#and he's like 'yeah you MUST have pain you should be WHEEZING by the time you're done' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crackedpumpkin · 1 year

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|| ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪᴠᴇ ||

a/n: We love a self aware turtle 'round these parts. We're at part five now guys, two more parts to go!!

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This is not how he thought making a new friend would go.

New friends aren’t supposed to make your chest feel funny, much less give you butterflies in your stomach.

And new friends definitely aren’t supposed to look this pretty in his eyes.

“Hi Leo, I’m Y/n.”

He watches as you hold out your hand for a handshake, and he chuckles in amusement before grabbing it and giving you a playful yet firm shake. He lets go, already missing the warmth your hand provides.

He tilts his head, admiring the stars and taking in the night sky. It’s peaceful here, with just the both of you. He glances down at you, a soft smile on his lips as he observes the way your eyes reflect the stars, nose scrunched as you smile happily.

Then you turn and look right at him, and he quickly averts his gaze, his entire body stiffening as his heart begins to pound in his chest. He prays you don’t hear, but he doesn’t dare check.

He hears you clear your throat, willing the pink in his cheeks to disappear before he looks back up. “So, brothers, huh?”

Leo shrugs. “Brothers.”

The following silence is incredibly awkward, and he catches you glancing at him with hesitance in your eyes.

Oh.

OH.

He realizes all too late that this is your way of making conversation. He sits up straight and coughs. “Yeah, brothers. I have brothers. What about you?”

Good cover Leo; he compliments himself.

“I don’t really have any siblings,” You admit, kicking your feet slightly and looking down at your lap.

“Oh? So you’re an only child, huh, must be great.” He comments absentmindedly.

“Not really; it gets pretty lonely sometimes. I mean, especially since I moved here alone from Arendelle.”

“Oh! I know that kingdom. My brothers went there to get some stuff!” He lights up, finding a common topic to talk about with you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, the sound like music to his ears. “Honestly, I think it’s pretty lucky that you have siblings. I’d give anything for one.”

“Are you kidding me?” He gives you a deadpan stare, propping his foot up and resting his arm on it. “Siblings are the worst sometimes. Raph never thinks before jumping into things, and sometimes I’m convinced Donnie’s just a step away from overthrowing an entire kingdom.”

“Yeah, but it’s better than being alone.” You point out with a warm smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You poor, naive child.”

He watches your eyes narrow into a glare, your soft pink lips turning downwards into a frown. “I’m not a child.” You protest.

“Mmhm. Sure.” He’s cut off when you punch his side, clutching the spot and wheezing in mock pain. He half-opens his eyes, hiding a smile at your worried face. He groans, leaning against the wooden frame of the window.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” You fret, and he almost loses it from the way your hands hover over his arms hesitantly with worry-filled eyes.

“I don’t know…You’ve really done a number on me this time, Y/n.” He groans out, plastering a wince onto his lips.

“I don’t have any ointment with me. It’s back at the store. We should go back and treat the wound.” You urge, already looking for ways to safely get down from the tower.

“There is something that would help,” He purses his lips, grinning as he suddenly leans in close, mock pain forgotten.

“A kiss,” He breathes out with a mischievous smile, his face inches from yours.

It’s worth it, the way your eyes widen before you slam yet another punch into his side that he’s barely affected by. You’re speechless, shoving him away as he dissolves into laughter. He wipes the tears that have formed, smiling widely at your pink cheeks and grouchy expression.

“C’mon, don’t be mad.” He prods your side gently before deciding to give you puppy eyes. You scowl, the blush still evident on your cheeks.

“..was worried.”

“What was that?” He asks, not really hearing what you said the first time.

“I really was worried.”

The breath is practically knocked out of him from your words, speechless as a funny feeling begins to stir in his stomach. He looks away at his fingers, beginning to fidget with them.

“Sorry,” He says guiltily, a flood of shame in his heart. It clenches in his chest as if it were being squeezed tightly. He finds it hard to breathe, not liking that he has made you upset. His gaze is fixated on his fingers, the constant fidgeting only relieving some of his guilt.

Maybe you didn’t like him anymore. His heart pangs at the thought, lips tugging downwards into a sad frown. He didn’t like that thought. He enjoyed the past few days with you and would miss your friendship.

“It’s okay,” You say after a moment of silence. Leo turns to you, his breath hitching when he meets your soft gaze. The heavy burden in his heart lightens when you smile, his eyes shining with relief.

“So, what was it like in Arendelle?” He asks, now curious. You hesitate, and he almost misses the flicker of doubt in your eyes.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.” He adds after a pause.

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. You told me about your brothers. Arendelle is great and all, but I haven’t really heard much news about them. My parents rarely send letters. I used to write to them monthly, but the replies slowed until I stopped altogether. I guess they’re busy. Maybe.”

Leo purses his lips, sharing a pained smile. He reaches out, hesitating when his hand is an inch away from your arm. You don’t realize this, busy staring off into the distance with a sad yet wistful smile.

He’s so close. He wants nothing more than to offer you words of comfort to soothe your worries and concerns. All it takes is for his fingers to brush against your skin, to remind you he’s here. That he won’t leave.

But he stops. He pulls his hand back, fingers curling into a fist as he places it back on his lap. He’s suddenly aware of how close you are, and if he reaches out once more, maybe he could relieve your worries.

He’s afraid.

Fear pricks his gut, his hand remaining frozen on his lap as he curls and uncurls his fingers against his sweaty palm.

He’s so close.

“So, should we head back?” You suggest, breaking him out of his thoughts when you look over with an innocent smile, unaware of the conflict he wrestles with moments earlier.

“Yeah, let’s head back.” He forces a smile, but your hesitant eyes tip him off. “Does this mean I get my bed rights back?” He jokes, relieved when you grin.

“As if you ever had them,” You retort playfully. Leo shifts in his seat, letting you climb onto his back. Your arms settle around his shoulders, resting around his neck with much gentler force than earlier.

He feels the heat creep up his neck to his cheeks, your legs wrapping around his plastron as you almost bury your face into the back of his neck. He flinches at the touch, blinking rapidly with a nervous smile.

“You alright?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” He laughs tensely, tripping over his words as his tongue suddenly feels heavy. “I’m just dandy!”

He carefully makes his way down the tower, ensuring it’s not too rocky for you. He finally reaches the bottom, landing carefully on the soft grass. You’re about to get off his back, but he stops you with a simple move of his hands, grasping your arms.

“It’s okay,” He ducks his head, feeling his cheeks flush as he presses his suddenly dry lips together, “I’ll carry you back. Consider it as a bribe for letting me continue working there.”

You can’t see the panic in his eyes, right?

He feels you reluctantly settle on his shell, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He makes his way back in silence, inhaling sharply as he jumps from rooftop to rooftop, landing on the tiles silently.

He reaches the store all too soon, entering through the bedroom window. You get off his back, and every cell in his body is filled with nervous anticipation.

“Leo, wait.” Your hesitant voice makes him pause. He looks at you questioningly, surprised when you pull out the key from your drawer, unlocking the cupboard in which you had kept his katanas.

You grab the hilts, and he’s impressed by how you hold them with ease.

“Here.” You hold them out towards him, and he takes them from your hands, at a loss for words. “I just thought that you might miss those, is all.”

“I did,” He accepts the swords with a tender smile, not even glancing at them as he holds them at his side. Instead, his eyes are trained on your blushing figure and how you’re trying to find the right words to say.

“So, uh, goodnight?” His words come out a question, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at anywhere in the room but you.

“...Yeah, goodnight.” You answer, and he’s a hundred percent sure that your voice comes out just as nervous as his. He turns, heading to the couch he calls his bed. However, he trips over a loose floorboard, yelping and landing on his face with a loud groan.

“Are you okay?” You scramble to help him up, and he almost rips his arm away from your shoulders as his lips part, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth, speechless. He spots the hurt that flickers across your eyes, feeling guilt once more.

“Sorry, I think I’m just really….tense? from all the…the guards.” He stammers out, looking away. He feels a gentle touch on his wrist, looking down to see your hand grazing against his as you send him a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay. Just rest well, Leo.”

His heart almost stops in his chest, cheeks instantly turning red when you say his name. He coughs, quickly turning and walking towards the doorway. He pauses at the door frame, glancing at you once more.

“Goodnight.”

— — — — — — — —

He can’t sleep.

Leo tosses and turns on the sofa, throwing off the warm blanket that covers most of his body (it wasn’t his fault that he had a significant growth spurt!).

You.

Why were you on his mind?

It’s so annoying, he seethes. All he wants is to sleep, but not even his body and brain are willing to give him a break!

He grabs a pillow, pushing it down on his face as he groans. Tonight was fun, he has to admit. He moves the pillow down to expose his snout to breathe, staring up at the ceiling as a wistful smile stretches his lips upwards, recalling how the stars shone in your eyes as if you were the night sky itself. Mysterious, yet so beautiful.

He snaps himself out of it with a quick slap to his cheek, wincing when his hand makes contact and rubbing the burning skin after. What on earth was he thinking?

Maybe a night walk would help.

He sits up, risking a quick scan of the room to check if you had somehow snuck up on him. He avoids the squeaky floorboards, grabbing the pair of katanas he placed next to him.

He wanders the empty streets, the silence giving him time to think. The past few days had been the most fun he’s had in a long while.

He didn’t want to leave.

The realization strikes him in the gut, and his breath comes short. He leans against the wall, the hood covering his face as his usual smile wavers.

But he has to leave sometime, he has a whole family to return to! He can’t just abandon his brothers, much less his dad.

But they’d be fine without him, wouldn’t they?

He imagines every day with you, exchanging friendly banter as you work through the day with bright smiles and contagious laughs. His heart leaps in his chest, already longing for the morning to come when he can experience that again.

No. Leo shakes his head, trying to rid his delusions. He wouldn’t be accepted into society. He’s a turtle yokai, after all.

But if it’s you…

No!

He groans, stopping and hitting his head repeatedly against the stone wall to rid the utter headache caused by the wrestling of his emotions. He spots a random pebble on the street, kicking it in frustration and watching it land far away with a loud clatter.

“Hey! Who’s there?” He freezes at the sudden voice, looking up with wide eyes to see a familiar guard looking at him with anger-filled eyes.

“Hi Gary, how’s the wife?” He greets him sheepishly with a slight wave.

“Get him!!” Gary yells, attracting the attention of the nearby patrol. Leo starts to run, feet pumping front and back in a rhythm to avoid getting captured. He skids to a stop on the street he’s on, yelping when he sees more guards coming from the front. He glances around, spotting an alleyway.

He goes there, hands grabbing his swords that swing unsteadily on his waist. He jumps at the sudden appearance of a horse, the katanas slipping from his sweaty hands.

Maximus.

The famous horse known for making almost all crime disappear from the kingdom overnight.

He regards Leo with a wary gaze, eyeing the katanas on the floor. The thief notices this, immediately dropping and snatching them up before taking off into a run once more. Maximus neighs loudly, taking chase.

God, how had he been so careless?

During the time working with you in the bakery, he’s already forgotten that he’s still a wanted thief being hunted down by the kingdom. He lets a curse slip from his lips, ducking to avoid the low archway of the street.

“Hey guys, sorry, but I can’t stay out too late. Whaddaya say we continue this another day!” He suggests with a tense smile, only to frown when Maximus snorts from a distance behind him.

“Oh shut up, you’re just a horse! Go eat apples or something!” Leo exclaims, “Woah!” He yelps, ducking the frying pan that the horse flings at him. Maximus whinnies angrily, nostrils flaring.

“Tough crowd,” Leo mutters, skidding to a stop and suddenly turning into another alleyway.

Just his luck. He hears the storming of footsteps running in his direction, practically having attracted the attention of every single guard in town. He runs past many forked roads, guards running down and blocking each possible route for escape.

He spots an empty alleyway nearby, sensing his stamina run low. He runs inside, relieved when he doesn’t see anyone inside. He turns, Maximus already standing in the only path of exit.

“It’s just you and me, horse.” Leo grins, only for it to waver when he sees the smug look on Maximus’s face. The horse stomps its foot on the ground, and Leo’s instantly surrounded by the tips of spears that just barely prick his skin.

“Where did you all come from??” He’s absolutely baffled by their sudden appearance, but the comment doesn’t amuse the guards. They press the tips of their spears against his skin, almost drawing blood.

He gulps, smiling sheepishly as he tries to avoid getting stabbed.

“So…How’s everyone?”

— — — — — — — —

“I’m sorry?”

You repeat in disbelief, looking at an excited Margaret who’s practically beaming.

“I said they caught the thief that attempted to steal the kingdom’s supply of uranium!” She repeats, crossing her arms. “Jeez, you’re not in good condition today, are you?”

No. This can’t be.

You spot the newspaper boy walking past your store, practically shoving the loaves into her arms as you run outside. She watches you leave, baffled by your reaction.

“Brandon!” You pant, calling out to him. The young boy turns to you with a grin.

“One newspaper for you, Miss Y/n?” He asks. You nod, anxiousness starting to crawl into your stomach. “I’ll pay you back later; just hand me one now, please.” You urge.

Brandon passes you the top one from the pile on his back, and you freeze when your eyes land on the front page. Dread fills your soul, eyes wide in panic as you read the headline.

“Shocking News as Local Horse Hero Captures Wanted Yokai Thief!”

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #tmnt x reader #leo x reader #leonardo x reader #enemies to lovers #rottmnt leo x female reader #100 followers celebratory fic #CaughtRH #x reader #series #rottmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader

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munv · 1 year

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𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗜 𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡 𝗔 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘?

The way I already have an idea for the twst series that I got on a wednesday at like 2:55 AM specifically is crazy

Tag list is growing at a rapid capacity! Let’s keep the pace going

“SORRY! I SAID I’M SORRY! I’LL WITHDRAW FROM THE MISSION AND QUIT BEING A CURSE USER TOO”

Meanwhile you and suguru had payed no mind to the man yelling for forgiveness on your phones. Yes you had ended up on a first name bases somehow. Things happened.

“Hey suguru check this out” A wave of electricity came from your hands and shocked the man. “Hm, you think he’d shut up for a while if i let out a full one?”

“No idea. We won’t know until we try though right?” he said with a sadistic smirk.

“I KNOW YOU BOTH CAN HEAR ME”

“A curse user rice farmer?..” he said with a confused face. “As if.”

“SEE?! YOU CAN HEAR M-” he was cut off when another wave of electricity had hit him, he let out a painful scream. “Please shut up..” you said with a tick forming on your head.

Suguru then got a message and checked his phone. “WHAT CAN BRATS LIKE YOU DO ANYWAYS? WE HAVE VAYER!” he supposedly boasted. “THE STRONGEST Q SOLDIER”

You were caressing riko’s hair as her head was layed on your lap while Misato was laying on your shoulder. The both of them fast asleep.

