#now I step one foot in the house and immediately return to the same destructive bullshit
You've got a sad look in your eyes | Corey Cunningham x Male Reader
A/N – I wanted to meet my own Halloween deadline, but this is my first fic ever, so everybody bear with me. I’ve had such debilitating brain rot for this man ever since I saw the movie that I knew I had to make the leap & try my hand for my fellow mlms out there who feel the same way about Corey. This is for y’all!
Summary – Returning to your hometown for the first time since you went off to college, you pay a visit to your former best friend, who you haven’t seen or spoken to since you left, and try to reconnect with him one chilly October night.
Warnings – 18+, angst, fluff, smut, Dom!Bottom!Reader, Sub!Top!Corey, oral, anal, praise kink? (I just picture Corey as being so emotionally starved, especially after ~the incident~ that he gets turned on by most displays of affection)
Words – 3.1k
––––––––––––––––––––
The rumbling of the engine filled the silence as your car sliced down empty Haddonfield streets, past abandoned houses and foreclosed businesses–a constant reminder of that night, the night HE came back. You weren’t there to witness the destruction firsthand. Lucky, everyone said. A gift to be untouched by tragedy. But you still felt it–the loss. It festered like an infected wound, branching out and rotting everything around it.
You didn’t like to think about it too much. Your thoughts were already clouded with the same face haunting you for years. Nearing your destination, your breath caught in your throat even daring to think of him. The unwieldy chestnut curls. The kind caramel eyes. The toothy grin. The psych–you snapped yourself out of it with the shake of your head. You knew you’d lose your nerve and drive past the gate up ahead if you indulged in those thoughts.
Lifting your foot off the gas just so, you let your car cross the well-worn threshold into the Prevo Auto grounds. You weren’t surprised by the easy access. You already knew who preferred to work under the cover of darkness…
––––––––––––––––––––
Exiting your car with cautious movements, you already spotted him at the edge of the garage. He was bent over, tinkering under the hood of a car. Even without seeing his face, you could already tell it was Corey from the set of his shoulders. His fixation on the task was so complete that he hadn’t even noticed your intrusion into his world of metal–just like when you were close. Body thrumming with anticipation the more you closed the distance, you couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Corey?”
Corey jolted up and around in your direction, narrowly avoiding clipping his head on the hood propped up above him. The surprise only lingered on his features long enough for realization to settle in, tightening his muscles like a vice and dimming the light in his eyes. You saw it immediately–this was no longer the same Corey you used to know.
He looked like he’d been rode hard and left out wet in his filthy denim coveralls and clunky work boots that left him shifting uncomfortably in. Even his ruffled mop of hair and stubbled face indicated somebody who’d given up on their appearance sometime ago.
“What do you want?” Corey asked, looking past you into the carpark beyond as his dirty hands fidgeted at his sides.
You took a step forward; he took a step back. You nodded your head in his direction instead, “I heard you were working here now.”
He nodded back, curtly. “I am.”
Sighing, your breath billowed out in the cold of the night. You pressed on, “Well, I just got home a few days ago and thought I’d stop by–“
“At midnight?” he cut you off, briefly meeting your eyes before making a show of adjusting his glasses.
“I also heard this was the best time to catch you,” you explained, shoving your hands into your pockets. Chancing another step further, you continued, “That you were more comfortable in the dark…alone.”
“It’s easier for work…” he trailed off, pivoting back to the car.
“Easier for you…or for everybody else?”
He stopped midturn, his back tensing at the question. Time ticked sedately along while the silence stretched on between you agonizingly.
You moved within reaching distance so he wouldn’t be able to look away from you again. “Corey, come on. Won’t you just talk to me?”
Corey slammed the hood down on the car and spun on his heels just as you got close enough to see the hurt in his eyes. “Why should I? Where’ve you been?”
Before you could interject, he hurtled over the rest of his words as if they had been lying in wait to explode from his mouth with as much venom as he could muster. ”I haven’t seen or heard from you in years and all of a sudden you just show up wanting everything to be like it used to be, right? Or are you just here to watch the freakshow? Show up and see if what everybody has been saying is true? How am I supposed to just talk to you when you weren’t even here? You’ve been gone all this time. You didn’t even call when I kill–“
With a flurry of blinks, Corey caught himself just short of finishing his sentence. The anger dissipated almost instantaneously from his face.
You stood your ground, stunned, but resolute. You had never seen Corey snap on anybody like that–even during heated arguments in your youth. Deep down, you knew if anybody deserved his fury, it was you.
Corey turned his head away, shrinking from your gaze as if you’d scolded him. Barely discernible over a sharp swell of wind, he muttered, “Just, please…leave.”
For the first time since returning to Haddonfield, you saw Corey–not the old Corey, not the Corey you had fallen in love with, not even the Corey you had heard ugly rumors about around town. You saw the Corey who was flayed alive by unspeakable devastation and didn’t have a hand to help sew him back together. You saw it in his baggy clothes; in the way his lip twitched in despair; the way his shoulders sagged with fatigue. In the still of the October night, he looked like a wounded animal…and it only drew you closer to him.
Extending a hand out to him, you pressed on, “What if I don’t want to leave?”
“Don’t!” Corey jerked away from your touch. He tried pressing himself against the car beside him, but it did little to hide the storm on his face.
You lowered your hands to deescalate his aggravation, sticking as close by his side as he’d allow.
“Don’t what?”
“You know what,” Corey spat, cutting his eyes your way. “I can deal with this shit from everybody else. I’m used to it. But you…”
Corey quickly averted his eyes again, looking anywhere but at your face. At first, you thought he had completely shutdown–then the moonlight reflected the sheen in his eyes.
Your left pinkie crept forward, encircling his right–alongside the silver ring he wore–as a sign of affection. He stiffened at your touch, but didn’t pull away.
“What about me? Tell me what you want to say, Corey.”
He mirrored your question, “What if I don’t want to?”
You offered him a weak smile, still trying your best to comfort him. “Then you’ll never get me to leave.”
His expression shifted, taking on a softer edge without entirely letting his guard down. Nevertheless, he gave you something to ponder, “It’s because you’re you.”
The conversation stilled again, your mind drawing a blank as if those words were meant to explain everything. You squeezed his pinkie for reassurance, “I’m me…I’m still me, and you’re still you, and that hasn’t changed.”
Corey choked back a sob, “But it has.” He paused to steady his voice, and dared to look you directly in the face, “Every night when it got bad…when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore…when I went back to that place…when I went there to…”
He shook his head, letting the implication die on his lips before redirecting, “I thought of you. I always hoped you’d be here, that somehow you’d know, because you were you and we were us. But you never were.”
The tears he’d held at bay fell freely then, unable to be suppressed any longer, “And as much as wanted to…as I’ve tried to hate you, I…can’t–because you’re you. You’re everything to me. You always showed me that I could be something more when nobody else would. So, please–“
You interjected this time, “No.”
“No?” he implored, incredulous.
Fortified by his confession, you let your nerves take over. It was now or never. “No. I know you want me to leave because you think it’d be easier, but it won’t be. You’d feel like shit. I’d feel like shit. We’d both be leaving this place emptier than we came here tonight and I’m not doing that again.”
You closed the remaining gap between you–a hair from your clothes meeting in the middle–till you could smell the oil on his coveralls. “I left you behind and I’ll never not regret it. It was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. I thought you’d be fine without me. I thought I’d be fine without you…I was a dumbass. But, I’m not gonna be the dumbass who makes the same mistake twice.”
You stared intently into Corey’s eyes, pleading to be seen the same way you could see him. You needed him to see.
“You can’t fix me,” was all he could respond with, his expression unreadable.
Without breaking eye contact, you edged your face forward. You caught the flicker of want in Corey’s eyes when you whispered to him, “I don’t want to fix you. I want to be here for you.”
While your pinkie was still entangled with his, you reached your free hand up to caress his cheek.
“Let me be here for you, Corey.”
This time, Corey didn’t resist. He closed his eyes with a labored exhalation, relinquishing the tension in his body and melting into your comforting touch without reservation.
In the peace of the moment, you noticed a halo of moonlight cascading down on Corey from above. It caught the coppery flecks in his messy brown curls and glittered off of his tear-stained cheeks like sun through stained glass. It made him look like an angel.
“After everything, you’re still my beautiful boy.”
From your close proximity to Corey, you felt something suddenly pressing into your body. A wrench crossed your mind briefly before you looked down and saw a tent in the midsection of his coveralls, pronounced even through the layers you could tell he had heaped on to quell the October chill.
Curiosity piqued, you couldn’t help but find yourself aroused at the sight. With the raise of your brow, you leaned into him, teasing, “Beautiful and excited.”
Corey’s eyes snapped open, wildly meeting your eyes before following your line of sight down to his own bulge. You felt his body go rigid as crimson crept up his neck, blossoming all the way to his cheeks.
You brought your hand up to run your fingers through his curls. He shuddered on impact, still frozen in place and unable to utter a sound.
You had no such trouble. Tantalizingly close to Corey’s lips, you purred words of encouragement with a devilish smirk, “If I knew calling you beautiful made you react this way, I would’ve whispered all kinds of things to you to see that sweet look on your face.”
“Bu–wha–I–?” Corey sputtered, managing to get control of his limbs again. He tried to wrestle his hands in between the thin space between your bodies to cover himself. You denied him access, pressing yourself firmly into him until you knew he felt your own hardening length by the involuntary moan he let out.
“Do you always make sounds as pretty as that or am I the first to hear them?”
You could feel him twitch in his pants in response. His eyes widened even larger as a series of indecipherable mumbles escaped his lips. The mounting heat between you left his glasses fogged while he searched for anything that would resemble a word to respond.
Your other hand fingered the zipper on his coveralls, the henley underneath peaking through. You took your precious time pulling it down further, “Do you want me to stop?”
Through parted lips, his breath hit your face in steamy waves of desire. Corey could only manage the shake of his head in his current state.
Your smirk stretched wider, savoring every second that prolonged the night’s inevitable events. He already looked ruined before you’d even properly touched him.
“Use your words, Corey. Tell me what you want.”
Eyes flashing impatiently and desperate for friction, Corey tried to rut into you. You pulled yourself away just enough to deny him that pleasure, leaving him to release a pathetic whine that went straight to your dick.
A few inches shy of fully unzipping him, you nudged him along, “Show me how much you want it, Corey. Show me what I do to you.”
Corey didn’t have to be told again. He threw his arms around you, yanking your body into his with an insatiable crash of his lips. You followed his lead eagerly, reciprocating his sloppy kisses and letting him pull you down with him onto the hood of the car.
Straddling him, you felt him moan into your mouth and his clumsy fingers reach under your shirt, exploring you. He gripped onto your skin like a life preserver, touching anything he could find. Your waist. Your back. Your chest. It didn’t matter as long as you were the one he was touching.
You pulled your mouth away, coming up for air. Corey hugged you tighter to himself as if you were going to leave him.
“Don’t,” Corey managed to croak out. “Please don’t stop.”
“I don’t intend to.”
You reached down between your bodies, tugging his zipper the rest of the way. He shivered beneath you as you slipped your hand past the band of his oversized jeans and into the straining fabric of his briefs, taking hold of his thick member. He became pliant in your hand, his arms falling beside him as he gave into your massaging touch.
You climbed down his body back off of the hood. Never halting your movements, you pulled his jeans and underwear down with your free hand, leaving his dick–and your hand–sticking out through the opening in his coveralls.
“Look at you. So fucked out. So pretty for me.”
Corey gasped as his cock hit the night air, twitching in your hand at the praise. It was even larger than it felt, already gorged and leaking with an angry, swollen tip tilting upward and a mass of unkempt fur surrounding his shaft. Bruised lips panting and glasses precariously askew on his nose, he watched you through heavy-lidded eyes as you dipped down.
You inhaled his cock into your mouth, burying your face to the hilt in his bush and letting his natural aroma overtake your senses. Straining in your pants while you hungrily swallowed him, you hurriedly tugged your own jeans and boxers down to free your length from its confines. You fisted your own manhood with fervor, chasing relief as Corey’s moans grew pornographically loud and he covered his hot face with his hands.
With a pop, you pulled off of his member. Corey whimpered in frustration at the loss of your wetness, running shaky hands through his curls and unsuccessfully trying to push them out of his scarlet face.
“Keep making those sounds for me, baby. We’re not done yet.”
Toeing out of your shoes, you shoved your jeans and boxers down to your ankles, leaving them behind on the cement floor. Dumbstruck, Corey could only stare as you remounted him, bottom half bare and dick swinging as you moved. Steadily squatting down, you positioned your hole above his slick cock.
“Do you want me to make you feel good?” You punctuated your question with a stroke, emphasizing your experience to him.
Corey nodded passionately, breathing heavily in preparation. Sinking down, you moaned in tandem with him as his tip slipped beyond your threshold. You felt your walls stretch the deeper you descended, bending your legs at his sides and feeling every inch of him fill you up.
He tried covering his face again, but you took his hands in yours. “Don’t. I wanna see you.” Even with your walls swallowing his dick, you could still feel him twitch in you.
That’s when you started to move, bringing your hips up and down and keeping yourself steady with Corey’s hands. Skin slapping and grunts pouring from your open mouths, you rode him like your life depended on it. You watched each other in your movements, losing each other completely to the feeling and sharing hurried kisses without missing a beat.
Blissed out, “Fuck, Corey,” involuntarily slipped past your lips. As soon as it did, you noticed his eyes darken and knew you’d unlocked that final door in Corey’s repressed subconscious.
Corey sat up suddenly to meet your chest. He held you in place with one arm and lifted your shirt up over your head with the other before thrusting in time with your pumps. The change in pace caught you off guard, leaving you huffing while Corey furiously abused your hole with harsh smacks. He had given himself completely to pleasure and the fire burning between you was going to take you over the edge.
Corey animalistically buried his face into your body, breathing in your scent and peppering your chest with greedy kisses. You could feel his grip tightening on your back as he pressed harder into your body, trapping your cock in a flesh prison you pistoned up with while he pummeled you walls.
Sensing you were both on the precipice, you blurted out as much praise that would come to you in your state, “Come on. That’s right. You’re so good. Such a good boy for me, Corey.”
A flash of the old Corey came over him, nodding obediently with a frenzied moan louder than any sound he had made all night. It sent you tumbling over the edge, your climax bringing stars to your eyes as your cock painted his shirt in white with load after load spurting out. Just then, you felt Corey’s own release shoot deep into you. His pretty mouth hung ajar, tremors racking his body while his thrusts slowed.
You wrapped your arms carefully around him and rested your sweaty forehead against his, slowing your breathing. Corey stayed inside you, but you felt him pulling away, as if he were conflicted on the sex you just had.
You gave him a quick peck to bring him back to you, “Hey don’t retreat in there. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere…literally. You’re still inside me.”
That managed to draw a smile from him. His first smile of the night. You brushed his hair out of his face, reciprocating it.
Bringing himself to not turn away for once, he confessed, “You were my first.”
You brought your lips together, ignoring the mess, the state of undress, and the tumultuous feelings between you. You were here for him and that was never gonna change again.
“I can be your always.”
204 notes
·
View notes
4 real everytime I return to the house my mom lives (n I grew up) I destabilise myself without fail every time fall back into binge-restrict cycles and compulsive overexercising..... everytime... can’t wait to be outtahere forever finally by the end of the month.... 1 september im thru to find my center again.. I know how to be stable anywhere else just not here for some reason
8 notes
·
View notes
late│technoblade
summary: three times you said i love you, and the one time technoblade says it back
prompt: “I’d do anything for you, whether or not you ask me to”
warnings: fluff and major angst, blood and death descriptions, dsmp spoilers
pairing: in-game romantic!technoblade
a/n: this is my entry for @burntcilantro‘s 500 writing event!! much love and congratulatory to min, they’re an amazing writer and an even better person (they’re so nice, give them the support they deserve)
also i separated some of the dsmp events and spaced them out (so there’s more time between for plot purposes lol)
wc: (2.0k) - m.list
“Why are you so stupid?”
You were sat on top of a chest, holding one leg with your arms while the other was currently being wrapped by Technoblade. While you giggled at his insult, you winced once he tightened the gauze on your ankle with a glare.
“It’s not funny, y/n.” He leaned down to bite off the rest of the wrapping, finishing the fold as you huffed at his seriousness.
“I told you to watch the house, not climb onto the roof and play a fun game of risk. What were you thinking?”
His stare was heavy and made you feel little as he looked down at you. The tone of the room changed as you lost the humor in the situation, his concern overpowered by the anger laced in his voice.
“I just wanted to help,” you stated, turning your face away, discouraged, with your arms crossed. “You’ve been getting the all the resources lately and haven’t let me even step off the damn property.”
Looking down, you fiddled with your fingers as to avoid his gaze. “I wanted to try and fix the wood panelings that have been leaking, that’s all.”
The silence was harsh, and you swallowed deeply at how uncomfortably stiff the air became. Technoblade opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it shut with no words to voice.
With a shaky breath, you gripped the edge of the wood and slowly lowered yourself onto your foot; you didn’t plan on staying here just so he couldn’t say anything more. Technoblade was quick to steady his arms around you in case you fell, but you immediately pushed his hand away aggressively and stood with all your weight on your healthy foot.
Arms out to balance, as you tried to take the first step on your bad foot, you crumpled into your self with a yelp from the pain and collapsed. Ready as always, Techno caught you from behind and guided you to the nearest chair.
You flinched from the small movement but sighed once sitting again. Techno crouched in front of you to check how you physically were, but your eyes were closed shut as you tried to collect your breathing.
“Y/n,” Techno call out. Calming yourself down, you opened your eyes to meet his; he was much more sincere before, his face soft as he spoke gently to you.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Looking down, Technoblade paused as to gather his thoughts before explaining himself further.
“I know I’ve been overbearing since the attempted execution,” you reached a hand towards his cheek when he mentioned the recent event, which he leaned into as he continued with closed eyes, “but please know it’s from a place of concern. I just- I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t let anything happen to you. I-I…”
“I know. Trust me, I know.” You spoke for him as you pulled him into your chest, hugging his large frame as best as you could. He relaxed into your hold with a sigh of relief.
“I love you, Techno.” You kissed the top of his head, and he only burrowed himself deeper into the hug.
“I’m so sorry, love.”
Technoblade was hunched over on the front lawn, hands on his head while trembling from the overwhelming pain of the voices. He whimpered at your words, indicating he heard you to some extent.
He had come home, alone, and fell to his knees at the sight of you when you opened the door. Immediately, you had rushed over to him and skid to your own knees to comfort him, but he grunted from your attempts to touch him; even when under the influence, he was still conscious enough to fear for your own safety relative to the blind rage of the voices.
You had tried talking to him, attempted to get him to give you any context to what was causing his anger, which he answered with snarling growls in return. “Tommy… left… betrayed. Chose government.”
While broken into murmured words, you understood instantly and tried to bring him back in spite needing to quench your own anger from Tommy’s departure. You rested your palms into the snow, lowering your head as much as possible to meet his bowed head.
You peered up at him despite his own eyes screwed shut from the unbearable chaos that roared within his head, and called out to him as softly as you could. It was a stretch, but you hoped you could soothe him down by talking.
“Hey bubs, just listen to my voice, alright? You hear me now yes? You can understand what I’m saying?” Patiently waiting, you watched him closely until he gave the smallest nod, fists still pushed against his skull and twisting from the ache.
“That’s good, that’s really good, love. You hear my voice, now listen to my words.” Slowly, you leaned close enough to whisper to him directly.
“I’m here, okay? I’m so sorry about Tommy, I know how much you cared for him. I still care for him too, and I know it hurts right now, but rest assured I’m still here. I’m here Techno, and I’m never leaving you.”
With clenched teeth, he let out a sob at your declaration and pushed his head against you. You took his permission to touch him promptly, gripping him with as much strength as you could carry so he felt stable and secure.
You squeezed him, desperate to ground him from slipping further, and rocked the both of you. He released a shuttered breath, and you kissed his skin gently.
“I love you, you know? I will always be here and I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
He clutched you with his entire being, your words and presence more than he could ever ask and want.
“Why do you have to be too reckless for your own good?”
You grinned widely at his words, smile almost sadistic as you glanced at him with your arms propped on the axe you carried above your shoulders.
“What ever could you mean?” Despite the roll of his eyes, he did nothing to hide his own amusement to your eagerness to the upcoming destruction you were to bring. He chuckled, his deep laughter making you smile more softly to how genuine he was as you walked besides him. Hand raised to wave his rocket launcher, he focused ahead proud.
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” Turning to look at you again, you stared at him adoringly and smirked slightly while bashful to his confident manner. “We are indeed.”
It became relatively silent as you walked through the layered snow, feet crunching from your steady pace. You continued to take random glances at him, Technoblade doing the same until you both heard a loud groan.
“My god, you two are insufferable, I can’t deal with this right now.” Dream sneered at you specifically, as if you were the cause for his own discomfort, and walked through you both.
“I’ll meet you guys there instead, but hurry.” Swiftly, he pulled out an ender pearl and threw it a few yards ahead towards the portal, his figure disappearing altogether.
You stared in disbelief from his actions until a cough interrupted your thoughts once more. “You know what,” Phil avoided looking at you both, his hands tapping together awkwardly as he walked ahead as well but turned to address you while moving backwards.
“I’ll see you guys there too, just, be sure to be quick?” You both nodded wordlessly, and he took his leave in fast haste.
Standing there alone, you risked another glance at him and met his eyes, laughing loudly at the circumstances.
Technoblade held a hand to his face, body shaking from his laughter while you were endlessly giggling, holding your stomach from the pain. Eventually, your fits faded with large smiles, and you faced him with a shake of your head.
“I didn’t realize we’d be one of those couples.” Technoblade sighed, though you could tell it was for play, and nodded. “A shame really, I never thought this day would come.”
You giggled again, and chose to move closer, tilting your head upwards at him with a sweet beam while leaning onto your axe. He gave you a small smile in return, however his faded immediately after.
Lifting his open hand, he cupped your cheek and bent down to kiss your forehead, touching yours together after with his eyes closed. “Promise me you’ll be safe? I trust you to protect yourself, but for me, stay safe when things start to go bad?”
