls off his rings, the metal clinking against the stone of the countertop adding percussion to his song before squirting soap on his hands. He watches out the window as his daughter throws the green tennis ball across the yard for her furry best friend. His fingers intertwine and rub together, bubbles forming as he scrubs his skin free of all germs. Sliding his four go to fashion accessory on his fingers, he turns towards the refrigerator.

“Blast….” Harry exclaims when he opens the fridge, his eyes searching the shelves for the clear container that typically houses the leafy vegetable. Eyes landing on the vessel, Harry notices a crisp paper towel lining the bottom, prepared for fresh kale to be added after a trip to the store.  Biting his lip, he is hopeful that the meal will taste fine even if missing the best part. Harry mixes the chicken, lemon juice, salt and pepper, chopped apples, and cheese in a bowl, combining the ingredients before filling half of a pita. Cutting up a pear, Harry spreads the fruit artfully on the pink princess plate next to the Mediterranean bread and a handful of cherry tomatoes. Throwing a red ball of deliciousness into his mouth, the skin pops open and the juice squirts flavor on his tongue. “Mmm, that’s good.”

Wiping his hands on a towel, Harry makes his way to the back door, sliding it open towards the vast yard. “Bug, come eat some lunch.” Grace stops mid-throw, the ball falling from her hand and bouncing on the green grass, her head whipping towards her father. She happily calls for Poppy before they both run towards the house, excited for their respective meals.

“What’s for lunch?” Grace’s breathing is labored after her sprint into the kitchen. Her eyes land on the pink princess plate before her father can answer.  “Oh, Chicken and Kale pita. Yummy.” Licking her lips she climbs on the barstool, ready to chow down.

“Hey, before you eat, I need you to wash your hands.” Harry instructs his daughter, who rolls her eyes before hopping off the stool. She drags her feet around the island, opening the cupboard under the sink.  Placing her hands on either side of the stool she pulls back, shuffling her feet, her bum leading the way. Standing on the first step, she squirts a tiny drop of soap on the edge of her fingers, rubbing them together fast, missing the obvious spots of dirt. Looking over at her father who is pouring food into Poppy’s dish, Grace dries her hands and calls her subpar hand washing good enough.

“Bad news, Grace; we are out of kale. But I made everything else the same so it should taste fine.” Harry leans on the counter as his daughter hops back on the seat.

“We are out of kale?” The expression that appears on Grace’s face is akin to the moment when a child’s favorite toy breaks, that middle emotion of horror and sadness. “I don’t want it.” She drops her head on her hands. “The kale is the only good part.”

“Oh Bug, I promise it tastes good. Plus you need the protein and energy.” Harry pushes. “If you eat, then after Ethan wakes up we can go to the store. Get more kale.”

“I don’t want it.” Grace pushes her food towards her father, not making eye contact with Harry. Frustrated puffs of air escape her mouth as she looks at her plate that is missing a key ingredient.

“Well, this is what we are having. You know the rule, Bug. You eat what we make, or you can choose to go hungry.” Harry shrugs his shoulders and pops another tomato into his mouth.

“But I’m starving.” Grace whines.

“Then here is your lunch.” Harry pushes the plate towards his daughter.

“I want good food. That’s gross food. I don’t want that!” She yells back at her dad, pushing the plate hard enough for it to almost fall off the edge.

“Grace Gemma.” Harry says softly in a tone that means business. “Please keep your voice down. Ethan is trying to nap.”

“But. I’m. Hungry.” She lets out. Her eyes fill with tears the size of the raindrops that pour from the London sky, creating rivers down her cheeks, wetting her shirt with sadness.

“Then eat.” Harry places the plate in front of her again. “Food is available right here. See, Poppy likes her lunch.” Pointing towards the dog, Harry shows his daughter that their pet is almost done with her meal.

“I want kale.” Grace cries, throwing her head in the crook of her elbow as she sobs for the leafy vegetable. Harry watches as his daughter cries. Taking a deep breath, Harry feels for his child. If he woke up in the morning and all the kale was gone, he would have the same reaction. A light bulb pings above his head with an idea. If he was in this predicament, he knows what would help him.  So he decides to try and make light of the situation.

“Just stop your cryin’ and eat your lunch.”  Harry begins. “I know that we’re out of kale, but that doesn’t mean you’re in jail.” Harry continues as he smiles at his clever wording, the pride wafting off of him like a kale and cheese omelette fresh off the pan.  

“I want kale; that's why I’m crying.” Grace sobs dramatically. “I want kale.” Harry decides his new rendition of Sign of the Times isn’t working and feels the need to change it up.

“Eat your pita. WOO HOO. Tasty Pita. WOO HOO. It has chicken, WOO HOO and yummy cheese WOOOO HOOOO.” Harry sings, but his song just makes things worse. Grace pushes the plate further away and cries louder.

“Stop singing, Daddy!” Grace whines, throwing her hands over her eyes. “I just want kale. No more music.”

Harry chuckles at his daughter’s reaction. Kale over music. Whose child is she? As sad as it is to watch her cry, Harry feels that he needs to stick to the rules. Eat what we have or nothing at all. A new song pops in his head, and he begins to try again to make her smile.

“Just a little bit of your lunch, Just a little bit of your lunch, Just a little bit of your lunch is all you need.” Harry tickles her arm and Grace pulls away, her pout so big it would sour a beautiful sunny day, upset at the fact that he is trying to brighten her mood. So he changes the song again.

“I’m tempted you know, to send you away without eating. (Quack)” Harry sways to the beat of his song. “Grace. G-Grace. La la la la la la la la G-Grace. Grace.”

“Stop.” Grace cries louder as her father grooves to the music. “I’m hungry, and I want kale.”

“Well my love, I am not sure what to tell you. We don’t have any kale, and I’m sorry. I wish I did. If you eat your lunch, then we can go get more kale from the store.” Harry tries to rationally explain the situation to his daughter. Lifting her head and letting it drop backwards, she wails at her father's words. At this, Harry decides that his songs aren’t going to work, and it is time to bring in the big guns. Picking up a pear, he holds it between his two fingers and begins a masterpiece of his lifetime.

“Eat the pear. Do do do do do do. Eat the pear. Do do do do do do.” He dances the pear towards Grace as he sings one of the most annoying songs ever to exists. “Eat the pear do do do do do do.” The pear comes to a halt as close as it can to Grace’s lips without touching. Harry says a silent prayer in his head as Grace’s eyes move from the pear to his face and back to the pear. Opening her mouth, she snaps the end off the pear and starts to chew, the final tears that have pooled in her eyes releasing and rolling down her rosy cheeks.

“Was that good? Do do do do do do. Was that good? Do do do do do do. Was that good? Do do do do do do do do.” Harry stops and waits for her to nod yes. His fingers dance towards the plate and pick up the red vegetable and he swims the food towards her lips. “How ‘bout tomato? Do do do do do. How ‘bout Tomato? Do do do do do do. How ‘bout tomato? Do do do do do do do do.” Grace has stopped crying as she opens her mouth with a giggle. Allowing the vegetable to drop in her mouth and crunch under her teeth, her bite sprays the juice around her mouth.

“Mmmm, that was yummy.” Grace giggles, a smile spreading across her face. Harry grins back at his daughter and decides to take a risk. Grasping the pita in his hands he begins to fly it towards his daughter.

“This is yummy, do do do do do do do. This is yummy, do do do do do do. This is yummy, do do do do do do do do.” Harry stops the sandwich in front of her face. Grace looks down at the concoction in her father’s hand and sniffs it before sticking out her tongue and licking the chicken that is sticking out of the top.

“Are you sure?” Grace says, unconvinced that it will still taste good without the leafy green.

“Try it. If you don’t like it, we can go to the store right now and buy some kale. Deal?” Harry negotiates.

“Okay.” Grace opens her mouth and takes a bite, chewing the chicken salad in her mouth, allowing her taste buds to take in the flavor. “The kale makes it better.” She says after swallowing. “But it’s okay.”

“You like it?” Harry shouts in excitement.

“Shhh daddy. Ethan is sleeping, ‘member?” Grace reprimands and then begins to giggle.

“Oh yea. I’m glad you like it.” He smiles. “Should we continue?” Harry picks up a pear and smirks at his daughter.