“Hey.” suguru cut off the man’s rant. He extended his arm to show the soldier his phone. “Is this Vayer?” His eyes widened and sweat dripped down his face.

“Yeah..that’s vayer”. The picture in honor was Gojo with the vayer in question beaten to a pulp in the background as the white haired male held up a peace sign.

Walking down a hallway was you, suguru, and gojo.

“Should we take her to a doctor?”

“Are you really asking that with the situation we are in right now?” you said slapping the male in the back of his head.

“Ow! N/N what was that for?”

Without noticing due to all the noise riko woke up. “Oh, you’re awake” said gojo.

Being completely off guard once again he was slapped in the face by Riko , she took her distance from them taking a..very odd pose. “YOU JERK! IF YOU WANT TO DIE SO BADLY WHY DON’T YOU GO FIRST?”

You and suguru started snickering in the background unable to contain your laughter. “You got a-” you started wheezing, “picture of that right?!” you said trying to hold back a rolling fit of laughter as the male beside you held up a picture of gojo getting slapped.

Geto composed himself just as quick “Hey riko don’t worry, we’re not here to abduct you.”

“Liar! You look like a complete liar! And whats with those bangs? Not to men-...tion?..” she stopped when her eyes layed on you and stars seemed to light up in her eyes. “Y/NNNNNNNNNNNNNN”

Her shorter figure jumped at you and hugged you tightly while suguru and satoru had a dark aura surrounding them in the background. Probably muttering if it was ok to kill riko as it is due to what she said. “I MISSED YOOOUUUUUUU” she said cuddling her face into your chest allowing you to chuckle a bit.

“How is my favorite person in the whole doing?” “Amazing! But why are you here with..those..things?” You could tell the two males were growing more pissed by the second.

“The so called “things” in question just so happen to be on a job to escort you along with me.”

“Ew” she said while looking at them from your hug.

Hearing a large amount of steps coming your way you and riko turned around.

“Kuroi!” she said was a exited face. “My lady! And master Y/N!”

“eh..Kuroi how many times must i tell you not to call me that?” you said with a slight blush scratching your cheek.

“My apologies madam” while Riko’s attention was rather busy on what her caretaker was riding. “What are you riding?”

“This? It’s the banged guys cursed technique!”

“COULD YOU NOT CALL ME THAT?! Also it’s cursed manipulation. Like, it implies i can control the curses i take in.” Geto explained.

“She’s spunkier than i thought” gojo said with a annoyed tone.

“Now then..moving on from that topic”

The three of you glanced at the duo, “Aren’t you supposed to be all sad and depressed because of the merger? And to think I was worried about ya” Gojo said while pointing to her. You couldn’t tell if he was pitying her or just straight up being curious, it was hard to tell when it came to him honestly.

Riko turned her head the other way while closing her eyes, “Ridiculous! A simple comment from a simpleton!”

“WHA–?!” You put your hand on his shoulder while he looked at you making eye contact that practically screamed “Lay a hand on her and it’s over for you”

Suguru looked at his best friend for a brief moment before sighing. “Look,” he whispered in his ear “I know you want to strangle her but remember the mission at hand here”. Gojo snarled under his breath as she continued to boast.

“Listen up! Master tengen is me..and I AM master tengen!” exclaiming loudly.

“You talk about merger and death as if they are one in the same but you are gravely mistaken! Allow me to educate you”

You heard someone shuffle over to you and looked over to see gojo “Hey..is she usually like this?..This kid got such a big mouth” You slightly hit his arm whispering back “she’s usually shy sometimes, what did you do to her?”you said eyebrows slightly furrowed.

Looking over to your right you see geto completing your little circle of secrets huddled up together. “More like did you raise her like this?”

Gojo chuckled a bit. “Of course not! What do you take me for? A moron?” you scolded him a bit as he opened up his phone whistling.

“Hey satoru, did you change your wallpaper?” Suguru leaned over his shoulder a bit.

“oh, isn’t that waka inoe?” peeping over his other shoulder. “Ah! n/n you know her too?”

In the background however riko still continued.

“MY HEART AND SPIRIT WILL LOVE ON AFTER MERGING..-ARE YOU GUYS EVEN LISTENING?”

Walking over to riko you patted her head, “of course we were, right guys?” you looked over them with a expectant look on your face.

“She prolly has no friends with the way she speaks.” gojo bluntly pointed at her.

“Wanna bet it’ll be a cinch for her classmates to say goodbye?”

“How much are we betting here?” you sweatdropped.

“Hm..a thousand?”

“Nahhh too cheap” gojo said.

“I TALK FINE AT SCHOOL YOU KNOW” riko whined. “Wait..school..” realization dawned upon her.

Kuroi looked as if she was about to faint with everything that was going on at the moment.

“KUROI QUICK, WHATS THE TIME?”

“It’s still before noon but perhaps school can-” she was cut off abruptly.

“NONESENSE IM GOING! NII-CHAN QUICK” she grabbed your hand dragging you away from gojo and geto at full speed.

“Just what the hell is with everything today..” you said under your breath.

#LATER

“WHAT? Shouldnt it be safer to take her back to jujutsu high NOW?!” Gojo complained.

You popped into the mic to speak as well, “EXACTLY! She’s in more danger here than probably anywhere else!” Glaring at the phone.

“I completely agree” Yaga chided on the other end of the phone. “However..these are master tenge’s orders.” Silence followed immediately after.

Gojo looked a bit stunned while you and geto looked back at each other with an alarmed face. “We must oblige to Riko Amanai’s requests as well.” right after he said that gojo hanged up. “Tch, being all soft on her.”

“Don’t be like that Satoru” Geto said trying to make sense of the situation as well. “What he said, the fact still stands that my little sister is going to become master tengen and form a barrier under jujutsu high. Everything she holds dear including me will be stripped from her starting from that very moment.”

“Let her enjoy herself, that’s also an important part of our mission.” geto added.

“Lady riko and master Y/N don’t have any relations..” she started.

You turned around in surprise but let her continue nonetheless. “When they were young their parents died in an unfortunate accident and until then.. ive been taking care of them, so please take care of them-”

“So that makes you 3 family then” Suguru said with a smile looking over to you a bit.

“Ah..this uh- that-..” you stuttered a bit embarrassed and as it seemed kuroi was also embarrassed. “..Yes.”

The touching moment however was ruined by the white haired male who had his arm around your shoulder. “Ey suguru, how’re the surveillance spirits?”

TAG LIST: @megumisemo @todorokistoya @sammyiguess @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9 @boo-kugo @vile-woman @96jnie @itsmekalou @tojisworm69

WOOZZZ BRO IM BEGHIN YOU I NEED TO @ YOU 💔

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thefangirlofhp · 2 years

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Apaixonar-Chapter 21

as always, the ao3 link.

Tamlin’s hair is shorn close to the scalp. It’s a peculiar detail to focus on, of all the changes wrought on his familiar yet changed face and body, but it’s something Lucien cannot keep from remaining at the forefront of his mind. Times in the past spent joking and caring for their hair flash all too suddenly in his memory, somehow bringing with them a foreign tang of sharp pain in his chest that Lucien’s never really had for such matters. He remembers Feyre’s laugh, hard-to-come by and beautiful in that abandoned warehouse turned into their home during a night spent following lengthy hair tutorials of various Lord of the Rings characters. Him, struggling to follow along the complicated tutorial of Gimli’s hair and beard, Tamlin in hysterics and stitches while his arms ache copying Legolas’s iconic braids. It was one of those rare nights where Feyre giggled and wheezed as a girl her age should, Lucien’s cheeks ached sore from smiling too much and there was no broody snarl to be found on Tamlin’s face.

He remembers how it felt; to act their age for once, to be light with the stupidity and innocence of their expensive youth stripped from them all-too-early. Laughing like friends while forgetting the morbid reality of their grim lives in the gutter.

Lucien blinks, as he notices a scar on Tamlin’s left cheekbone enunciated with hallowed spaces beneath it. The blond of his hair appears closer to dirty-blond, falsely brown close to the scalp. He looks entirely different, painfully familiar. Lucien remembers the blood viciously coating the lower half of his face when he was arrested, the way he looked at him while he held his hands behind his head and knelt while the cops put him in cufflinks.

“Hey, man,” a small smile touches the corner of his mouth as he leans against the low wall overlooking the canal and its dark water. Lucien doesn’t know what his face is doing, as Tamlin’s green eyes flicker keenly over it, but he must be as changed as he is.

“Hey.”

“You look well,” a jerk of his chin. “Law enforcement suits you.”

Lucien stuffs his fists in the pockets of his bomber-jacket, gives a small shrug. “Like being on the side of the law for a change.”

Tam’s eyes soften as he tilts his head, further leaning back on his elbow. “Are you, though?” he says lightly and Lucien rolls his eyes a little, looks away and into the waters because suddenly he’s remembering too many things, recalling too many life lessons and promises.

“More than I was before,” he admits.

“Small victory, then.”

“Better than Blackthrone, I bet.”

“It is.” Tamlin’s voice hardens, into familiar rough tones of characteristic anger lurking beneath the surface. Always mad, Tamlin. Always angry at the world, angry at the dirt beneath his feet like it had personally insulted him. Angry little boy, angrier young man. His father and brothers hadn’t left a single morsel of his soul unhardened, try as his mother might have stopping them. “Back-stabbing took you a long way.”

“You went too far.” Lucien’s tone drops, quiet, hard as fuck and darker than night. “Took it too fucking far, Tam.”

Silence hangs like a heavy tapestry, except the shrieking winter wind and the water rocking in the canal. Lucien keeps staring at the water, busy keeping his mind clear of memories he spent enough time locking up and away from sight. When Tamlin next speaks, his voice is more collected, and calmer.

“Past’s in the past,” he reckons in raspy tones. Easy for him to say. Not as easy as it is for the families of victims, is it? Lucien clenches his cold hands tightly.

“Why’d they bring you out?” asks Lucien.

“You know why.”

“Hybern realized you could be useful, then?”

“Yeah.”

Lucien turns, faces his ex-best-friend. He can’t help the way his heart crumbles in his chest involuntarily, like a gaping wound allowed to weep blood. To find himself standing against him, all these years later. After he shut the door on that life, had one final conversation with Feyre before she married where she agreed to let him go and pretend to be strangers if they ever met. How could he find himself facing it down, now of all times?

It's neither triumph nor satisfaction on Tamlin’s lined face. God, he must be, what—twenty six? Eight? He looks in his worn-down forties. What had prison done to you? cries out one small part of Lucien that used to care, deeply, with every fiber of it. It’s the weariness that Lucien is well-acquainted with, an expression revealed every night Tamlin came home, when the door slams shut behind his heavy back and his head hangs heavily with the weight of their lives. A soldier brought back out into the field, for one last battle that’s never really the last one. Judging by the sunken look in those green eyes, it’s a thing Tamlin understands too.

“Give it up, Tam,” Lucien finds himself softly whispering. “That life—put it behind you like we have. You can do it.”

His pale face flickers, a flash of something morbid and grim appearing for a second in his eyes before it disappears behind a blank expression. “I can’t.”

“Fucking Hell, yes, you can—”

“I can’t.”

“The fuck have they got on you that doesn’t matter?!” Lucien finds himself shouting, too caring and honest for his preference. “Just cut it loose and fuck off somewhere with a new name! Who gives a shit how red is your ledger or what crimes you’ve committed?!”

Green eyes glisten, his jaw clenches tightly as fury reveals itself in his face. Lucien finds himself stepping close, closing the distance between them as he jabs a furious index in his chest and hisses; “Fuck revenge, fuck being even, Tam. You can get back at us for betraying you but it won’t change your life, it won’t make shit easier—use this chance to fuck off and start a new life.”

“You think it’s about revenge?” his tone shakes. “I didn’t give half a shit about being betrayed—Fuck I was jealous, so fucking jealous that I got left behind but you don’t think I’m happy you turned your life around? You weren’t made for the gutter, Luc.”

Lucien’s chest heaves as he stares his friend down. Was he guilty, deep down? Did some part of him feel horrible that he’d given up the brother life gave him, made him life taste just a little more bitter?

He hates the answer.

“What’s it about then?” Lucien quietly asks. “You can’t be working for them ‘cause you enjoy it.”

“I need your help doing a job.”

“Piss off,” he laughs bitterly. “Fuck no.”

“It’s nothing,” Tamlin softly utters. “I just need a few files from the precinct. Evidence removed. Nothing we haven’t done millions of times before.”

“I’m past that shit,” Lucien snarls. “I’m actually trying to be a clean-fucking-cop, all right? Trying to clean up the shit we spread all over this state.”

“Yeah, by working for Bougainvillea? How’s that working out for you?”

Lucien heavily sighs, stepping back to breathe in a sharp copious amount of cold air that pinches his lungs.

“Face it, Luc, you just swapped one lawless boss for another.”

“He’s not…”

“Who put three bullets in fucking Friedman? Advised Nathan? Executed the Heptad’s traitors? Luc you’re just working for another freelancing-Hybern convincing you it’s for the greater good or some heroic bullshit. No one is like that. He’s just another self-serving killer with a goody-two-shoes mask and he bought you with the act.”

Lucien looks down at his shoes. Is that not the loss he’s been making peace with? Finding out the mentor he looked up to was no more than a multi-faced snake moving from one opportunity to the next? Bring down organized crime and clean up the streets, his ass. Bougainvillea’s just like the rest, just with a more convincing tongue that whispered dreams into fruition in Lucien’s mind. That he could actually make a good difference.

“Answer’s still no,” Lucien says flatly. “I don’t need a boss to have my own principles. I’m sticking to the law.”

“Even when the law’s wrong?”

“Tam,” he glares. “Don’t tell me I’m here freezing my ass off arguing semantics of morals and politics with you.”

He clenches his jaw again and looks away.

“Curious you’d think I would have said yes,” Lucien notices softly. “You’re not that daft. You must have had strong reason to think I’d agree.”

“Thought you might pay back this debt and call us even.”

Lucien coldly laughs. “Fuck that if you think selling you out keeps me up at night. As if I give a shit.”

A wry smile flashes briefly on Tamlin’s pale lips.

“Seriously, what compelled you?”

Tamlin swallows, turns to the canal and leans his arms on the low wall. The curve of his stance and the way Lucien’s body automatically takes its place next to him on the wall, stands the same way, looking at him for answers, is another memory unmasked from his recollection. Blinds him a little more than it should.

So Tamlin confesses. And Lucien wishes he hadn’t asked.

_____

The end of the third hour approaches, and Elain still feels like someone is watching her. Paranoia, perhaps. She really ought to reach out to her therapist again and book a session for all the shit her life’s been shoveling but honestly who has the time?

Nothing alarming has occurred so far to warrant her doing something about the nagging thought in the back of her head repeatedly chanting: watch out, watch out! But it still remains: an incessant feeling, small but just enough to keep her centered in her head as she stocks the shelves and takes inventory. Just enough paranoia to have her continuously looking over a red-clothed shoulder, making fleeting eye contact with shoppers and exchanging flashing awkward smiles with those unfortunate enough to catch her eye.