While you knew it was impossible to guarantee you’d stay away from the majority of the danger, you knew better than to leave his concern unanswered and open.
“I promise,” you murmured, “for you, I promise.”
He pulled you against his chest this time, engulfing you completely and holding the back of your head earnestly to his heart.
“I love you,” you voiced, your words muffled into his armor and coat. He hummed while looking ahead, his eyes trained on the glowing portal that called towards him. This was a war he refused to leave with mercy, the price of your peaceful lives together on the line.
“No…”
There was too much blood. The thick liquid stained every surface and soaked through his coat that he pushed against your wound.
Internally panicking from your tight expressions of discomfort, Technoblade desperately searched through his inventory for something, anything, that could heal or at the very least help you. He was forced to face the reality that he used all his potions during the midst of battle and combat. He couldn’t do anything.
“Why, why why,” he snarled, his eyes clouding with an outset of tears he couldn’t care for. “Why are you so stupid.” His voice caught in his throat from his conflicted emotions and he tightened his hold on the fabric pushed against your stomach; the pain had faded at this point, and you were numb to the constant pressure he tried to hold.
“I’m so sorry, love. I lied.” Your voice was light and strained, but Technoblade refused to accept the situation for what it was. He turned to a perched crow, screaming at it to get Phil and scaring it away with a slash of his sword, before tucking his head down in an almost silent plea.
“Why do you have to be too reckless for your own good?” he whispered. Though he tried to be delicate, he couldn’t help how tight he held your hand.
“I’d do anything for you, whether or not you ask me to.” You gave a tired grin as your eyes began to droop, hand tightening on his, however incredibly weak in comparison.
“I asked you to be safe,” he cried, body stricken with grief as he abandoned his hold on your stomach and instead shakily held your face, your own blood smearing against your skin from his callous fingers. “I needed you safe.”
You placed a hand over his, using all your strength to relish in his touch and kissing the inner of his palm. “Yet you needed my love more.”
He choked out a sob from your admittance, and pulled you into his chest, your body limp, as he rocked you slightly. “I’ll always be there for you, and love you more than I could for my own safety.”
The ruins echoed the wails of a tormented heart on the broken landscape of a haunted battlefield that called for death and devastation. The smoke and clouds of destruction reigned above, and despite the final end to the corrupted nation that was built on nothing but lies and deceit after a helpless man’s death, Technoblade couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I love you,” he uttered, the words he struggled for oh so long to express finally free from its cage. “I love you, y/n. I love you so much.”
His words fell on deaf ears, and he screamed in agony at the truth that laid before him.
He was too late.
1K notes
·
View notes
Enamored
Ron Weasley x Reader
Summary: The day Ron tells you he loves you.
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: loss of a home, Fred is alive, mild angst, fluff, requited love, kissing
A/N: This fic is inspired by Pretty Boy by The Neighbourhood!
The last traces of summer had rapidly faded as the season changed to autumn, the once warm weather now chilled and brisk. It had been a whirlwind of a year thus far, one that was exceedingly more undesirable than most with the war having transpired. It brought with it a myriad of losses and misfortune for all that had been involved to fight against the Dark Lord.
The most noticeable loss for the Weasley family was the destruction of their family home. It was near ash and ruins but a few months ago, devastating and left in tatters as it no longer stood tall lopsidedly wonderful. While it was life altering and an act of complete and utter cruelty, they remained grateful that each and every member of their tight knit family remained alive and well. That’s what always mattered most to them, what will always matter.
Now that fall has rolled around after three months of hard work and effort put in from you and the beloved family, the Burrow was officially rebuilt. It didn’t house the same memories as it once had, it couldn’t have, but it stood tall and beautifully imperfect once more. It was a home that could only possibly be held up by magic otherwise it just might topple over with the number of floors it had. The pots and pans had scrubbed themselves once more, the chimney puffed out smoke yet again, the home was now bustling with a familiar boisterous energy once again in a way only they could manage to create.
Spending that time with them was time you were grateful to have, though you found yourself to be with Ron more so than anyone else. No matter what the instance may have been, you always seem to seek each other out as if it were a subconscious act. It was a wordless fact seemingly known to just about everyone but the very two people who’d been doing it, but that didn’t come as a surprise to anyone at all.
It’d been three years in the making of watching their lovestruck brother and equally lovestruck best friend pine for each other, of watching you both be so oblivious it was almost painful. Three years of catching him gaze at you with the softest of smiles when you weren’t looking, one so adoring Molly nearly cries every time, and of you doing just the same when his attentions were focused elsewhere. Three years of watching you two brush hands when you walk side by side followed by the promise of blushing cheeks when you realized the electrifying encounter. It had been frustrating years in the making of watching two people they loved so dearly be so blissfully unaware of just how in love they truly were with each other.
They were ready to take matters into their own hands and make it known themselves.
Currently, Mrs. Weasley has assigned both you and Ron the task of stopping by the bakery in town. She’d wanted an assortment of pastries as a part of a way to celebrate the finishing of their new home. She had made more than enough of her own in her newly remodeled kitchen of course, but she had her mind set on blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies made from none other than Hazel’s Bakery.
She most certainly did not send the two of you in particular in an effort to get you to spend some alone time. No, definitely not.
“Are you warm enough?” Ron asks as you leave through the front door, stepping out into the brisk weather.
You nod, cheeks staining a soft pink at the gentle caring he had for you, the question falling from his lips like it’d been second nature. Caring for you, being protective of you, it was second nature by that point. He doesn’t believe he could help it even if he tried, but he doesn’t want to. Despite the fluttering of your heart you couldn’t help your teasing smile. “Yes. But I suppose it’d be far warmer if we drove there.”
He caught onto your teasing and rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth nonetheless. “Are you ever going to stop teasing me for that, Y/n/n?”
You pretend to give his question some serious thought, puckering your lips as you squint your gaze and tap your finger against your cheek. His laughter broke you from your actions. “No, I don’t think I will, Ronnie.”
Your own laughter was immediate at the scrunch of his nose upon hearing the nickname he loathed so much, more so at the playful narrowing of his blue stare. Maybe he didn’t hate it when it fell from your lips. However, you quickly appeased his obvious displeasure of the name as you brushed the pad of your thumb over his chin, his blushing smile soon to return as he looked at his feet to steady his racing heart. He knew his cheeks had to have matched the leaves on the trees by now. They always had been when in your presence.
You shook your head with a smile as you focused your attention on anywhere but him to avoid worsening the heat in your cheeks. Rather, you focused on the graying of the sky and the way the grass rippled beneath the wind. You listened to the leaves crunching under both your footfalls and the sound they made as the breeze washed over them. For lack of a better word, this time of year had been the most magical, and it seemed as though Ron fit right in with the hues of his hair and equally his attire. Equally his flushed cheeks.
A single wildflower had caught your stare, standing tall amongst the fading green grass. You slowed your stride to bend down and pluck it from the ground, turning to look at Ron who’d now stood paces from you with a curious brow raised.
“What is it?”
You held up the yellow flower, the stem pinched between your fingers as you beamed. In a matter of seconds you ran to him the short distance he was from you, his smile now apparent.
“What are you doing?” He asks with a laugh, one to stave off the way his breath hitched as you leaned up to tuck it within the red hair just above his ear.
It appeared golden amongst the rosy ginger shade and he smiled down at you fondly for a brief moment before shaking his head, not making a move to take it out. You smiled up at him, biting the inside of your cheek to hide just how giddy he’d made you feel in that very moment. You suppose there wasn’t even a reason to feel as such, but that hadn’t mattered; the feeling occurred whenever it so pleased, and it was more often than not it seemed.
You reached the end of the long driveway and took his hand without a second thought, sharing a smile before apparating from the property.
In mere dizzying seconds you had appeared in the ever familiar and unfrequented alleyway, taking a moment to adjust before stepping into foot traffic along with everyone else in the town. It wasn’t as busy as some days it could be, but regardless it was always a fun trip to walk about, it was cozy.
Almost in the very same moment did the two of you realize you’d still been holding hands, releasing the other as you looked your separate ways for just a second. He’d wanted to reach out and hold it once more, to interlock his fingers with yours. He hadn’t really wanted to let go. You risked a glance and he risked his and it wasn’t hard to tell when Ron Weasley has been fighting a smile. Perhaps what was more obvious was the little yellow flower that somehow still remained in his hair. You decided then and there not to mention it.
The denim of your jacket proved to be far less warm than you had thought it to be, or maybe it’d just gotten colder. Either way, as you walked down that sidewalk, you weren’t ready to let Ron know he’d been right in telling you to wear something heavier before you left the house. He always seemed to be right about those kinds of things.
Ron grabbed your wrist to keep you from walking past the bakery, his grin teasing as he held open the green painted door. You were far too distracted by him for your own good.
The smell of coffee and sweets had been instant upon entering, a little bell overhead signaling your entrance into the small yet cozy shop. The showcase had been filled with fresh pastries and baked goods, the line not yet as lengthy it surely would be now that Hazel had switched the sign to ‘open’.
The kind older woman had greeted you as warmly as she did each and every time she’d seen you, making a point to pinch Ron’s cheeks much like his own mother had.
“Hazel! We’ve talked about this,” Ron whines, rubbing his newly reddened cheeks.
“Oh hush, my dear boy,” she says, turning to you. “How do you put up with him?”
You laugh at that, shrugging your shoulders. “I must admit, it is but a wonder indeed, Hazel.”
You look to Ron who’d furrowed his brows at you, lips pursed in faux offense as you smile beamingly up at him. One that dissolved any look to displeasure. One that caused the woman behind the counter to nearly gush about what a wonderful couple you’d be, something that was also very much like his mother.
You placed your order and asked for extra, knowing if you hadn’t that surely Ron would have eaten far too many for Molly not to notice. Though you knew for a fact she’d be able to tell either way. She talked you into staying for just a little bit longer, the promise of hot cocoa far too enticing to turn down as you still felt the shivering effects of the chilly fall weather.
—
“You really thought I’d eat three muffins?” Ron scoffs, mouth full as a few crumbs fall past his lips.
You roll your eyes and shake your head as you walk down the cracked sidewalk, the steaming paper bag clutched in your hand. “You’ve eaten two already.”
“Did I?” He asks, brows furrowed as he halts momentarily to recall it. The genuine shock and confusion painted on his expression had you laughing as you grabbed his hand, tugging him along the walkway before any more passers by all but run into you with looks of annoyance.
“Yes, you did,” you giggle, releasing his hand to link your arm with his once more.
“Well, they’re really good,” he defends as you continue walking. “Really good.”
You look up at him then, a soft smile on your lips as you do so. His cheeks were stained a soft pink from the chilly weather, accentuating the freckles dancing across them and the very bridge of his nose. At the curve of his smile and the dimples that formed when he did just that. Or perhaps it was the near unruly ginger hair that dipped over his forehead and covered his ears; he had yet to get a haircut much to his mother’s dismay. He was starting to resemble his fourth year self, a hair length he’d claimed he hated so very much but you were beginning to think otherwise.
“Are you staring?” He asks a short while later, a more than knowing grin on his lips that sent your stomach into a fit of butterflies and knots.
“You’ve got food on your face, how could I not?” You counter, though the scarlet in your cheeks is far too obvious. It was true, there were crumbs in the corner of his mouth that needed to be swept away, but you were not ready in the slightest to admit your admiring. “Plus you’ve still got that flower in your hair.”
His hand is quick to fly up and pluck it out, looking at the delicate little thing as his cheeks burned once more. So that was what Hazel was talking about. He smiles then with a soft laugh, stopping your stride once more to tuck it behind your ear.
“There, looks much better on you,” he mumbles, smile soft and adoring, one that lingered long after he’d looked away.
“I beg to differ.”
You’d noticed just how gloomy the sky had been, clouds puffy and gray as the breeze intensified just the slightest bit. It wasn’t something you minded, for it was rather scenic amongst the rapidly dwindling buildings the closer you got to the Burrow. You both had decided a walk back would be best given the bag of sweets you now have, not to mention the hot chocolates you each had provided just enough warmth for you to do so.
A sigh left your lips, one of contentment as you walked back in a comfortable silence and you rest your head on his shoulder. Your arm still hooked with his as he slowed his pace for you to keep up with him, and he’d since taken the bag from your hand so you wouldn’t have to carry it. It was the little things that you noticed that others might not; the little things that meant the most to you, that made your heart flutter. Like the way he will always wait for you when something catches your eye in a shop, not an ounce of impatience in him like he may have had with his siblings. Or how he’d save a plate of breakfast for you when you stay at his home because you’d woken up later than his brothers. It left your heart full.
He hadn’t been aware that you’d noticed those kinds of things; he finds he isn’t even aware of it sometimes. Living you had become second nature at this point, it was expressed in nearly everything he did. You were woven into his very heart and hadn’t even known as such. He doesn’t know how he made it quite this far without going absolutely mad, without his heart bursting in his chest every time you look at him the way you do. Every time you smile at him the way you do. It was his hopes that you’d reserved those kinds of looks, those kinds of smiles for just him. It had been his hope that somehow, someway, you had felt the same way.
He knew with all the certainty in the world that he needed to tell you. He doesn’t think he can go another day without telling you as such. He knows he can’t; he loved you from afar for nearly four years. If you don’t feel the same, if it’s all over after his confession, he can take this moment with him. Of your head on his shoulder, of the way you held his hand that day, of the way you looked at him. It needed to be spoken no matter how much it made his hands shake. He almost lost you in that war and he decided he couldn’t risk not telling you.
You reached the familiar stretch of trees lining the vacant road, the breeze having intensified more noticeably. The walk had been quiet save for the chirping of the birds and the crinkle if the bag Ron held, or the crunch of leaves and gravel under your feet. You couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend your afternoon, especially with the knowledge of the warm meal Molly had been preparing for dinner that night. The whole Weasley family would be there, Harry would be there, Hermione would be there. It was plans that made your stomach flip with excitement.
It wasn’t until then, at the very opening of the near dauntingly long dirt driveway that the rain had started to drizzle steadily. You suppose you expected it at that point, with the puffy gray clouds that rapidly blew over any and all sunlight, it had become more than evident that that would be the case.
You gasped upon the weathers sudden change in plans regardless, the icy downpour taking you by surprise. A jovial laugh soon sounded from your lips as you threw your hands up, looking around as it came down and rolled off the tri-colored leaves. They too fluttered down in a flurry of reds and oranges, and you were certain you’d never seen something quite so beautiful, quite so enchanting.
Spotting a nearby shelter beneath the branches of one of the large trees, you grabbed Ron’s hand, ready to pull him along with you though you quickly noticed he hasn’t budged any more than just a few steps. You turned to him then, rather confused in that moment and the more you stood exposed to the sudden storm the less useful it became to seek shelter from it. None of it seemed to matter as he stood there and gazed at you, ginger hair darkened a few shades as it stuck to his forehead and flushed cheeks. The smile on his face was quite possibly the softest you’d ever seen it be, and it held something different, remarkably different and you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. Though it seemed to be far too much as he looked away from you momentarily as if to gather himself, a soft laugh leaving his lips.
Everything felt that much more intense in that moment, and he felt as though his breath was caught in his throat as he stood before you. You were confused, that much was clear. You were still holding his hand in yours, still smiling at him with that smile. That had also been very clear. You were doused in the downpour and his heart beat wildly with each passing second, and if he opened and closed his mouth one more time he felt as though he just might look like an absolute fool.
“What are you doing?” You asked, taking a step closer as you look at him quizzically, “We’re just about soaked and you hate the rain—”
“I love you.”
The three words were spoken then, almost unheard against the heavy rain. They were soft and they were true, how could you not have heard them? Yet even though they clearly were, very clearly, it still hadn’t quite registered to you just exactly what he had just said. You couldn’t believe what you had heard.
“What?” You ask, a soft laugh leaving your lips. Not one of mocking, more of giddy surprise.
“I said I love you,” He repeats louder as he swallowed thickly, accompanied by a nervous laugh of his own as he wipes the wet strands of his hair out of his eyes.
The more time that had gone by, no matter how fleeting it made have been, the butterflies in his stomach were relentless. By this point the rain was of no importance, trying to stay dry was of no importance anymore. What was important was the way you grasped his flannel jacket and leaned on your toes, and the way you pressed your lips on his. Or the way you smiled against his lips as he pulled you close to him, as close as possible, dropping the soaked paper bag of pastries to the ground in favor of settling his hand on your cheek and tangling his fingertips in your hair.
You couldn’t help the quiet giggle that was threatening to break your moment; maybe it was the sheer loving intensity of it, or the fact that this was real and this was happening. But the way he kissed you, the way your heart beat so loudly you thought he could hear it, that’s what had kept you in that very real moment.
When you parted you hadn’t strayed more than a few inches as you looked up at him, beamed, his smile equally so as the two of you laughed softly. It was one of giddy love, of an unexpected moment of bliss. The feeling that the person you loved so wholly loved you back just as much. It was that kind of laugh.
“I love you,” you say, laughing once more as your foreheads touched in the fond moment. The tip of his nose had been flushed from the cold nipping at his skin, his smile brilliant and adoring and entirely telling of his love. “I love you.”
You kiss him again, soft and quick as you grabbed his hand before you spoke up after a short while to relish in your moment. “We’d better go inside!”
“Yeah,” he laughs, nodding in agreement even if he was perfectly content to stay there and kiss you. “I think we better.”
You pulled him along the muddy path as he laughed behind you at your antics. The two of you were breathless and soaked and still in a daze from the kiss you’d just shared mere moments ago as you rushed through the door. The look on Molly’s face changed from startled to quizzical as she took note of the sheer nothingness in either of your hands, her lips pursing and her arms crossing.
“Just where are the muffins? And the cookies?”
Ron looks to you with a smile and you the same, laughing softly amongst yourselves at the realization of just where they had been. The sight of your kiss swollen lips and flushed cheeks was telling enough of the reasoning such a blunder occurred. Not to mention the way the tips of his fingers still grasped yours. She knew. “We must’ve forgotten.”
He hadn’t broken his gaze from you quite yet as he spoke, far too lovestruck to do so. Far too enamored.
—
Tags: @anchoeritic @ch0colatefr0gs @vogueweasley @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @awritingtree @lupinsclassroom @harrysweasleys @theweasleysredhair @writeroutoftime
340 notes
·
View notes
Moonlight as my Guide
Chapter Three of Cruel, Cruel World! If you’d like to read the first chapter it’s here, the 2nd chapter is here and you can read the whole thing on Ao3.
Warnings: Depiction of illness.
He has found himself thinking about her, the worry niggling at the back of his mind. It has been over two weeks and the rabbit they caught won’t last forever. Will she have been able to find more things to eat, will she have learnt how to use her husband’s rifle? He knows his presence will likely do her no good, that she would do better to not associate herself with an outlaw. And yet he finds himself riding along the path that runs by the train tracks, after he has made a visit to Annesburgh.
His horse, Cleopatra, trundles along, he’s not encouraging her with kicks to her side or clicks of his tongue. Arthur is too busy arguing in his mind that he shouldn’t visit Charlotte, he shouldn’t put her at risk, he shouldn’t care too deeply whether she lives or dies. But he’s already reached the Brandywine drop and is following the white, churning water that leaves cool droplets on his face. Perhaps it is part of dying. He must know, he has to be able to rest knowing that people are alive and well. Assumptions just won’t do anymore.
As Cleo trots lightly through the green swaying trees, the peaceful, quiet morning is interrupted by the loud crack of gunfire coming from Charlotte’s cabin. He immediately spurs his horse into a gallop and then once he’s near the entrance tumbles down from the saddle, foot almost catching in a stirrup. He runs up the rest of the hill, heart racing, desperate not to find her lying dead or begging for mercy at the hands of some thief looking for what little money she has!
He’s barely made it into the garden, when relief floods his heart as he hears Charlotte’s frustrated cry of, ‘Gosh darnit! Not a single one…’ and once he reaches the top of the hill, he sees her. She’s wearing the same blue blouse and plaid skirt, but both have evidently been cleaned and the skirt mended. She’s holding a rifle in her arms, her frustration all too evident as she kicks the ground with the toe of her boot.
She is busy reloading the gun, when she hears his footsteps and turns her head towards him. The frown she wears disappears within an instance and she smiles joyfully on seeing him. ‘Oh, hey there!’
He finds himself warmly returning the smile. ‘How you feelin’ Ma’am?’
‘Much better than I’ve felt in a long time, I… If we hadn’t caught that rabbit, I don’t think I’d have made it another day.’
‘Well, you look better.’
Her face is clear from the mud and tears, her skin looks clean and soft, though flushed from sunlight and the cold wind that blows down from the surrounding hills. A few strands of her dark hair have fallen loose from her bun, they shift lightly against the breeze. Arthur feels a strange urge to reach out and tuck them behind her ears, to feel the dark hair that is lined with silver against his hand, to cup her face in his hands and feel the warm flush.
‘Better and determined, thanks to you. And if I’m going to learn to hunt, I figured it was time I learned how to use Cal’s gun properly.’
She turns back to a row of glass bottles that have been set up on a crate and rests the gun against her shoulder.
‘And how’s that workin’ out for ya?’ he asks.
‘Well, let’s just say my prey is looking decidedly unscathed.’ She aims carefully, and then fires. The gun ricochets upwards almost out of her hands and she staggers back a little, chuckling at her efforts.
‘But the end of labour is to gain leisure, is that not what Aristotle said?’ She suddenly looks flustered, gazing down at the ground and Arthur moves the gun away from her face, so it is instead pointing out towards the entrance near the road.
‘Well, I… I don’t know much about Aristotle, but erm, I know a thing or two about shooting a gun.’ He gently turns her around to face the target again. ‘Look you gotta hold steady and firm.’ He places his hands on her shoulders, positioning the gun against the crook of her arm and straightening her back. The warmth of her bleeds through her shirt and he quickly pulls his hands away.
‘You just focus, breathe slowly and always pull the trigger on empty lungs.’ He gazes at her face, the small frown above her eyes and the eager, determined look in them is beautiful.