“Eat a pear. Do do do do do do.” Grace starts, tilting her head back and forth with the tune. Harry joins his daughter and they make their way through lunch singing different variations of Baby Shark, giggling until their tummies are full and hurt from the laughter.

#Without Kale #The adventures of Harry and Grace #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #dad!harry #dad harry #original writing #harry fluff

[dreamstormdragon]

A Promise

A Promise

Jack didn’t like how worried his father looked. His father had always appeared strong and never faltering. Not when he burned himself a little lighting candles. Not when he forgot to dry the dishes and left them in the sink for his mother to find later on. Not when his old knee injury was acting up.

But this… this was an expression Jack didn’t like seeing. Milo was leaning forward on their couch, holding tightly onto his cane. So tightly he thought he might break it.

Jack frowned, looking at the clock. It was so early. Why was he awake? Jack rubbed his left eye a little before going to his parent, tugging on his arm.

“Father, why’re you awake? The moon’s probably still out.”

Milo flinched a little at the touch before trying to put on a brave look.

“Jackie… I..” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I… Oh goodness, there’s no easy way to say this. The baby’s coming.”

Jack perked up a little, momentarily excited. His mother had told him months ago that he was going to be a big brother in several months time.

The excitement faded though as he remembered that wasn’t supposed to happen yet.

Jack looked up at his father, seeing genuine fear in his eyes, feeling his own fear crop up. He climbed up beside his father, looking him over before leaning against his side.

“M’sorry…”

“No, Jackie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you-”

“No!”

Milo frowned, gazing down at his son.

“Jack...”

“It’s my baby brother or sister. I gotta know too! So… So I can help or something!”

Milo kissed his head, hugging him close. He had awoken in the middle of the night to Cornelia shaking him, telling him something was wrong.

Her pregnancy with Jack had been normal. Jack had been a healthy infant, born right on time. How could they have guessed that things would go so south this time around?

Just please… please, be born alive. Please be alive.

They waited for hours, Jack dozing off against his father in time. Milo, however, couldn’t help the fear he was feeling.

He just wanted everything to go well.

Milo closed his eyes, gripping the necklace hidden under his nightshirt tightly.

Please.

It was mid morning when the doctor appeared, a look of concern in his eyes.

“Mr. Carter?”

Milo felt his heart sink. He took a shaky breath, standing up after making sure Jack was still asleep.

“Yes?” He gestured for the doctor to follow him into an adjacent room. “How’s my wife? How’s… How’s the baby?”

The doctor looked grim as he spoke.

“Mrs. Carter is doing as well as she can be expected to after this type of ordeal. She’ll recover, just needs time. As for your child… He’s very small and frail. Very underweight. He was born so early. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Milo swallowed hard. He looked up the stairs to where his wife and child were.

“You can’t be serious. He’s… He’s going to be alright, won’t he?”

“Sir, I can’t give him a good prognosis at this point in time. If he makes it through the year I’ll consider it a small miracle. I’m so very sorry.”

Milo felt like all the air had been sucked right out of his lungs. He felt numb. He wanted to cry out. To scream. To demand that the doctor fess up that it was some elaborate and cruel prank.

But it wasn’t.

“Thank you…. I… I need to be with them.”

oooooo

Jack was aware he was being carried. He yawned a little, burying his face into his father’s shoulder.

“Is it breakfast time yet…?” He mumbled.

“Later, Jackie. I want you to meet someone, okay?” Milo spoke quietly. “The doctor left to go get some medicine for the baby and your mother. We’re going to go say hello.”

Jack rubbed his eyes, yawning loudly before giving a nod.

“Okay.”

It was very quiet. Milo was smiling but the smile didn’t make it to his eyes. His eyes were still full of fear and worry.

Jack gulped a little.

“Now, when we go in there, I want you to go to the wash basin and clean your hands, okay? The baby can’t get any germs at all. Alright?”

“A-Alright.”

Milo sighed shakily before leading Jack inside, both of them washing their hands before turning to where Cornelia laid.

She was sitting up in bed, rocking her newborn. She looked up briefly, giving her best gentle look.

“Hello there, Jack. How’s my little fae?”

“I’m… I’m well.” Jack murmured, going to her side, being mindful to not brush his hands against anything. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Cornelia gave him a small smile, kissing his forehead.

“I will love. Now, are you ready to meet your baby brother?”

Jack nodded  leaning over as Cornelia uncovered the baby a bit. The infant was fast asleep, breathing quietly.  Jack smiled a little.

“This is William.”

“Hi, William.” Jack leaned over, feeling relief go through him. The baby was here and he seemed safe… He hoped, at least. “I’m Jack. I’m your big brother. You’re too little now but when you get big, I’m gonna show you all kinds of neat stuff. Like how to catch bugs and find good herbs and dig for crystals and neat stones. A-And….” Jack’s voice cracked, tears stinging his eyes. “And I love you.”

Cornelia looked behind him at Milo, giving him a nod. He lifted Jack up, setting him down beside his mother.

“Would you like to hold him?”

“B-But what about germs?”

“You’re clean, love. You’ll be careful with him. I know. Now, just like I showed you. Mind his head.”

Jack leaned back against the headboard, cradling William against him. The baby mumbled a little in his sleep before scrunching his nose up.

Jack gulped, bracing himself for possible crying, only it never came. William wiggled in the blankets, a tiny hand managing to escape it.

He’s so tiny… Oh gosh he’s really tiny.

Jack brought the arm holding him around him tighter, gently pressing his index finger against William’s palm. The infant grasped onto it tightly. William coughed a bit before settling down.

“I love you.” Jack whispered, holding him close. “I love you so much. I’m sorry you’re here early but I’m glad you’re here.” His voice cracked. tears running down his face.

“Oh, Jackie…”

Milo sat down, bringing his arms around his wife and children.

“We’re gonna make sure he’ll be okay.” He promised. “William is going to be fine.”

“He’s just got a bit of a challenge.”

Jack just hoped it would be a bit.

I got you, William.

oooooo

The first three months of William’s life were a blur for Jack. Doctors and nurses coming by every single day. All of them giving his brother medicine, examining him. Trying to make sure he would have a fighting chance.

He didn’t let his parents know how often he listened in on these appointments. He wanted to be there for his brother, even if William was sick all the time.

Especially tonight. Jack was in an unfamiliar place. A doctor they knew of for years but hadn’t gotten to come around yet.

They had to come to him tonight, however. When Jack and Cornelia were checking on William they had noticed something very, very wrong.

The baby had stopped breathing and in a flurry of emotions and fear they had ran three houses down, pleading for help.

Jack looked at his parents before sneaking off, adjusting his coat so it didn’t make any noise.

He had been told no family was allowed in the treatment room the doctor had but Jack didn’t care.

I’m his big brother. That’s MY responsibility. I’m the one who has to watch him.

Peering in through a crack in the door, he did.

He wasn’t sure what was happening but he did hear William crying which was a good sign as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t see him fully, but he did see how fast the doctor was moving.

“Alright little one, we got you breathing. Pupils responding normally too.”

Jack wished he knew what he was seeing. He wished he could do something to help or at least be in there to make sure William wasn’t scared.

You’re gonna be fine, Will. Just keep being a good boy.

“I know you’re there. I said to wait outside.”

Jack gulped before shaking his head, standing up straight.

“No.That’s my baby brother. I’m… I’m not letting him be alone.”

“Then stay outside that door at least.”

Jack gulped a bit but nodded. It felt like time stood still. All he could do was focus on what happening.

It felt like forever until the doctor came and opened the door fully, kneeling to Jack’s level. He smiled, giving him an assuring look.

“He’s going to be okay. He’s going to make it past one year.”

“Th-Thank you um… Doctor…?”

“Just call me Dr. Stiles.”  

“Thank you.” Jack ran in to see his brother fast asleep on the table. He had to stand on his toes, to see him clearly but it didn’t matter to Jack.

His baby brother was alive.

“Hi, baby.” Jack saw one of his hands was out as he pressed his finger against it gently. William’s face scrunched up a little before his hand grasped onto his brother as tightly as he could. “You silly little baby. Don’t… Oh goodness, William, don’t scare me like that again. I mean it. Never ever again.”