The job she's picked up at her local hypermarket has come in handy in the silencing of the lambs jumping about in her mind, mundane but stressful enough to keep Elain focused, to make her find her footing again and sort her priorities straight again. School term’s been suspended till the start of the new year, one of the good things about private schools she supposes that allows them the leniency of their own ship-steering and Elain’s compensating her free time by submerging herself in work once more. The bakery won’t have her, and she’s still got a bit of pride left in her that stops her from asking Ianthe for her job back. So, drowning once more beneath the waves of trying to keep afloat and live.

Feyre's babysitting Winnie once more after practically forcing Elain to give her their honorary princess back with Nesta's return home, and Elain's fallen back into their previously established routine: all too-familiar, monotonous, distressing and the only solution Elain can manage. She doesn’t let herself think about it, chants the mantra just keep swimming over and over. Save and make enough money to afford living, to ensure a future for her child, to pay off their debts and mortgage.

Having come a full circle, an entire journey of events and heartache, it feels a little strange for things to be back to how they were. Elain finds herself appreciating Frodo Baggins in a whole new wordless light: how do you pick up the threads of an old life indeed.

Same routine, different heart. New crows of hardship stand on her shoulders amongst the variety of grievances already perched there. There's a new steepness to the frown on her lips, a little grave dug beneath her lower lip that she doesn’t remember being there before. Before. An additional slant to the corners, like there's even more weight pulling her lips down. More than once, Elain's poked and pulled the corners upwards in the cosmetics section in a few LED-lit mirrors, trying to figure out how to make her lips feel weightless in their movement as they were. Again: before.

Before what? She'd think, trying to pinpoint exactly when she's begun to feel like her body's been cleft in half, and she's now operating on one leg and arm and half a head. Her divorce had left her feeling a little hallow, sad, and betrayed, but she'd still been her: functional, operating within acceptable parameters, spread thin and exhausted but herself. Now she feels less, or lost. Definitely lost and confused. Like someone's robbed her the recognition of being.

It had been a sledgehammer blow that left her dazed and blinded, and made her defense mechanisms kick in, and she's yet to blink away the haze and confusion to find clarity.

He’s definitely to blame, of course. None of Elain’s additional baggage she now lugs around would have existed if he hadn’t worked his way into her life and heart, and now he’s left behind a chasm that she grows to despise more each passing day. What had she expected when she’d let him become a staple in their lives in the matter of quick days? With every expectant look on her daughter’s face that she disappoints, a new notch is struck in Elain’s maternal esteem: that she’s to blame for the biting cold of his absence that Winnie’s hurt by. None of this hurt on Winnie’s face would have existed if Elain hadn’t let them find each other in the first place.

Elain would never have been shot or Winnie near-murdered.

Neither of them would have experienced happiness again, either.

Elain sighs quietly, pushes tomato sauce tins into formation on the shelf, and feels an additional tug on her lips. The hour is late, her shift’s nearly finished. Only ten more minutes.

That feeling, again, of being watched.

She looks over her shoulder, again, twisting in her crouch on the floor. Finds nothing. The back of the store is empty, the quiet filled with the noise of the freezers’ mechanical roar and giving off a chill that raises goosebumps along her arms. Elain keeps her inquisitive searching attempt, holding onto the shelf for balance, feeling the strain of her jeans stretching against her knees, and sweeps her gaze along the wide empty aisles.

Nothing.

Elain pulls the last of the boxes towards her, scratching and screeching against the floor as they do. Her dusty fingers, aching with some allergic sensitivity after prolonged contact with the tin of the cans, wrap around familiar canned tomato.

She’s thinking of Winnie’s quiet request today as she bid her goodbye when Elain hears footsteps.

It’s such a quiet quick single step, more of an accidental shuffle, that she’s not so sure she even heard it in the first place but one she swears that she has. It doesn’t happen again.

Elain picks a can, focused on the rows before her, gently lines them up, her wrist aching beneath the weight.

“Elain Archeron?” a deep voice rises above the silence, expected and unstartling.

She turns, calmly, a heartbeat later, some fight-or-flight blessing possessing her to look the tall man standing three feet before her with a furrowed brow scrunched up in confusion.

A heavily-accented “Excusez-moi?” falls from her lips.

The split second of confusion flashing across his face, making him falter, hesitate for a fraction of a second saves her life as Elain’s aching wrist catapults that hefty can of Autumn Sauce right into his face and she is bolting like a fired bullet before he can even process it, or her to process the gun in his hand with the silencer attached.

Her shoes squeak and slam against the floor, but she’s running without a thought, blood roaring in her ears as she makes for the nearest exist in the back. Hears his loud curse following the shout of pain and a curse, and doesn’t stop, doesn’t halt to hide, just run run run driving her to flee, darting through the warehouse past crates and shelves and out through the back into the quiet night that lies over the abandoned parking.

He’s loudly in pursuit behind her, and the ricocheting noises of bullets bouncing off walls and floors are just enough fuel to make her feet lighter, her mouth drier, and more desperate.

One such bullet pierces the gravel beneath her feet, right where her foot was one millisecond ago that it startles her rhythm, makes her jump and trip over pure fucking air—get the fuck up!. Enough to let him catch up, enough for Elain to get mad instead of scared.

Fucking psychopaths and murderers.

It’s the same kind of recklessness that possessed her in her classroom to face down Charles: the same drive which made her charge at her attacker armed with nothing but rage makes her abruptly stop and hang back, close the distance between her and the murderer who had not expected close confrontation.

Knives were trouble in close contact, Cassian had said in that workshop that seems ages ago now. Guns were a long-distance weapon, harder to control up-close, more likely to cause their shooter damage.

Turns out he is right, or marginally at least: her attacker is so startled by her sudden change in tactics and the bony fist she throws into his face that he leaps back, and drops his gun to engage her in hand-to-hand combat which she admittedly is very poorly skilled at. Other than furious cat-fights with her sisters over the years, Elain’s never really resorted to physical violence. But the flailing fear of dying unlocks something desperate in her, that fuels a bravery to struggle and fight even when she gets a mighty blow to her stomach (fuck right where she’d been shot) and another to her jaw that knocks her back. She keeps struggling, even when she’s not seeing straight and the sky is going in circles as he wrestles with her when he straddles her waist and his weight alone pins her down. She’s struggling like a fish out of water. Kicks her legs out, pushing up her pinned hips, anything, head-butting in a futile attempt when he leans away from it and pins her wrists to the ground and locks her in place—

There. That. Every woman’s fear. Her own as well. Staring up into the face of a man about to ruin her, body and soul, in the dead of night, pinned down by his sheer weight, helpless and at his mercy.

It breaks some part of her spirit off. Some of that fear must have shown in her face, because he catches onto it, of course he does, and a sadistic smug look flies over his expression, high off the knowledge that he’d put it in her—

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmurs in a raspy voice into her ear. “No time for that, you see. You’re definitely a catch though. Maybe your kid—“

A mighty cry erupts from her lips, one he muffles by biting his teeth down on her mouth and one moment she’s pinned by his knees on her shoulders, his hands choking her neck, his broken bleeding nose smashing her own to the side and his teeth clamping hard on her lips that Elain tastes blood amongst the disgusting smell of him, feels it on her face too as he almost tears off her lips before—

Many things happen: A bang echoes so loudly in the lot that Elain flinches. The man lurches over her, detaching abruptly. Another familiar bang has him crying out.

Elain kicks him off, smashes her elbow to the face already bleeding, drives her knee into his crotch with as much fury as she can muster which by God, truly Hell cannot rival it. Clambers to her feet, and she finds herself kicking him, over and over, with such rage and vehemence, even as he curls over, and there are heavy streams of blood on the floor. Elain kicks him, in his bones, his sides, hopes she’s kicking his heart like a football, aggravated screams through her clenched teeth as her eyes blur and every pent-up pint of righteous anger explodes out of her.

“Stay the fuck away from my daughter!” She screams, guttural, with each kick, punctuated by his cries of pain but she’s not really in her body. The part of her that had broken off and floated away seems now to be a much larger portion of herself than she’s anticipated. Even now she cannot feel herself. Bone cracks. He is screaming. Elain is furiously shouting from the depths of her gut.

“Elain,” a voice she was anticipating interrupts her destruction of revenge. “Elain! That’s enough.”

“What are you even doing here?!” She rounds up on Azriel, fists tight at her side, messed-up braid swinging over her shoulder, clenching her teeth so hard that an ache blooms at her jaw. His hands wrapped around the rest of a gun, lowered and pointed to the floor, with the stoniest expression on his face she’s ever seen.

“Step away,” he instructs firmly. “Get away from him.”

“Why are you here?!” She demands, kicking away the assailant’s gun before closing in on Azriel, coming up close and personal with his face. “Thought you didn’t want anything to do with us?!”

“I’m sorry,” his lashes flutter, brow furrowed, protocol broken because he can never stand to be the cause of her distress and not alleviate it in some way, even with a futile apology. “I didn’t want anything bad to happen to either of you—“

“It’s already happened!” She shouts, waving her hands to the blood on her face and lips. When did her mind approve of the sob that breaks free from her chest? It erupts from her lips with a shrieking gasp, trying to draw in air into lungs that just won’t comply.

“Where the fuck were you?!” she screams, and shoves at his chest because, because. It doesn't do much but make more sobs bubble past her trembling lips. She shoves him in the chest with enough force to make it hurt, and immediately she wants to collapse against him. “It happened, and you left. You left us and it’s not going away! You made it happen, you found out it was cause of you and you left me to deal with it on my own!”

His face contorts, pure agony, his free hand rises to her cheek, another apology threaded into every line of action. Everywhere she looks, there it is. In his eyes, his lips, the furrow of his brow, the tremble of his scars against her skin.

It breaks her. She sobs neurotically. Heaves for breath into trembling hands and he’s pulling her in to his chest, like a shelter, caging her with an arm round her shoulders warm and close but not pressing, not tight. Elain sobs. Azriel holds her like the Beast had obsessively protected the last of the magical rose’s petals. As if she were the only life to be had.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, over and over. “Are you hurt?”

“You weren’t supposed to leave,” Elain sobs, in her hands and his chest. “I promised her you wouldn’t leave. I thought you wouldn’t leave me.”

A choked sound emanates from his throat, like the thought of her heartbroken daughter physically pains him—Good, it’s his fucking fault—and his arm falls from around her.

“I did too,” Azriel says quietly. “Elain I have to tie him up, Nuala’s just round the corner, can you find her—?”

They don’t have to, because the woman herself comes running into the lot. “Is she okay?” Nuala demands frightfully, stopping briefly to look Elain over before her gaze falls onto the moaning man and the hardest expression, like cold marble stone, freezes her face.

“Nu,” Azriel quietly intones. “We have to bring him in. Alive, Nu.”

The woman’s brows jump, and the little tremble to her chin is the only sign of inner turmoil. She clenches her jaw before nodding and making her way towards him.

“Are you all-right? What happened?”

Elain only shakes her head, when did her entire body start trembling like this? Her hands are aching, she presses them to her face, heaves in a deep breath that refuses to fill up her lungs. Azriel once again pulls her close, runs his warm hand over her arm.

“You’re okay,” he reassures her, sounds like he’s convincing himself of it. She can’t unhear the petrified fright in his voice, or unsee the pinched expression on his ghostly face when he saw her. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. Where’s Winnie?”

“At-at Feyre’s,” Elain gasps around the stutter. “I-I have to go m-make sure she’s-she’s all-al-al-all right.”

He pulls his phone out, calling Rhys’s number as Elain shivers in the cold. He tucks his gun back into the holster at his shoulder while the phone rings in his ear, shrugs his coat off and drapes it over her shoulders. Elain shakes in it, while he pulls out a handkerchief and gently wipes at the blood on her face, those hazel eyes never been darker before as they stare at the state of her lips and hear the hiss of pain when he attempts to clean up close to the bite marks. She remembers what he’d done to Charles when he got his hands on him—she wonders what’s stopping him from picking up where she left off. The desire is there in his face.

“Hey, Rhys,” he speaks into the phone, his voice remarkably controlled and so normal as he twists the handkerchief around his finger. “Wanted to check in.”

“We’re all-right. You?”

“Brilliant,” Azriel remarks back as if he’d never been better, meeting Elain’s gaze as he gently thumbs away a smear of blood from her cheek. “Winnie okay?”

“How’d you… yeah. They’re watching TV.”

“Okay,” he nods at her and Elain suppresses a relieved sob behind her trembling fingers.

“Where are you?”

“I’m with Elain, she wanted to make sure Winnie’s all right.”

“…you really think that’s a good idea?”

Azriel’s expression tightly twists. “Night, Rhys.”

“Az, we talked about this—”

Elain’s breath stutters in her chest as he puts his phone away and Nuala half hauls and half shoves the culprit across the parking lot. His hands settle over her shoulders as dry sobs spasm in her chest and he focuses his sight on her own. “Let’s go, eh?”

“Where?” she voices in a subdued tone, finding her legs too weak to move as one of his hands slide into her own and she tries to move her aching feet.

“The station,” he says and somehow she wishes he’d said home. Why would he? No business in that now, what with Elain wanting nothing to do with him as she’d colorfully expressed and his painful compliance. She’s shaking, she wonders when her body will calm down.

“I…I don’t want to be in…” her words fade on her bruised mouth, watching Nuala stuff her attacker in their car.

“Of course not, where’s your car? I’ll drive.”

_____

It’s half-past midnight when Elain barges out of the building, somehow angrier than when she had walked in, every part of her body begging to limp and crawl to her car but a stubborn state of mind forcing her to put one foot in front of the other with her head held high and her shoulders backed.

“Elain,” he follows her out, half a step behind and her car keys dangling from his fingers and long coat folded over his arm.

“I’m not in the politest mood, Azriel,” she forces out with as much calm as she can muster, pulling open the passenger seat door. “Please don’t provoke me into saying something I’ll regret.”

The door slams shut behind him when he gets behind the wheel, turns the truck on and spares her a side glance as he pulls the car out of the parking lot. Elain stonily stares out the window, her bruised knuckles pressed to her bruised mouth and her legs aching as she stiffly sits and rests her head against the window.

Some time passes in the quiet car before he pipes up.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies.”

“I still am.”

“You let him fucking walk!” she explodes, despite her reservations, smacking the window hard enough it feels like it’ll give out. “I—you pulled him off me! You put bullets in him, he was armed, he wanted to kill me and he fucking walked?!”

The streetlights flash on his face, red and white illuminating his clenched jaw and fixed gaze.

“How on earth,” she seethes. “How could you? Look at me, Azriel.”

When he pauses at a red light, he does.

“Take a long, hard, fucking look at me,” Elain demands. “Look at my fucking face. I’ve still got your brother’s scars on me.”