His eyes flick down her shoulders, her back, but before he goes any lower, he quickly walks round to her other side, anything to distract him from the way his mind is wandering. Christ’s sake, she’s a widow after all, her husband barely resting in his grave! He ignores the uncomfortable wave of shame that sweeps into his gut.
‘Here, I’ll show ya.’ He pulls his revolver from the holster and focuses on the bottles. ‘Okay… calm and steady… don’t snatch at the trigger.’ Arthur murmurs, more for Charlotte’s benefit than his. This is second nature to him, muscle memory. If he aims a gun he knows where the bullet will go. He aims at a green bottle and fires; the glass explodes and he just catches Charlotte’s gasp of amazement.
‘You make it look so easy,’ she says warmly.
‘Alright, you try now. Remember to breathe,’ he says, quickly brushing over her compliment.
She hoists the gun back to her shoulder, her green eyes narrowing on the target. ‘Wait to breathe out… wait to breathe out…’ she murmurs to herself. She fires, the bullet whizzes past the bottle, hitting the ground and sending a plume of dust into the air. Charlotte, however, smiles at him. ‘Would you look at that? I haven’t hit one that close all day!’
‘Not bad. Focus on the inhale, shoot on the exhale.’
She rolls her eyes at him good naturedly. ‘Come on, you got to give me some praise!’
‘I just did.’
She moves the gun back up and focuses on the bottles again, but her eyes suddenly dart over to the house and she gives a sigh. ‘Oh no, that wretched rat is back. Over there, do you see?’
Arthur glances over and sees a large brown rat scurrying by the undergrowth that surrounds the two buildings. The rat pokes its head up and sniffs the air, turning beady eyes on him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the rat is glaring at him.
‘It’s been a thorn in my side ever since we moved here. Could you kill it?’
The words have barely left her mouth, when he fires the pistol and the rat is no more. Charlotte lets out a small gasp of surprise that turns into a chuckle of amusement.
‘Show off! Alright, let me try again.’
She raises the rifle and Arthur watches as her long fingers carefully hold the weight of the gun. Her hands are calloused and a little dirty, and he finds himself glancing down at his own. They almost match, though his are certainly rougher. He wonders what it would be like to clasp her hand in his.
‘Come on, come on…’ She shoots and one of the glass bottles explodes into a shower of glass. He grins and Charlotte staggers back a little as though she can’t quite believe it. ‘Yes! I hit it! I hit it, didn’t I?’
She lets out a breathless, excited laugh and turns to him with a warm smile. ‘What can I say? Thank you.’ Her green eyes are shining brilliantly, her lips parted in a delighted smile and she shifts closer to him. He should draw back, take a step away from her, but instead he finds himself entranced by the forest glade of her eyes. She looks into his own and just for a moment the trees and nearby river seem to fall silent, as though the world is holding its breath in anticipation.
It is Charlotte who draws back, a soft flush on her cheeks and she worries her lower lip. ‘I still have some of the rabbit left that I salted up. Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.’
He gives a short nod, now uncomfortable with his actions and trying to gaze anywhere but her eyes. As she leads the way to her cabin, he directs his attention to the hills and forest that surrounds the house, to avoid looking at the sway of her hips. Isn’t it bad enough that his own selfishness brings him to her door? Because he is seemingly determined to bring death and destruction to good people who don’t deserve it? Because he likes the way she smiles and looks at him and praises him.
They walk into the cabin, it’s a simple, rustic place. There’s a soft curtain with green leaves covering the window that looks out onto the backyard, a few cupboards line the walls most with books on them and there is table in the centre of the room. A warm fire is still burning in the grate and Charlotte throws another log when she passes it. On one of the cupboards, he sees a rudimentary trap that looks like it’s being repaired.
‘Go ahead and take a seat at the table. Food is just about done.’
He does as he is told and sits down. Charlotte grabs hold of a cloth and hefts the huge pot of stew over, then places on the table. She lets out a slight hiss and pulls her hands away quickly.
‘Well, it’s… it’s good and hot. I hope you enjoy it.’ She heads back to the cupboards and picks up two bowels, a large ladle and some cutlery. ‘You helped me catch it after all.’
She smiles at him and dishes the stew into the bowl, then passes him a spoon. ‘Bon appetit!’
‘Huh?’ he looks up in confusion and immediately feels bad on seeing the embarrassed flush that stains her cheeks. Goddammit, can’t he just keep his mouth shut and not be such an ignorant fool?
‘Please enjoy,’ she says, giving him a small smile. ‘And thank you again for everything. I really am grateful.’
‘Ahh,’ he shakes his head and reaches for his spoon. ‘It was nothing.’
‘You’re a good man.’
He gazes down at the bowl, shifting his spoon amongst the rich brown stew, the carrots and potatoes. He wished he didn’t keep hearing that. He wished people would stop saying it. He’s not. A good man is the last thing he could possibly be. He looks back up at her.
‘Oh, you don’t really know me.’
‘I know enough,’ she insists, her gentle smile warming him better than any stew. Although he’s always tempted to argue back and insist he’s not a good man, he finds himself focusing on the stew instead and quickly placing a spoonful in his mouth. He doesn’t want to disagree with Charlotte, she’s been far too kind to him, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
‘There’s always more to find in ourselves, you helped me to see that.’ She turns around and picks up another bowl from the counter. She sits back down and reaches over to the ladle in the stew pot. ‘My husband, Cal, was such an optimist. I found that to be very contagious.’
The stew is good, certainly better than Pearsons, though Arthur is aware that’s not a particularly hard feat. But it’s warming, rich and hearty, seasoned with small green herbs, a decent amount of pepper and salt. It runs hot down his throat and he suddenly finds his lungs burning, that deep desire to cough overriding everything. He tries to listen to Charlotte as she continues talking, hoping that her soothing, calm voice will distract him from painful ache in his chest.
‘But there’s a fine line between optimism and naiveté. We were both born with the silver spoon… banquets, butlers, valets…’
He gives a slight cough so he can speak, but it does nothing to soothe the burning claws that have entrenched themselves in his lungs. ‘Sounds terrible,’ he manages to rasp.
‘It was just… so many people, so many things. I was lost in it, I was crushed by it.’ She’s staring down at the stew, barely a mouthful has passed her lips. She looks back up at him, he avoids turning his head when he sees the deep look of trust in her eyes. He can’t hurt her, even if just purely by her knowing him.
‘My father was very overbearing. Then we came out here and I got crushed by this.’ She gazes around the room for a moment and then gives a light laugh. ‘You know I pictured myself picking fresh vegetables, sipping homemade wine, writing a great novel. But I turned out to be a far more pathetic anti-heroine than any I could ever pen.’
It sounds like a pretty dream and wouldn’t he like to be part of that dream. Helping to dig up potatoes, sipping wine with her on the porch, drawing her as she writes her great novel. But there isn’t a hope in hell that she would want him, she came here with her husband after all, she’s not looking for another man to take Cal’s place. It’s not like he has enough time to take his place, even if he wanted to.
‘Ah well… I reckon you’re going to be just fine.’ He coughs heavily. It’s getting worse, the claws sinking into his throat, till he can taste blood on his tongue and he can barely gasp for air.
Charlotte looks up at him, concern written all over her features. ‘Are you alright? Can I get you some water?’
‘No, I’m… I’m, I’m fine. I just um…’ He manages to get to his feet, trying to clear away the deep cough so he can continue talking to her, can listen to her talk about her family, her hopes, her plans. But right now, all he can concentrate on is the rasping cough, the tight burn of his lungs, the iron tang on his tongue that is mixed with the savoury taste of stew.
‘Yeah, thank you for this. I think it’s, it’s best if I ju… If I make…’ The cough takes every last bit of strength he had and leaves him gasping for air on his knees. He tries to inhale, but his body is wracked with the painful coughing. He hears Charlotte come to his side and through his half closed eyes, sees her hands reaching out to him, but shamefully he succumbs to the exhaustion his body has felt for far too long. The darkness swallows him up.
He wakes and it’s not with the soothing comfort of someone who is well rested, who relishes the warmth of their bed and the enjoys the gentle lull at the promise of a new day. He wakes with a cough, the gasping air rattling in his lungs and chest, his throat tight and heavy. He wakes on a small bed, by the looks of things one for a child, and slowly pushes himself up so he can get some air in his lungs.
There’s a small bedside table next to him, with a folded letter resting against a lacquered box with a brown lid and gold trim. White flowers decorate the lid and sides of the box. He picks up the letter and unfolds it. The neat script can only be Charlotte’s, it’s pretty and elegant to look at. No doubt something that was hammered into her from childhood. If she saw his rough scrawl she would probably laugh.
My dear Arthur,
I have gone out hunting. Not a phrase I thought any pen of mine would ever ink but nonetheless one I am very proud to finally be able to write. I am so very grateful to you for all the help and encouragement you've given me. You met me at one of my lowest points and showed me the way back to the person I really am. It pains me greatly to see your pain.
There is some money in the box on the nightstand. Please take it, I have more than I need back in the city and I'd like you to have it. Perhaps you can do some good with it or can use it to help yourself in some way.
Please take care and remain true to the man I know you are.
Yours fondly
Charlotte
He finds his thumb tracing the words ‘Yours fondly’ and quickly shakes his head. Damn fool that he is. He rereads the letter. Then looks up at the box. Should he take the money? Even if he did not use it himself, he could use it to help others.
He opens the lid and gazes down at the crisp bills inside the box. There looks to be about a hundred dollars in there. Arthur sighs and closes the lid. He’s got plenty of money and he’s trying to get rid of it by helping people. What does he need more money for now? What can he do with it when his time is rapidly running out? Better to leave it to Charlotte, so she may buy a horse or chickens or new boots, than to leave it to a man whose every step leads him closer to death.
Arthur grabs his hat from the bedside table and then reaches down to his satchel that has been left learning against the small cupboard. He pulls the bag open and takes out his journal, then slips Charlotte’s letter inside to keep it safe.
He looks around the room. There’s a chest of drawers with children’s books scattered over the surface and a pot containing some bird feathers. He walks over and picks up a leather-bound copy of fairy tales. Did these belong to Charlotte or did she hope to have a child who would sit in the small bed and read those stories under the comforting light of the gas lamp?
He looks back to the bed envisioning Charlotte resting against the bed frame, a girl cuddled next to her with dark hair and blue eyes shining with delight as Charlotte reads to her. Would she have looked up to find him in the doorway and grinned more wildly, leaping up from the bed with a shout of ‘Pa!’?
He clenches his hands into fists and pulls himself away from the thought. It’s not helpful to think that way, it’s not wise to think that way. Dreams of what could be or what might be have never helped him. Dutch’s dreams have spiralled into a hellish nightmare and even though Arthur spends most of his time encouraging everyone to leave as soon as they can, he is going to be trapped. There will only be one way out for Arthur Morgan.
27 notes
·
View notes
I love brotherly/ mentor mongolia and south korea! Can you that same platonic pairing for 38 or 10 (preferably 10)? Thank you!
10. “I think I twisted my ankle...”
38. “Let's take a deep breath..."
——
The last few decades had been...interesting...to say the least.
Yong Soo, of course, was not thrilled to be conquered by a foreign power. After all the bloodshed and destruction that the Mongols had cast upon his kingdom, there had been no choice but to submit or be destroyed.
Unlike the invasions, however, Mongol rule was not nearly so crushing. Nowadays, it was looking a lot less like a conquest and more like an annoying bureaucracy. The Mongol “takeover” in practice was a lot more lenient than he had imagined. Yong Soo’s sovereignty was mostly respected. His royalty still got to rule—they just had to intermarry with the Mongolian royalty and keep on their good sides—a comparatively easy concession.
It was almost like a complicated game of house. Korean princes putting on their best Mongol garmets and charming Mongol princesses with their best renditions of old Mongol stories. Even Khan seemed fond of some of the princes.
Likewise, Mongolia—Batukhan—reflected this firm, but fair rulership. Loyalty was prized above all else, and dissent was dealt with swiftly—but for the most part, he treated the young Korean representations as if they were his own.
Recently, Batukhan had been agreed to teach Yong Soo the art of horseback archery, after the boy’s incessant begging. Mongolia’s mounted archers were no doubt responsible for his Empire’s vast land holdings and conquests. They had range, speed, and flexibility, and were able to run circles around any unprepared opposition. It had been terrifying to face them, so of course Yong Soo held a healthy respect for their art. Part of him was eager to learn it for himself, if only so his own armies could one day use the Mongols’ strategies against them.
Batukhan did not seem concerned that his young pupil may one day use the art to try and drive him out and taught him just as he would have for any other soldier. Perhaps it was the fact that Yong Soo’s legs were still not quite long enough for his feet to sit comfortably in the stirrups that led Batukhan to offer up the knowledge so freely...
“You do well with a bow on the ground,” Batukhan stated, directing his horse to walk in pace next to Yong Soo’s. He had left all the body armor and extra equipment at home today and was wearing only a simple, white tunic. His hair was drawn into a loose braid, which swung lightly against his back with the horse’s steps. Without the full ensemble of his usual uniform, Batukhan seemed suddenly less scary and much more approachable.
“But that’s because you’re stable and only need to focus on the movement of your target,” he continued. “On horseback, you need to track your target’s movement as well as your own.”
Batukhan had set up a line of makeshift targets in front of them, old rice sacks stuffed with grass and twigs and painted with a target. He raised his bow, a sleek, curved composite of leather and horn, notched an arrow, and let it sail effortlessly into its target a few yards away. He urged his horse into a quick trot and fired arrows into the centers of the remaining targets in rapid succession.
“You must be strong in your core,” he said, gesturing to his abdomen as he lowered his bow and turned his horse around to face Yong Soo. “On the horse, that’s where your stability comes from. Don’t squeeze too hard with your legs.”
By now, Yong Soo’s horse had caught up, but Batukhan was already taking the horse’s reins and forcing him to turn back around.
“Now, you try,” he said, helping Yong Soo to direct his horse back in the other direction. He let go of the reins, and Yong Soo’s horse proceeded at a steady pace.
Yong Soo, eager to prove himself, raised his bow. He was quite proficient at it, on the ground at least. How different could it be?
He discovered very quickly that yes, it was quite different. Turning his upper body 90 degrees to face the targets immediately had him feeling off balance. Still, he was determined to at least look confident, so he bit his lip and let the arrow loose. As soon as he did, the force cause his upper body to rotate, his legs splaying out to his sides in an effort to keep his balance, and the arrow flew wildly off to the side.
“Strong core, Yong Soo,” Batukhan reminded him firmly.
Yong Soo bit his lip and readied the next arrow. Strong core. He tried clenching his abdomen, but it still did not feel right. It felt like his lower body was ungrounded. His feet, though they could reach the stirrups, did not quite settle into them firmly. Yong Soo rocked side to side, stretching his legs to try and make them go further, but it didn’t seem to help much. He flexed his core again, trying to keep from also squeezing his legs, and let the second arrow fly.
This time it at least landed close to the target, and Yong Soo spotted it sticking up from the ground near the target he’d intended to hit.
“Better,” Batukhan said from some distance away. “But you’re still not stable. You need to be rooted in your core.”
Third time’s the charm, right? Yong Soo thought to himself. Stability, stability. It was so easy on the ground. He shifted in the saddle again, stretching his legs down as far as they would go, until the foot on the same side as the targets settled more comfortably into the stirrup. Now Yong Soo felt he could settle his weight into it and—yes! Much more stable now. His confidence returned, and he readied another arrow, drew it back, flexed his core—and let it go.
At first, it seemed that Yong Soo had finally figured it out. The arrow embedded itself in the target, not in the center but at least not in the ground, but the backwards force of the bow on his arm knocked him off balance. He felt his weight shift first towards the horse and then overcorrected. He was leaning too far forward, all his weight pressed onto his forward foot as the foot on the side opposite completely lifted out of the stirrup. He felt himself slipping from the saddle and dropped his bow, his hands scrambling for a hold, body twisting back towards the horse—but it was too late. His stomach turned as gravity betrayed him, arms flailing out to his sides as they searched for the ground to break his fall. He held his breath waiting for impact and—something cracked.
The impact knocked the breath out of him, but the pain in his ankle, tangled in the stirrup and twisted unnaturally—would have done just the same.
“Yong Soo!” came Batukhan’s cry of concern, and he quickly dismounted his own horse to run to the boy’s aid.
Yong Soo’s horse—a well-trained, obedient creature, thankfully—had stopped and turned its head to nudge at the panicking Korean curiously with its nose. Yong Soo clawed at his leg, trying to free his twisted ankle from the stirrup and gasping as the movement only elicited more pain.
“Yong Soo!” Batukhan said, kneeling down and taking Yong Soo by the shoulders.
“I—I think I twisted my ankle,” Yong Soo panted, his voice shaking as he looked up at his leg, his stomach turning at the sight of his toes facing the wrong direction.
“Yes, yes you did,” Batukhan said matter-of-factly, wisely positioning himself so that his body blocked Yong Soo’s view of his injury. He gently pushed Yong Soo’s upper body down to the ground. “Now, let’s take a deep breath.”
The Mongolian drew in an exaggerated breath, held it for a moment, and released it. At first, Yong Soo could only think of the pain in his leg, throbbing harder with every heartbeat. But Batukhan repeated his exaggerated breaths a few more times until he had Yong Soo doing it along with him.
“Right—now I want you to take the biggest breath you can, Yong Soo,” he said. “And when I count to three, force it back out as hard as you can, alright?”
Yong Soo nodded, and after a few shallower warm up breaths, he sucked in as much air as he could. His lungs burned with the pressure but he kept trying to breathe in more, even as Batukhan took Yong Soo’s injured leg in his hand, holding it in a firm grip just above the ankle. Pain shot down Yong Soo’s leg and he held the breath, grimacing.
Batukhan finally started counting.
“Let it out on three, alright? One, two—three.”
In one swift movement Batukhan popped the twisted foot out of the stirrup, and Yong Soo let out the breath with a strained cry of pain.
“Good,” Batukhan said, slowly lowering the leg down to the ground, though he had to gently push Yong Soo back when he again sat up, trying to get a look at the injury.
“Ah—no need,” Batukhan said. “How will looking at it help you? It will heal itself without the help of your eyes won’t it?”
Yong Soo frowned and laid back with a huff. His ankle throbbed, but it was slowly subsiding, no doubt as a result of the accelerated healing that beings like him were blessed with. After a few more breaths, he felt a bit stupid for being so panicked.
Batukhan sighed.
“You were cheating,” Batukhan said with a knowing tone.
“I wasn’t!” Yong Soo protested.
“You were!” Batukhan said, standing and reaching out a hand for Yong Soo to grab. Yong Soo took the hand and shifted his weight onto his good leg as Batukhan pulled him into a standing position.
“You know how I know?” Batukhan went on, letting Yong Soo lean on him for support as he walked him over to a nearby tree. “Because I left the stirrups unadjusted on purpose. You must be able to stabilize yourself without relying on your legs. If you were doing it correctly you would not need the stirrups at all.”
Yong Soo pouted, then winced as he stubbornly tried to put weight on his not-quite-healed leg.
“Sorry...” he muttered simply, the embarrassment of the whole fiasco now starting to settle in.
Batukhan let out another sigh as he helped Yong Soo sit down in the shade of the tree. Once Yong Soo was situated, Batukhan knelt next to him and began to wrap the injured (but now, thankfully, untwisted) ankle in a strip of leather for stability.
“It’s fine,” he said, his tone betraying a hint of softness. “It’s only your first day, after all.”
29 notes
·
View notes
Facade and Fascination
Characters: Prussia, Russia
Ships: RusPru
Summary: Prussia offers Russia a chance at vengeance for being shut out of the Versailles treaty.
----------------------------------
Russia watched with some trepidation as the gleaming black Mercedes, adorned with little red flags pulled into the driveway. He had been anticipating this meeting since it had been arranged over the phone, but now that he was faced with actually going through with it he felt a sinking sense of dread. What if his words failed him and he made a fool out of himself? He still felt like an outsider on the European stage and having a part in European politics still felt awkward to him. Now was worse than before because he was still in the process of pulling together his identity after the revolution and the civil war.
The door of the car opened and Prussia emerged. The fading light of the evening played across the white skin and gave the features an otherworldly softness that made Russia's breath catch in his throat. He had desperately hoped that he would be meeting with Germany, not Prussia. Being so close to a man he felt such a strong attraction to would not help with his awkward nature. Temptation was hard to resist, especially when it was presented like this.
He watched as the albino gave orders to one of the soldiers that were accompanying him. His quick sharp words were clear even though he couldn't hear them. The albino's movements were very deliberate. Russia found his mind slipping into thoughts of how he could soften those gestures, how he could get those words to turn to sweet nothings. He desperately wanted it, but he knew that Prussia felt very little for him.
Russia slowly let the red curtain he had been holding back to look out the window slip between his fingers. He willed his thundering heart to be silent, but it seemed to be futile. He took a deep breath and consciously put on his icy façade. It would help him keep himself in order; it seemed to be effective with every other country. They always turned away out of fear. Perhaps more importantly, it would hide how he was really feeling. He had his orders, he was to finalize an agreement and that was all. He turned and walked to the door, signaling for it to be opened as he did so.
The house he was occupying now was the same he had lived in during the tsarist years, but it had been stripped of all signs of the monarchy. Thus, the front doors were still the grand sweeping doors that required two men to open. As the door was pulled open, the courtyard and driveway were revealed. Prussia walked through the door without even breaking step. Once inside, he looked directly at Russia and said, "Guten Tag, Ivan. I assume you know why I am here."
His voice was hard, clearly emotionless. Russia hardly heard the words; he was busy looking over the uniform that Prussia was wearing. He had seen an SS uniform before, but nobody filled it out the way Prussia did. The folds of the fabric bent in just the right places to show the curves under the clothing. Russia could see the strong shoulders. He saw the subtle bulge of pectoral muscle, the soft slope of a well-muscled abdomen. The sleek black belt cinched the fabric in around the waist. Russia wondered errantly if both of his hands could fit around that lithe waist with the clothing out of the way. He could pull the albino against himself and feel that heart pounding for something other than war.