William coughed a little before opening his eyes slowly, looking at Jack before giving him an innocent smile.

Jack sighed in relief, smiling back.

“I promise... I’m gonna do everything in my power to help. You’re not gonna get sick like this again. Not as long as I’m around.”

Jack wasn’t sure how or when but he was going to find a way to keep that promise.

I’m gonna be a doctor.

I’m gonna be your doctor and you’re gonna get better. I’m gonna make sure you can do everything. Everything you ever wanted to.

I mean it William.

#William Carter #William Carter Don't Starve Together #dst william #dst jack #dst jack carter #milo carter #oc's #don't starve #Survive the Shadows #Storm Snippets #storm arashi #fanfiction #don't starve fanfiction

[blackirisposts]

But I Thought Steve Had It

Summary:  The one where Darcy lent her beloved iPod to Steve with some pre-made play lists for him to work his way through.. and someone else ends up with her “Sweet Baby Jute” and finds more than just her music taste buried in her play lists. Pairings: Darcy x Bucky Word Count: 1454 Notes: fluff, music, mystery? flustered Bucky is adorbs, 

“Huh. Never thought I’d see you with one of those things.” Bucky said, riffling through the fridge for something to devour.

“Hmm?” Steve said, pulling the head phones off his head. “It’s not mine if that makes it any easier for you.”

“Really. Who would trust you with their own electronics?” Bucky’s curiosity rose. “Please tell me it was Stark. If so, I’m deleting everything on it before you give it back.” He chuckled lowly as he put a casserole dish in the oven.

“You know I wouldn't let you do that. And no. Stark and I are better now, but I don’t think he’ll ever trust me with his ‘toys’. It’s Darcy’s. She put a few play lists on here for me to catch up on the music I've missed over the years and to find some new favorites.” He said, holding up the sleek simple black iPod as evidence. If it was Tony’s it would have been much more stylish and showy.

“So what does the buxom brunette have on there then?”

“She has them by decade and she told me to listen to them in order, so that it will ‘make the most sense’ to me. I think she means well. She’s nicer about it than any of the others. Makes it seem like I just hated music for a while instead of being frozen.”

“Hmm. You sweet on her or something, punk?” Bucky questioned, raising an eyebrow at Steve’s fiddling with the cords of the head phones.

“No. I’m not..I ..No.” A shadow fell over Steve’s face, telling Bucky exactly what he couldn't say; that part of him was still hung up on Peggy.

“Steve, relax. It’s just music.”

“You want to look it over? I think I’m done for the day.” He left the iPod on the kitchen table and walked to his room.

“You don’t think she’d mind?” Bucky called after him.

“No. I don’t.” Steve yelled back. “Besides. It’s just music.”

Bucky stared down the iPod for a moment or so. Or at least longer than he cared to admit. Steve had been gone and wouldn't be home for another three days on account of a mission; which is why he left the iPod in its current location on the coffee table. Slowly, he picked it up and started flicking through the play lists specifically set up for Steve and his music ‘needs.’ They were titled in an obvious way that even Steve would know they were meant for him:

“Steeeeve! 50’s Jazz” “Steeeeve! 60’s Pop” “Steeeeve! 70’s Rock” “Steeeeve! 80’s Glam” “Steeeeve! 90’s Grunge and Pop” “Steeeeve! Most Modern Hits and Misses; You’re almost there”

He started listening to the 50’s Jazz that day and immediately fell in love with the sound. It was an easy transition from what he remembered listening to back in the 40’s, before the war, before his fall. The rest of the evening was spent with that play list on repeat.

Throughout Steve’s absence, Bucky burned through the remaining play lists. The more he heard, the more he craved to explore. She had managed to select the most enticing music in each decade; the good, the bad, the iconic, and the lesser known novelties. He was infatuated with what he heard, so naturally, he deviated from the specifically Steve made play lists to all play lists; anything was now game in his hunger. He found the play list for when she was sad, when she needed motivation, when she was tired, when she was stressed, when she was working out, and one that downright confused him at first. It had older songs from Jo Stafford and Ella Fitzgerald to more modern hits like Guns N Roses, Goo Goo Dolls, and Kito Reija Lee. The play list title: “Y.L.S.” He found that he loved almost every song in its inventory. Each one stirring an emotion he long thought dead. Emotions of love, love loss, hope, and even.. glee? How had this selection of music moved him in such a ground shaking, mind blowing way? It was just music. Mood altering, emotion, and thought provoking music, thrown together by a friend that he always wished to be closer to.

Although he adored this play list above the others, Darcy’s use of abbreviations drove him mad. It was the only play list to feature abbreviations. He took it as his mission to figure it out.

“Y. L. S… Y. L. S…” He muttered the title to himself trying to discern its meaning without asking Darcy flat out what it meant. After all, she had leant it to Steve for "educational purposes"; there was no reason for him to know about the play list or its cryptic title.

“Yale Law School? No, that doesn't make any sense. Youth Leadership S… No. Your Loud.. Your Little Sister? What? She doesn't have a sister. Yankee Likes.. No. Your Life Study? Hmm.. Your Level of Service? Ugg.”

His guesses weren't making any sense. Bucky had seen a lot, so random words bunched together usually meant something specific. That he knew. Just what the meaning of it all was alluded him. He would have to ask Steve, tactically, tomorrow, when he got back.

Half way through a quiet lunch with Steve, Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Now that your back, has Darcy been bugging you about getting her Ipod back? It’s been a few weeks.”

“Surprisingly, no.” Steve said around a mouth full of sandwich. “Did it help you at all? In catching up on music?”

“It did, I was pleasantly surprised. She’s got good taste in music. Did you look at any of her other play lists?” Bucky asked, trying to be subtle.

“Not really, didn’t have time.”

Bucky mumbled a response before continuing to focus on his food while his mind raced.

Steve didn’t know. Great. But how could he? He’s too polite to rummage through anyone’s things unless he feels something is wrong. And there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with Darcy or her mysteriously named play list, that one would only find by snooping in the first place. The only thing that was of concern was the worry of curiosity that bit away at Bucky’s mind whenever he had a quiet moment.

A week later and still no word from Darcy other than to know if Steve was enjoying his musical revival. Bucky had taken, more often than not, to conveniently and casually being in the same room as Darcy whenever possible. His goal, observation and possible discernment of the now internally infamous “Y.L.S.”

Today, Darcy’s sitting and eating with Jane. Coffee, pop tarts, the usual. However, this time they aren’t talking. The two usually chatter away driving others to laughter with their quips and opinions. Today, it’s silent.

Wondering to himself if he’ll ever over hear anything that might give any insight to his latest obsession, Bucky gets up from the kitchen table to leave. As he does, Darcy’s Ipod falls from his jean’s pocket with a clatter. Jane lightly jumps but keeps her focus on her work in front of her. Darcy and Bucky’s eyes fall to the now exposed Ipod.

Bucky reaches for Darcy’s Ipod and hands it to her lamely, keeping his eyes cast down.

“Thanks, doll.”

“But I thought Steve had it.” Darcy’s confusion finding home in the wrinkle between her eye brows.

“Yeah. He lent it to me, too. Thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Ask her! Ask her! Ask herrr!! Screamed a voice in the back of Bucky’s mind, only quieting when Darcy looked up again, her face cracking into a smile.

“You Little Shit. You think you’re so sneaky. I would have found out that you had it eventually.”

“Y.L.S. You? Little? Shit?”

“How-“

Bucky starts to chuckle as the other instances Darcy has called him a little shit come flooding to the front of his mind. It was for him. And, oh how he was grateful for this reveal. The emotions the various songs brought forth from him while he listened to them should have told him all along. His amusement forms into a wicked smirk shot directly at Darcy, making her turn a few shades of pink, blinking hard.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me, tonight?”

“Um, yeah,” Darcy squeaked quietly, nodding her head with a huge smile on her now red face.

“Good, I’ll pick you up at 7,” he said as he started walking toward the door. “And maybe after you can show me some more of your favorite music.” He added with a turn of his head and a wink as he left, leaving Darcy standing in shock in the kitchen.