Unfair, the kinder part of her sadly echoes as a violent flinch tears through his face.

“How could you?” her voice fades at the end, the ‘you’ more of a general accusatory statement to the police rather than the man himself who still protested nothing when a well-dressed individual sauntered into the floor and smiled a vile thing at Helion. Nuala did not hold her tongue, coming to furious tears that refused to fall as she visibly argued with their boss in his office though Elain couldn’t hear her. Azriel remained silent, standing next to Elain’s chair, ankles crossed and arms crossed and mouth shut. What killed Elain was that the fucker, still with the wounds in him bleeding, smirked at her when he was released and walked. Do something, she demanded of Azriel, who only watched them go, and did nothing.

“Azriel say something.”

His hand slides to the side of the steering wheel, with a soft sigh whistling past his lips. He blinks at the road in front of them. Elain roughly blinks tears from her eyes. “He works for—”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

“The Seven, Elain,” he glances at her before looking back. “You want to know why I got there in time? This isn’t his first rodeo. This isn’t the first time I’ve dragged his ass to the precinct to fail in processing him. Sometimes I think he fucks around when he’s bored just to have us not-arrest him.”

He blurs in her sight, and her vision stings. The tears spill on her cheeks. “Just—just have him killed or something…” she whispers hoarsely. “Accident…resisted arrest…anything. Come on…All those innocent people, Az.”

Azriel refuses to look at her. Then, his lips part: “Why else do you think I’m risking my neck?”

Her face crumbles. “Don’t.”

“One time we got tipped about…” he trails off and seems to decide it’s better to not dive into the story. “Point is, I saved this girl in the nick of seconds, Elain. She had her twin’s blood on her still. She was the only survivor, all her group gone in front of her. Weeks later, she called. I had to explain that—”

“No.”

“Sure as fuck, Elain,” he nods. “Had to tell her the people who murdered her friends weren’t even tried.”

“Why—How can anyone…”

“Don’t let it get to you,” he says emptily, leaning his head on the fist propped by the elbow on the car door.

“What if I press charges? Report you? I’m right here, I’m alive, I know the man’s name for God’s sake.”

“Won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re telling me the only way I can get any semblance of justice—”

“Not in our version of the state,” his lips smile, baring his teeth, but utterly humorless.

She clenches her jaw, and her nose flares and the hot air of the conditioner is merciless to the tears clinging to her lashes and cheeks. She wipes them away with a sniffle.

“Everytime, everytime it happens I think I’ll pop an artery,” he says quietly. “And I just boil on the inside for ages. And I remind myself there’s no justice here, only the one we make.”

She sinks in the seat, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Someone hired him to kill me? Who?”

“Does it matter?”

Elain blinks at him. “Maybe you’re used to having so many people wanting your head that you’ve lost count, but I’ve never so much as had a hostile co-worker, Azriel.”

“Mean to ask, what’s who compared to why?” he bleakly explains, voice hallow and croaking its syllables from his throat. “Travis knows he’s on my radar, he’s known to be closely watched by us, Elain. If he was sent to kill you, means they wanted us to know and see and get there too late. Fucking war.”

“And by us it’s really just you?”

Azriel glances at her. “Yes.”

“So,” Elain looks out her window. “The get-at-Bougainvillea-through-Archeron act strikes again. Fourth time, is it?”

“Has it really been four times?” he quietly asks.

“And you haven’t even taken me out to dinner.”

“You been wearing a ring behind my back, calling yourself Bougainvillea and I somehow don’t know about it?”

Elain presses her head to the glass. “I don’t change my name.”

“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind when I pop the big question.”

Silence descends on them. Elain likes the quiet of car drives which aren’t exactly quiet with the engine humming and the car speeding on the road. The view shooting past in the window gives its own sound to her mind as she watches. Like white noise silencing her thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want it.”

“I still am.”

“It means jack shit when nothing’s changing.”

“Do you blame me for it?”

The quietness in his question makes her look at him, despite the protestations of her entire body at the movement. Her mouth aches as she speaks, but she does anyways. “I’m angry at you for forcing me to leave.”

His brows arch. “I didn’t make you do anything.”

“My mother threw herself off a balcony, and I saw it,” she deadpans. “We don’t talk about it at all. So you’d imagine I’m not entirely keen letting my daughter or myself lose someone the same way.”

His brow furrows. “I’m not. I’m not.”

Elain clenches her teeth and settles back in her seat. “I’m mad at you because bad things happen and it keeps happening and you’re not there with me. I’m mad because you think somehow sulking off and leaving me alone will take psychopaths’ attention off me when they’ve illogically fixated on me in the first place. I’m mad because that won’t solve it. Cause I want to solve it, face it with you and you…can’t find it in you to do so.”

She watches his chin sharpen and jut slightly outwards. “I can’t in good faith, Elain.”

“Why not?”

“You even want me in the first place?”

“You’ve made that hard to express.”

He blearily blinks, eyes straight ahead. Then a small empty chuckle leaves him.

“What?” she hoarsely asks.

“Remembered that meme: not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch of stuff really quickly.”

“I’m pouring my heart out to you and you’re quoting John Mulaney, Az?”

“Hey, I don’t control this,” he taps his temple, hand thudding on the steering wheel as it rests there once more. “Truth is I’m afraid. I’ve never anticipated having anything to live for in my life, Elain. Everything’s just been getting one task done after the other, not even driven by dreams. I didn’t have dreams, just trying to find someplace to fit and somehow I chose the worst career to end in and I finally had a dream—it’s more of an obsession, really. The magnum opus of career tasks. I say I’m ready to die for it because I don’t have anything to live for after. I have no clue what I’d do after everything’s said and done.”

Azriel glances at her and shakes his head. “But you. Fucking hell, you. Everything I’ve ever thought a dream to be.”

Her face falls. “Where does that leave us?”

“Fuck if I know, sweetheart.”

Elain crosses her arms over herself and turns away from him. “Okay.”

____

The minute Feyre takes a look at her, her sister visibly blanches and gasps. Rhys stares at her for so long, until Azriel suggests they let her inside. Thankfully the children are asleep, Winnie fast asleep when Elain checks on her. Explaining what happens breathes more life into the fury poisoning the incident, she makes her way through it softly and quietly while Feyre’s face drains of any color and Elain wonders if Rhys is throwing Azriel dirty looks or it’s just her imagination.

“Well, you’re not leaving tonight,” Feyre declares, glancing at her husband for support. “All of you. I…I think it’s better if you just stay the night. Please, at least for my sake.”

“You don’t need to convince me,” Elain mutters, getting up to wash and change. She cannot wait to sink into their guest bedroom’s mattress, to sleep on feather pillows and forget anything ever happened for the duration of her sleep.

“I should go,” Azriel tries to leave.

“Like fucking sodding bleeding bloody Hell you are!” Feyre stammers through her cursewords, that Rhys throws her a softly-amused look of surprise.

“What part of London you from, darling?”

“Piss off,” she flips him the bird before glaring at Azriel. “Besides, your car’s at the—”

“I really think it’s best—”

“What you assume to be best has been recently revealed to be shit, Az,” Rhys stands as he unkindly declares his statement. “Stay. Let some of us get a good night’s sleep.”

Elain leaves them talking still, and when she’s done washing and getting into the pajamas Feyre lays out for her, she hears Rhys and Azriel’s conversation from upstairs. She has no intention of listening, or focusing on it, but the tone is hard to ignore. She wonders why or when animosity sprung between them, but she figures that of all the calamities to occur, soured mood between worried brothers is the least of her concern.

“It’s just the one room ‘cause I’m finally making up the other two,” Feyre says to her. “Shall I tell Az he’s free to take the couch?”

Elain curls under the covers and oh heavens she was right. This is sublime. A couple of hours in this is sufficient to cure everything wrong in her. “If that’s your subtle way of poking around, Fey, I don’t give a damn.”

“Everything all-right?” her sister softly asks. “I’m not asking just to know. I’m asking if there’s something. You know, not drama-wise. Actually something I can help with.”

Elain feels her eyes sting and her chest tighten. “Nesta warned me about ambitious men,” she mutters thickly. “She’s right.”

The mattress dips at her knees and Feyre rests a hand on her. “Nesta’s also incredibly lonely. She might not be entirely right. I’m sure you and Az can figure something out. He definitely thinks you’re worth it.”

“He knows what I’m asking for,” Elain tells her bluntly. “Ball’s in his court to deliver or not. I haven’t got anything to say.”

Feyre pats her. “I’ll give him a nudge.”

“He doesn’t need one.”

Her sister flicks off the lights as she heads out. “Everyone does. Especially him.”

“Feyre,” Elain looks over her shoulder just as she’s about to shut the door. “Tell Rhys to lay off.”

Feyre pauses momentarily, a dark silhouette against the hallway light, before she bows her head and closes the door behind her. Elain lies in the quiet dark, lets her eyes slide shut and her mind to drift. It’s all too easy, see. To seek refuge in dreams instead of reliving reality. She’d rather fret over the semantics of simpler notions than overthink that matter of constant life-or-death situations she finds herself in.

So, she sleeps.

Until she’s not anymore. Barely two hours.

She tries to fall asleep again, stares at the bedside clock with the hopes it’ll bore her to sleep. Nothing. Is everyone asleep? When she checks on Winnie, the girl is softly snoring, clutching stuffed animals to her chest and the duvet kicked off. Elain takes the time to properly tuck her in once more, to brush a kiss against her forehead and linger. She does the same for Felix, admittedly in a more raucous sleeping position that Elain wrestles back into formation.

In the living room, when she goes looking for him, she finds him in the same spot as she left him in. On the sofa, dress shirt rolled to his sleeves, leaning his elbows on his knees and head ducked beneath his hands, chain-smoking like he had no tomorrow to smoke them in.

“Please get some sleep,” Elain softly pipes up. “Just looking at you in this state makes me worried.”

He slowly looks up, ruffling his hair along the way, as he meets her eyes. The night light of the hallway sheds little light on his face, revealing just enough to let her know he’d been sat here doing nothing but stone-faced stewing in his thoughts.

“Can’t,” his voice rumbles, before the cigarette’s red cherry glows brighter in the dim light and more tobacco catches quiet fire. He exhales with a rumbling sigh, burying his forehead in his palm.

“What’s going on your mind?”

“Plotting murder,” Azriel replies with blatant honesty that stuns her.

“I…” she pauses. “I am sorry for how I lost my temper—”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Don’t make this worse. I’m this close to smashing things into dust, Elain.”

“You didn’t deserve my anger,” she leans against the wall. “Or my frustration. I made it worse by looking to you to change things when they’re not so easily changed. I realize now—I mean, I understand. Why you’re so driven by anger. I would be too.”

He looks up. “You think I’m doing everything I am cause of anger?”

“Didn’t you say so?”

“I get overwhelmed and pissed off most of the time, sure,” Azriel concedes, sitting back and crossing his legs. “But anger doesn’t get you far in my job—you have to keep a cool head, keep your distance to have that view of the bigger picture no one else does. I’m not doing it cause it’s personal. It’s necessary.”

“You sound pretty mad to me,” Elain points out quietly.

“Do I?” he smiles sardonically, blowing out smoke. Despite his gentle tone and soft words. “I’m actually pretty fucking livid.”

“Smash-your-brother-into-a-pulp-livid?”

He stands up, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray. “Don’t know who do I get my hands on kind of livid.”

Elain looks up as he steps close to her, smelling heavily of cigarette smoke and cologne. She blinks, leaning against the wall, hands behind her back and thinks that the smoke and cologne are a combination suiting only him. “Do you have to hack and slash at the world if you’re angry?”

“Dunno what else it’d make me do.”

“You’ve never gotten angry and think; fuck it, I’ll use it for something progressive and constructive?”

“This isn’t a community garden issue, Elain,” Azriel heaves in a deep breath.

“I’m aware,” she nods. “I’m just asking if you’d possibly find the strength in your anger to give me what I’m asking for.”

His face softens, his shoulders slump and his hands cup her face achingly tender and soft, hazel eyes flickering between her own. “Before Feyre went to bed, she told me my blanket’s upstairs in your room.”

Elain leans into his palms, closing her eyes. She might faint, as dizziness flares up in her head. “Sorry, you’ll have to share it. I’m a hogger.”

“Now that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

“We can compromise. I’ll allow you close-contact cuddling to fit under it.”

“Don’t want to freeze to death, sure.”

Why do tears build up behind her closed eyelids and leak out? She sniffles, feels that shake in her come back in small tremors, and leans into him. His hands slide off her face, to let him wrap his arms around her and tuck his head on her shoulder.

“I want to be strong to face this,” she tearfully whispers. “I feel braver with you. Like I could handle anything.”

“Yeah,” he whispers back. “I get it.”

“Would you stop being too scared of being vulnerable and accept that you’re human like the rest of us, with people you love that can be used to get to you, with people who love you that worry to death about you? Would you accept that?”

“I’m scared to do it.”

She presses herself into him. “You have to. You’re one of the bravest people I know. I know it’s frightening, but please, for me—if you want me, us, I need you to accept that fact. And I need you to adjust your moves according to it or there won’t be an ‘us’ and I really want it to happen.”

He gently gives her body a squeeze. “That’s a lesson in human nature I wasn’t lectured on.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, and hot tears stream down her face. Sometimes she forgets the things that made him who he is, the isolated years and tortured childhood—something like that sticks with a person, is an integral part of who they are. It explains a lot, if she’s honest.

“I can be patient,” says Elain into his chest. “I’ll be patient for you.”

His knees bend a little, she feels them nudge her as his arms shift on her and she finds herself being gently lifted up. Makes the sore effort of helping him pick her up by latching her arms around his neck while he relieves her legs from the pressure of standing.

“Don’t think I deserve you,” he murmurs quietly, holding her easily to his chest, his eyes sorrowfully dark and eyebrows low over them. His neck warm when Elain presses her face to it, splaying one of her hands on his back. “Let’s get you to bed. Get some rest.”

[@tswaney17 @julesherondalex @mis-lil-red @gorl-power @thesirenwashere @stars-falling @trying-to-read @dreamerforever-5 @hail-doodles @eloeloeheheh @i-am-lost-in-my-world @abraxos-is-toothless @queen-of-glass @elrielllll @negativenesta @b00kworm @harmonyindark245 @ducksmurf135 @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @thewayshedreamed @agem10 @superspiritfestival @maybekindasortaace @maastrash @courtofjurdan @ireallyshouldsleeprn @gracie-rosee @bookstaninthesoul @elriel4life @fawnandshadows @123moiaussi @impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

#Elain Archeron #my beloved #Lucien Vanserra #apaixonar #Azriel Bougainvillea #elriel #elriel fic #idk what to tell you lads my girl elain kicks ass in this one #elain centric chapter because it's time

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smallestapplin · 2 years

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you know what i think would be funny? if Melli was the one to save the mc from Volo. Melli who refuses to admit that he cares about the mc, Melli who absolutely does not like being pestered by the mc, Melli who feels his chest tighten at the mc's look of terror as Volo tries to kill them. so i'd like to request a scenario of this, please

Your wish is my command! I’m more than happy to 😊

Changing cave locations cause I couldn’t figure out who it get Melli to the coastlands so to the highlands we go!