He smiled and said, "It's a pleasure to see you, Gilbert. I've been rather alone since the revolution." He ignored Prussia's attempt to jump straight to business, which would end this encounter. As much as he had been dreading it, a sudden confidence was overtaking him. He had survived a communist revolution and shaped himself into a stronger country. He shouldn't be bound by the old doubts, especially when it came to Prussia.
The albino responded, "I'm here to finalize our treaty, not as company." His voice was cold and the words were clinical. But, it was not discouraging. Russia replied smoothly, "Such haste. It's rather suspicious." Prussia's eyes widened slightly.
He took a small step closer to the other country. His composure returned with a confident smile, "Oh, I wouldn't want to be arousing your suspicions; I want you on our side." He chose the intonation carefully. It made a slight shiver pass over Russia's skin, making goose bumps visible on what little of his skin was exposed. He responded, "So, shall we put pleasantries before business?"
The albino nodded sharply and said, "Very well." Russia smirked; the agreement was exactly what he wanted. He turned and started to walk down the hall. As he did, he said, "Follow me, I don't want to discuss terms in the foyer." He walked through a series of rooms before coming to the room he had ordered prepared for this discussion. It was a large room with windows to let in the last of the sunrays.
Russia stopped at the door and let the other walk past him. The walk was the carefully measured gate of a solider, but every so often the right foot would roll almost imperceptibly inward. The slight wear on the inside arch of the black boot showed that this was habitual. Russia liked it, the little imperfection that showed the human underneath the discipline. Prussia turned sharply on his heel and looked around. He said, "I remember this room."
Russia immediately recognized why and it wasn't a pleasant memory for him. He said grudgingly, "This is where we signed the treaty of Brest-Litovsk." The albino responded with a short shake of his head, "That wasn't what I was thinking of. I was actually thinking of when we used to have Holy Alliance meetings here." He pointed to an empty spot on the wall and said, "I remember the Romanov crest used to hang there."
Russia smiled to himself. It was an encouraging sign that Prussia remembered such minute details. However, he couldn't help but feel that the comment about the now extinct royal family was a commentary on the current regime. It was, however, easier to give the albino the benefit of the doubt. He decided to change the subject, "You should sit, and we have matters to discuss."
The albino nodded and walked over to the pair of couches that Russia had gestured to. When he sat, Prussia took off his hat and laid it down on the table. His white hair was combed into immaculate order and held firmly in place. As he sat on the opposite side of the table, Russia wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through that hair. He had always imagined it to be soft like no other human hair, maybe because it reminded him of the soft fur of an arctic rabbit. He had often envisioned what it would be like to brush back that hair when it was disheveled and stuck to pale skin with a layer of sweat.
There was a bottle of vodka sitting on the table with a pair of glasses flanking it. Russia picked up the bottle and poured an equal amount of liquid into each glass. He then pushed one across the table towards the other. The albino looked down at it and said, "If I remember correctly, if I don't drink you won't trust me."
The Russian responded, "Exactly, I won't trust a man who won't drink with me." The albino picked up the glass and smirked, "If we are to be allies, it would be best if we trusted each other." He then put the glass to his lips and took a substantial drink. Russia then did the same.
Next, he took a package of cigarettes and offered one to the albino. He knew that it was in fashion to smoke, so it was polite to offer one to his guest. But, Prussia shook his head, "I don't smoke. It's a self-destructive habit." Russia laughed slightly, attempting to make conversation, "And you don't indulge in any of those?"
The other didn't look ruffled, but he did change the subject. Prussia laid a piece of paper on the table and said, "This is the non-aggression pact, exactly as you agreed to it with my brother. All that's left is for you and I to sign it in good faith." He offered the pen to Russia, who didn't take it. He had his misgivings about this deal that he had been waiting to ask in person.
His gaze did pass over the hand holding the pen. The skin was clearly marred by callouses from years of holding a sword. It was a sign that being a military country left a permanent mark. He could tell that if those hands touched his skin, they would feel pleasantly rough. Russia spoke, "I have some questions to ask you before I will sign." Prussia looked taken aback, his eyebrows arched imperceptibly more. The expression itself was exciting, the human within again slipped through the conditioning. The little imperfections were what Russia longed to see, they spoke to a complexity that was so well hidden beneath façade.
The albino spoke, "I thought the terms had already been agreed on." Russia laughed slightly, "That's not what I want to ask. I understand the terms. We launch a joint attack on Poland, and then we remain allies against whatever comes from that."
The albino sharply cut in, "If you understand that, then there is nothing for us to discuss." The abrupt interruption was completely normal for Prussia; it was his nature when he was stressed. Russia put up his hand to silence the other and said, "Patience, Gilbert, I understand what the pact says, but what I don't understand is why you sought me out for an alliance."
The other sighed out of relief and quickly responded, "My brother and I need your strength. You've grown into quite the industrial nation." His red eyes fixed themselves on Russia. Those eyes were expressive; the melting ruby was full of emotion. Russia could see admiration within the red depths. It took him a second to realize that it was admiration for him; it just seemed foreign that Prussia would have any reason to admire him.
It was enough to make him feel like he was melting on the inside, but the answer wasn't actually the one he wanted. He clarified, "Strength is one thing, and ideology is another. I understand that your ideology views me as everything that's wrong."
This was the important point and the one that had bothered Russia since Germany had contacted them. He had watched the fiery anti-communist rhetoric of the Nazi party rise and felt even threatened by it. For a country so entrenched in the idea of hating communist to reach out to Russia, a country that represented the pinnacle of communism, seemed very strange.
Prussia laughed, "Ivan, you shouldn't worry about that. Despite what Hitler may rave about, I know who is really on my side." His red eyes seemed to see right through Russia, who felt a strange flutter in his stomach. He had imagined what it would be like to see affection in those crimson orbs, but he had never actually seen it. In this moment, it was there. It was warm and the warmth was spreading to Russia.
The albino continued to talk, "You are one of the very few people who I can still trust. You didn't conspire against me in Versailles. You've never betrayed me, which is more than I can say for any of my former friends." The feeling of warmth rapidly spread through Russia at the words. It was an entirely new feeling for him.
He responded, "Thank you for that, Gilbert." He reached out and signed the agreement. The action was enough for a broad smile to appear on the albino's face. Russia had seen a smile like that fair few times on Prussia's face. He took the pen from Russia and signed the agreement. There was a refined elegance in the stroke of Prussia's signature, an old habit left from the days of the Enlightenment. It was those little quirks that made the albino so fascinating.
Russia ran his tongue over his dry lips and spoke, attempting to continue the conversation, "I get the feeling that nothing is going to be the same after this." He didn't want the conversation to end, because he wanted to continue to observe Prussia. Now that duty was out of the way, it was likely that the albino would leave. The German's smile didn't disappear, instead he said, "You have no idea how true that is. We are going to redraw the map of Europe."
A manic fire lit in the back of the red eyes. It burned with a frightening intensity. Prussia continued talking, "I will get my revenge on everyone who wronged me at Versailles. You are an integral part of that revenge, Ivan." The cold that seeped into the voice was completely new. There was something about it that sent a strange feeling through Russia. He knew that he projected that kind of coldness, but he hadn't expected to see it from anyone else. For a moment he felt like there was a connection between them that had never existed before.
Russia almost believed that if he closed the space between them, he would find no resistance. He could put his lips against Prussia's and taste the tongue that spoke such sweet clever words. He wanted to believe that he would be able to run his hand down the inner thigh of the other and find no objection. But, he didn't make the movement, instead simply saying, "You've changed, Gilbert. You've never sounded so cruel before."
Prussia's red eyes narrowed but he didn't react as though he was insulted. He smirked and said, "Is that such a bad thing? The rest of Europe has been cruel to my brother, why should I not retaliate in kind?" Even with the cold words, Russia could hear a brother's love in the voice. It was the kind of pure love he had never seen from his own selfish siblings.
He voiced it, "You really love Ludwig, don't you?" The albino nodded, "I would do anything for him, anything to keep him safe and happy." Russia leaned forward slightly. The words awoke certain boldness in him. He wanted that sort of love directed at him and if he could reach out and touch Prussia, he could have that. However, he was held back by his doubt. Russia doubted that the other's affection for him extended beyond anything but admiration.
Prussia leaned slightly forward as well and said, "You've changed as well. When we sent Lenin back to you, I knew it would change you but I had no idea how much. You've become so much stronger, so much more powerful." The praise was delivered in what was almost a purr, making another shiver pass over Russia's skin. It made the last of his restraint disappear completely. He leaned the rest of the way forward and put his hand on the albino's soft white cheek. The skin felt better than he had imagined, it was not inordinately soft, but it felt perfect. Russia couldn't stop a small smile from appearing on his face.
But, the moment was short. Prussia stood up quickly, pulling himself away from the hand. He swept both the agreement and his hat off the table with a single movement. He said evasively, "I need to get this back to Berlin." He didn't even glance at Russia as he put his hat firmly back on his head.
Russia felt all the confidence he had gathered drain away. He again felt like the awkward boy he had been, the outsider not welcome in Europe or Asia. The only option was to put back up his cold front and act like he was unfazed. He said, "Leaving so soon?"
The albino glared at him and said, "I have to get the agreement back to Ludwig by tomorrow." Russia sighed, accepting that his chance was gone. He replied with the best neutral response he could come up with, "I will see you in Warsaw and soon I expect." Prussia responded, "Yes, very soon."
11 notes
·
View notes
I would love to read a fic by you of sandy coming out to mickey, or mickey to sandy... or any version of that concept. i just kinda love the gay milkoviches
ahh so i found this one quite difficult bc sandy isn’t someone i’ve ever really written before and i don’t know what she would’ve been like before this season (though i’m guessing not all that different) but i tried my best!!! this is set during some vague time between 3x05 and 3x06 bc i wanted ian and mickey to kiss but i didn’t want any of the 3x06 hell hanging over them either ajskdh enjoy!!
*
If living in the same house as his dad is hell thenIan on top of him with his tongue down Mickey’s throat is definitely heaven. Inmoments like this it’s hard for him to remember why he’d been so resistant toletting Ian kiss him in the first place because, fuck, Ian knows what he’sdoing. He’s got one hand in Mickey’s hair and one hand up Mickey’s shirt and he’skissing Mickey like he wants to devour him.
Honestly, Mickey has just enough presence of mind topull Ian’s hips down by his belt and let him keep kissing him until his mouthis numb.
Ian’s hand is just grazing the waistband of hissweatpants when Mickey hears the unmistakeable sound of his bedroom door beingopened. He shoves Ian off him at the same time Ian rears back and away as afamiliar voice lets out a teasing, “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Mickey sucks in a deep breath and pushes himself tosit up, never once taking his eyes off Sandy where she stands smirking in thedoorway.
“It’s not-“
“What it looks like?” she guesses. The sardonic grinon her face makes Mickey’s stomach drop as she pushes herself off the doorframeand steps into the room. “Mick, you can do better than that.”
Mickey’s blood is rushing so loudly in his ears he thinkshe might pass out but he squares his shoulders and bites the inside of his cheekas he waits for the threat or the blackmail. He knows how this shit goes, howhis family works. What he doesn’t expect is for Sandy to close the door behindher and drop onto the empty space at the end of his mattress. “At least say youwere wrestling,” she scoffs. “Or lock your fucking door maybe.”
“I told you to lock the door,” Mickey grumbles,kicking out with his foot until it hits Ian’s shin where he’s sitting betweenhim and Sandy, back pressed to the wall.
“I thought you locked it,” Ian hisses in Mickey’sdirection before he goes back to eyeing Sandy warily.
Sandy regards them both for a minute, leaning back onher hands, and Mickey tries to calm himself down. Sandy’s…well, she’s notnormal but she’s as close to someone Mickey can trust as he’s got in hisfamily.
“I guess it’s easier for girls,” Sandy says finallywith a careless shrug. “I can just say I’m having a sleepover and no one batsan eye. Then again, Mom’s always too high to notice anyway.”
Mickey blinks, brain short-circuiting as he tries toprocess what she just said. Sandy watches him, a faint, amused smirk still onher face as she inclines her head.
“You’re gay?” he blurts out, feeling mildlyembarrassed when she laughs.
“Guess this shit is genetic, huh?” she says beforeholding out her hand. “I keep your dirty secret, you keep mine. Otherwise it’smutual destruction. Deal?”
Mickey watches her, feeling completely taken aback byhow this has played out. He’s imagined this scenario so many times in his worstfucking nightmares and every time he’s always ended up dead. He’d never evenconsidered this to be a possibility.
“Deal,” he agrees after a beat, lightly slappingSandy’s hand with his own.
“Now that that’s out of the way,” she says beforelooking pointedly in Ian’s direction.
“Oh,” Mickey says, feeling clumsy with whiplash. Whatthe fuck is happening right now? “Sandy, Gallagher. Gallagher, Sandy. She’s mycousin.”
“Ian,” Ian offers weakly and Sandy gives him a shrewdlook before announcing, “I like Gallagher better.”
“So how long has this been going on?” she asks then, barrellingon with tactless abandon.
“About a year and a half,” Ian answers when Mickeydoesn’t say anything and Sandy almost chokes on her own tongue.
“A year and ahalf?” she splutters and Mickey feels his face heat up.
“I had two stints in juvie in that year and a half,”Mickey feels the need to point out, not that it even makes a difference. As ifhe did anything other than think about Ian while he was locked up.
“Still.Does anyone know?” she asks. “Wait, your dad doesn’t know, does he?”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Mickey mutters, closinghis eyes briefly when he feels Ian’s knee nudge his own. It shouldn’t feel ascomforting as he does.
Sandy concedes that with a nod before looking at Ian.“Anyone know about you?”
“Mandy,” Ian says immediately and Mickey can’t helpfeeling the barest sense of jealousy. Shit would be so much fucking easier ifMandy knew about him too. Too bad the thought of telling her makes him sick tohis stomach.
“She knows I’m gay,” Ian explains. “But not about meand Mickey. Same goes for my family.”
Sandy nods and looks like she’s about to say morebefore Ian’s phone goes off. Mickey watches him fish it out of his pocket andcheck a text. His eyes immediately find Mickey’s when he looks up. “It’s Fiona,”he says apologetically. “I gotta bail.”
There’s a brief moment of silence before Sandy hopsup from the bed and spins to face them. “Well, I’m gonna go to the bathroom,”she announces. “And I’m gonnaremember to lock the door.”
Mickey flips her off as she disappears into hisbathroom but he’s silently grateful for the moment of privacy. As soon as she’slocked the door behind her Ian shuffles to the edge of the bed and moves closerinto Mickey’s space.
Mickey holds still, unsure whether he wants to pullIan in or push him away.
“Don’t freak out on me, Mick,” Ian requests quietlyand Mickey doesn’t think, just leans in and brushes their lips together. Iandraws him in again before he can pull away, kissing him once, twice, threetimes before letting him go.
“Sandy’s cool,” Mickey says, forcing his eyes up fromIan’s lips to meet his gaze. “I trust her.”
“Good,” Ian murmurs. “Call me later, okay?”
“Yeah, I guess. If I remember,” Mickey hedges,feeling a grin work its way onto his face as Ian fists a hand in his t-shirt topull him in.
“Call me later,” Ian repeats, punctuating his orderwith a kiss before he releases Mickey.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Gallagher,” Mickey blustersbut it’s all bravado and he has to work extra hard not to let himself smile.
Ian flips him off, walking backward towards the dooruntil his hand lands on the handle and he finally turns around. Mickey watcheshim go and ignores the way his heart twists. Once Ian’s gone Mickey takes asteadying breath and calls out to Sandy.
“He’s gone. You can come out now.”
Sandy opens the door way too quickly which suggestsshe’d been just waiting for her cue but Mickey tries not to think about thefact she might’ve overheard anything. She takes Ian’s seat against the wallwhen she returns, shoving Mickey’s legs out of the way with her foot.
“So you like him?” she asks without preamble andMickey feels his insides seize up.
“It’s just sex,” he says with a scoff, forcing hisexpression to stay neutral.
Sandy snorts and immediately calls bullshit. “Youtellin’ me you two’ve been fuck buddies for a year and a half and you don’tcare about him even a little bit? His dick can’t be that great.”
“You haven’t seen his dick,” Mickey says, huffing alaugh before instantly clamping his mouth shut.
Sandy notices the panicked look on his face andlaughs. “First time joking about it out loud, huh?”
“It’s weird having someone know,” he mumbles, shrugginghalf-heartedly as he picks at his comforter beneath him.
Sandy nods like she understands and she does, hesupposes. “You didn’t answer the question though.”
Mickey squirms, knowing he could lie but for somereason he doesn’t want to. “I don’t know. It’s just easy with him.”
Sandy looks surprised for a beat before the amusedsmirk is back. “That’s the gayest shit you’ve ever said.”
Mickey huffs, rolling his eyes, but weirdly, he almostfeels like smiling. “Shut the fuck up.”
“For what it’s worth,” Sandy says, looking oddlysincere. “Going by the puppy dog eyes he kept shooting you after I showed up,it looks like he likes you too.”
Mickey stares down at his hands as he processes that.The fact that someone has even paid attention to the way Ian looks at him ishard to wrap his head around. The fact that someone knows about him and Ian at all is hard to wrap his head around.But a part of him – and he’s surprised how big a part – feels sort of comfortedby it. Makes him feel like it’s real.
As Sandy smoothly changes the subject to the girl she’sbeen sort of seeing he thinks maybe her knowing might not be so bad.
*
150 notes
·
View notes
only fools rush in / part six: a twin and twelve tattoos
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
TW: mentions of past abusive relationship, mention of physical violence, brief & subtle mention of sex, mentions of scars, mentions of picking at scabs, food mention, mention of hospitalization, mention of police & jail.
...i’m so sorry.
---
Remus watched as his brother ran around playing with the others. He was smiling, laughing, in a way that was more lighthearted than when they played in their bedroom at home. Remus dug his finger farther into the hole of dirt he’d made, the muck getting under his fingernails but he didn’t care. With his other hand he pulled frustratingly at the grass around him, but his eyes were focused on Roman, pretending to be a prince, defeating the kids who were the villains in the scenario.
When they got home from school that afternoon, Roman immediately turned on the television to watch a Disney cartoon, and Remus felt the anger bubbling up inside of him. He was jealous. He loved his brother more than anyone ever could, and how could Roman stand to be around everyone else? They were mean to Remus, making fun of the way his hands twitched. He hated them. He wanted to hurt them. He wanted to protect Roman from getting hurt.
-
“You alright?” Patton’s voice was calling to him. They were at a restaurant, Remus’ long arms stretched along the table so that Patton could play with his long fingers. Remus met his eyes, smiling, and just nodded, watching as Patton’s eyes drifted back down to the menu in front of him.
“I was just thinking about Roman,” Remus finally said, and Patton’s eyes snapped back up. They hadn’t talked much about his twin lately, Patton only returning to the apartment to get fresh clothes or to talk to Logan. Remus had never pegged him to be the type to hold a grudge, but even after the bruise around his eye faded back into his normal skin tone, Patton only regarded Roman with ice-cold glares and frowns, despite Remus’ pleas to move on. “I would get really jealous of all of the friends that he made during elementary school, so much so that I wanted to destroy every single one of them so that Roman would only pay attention to me,” he mused, trying to lighten the mood, share a fond memory maybe. Patton didn’t respond, though, instead opting to glance back down at the menu.
“I think it’s a pasta kind of night,” he said softly, one of his hands leaving Remus’ to flip to the next page of the menu. Remus sighed.
“Come now, little flower. How long is this going to go on? He’s one of your best friends,” he watched as Patton’s shoulders slumped a little bit at the words. “The performances start in a few weeks, and we really should go to support him and Virgil.”
“We will go, I just…” Patton’s voice sounded resigned, and he looked up at Remus, sadness in his eyes. “The first time I find someone who I like and actually likes me back, and… it feels like we’re teetering on the edge of destruction.” Remus frowned at this, taking Patton’s hands in his again.
“Pat, I promise, you mean too much to me for me to let anything bad happen to us… but Roman is one of your best friends, and he’s my brother, and we just… have to move on from this,” his eyes were pleading, and Patton’s face fell, but he nodded.
“I know. You’re right, I just… I hated seeing you hurt,” he explained, and Remus smiled lovingly at him. Then the waiter came over to take their meal orders, and the pair fell into a gentle conversation.
-
“Ewww, Remus is picking at his scab!” One of the girls in the class was shrieking at him, pointing and covering her face in horror. But Remus couldn’t help it; when he fell off of his skateboard last week and scratched up his arm, it left a scab that he knew would be pleasing to peel off. And this class was so boring, he didn’t understand why they were reading books from mid-century when there were way more interesting contemporaries.
“Remus, stop disturbing your classmates or you’ll be sent to the office. Again.” The teacher’s voice was tired; Remus had been sent to the office twice already that month, and it started causing a rift in their home. Roman, perfect, sweet, Roman, was doing so well, got the lead in the school play during his freshman year! But Remus, oh what would they do with him?
The night before, he went down to get water from the kitchen but overheard his parents talking about him. The words “boarding school” and “military school” were thrown around, sending Remus into a fit of rage. He stormed out into the backyard, taking refuge in the treehouse that he used to spend every summer afternoon in with Roman.
Why didn’t anyone understand him? His brain was weird, but no one listened to him. Even Roman had started to tune him out with headphones blasting musical numbers and Disney songs; Remus had lost the one person who he thought he could trust. He wished that his parents would listen to his pleas about going to see a therapist, but their response was always the same: it cost too much money.
But he had done his research. It would cost significantly less to send Remus to therapy than it would to send him to boarding school or military school. And he knew that if he was sent away, he would only get worse. He tried explaining this to them, to Roman, but they all avoided him when he had his outbursts. Eventually, he gave up, instead opting to sneak out of the house every night to wander the dark streets of their small town.
That was when he met them. A small group of boys a bit older than him, who would plague the park every night until a police cruiser came by to tell them all to go home. Remus felt like he belonged with them as he spoke of his bad thoughts, of bashing his brother’s head in with the oar that hung above the fireplace, a memento of their father’s days of rowing in college. They took Remus under their collective wing, showing him the best places to lurk at night, teaching him the best ways to sneak off of their school campus.