Y(ou) L(ittle) S(hit) Play List:

Heart break warfare – John Meyers Killing Me Softly with His Song – Fugees Crave You – Flight Facilities Sweet Talk – Kito Reija Lee Hey Na Na – Katie Herzig Talk Like Lovers Do - The Eurythmics Your Eyes – Peter Gabriel Its Been A Long, Long Time – Harry James & His Orchestra, Vocals by Kitty Kallen. Big Jet Plane – Angus and Julia Stone Pompeii – Bastille, Acousitc Live in Paris Ribs – Lorde R U Mine – Arctic Monkeys You belong to me – Jo Stafford Sweater Weather – The Neighborhood Toxic – Cover by Melanie Martinez Crazy – Cover by Melanie Martinez Bulletproof – Cover by Melanie Martinez Too Close – Cover by Melanie Martinez There’ll Be Bluebirds over The White Cliffs of Dover – Vera Lynn You go to my head – Keely Smith Manhattan Serenade – Jo Stafford A String of Pearls – BBC Big Band Orchestra Crying Mood - Ella Fitzgerald Cheek to Cheek - Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald Heat Wave - Ella Fitzgerald Georgia on my Mind – Jo Stafford Trouble in Mine – Jo Stafford Sweet Child O’ Mine – Guns N Roses Come to Me – Goo Goo Dolls Witchcraft – Frank Sinatra Slide – Goo Goo Dolls

#bucky barnes x darcy lewis #mentions of Steve #steve rogers #fluff #music #mystery #cute #ao3 #ao3fic #blackirisposts

[itsthesinbin]

(SFW) Mine- Underfell!PapyrusxAFAB Reader

This is @burntcookieskell‘s second part to their Papyrus commission! Thank you again for buying the slot!

Warning for: Captor/Prisoner unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, mentions of abuse/punishments.

“Only time will tell where you end up, I suppose”.

Where you ended up, unsurprisingly, was still in Papyrus’ home. You’ve upgraded, though. You now sleep in a cot in his room. Your cage was put in the living room- a reminder that you can be placed right back in there if your “master” deemed it necessary. He definitely liked to drop that fact, whenever you started to get too bold.

You were also given a little more freedom. You were allowed to walk around outside- with supervision, of course- and could roam around the house when the skeletons were away. The doors were securely locked, and the guards in town were given strict instructions to watch the house closely, but it was better than nothing. Better than being stuck in a cage while Sans makes you watch bad tv.

Speaking of Sans, he was here to “babysit” you again. Aka, Sans will tell Papyrus that when asked. In reality, the older brother was lazing around and watching- as usual- bad movies. You were in the kitchen, cleaning up from Papyrus’ last pasta situation. You don’t understand how he makes such a mess while making lasagna of all things.

“You wanna get off of your ass and help me clean this mess?” You could hear the monster snort from the living room.

“Hell no. Boss usually cleans up his own mess, anyway. I don’t see why I should help you clean that garbage,” he laughed. You rubbed your eyes, sighing in annoyance. You figured Sans would say no. There was a small part of you that hoped otherwise, no matter how foolish that part was.

You grumbled, getting back down on the floor to try and scrape the burnt-on food out of the oven. That shit was caked on there. How this oven still WORKED was beyond you. You’re surprised Papyrus let the oven get this bad without even attempting to clean it- everything else in the house was nearly spotless. Except for Sans’ room. You’ve only seen it a couple times, but you smell it every time you pass by the door. It’s TERRIBLE.

You shuddered at the thought of them making you clean Sans’ room. Papyrus has said that was too much torture for even a prisoner of theirs, but you still worry you’ll be stuck in there one day.

You guessed it’d be full of old socks, mustard bottles.... Old food in general. You’re afraid to find out how many bugs are hiding out in his room.

“Eugh,” you groaned, shaking your head at the thought. That’s more terrifying than any punishment Papyrus could give you.

Speaking of Papyrus- as if he knew you were thinking about him- the door opened loudly. It slammed shut, the guard captain yelling at his brother for lazing about. Same as yesterday, and the same way it’ll be tomorrow. You really wished he didn’t come home yelling every. Single. Day.

The taller skeleton walked into the kitchen, pausing when he saw you on your knees. You didn’t bother looking up- you were pretending to be so engrossed in your cleaning to notice him. He scanned the room as you continued to scrape at the burnt sauces and food pieces.

The counters had been washed thoroughly. The floors had been mopped and swept, and every single dish that has been piled up in the sink was cleaned. Even all of Sans’ old stains from the table had, somehow, been buffed out. The table looked brand new. The only thing that was still dirty was the oven, which you were so painstakingly working on.

“Human,” he finally said, making you look up. “What is the meaning of this? Did Sans make you do his chores again?” You resisted the urge to scowl. That damn skeleton always makes you do his shit. You quickly shook your head, forcing yourself to stand. Your knees hurt and your legs were tense from lack of stretching.

“No, sir. I noticed how… burnt the oven was, and had intended on cleaning just that. Then I figured I’d just… go ahead and clean the rest of the kitchen, since it wasn’t… up to your usual standards,” you explained, wringing your hands nervously. He couldn’t really be mad that you decided to clean for him, right? That’s what you were here for- to do things for him. As much as you hated the thought, that’s what prisoners were supposed to do.

That, and you were bored as hell and needed SOMETHING other than television to keep you busy.

“Well… I am pleasantly surprised! I didn’t expect you to take the initiative on such a project without me saying anything. You’ve done well,” he said, gloved hand raising to pat your head. You let out an involuntary flinch, before giving a nervous smile.

“Uh… thanks… s-sir,” you stammered, not used to actual praise. That was a very odd occurance with the Great and Terrifying Papyrus. He only gave praise when it involved some violent bullshit you don’t pay attention to. Much to Papyrus’ dismay.

He likes to “show off” to you, for some reason. It’s like he thinks you ENJOY watching him beat up and/or possibly kill weaker monsters. You hate that you’re used to washing dust out of his clothes.

He moved his hand, going to sit at the table. He always does this- comes home, sits at the table, and does his puzzles in the paper. You sighed slightly, knowing he’ll be “secretly” watching you clean.

You simply got back down on the floor, turning your attention back to the oven. No use in focusing on the skeleton at the table- he’ll ignore you until his puzzles are finished.

Or so you think.

Unbeknownst to you, Papyrus was too distracted to fully complete his puzzles. He kept glancing up, staring at your backside- the way you sat on your knees in front of the appliance. Your grunts of effort definitely distracted him from the paper on the table. He felt his magic tinting his facial bones a dark orange.

He never thought he’d find a human- the repulsive creatures that doomed monsters to the Underground- so… alluring. When he first captured you, he never even thought you’d be more than a simple trophy to him. The Great Papyrus- captor and tormentor of humans! He was supposed to instill FEAR into this creature, yet they regard him as if he was just… a minor inconvenience, at best!

And here he was, pining after this… thing. This tiny, pretty thing that’s starting to keep him up at night. He hates how he’s reacting to them. He’s almost to the point that the need for them hurts.

Papyrus let out a frustrated growl, shooting out of his chair. He swiped up his paper, stomping to his room. You stared after him in confusion, not understanding where the sudden change in the skeleton’s mood came from. You let out a frustrated huff. You really hope he doesn’t take it out on you, later.

You also really hope you didn’t make him angry, somehow. Whatever he’d have in store would be MUCH worse, if that’s the case.

Up in his room, Papyrus tossed the newspaper onto the bedside table. He snarled in annoyance, running his hand over his skull, then bringing it down his face. He had to figure out a way to either get rid of these feelings- a captor shouldn’t have any feelings like this towards his prison- or… get you to really be his.

He could simply make you, yes, but that wouldn’t be any fun. What’s the point of any kind of relationship if you’re simply pretending to care for him? He’d know you’d only do it to keep him happy- and that would just infuriate him to no end.

Papyrus would have to resort to actually wooing you. He’s a master at dating- just as he is for anything, and everything, else! He would have to be subtle about it. He’d need you to want to be with him, not just doing so out of survival.

He remembers how much you liked Waterfall, despite the… Moldbygg incident. He never took you to the stone-gazing room. Maybe you’d like to see the glittering stones closer with Sans telescope? Humans like gemstones, right? They definitely do!