Asks are open!

It has been a week since your disappearance, everyone had been affected by it, and as much as Melli hates to admit it, so is he, even Lord Electrode is distressed that you’re gone, Laventon had told them it had to be a person, but who would even be strong enough or dumb enough to go after such a well known person?

Everyone was working trying to find you, and for once he didn’t make a show of helping, he misses you and wants you back safely, sure he hated you when he first met you, but the longer you stayed around the more he grew to like you, you were kind to him, yeah you two would sass each other and argue, but you proved time and time again that you cared for him.

Be it bringing him something to eat and drink when he could leave his post, walking with him and listening to him talk about his day and just how great he is, he still refuses to admit he was blushing when you called him pretty.

But where were you? Where could you have been taken? Were you okay? Had you eaten anything? Are you injured? Cold? The questions keep him up at night for he has no answer and the scares him.

His skuntank wasn’t acting right today, they had walking down the hill, dodging gravler and golems, his Skuntank just kept running, occasionally turning around to make sure Melli was after him.

“What is the meaning of this!? You can’t just run off like this!”

Melli ran and ran, eventually there was no Pokémon around, the silence is deafening, but Skuntank stops at a cave opening, looking between it and his trainer, tugging at Melli’s tunic trying to get him closer.

The warden felt nervous, a feeling of dread filled his senses looking in the cave, faintly he can see light.

“Maybe we should get Ingo for this? Or someone.” Melli tried coming the skunk Pokémon down but it kept growing more insistent.

Tugging at one of his long strands of hair the warden sighed and moved towards the cave, being as quiet as possible, is there an injured Pokémon in here? But what if there is an aggressive one? Better to be safe than sorry.

He comes across a lit torch, then another, all spaced out by a bit, the further in he moves the more he realizes he can hear voices he can’t make out any words yet but one sounds weak while other sounds livid.

Melli almost rounds a corner but is quick to stay behind it, realizing that the next turn is a dead end and holds the people talking, peeking around he sees Volo? What is he doing here? I guess it’s his home, banishment must suck.

“You’re nothing but a thorn in my side.” Volo lifts the other person up by their collar, arm winding back before a painful wheeze is heard, but the merchant wasn’t letting up.

“W…what? T-treat me like your daddy treated you?” Another punch silenced your chuckle

Wait that was your voice! The warden slaps a hand over his mouth to stop from any noises escaping, Skuntank right at his side fur bristling, he needs to think of something and fast.

Volo drops you, landing on the ground he can see your face no, bruised and bloodied, what are you covered in? You can’t move he’d figured that out, but he almost cries at the sight of you, you look like a mess, the cave fills with an awful high pitched wheezing sound each time you breathe, dread is replaced with rage.

How dare this pathetic waste of space do this to you! Your his little side kick how dare Volo lay a hand on you!

He acted before thinking, the blonde wasn’t expecting anyone to fly around the corner to land a hit on the center of his face, Melli having covered his mouth and nose, rushes over to quickly dk the same to you.

“Skuntank! Poison gas!”

The cave fills with the toxic air leaving Volo coughing, gripping at his throat he stumbles to grab Melli, who returns a swift kick to his gut before carrying and running off, once out of the cave he keeps running,

You can only look at him, the fear plainly written on his face, his hold on you was right but not painfully so, more so he was afraid he’d lose you.

“Melli.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Melli!” You say a little louder.

He still makes no move to show he’s listening.

“MELLI!” You start coughing, your throat hurts, the yelling makes it burn.

He looks down at you before slowly down.

“What?” He pants.

“My satchel.” You croak out “the flute, let me call Wyrdeer.”

He finds a safe spot to rest you up against.

“What on Earth are you covered in? Your bag is covered too!” The warden calls for his Drapion who begins cutting you and your things free.

You yelp once your arms are freed, they fall to your side finally free to move but the pain surges through your body at it, you haven’t moved your limbs from the positions you were stuck in, the sticky glob made it impossible.

Melli yanks back Drapion, the large scorpion making a sound of comfort and worry.

“Are you alright? She didn’t cut you did she?”

“No…just been stuck like this so so long, it hurts to move, continue.”

Once you’ve been freed Melli pulls out your flute and holds it up for you, you blow into it and a loud cry echoes through the highlands, Wyrdeer stopping just before you two, nudging you and nuzzling against your face.

“I missed you too buddy, can Melli ride with us just this once? I’m afraid I’m useless in this state.”

The deer Pokémon didn’t seem to care, only happy that you’ve returned, allowing both of you up.

The entire ride Melli held you close to his chest, you can hear his heart beating, but the look on his face said he was scared, you lay your head against him.

“I’m so tired.” You feel him rest him head on top of yours.

“Then sleep, I’m sure you’ll wake up once we arrived to the galaxy team camp site.”

“Melli?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” He felt you slowly fall limp, your breathing evening out.

He tenderly moves his finger tips across your cheek, he will make it his job to make sure Volo, of survived the poisonous gas is dead for what he has done to you.

#pokemon #pokemon imagines #pokemon x reader #pokémon #pokemon fanfic #pokemon melli #Volo #if you scroll down far enough you’ll see I will fist fight not only Kamado #but also melli #I have a hate hate hate love relationship with him #he is kinda fun to write for tho #I’d fight melli in a loving way

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immabethehero · 1 year

Text

Encanto Day 30 - Milk

OK so context: my friend Breanna loves three things: milk, Encanto and The Sandman. So I decided to write a behemoth of a crossover.

This is both a modern au of Encanto and a sequel to this story I wrote back in the summer.

Shoutout to @doitforstamets and stargrazing on Discord for helping me write this.