How was he supposed to know what would happen?
-
Patton was putting some of his clothes into a duffel bag, and Remus was sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Hmm, the more clothes I pack, the less I’ll have to come back here,” he mused, pawing through his closet. Remus sighed, stretching his arms up so his shirt lifted a bit, revealing some skin. Patton glanced over at him, eyes travelling to the tattoos that were covering some of Remus’ stomach scars.
He stepped closer, sinking down to kneel in front of Remus, and his fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt, pulling it over Remus’ head. He pressed against the tattoos of throwing stars, feeling the scar tissue underneath. Patton had seen the scars before, when he took care of Remus after that night at the library, and in their moments of deep intimacy. But he was always so hesitant to ask where they had come from.
“Re… what are these scars?” Patton’s voice was low, and Remus just leaned forward, pressing his lips to Patton’s, who pulled back despite wanting to continue. Remus sighed, deciding to explain in as little detail as possible.
“The day Roman was hurt, I tried to stop them. So, they hurt me too,” Remus’ voice was shaky, and Patton pulled him into his arms. “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that they hurt me, too. I had to protect him, Patton. I tried my best. I didn’t know that they’d hurt him, I swear.”
“Shh, it’s okay. He’s okay, you’re okay, and you’re here now with me,” Patton ran his fingers through Remus’ hair in a soothing way, and he felt tears stain his shirt. He said nothing about this, though, murmuring soft things to his boyfriend. “Remus, you’re safe, and Roman is safe. Okay? Everything’s okay.” The two sat in silence for a while, until Remus scrambled to get more comfortable in Patton’s arms, their lips meeting haphazardly and needily, hands trailing lower and lower.
-
Patton smiled lazily over at Remus afterwards, his fingers grazing along the crossbow tattoo on the back of his shoulders. His eyes trailed down, onto the letters tattooed brutally on Remus’ lower back, and leaned down to press a kiss to the word. “I don’t think you’re naughty, hmm... well… maybe sometimes,” he teased, and Remus laughed lowly, stretching his arms out to rest his head on.
“I can be more or less naughty, babe. Whatever you want,” he replied softly as Patton’s fingers trailed along the rest of Remus’ tattoos. Patton had come to love them all for their uniqueness, the knife that was on his right middle finger, the quiver with bows on the back of his upper right arm, the pollaxe on his right outer ankle, the three throwing knives on the bottom of his left foot, even the flail on his left thigh. Sometimes in the pale light of the night, Patton would press kisses to all twelve of Remus’ tattoos, murmuring sweet words that made Remus want to scoop his boyfriend up and snuggle forever.
“Have you ever thought of getting more tattoos?” Patton finally spoke over the comfortable silence that had fallen over the couple. Remus glanced over his shoulder at him, pursing his lips in thought.
“Maybe some science beakers,” he said. “What about you, little flower?” Patton had just the floral tattoos on his arms and upper shoulders, and Remus loved massaging his long fingers over them.
“More flowers would always be good,” Patton murmured, and Remus sat up, pulling the smaller man into his arms. “I always told Roman that he should get musical notes along his spine,” Patton said without thinking, and Remus smiled fondly at him.
“Oh, Pat. You really need to talk to him, I can tell that you miss him,” he said, and Patton’s eyes fell, nodding. “I would miss Janus or Virgil if I didn’t see them anymore.”
“How did you even meet them?” Patton asked, trying to change the subject. Remus closed his eyes, deep in thought.
“I jumped in their cart at the grocery store and told them to push me around like a baby. Virgil was Virgil about it, of course, but Jan? He ran with it. Literally.” Remus said nonchalantly, and Patton giggled a little at what he clearly knew was a lie. “Okay, fine. I was in a general education science class with them. There was a project that required three people so they asked me to join their duo. I didn’t leave them alone after that.” He pressed his face into Patton’s side, making the other giggle again. “I love the sound of your giggles.”
“I love you,” Patton breathed out, and Remus’ breath caught in his throat, memories flooding back through his mind, and he gripped at Patton to try to ground himself, to remind him that he was there, on Patton’s bed, not in that place or with that person.
-
Remus looked up at him from his spot on the floor, his eyes focused on the bare skin that showed when he lifted the shirt over his head, and Remus was filled with adoration and awe, and the words fell out of his mouth like bricks, and he couldn’t stop them: “I think I’m in love with you.” He had hoped for a smile or a soft glance back, but all he got was a glare and a frown.
“No you don’t. Get that fucking thought of your head, whore,” His voice was raspy as always, but now it was laced with poison. Remus thought that he would implode from the impact of those words. But they refused to leave his soul.
-
“Re? Hey, what’s wrong? Did I… did I mess up?” Patton’s voice was back, calling Remus into the present, into the soft touches and worried glances of the floral boy. “I’m so sorry, if I upset you…” Remus shook his head quickly, looking up at Patton’s concerned face.
“You didn’t. I just…” Remus hadn’t said those words to anybody since that day, since that spot on the floor. “I need to tell you more about my past. Before I say anything else.” Patton nodded, worry still evident in his eyes, and Remus sat up, taking Patton’s hands into his own. “In high school… I joined this group. They were the only ones who I thought could understand me, because my parents and Roman had long given up on me.”
“Re-”
“Please, Pat… let me say this,” Remus’ eyes were pleading, and Patton nodded again, allowing the silence to fill the space between them before Remus started talking again. “My parents were considering sending me to military school or boarding school. They wouldn’t let me go to therapy. I knew that I needed it. But… instead I met this group of guys who caused… all kinds of chaos. Except, for the first time in my life, I felt like I fit in with someone who didn’t look exactly like me. They listened to me,” Remus sighed. “And then… they took what I was saying, what I hate that I was thinking, way too literally. They hurt Roman, and then me when I tried to protect him.”
This was the part of the story that Patton knew. Police showed up. Roman was taken to the hospital, as was Remus, but the only difference was that Remus was in handcuffs. After he was declared okay, he had to sit in a jail cell with his “friends”. Remus didn’t know if Roman was okay or not, and his parents didn’t free him, even as all of his friends were bailed out.
When he was finally let out, he requested a psychological evaluation. His parents couldn’t put their foot down on this; and when he was evaluated, they found out just what was wrong with Remus, why he was the way that he was. So he finally got to go to therapy and get treatment, but his relationship with Roman was never the same.
“After everything went down… I went back to the park. One of them was there, like he was waiting for me,” remembrance shone in Remus’ eyes, and he couldn’t look at Patton’s face anymore. “He was a senior, I was a sophomore. And… at some point… he kissed me. I was young and stupid, and we fell into… well, for the lack of a better word, a relationship. But it was toxic. I got my ‘naughty’ tattoo at that time. Got the tattoo area infected, too,” he sighed. Patton hadn’t said anything or made any movements, so Remus kept going. Kept reminiscing. “I didn’t know what love was. It... wasn’t that. But I didn’t know any better. So… being the dumb kid I was… I told him. I blurted it out.
“He hit me so hard that day, that when I got home, Roman flipped his shit, told me that if he ever saw me with one of those guys again, he’d call the police and tell them that I was being abused and hurt and that I needed to be sent away for my protection,” Remus felt a finger graze his cheek. He was crying and Patton was wiping his tears away with the pad of his thumb. “I couldn’t bear to hurt Roman again, even though we had grown so distant. So… I never contacted any of them again. But… that day was the last time I ever told someone that I loved them. I’m almost afraid to say it. All of the others I’ve dated? Whenever they said it, I bolted. Because what if… what if they were lying and when I said it back they hurt me?”
Silence fell over the room, and then Patton’s hand was there on his cheek, and he wanted to flinch, he wanted to cry and run and scream. But he didn’t. And then Patton’s lips were on his, and it was like CPR, he was getting filled with love and hope and air. And sunshine. Patton was all of those things and Remus knew that he wouldn’t get hurt by him.
“Remus, I know that you’ve been hurt, I feel it, and my heart aches for you,” Patton’s voice was soothing and Remus wanted to wrap himself up in it like a blanket. “But I swear to you, I am here. I’m in this. I love you, Remus, and I don’t care if you don’t say it for months or years or if you never say it out loud. I’m not changing my mind on this, I’m not going to run or leave. Here I am. I’m yours.”
And then Remus was clinging to Patton’s shoulders, sobbing, his breathing more like gasping, but he was bolstered by Patton’s surprisingly strong grip. The words were so close to coming out of his mouth, but it was like there was a phantom hand over his mouth, pushing them back in, making him gag, and he couldn’t say it. But, oh, he wanted to.
-
Roman’s hand was frozen over the door handle to Patton’s room. He listened, accidentally. The admissions by Remus of everything that had happened. He didn’t know that Remus had gotten hurt, too. Not like he did. Regret filled his every cell, and he wanted to run in, sobbing, and hug his brother like they’d hug when they were kids, for no reason and for every reason.
Instead, he pulled his hand back, sticking it into his jacket pocket. He glanced over his shoulder to see Logan, adjusting his glasses. Roman nodded, looking down, then went into his room. Maybe a letter. Maybe a note. Something to tell Remus that he understood, that he felt his pain, and that they were going to be okay someday very soon.
He needed to apologize to Patton, too.
-
Patton and Remus were heading out of the apartment, Patton’s duffel bag gripped tightly in hand. He wasn’t leaving because of Roman this time, he was leaving because he needed to be with Remus after the emotional devastation of the day. Except when they went out into the living room, Roman was there, sitting on the couch, two envelopes in his hands. He stood up as soon as he saw the couple and walked over to them.
“I-” He paused, not sure of what he wanted to say. “I’m so sorry. For everything.” The words were jumbled in his head, but that was why he wrote letters. So he handed the letters over before running away. Patton blinked, and Remus itched to run after his twin, but he didn’t. Instead, they both sat down on the couch, Patton’s duffel bag forgotten and dropped on the floor.
-
Dear Patton,
I’m sorry. I wanted so hard to believe that I was protecting you so that what happened to me didn’t happen to you, but I ended up being the one who hurt you in the end. Remus has grown so much and now I see that everything that happened to us in high school had less to do with him and everything to do with the horrible people around us, including our parents.
My mind has been so focused on Virgil and the musical that I didn’t even realize how quickly you and Remus have fit together and fallen in love, and I’m so happy for you, Patton. I truly am.
I know that I’ve messed up. I don’t think that I can ever forgive myself so I don’t expect forgiveness from you.
But I promise that if you ever want me around you, I will do my best to be the best gosh darn friend you’ve ever had (excluding Logan, I know that you two are the pinnacle of friendship and I don’t want to erase that).
You’re one of my best friends, Patton. And I love you.
~Roman
-
Dear Remus,
I didn’t intend to overhear part of your conversation with Patton, but I did. And so now I know. I know that you were hurt trying to protect me from them, that you went to therapy like I did, that you have been hurt so much more than I ever could have imagined.
And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed your brother. A friend. Anyone. I should have defended you to all of my friends and the people in our school who said such horrid things about you. I should have defended you to Mom and Dad. I should have listened to you. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t. I wish I could go back in time and listen to you when you begged for us to hear you.
I’m also sorry that I punched you. I’ve been on edge lately. I told Virgil that I love him and he hasn’t said it back. The musical dates are coming up and I’m so scared for Virgil, he’s so nervous. My whole mind is filled with him and I panicked when I thought that Patton was getting hurt because that means that I dropped the ball. I was supposed to protect him, protect my friends so they wouldn’t get hurt the way I did.
Except I’m the one that hurt him, and I hurt you too. And this whole time, maybe I should have been more concerned with protecting you, Remus. I’m trying to look at things with an optimistic lens, but I know that I’ve fucked up and I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself, so I don’t expect forgiveness from you or from Patton.
But I’m going to say this because you need to hear it: you’re not broken, Remus. The things that happened to you did not happen to you because you deserved them. You didn’t deserve any of it. You are an incredible person, a great brother, and I see how much you care for Patton. He is what you truly have earned: someone to make you happy and hopeful and to give you all of the love that you were wrongfully not given.
I’m not sure how to be a better brother to you, but I’m going to do my best.
I love you, Remus. I’m sorry.
~Roman
---
teaser for part seven: performance anxiety
What did that one song say? Only fools rush in.
Virgil didn’t want to be a fool. He didn’t want to rush. He wanted to take his time, but it was so hard when Roman was so… perfect. Perfect Roman bringing over flowers from Patton’s mom’s floral shop, taking him to sit under the stars or in the sunshine, bringing a smile to his face and kissing his cheeks–
part seven will be posted on sunday, august 23 at 12PM PDT
---
part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten
---
[masterlist]
---
taglist (send an ask or leave a comment if you would like to be added)
@winterrose42
@are-you-even--real
@shaded14space
@lallyphant
@deceits-left-glove
@aricana8
@pixelated-pineapple
@starstruck-xavier
@thiel
@sophiexteresa
@cemmy
@toadink2005
@eeveeeclair246
@i-cant-find-a-good-username
@pansexualpuppet
@morgan-leaf
32 notes
·
View notes
Broken Dream - Zelink One-shot
Rating - Teen+ for suggestive themes
Pairing - Link/Zelda
Summary: Link is dead, and Zelda is alone. A short one-shot story exploring Zelda’s grief when the one she loves is taken from her.
I heard this song and my mind immediately went to this super sad scenario. If I had to categorize this, I guess I would put it under OoT or TP Zelink - but I didn’t have any specific versions of them in mind so feel free to insert whichever ones you prefer.
Read below the cut or on AO3
The sunlit grass sways and glimmers in the dimming evening light, grazing and tickling at the bare skin of her neck as she blinks up at the orange and pink streaked sky.
Gentle fingers comb through her hair, pressing enticingly against her scalp as they retreat and return over and over. She hums happily, tilting her head towards the feeling and shutting her eyes.
A low chuckle drifts from above her, light and airy and full of love. She opens her eyes, meeting blue richer than any ocean.
“Are you laughing at me, Sir?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Majesty.”
“Good.” She smirks, snuggling deeper into the warmth of his lap as her eyes slip closed. “I would have to exile you for that.”
“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“No.” She agrees, hearing the smile in his voice. “I quiet enjoy your company.”
He hums deep in his chest, fingertips pressing against her temple.
“And I, yours. But you will eventually have to wake, love.”
She bats an eye open at him, huffing.
“Oh, wake from what? I’m perfectly content to stay here forever you know.”
“Zelda...” He murmurs, and she lifts herself from his lap and onto her knees to look him in the face. His eyes are glazed and sad, his lips downturned.
His lips, soft and warm and plaint and so easy to be kissed. So she does.
They are no less perfect than the first time he had pressed them to her own. She sighs, a delicate hand tracing the hard line of his jaw. When she pulls away, the harsh line of his frown has disappeared - but there is a crease in his brow.
The evening sun bathes him in golden light, a heavenly glow radiating from around his body. Hylia’s chosen.
She smoothes the line with her finger, following the path down the bridge of his nose and across his kiss stained lips. When she is done, the crease has disappeared - but his eyes are still heavy with sadness.
“You have to wake up.” He whispers, a calloused hand lifting to grasp her own where it curls around his cheek.
Her smile is radiant and she shakes her head.“Link, I-“
His fingers are ice cold where they touch her lips, and she nearly startles.
“Don’t do this to yourself Zelda...please. It’s time to wake up.”
She leans away from his touch and looks around her. Hears the birds chirping and feels the soft breeze of the autumn wind. She looks to the tree they’re under, across the creek only a mile from her summer cottage, tucked away in privacy. It was here that they had spent most of their time as newlyweds, simply reveling in the luxury of being alone. They would pack a small lunch from the house, take the short hike into the woods and set up a picnic underneath her favorite tree. She can recall the taste of sweet snow berries and the slight tang of his skin as they fed each other beneath the sinking sun.
Their simple acts of adoration would divulge into the holy worship of one another’s bodies, the barely there brush of fingertips and the gentle breathes of pleasure filling the air.
They would bathe in the creek afterwards, blessing themselves in Hylia’s waters, and walk back to the house hand in hand to repeat the same routine the next morn.
She smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There is no mirth in his tone when he answers her, eyes hard.
“Yes. You do.”
It shakes her from her reverie, hearing such darkness in his tone. He had never spoken to her like that in this place, under this sacred tree.
She reaches for his hands, still cold to the touch.
“Link, you’re scaring me.”
He searches her face, pity gleaming in his eyes.
“I’m gone, Zel.”
His words are soft, but she can feel the agonizing crush in her chest as if he had screamed them in her face. She scrunches her nose, defiant till her last breath.
“You’re not. You’re sitting here in front of me.”
His gaze melts even further, and he grips at her wrists.
“I’m not real, love. You know that. You have to wake up now.”
“Stop saying that!” She bellows, shoulders trembling. He is unfazed, simply smiling at her sadly and shaking his head. She feels panic grip her around the throat, and when she blinks the world tilts and splits.
Understanding tightens it’s noose around her, and she can feel her consciousness bleeding into her mind as she struggles against it.
She throws herself towards him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist as tightly as she can.
“No. Please, please don’t go. I can’t do this. Not without you.”
He kisses the top of her head, sweet and chaste.
“You can. And you will.”
Her tears are hot and treacherous where they flow down her cheeks, burning a trail down her throat and into the dip of her chest. He lifts her head with a hand under her chin, brushing tears from her face with the pad of his thumb.
“I miss you...” she sobs, and he nods in understanding. He presses his lips to her forehead, and when she opens her eyes he is gone.
The grass beneath her knees scratches at her skin, and she takes in a shuddering breath.
“Link...? Link!”
“LINK!” She screams into the empty dark of her bedchamber. There is sweat staining the silk of her sheets and seeping through the fabric of her nightgown.
She reaches a panicked hand towards the side of the bed, her palm smacking against cold fabric and a pristine pillowcase. Unused.
She chokes on a sob, clutching her hand over her mouth until her fingernails dig crescent marks against her cheeks. When she is finally able to breathe again, she wails. The unused pillow is thrown to the floor, her sheets are ripped from her bed, her hair torn from its braid.
She rampages in her agony, her chambers destructed. She would be concerned at the lack of response shown by her guards, but she knows the nightly terrors have trained them to be less hasty in their involvement and more capable of distinguishing when she is truly in trouble.
There is nothing they can do for her now. No evil to slay our enemy to fight, nor an intruder to disarm. They know better than to disturb her when she is lost in her grief.
She crawls back into her bed in the early hours of the dawn, simply laying with her eyes closed as her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. It is only a few short hours later when her maid comes knocking.
She bids her good morning, and brings her a breakfast that she promptly retches up.
Two more maids come in to help her dress as her housekeeper cleans up the evidence of the nights destruction.
Her hair is brushed and twisted and pinned in place, pink rogue tapped onto her cheeks and oils rubbed underneath her eyes to disguise the sleepless nights.
She stares at her face in the mirror of her vanity as her maids bustle around her.
She blinks.
“Must you go?” She pouts, tracing lazy circles across the smooth metal of his badges. She always liked the way he looked in his uniform, but today it’s image stings bitter.
He chuckles, stilling her fingers and placing a kiss along her knuckles.
“I must. I may be King now but I’m also still your top General.” He winks at her, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
“Yes, but can’t you send someone else in your stead? No King of Hyrule has ever laid foot on the battlefield.”
“Then I will be the first.” He grins, although a bit sadly, and rubs his hands across her arms. “They are my soldiers, Zelda. I can’t let them march into battle alone, not when I was once the same as them.”
She nods, because she knows he is right of course. Her heart thumps painfully regardless. She kisses him hard, teeth clacking together at the force.
He is breathless when she releases him, pupils blown wide with lust.
“Promise you will come back to me.”
“I promise.”
There is suddenly not enough air in the room, and she coughs and splutters against the memory beating through her skull. He had promised. He had promised and still- .
She is shepherded out of her room and down the long corridor that leads to the throne room, maids trailing behind her as they lift the long skirt of her pitch black dress. Someone lends her their hand as she walks up the few steps up to her chair, bracing her forearms against the cool metal. She spends the next hour and a half receiving gifts and listening to the woes of mourning from her subjects. Each one turns her stomach more and more. By noon the doors have been locked, and she is once again lead to her next engagement. And the next, and the next, until the day is almost over - and she must do what she has loathed most.
When her maids help her to the front foyer, Impa is there waiting for her.
“Majesty.” She murmurs, head tilted in a bow.
“Thank you for coming, Impa.”
“Of course. How are you faring, if I may ask?”
She hesitates to answer, and Impa clucks her tongue. She places a warm hand on her back, leading her forward.
“We will just try to get through this day, ma’am. And if you need me, I will be here.”
The carriage ride to the temple is short, too short. Her pulse races and she grips tightly at Impa’s wrist with gloved hands as the driver dismounts from his seat and opens the door to escort them inside. She freezes, her limbs unable to unlock, and squeezes Impa’s arm so hard she flinches.
With soothing words and guiding hands Impa is able to coax her from the carriage, up the steps of the temple and onto the alter. Flowers litter every square inch of her vision, vibrant colors of every kind, and the smell almost overwhelms her.
“One last thing your Majesty...” Impa coos, her voice hushed. She holds a bundle of black mesh in her hands, gently lifting it up and over Zelda’s head when she bends forward. She drapes it evenly over her hair and face, tucking it snugly underneath her thin crown. There are tears in her advisors eyes when she stands up straight.
“He loved you dearly, Zelda. And he will live on...”
Zelda smiles against the bile rising in her throat, tears stinging at the corners of her vision. She mustn’t cry here, amongst her colleagues and council members. She must stand tall, remain the pillar of hope she has always been, and swallow her despair in silence. She smoothes her features, nodding to Impa to lead the way.
They open the doors to the temple, her royal advisors and the monarchs of other races trickling in little by little as they take their places around the altar. Time passes in a blur as each one bows in respect to her, kisses a hand, and takes a seat. Before she knows it, the high priestess is lifting her arms in direction, and the choir behind her begins to sing as the doors open once again and everyone gets to their feet.