“I’m a genius,” he laughed, leaving his room again. He marched into Sans’ room, growling annoyance at the filthy space, and snatched the telescope. Papyrus made sure to check and see if there was any ink on the lens again. That prank gets old- very fast.

“I’m borrowing your telescope,” Papyrus snapped sternly as he passed Sans, who was too confused to respond right away. A faint “what” was heard from the older brother as Papyrus stomped into the kitchen. You had finally finished the oven, and were lounging on a kitchen chair to relax your tired limbs.

You looked up when Papyrus walked in, eyes flicking to the telescope bag in his hand. You gave him a curious stare. Since when does Papyrus care about stuff that needs a telescope?

“Come, human,” he said, sounding more pleasant than you thought he’d be. You were, immediately, suspicious.

“We’re going to Waterfall.” You resisted the urge to groan. You were so tired from cleaning- you really don’t want to go anywhere other than your cot. Papyrus seemed to notice your exhaustion.

“We’ll be taking the boat instead of walking, so you get to rest on the way there. Now, come.” You reluctantly followed him, but were surprised he cared enough about your comfort to suggest it. Maybe he was just tired, too, and was trying to act like he wasn’t?

You wouldn’t be surprised if he was tired- the guy only sleeps an hour a night. You’ll never understand how he has so much fucking energy. It’s like he’s constantly hopped up on energy drinks.

The cold air felt good, for once, when you two stepped out. Cooped up in the warm kitchen all day was terrible. You let out a pleased sigh at the feeling, your breath puffing out in front of you. Papyrus watched the cloud of air dissipate- it’s like he can’t help but watch every time a huge cloud comes from you. You find it strangely adorable.

The walk to the Riverperson was short, thankfully. You sat on the boat while Papyrus paid the cloaked figure some gold to get to Waterfall. He stood tall in the boat, always keeping watch for any possible threats. He almost never let his guard down- you should know. You’ve tried finding ways to escape, but he never relaxes enough for you to get the drop on him. You’ve half-given up by now.

The trip was short, and Papyrus helped you off of the boat when you arrived. He’s been strangely… nice today. Something must’ve put him in a REALLY good mood. You hope he stays like this for a while.

Papyrus led you down a path through the dimly-lit caves. He kept a hold on your wrist- for some reason. You assumed it was so you wouldn’t wander off. You didn’t blame him for being cautious this time around, after what happened the last time you entered Waterfall.

When he finally stopped, he let your hand go. You watched as he started to set up the telescope, looking around while you wait on him. You could hear the Mean Cream Guy’s music- his cart must be nearby. Man, you’d really love some ice cream right now. Papyrus has almost no junk food in his house, and Sans doesn’t like to share what he manages to sneak in.

“There,” Papyrus said triumphantly, standing up straight. You came over, seeing the old, worn telescope set up. He stared at you expectantly, making you nervous. What were you supposed to do? You were clearly supposed to react someway. What the hell is going on with him today?

The skeleton sighed in annoyance, crossing his arms. You shuffled anxiously, glancing down at his chestplate instead of his face.

“I brought you here so you can see the gems in the ceiling, human. Take the time to do so before we have to leave.” … He brought you here for that? Why- was this a reward?

“Is… this for cleaning the kitchen?” The monster paused, before laughing. He patted your head- slightly condescendingly, you might add- and shook his own.

“No, no- your reward for the kitchen will be different. This is…” He paused. He doesn’t… know what this was. He doesn’t want to outright say “a date”. That’d just scare you off.

You waited for him to say something, but he never really did. He just kinda… sat there, thinking. You frowned slightly, but decided not to question it. You’ll just.. take your freedom where you can, you guess.

You decided to humor the skeleton, and look through the telescope.

You can’t lie- the stones were beautiful. They shone like real stars, but were various different colors. Bright greens, blues, and purples… It was gorgeous.

You ended up pulling away from the telescope, looking up at the cavern ceiling in wonder. Even though you missed the actual stars, it was… a pretty substitute.

Papyrus watched you, seeing the lights shining in your eyes. His magic rushed through his face, no doubt darkening his bones a deep red-orange. There was no mistaking those feelings, now. He had to have you- to make you his.

Not that you weren’t already, obviously, but… he needed you to want to be his. He just had to figure out how. You, clearly, didn’t think too highly of him. Lord knows why you don’t think he’s as amazing as he actually is.

The skeleton was pulled out of his thoughts by you walking off. You were staring around, but had decided to start walking off. He followed you, taking note of the fact you were, subconsciously, heading towards the Mean Cream stand’s music. Perhaps you were hungry, after working all day.

Well… he kind of wants some, as well. Might as well buy a couple packages.

Papyrus walked past you, bringing you back to reality. He went over to the angry rabbit monster, buying two Mean Creams. The smaller monster tried to overprice them, as usual, but Papyrus knocked him down a few pegs.

The guardsman came back, thrusting one in your direction. You jumped at the sudden ice cream in your vision, before taking it. After opening them, you both ate the treats slowly. Very, very awkwardly. You really wished someone else was here- you’d be fine with Sans of all people.

You sat down on a rock, staying a bit away from the increasingly-frustrated skeleton. You could tell he was getting annoyed and angry with something, but don’t know what. Were you doing something wrong? Was he looking for anything that you could’ve done wrong?

The skeleton suddenly started growling, throwing his trash into a can nearby. He stomped over to you, looming over you aggressively. You flinched back, afraid he was going to do something.

He leaned down, hands resting by your hips, so he was face to face with you.

“You’re mine, understand,” he spat out, before he could stop himself. You reeled back in shock, startled and confused by the sudden change in attitude. He snarled.

“Answer me, human. You belong to me, do you understand?” You swallowed thickly.

“Y… Yes, sir-” “If any other monster touches you, they’re dead,” he snapped, standing to his full height. He was silent for a moment, simply glaring at the wall, before sighing heavily. He can’t do this. Anything he does, it’ll only come out as demanding and authoritative. Even if he tries to play the sickeningly polite courtship route, you’ll never fall for it.

“Let’s just go,” he said coldly, going to dismantle the telescope and stuff it in the bag. You stood, slowly following. You fiddled with your hands nervously.

“Am…” you hesitated. “Am I… in trouble?” He paused, before zipping up the bag. He stood, a deep growl in his chest.

“You will be if you don’t hurry up,” he hissed, leading you back to the Riverperson. You chewed your lip, following him closely. You didn’t want to get punished for something you didn’t even know you did. It wouldn’t be the first time…

The ride back to Snowdin was way too long, in your opinion. It was tense- not even the Riverperson said anything on the way back. You wish the boat’s owner would, at least, start humming to break the ice.

Papyrus all but pulled you off of the boat. You almost stumbled into the water, but managed to catch yourself. You had to jog to keep up with the furious skeleton, jumping as he slammed the door open. He simply stomped up to his room, tossing the telescope onto the couch next to his sleeping brother.

Sans woke up at the noise and action, tiredly watching Papyrus trudge up the stairs. You shut the door, catching the smaller skeleton’s attention. His brown bone raised, watching as you sit on the couch.

“What the hell happened?” You rubbed your face, sighing heavily, before throwing your hands up in annoyance.

“I don’t know! He took me to a cavern to see the gems in the ceiling- for a reward for doing well, I guess- and he was just… slowly getting angrier! At the end, he suddenly got furious, told me I was his, and then brought me back,” you huffed, dropping your head back against the couch.

“I don’t… understand what the fuck happened! Everything was going great, but then his mood took a 180!” Sans snorted, leaning back against the couch’s arm.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Papyrus is always… emotional”. You gave him a skeptical look. “By emotional, I mean angry”. Yeah. That makes more sense.

You sighed again, turning your attention to the tv. Maybe he’ll calm down soon.

But he probably wouldn’t, considering he was currently trashing his room in fury.

He can’t BELIEVE how STUPID he is! He just… threw all of his plans out the window- well… to be fair… he didn’t really have a plan for that.

Ugh… He’ll have to try something else. He doesn’t know what yet, but…

He’ll find a way to make it perfectly clear where he should stand in your eyes. You will be his- body, mind, and soul.