Happy Birthday @breannasfluff! I hope you like this!

~~~~~~

“So… we meet again.” Bruno stares at the bottom of his suitcase, his expression weary. It has been sixteen years. Sixteen years of non-cow-costume-wearing bliss. And yet, here he is, pulling out the outfit once more, like a retired clown applying his makeup.

It’s not that Bruno doesn't enjoy dressing up and playing pretend, hey, his real Gift is acting! It’s this costume in particular he doesn’t enjoy.

At least he won’t suffer alone this time.

In the dining area of the hotel, Pepa has gathered her children and nieces to watch the infamous video of Brumilkerbell, the Fairy Cow Princess. Every single one of them is in hysterics as they watch Bruno stumble in his little heels, ball gown flouncing around him. Bruno rolls his eyes.

“I’m glad you sadists are finding pleasure in my pain,” he says loudly as he joins them at their table.

“Turn the clip off, I can't breathe!” Mirabel gasps between wheezes.

“It’s even better than I remember!” Isabela howls.

“Mom, why didn’t you give birth to me sooner? I wish I had been in the area when this happened!” Camilo snorts.

“Honestly, Milo, I’m surprised I didn’t give birth right then and there, I was laughing so hard,” Pepa admits, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Funny,” Bruno snaps. He dumps the costume on the table. “Here it is, kids: the worst out-of-context vision I ever had.”

His sobrinos immediately crowd around the table, marvelling and snickering at Brumilkerbell’s get-up.

“It’s even bigger than I remember,” Dolores remarks.

“There’s the seven foot frame you wanted, Camilo,” Mirabel says.

Camilo is laughing too hard to respond.

“So why are we doing this again?” Agustín asks.

“Because my friend in the online writing club I’m in needs some help, and I’m the only person in the whole group who can supply her with what she needs,” Bruno explains. “Her ex-boyfriend’s niece’s friend’s son is having his fourth birthday party and apparently this year he wants it cow themed.”

“That’s a lot of different acquaintances,” Julieta remarks.

“That’s just how her friend group works,” Bruno says. “Her ‘found family’ has gotten pretty big since she last checked.”

Alma checks her pocket watch. “It’s 12 pm, we should get going. Boys, do you have your…?”

Agustín and Félix hold up their own cow costumes, one a police officer and the other a construction worker. Bruno smiles gratefully at the two. As stated previously, at least he won’t suffer alone this time.

A man with long brown hair is waiting for them outside the New Inn. He waves happily when he sees Bruno carrying the bags of costumes.

“Hi! You must be Bruno! I’m Hob Gadling, I’m a friend of Calliope’s.” Hob’s bright smile and sweet voice win the Madrigals over easily. When Bruno shakes his hand, he is surprised by Hob’s firm yet gentle hold.

“Your hands are warm,” Bruno notes. He winces at his own rudeness. Hob laughs.

“You’re the first to ever say that about my hands,” he says. “I assume that’s a compliment?”

Bruno nods, face red. “Yeah.”

“Calliope and Murphy are waiting inside with the birthday crew. Thankfully, only a few kids are coming so you won’t be overwhelmed!” Hob continues as he leads the family inside. He suddenly notices how many Madrigals there are.

“Uh… are they all coming in?” he asks.

Bruno glances at his family and turns back to Hob, smiling. “Is that ok with you? They, uh, want to see the performance.”

“That good of an entertainer, huh?” Hob says. “Alright, I guess Lyta won’t mind. She’s the mother of the birthday boy.”

Hob takes the Madrigals through the inn and into a big room with a small stage, where the party has already begun. A group of seven kids do arts and crafts at a long table, while the adults mingle.

True to Bruno’s words, the entire room looks like a cow’s hide. White balloons with black spots and black balloons with white spots are hung up in every corner. The table cloths and streamers have a similar pattern. A large banner reading “Happy 4th Birthday Daniel!” is hung up by the small stage, two cartoon cows drawn on either side. Even the cake is shaped like a cow.

A woman with lovely chestnut hair approaches Hob as the group enters. Clinging to her leg is a small boy with blond hair.

“Hob!” The woman’s smile fades when she notices everyone. “Who are they and why are they all here? They weren’t on the guest list!”

“It’s ok, Lyta, they’re with me!” another woman says, running up to him. Bruno recognizes her Greek accent immediately. “Hello, Bruno. It’s nice to meet you at last.”

Upon seeing her warm smile and lovely dark hair, Bruno relaxes. “Hola, Calliope. It’s nice to meet you in the flesh as well.”

“This is Lyta Hall, she’s running the party. And this is Daniel, our birthday boy,” Hob introduces. While Lyta waves, Daniel ducks his head.

“Lyta, this is Bruno, he’s from my online writing club!” Calliope says. “He’s the one with the crazy ‘cow’ getup I was talking about.”

“Can I see?” Lyta asks.

Bruno opens his suitcase. “Behold.”

Lyta’s eyes turn as big as saucers. “You weren’t kidding…”

“It’s going to be quite the experience,” Bruno laughs. “Agustín and Félix are dancing with me as well.” The men in question wave.

“And so are me and Dream!” Hob says. “Do you have our costumes?”

Bruno lifts up his own to show two packages underneath. Hob snorts when he sees them. “These look incredible! Dream, you have to come see this!” He turns to the corner of the room, where a man Bruno did not see before stands.

The partygoers have given him a large space to himself, wary of the stranger. The man is shrouded in the shadows, his body hidden in a black coat. His emotionless face is pale and cold and his black hair is untamed. The oddest part about him is his eyes. A strange shade of blue that seems to shine like… stars. Bruno feels a sense of familiarity. Who is this man?

As Dream slowly approaches him, Bruno shrinks under his magnificently intimidating gaze. Dream glances down at the costumes before looking up at the prophet. Immediately his expression softens. It is a look of wonder.

Bruno ducks to hide his terrified gaze. “Right. Is there a room where we can set up?” he asks, willing his voice not to shake.

“There’s an empty space across the hall, we can get ready there!” Hob says. “Come on!”

In the other room, Bruno hands each man his costume. Agustín struggles to get the police boots on his “hooves”, Félix slips on the construction worker cow’s safety vest.

Hob is practically jumping with joy when he sees the cowboy, er, cow’s outfit. He laughs as he puts on the vest and fixes his sheriff’s badge. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, but this has to be one of the greatest..”

“You’ll be the Aviator, Dream,” Bruno says, handing the strange man his costume.

“‘Aviator’?” Dream asks. His surprisingly deep baritone voice rumbles through the room. Bruno feels chills run down his back.

“Because Calliope said you didn’t want to be seen doing this, so I found a costume that could hide your face?” Bruno squeaks. “The goggles should be enough, right?”

Dream takes the costume and looks it through. “Very well.”

“Why are you doing this if you don’t want to be seen?” Félix asks. “This isn’t exactly a… subtle activity.”

“Because I have a duty to fulfill,” Dream answers simply. Félix shrugs and goes back to trying to cram the hard hat on his cow’s head.

Bruno . “Alright, we have an hour to rehearse this song. I assume you all know ‘YMCA’, right?”

“Yeah, why?” Hob asks.

Bruno hands them all sheet music. “I, uh, took some creative liberties with it.”

Back in the party room, the rest of the Madrigals have already assimilated themselves into the crowd. Isabela shows off her plant magic to some of the children, Antonio colours with Daniel while telling him all sorts of cow facts (only half of which the four-year-old understands), Lyta has gotten some wine with the mothers, who shower her and Dolores with advice on how to raise a kid.

Meanwhile, Luisa, Mirabel and Camilo find new friends in two special guests, the niece and nephew of Dream.

“Rainbow hair…” Mirabel breathes, gazing in awe at Rose Walker’s dreadlocks. Rose giggles.

“Oh yeah! I’ve thought about changing it up recently, but honestly, rainbow hair is so fun!” she admits.

Mirabel turns back to her mom, pointing at Rose’s hair and back at her own. Julieta shakes her head. Mirabel pouts.

“Worth a shot,” she mumbles. Rose laughs.

Luisa watches Rose with stars in her eyes, the bookworm excited to meet a real, published author in the flesh. “How long did it take you to write your manuscript?”

“About two months, actually. I got a surge of inspiration during the last week and finished it in time to send to a publisher looking for new works,” Rose explains. “Next thing I know, I’ve got a huge paycheck and several book reviewers telling me I’m the new Neil Gaiman.”

“Fantástica!” Luisa squeals.

“Do Spiderman next!” Jed Walker exclaims. Camilo shapeshifts into the superhero, doing a backflip.

“Don’t work the kid too hard, Jed!” Rose warns.

“I won’t!” Jed responds.

“Don’t worry, I can do this all day!” Camilo says, shapeshifting into Captain America. Jed howls with laughter.

“He says that but then he’ll sleep until noon tomorrow,” Mirabel says. Rose laughs again, but it fades as she notices something strange walking onto the stage.

“What on earth is that?” she asks. Mirabel turns around and immediately begins laughing.

Camilo shapeshifts back into himself and drags Jed closer to the stage. “Oh, you’re gonna want front-row seats for this!”

Daniel is led to the front of the audience. The kids gather around him, laughing at the funny cows. In the back, Pepa and Julieta are already shrieking with laughter, taking pictures of the costumed men on their phones.

Bruno stands centre stage in his fairy cow princess, looking as marvelous as ever with the sparkling pink gown, wings and tiara. Behind him stand a police officer, a construction worker, a cowboy and an aviator, all cows. Mirabel recognizes her father and Tío Félix as the police officer and construction worker respectfully, but are those Hob and Dream, Hob’s mysterious boyfriend, as the cowboy and the aviator? Even with aviator goggles covering his eyes, Dream’s sharp, white cheekbones are quite memorable and noticeable. Not to mention, she can’t see him anywhere in the room, so…

On stage, Hob keeps glancing at Dream. While this would usually flatter the Endless, right now it’s getting on his last nerve.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” Dream finally hisses.

“You look constipated, and I don’t want you to take it out on Bruno,” Hob whispers.

“I’m not going to send a nightmare after him. You don’t have to worry,” Dream says. “I’m just not looking forward to this.”

“You don’t have to do this, Dream,” Hob reminds him. “I asked several times if you wanted to back out, and every time, you’ve refused. Why?”

“Because it is my duty to visit the first baby born in the Dreaming every year on his birthday,” Dream states. “And even if that includes doing a ridiculous dance at his birthday party, so be it.”

Hob rolls his eyes. “That last part is a load of bull and you know it. Are you sure that’s why you’re doing it?”

Dream is silent.

Hob gives him a knowing smile. “You’ve grown to care for Daniel Hall and his crazy family, haven’t you? Is this about making the kid, and by extension, your new family, happy?”

Dream shrinks further into the giant cow head. Hob leans over to kiss his nose.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Bruno grabs a microphone from an amused Isabela. “Hi kids! I’m Brumilkerbell, the Fairy Cow Princess of… Milkneyland, and these are my friends, the Village Cows!”

“Why do you have a beard?!” a kid in the audience yells.

“Why don’t you have a beard?!” Bruno snaps back. He takes a deep breath and smiles once more. “Today, we’re going to sing a special song all about your favourite drink! Can anyone guess what that is?”

“Wine!” Pepa yells.

“Pepa, there are kids in the audience, including your own.”

“So?!”

“So we’re going to be learning facts about an altogether different drink,” Bruno exclaims through teeth clenched. “I would like to thank Antonio Madrigal for helping me write some of the lyrics. Hit it!”

Dolores turns on the boombox. Brumilkerbell and the Village Cows begin tapping their hooves.

“Is it just me or is the tune familiar?” Julieta asks as she records.

“I’m pretty sure this is just YMCA,” Pepa says. “Did he change the lyrics?”

The cows swing their tails to the beat as the chorus kicks in.

It’s fun to drink a lot of M! I! L! K! It’s fun to drink a lot of M! I! L! K!

“Ohhhh…” the sisters say in unison.

The kids cheer for the exuberant performance, getting up and doing the dance with them. Most of the adults are laughing too hard to join, or film the performance. Daniel screams with glee as the cows swish their tails and pump their hooves in the air in an elaborate dance.

After the performance, the men sit at a table while Daniel opens his presents. Bruno has already fallen asleep, Agustín and Félix engage in a game of chinchon. Dream watches the sleeping Bruno from the side.

Hob arrives with drinks. Unlike the others, he has not taken off his cowboy cow costume. The fathers cheer until they see what’s in the wine glasses: milk.

“Oh come on, why the long faces?” Hob teases. “You heard Brumilkerbell up there, milk is chock full of vitamin B12!”

The Madrigal men glance at each other before shrugging and grabbing a glass. Félix grabs an extra for when Bruno wakes up. Hob moves onto Dream.

“What are you thinking about?” Hob asks, handing the Sandman his milk.

“That family has magic,” Dream says. “That’s why they feel so different.”

Hob raises an eyebrow. “Magic? You’re only figuring this out now?”

“You knew?”

“I mean, Bruno Madrigal is a lyrical genius! How could I not know about his music-writing magic?!”

Dream gives his boyfriend a small smile. “Not that kind of magic, Hob. Real magic. Each of them has a small portion of magic, dedicated to one type of spell. They call them Gifts.”

Hob looks amazed. “Really? How did I not notice that?”

“I don’t think they trust us enough to show us,” Dream admits. “I’m surprised they’ve been able to hide it for so long.”

“Should we tell them we know? Does Calliope know?”

“Let’s not tell them, for now. Calliope has had her suspicions since she met Bruno. She asked me to confirm today, and Lucienne has just sent me the report.”

“Your librarian rules.”

“I know. I shall send her your compliments.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“You asked.”

“Smartass.”

As the kids sleep upstairs in the inn, the grownups decide to have a little more wine to wind down for the night.

“I can’t believe my youngest son actually helped Bruno write that song,” Pepa says.

“Well, it wasn’t easy,” Bruno says. “It took the better part of a week and half a dozen Google searches.”

“How were you not sweating bullets up there? I was getting hot just looking at you,” Julieta says.

“Oh believe me, I was getting hot,” Agustín says. “You weren’t kidding, hermano, these costumes are stuffy as hell!”

“Luckily for you, this is where the fun part comes in,” Hob says, standing up. “Dolores, ma’am, where’s your boombox?!”

Mirabel stumbles downstairs, her throat parched and stomach rumbling. She should not have had that much cake. Her head pricks up slightly as she hears music and shrieking from down the hall. Curious, she walks down to investigate.

When she peers into the room, the sight is enough to wake her up. Bruno, Agustín, Félix and Hob all managed to get the clothes off the cow jumpsuits, and are currently in the middle of slowly taking off the jumpsuits themselves. Dios mio, she can see their hairy chests.

The women, her abuela included, whoop and whistle at the strippers, all clearly tipsy.

Dolores, hearing her cousin gasping in horror, pauses the music. All heads turn to the 16-year-old gaping in the doorway.

Bruno is the first to find his words. “Hey, Mariposa! What do you need?”

“I was considering getting a glass of milk, but I think I’ll hold off until I can get this image out of my mind. Buenas noches.” Mirabel awkwardly exits, wondering how this day went from YMCA parodies to strip-teasing cows.

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spasticfanatic · 10 months

Text

Celestial War: Chapter one

Enjoy my friends!

“Cynder?” Zane asked, knocking on the door as he entered with a backpack.

Cynder let out a noisy groan, opening her eye as she glanced at him.

“The pain medication they must have given you must be something else, huh?” Zane chuckled, sitting on the bed adjacent to hers.

She looked at him with a half lidded eye, before flipping him off. This made the mechanical angel wheeze.

“Yeah? What’s that for?” He laughed, setting his backpack on the ground beside the bed.

“You stayin?” She grunted.

“Garmadon has asked me to keep an eye on you.” He smiled at her.

“Of course he did.” She slurred most of her words.

“Perhaps it would be best if you didn’t talk.” Zane snickered.

“Shut up.” She grumbled, attempting to sit up a little.

“Ah!” Zane jumped from his spot on his new bed and rushed over to her. He laid her back down with wide eyes. “You should not sit up! My father has told me your wounds are deep. You need to rest.”

“You know I hate bed rest.” She glared at him.

“I do, but you will not be alone this time. I will be here to keep you company.”

“More like annoy me.”

Zane laughed, smiling as she did.

“How you feeling, big boy?” Cynder grinned.

“I could be better, considering there is a parasite gnawing on my soul.” He chuckled.

Cynder’s expression fell and she sighed.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” She looked away.

“For what?”

“For not being able to stop them, for not getting to you in time.”

“Cynder,” Zane looked her dead in the eye. “You fought and nearly died to protect me. Please do not write that off. You did your best, and that is all I shall ever ask of you. Nevertheless, you also couldn’t know that they would start trying to manually place parasites on us. The fact this is a new thing concerns me.”

“Me as well.” Cynder squirmed a little.

“Stay lying down please.” Zane sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Ugh. I want to get back onto the field.” She kicked off the blankets.

“I know… I can feel it too.” He glanced at her before looking at the door. “Someone is coming.”

“I can hear too, dip shit.” She growled, playfully.

“Whatever you say, bitch.” Zane laughed.

Cynder smiled as he laughed, reaching out to pat his head.

“I’m still sorry though. I wish I could have gotten you back faster.”

“You did your best, and nearly died to protect Lloyd and I. You do that for everyone, please do not pass it off so lightly.” He shifted to let her touch his hair. He knew it was a comforting thing for her.

The only reason she liked his hair so much was the silky texture, compared to the roughness of the blankets, he was aware of the comfort the softness was in comparison.

“Lay down with me?” She asked softly.

“Sure.” Zane helped her move to the side so he could lie beside her. “These were not made for two people.” He stated.

Cynder looked at him before snuggling up to him. The thin, scratchy blanket did little to warm her.

“You are cold.” Zane blinked, realizing the true reason she wished to cuddle. She nodded as he wrapped his arms around her. “Fret not, I shall warm you.” He smiled as she punched him playfully in the shoulder.

“Shush. Don’t get too loud, folks will think we’re up to something.” Cynder chuckled.

“Let them think as they will, you are my best friend. You are cold. I will happily help warm you any day.” Zane stated. “Especially since you are hurt. I will help care for you until you recover.”