His body is brought in like a warrior, rather than a King. Zelda thought he would have preferred it that way - but now she is selfishly regretting the decision. He is laid not in a coffin, but on an ornate slab encrusted with jewels of every shape and size. He is carried to the pedestal in front of her, his fellow soldiers treating him with gentle care and reverence. Jarrin, the Captain of the Royal Guard and Link’s friend since childhood, is among them. He bends at the knee, and offers her his condolences. He does not stand until she touches a hand to his shoulder, and he moves to take his place behind her right side.
Her eyes have not left Link’s face since he was brought before her. And if there is thanks to give for anything, it is for the dark veil hanging over her eyes.
He sleeps eternally in his Royal uniform, stark white gloves and boots contrasting against the deep blue and burgundy of his tunic. Gold weaves in and out of the stitching, and her eyes follow it to the matching hue of his hair and the glittering crown around his head.
His hands, folded towards his chest, rest lightly across the pommel of the Master Sword. She had protested at first, surely she should be allowed to keep something from his life - but Jarrin had talked her out of her mania.
“We shall replace it before his burial.” He had promised. “It’s purely ceremonial.”
He is pale, paler than he should ever be, in death. But his face is passive, smoothed of any worry. Her eyes commit every feature to memory, tracing over every inch. He has been cleaned up well, his largest wounds covered by bandages and hidden by clothes - but his face they could not hide.
All that is left is a minuscule scratch at the base of his chin and the edge of his brow.
She half expects him to blink.
He does not.
The choir continues as more rights are completed, but Zelda pays not a single attention to them - that is until Jarrin slips the Master Sword from his friends limp hands, folding his cold fingers around a broadsword instead, and presents her the holy weapon wrapped in cloth.
Numbly, she takes it. It’s weight heavier than she remembers. She holds it tightly across her chest as she watches the high priestess read her final blessing, and Impa steps up to the pedestal to mark his forehead with the symbol of the Sheikah.
“In honor.” Zelda hears her whisper.
“For your country...” a line.
“For your Queen...” a rounded edge.
“For your heir...” a dot.
Zelda cradles the growing curve of her stomach, and breathes.
7 notes
·
View notes
cw: torture (physical/emotional)
The sensation of being asleep and awake at the same time overwhelmed her in the middle of her slumber state, she couldn't see anything, wasn't dead either, she knew that the world around her was still present, she just couldn't recognize it. Her eyes opened slowly, adapting to the environment, it seemed that she was under the night sky, she could not see anything. Her eyes needed to get used to the darkness, to the humidity of the place, to the lack of sounds, to everything.
Felt no pain in her neck this time, not now at least, but she did feel pressure around it, she moved her hands slightly and couldn't move them individually, she had to move them together at the same time. Her sight suddenly became clearer with the illumination from a light bulb over her head, she tried to cover her face and heard a metallic sound, there was something around her wrists, they were chains.
"She's awake." She managed to hear even though she couldn't quite make out who was speaking, it was a female voice, listened to it approaching her, she was watching her closely and bent down to be closer to Frost. "Looks like the anesthesia just wore off."
"..." She was watching her too, her features were strangely familiar as if she had seen her before, long ago. Her dark eyes, the shape of her nose, her voice, it was like seeing a ghost for the first time in a deceased acquaintance. "... Mom?"
She didn't hear an answer to her question, but that woman didn't look at her with kind eyes, quite the opposite, there was sadness in them. "Sit down." She ordered her without caring much if she could or not, it was an order, intrigue drove Frost to obey her word. "No, I'm not your mother, she's dead, instead, I'm her sister Rosemary, Dahlia's older sister, didn't she ever tell you about me?" Talking about Dahlia was like removing a dead body from an empty grave, it generated great remorse just remembering her death, everything that had happened with her, but FRostdidn't remember that at some point Dahlia mentioned any member of her family.
"No... she never did."
"...How disappointing, but I imagined it."
She fixed her gaze on her, Rose reminded Frost a lot of her mother but as if she might have lived a few more years, she died young, and even though it had been almost six years since she died, she could still remember what she looked like, however much of a memory shrouded in a sad haze. Noticed that they weren't alone in the room, there was someone else, behind Rose was a young man, she couldn't fully see his face, as he was leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest.
"... where... where am I?"
Rose turned away from Frost, taking steps back, there was only disapproval on her face, she knew all too well the discontent of hearing that her sister had never mentioned her. Well, now that she thought about it better, Frost couldn't remember any mention of her other family, her blood relatives, or acquaintances. Dahlia was very secretive, but remembering her in detail was causing her a great shock of emotions, it was taking her by surprise, all her effort to forget her was colliding with every attempt to remember what her life was like before everything.
"You were born in this house, just like your mother, it belonged to your grandparents, and now me and my son Shawn own what's left of the heritage, what's left of the Gladwyn's. My parents upon learning that Dahlia was going to have a bastard child decided to banish her from the house, she had broken one of the many family traditions-"
"Blah blah, I don't care, tell me why the hell I'm here!" Frost suddenly interrupted Rose no matter how she watched her, neither how the figure behind her was going to react, maybe that was her son.
Rose sighed in exasperation before continuing, that impatient manner, what little she could remember of her sister was almost perfectly portrayed in her daughter, almost down to the tone of voice. It was amazing how much like her she was, except for the ghostly tone of her skin and hair, at the same time as her icy colored eyes that seemed to rummage through her head until they reached her soul, the coldness she emanated was to be expected, both she and her son got used to it. They knew what awaited them.
"You want to know why you're here? Well, I'll start simple: I've been looking for you for years, Frost, I was sure my sister's daughter would know about her disappearance, and when Shawn found you he started spying on you, following your footsteps, always on the lookout, remember the guy whose head exploded in front of you while you were talking? That was my son." The image of such a memory hadn't quite left her head, it was still fresh to reminisce whenever she wanted. "But I always knew you wouldn't come to me the easy way, so I had to opt for the hard way."
Something clicked again in Frost's head, she was doing her best to think of a plan to escape but they could shoot her with a tranquilizer again if they wanted to, as many times as they felt like it.
"You were the one who put a bounty on my head?"
"It was easy, but I have two choices for you: either you die, or I take away your powers, still, neither knows what the outcome will be in the end, your biology is subtly different from humans, your body reacts differently to certain chemicals, who knows to what extent I'm saving you or killing you, one way or the other, I know you were the one who killed my sister, how else could it be explained?"
Had it been an accident in self-defense or a purposeful action? She never sat still thinking about the latter possibility, Dahlia had died wrapped in a sheet of ice, she was only 12 years old at the time but it impressed her how her instinct had reacted. Some time ago her mother had become hostile, maybe Rose was going to be much worse.
"It was an accident." Frost stated as she gazed at the ground, she had no desire to look back at her, maybe she was enjoying how her insides were twitching from the sudden jolt of memories.
"No Frost, none of that was an accident, my sister fucked with an aberration and look what she got in the end, you sure made her last days a living hell, I know what your anger is capable of, you destroy lives in your path without caring in the least, you took the lives of so many innocent people, I'm doing the world a favor, so what if you die in the end, do you think anyone will cry for you? In the end there will be no one left, all you do is destroy everything that others love!" It was either emotion or rage that was taking Rose's voice, she appeared to be someone so calm on the outside, inside she was a fury of flames and tears, her eyes had gone red, her son on the other hand did nothing in the meantime.
"I didn't mean to kill her, it was an accident." The memory itself was forcing its own way into surfacing in her mind, it was like a withered plant suddenly coming back to life.
She remembered almost everything, the reason for their argument had become a recurring one, for she hadn't set foot in the world beyond the door of the apartment in a long time, she had left school, she needed the fresh air and to talk to others, to be like just another girl. Dahlia saw nothing positive in letting her go out, the excuse was always the same: she shouldn't let others find her or see her, most people out there wouldn't understand why she looked like that, nor why sometimes ice crystals would accidentally emerge from her fingers, nor why the air around her was so cold. Her own mother painted her as not human at all, and she was right, she wasn't entirely, but Frost had had enough of spending a life locked up. The truth was that she had inherited her mother's anger, it was destructive anger, out of control, and the more they argued, the better way to silence it was to move to physical aggression. That night had been no exception, but it had ended differently.
"Things like this aren't by 'accident', think Frost, if you hadn't wanted to avoid it, don't you think she would alive by now? Look at what you are now, someone who kills for a living, your life is nothing but miserable, you're a danger to others, you killed almost 20 people in one night, you're probably being sought by the police right now, and who knows how many more people you killed, and all for what? You don't understand, but you're worth nothing in the end."
Suddenly, the chain tightened, she was tied to a cement post inside the basement, her eyes glowed with a ghostly light, her skin paler and from her mouth came only roars like a choleric dog. Frost couldn't reach her but she could try to freeze her, from the palm of her hands a sphere of ice was beginning to emerge.
"Shawn, the taser."
"Yes, ma."
The boy stepped out of the shadows only to taser Frost, her muscles suddenly paralyzed and she fell to the floor, needed to get used to this, is how they will control her. She heard Rose walk to the left and grab something from a metal table, she couldn't see what it was, but she immediately felt a prick in her arm, whatever it was, Frost instantly began to feel calmer and exhausted at the same time.
"It will be long months for you, if you don't die trying, you're lucky at last, you're with your family at least, don't you feel less lonely?"
Was it some kind of anesthesia? Again the world was behind a veil, she could barely feel Shawn arrange her position on the floor so that she was not face down, placing her on one of her sides. Their figure was a blur, she watched them walk away as she could hear the rustle of a wooden staircase. They were leaving her alone, when would they return? The ice in her hands retracted, felt it returning to her bones, didn't know exactly what she felt but it wasn't good.
It was going to be long months, Frost was both a lab mouse and a death row inmate, a very slow death. She would have to get used to the walls, the spacious basement, the echo of her breathing, but nothing beyond what she could feel and hear.
2 notes
·
View notes
A Legacy Begun (7)
gif made with screen recorder and gif converter
Chapter 7: Siege of Ilaro | Cal Kestis x Reader
Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.
Prompt/s in play: Anon prompt (in Chapter 1 link) & fic idea
Also posted in AO3
Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance
Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist
7 of ?
Cassidy went on with her childhood, being more concerned where her toy Binog had gone because her toy Bogling was lonely. There were times that she could wield the Force, only to fetch her toys, but on most days it didn’t happen—though it didn’t upset her, she simply continued on playing house with her stuffed animals that her mother had personally hand-sewn.
The little girl loved it outside, she would run across the grassy meadow of the hilltop while her red hair billowed in the sea breeze. The toy Binog and Bogling always kept her hands full, and they always accompanied her—aside from BD-1—when she goes to sightsee the ocean on one side and the city on the other.
“Bee-woop, trill!”
“BD!”
BD-1 led Cassidy towards a small of flowers that dotted the field, the child plucked one or two, and held them in her free hand while cradling both the Binog and Bogling in one arm. By force of habit, the little droid flashed his scanners at the ones still planted on the ground. He may not yet realize that Cassidy couldn’t understand droidspeak for now, he still happily relayed all his datascans to his little best friend.
“BD, Cassidy, be careful you two!” you called from the distance.
Cal held his head to the sky, the pristine white clouds have greyed and they loomed low above the sea.
“I think a storm’s about to pick up,”
“Maybe in a few,” you concurred.
You beckoned Cassidy and BD-1 to come inside, the girl scooped up the droid in her free arm, carrying him in the same fashion as her toys and waddled towards her mother.
The two of you watched her closely, with the same thought running in the back of your minds tirelessly. It has become a point that your top priority is her safety and having a normal childhood—something neither of you had, no thanks to the war and the Purge.
Cassidy continued to play inside the house, back to her imaginary world with BD. She surveyed the room in search of her Binog, she whimpered for a moment and then transitioned into a squeal.
“Mommy, look! It’s Nog!” She waved the toy Binog in front of you—whom she lovingly called “Nog”—hiding under the living room table.
“There he is! You finally found him,” you played along, taking the Bogling to her other hand. “There, Bog has his friend now.”
“BD, here,” the child waddled to the center space and the little droid scampered along.
They continued on with their game, BD-1 flashed a moving projection of the Nydak—that Cassidy personally hated at face value, even if she’s never seen it in person—and she started making a hero out of the toy Binog, fighting the hologram of the clawed beast that’s ravaging her little world.
Watching your daughter play and daydream away with her toys made your hearts aflutter. You and Cal fondly watched her show off her toys and the scenarios that she makes with them, of course, as parents you encouraged her and played along with her.
Your life as a family was only the beginning.
“I’ll just get back on fixing the speeder outside,”
“Okay,”
Cal stood up from his seat on the couch, took a few steps away but immediately turned around returning to you.
“Oop, I almost forgot,” he crawled on fours, landing mere inches away from you, only to close the narrow gap with a kiss; his lips brushed against you, secretly sucking your bottom lip and running his tongue into your mouth.
Cassidy was disturbed from her role-playing with her toy animals when Cal scooped her chubby face and ravaged her cheeks with his rough, itchy kisses.
“Itchy kisses!” Cal bellowed playfully.
“Agh, no itchy kisses!!” Cassidy squealed while trying to shield her cheeks from Cal’s beard in retaliation. She succeeded in pushing him away, but made up for it by kissing the less hairy part of her daddy’s face.
“I’ll see you two in a bit,”
Cal appeared out of the house, greeted by the distant tide crashing at the foot of the hilltops, the song of the gulls whistling through the cold, heavy breeze. The Kestis homestead had a full view of the capital city but they’re content in their little village.
The salty sea breeze entered his flaring nostrils, fresh air filled his lungs to the brim, he kept finding himself gazing at the thunderclouds in the horizon—but it wasn’t the weather that worried him, it was something else; he knew that you could feel it too, he sensed your uneasiness when the wind had picked up.
In a small shed where most of the Kestis family’s machinery, tech, and communications are, he busied himself in working on the speeder’s chassis sitting on his workbench. Fixing things like he used to in Bracca and after that always distracted him in a good way, it made him worry less and focus more on his objective at hand. Thunder muffled through the walls of the shed, it didn’t startle him but he was quickly reminded how easily loud noises scared Cassidy.
Meanwhile, back in the homestead, the same thunder caused Cassidy to jump in the middle of her playing. She shuffled towards her mother, toys in hand, and BD-1 comforted her by nestling against her leg.
“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s only rain,” you wrapped your arms around the toddler. Knowing and feeling safe, she continued bobbing and waving her toys in the air, unintentionally lifting her Bogling with the Force.
You rested your cheek against Cassidy’s head, stroking her curling locks while she plays and shows you her scenarios that she’s made up with her toys—to which you hum in a soft, affirmative tone as a reply and then she would continue.
This bothersome feeling distracted you, holding Cassidy close gave a sense of calm, but it persisted. Claps of thunder raged on, growing louder and louder as it loomed past the surf; Cal paused and dropped everything on the table, feeling and anticipating for something, expecting the unknown. Cassidy shrieked, startled by the last roar of the thunder—the loudest of all—and scurried deeper into your arms, burying her face into your bosom and tugging the flaps of your jacket to shroud her vision from the storm.
The communications in the shed flickered to life all of a sudden. The satellite picked up and relayed Cere’s transmission from the Mantis.
“Cal, come in. This is Cere from the Mantis,”
“I hear you, Cere,”
“We have a problem,”
It’s as though as anchor had been dropped to the pit of Cal’s stomach. He abandoned his mechanical work and darted uphill back to the cottage. In the middle of the path, four black silhouettes dotted the gray sky; the roaring of their engines’ throttle screeched to the hill, the denizens of the hillside village started pouring out of their homes, discovering the same silhouette cutting through the drizzle.
“What is that?!”
“Is it the Empire!?”
Murmurs and indistinct chatter of the onlookers filled the slope, their white noise mingling with the engine screeches and growing wrath of the storm.
“EVERYBODY, GATHER YOUR FAMILIES AND EVACUATE!!!” Cal bellowed and they immediately picked up the sense of urgency to follow. They scrambled back into their homes in a panic while Cal continued heading back to the cottage.
Stroking your daughter’s head to console her, you cooed to her repeatedly that it was okay; but fear suddenly washed over your being when a sharp, whistling noise followed the raspy screech of a ship engine. It wasn’t something natural.
You can recognize that sound anywhere.
Explosions from the distance rumbled across the land. Ion cannons from TIE Fighters have met their marks. Cal barges into the house, gasping for air as he supported himself leaning against the doorway.
“We have to go!”
In an instant, you sprang from the floor, snatched Cassidy into your arms and rushed to your bedroom. You settled her on the bed, kissing her forehead while she stares at her mother with round, confused eyes. It was fortunate that you had the foresight to pack a bag with your belongings, that way you’re able to spend less time in packing and more time in evacuating. Your lightsaber hilts rolled as you pulled open your drawers, you fished the weapons out of the container and clipped them to your belt.
“Mommy, scared…” Cassidy whimpered.
“It’s okay, honey…” you cupped her face and choked back tears. “It’s just rain.”
“Is everything ready?” Cal popped into the bedroom.
“Yes. Here,” you tossed him his saber. “It’s been a while. Hope you’re not rusty yet.”
Cal painted his signature smug in his face, the cold cylinder fought with the warmth of his palm, his fingers tightened around the hilt as he felt for the grooves and crevices of his sleeve’s design. He gave it a good spin in his hand for old time’s sake and then buckled it to the hook of his belt.
“Greez has the ship fired up, it won’t be long before—”
A cottage was reduced into stones, debris rained over the roof of the house; you urged your husband to move out now, both of your slung backpacks over your shoulders and burst out of your home for three years. You make for the door, cautiously checking if the coast is clear of TIE Fighters.
“The Mantis is in the clearing!” Cal cried. “Go, go, go!”
Holding Cassidy tight and close to you, Cal took the lead and made sure you stayed close. The tricky part was going downhill with a baby in tow while evading meter-long ion cannons from TIE Fighters. The wake of destruction could be seen from where you stand, but there was no time to gawk, you have to keep moving.
“Look, stragglers!” a Stormtrooper alerted.
The troops angled and faced your general direction, by a split second, the projectiles returned to them as Cal banked them away from his wife and daughter. The Kestis family ran towards the woods, striking down the soldiers that stood in their way and pulled the trigger on them.
“We’re close, come on!”
Just when the two of you thought you’re so close, you were proven otherwise when a horde of Stormtroopers and Purge Troopers appeared in the smokescreen of rain. The adversaries armored in black and red, waving the dual-ended electrostaffs in hand, marched forward—imposing the shadow of fear in the raging storm.
“Cal…” the cautionary tone in your voice lowed in your throat, your hand instinctively planted against the back of Cassidy’s swaddled head.
The enemy swarm closes in, Cal stands there frozen and you want to know what’s going on in his mind right now.
“Cal, I don’t think we can take them on,”
The dorsal fin of the Mantis pops out of the horizon, right behind the enemy line—just when they have you cornered, the ship obliterates them with a single release of the twin ion cannons. The Mantis orients itself sideways, the entry ramp unfolds with Cere standing on the other side.
“Get on board!” she cried.
You and Cassidy went first, you buckled your knees and sprang the balls of your feet off the air while embracing your baby tight enough, followed by Cal. The family staggered to the couch, finally affording the moments to catch their breaths. You pulled off the hood of the swaddle to check on Cassidy—she was uninjured but she’s still terrified from the sounds that she couldn’t comprehend.
“Captain, they’re here now!”
Greez didn’t reply, he was too busy prepping the ship for the jump to lightspeed. He cranked the lever and his beloved Mantis darted out of the atmosphere and into deep space, barely eluding the blockade of Star Destroyers.
“Well now, the Empire sure seems to have set their interests on Ilaro,” Cal dryly blurted.
“Had I cracked their transmitters soon enough before the storm interfered, I would’ve warned you sooner,”
“It’s fine, Cere, we’re all right now,” you sighed. “Where are we going? Cerinda?”
“Cerinda has been taken. The Empire has fanned out its fleets in the system and its neighbors. We’re in the middle of a widespread occupation,”
“I don’t suppose you have another place we can crash in now?” Cal chided.
You argued that if the Empire has gone as far as the Outer Rim, it doesn’t really matter now what region of the galaxy you flee to. Bogano may be an option, but it can’t be too obvious. Kashyyyk has peace right now, but only time will tell when the next attack on the planet will occur. Your heart sank as you settled Cassidy on the couch—she still found the comfort of her toys in her hands—while for every planet that you could recall and think of, a “what if” always followed. You decided to narrow down the list to the hopefully-least likely to be invaded by the Empire.
You uttered the name of the planet. Cal, Cere and Merrin turned to you, gawking at you slouched against the seat. You rummaged your backpack, fishing for something until you produced a lime-green holocron in your hands.
“I’ve inherited this holocron from my master a long time ago—this is the first time I’ve used it again after so many years,”
Using the Force to activate the holocron, the golden frame moved in a symmetrical pattern, exposing the crystalline artifact little by little. With the core finally revealed, a hologram recording of your late master fizzled into existence, her voice muffled from the resolution but still rang clear, her face blank as she was speaking to nothingness but delivering a message to many.
You listened intently at the small, figurine-sized projection of your master. One would assume that all these years, you would’ve forgotten her face or her full name; but you’re constantly reminded in more ways than one.
“This is Jedi Master Trianna Geddu. I have personally contained a list of planets that ranges as close as the Core Worlds to someplace as far as the Outer Rim. My purpose for such a list is to provide a safehaven for those in need. These are dark times—not only for the Jedi, but the Republic itself. I can only hope that as time passes after my time of recording this, those planets in the list have remained loyal to what is good and just.”
The projection dissolved and then another replaced it. The list appeared more of a map, stars scattered across the room, filling everyone’s eyes with its glitter—Cassidy was especially enamored by the celestial sight, she cooed and gasped in reaction, aimlessly pointing at the stars and planets in the air.
You stood up, searching the stars for a particular planet until you found a planet with three moons—two on the western hemisphere and one on the eastern—your finger hovered over the moon on the eastern hemisphere.
“I know this place,” Cal murmured, peering over the projection while it rotated—as if it was the real thing—and then the memories were beginning to squirm in his head, he calms himself down to meditate on them.