#undertale #underfell #papyrus #fic #commission fic #burntcookieskell

[clannfearrunt]

I took a chance on The Outdoors hoping to see some bugs but no. Alas. Too hot for even the bugs. Did see one (1) wasp from very far away and did see 9 goslings which was great but sigh. Want more bug

#put a shallow dish of water out back under the shade bc I did see a honeybee trying to get into the #automatic watering system #thorsty.... understandable. it’s hot as shit #the dish has stones in it for standing on it’s good I hope the bugs enjoy it #Con stop yapping

[idornaseminary]

Chapter One-Hundred Twenty-Three: Calix and Beatrice

“You’re so red!”

Ryker’s big grin beamed at Calix, the rapturous laughter of his younger brother muffled by the the mercurial two-way mirror that rested in Calix’s lap.

“Shut it,” Calix huffed, looking down at the fiery redness of his skin that glistened in the late evening sunshine and painfully contrasted the white printed shirt. His wand grazed the soft skin of his elbow, a cooling tendril of mist washing the rubor from the surface, the fair skin beneath tanned a rare gold. “You know I don’t take to the heat well.”

“Well?” Ryker scoffed, “You simply can’t handle the sun at all! You never could. I hope you enjoyed the trip more than your skin did.”

Calix smiled softly, looking over his shoulder towards the eclectic house, the inhabitants within saying their last goodbyes and dishing out their last hugs.

“Yeah, I had a great time, Ry,” Calix said, picking up the two-way mirror and showing his brother the cerulean-blue waters, lapping lazily at the rocks by his feet. “I mean, how could you not like this place?”

Ryker made some ridiculous passing comment on Calix’s Rudolph-like appearance when Calix lifted the mirror, the boy’s laughter drifting into nothingness as Calix thought back on his trip to Samoa, his attentive mind meandering.

Since his prickly conversation with Lanuola the day before, the witch had grown cagey in his presence. She still showed him kindness, especially when Beatrice was close by, but Calix knew she was trying to assess him, without making her interrogation more obvious than her blatant questioning had revealed. She, and Keise, wanted Beatrice to be happy and Calix, after a lot of thought, accepted that, even if he felt constantly pressed for information.

“Fucking hell, Cal,” Ryker gushed, but he quickly blanched as Cassandra’s sharp shriek of disapproval hissed from the other room. Ryker shouted out an apology, turning away from the mirror for a second.

“Has it been like that all the time?” he asked, as he turned back again.

“Pretty much. I’ve been surfing every day and relaxing every evening until the sun goes down,” Calix said, rotating the mirror, “It’s a magical place. That said, it’s no Ireland, but it’s a place you wouldn’t mind living in.”

“You’ve been surfing!”

Calix chuckled, nodding his head and pointing towards the canary-yellow surfboard embedded in the sand not far from the cluster of earthen-gold rocks where he sat.

He had not expected to enjoy the sport, Calix’s passions being academic and logical, and he was worried he would make a fool of himself. But, Mahana had insisted, practically threatened to drag Calix into the water, and Calix - initially scared of the colossal man - was glad he had. By the end of the few days, Calix was able to stand up on the board and enjoy the exhilarating, adrenaline-fuelled thrill of catching a good break.

Mahana had taught him well and Calix was going to truly miss the giant; he had gone above and beyond the call of a father’s duty to his daughter’s boyfriend. Perhaps he could see Lanuola’s pensiveness or Keise’s agitation, or maybe it was simply his nature, but he made Calix feel welcome.

“So, when are you coming home?”

“Jesus, Ryker,” Calix chuffed, answering the question for the millionth time, “Today! I’m literally just waiting on Beatrice and we’re going to apparate home.”

Twirling his thumbs, Ryker looked away from the mirror: “Sorry. I’m just excited to see you again.”

“I know,” Calix said, his heart plummeting to his feet as guilt dragged it downwards. “We’ll be there within the hour, okay?”

“Okay. Promise?”

“Cross my heart, buddy. And, Ryker?”

“Yeah?”

“When we arrive, please be cool.”

Beatrice sighed softly as she glanced around her bright yellow bedroom, double checking that she hadn’t left anything behind or brought anything extra that she didn’t need. Keise sat on her queen sized bed, her short tan legs hanging over the foot, swinging back and forth like twin pendulums. “So lemme just make sure I’m getting this right. Cedwyn’s gone for good, and you think Cal could be the one?” she asked bluntly, watching her sister babble senselessly to herself under her breath.

Letting out a soft sigh, Beatrice shrugged and pulled out her black fur cloak, draping it over her purse, having decided to leave her duffle at home with the onset of winter. “Well, I don’t know if he’s ‘The One,’ but I dunno, I do see a future with him,” she admitted, ducking into the shared bathroom between her and her sister’s rooms to grab the little clear plastic bag of toiletries.

“And you didn’t with Cedwyn?” Keise asked, braiding her thick mane of wild wavy hair back in a cattail plaid.

Beatrice huffed and set her hand on her torn skinny jean clad hip, tugging her black halter tank top down over her chunky leather belt. “Kiki, why do you hate Calix so much?”

“I don’t hate him.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“I don’t like the fact that he just wants to take you away,” she admitted flatly, casting her gaze down at her lap. A tense moment of silence passed between the two as the Welsh witch weighed the words carefully in her mind, a gentle smile curling onto her lips.

“Kiki, you know I’m always gonna come back, right?” she asked, sitting down beside her younger sister, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders which she was proud to see her sister didn’t immediately shake off.

Keise smiled sadly and leaned in, resting her head on Beatrice’s suede clad shoulder, careful to keep her hair away from falling and getting caught on the zipper jacket. “I mean, I hope you do, but you spend so much time away from here, I’m worried I’m gonna lose you. Cedwyn at least was prepared to buy a summer home down the road so you could visit. Calix...I’m just worried that he’s going to keep you away like your dad did,” she said, stroking the worn daisy sheets on her sister’s bed.

Beatrice sighed and stood up, pulling Keise with her, enveloping her in a tight hug which was eagerly returned with a few tears shed between the two women as the reality of another goodbye set in. “I will always come home to you.” A soft knock on the door hanging ajar brought their attention back to the present as Lanuola sauntered into the room with a sad smile on her plump pink lips, her hair draw up into a tight bun as she adjusted her labcoat over a professional grey silk dress.

“It’s time to get going, Teuila. Don’t want to keep Calix waiting too much longer or he might start to fry under the sun,” she teased, though the joy refused to reach her despair filled irises, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

Beatrice nodded and picked up her purse and her cloak, the soft warm fabric feeling heavy and unnecessary in the aggressive humidity. She leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Keise’s forehead, waving goodbye as the younger witch sank back down onto the bed as her mother and sister walked out of the house once again. Swallowing tightly, Beatrice hung onto her mother’s arm, needing the extra strength with each step she took away from her childhood home, heading out to the beach where Calix sat in wait.

Lanuola sighed softly and patted her daughter’s hand, tenderly peeling it off her elbow as they reached the Irishman, holding it out to him. “If you ever get tired of working for my ex-husband and want to expand your knowledge about tropical magical maladies and more herbal ways of healing, there’s a spot waiting for you at my hospital,” she said with a kind smile, taking a small step back which caused her to sink into the sand.

Hearing voices, Calix placed the two-way mirror in his pocket and swung his legs off the rock formation, landing on the soft sand, his white over-shirt transfiguring into a soot-black, woolen coat, the small birds on the fabric taking live flight behind him as they peeled off.

He winked at Beatrice, the spectacle for her amusement, and took her delicate hand in his. He looked towards her mother, small tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. This was as hard for her as leaving Ryker was for him: “Lanuola, someday I might take you up on that offer. Who knows, my area is magical bugs - the tropics always have interesting critters. And thank you so much for everything you did over the last few days. I had a wonderful time.”

“Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter,” she said, smiling fondly as Beatrice tugged her cloak on over her jacket in preparation for the icy temperatures that surely awaited them. “I’ll see you soon, darling,” she added, watching as the younger woman took his hand in preparation to disapperate.

“Bye, mom!” Beatrice called seconds before a loud crack filled the place where she once stood, the only imprint of their presence left a barely discernable divot in the soft white sand.

I’ll always take care of your daughter. Don’t think anything less than that.