“Oh shush! You’re hurt too. You need to take care of yourself too.” Cynder snapped at him, groaning softly as he grazed a wound.

“S-sorry.” Zane stuttered, moving his arm up a little.

“Thanks.” Cynder rested her head on his chest.

“Garmadon will not get jealous will he?” Zane asked.

“Will Pix?” Cynder blinked.

“I highly doubt it, she’s aware you are my best friend and nothing more.” Zane chuckled. “Such a silly question.”

“Your question was silly too.” She grumbled.

“Perhaps so, but Garmadon is a touch more jealous. Especially after what happened with Misako.”

“True, but he knows I’m not her. If he’s an issue with it, I’ll talk to him later about it. Plus, he told you to keep an eye on me. What’s a better way to keep me in bed than to cuddle and talk?” She wiggled a little bit, trying to find a more comfortable position.

With a light hum, Zane looked to the door. There were footsteps and had been for a while. Yet no one had come in.

“Is someone there?” He spoke, raising his voice a little so the person in the hall could hear him.

No response, not even footsteps running off.

“Zane?” Cynder attempted to sit up.

“No!” He yelped, lying her back down and shifting so he could. “I will go check it out. My condition is less dire.”

“I’d argue that’s not true.” Cynder murmured.

“Not now. We can argue once I know we are safe.” Zane told her, getting out of the bed. He peered around the corner of the broken door frame.

Nothing. No one was there.

“Perhaps we are losing our minds.” Zane chuckled, turning towards Cynder. The moment he looked at Cynder, he could hear it. The millions of whispers. He couldn’t understand a single sentence.

“Zane?” She spoke up. “Are you good there?”

As if he had been going mad, the whispers were silenced.

“D-did you hear that?” Zane asked, looking around with wide eyes.

“No?” Cynder blinked. “Maybe we should call your father?”

“N-no, I’m fine. I just… thought I heard something.” Zane sighed. “You heard the footsteps too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you forget how intensely paranoid I am.” Cynder dryly stated.

“True.” Zane hummed.

“That wasn’t nothing though, I know you. You down play shit.” She sat up a little bit, only to be pushed back down by Zane.

“Relax, I am fine.” He told her. “I just… heard whispers for a moment. I must be tired.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Aight, well, get to bed.”

“Would you still like to cuddle?”

“Yeah.”

“Wonderful.”

Now cuddling on the broken down bed, Zane looked around one last time before resting his head besides Cynder’s. Unknown to either of them, a figure stood in the corner, staring. That figure tilted their head, covering their mouth to suppress a giggle before they disappeared from sight.

Upon waking up, Cynder noticed the lack of warmth and sat up quickly. She held her stomach, looking around for Zane. He was lying in his own bed, facing away from her.

“Zane?” She spoke up. She then noticed the hush whispering. “Zane!”

“Huh?” Zane turned over to face her, eyes drooping as he tried to stay awake.

“Do you hear that?” She asked softly.

Zane let out a small noise before rolling back over.

She understood, parasites were no laughing matter and it was probably tiring him out. Shrugging it off, Cynder laid back.

The whispering did not silence.

With another groan, Cynder sat up. The pain shocked her, making her gasp for air.

“Ugh… I need pain pills.” She grumbled, her body ached. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood. The room was hazy as she looked around. She grabbed the side of the bed as she looked around the rundown room.

From peeling wallpaper to the dusty smell, this place felt like home.

That was the problem. She hated her old home.

She staggered from beside her bed, holding her stomach. She glanced at the door, noticing a shadow.

“Garmadon?” She called out as a figure rushed away. “Definitely not Garmadon.”

She shuffled from the room, watching her surroundings. She leaned against the wall once she was out of the room, her knees begging to buckle.

“Fuck.” She didn’t need some parasitic demon or angel scouting around and revealing their location.

“Come back here!” She shouted, trying to run after the figure.

The pain of moving her legs was shocking. She normally had a better handle on physical pain. So why did it hurt so much?

Cynder took off down the hall, running after the figure as it ran through the stairway door.

“Shit.” Cynder wheezed as she paused by the archway. Her lungs felt like they were burning. Her vision was blurring. The shadow poked its head out, hearing her wheeze.

“Please… Come here, I won’t hurt you.” Cynder spoke in a softer tone. She noticed that the shadow… it wasn’t very big.

The small shadow creeped out from the doorway, and a smile appeared on Cynder’s face.

“Garmadon… Your shadows are playing around again!” She shouted, giggling.

The small creature wobbled over to her, purring.

The shock of agony that washed over her as she knelt down made her bite her lip.

“Fuck.” Her vision blurred again, she could’ve sworn she heard demented laughter as her vision faded in and out.

The small creature, it was coming from the small creature. Before Cynder could react, it disappeared.

“Garmadon?” She whimpered, collapsing onto her side. Her blurred vision soon went black, lying in the middle of the stairway.

—

“Cynder?” Garmadon called out. Something had woken him up. The familiar shout of his name was not unusual. It was from Cynder though. His pointed ears twitched, as he wrinkled his nose.

The room stunk of death, it was giving him the creeps.

Throwing the tattered blanket off, he was swift to get on his feet.

“Cynder?” He called as he left the bed and his room. “Cynder, don’t tell me you followed my shadows again!” He laughed awkwardly, noticing the eerie silence. It was never this quiet. There was a lack of noise, making him worry this was a dream.

It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like something was wrong.

Noticing a body near the stairs, Garmadon’s eyes opened wide.

“Cynder!” He screamed, rushing to her side. She was shivering, but the moment he placed a hand on her, it felt like she was burning up.

“No doubt you’ve got an infection…” Garmadon frowned, scooping her up. “Not the issue right now…” He looked around. Something must have woken her. What it was, he wasn’t sure. Something didn’t feel right about the silence though.

“Christopher!” Garmadon shouted, “Cyrus, you too! We’ve an emergency!” There had been a small puddle of blood Cynder had been lying in. From the smell alone, Garmadon knew it was her own. He took off running, the silence made the fall of his feet feel even louder than usual.

“Cyrus!” Garmadon shouted. The two usually slept in the room at the end of the corridor. The hall wasn’t ending as he ran.

“What the hell?” He paused, stopping to look around. “I must be dreaming…”

He shook his head, feeling a strange tug on his soul. His vision blurred for a split second, and when it came back, he was kneeling on the floor next to Cynder’s body.

“What… just happened?” Garmadon stuttered, before shaking his head. “Not important.” he mumbled, noticing the blood puddle getting bigger under Cynder. “Shit.”

He was quick to scoop her back into his arms and take off down the hall.

The silence was gone and some small chatter could be heard.

“Christopher!” Garmadon screeched as he slid to a stop in front of the double doors. “We've got an emergency!”

Opening the door, the demon blinked a few times.

“You’ve no need to scream, I’m wide awake, Garm.” Christopher opened one of the two doors, rubbing his eyes. It took him a moment to process the words Garmadon had said. It took him even longer to notice that Cynder was in his arms, blood dripping onto the floor.

“Shit!” Christopher yelped, “Cyrus!!” He turned, motioning for Garmadon to come in as he ran to go wake him up.

“Yes… Christopher?” Cyrus groggily sat up.

“Cynder ripped her stitches!” Christopher yelped.

“Oh good god.” Cyrus groaned. “You woke me up for that?” He flopped backward and turned onto his side.

“Cyrus, so help me, I will kick you off the damn bed. Get up.” Christopher hissed.

“Fine, fine!” Cyrus huffed, carefully sitting up and climbing into his wheelchair. “What’d she do this time?” He groaned.

“I’m not sure, actually.” Garmadon sighed heavily.

“From what I can see, she didn’t rip her stitches.” Cyrus commented as he grabbed his glasses.

“What do you mean?” Asked Garmadon.

“It looks like she was stabbed, she didn’t have any wounds on her stomach, Garm.” Cyrus explained.

“What?!” Garmadon shouted as he gently placed Cynder on one of the beds.. “I-I will find the traitor while she is-”

Cyrus adjusted his glasses as he began to look her over.

“I don’t know if anyone else did this, you know how Cynder can be. She might have done this to herself.” Christopher commented. “Even in a weakened state, Cynder can still fight. None of us heard a struggle. She did this to herself.”

“No… I don’t think she did, Christopher.” Cyrus spoke up. “Looking at her, it looks like her scar on her stomach popped open.”

“That’s impossible!” Garmadon yelped.

“Not impossible, but it is super unlikely. This is incredibly strange.” Cyrus was looking her over. “We need to patch her up right now though. She’s very pale, she’s likely lost a lot of blood and will need a transfusion.”

“Shit.” Garmadon sighed.

“Yeah.” Cyrus looked at him. “She’s not going to survive without one.”

“We don’t have her blood type, Cyrus.” Christopher spoke up.

“Well you both better find it or else we’re doomed.” Garmadon sighed.

“We can figure something out, but I need to patch her up without you yammering and panicking in my ear. So please leave.” Cyrus shooed him out.

Once Garmadon had stepped away, Christopher leaned over Cyrus’s shoulder.

“So what’s the verdict?”

“This does look like someone else did it. Someone ripped it open. My concern is… was it Garmadon?” Cyrus busied his hands as he began to clean the wound.

“What do you mean?” Christopher asked.

“I heard Cynder calling out for him earlier. I’m worried he got a bit… too jealous and hurt her.”

“Jealous of what?” “Zane and her relationship. You know how he worries over it. They were cuddling earlier.”

“I highly doubt Garmadon would do this.”

“You never know, Christopher. You never know.” Cyrus sighed as his hands stilled. The wound was properly patched up and cleaned the best they could do.

“We don’t have her blood type, nor the soul energy to help her survive though, Cyrus. Garmadon might be foolish but he’s not that foolish.” Christopher stated.

“Good point.” Cyrus groaned. “What if someone found us because of her?”

“Cyrus, I-”

“No! What if someone did? You know just as well as I do that if she wasn’t who dragged Zane back, we might not have to move so much sooner!”

“Excuse me?” Christopher’s pupils became slits. “That’s my son you are talking about!”

“I’m not saying that!” Cyrus snapped, “I’m saying she should have let someone else pick him up!”

“And who would have? Cynder is-”

“Cynder was and is hurt! She should have asked for help at least!” Cyrus hissed.

Christopher sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his pupils returned to circles.

“You really do hate her.”

“Yes.” Cyrus nodded.

“Don’t let that get in the way of your work ever again, got it? And please don’t imply that she should have let my son die. How would you like it if I suggested that Pixal should be dead?” Christopher snorted.

“Pixal isn’t dumb enough to nearly die.” Scoffed Cyrus.

“I swear to the Kingdom of the Damned, I’m going to kill you one of these days.” Christopher growled, getting in Cyrus’ face.

“You know that isn’t what I meant!” Squeaked Cyrus.

“Can you both stop being gay for one another for one minute…?” Cynder croaked.

“Cynder!” The two yelped.

“How are you… awake?” Cyrus blinked. “Let alone alive?”

Cynder shrugged as she sat up, holding her head. When Cyrus went to lie her down, she swatted his hands away.

“Why were you out of bed?” Christopher asked, sternly.

“I heard whispers and saw a shadow. I thought it was Garm’s energy again, but it wasn’t. I don’t think it was at least. I passed out before I could follow it to him.”

“A shadow?” The duo looked at each other.

“Cynder, you need to rest more.” Cyrus forcefully laid her down. “You aren’t making much sense. Garmadon’s shadows don’t whisper.”

“Well this one did.” Cynder grumbled.

“Either his powers are getting out of hand due to your soul’s energy or something is wrong here.” Christopher sighed.

“I’ll go talk to him.” Cyrus replied, rolling his chair out of the room. He managed to find Garmadon sitting not too far from the double doors.

“Eavesdropping again?” Cyrus teased.

“I was worried.” Garmadon sighed. “But I couldn’t hear much. Just the eerie silence.”

“What… silence?” Cyrus raised a brow.

“That silence.” Garmadon paused for a moment.

“This is weird. This place is anything but silent, Garm. Are you okay?” Cyrus asked softly.

“I’m fine, beyond being very worried.” Garmadon responded.

“This is odd. Cynder mentioned whispering and now you say this place is silent. Something isn’t adding up here.” Cyrus murmured. “Either way, Cynder needs to rest now more than ever. She cannot be up and moving around.”

“Noted. I’ll keep an eye on her.” Garmadon nodded.

“I would have Zane do it. That way you have time to work too.” Cyrus commented.

“Fair enough. I’ll talk to Zane and ask what happened.” Garmadon nodded and got up from his spot on the ground.

“Thank you.” Cyrus waved him off.

“Before I go… will she be okay without the blood?” Garmadon asked.

“She woke up, so… she should be fine. Knowing her.” Cyrus shrugged.

“She what now?” He froze in place.

“Cynder woke up. It’s strange, even to us.” Cyrus sighed.

“Her soul is something else.” Garmadon muttered.

“It really is.” Cyrus nodded in agreement.

“Thank you.” Garmadon began walking again. “How strange.” He told himself.

Once at the room Cynder was sharing with Zane, he looked around. Zane was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“You good?” Garmadon walked over.

“Hm?” Zane slowly sat up, holding his head. “I am intensely dizzy.”

“Ah.” Garmadon nodded. “You want me to get your father?”

“This is a side effect, he has already informed me of this.” Zane sighed. “Where is Cynder?”

“She’s in with Christopher and Cyrus. She got hurt earlier. Why did you let her leave the bed?” Garmadon’s tone became cold at the end.

“Let her?” Zane blinked. “I would never. I didn’t know she left the bed.”

“She’s a noisy person, Zane. You must have let her.” Garmadon snarled.

“I assure you, I did no such thing. She was in bed, to my knowledge, all night.” Zane glared back at Garmadon. “She is my best friend, you believe I would allow her to get hurt when she’s saved my skin more times than I care to count?”

“I believe you get jealous of my relationship with her and sometimes regret that you chose Pix.” Garmadon glared back.

“Excuse me?” Zane scoffed. “I love Pixal, how dare you say such words!”

“Cynder is hurt. You were supposed to be watching her!” Snapped Garmadon.

“You are just angry and looking for an outlet, aren’t you?” Zane sighed, rubbing his temples.

“No!” Garmadon hissed, and then paused. “Yes…” He deflated.

“You are worried.” Zane chuckled. “I am sorry, but to my very knowledge, she was here all night. I noticed her missing earlier when I woke up but the moment I tried to move it felt like the world was going to crash to the ground.”

“You need to see your father then.” Garmadon sighed heavily.

“I will see father later, I would like to discuss your jealousy towards my relationship with Amanda.” Zane crossed his arms.

“Her name is Cynder. You know she hates that name.” Garmadon crossed his arms, feeling vulnerable.

“I know, but that was just my point. You are jealous of my closeness to her.” Zane looked dead into Garmadon’s red eyes. “Why?”

“I… I don’t know.” Garmadon arms falling to his sides as he looked away.

“I do. You are afraid I will steal her away, like Wu did with Misako. I assure you, I am in a happy relationship with Pixal. I have no intentions of stealing Cynder away. She is just my best friend. I see her as such.” Zane stated, matter of factly.

“I’m sorry, Zane.” Garmadon looked back at him.

“Fret not, I am not offended.” Zane smiled a little. He perked up for a second, the smile fading from his features. “Did you hear the whispers last night?”

“Whispers?” Garmadon raised a brow.

“Yeah. There were odd whispers.” Zane commented.

“There was an odd silence earlier.” Garmadon commented. “But I've not heard any whispers.”

“Strange. Perhaps it is this thing on my soul trying to mess with my head.” Zane grimaced as he placed a hand to his head, trying to steady himself.

“You going to be okay?” Garmadon helped him lie back down.

“I need to rest.” Zane sighed. “I will check on Cynder later.”

“She’s right here.” Christopher spoke up, making the two jump. Cynder was nestled into Christopher’s arms, out cold.

“She passed out, didn’t she?” Garmadon sighed,

“Yeah.” Christopher nodded. “She needs to sleep. Her mental state is awful.”

“I’m not surprised.” Zane chuckled lightly.

“You never are.” Christopher chuckled back.

“Why would I be? Cynder is rather predictable.” Zane smirked a little bit. “Not to mention, I have to know her, I have to know how she is so I know how she fights. Without knowing her mental state, I can’t gauge how reckless she will be. So I have to be aware of how she is.”

“You two and how close you are makes me jealous.” Garmadon grumbled.

“I am well aware, old man.” Zane teased, making Garmadon smile and roll his eyes.

“You’re going to be the death of me, kid.” Christopher laughed.

“Why you? Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” Laughed Garmadon.

Garmadon approached Christopher and carefully took Cynder from him and then placed her on the bed.

“Thank you, my back hated me holding her for that long.” Christopher stretched before pressing on his back. A soft crack was heard, making Garmadon grimace.

“You need to do some lifting, father.” Zane looked around, before lying back down.

“Are you alright, Zane?” Christopher approached him.

“I am very dizzy.” Zane stated, he felt like he would throw up.

“Ah. Yes… the side effects.” Christopher murmured. “You need to try to sleep, and hopefully it will help you gain some of your energy back.”

“I do not know if it will, father.” Groaned Zane, placing an arm over his eyes. The light felt like fire, like it would dry them out.

“Zane?” Garmadon spoke up after a few seconds.

“Please be quiet. My head is throbbing.” Zane mumbled.

Christopher’s eyes clicked closed, sensing the area.

“Dear the Damned!” He yelped. “I need to get to work. Zane, come with me!”

Zane attempted to sit up, or at least he thought he had.

“Father?”

“Yes?”

“I cannot move.”

“Shit.” Christopher gulped.

“I’ll pick him up and bring him. Give me a moment.” Garmadon set Cynder down on the other bed and rushed over to Zane. He scooped him into his arms and rushed out of the room, following Christopher.

A figure stood in the room, in the corner. It giggled, covering its mouth to hide the noise.

“Huh…?” Cynder opened her eyes for a brief moment, blinking. “Hello?” She slurred, reaching out to the strange shadow of a figure. “Garmadon?” Her vision faded to black as the figure’s giggles got louder.

#mywriting #myau #celestialwarau #ninjagoau #ninjago #celestialwar

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flockofcrowsinatornadoofcreation · 1 year

Text

Birdcage, Chapter 9

I'm a wanted man

"-too dangerous to keep him here."