Images flashed one by one, a few have no particular correlation with one another, but they all transpired within the same place.
“This moon, Zera III, I’ve been here before,” the spherical hologram hovered over the palm of his hand.
“What’s in there, Cal?” you queried.
“A temple, but it wasn’t Jedi. It’s practically desolate,” he concentrated again. “A delta, a mangrove… it’s a forest. Yes, I know that. It’s warm… and… familiar.”
His eyes blinked open, finding himself the target of the stares of the Mantis crew—including his own daughter—you and Cere exchanged glances. You gawked at the moon floating in the space of the ship, you surveyed the rest of the map until you conferred with the crew.
“So, Zera III?” you conferred, bobbing your head to the side.
It feels like you have gone full circle—and a sudden wash of déjà vu.
You were all practically in the same predicament three years ago—conversing with gaping stares, suggestive eyes, and smug smirks, the only difference is that the holocron isn’t destroyed and that you and Cal have a baby.
The Mantis makes way for the moon Zera III.
50 notes
·
View notes
Can you imagine Loki doing chores and like miserably failing? Like white clothes turn pink and he breaks like 500 dishes 😂😂😂
DAY 5 OF LOKI VS. EARTH: CHORES
Day 5 of the quarantine series and today I did something a little different. Inspired by the ask above I decided to not write Loki as pissed off but as smug.
One shot summary: Loki is asked to clean up after himself for the first time and he thinks he is doing a great job! Valkyrie does not agree.
Author’s note: I started something called the quarantine series as a way to help others get through this tough time. To join in just write a one shot and tag it with #quarantine series. Also if you do join in please message me so I can see it :)
Since the destruction of Asgard, Loki and the remaining Asgardians lived on Earth. They lived in Norway where it was rainy and cold. Loki loved it.
Loki would walk up and down the pier greeting all those he saw. Everything about New Asgard was perfect for him. The weather was cold. The people were nice. The new food was delicious. The only thing that Loki didn’t like is all the responsibilities Valkyrie had placed upon him when she became the new king.
It’s not like it was hard or burdensome. He just didn’t want to do it. Valkyrie gave him the duty of watching over the people and keeping them out of trouble. That was the exact opposite of Loki. Well the old Loki. Loki was tryna to be a better person who actually was respected by his community. So with plenty of whining he spent all day every day watching and protecting the people.
There wasn’t much to watch since most of them spent their day fishing, weaving, or conversing with others. On days like this Loki (making sure no one was watching him) would take off his shoes, and dangle his feet into the icy water.
Today just so happened to be one of those days; so Loki was on the pier with a book and his bare pasty feet just kicking the water. He would be embarrassed if someone was to find him like this but at this time of day everyone was busy in their homes. So he allowed himself a little bit of relaxation and would occasionally scoop down to splash the water. Loki loved the way it chilled his skin and relaxed his blood.
Before leaving his room Loki hadn’t listen to Thor’s advice to not stay out long cause there was a big storm coming. He had just ran out like his Asgardian ass was on fire. So when the first raindrop touched his skin Loki was pissed. He gathered up his shoes and ran home to avoid the down pour that was sure to come. His feet sliding in mud puddles as he went. By the time he reached the home he shared with Thor and Valkyrie he had mud clear up to his knees. He was like a wet dog.
He walked in and his feet left little black imprints across the linoleum flooring. He sat his shoes down by the door and immediately went to the sink to wash his hands that were now also covered in mud. The brown water splashing over the dishes that were in the sink. After he was done he stripped his wet muddy clothes off and threw them into the laundry room. Someone would clean up after him. They always did. Not caring that he left a huge mess in his arrival Loki retired to his bed to take a much needed nap. It was tiring to be a good person.
“LOKI ODINSON. GET YOUR JOTUN ASS IN HERE.”
Loki immediately woke up from his nap. Damn it Valkyrie. She knew that he didn’t sleep well at night and always came home for a afternoon siesta. How dare she disrupt it. This better me good Loki thought to himself.
Loki quickly slid on a pair of pants and a black shirt and made his way into the kitchen. There waiting for him was a very pissed off Valkyrie.
“So I am not sure if you think there’s a maid coming in, but there’s not. There is mud on the floor, the dishes, and the laundry. And you just left it there.” Valkyrie stood there with her arms crossed. He would never admit it but Valkyrie mad was a little intimidating.
“Val.”
“Don’t Val me. Thor and I have been cleaning up after you since we moved here. It’s one thing to wash your three pairs of black clothes but it’s another when you act like a pig.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Loki said. He didn’t get what the big deal was but knew it was best to just try to make her less angry.
“You’re right you won’t because today you will be not the god of mischief but the god of cleaning. So get a pair of gloves cause it’s about to get dirty.”
Val left after briefly describing how she normally cleaned everything. She of course left him with a list of things to clean. She said she would return in awhile to check in on him and he had better be finished. Never in his life had he had to perform such belittling tasks. He was a god. He should not have to tidy up anything. Valkyrie was his king and he would respect her orders. So he slid on the pink rubber gloves she had left him and stared at the mess before him.
Loki thought these tasks would be easy but they were far from it.
First up was laundry and he couldn’t tell the difference between the soap and the softener. They looked the same to him. He had no clue how much to put in or how much clothes went in one load. Loki assumed it was as easy as just add soap, add water, add clothes, and then bam clean. With that mindset he stuck in 2 cups of each liquid and toss all the clothes in the hamper in the water. He closed the lid and mentally checked it off his list.
Next, he was to mop the entrance and the kitchen of the brown mud foot prints he had left. The mop was soaking wet and he had no clue how splashing water all over the floor, circling it with a cloth was going to make anything clean. He tried to ring out the mop but is uncoordinated spoiled ass kept hitting himself in the face with the end each time. He grew so tired that he dumped the whole mop bucket across the floor and said fuck it. It would dry and when it did it better be rid of mud or he would set the mop and bucket on fire.
To the dishes which he assumed would be the easiest. He filled the sink with water and began to scrub at the plates and cups. The whole issue was that they had been sitting in the sink for hours so the mud was dry and hard. So he struggled to return the dishes back to their white state. He was a god and surely he could buy new dishes so if he couldn’t get it off he just threw them in the trash. It made his job extremely easy because when he was done they were left with one plate, one bowl, one cup, and a handful of spoons. Everything else was broken in the trash.
He assume he was done and believed he did a good job. As he was drying the remaining dishes Valkyrie arrived back home. She walked in and was immediately disappointed. She saw the dishes that laid shattered in the trash and the puddle of water that formed around the sink.
She reached in to the trash to pick up the remains of her favorite coffee cup.
“Loki, you can’t just break everything when you can’t figure it out.”
“What do you mean? Of course I can. See?” Loki slammed the one remaining plate to the ground. The shards now floating in the water.
“Problem? No more!”
“LOKI.”
“I don’t know why you’re so mad. You’ll never have to do dishes again. We will just eat out.”
“No. Loki. What about the floor? It’s soaked and ruined.”
“Okay well let’s throw down some sea salt and act like it’s the beach. I do love me some fun.”
“Loki you are so..” Valkyrie never finished her sentence because at once there was a loud commotion coming from the laundry room.
“LOKI WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“The laundry. Like you asked.”
Soapy water came pouring underneath the door. The water now mixing with the muddy water.
“Hey! At least the floor will be clean.” Loki said. It was true. The soap would rid the mud from the floor. The way he winged everything and yet it was going so smoothly for him. No dishes, a clean floor, and laundry was done. Good job Loki.
Valkyrie slowly opened the door and screamed. The washer was overflowing with water and soap. She quickly ran to turn the water off. Loki stepped through the water to see if the clothes were at least clean. Much to his surprise they were clean and now pink! Wow the magic of this machine!
Valkyrie came up behind him to discover the state of the clothes. She sighed.
“Loki did you not sort the clothes? Like I said specifically said to.”
“I did. I sorted the clothes from the hamper.”
“You turned them pink. You broke the washer. You broke all our dishes. You ruined the floor. Loki, you are to never do chores again.”
“I would rather burn this whole house down than touch another plate.”
“Well because of you that won’t be a problem. “ Valkyrie walked off. She would spend the rest of the day calling maintenance and repair shops to come fix the mess Loki had made.
“You’re welcome.” Loki smirked. He was proud of himself. He didn’t want to clean and yet he did such a great job. Such a great job she never wanted him to do it again. He considered that a win. He would be more considerate in the future but damn no one can solve the dishes like he can. Valkyrie is probably just mad that she didn’t think of the idea of breaking all the dishes.
27 notes
·
View notes
Aight here’s Whumptober Day 25
Diego hauled himself up the steps to- it didn’t feel right to call it his, and certainly not a home- the house by the railing. His hand slipped on the metal for a moment due to the blood coating it. He had gone out for a sunrise run and while it had been stunning and invigorating, halfway back some kid had jumped out to mug him and never got to the mugging part; he had gotten too nervous and ended up stabbing Diego and running without actually taking any money. And so Diego was left to struggle his way back home with a burning hole in his side, in the middle of October.
When he made it up the steps he paused at the door for a moment, panting slightly. What was he going to tell his family? He had on a black shirt and jacket, so that covered up the blood. If anyone asked he could say that it was water. He would go straight to the bathroom on pretense of taking a shower, and deal with his stab wound there. He took a deep breath and opened the door carefully, glancing around before entering and closing it behind him again.
“Diego! How was you run?” Allison called out, jumping up from her game of checkers with Five in the living room. Five watched her go, clearly annoyed. Diego hurried to reach the stairs before Allison got to him, but he stopped with a grunt as his wound pulled. He was so busy trying to avoid Allison that he didn’t notice Five peering around from the checkers table.
“You okay?” She asked, noting his hunched posture with some concern flickering across her face. He straightened himself, suppressing a cry as his wound screamed at the moment.
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he finally got out. Allison raised an eyebrow and he scrambled for an elaboration. “I- I just got, uh, I just got a cramp while running.” He flashed a sheepish smile that was more of a grimace. He was almost alarmed by how easy it was to lie to her. It worked, and Allison rolled her eyes with a laugh.
“Next time maybe lose the jacket when you get going,” she suggested. He nodded, his head protesting with a bout of lightheadedness. The thought of blood loss suddenly struck him and a flash of panic did as well.
“Yeah, good idea. I’m just gonna head to the shower now,” he declared. He almost gestured with his hands but caught himself at the last second, remembering that his hands were covered in blood and boy would that raise a few questions.
“Come down when you’re done, we need to vote on a movie to watch!” She reminded as she headed back to her game with Five. The gnawing pain in his side grew as soon as she was gone and he hunched over, gritting his teeth so hard he thought he might crack one. He had to get upstairs- no one would bother him upstairs. He could turn on the shower and collapse on the ground and no one would care.
The stairs were an ordeal to say the least. Somehow Diego managed to not run into any of his siblings on the way up, and for that at least he was grateful. It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to them, it was just that he could take care of himself and it was stupid to make them look at him with their stupid wide eyes of worry and love that made him feel uncomfortably warm inside at the thought that someone cared- the blood loss was definitely messing with his brain. He finally, somehow, against all odds, made it to the bathroom. He felt the way he did when he had his first drink- a bit woozy, but still in control of his surroundings. In all honesty, he was beginning to be scared about the blood loss. He didn’t exactly want to bleed out on the bathroom floor alone, and have to be stuck with Klaus for eternity.
He closed the bathroom door, fumbled with the lock and grabbed some gauze and tape from the cabinet. He managed to smear blood everywhere, but at the moment the throbbing hole in his side seemed more important at the moment. A familiar burst of light, accompanied by Five, appeared behind him, making Diego jump and knock the bandages off the counter. He managed to strain his wound in the process and he doubled over with a shout of pain.
“Jesus, Diego,” Five muttered, picking up the bandages and pulling Diego’s hand off of the wound to see it better, half supporting his weight in the process. Diego wrenched his arm away abruptly, snatching the bandages back and slamming them on the counter a bit harshly.
“What the actual fuck?” He snapped hoarsely, “what if I was peeing?” Five shrugged, stepping back and leaning against the wall.
“You’re not,” he said casually as if that made the invasion of privacy any better. Diego groaned, half from pain and half from frustration. Five glanced at the wound and back to Diego with a raised eyebrow.
“‘I’m fine’, huh?” He commented. Diego swallowed thickly, his wound stretching and burning with each ragged breath.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” was the only thing he could think to say. He mentally slapped himself as he saw Five’s eyebrows go up in the mirror.
“Well, it looks like a stab wound to me, Diego,” his younger- older? brother said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Diego sighed, turning on the faucet.
“...okay, so then this is exactly what it looks like then,” he admitted begrudgingly. He fumbled with a towel, trying to wet it so that he could clean the dripping hole in his side, but only succeeding in dropping it with a curse. Five put a hand out to stop him as he tried to lean over and get it, picking it up and handing it to him without a word. Diego took it with a glare, running it under the water and trying to avoid meeting Five’s eyes in the mirror as his brother watched him like a hawk.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Allison asked you if you were okay,” Five berated. He tried to keep his voice neutral and uncaring, but Diego caught the wager that his voice did when trying to cover up how upset he was.
“Is that- ah-” Diego hissed as he pressed the cloth to his side. “Is that why you’re here? Did Allison send you?” Diego was fully aware of how paranoid he sounded, but in truth he was in too much pain to really care. Five gave him a pointed look.
“Allison doesn’t know because she’s naïve enough to trust you to tell her the truth when you look like you’re hurt.”
“What, and you don’t trust me?” Diego asked, half-joking. Five rolled his eyes.
“I know that you’re a self-destructive dumbass who wouldn’t ask for help if you broke every bone in your body.”
“And you’re a little bitch,” Diego retorted. Five smirked, as if he has been waiting for Diego to say exactly that.
“You know what- just for that, why don’t I go see what Allison thinks of all this?”
“No, wait-” Five disappeared with a shit eating grin and a mocking wave. “Five, you little shit! Come back here!” He yelled, charging out of the bathroom. Five was standing halfway down the stairs and appeared by the door to the living room a moment later. Diego stumbled down the stairs, determined to catch the teleporting son of a bitch before he could get to the rest of their siblings. He barged into the living room and was met with four gasps and a familiar grin and of fucking course he would lead him here what did he expect-
“Dude, is that blood?” Klaus asked from where he and Luther were playing chess. Diego glanced down at the bloodstained towel pressed against his side and back up again.
“No,” he decided, and turned to bolt out of the room. He slammed into Five, falling to the ground heavily, gritting his teeth with a grunt as his side exploded in pain. Five, to his credit, helped Diego up again.
“This is real mature of you,” he hissed once he had gotten his footing again, gesturing with the towel as his head swam.
“Did you get stabbed?” Allison yelped. Diego groaned, realizing his mistake. Five gave him a small push and he stumbled to the middle of the room. Allison was immediately at his side, trying to inspect the wound, but he scowled and batted her away, covering it with the towel again.
“That doesn’t look good,” Vanya said softly from her chair, abandoning interest in The Hobbit. He moved his scowl to her and she met his scowl with a steady gaze of her own, her eyes flashing white for a moment and the towel was thrown from his hand to a few feet away on the floor. He scrambled for it and replaced it quickly.
“She’s right, you’re bleeding all over the place. What happened?” Luther added. His eyes were doing that thing where they went big and looked like a concerned puppy and Diego hated it.
“I’m fine,” Diego snapped, avoiding the question.
“Oh, really? You’re fine?” Allison asked, her voice going a tone higher as she stared him down, “because last time you told me that, I find out later that you’ve been stabbed.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Klaus murmured as he and Luther returned to the chess game and Vanya began fiddling with her book. Diego glanced at Five, who just grinned back at him innocently.
“I mean, can we really call it stabbed?” Diego tried defending himself, backing up a bit as Allison advanced, “it’s not like-”
“I don’t care about technicalities!” She snapped, “the point is you were hurt and you lied to me!”
“It’s not like I was purposefully withholding information, I just didn’t tell you.” His siblings subtly gave him strange looks and he realized that his sentence probably didn’t make as much sense as it did in his head, but his head was too disoriented and felt too stuffed of cotton at the moment.
“Why didn’t you come to us?” Allison yelled, waving her arms angrily, “I mean honestly, sometimes you-” her rant faded away as Diego opened his mouth to try defend himself again, but closed it after a moment. Why didn’t he? He frowned to himself in confusion.
He could have gone to them...
For some reason that idea was delightfully alluring and terribly frightening at the same time.
“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Allison snapped in annoyance, waving a hand in front of his face. He jumped, but it was a bit delayed. The slowness of his reaction time concerned him a bit.
“Yeah, sorry, it’s just-” his brow creased again as he continued to try and wrap his head around the epiphany. Five groaned, leaning against the wall and tossing a random paperweight up in a nonchalant manner.
“It’s just what? Spit it out, Diego.”
“I- I could have gone to you guys...” It was almost a whisper and equal parts a question.
The room froze. Allison’s hand flew to her mouth, Five stopped tossing the paperweight and looked up slowly, his apathetic front gone as he fixed Diego with a sad, almost soft look. Vanya put her book down and half stood up, and Klaus and Luther abandoned interest in their chess game, Luther halfway to putting a piece down as they all stared in shock.
“Of course you could have,” Allison said quietly after a minute. Her voice was gentler, but still distressed- a different kind of distressed that made Diego feel guilty. He nodded absentmindedly, his head reeling. In all of his years he had never considered that to be an option- he had never felt they would care, he didn’t want them to care, it was easier for him to hurt when they didn’t- was it his head reeling or was it the room?
“Are you okay?” He heard someone- was it Vanya?- ask. He tried to answer her, but suddenly found that his mouth seemed to stick to itself. The room yanked his feet out from under him and there was a burst of light with an all too familiar sound and he was on the ground with someone supporting half of him, saying “alright well let’s not all forget he’s been stabbed,” and something that sounded like his name was being yelled as the colors around him dulled to a black and he felt a numbness start to spread and damn a nap sounded good about now.
3 notes
·
View notes
Different Characters meeting my OC Syan Part 2
See Part 1 here: https://skyrimaddiction.tumblr.com/post/613971069135716352/different-characters-meeting-my-oc-syan-part-1
Part 3: https://skyrimaddiction.tumblr.com/post/615307555752771584/different-characters-meeting-my-oc-syan-part-3
Kodlak: He was in the basement of Jorrvaskr listening to Vilkas talk of his struggles with the beastblood, when he heard the door open. A new scent filled the air, and Vilkas and him both silenced their conversation so that the newcomer wouldn’t overhear them. They both turned to look at the newcomer. Kodlak instantly recognized her. He was filled with surprise, and then joy, trust, and familiarity. It was a woman, and not just any woman, but the woman from his dreams that will stand beside him in the afterlife and fight Lord Hircine to save the other trapped souls from his hunting grounds. He knew her as a trustworthy and formidable ally. One he called friend, and he knew he could trust the future of the Companions with. He would name her Harbinger when the time was right. The red-headed high elf approached him and they spoke for the first time. Kodlak knew that she would still have to prove herself to the others and gain their respect and trust. He asked Vilkas to test her skills in the yard. Vilkas begrudgingly agreed and lead her towards the yard. Kodlak watched as they walked away, and he smiled to himself contently. He was glad that she had finally arrived. He knew she had arrived in Whiterun a few nights ago, as everyone kept re-telling the story of how she leaped onto a Giant’s back and blinded it with daggers. He knew Farkas was fond of her, Aela was impressed by her, Skjor had no opinion yet, and Vilkas didn’t believe the tale. None the less, she was already making waves in Jorrvaskr. Kodlak might not know how things will turn out during her time in with The Companions, but he knew the end result. The friendship and trust he had for Syan might only exist now in his dreams, but he knew in time they would come to fruition.
Brynjolf: He got word from one of the guards that a newcomer had seen right through the visitor's tax scheme at the front gate. Most people didn’t bother to even question it and just paid. Odd that a newcomer saw it right off the bat. He wanted to see just who this person was. He knows every face that resides in and around Riften, and he laid eyes on her right away. It’s a woman, a red-head like him, except she is an Elf, an Altmer. Her long red hair flowed gracefully in the gentle breeze. The fall color foliage only amplified her beauty. He noticed right away from her armor and weapons that she too, must get by on less than honorable means. Scavenging and looting most likely. He approached her and mentioned how she’s never earned all that coin doing honest work. She only raised an eyebrow at him, looked him up and down, and said: “Alright, what am I doing and how much are you paying?” She was sharp this one. He told her the plan to steal a ring from Madesi’s StrongBox and plant it inside Brand-Shei’s pocket. He drew everyone’s attention in the market, and as soon as the crowd gathered, he lost eyes on her. He had never lost eyes on anyone before, this surprised him, and also confirmed that she was exactly the fresh blood the guild needed. Not even two minutes pass by, and she’s in his eyesight near Brand-Shei, giving him the signal that the job was done. Impressive, and nothing went wrong. He mentioned that there was more work and coin for her if she was interested. She said, “You’re with the Guild.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. This lass was proving to be quite something else. “Yes lass, if you are interested in joining, make your way down to the Ragged Flagon.” She nodded and walked away, heading to all the vendors to sell all her looted goods. She had all the male merchants wrapped around her fingers, and all the women envied her. When she talked to Grelka, she was a hard bargainer, squeezing out every Septim she could. This lass was going places. good places. He knew he needed her in the Guild, and maybe, just maybe, she will help them turn things around and get them back up on their feet again.