The air crackled viciously as Calix disappeared, with Beatrice pulled tightly to his chest, and apparated on Appletower Row. The thin layer of Samoan warmth that came with them vanished into the dense, cold-morning fog, the ever-changing orange sky casting a glorious glow over the quiet row of houses, the imperturbable facades staring down at him again.

Home once more.

He rubbed Beatrice’s arm quickly, building up heat, and pecked her whitening cheek: “You okay, love? I know it’s a bit chilly.”

She giggled and nodded, releasing her white knuckle grip on his shirt, inhaling the clean, crisp air fiercely trying to cut through her cloak to no avail. “I’m alright, darling,” she said looking down the cobblestone road at the grand homes that towered over them like great stone guardians watching over their inhabitants. “Which one is yours?” she asked her hot breath clouding in the frosty atmosphere.

“I’m the one all the way near the bottom, sweetheart,” Calix explained, pointing excitedly down the cobblestone road towards the evergreens that hugged his home and poked above the thick fog.

“Come on, my brother is dying to meet you!” Calix chuckled, a light spring in his step as he walked, taking Beatrice’s bag from her. “And don’t mind anyone who stares. The Irish like to stare. Especially at Galens.”

“Why’s that, my love?” she asked with a grin, following him down the road at a brisk pace, keeping the fur lined cloth taut against her jacket, protecting the delicate suede beneath from the light flurries that swirled about the air.

The two young men Calix had met when he first arrived home came towards them as they walked, their impertinent eyes following Beatrice and Calix as they rushed by. Calix smiled and nodded but continued walking. He was in no mood to speak empty pleasantries with them.

“Appletower is full of old-world pure-bloods,” Calix explained quietly, looking over his shoulder as the men stared unapologetically at their newest piece of gossip, “And, unfortunately, brother doesn’t sit well with their mindset.”

He rushed to the iron gate of his house, the glacial bite of the north wind harsh against his face, and shuffled towards the door.

Before he could knock, the red door swung open and Ryker appeared in the doorway, wearing a Christmas jumper and a huge grin: “Cal!”

He threw himself ferociously at his brother, wrapping his arms around him and unintentionally tugging Beatrice into the welcoming embrace too.

“Heya, buddy!” Calix shouted, wrapping his free arm around his brother and pulling him close.

Beatrice let out a small yelp as she was thrown hastily in between the two wizards like the filling in an ice cream sandwich, equally as sweet and cold in the brisk winter air. She chuckled and opened her arms, wrapping one around Calix’s waist and the other around his brother’s, fully embracing the delightful moment. “Nice to meet you, Ryker!” she said, grinning up at the easily excited boy she was unexpectedly pressed against.

Ryker jumped back into the house as Calix lifted him easily off the ground, the younger boy’s sock-covered feet wet and cold from the damp path. Ryker smiled brightly at Calix before looking at Beatrice properly for the first time.

His mouth fell open.

His eyes widened.  

“Woah… Holy fu...”

“Ryker,” Calix snapped, a cautionary warning not worth ignoring seeping into his chattering voice, “This is Beatrice. Be cool.”

At first glance, she would have easily mistaken Ryker for a younger version of Calix with the same dark wavy hair and bright grey eyes. He, however, unlike his older brother seemed more lanky and had a gauntness about him that made her wonder what specifically it was that put everybody on Appletower Row off.

He seems nice enough. Why is it people are wary of him and the rest of Calix’s family?

Swallowing tightly and pushing the questions back into the dark depths of her mind, Beatrice put on a bright, cheerful smile as they stepped out of the blustery winter wind and into the warm house, closing the door on the harsh world outside. “I mean, you don’t have to be cool, but ya know, just...cool?” she said, laughing nervously. “It’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name after all this time.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too,” Ryker agreed quietly, offering to take Beatrice’s coat. As he helped Beatrice slip the black fur from her shoulders, Ryker looked to his brother and mouthed: ‘She’s fucking hot!’

Calix shook his head and gave him a warning glance. He’s right though. “Is Cass home?” He asked, pulling off his own coat and hanging it in the hall.

“Yeah,” Ryker beamed, “Cass! They’re here!”

Beatrice chuckled and walked into the homey living room, admiring the exposed wooden beams in the walls and the ceiling as she approached the roaring fireplace, wanting to get a better look at the row of enchanted black and white photographs on the mantelpiece. It was a arranged quite like a timeline it seemed, a visual reminder of happier days long past though space still remained at the very end for the wonderful moments sure to come.

Minding the wrought iron gate sat at the edge of the slate hearth, Beatrice took a step closer, and admired an image of a handsome man she presumed was in his early forties standing beside a large Hebridean Black dragon whose tail was wrapped protectively around the man’s feet though he appeared perfectly at ease beside the beast.

Perhaps this is his father. I wonder if I’ll get to meet him.

“Cass! Come on!”

“Ryker, calm down, I’m coming,” Cassandra laughed, fixing her dark, wavy hair into a tight bun as she stepped from the kitchen into the sitting room. She sighed happily when she saw Calix, standing by the sparkling and starry Christmas tree, the faint light highlighting his golden-red skin.

“Welcome home, Cal,” she said, turning towards the young witch by the fire, a genuine smile of delight on her face. “And, my dear, you must be Beatrice, am I right? Cassandra’s my name.”

She opened up her arms and beckoned her guest, her brother’s girlfriend, towards her wide embrace, the importance of the day not lost on her.

Turning her back on the row of framed pictures and focusing her attention on the entirely stunning woman before her, Beatrice offered a polite smile and stepped forward into the welcoming hug. She shoved the slightly awkward feelings given life by a flock of nervous butterflies as Cassandra stood a good foot taller than herself in flats, forcing the Samoan Welsh witch to rest her head on her hostess’ chest as they embraced.

“You have a lovely home. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this at ease anywhere before,” she said as they pulled apart, allowing her the chance to get a good look at the Greek goddess who stood before Beatrice claiming to be a relation to Calix. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to see the family resemblance, in fact is was as plain as if it were carved into stone. “And thank you so much for hosting me. It’s a true joy to be here and meet all of you,” Beatrice added, glancing at the staircase behind the woman in the hall. “If you don’t mind my asking, will your parents be joining us later for dinner or are they away?”

“Just mom, she should be down soon. But, please, don’t be so formal, sweetie, any friend of Calix’s is welcome here anytime,” Cassandra winked, glancing towards the couch where Ryker had driven Calix backwards, the boys locked in a laughter-wracked wrestle, “And, between you and me, if you ever need help getting your way with him or sorting him out, just give me a shout. He can be a handful, but we’ll break that.”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, her ruby red lips curling into a curious smirk as she followed the woman’s gaze over towards the two brothers play-fighting on the couch. She opened her mouth, ready to say, ‘I don’t think I really need help in that department, but I appreciate the offer,’ before she thought better of it. “Thanks, Cass. So, Cal’s told me that you work with dragons. What’s that gotta be like?” she asked, peeling off her suede jacket as she went to sit down on the green corduroy loveseat beneath the large bay window overlooking the backyard.

“It can be challenging from time to time. Never work with children and dragons, you know,” Cassandra said, pleasantly surprised and impressed with the young witch. On first impression, Cassandra thought her a pretty little soul. Her brother had picked well. “But, I love it. There’s something exhilarating about working with dragons, something so naturally primitive and feral. Though, they’re easier to work with than those two.”

Shaking her head, she barked at Ryker, his arm locked around Calix’s neck, and scolded Calix for encouraging his younger brother, the tumbling boys hurtling towards the floor.

“Sorry, would you look at them. Like toddlers.”

Beatrice couldn’t help but laugh at the siblings’ wild antics, suddenly struck by the thought that she wished her own family was a little more like that. She let out a happy sigh and crossed her legs, draping one smoothly over the other as she made herself at home on the couch. This was what a home was supposed to feel like. “I don’t mind. It’s fun to watch, and then they tire each other out,” she added with a sly wink at Calix.

“Tire each other out?” Calix winked playfully, ignoring Cassandra’s disapproval and ruffling his brother’s hair wildly, “Nah, I think we’ve got pretty good stamina, huh, Ry?”

The boys hollered with laughter, slowly trying to stand on their shaky feet as a weak voice called from the doorway.

“Cal? Is that you?”