Ancano: He had heard that a new student had arrived at the college, and he made it his business to see to it that he learned as much about her as possible. When he saw the high-elf woman for the first time, he was suspicious. The Thalmor keep track on every high-elf in Skyrim, and he was not notified of any high-elfs being sent to or heading towards the college. Mirabelle was giving her the tour, and Ancano trailed behind them at a distance, eavesdropping on them. Apparently, she had come to learn more about destruction magic. He could sense an air of danger around her, and he knew that he must keep a watchful eye on her. He continued to trail her, as she had her first class with Tolfdir. He asked her to wield a ward spell to block his magic attack. She claimed she had never used a ward spell before, but her instant mastery of the spell was astounding. Ancano only grew more suspicious. Either she was lying, or she had great magical instincts. If that was the case, he would need to be very wary of her. Ancano considered himself to be the most powerful mage in the college, and any new threat he must address swiftly and discreetly. He knew she was dangerous. The class was dismissed and told to meet up at the old ruins of Saarthal. He stepped in her path, blocking her from leaving. “Pardon my intrusion, I am Ancano, the Thalmor Advisor here at the college. It is my business to know everyone and everything relating to this college, yet I know nothing of you, please state your business here so that I may get back to my work.” Syan’s eyes met his, and he could sense the seething hatred for him, and a creeping sense of dread drenched through his bones and into his core. He stilled with fear. Syan replied, “Who I am and my business here is none of your concern, not get out of my way, or I will make you.” Her threat was laced with so much venom, Ancano felt his throat close up, and he couldn’t speak a single word., let alone breath. He quickly side-stepped out of her way, and watched as she walked away, throwing a menacing glare over her shoulder back at him. He finally was able to breathe once the college doors closed behind her. That woman would be the death of him. He knew it, so he had to make sure he disposed of her before she came after him. This woman was more dangerous than anyone knew, and Ancano knew that most would not be able to see it. Dread filled his body once more. This was not going to end well.
Astrid: She was pissed to find out that someone had stolen a contract that should have been the Dark brotherhood���s. Someone got to the old crone at the Riften Orphanage before they did. Whoever this person was Astrid was dead serious about finding out. She spoke with all her contacts in Riften, yet no one knew a damn thing. She finally had to speak with the children of the Orphanage as a last resort. She had slipped a sleeping potion into the other worker’s drink, so she slept soundly. The children all sat in their beds, with looks of fear and uncertainty on their faces. Astrid pulled up a chair. “Do not be alarmed, I am only here to see if you are happy with our…..services.” She said calmly. The children eased and nodded enthusiastically. They all took turns replying “She was the best!” “She slit Grelad’s throat and blood was everywhere!” “We miss the pretty elf lady! I wish my hair was red like hers!” “Her eyes were pretty too, like sunshine!” Astrid had enough information to go on by her appearance at least, but now it was time to figure out who and where she was. Alas, the children didn’t know, so she had to continue gathering information elsewhere. She spent weeks contacting all her sources trying to get any information about her. Ironically, the information she already had, from a few previous contracts, and a new contract that came in. A few people had already placed contracts for Syan’s death, and Astrid had sent out new recruits to take care of her, except the assassins failed and were killed by this woman. The Thalmor then approached Astrid as a last resort, as their previous attempts to kill her were unsuccessful, so they were willing to pay to have someone else deal with her. That contract too had failed. When Astrid realized that the few failed contracts she had were all for the same woman, she was able to piece the puzzle together. The woman was a red-haired high elf by the name of Syan. She had a primary residence in Whiterun, and was with The Companions, Thieves Guild, and the College. She was rarely in one place for any length of time. Constantly wandering about Skyrim on various missions and jobs. You would think that someone who was deeply involved in various parts of Skyrim would be easy to find and track down, but it made it increasingly more difficult. Astrid would need an exact itinerary of all the jobs this woman was on, and try to best guess when and where she would be, which was impossible. Astrid bribed one of Whiterun’s guards to send her letter by horse once Syan had returned to Whiterun. This would at least give her a few hours to be able to dispose of her. Finally one day a courier on horseback arrived with a letter for Astrid, it was from the guard in Whiterun. Syan had returned. Astrid immediately set off on Shadowmere towards Whiterun, pushing Shadowmere to run as fast as she could. Astrid arrived a few hours after nightfall. The guard told her that Syan was still in town, and was currently in her house. Astrid snuck in and slowly made her way up to Syan’s bedroom. At this point, Astrid needed to and wanted to slaughter her, the brotherhood was already in bad shape, and these several failed contracts were only making matters worse. She crept closer and closer to Syan’s bed until she was right at the foot of it. Syan appeared to be sleeping soundly. Astrid drew her dagger when a swift kick sent her flying backward. Astrid clumsily fell into the table and chair in the corner of the room. Syan rose from the bed, wielding two daggers. “Only a coward strikes when one sleeps.” She said venomously. She then lunged at Astrid, delivering swift kicks and slashes. Astrid barely managed to block her attacks and was losing ground quickly. Syan moved in a way Astrid had never seen before. Astrid grabbed her dagger and began to counter-attack, only to miss as Syan dodged her swings effortlessly. Syan grabbed one of the rafters in the ceiling and swung a fierce kick into Astrid, who went stumbling down the stairs and onto the kitchen floor. Syan swiftly landed in a crouch on top of Astrid and brought the twin daggers to Astrid’s throat. “Who sent you?” Syan inquired fiercely. Astrid laughed, “Who hasn’t? I’ve had multiple contracts placed on your head, and you’ve killed every one of the assassins I sent after you. Most impressive. However, you stole a contract that was rightfully ours, and we do not tolerate that. So, you owe us a contract, a life for a life. I have three individuals in an abandoned shack in the swamps outside of Morthal. There is a contract for one of them. You have to guess which.” Syan’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I would even consider that?!” Astrid raised an eyebrow, “Because you would have already sliced my throat open if you had no intention of listening to what I had to say. Perhaps, you would like to join us, get your hands a little….bloody yourself. Earn some gold, settle a few vendettas. All in the name of Sithis and the Dark Brotherhood. Interested?” Syan slowly lowered her daggers before sheathing them. “It would help to know who wants me dead so that I can except more threats from them in the future.” She said. Astrid replied, “If you were a part of the brotherhood, these contracts would be null and void, and no one would dare put a contract on your head again.” Syan contemplated before agreeing to meet Astrid at the abandoned shack. Astrid left swiftly and returned to the sanctuary. Syan was dangerous, very dangerous. No one had EVER gotten the drop on Astrid before. Astrid would have to tread carefully, who knows what this woman could do, as the saying goes, keep your friends close, your enemies closer.
24 notes
·
View notes
Eremika Fanfic: Remember Me!?
(Previous Chapters)
Chapter - 1
Chapter - 2
Chapter: 3
Eli peeps through the door of his house which was kept slightly ajar...
He scans around the house with his big green eyes trying to spot someone particular...
The house looks almost empty while Eli hears whistle coming from kitchen side...
His Mom must be up there cooking something....Eli sighs in relief thinking he wont be needing to face her at the moment.
Just when his breath got caught as he feels two hand on his shoulder from the back....
Eli hears the sarcastic tone from back “ Woww....Eli....Whom are you searching?”
Eli swiftly turns around as he jumps back letting the door open completely while being already inside the house....
Eli grins nervously as he stares at the person standing infront of him now “ Errm....Nothing...I Just....Hahaha(nervous laughter)....You Scared Me Mom”
Mikasa raising her one brow as she stands while folding her hands “ Oh Really! Eli is scared....of ME? I See....Thats really something astonishing....”
Mikasa lets out a cuckle while watching Eli staring at her widely still confused on something....
Eli giggles awkwardly- Ah Very Funny Mom! Errmmm I go & change my clothes....
Eli quickly turns around & was about to leave when Mikasa calls him out “ Wait....Ermmm did you come home a bit early today?”
Eli stiffens as he started shaking a bit but controls as he says hesitantly “ No...ermmm...The school....I...actually....our class ended early today...nothing else mom...I better go change my clothes”
Before Mikasa could reply Eli ran upstairs to his room....
While Mikasa kept on wondering all confused “ Why does it feel like...Eli is being tensed or worried due to something!”
As soon as the thought strikes her...Mikasa ‘s protective instinct immediately activated...as Mikasa frowns “ Is he hiding something from me!”
**********
Eli closes the door behind him quickly as he starts to take deep breaths. He gulps hard as he started to feel all nervous....he never really lies to his mom & has always been honest with her.
But today....he had to lie....or else his mom would be super upset with him knowing he didnt attend school today instead ran away even bit far due to his over flowing emotions! And he hates to make his mom upset....if his mom gets to know the truth not only she will be upset, she will be mad at him too for running away like this....!
Eli could feel himself shaking slightly as he slides down the door and sits on floor...
What's happening to him! Why was he feeling scared all of sudden!
All of sudden flashes of those pair of deep green eyes came to his mind...
Eli gasps....that man....he followed him all the way....to give him his water bottle! But How come he didnt notice him back then in that barren destructed area....
Eli remembers that silhouette hovering over him from behind....Was that...that guy?
But....he didnt saw anyone there! Eli could feel a gush of fear running through his veins...
He never felt this much scared in his life....it wasnt only fear....but it is something else which is haunting....him!
Was he scared of those two men who almost bullied him & he was about to hit them back! No....he has started fight & opposed many....but he never felt such ever! He isnt afraid of anyone....
Eli tries to calm his breathing to make his mind stable....
If he keeps on shaking like this & be nervous all time....his mom would surely caught his lie perfectly!
Nor that he ever escaped by telling lies to her....he didnt even lie much....due to his mom's super active nervous system! She surely detects his made up stuffs so he in the end just stopped making them up....Eli bets already that his mom must have already identified something....
Lost in the thoughts Eli suddenly freaks out as he hears a loud knock on the door of his room...
“ Eli....Have you change your uniform yet? Come down honey....I have cooked your favourite dish today!”
Eli starts panicking as he quickly push himself to the door so that Mikasa cant open the door & come in.
Hearing a thud against the door concerns Mikasa as she asks “ Eli....Hey! Is everything alright? Should I come in?”
Eli freaks out as he says hurriedly “Noooo....I....I am fine Mom! Just err....I am coming...”
Mikasa with doubtful voice- Err....Well...Okay I am waiting....Hurry! The food will be cold...
Saying this Mikasa hesitantly leaves from there while Eli pushes his ears against the door as he hears his mom's foot steps fading away making him believe that she actually left!
Eli sighs in relief....he better acts all normal infront of his mom Now....or else she will really be mad at him!
**********
As Eli munches the bread & steak together....Mikasa keenly notices Eli is lost in some thoughts as he eats his lunch...
His little adorable face was reflecting worry & tension moreover Eli wasnt even looking at her all these while....it was like he was trying not to make an eye contact with Mikasa! And Mikasa well knows he does it when he tries to hide sommething...
Taking a bite from the bread , Mikasa from no where breaks the sillence “ Hiding something Eli?”
Eli stiffens as he looks up at His mother- Huh?
Mikasa boringly- You wanna spill the beans?
Eli stammers a bit but raises his voice- Huh? What...Wh...at are you talking about?
Mikasa shrugs as she stares at Eli with a suspicious look and replies all calm “ You know Eli....your face reflects everything! So....is everything okay? Like in school? You might share with me!”
Hearing the word school , Eli in his high pitch tone replies “ Damn Mom! Whats wrong with you? SINCE I HAVE COME HOME YOU JUST KEEP ON SUSPECTING ME AS IF I DID SOME KIND OF CRIME! I HAVE ENOUGH OF THIS!”
Saying so Eli runs upstairs shocking Mikasa as she calls him back from behind “ Eli Wait...What the hell is wrong with ya! Come down right now....”
Mikasa hears sound of closing the door with force from upstairs....she was hell confused with such behaviour!
She kept on staring upstairs wondering did she actually say something wrong this time! She was simply asking her son to open up and share his problems with her!
Mikasa calls again “ Eli! Eli! Are you hearing me? Come down!”
Getting no response from Eli....Mikasa sits back on the chair with a huff...
Mikasa feels empty all over inside....She isn't understanding what she have to do to make Eli understand that she only cares for his safety! After all these time she has only lost her close ones every now and then....And now she only have Eli!
She cant afford to loose him....now..
(Flashback) ( 5 Hours Back To Mikasa Armin Conversation )
Armin says hesitantly- Will you be able to forgive him even if he returns from his grave?
Mikasa being emotionless- I dont know what are you talking about...
Armin became suddenly furious- You know very well What I am talking about! Eren might be our friend but that doesn’t change the fact that he has killed so many people during the rumbling & before....This world wont forgive him....Neither me...even if he is dead...
Mikasa snaps at Armin- Really? Then this should also apply with Annie too? Doesnt it? She killed so many people too for whatever reason....if you can give her a second chance....no you not only gave second chance....you eventually fell in love with murderer Armin...then Why not Eren? He had reasons for his actions & you in the end accepted his actions & we all created an Aly with him....What happened now Armin?
Armin astonished- Oh Wooo Hold On! We allied with him cause we had no other options after what he did...even if it was good for the mankind....Does it really change truth? Will it change the viewpoint of people? And about Annie...I never forgave her for what she did to our people in scouts! And she knows it too .... we just settled an understanding between us...But here we are talking about Eren Yeager...He almost exterminated people around the island of paradis...he is known as humanity's enemy...no matter what we consider him as...this fact wont change...and this is the only danger for Eli ‘s life!
Mikasa remains mum and stares at the blonde’s blue eyes...
As he continues- Listen Mikasa you might think I hate Eren now or Something like that....But to be honest I cant hate him! For god sake he was my best friend but at same time he had done crimes which cant be ignored....honestly I feel...it is good that he is gone!
Mikasa gave a look at Armin which clearly was murderous but Armin continued inspite of that “ Cause my concern is Eli....I wonder how will he react when he will know his father's truth...I know you are not planning to tell him anytime soon but one day he will learn! One day people will learn his truth....And I am afraid for that day...And due to this I believe Eren is dead for good! Atleast as time will pass by...people will tend to get adjust with history while rumours of Eli being Eren's son will soon fade & Eli existence wont be a problem for them...but if Eren appears from nowhere in your life which wont be but incase if such a miracle happens...it wont be good for Eli!”
Mikasa doesnt say a word...just kept on staring at Armin....
Her eyes were blank & empty but he could notice the pain in them which she was trying to supress....his intention was not to hurt her...but he had to speak the fact so that she can start accepting it.
Realising Mikasa wont say anything....Armin decides to leave...
He turns around and was about to step toward the door when he halts and looks at Mikasa “ I have no business in telling what to do & what not! But I want to suggest you tell Eli the truth of his father before he comes to know from else where! And try to understand him Mikasa....dont lock him up in this house! It wont help but will only make him lonely....Handle him with care thats all I wanna say!”
(Flashback ends)
Mikasa sighs....thinking of what Armin said! She doesnt know what Armin said was right or wrong! She knows one thing...Armin was right about Eren's deeds...
He has killed people & that wont change...can she forgive him for that? She doesnt know...& she doesn't agree to Armin ‘s not able to forgive Eren behaviour!
She wont be judging Eren's behaviour unless she gets to know proper reason for hid actions....there were so many unspoken words between them...
He promised her he will return alive to her after everything is fixed....no matter what he promised this time he would come back to his home...thats Her!
She could feels her cheeks getting wet again....Mikasa wipes her tears off hurriedly as she tries to control her emotions....
She might not really care about his sins now , what matters to her that he should be alive....Armin cant be right about this...he cant be DEAD! EREN NEEDS TO COME BACK...
But right now she has to take care of someone else...she will make everything Alright for her little baby...
Mikasa gets up from the seat as she heads upstairs...
********
Gigantic monsters were running towards one direction....there were plenty of them...steam were coming from all sides...
Eli was laying on ground as he opens his eyes to the sound of rumbling....
He was in state of shock as he looks around.....
Those creepy monsters were all around him....as if like their prime aim is to hunt him down...
Eli starts screaming in fear as his eyes become blurry due to tears...
Eli cries out as he stands on his feet “ Mom....Mom....Save me! Mom....Help!”
He tries to look around for his mom but seems like he was all alone in that huge field....
Without wasting time he started running to opposite direction where he saw a gap to escape from those huge humanoids....
Eli was trying to run as fast as he could but those monsters were faster than him......all he could do was run & run & not look back....
He was breathing rapidly....his small legs were hurting....as he kept on running all he could see was death bodies all around him...they were scouts...
Eren's eyes widen as he could identify those uniforms on dead bodies ....it was same as uncle Armin ‘s.
He was scared now more....what happened here?! He didnt know and doesnt care....he needs to search his mother...
Eli cried out if fear as he kept running “ Mom.....Mom.....”
He turns back and was shocked to hell as he saw those monsters so close to him, one hand was trying to reach him as he doges his head from the clutch....of the monster...
All of a sudden Eli freaks out in fear as a monster body just falls infront of him....scaring the hell out of him as he starts wailing loudly....
But then he realises the Monster wasnt moving as blood spilled out from its neck and steam was coming out..
How did it die! But there is no time to wonder....as Eren found himself standing infront of a huge monster which was smiling at him....not exactly but its teeth and face were like it was smiling...it had a different body structure....
Eli couldn't move a bit...he completely froze at its spot...the gigantic hand was approaching towards him....his voice wasnt coming out....his tears just dried out as he felt completely frozen and in shock stage....
The hand was about to make a grip on him when he suddenly found himself being carried out by another monstrous hand as it took him far away from that smiling monster clutch but surprisingly the monstrous grip wasnt hard or rough...it held him delicately....Eli slowly looks around...to see who was this...
With fear & tears in his eyes he stares at it & he was just shocked to what he just saw...Eli finds out a human coming out from the nape of monster....
He couldnt clearly see the face but their eyes met as the monstrous hand brought him closer to him .....
The green eyes stared deeply into his as he speaks “ You Are Safe...”
Eli couldnt speak a word instead he was just staring back at his eyes....
The eyes.....spoke something different to him but before he could see his face....Eli finds himself falling from the monsters hand as some one cuts his hand off....
Eli screams out of his lungs but before any thing could happen....that same green eyed man held him this time by his own hand....and stopped him from falling as he was hanging in air...
He speaks “ Dont worry Eli...I wont let anything happen to you”
Everything started to vanish around while the little green eyed boy stared at the green eyed DEVIL...
And just then Eli started to realise something he has seen those pair of eyes before too....
“ Aaaaaa.....Wait......”
Eli wails out as he opens his eyes wide as he tries to hold something in air....
Hearing his loud scream....Mikasa opens her eyes quickly as she raises her head up from the bed....
Mikasa finds out Eli staring at the ceiling while his one hand was raised in the air making a fist....
Mikasa worried as she quickly gets up from ground and sits on Eli's bed besides him.
All this time Mikasa was siting near Eli's bed when she found Eli slept off after retorting her back...
The sun had already set....and the time was nearing to night....more likely past the evening...
All these while she was only staring at her child's face lovingly which resembled so much like Eren when he used to be sleeping....Eli looked so calm when his eyes were closed and he was in deep slumber....
Mikasa ran her hand through his black hair trying to not wake him up & let him sleep so that his anger subsides....during this she herself doesnt know when her eyes closed and she slept putting her head on his bed..
Her sleep just broke when she heard Eli ‘s loud scream out of fear....
Mikasa as she quickly pulled Eli out of bed and brought him close to her chest...
She noticed tears in corner of his eyes & cheeks completely wet...which implies he has been crying all these while...
Worry took place on Mikasa as she hugged him closely and asked softly “ Eli What happened baby? Did you have a bad dream?”
Eli clutches her gown in fear as he hugs her in return, only whispers absent minded “ That Man....I Saw....”
Mikasa could hear his blabbering...
She pulled his face back so that she could stare at him while breaking his trance....
Mikasa asks “ Sweet heart! You okay? What happened?”
And Just then Eli realises he was in his home near his mom....
Eli in his child like voice as tears fell “ Mumma...I...we... are at home!”
Mikasa rubbing of his tears “ Yes Eli we are at home....Did you have a bad dream?Why are you crying?”
Eli stares back at Mikasa with his wide eyes shocked....as realisation hits him upon...
Those eyes....he dreamt of those eyes....so many times....and today....
Wait he saw those eyes somewhere....flashes of that limping stranger face came on his mind at once....when he stared at him with his green eyes....
Eli freaks out “ That man....I saw that man....”
Mikasa confused “ What man are you talking about Eli?”
Eli looks at Mikasa shocked and realises he wont be telling his mother about that man he met today & that his eyes resembles to the man's eyes which oftenly comes in his dreams & everytime saves him from those monsters....but who is that man? How come he arrives in his dreams! And those monsters....
Eli hugs his mom out of fear as he starts crying.. water pouring down his eyes as he sniffs..
Mikasa was terrified “ Eli....What happened? Dont get scared....Mumma is here and everything will be fine!”
Eli stammers as he cries- mom...m...I saw those monsters again....
Mikasa stiffens a bit knowing well what he was talking about....
Eli continues as he cries “ They almost caught me but I ran and ran....I searched you mom but you werent there....I was all alone... I....was scared...”
Mikasa rubbing his back as she tries to calm him down as his voice was breaking her own heart “ Sssh Eli...Everything is fine....I am here now with you! Ssh you are safe!”
Eli whimpers “ Mom....why...t..those th...ings come in my dreams! And that man...”
Eli stops as he realises what he was spilling....but mikasa caught his word as she asks worriedly ” Which man?”
Eli taking deep breath as his cries subsided a bit “ Its...A....man everytime...rescues me”
He carefully said the truth without revealing much....
Mikasa remains silent for a while as she cuddles Eli and says while placing kiss over his hair “ See....In the end you are safe....thats what matters”
Eli curiously as he looks at his mom “ But those monsters....why do they always try to harm me? From many years....they only come in my dreams....do they really exist mom?”
Mikasa knows the feeling of seeing those monsters in dreams....she also experiences same thing but difference is she only sees Eren leaving her alone forever, disappearing into a group of titans....and never returning back...
But one thing she never understood why and how does Eli gets those dreams? He never got to know about titan existence not yet...he never experienced those fears which she and Eren did then how...
Eli calls her out breaking her thoughts “ Mom....”
Mikasa looks back at Eli and smiles “ No they dont....there is no such things which exist...its all in your head..dont worry nothing will harm you...I wont let anyone do that...”
Mikasa hugs her son as she pats his back while Eli remains lost in thoughts wondering how come those green eyes in his dreams matches with that limping stranger’s green eyes when such gigantic monsters dont even exist...
Does that mean that green eyed saviour is REAL?
P.S Okay I guess this chapter was bit boring but then it was necessary for the future chapters 😂 Anyways do like, comment and share.
32 notes
·
View notes