Calix looked towards the door, the whisper sending heavy shudders down his spine, his ageing mother sliding into the room, black rings of worry beneath her eyes and a worrisome shake to her shoulders.

“Oh, my Calix, you’re home.”

Uncrossing her legs and sitting up straight, Beatrice swallowed tightly, very aware of her all too casual attire for meeting his parents for the first time. I mean, he did meet your mother in a pair of khaki shorts and a Tommy Bahama button up. She delicately placed her hands in her lap, the finer points of etiquette her paternal grandmother Eira drilled into her brain from the time she was able to sit still resurfacing at an alarming rate. Though the rapid pace her heart thundered away at could also have had something to do with the frail woman standing in the doorway of the living room dressed in a simple black cotton gown, reminding Beatrice all too much of a grim reaper.

“Hi, mom,” Calix said softly, taking her skeleton-gaunt hands in his and delicately kissing her papery cheek, the colour long replaced by perpetual pallor. “I want you…”

“Cal, who’s the woman in my house?”

Calix squeezed his mother’s hands gently, his contact setting her restless and panicky eyes, wandering around the room: “Mom, that’s Beatrice. Remember, I told you about her before I left? She’s my girlfriend. She’s going to be spending Christmas with us.”

“Bea... yes, yes, I remember,” Lorelei Galen whispered, a painful lilt to her feeble voice as she reached for Cassandra’s hand, “I remember, I remember. But, I think I’ll go lie down, Cal. I don’t think I look my best for introductions. Your sister and I missed you so much.”

A sickening knot formed in Calix’s stomach as Ryker’s presence was ignored once again. He watched as his mother, guided by Cassandra, shuffled out of the room, repeatedly asking her daughter who the strange young woman in her house was.  

#Script #Calix #Beatrice

[andy-abroad]

Mumbai_01

June.12.2017 Hello hello-- It's now much later in the day, but still the same day as when I landed. Honestly, today wasn't that bad, being tired wise. It was kind of an awesome way to get a full day in the city, even with so much travel. I woke up around 10a, which is earlier than I expected. I was originally going to wake up at Noon, but I guess my body had other plans. I really wanted to do laundry, as it would give me an excuse to kind of take it easy, feel productive, and research. I had some some research in the airport, so I had an idea of what I wanted to see, and when, but nothing set in stone. I'm finding that it's much more relaxed this way, but also kind of stressful. When I went to the front desk area, I asked about laundry. They have a service that would do it for me, but it was kind of expensive and I didn't want my clothes hot pressed, as they would most likely burn or shrink (dri-fit shirts). The man explained that laundromats and self laundry services aren't really a thing except for in homes, so I relented and gave him my things. As I no longer had plans, I quickly looked up some of the locations of things I wanted to do. Two things, the gate of India and the Dohbi Ghat were on the same rail line, with the train station being pretty close to my hostel. I decided that's what I would do. I grabbed my bag and headed out. It was more complicated than expected to find a way to the station. The roads all turn and the driving is quite wild. Rickshaws are everywhere - I might need to get on one soon! By the time I made it to the station, I was drenched in sweat and I was covered in mud. It's the rainy season so it's very humid, and the dirt turns to mud, which is kinda gross. I passed a lot of fruit and vegetable stands on the way, and made a note of where they sold water. I was definitely thirsty, but in a different way compared to Egypt. I got to the train station and paid for my ticket. First class was 70 rupees, and second class was only 10. I decided to buy first class, but accidentally bought two tickets instead of one! I meant to say round trip, but I guess it got lost in translation. I found the platform, and hopped into the train. Like the movies and the news, people are hanging out of trains, and jumping onto the platforms. It's really quite a sight to see! I got a seat, as my stop was the end of the line. I thought the train ride would be much longer, but I was on the express, so it didn't take more than 20 minutes. From that train station I had to walk pretty far to get to the gate of India. On my way, I got water from a street cart and a samosa. A samosa is a pastry with potatoes and curry and spices inside. Super tasty. Also spicy! I forgot how much I missed spicy. Anyways, the gate was built in 1923 to commemorate the first king and queen of England that visited India. India was a former colony, of which the impact can still be felt and seen to this day. Most helpfully, almost everything had English translations. The gate was built in the style of the muslims, the Indians, and of the British. It was pretty cool. Also, I got to see the Arabian Sea! It was pretty dirty, but neat nonetheless. I walked around that area and the pier, and found my way into a pub. I really needed to sit and be in some AC for a while, so I got a local beer and relaxed for a bit. Inside were two British guys here on business. They work in plumbing and had just come from a two week business trip in China. We chatted a bit and they actually told me of a place kind of famous for their biryani (rice and meat dish). I was excited to try and thanked them for the tip. They left, I finished my beer, paid, and then made my way to this restaurant. It was kind of in the opposite direction of the train station, but I needed to eat, and I was tired of eating American food (pizza, chicken, McDonald's, etc). The walk was long, but beautiful. So many beautiful, historic buildings, that are unfortunately in disrepair. There are also amazing trees - bananas, banyan, coconut, dates, and mango trees just lining the streets. It was very scenic. By the time I got close to the restaurant, I was super confused and kind of lost. My one map app told me it was inside a government compound. Definitely not. The other app told me it was just around the corner. Thankfully, the second app was right! I was quickly seated and ordered. The biryani was alright. Not the best, not the worst. I know some of it was pre-cooked, as it wasn't super hot, but it was still a good meal. It was at this point I realized that I had forgotten to take my malaria pill today. Oops! After eating and paying, I walked back to the train station. On my way I found a Zara. I went in just to look and ended up buying a shirt I really like. I feel kind of silly because it wasn't super cheap, I probably could have ordered it online to the house, and I don't have that much space in my bag, but I did it anyways. I also stopped by a bank. I wanted to get more cash after seeing the scarcity of ATMs near where I am and how hard it was to find ones that had cash. What I learned is that people take out small amounts, and the only bills left are the 2,000 rupee notes. These are about 30USD. I found this out because someone helped me, but before I could ask for an amount he entered 10,000 rupees.... I guess it's a good think I'm going to another Indian city after this! Finally, after much sidetracking and interruption, I found the train station and my platform, and I got on the slow train this time, as it stopped at my second location I wanted to go to. I actually passed by the Mumbai museum of modern art, but was too tired and sweaty. It was about 5 stops or so before I got off. I wanted to see the neighborhood of Dhobi Ghat, which is kind of a slum, but one known for their laundry. You drop off you clothes, and they disappear, but when you pick them up, they're as clean as can be. The people who wash the clothes hang them up all over - in between houses, on the roof, on poles, etc. it's actually quite beautiful and interesting to see. Luckily, it's literally right outside the train station. There were stairs to go down into the neighborhood, but I felt that would be impolite. After a few minutes and few photos, I got back on the train. I got off at my stop and began my trek back to the hostel. For some reason, I think I took a really different route. There's no direct way to get there, so I wound up walking really far out of my way to just take straight roads instead of twisting and turning my way down neighborhoods. I was nervous my phone was going to die and I didn't think I remembered to bring the cord (I did remember, I found out later). On my way I passed a pharmacy and bought some bug spray (mosquito season is upon us) and some sunblock, as although it's mostly cloudy, the sun came through for some time and it was intense. I don't know how well either of these will stay on when I'm sweating like crazy, but we'll see. I also bought 3L of water - to drink but also to brush my teeth. By the time I got back to the hostel I was desperate for a shower. I quickly locked my things away, grabbed my last pair of underwear, and washed the day away. Sweat, 24 hours of travel, mud. Felt so good to be clean. I also shaved because it was about that time, as well. It was around 7p by the time all this ended. I had planned on going back out to see the sunset over the famous bridge, but I really just couldn't bring myself to go back out and face the humidity. I chatted with one of my friends back from home for a bit to get the scoop on the best places to eat. One of the locations was really close to where I was today! Nah go and check it out later if I have time. She also said there are some cool breweries and cafes in Bandra West (I'm in Bandra East). With all the planning for tomorrow done, I watched some tv instead of venturing out and I am glad, because it has been thunder storming for hours! The rain got so heavy it knocked out wifi and cell signal. Anyways. It's not even that early but I'm headed to bed. Super tired and hoping to sleep well. Until whenever--

#Mumbai