"We'll need to bring him in. Please stand aside."

"No."

"With all due respect, sir, if he got loose, he could cause irreparable harm to the other patients. We must detain him."

"He has shown evidence that he has changed, according to Sensei-"

"He is still a criminal. Stand aside, or we will be forced to detain you two as well."

"No! You can't do this! He's sick, he needs help!"

"Quiet! He's waking up!"

"Give him some sedative. We don't need him waking up on the way there."

▪︎<◇>▪︎

Morro is painfully dragged to consciousness by the sound of a cell door clanging shut.

He knows the sound should be alarming, but he just doesn't have the energy. Everything hurts, his head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, and he's tied to yet another chair.

He snaps fully awake.

He's tied to a chair. He's in a jail cell. He still feels like shit.

Morro can't see much from his spot in the cell, but what he can see of the jail is a huge round room, walls filled top to bottom with cells. A tower in the middle of the room is swarming with guards.

"Well, look at that. A newcomer!"

A man appears outside Morro's cell, taking a long sip from a mug before continuing.

"What are you in for?"

Morro tilts his head at him.

"That's what I was about to ask you. Where am I? Why am I here? Who are you?"

The man chuckles.

"I am Warden Noble, of course! This is Kryptarium Prison, home to the baddest villains in Ninjago! What's your name, kid?"

Morro frowns. Villain?

Kid?!

"Morro," he finds himself blurting. "I'm Morro."

Warden Noble -- as he's apparently called -- goes white, choking on his drink. Morro waits for him to recover, having nothing better to do.

"I think," Warden Noble says with a slight wheeze, "that it should be obvious why you're here."

And with that, he hurries away.

Morro can't help but feel a twist of guilt in his chest. He immediately pushes it down and locks it in a little cage in his heart.

He's used to locking his feelings away, so why does this time feel different?

Why does he feel like he's letting someone down? Who does he have left to disappoint?

The guilt wails louder, and a few names in particular come to mind.

Wu, for instance. Morro just feels like a failure when he thinks of him. When he was younger, he had thought of Wu as untouchable, as comforting, as a fa-

"Psst!"

Morro jumps, cursing quietly as he realizes that he was half-asleep.

"Who's there?"

He hears a giggle, but no other response.

"I said, who's there!"

"That's what I was about to ask you," a raucous voice says, "but now it's obvious."

"Who are you?"

Another giggle, sounding more deranged than the previous.

"It's should be obvious!" The voice cackles. "Unless you're you."

Morro bristles when he gets the feeling that he's being mocked, but he doesn’t have the energy to stay mad. The headache that's been fogging his brain is pounding. The pain makes him want to throw up.

"Ooh. You're not looking too good."

Morro looks to the side, only just now noticing a barred window at the top of the wall.

A woman with grey skin stands on the other side of the window, gripping the bars with an unhinged look in her purple eyes.

"Yeah, you look like shit." She grins to reveal teeth filed to points. "Fun."

He opens his mouth to retort when a loud blaring noise suddenly echoes through the prison.

The woman's eyes brighten in excitement.

"Ooh, the alarm! I wonder who tripped it!"

Outside Morro's cell, the guards all run off like ants whose anthill has been stepped on. Soon, the big room is completely devoid of prison guards.

The alarm continues to blare, though, screaming right in Morro's ears. He bites back a groan as the headache flares. He wants to black out at this point, just to put him out of his misery.

Life appears to have other plans today.

There's a dull thud, and the cell shakes as cracks appear on the wall next to Morro.

Something hits the wall from the other side, and Morro sees green light through the growing cracks.

Unfortunately, his sluggish brain doesn't realize what that light means until the wall collapses and Lloyd runs into his cell.

Morro might be having a conniption, but it's hard to tell with his pounding headache.

Lloyd just ran into his cell. Lloyd just ran into his cell.

Lloyd is untying him. Him!

"Come on, bud. Pixal is distracting the guards, but she won't last much longer. We'll have to hurry."

"Wha...? What are you doing?"

Lloyd pauses cutting the ropes to look him in the eye, his green slitted eyes meeting Morro's hazel ones.

"I'm saving your sorry ass."

The ropes fall away, and Lloyd hauls Morro to his feet.

Unfortunately, the sudden movement worsens Morro's headache, sending him to his knees on the floor. Lloyd's voice is drowned out by a ringing in his ears. Black spots dance across his vision.

Morro forces himself to look up at Lloyd, who's crouched next to him with an odd expression. Fear? Worry? Pity?

Morro decides he doesn't want to know, and the world goes dark.

#ninjago #flockofcrows #g&gficverse #g&gappearances #morro #lloyd #ninjago birdcage fic #g&g birdcage fic #sorry for the wait #shouldn't be too long before the next one

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superhero--imagines · 3 years

Text

Fill out an interest check for my haikyuu zine here | buy my Batman zine here!

A/N: wrote this for @neoheros and @coophi Writing contest. Features being married 25 and younger for all breast having readers. Slightly suggestive themes, but mostly fluff.

Atsumu has a thing for your chest.

It’s not a secret. If you’re wearing a low-cut top, the neckline in a smooth u-shaped scoop. Or a dress with a plunging neckline, a soft curve of either breast on each side.

He gets dumbstruck every time.

It’s not even sexual, well not all the time, he just thinks they’re cute. Like a couple of puppies. He just wants to smother them in kisses and tell them how cute they are.

So when he sees them wrapped in beautiful fabric, looking good and healthy, he swells with pride. (Amongst other things, he is still a man after all)

‘Mah babies are doin’ good’ he’ll think with a soft smile.

So when he walks into your shared bedroom, duffel bag still in hand, and see’s you sitting on the bed completely topless, your breasts covered by nothing but your bare hands, the dainty silver band glinting on your finger - he practically combusts.

Your eyes travel from the laptop flipped open in front of you, to your husband who’s still standing in the doorway. You expression brightens the second you see him, eyes sparkling as a smile arch’s onto your mouth.

“You’re home!” You cheer, hands still clasped at either breast.

Atsumu gulps, not trusting his mouth to properly form words, he briskly nods.

“ ‘Sumu can you do me a favor and hold my boobs up?”

That’s it. He’s dead.

Time? 3:47 PM

Cause? Brain aneurysm, he couldn’t take the mental stimulation of a dream he didn’t even realize he had coming true.

“ ‘Tsumu?” You call, he’s just been standing there at the doorway since he saw you. Is he mad? He did just come home from practice, he must be tired. You’re just about to tell him that it’s okay, he should relax, when he nods his head.

“Y-yeah, ‘course ‘ah can baby,” Atsumu shakes his head, he’s acting like a damn teenager right now! What’s there to be so flustered about anyway? You’re his wife, he’s seen you naked tons of times, no reason to get all dopey about a little fondling.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna bother you-“

“It’s no bother!” Atsumu winces as the high pitched tone of his protest. Talk about over eager. He clears his throat, hand curling in her his chin. “ ‘Ah mean, this is what husbands are for right? Even Dax Shepard sucked out Kristen Bell’s breast milk when she needed it-“ Geez, why is he mentioning that now?!?

“Anyway, point is ‘s no bother, ‘lemme just u-uh,” he flinches when his voice cracks. “Let me get behind ya” he finishes, clearing his throat when you shuffle forward, your breasts bouncing slightly.

Damn, they look so cute.

Atsumu has to bite his lip to stay focused, frosty white teeth nibbling at the plump flesh of his bottom lip as he shuffles behind you. His legs thrown on either side of your frame, as you settle between them.

He gulps again when his hands replace yours.

With the way you’re seated his chin almost brushing against your hair, he gets wafts of your shampoo, and at this angle he gets a top side view of his precious babies. The perfect scent to accompany the perfect view. They’re so much softer than he remembers too, it’s almost like-

“Atsumu stop,” he freezes, did he do something wrong? His hands automatically move to retreat back to his side when he see’s you shake your head. “No, stop squeezing, it hurts.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows thread together, his mouth pursing until it’s a straight line.

“It hurts?” You nod, not looking away from your laptop, your fingers dancing across the keyboard.

“Yeah they’re just so swollen,” you start.

‘So they’re swollen’ he thinks. Looking back he should have realized there was a reason you suddenly wanted him to hold your breasts.

“they’re so sore I think it’s making my nipples sensitive too-“

And that explains why you weren’t wearing a bra or a shirt

“They were hurting so bad I didn’t think I would be able to finish this report for work,”

Which explains the laptop, he remembers you saying you had a deadline coming up. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure what part that played in the fantasy- maybe something a little scandalous, like you were watching a dirty movie on it or something.

“But now you’re here!” Your fingers stop, abandoning the keyboard entirely and focusing all your attention on him. You twist your torso so you can face him. Your thumb caresses his face, and you press a kiss to his cheekbone.

“You’re my hero Atsumu”

Atsumu is only twenty-three, no longer a boy, yet still not a man.

But he’s trying hard to grow into one, a man you can be proud to call your husband. A mature man who you always think is cool and makes you feel like you’re going to melt.

Atsumu can’t help but feel like a teenage boy when he feels a wobbly smile curl onto his face, steam practically curling out of his ears.

“ ‘course ‘ah am,” he huffs, his chest puffing out. “ ‘s a husbands job to be their partners hero” you giggle, he’s always saying the cheesiest stuff when you give him a genuine compliment. It’s kind of cute how he still gets flustered around you. Throw him in front of a bunch of reporters or fans and he’ll play them all like a fiddle, but in front of you…he’s just a boy.

His expression gets softer when you turn back to the laptop. Your hero, huh? He likes the sound of that. But-

“I’d rather be the love of your life, though” he mumbles, face pressed into your hair, and his hands holding your breast.

“What was that?” You ask, hissing when he squeezes in surprise. Crap, he didn’t think you heard. He sighs in relief when you tell him to be more gentle, you’re in a lot of pain. Looks like you’ve let the topic go.

“I know you’re used to-“ you pause mid-sentence when you shuffle back, resting against your husband's chest only to feel something hard other than the prominent muscles on his chest.

“Are you-“ before you can get a word in edgewise, Atsumu screams:

“What? I’m pretty sure Kristen Bell’s husband was a little turned on too when he sucked out that breast milk!”

For a single second the silence stretches between you two, and then you break out laughing

“What is with you and Kristen Bell?” You gasp between wheezes of laughter. Atsumu is laughing beside you.

“ ‘Ah donno, ‘s the only celebrity couple ‘ah keep up with.” You rest your head back on his shoulder, still laughing when he leans down for a kiss.

#C/R_HQ!CONTEST #haikyuu imagine #Atsumu Miya #Atsumu x reader #Atsumu Miya x reader #atsumu miya imagines #atsumu x female reader #hq atsumu #atsumu headcanons #atsumu drabble #batman imagine #dc comics imagine #superhero--imagines

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crackedoutwalnut · 3 years

Text

kiss my bruises better (Natasha x Wanda x Fem!Reader)

Summary: When Reader gets injured during a battle, it is up to her girlfriends Natasha and Wanda to mother hen her back to health.

Warnings: Violence and mentions of injuries in the beginning. Other than that just pure fluff.

A/N: Guess who got COVID and now has way too much free time??? :,)

It started with Fury sending you on an undercover mission alongside Natasha, Wanda, and Steve. Your objective was simple: obtain the dangerous alien artifact from the terrorist organization's lair and get your asses it back to Avenger's Tower. Nothing you and the rest had not dealt with before. However, there was one thing you four did not anticipate. There were hundreds of the organization's agents crawling around the base. Every corner they snuck around, there was another group of grunts patrolling. As a field scout, you were used to sneaking around; however, this was on another level. By the time Steve signaled for you to return to the meeting spot over the comms, you had already been spotted.

The group of half a dozen agents took one look at you before charging forward with their alien weaponry. One of them, a burly man in an all-black armored jumpsuit, hit a large button on a security panel near the ventilation shaft you had shimmied out from minutes prior. Being a scout, you were only equipped with the bare minimum of weapons a dagger, semi-lethal taser, and a small crossbow. In other words: not weapons one would use in a 1-versus-6 fight. Letting out a grunt of frustration as a loud alarm started to blare, you shouted a warning to Cap and your girlfriends' over the comms.

You leaped backward, away from a meaty fist that had just threatened to shatter your jaw into splinters. Flicking open the holster that held your taser, you slammed the muzzle of the taser gun into the side of the man's head and released the probes. The man convulsed, falling to the tile with a heavy thud. Another agent, a towering woman, let out a shout of outrage in a language you assumed to be Russian. She and the four other remaining against charged at you, weapons at the ready. You stumbled blindly backward, hoping to reach a staircase, window, elevator, anything. Unfortunately, luck was not on your side that day. Your back collided violently with the paneled wall behind you.

A curse that could make a sailor blush fell from your lips as you palmed around frantically for your dagger. The blue and black blade was an anniversary gift courtesy of Natasha, an odd gift to be sure; however, it was about as romantic as the assassin got. Grasping it firmly in your sweaty grip, you blindly swung at one of the grunts before you. The pommel collided with his nose in an upward arch, causing the man to fall to the ground, blood dripping from his now crooked nose. Apparently, the swing was hard enough for his nasal bone to fracture into his brain.

You took a step to sprint through the opening the dead man had cleared for you but, the burly woman seemed to beat you to the punch. She grabbed violently at your arm, twisting it at an odd angle behind your back. You slammed face-first into the wall behind you, causing your nose and lip to start leaking blood at an alarming pace. You groaned and squirmed, trying to free yourself from her iron fists.

"Stop struggling, bitch," she ordered, slamming your head against the solid paneling of the wall once more. Pain blossomed along the crown of your skull, and your vision started to blur in response. "Who sent you," she snarled against your ear.

You spat out the pool of blood that had collected in your mouth at another agent's feet, "Fuck you," you snarled, your voice muffled from being shoved against the wall.

The agent you had spat at raked the brass knuckles clenched on his fingers along your arm. Deep cuts spilled over with even more crimson. You let out a strangled scream as he twisted them further into the new cuts. The woman kneed her leg against your arm with a sickening pop. Your vision danced with black and white dots as pain shot through your body. You were about to scream when a loud bang sounded from behind the woman and her cronies. She let you go in shock, causing you to fall to the ground next to the dead agent. You moaned in pain, curling your now broken arm against your chest.

"Y/n!" A familiar voice shouted from the other end of the hall. It sounded fuzzy as if someone had shoved headphones over your ears. You gritted your teeth and forced your increasingly heavy head to look at the source of the noise. Through the dots dancing in your blurring vision, you were able to make out a furious Wanda, next to her an equally angry Natasha. You opened your mouth to reply when only a pained wheeze escaped. A boot was pressing against your back, applying pressure to your fractured forearm. You let out a scream of agony as tears spilled down your face. Before your consciousness gave way, you beheld Wanda exploding in a bright ball of scarlet towards you and the agents.

"...turn the TV down, you're going to wake her." You slowly came back to yourself at the sound of voices around you. Your mind was swimming in fuzzy warmth, a dull ache exploding in through your temples like a timpani. Despite the pain that seemed to radiate through every inch of your body, you were also strangely cozy. A soft warmth was wrapped around you like a cocoon, not to mention the pillow that seemed to meld with your head and abdomen. You hummed contently and nuzzled further into the cushion.

"Are you sure she's okay?" A concerned voice rang from directly above you. The voice was warm and familiar, like a well-worn sweater. "She's been knocked out for almost four hours. Plus, my legs are starting to go numb."

An amused huff sounded from behind you, "Banner said the painkillers would make her drowsy."

"Yeah, but... four hours? What if something is wrong with her?"

"You know Y/n, she does things on her own terms. She will only wake up when it suits her." Both the voices laughed at that remark. You fought the urge to huff in protest; you weren't that stubborn. The pillow beneath you shook with the light laughter and shifted. You furrowed your brows; cushions didn't usually chuckle. You grumbled at the disturbance and cracked your eyes open. Your so-called pillow had caramel red hair and a black Def Leppard t-shirt.

"Wanda?" you mumbled drowsily. You lifted your head slowly from the place it was resting against her chest. Your face flushed slightly at the thought of using her breasts as a pillow for so long.

She smiled warmly and lifted an arm that had been resting protectively along your back to stroke your hair. Her other hand had been tracing circles along your side for the past few minutes. "Good afternoon, sleeping beauty."

"Where are we?" You attempted to look around; however, your head exploded with pain at the effort. Wanda seemed to notice your wince because she carefully guided your head to lay against her chest once more.

"We are back at the tower. You slept the entire flight home," Natasha, who must be on the other side of the couch, replied.

You groaned, "Everything hurts."

"Being jumped by a group of terrorist agents will do that to you," the assassin replied sarcastically. You kicked lightly at the girl, your foot nudging her thigh. She laughed snarkily and shoved lightly at your foot.

"Nat, stop teasing her," Wanda chided playfully, threading her fingers through your hair. You practically purred at the attention, nuzzling your face against her. She pressed a soft kiss to your aching temple in response.

"Why am I getting lectured?" Natasha protested in mock indignation.

"Because you are not the one hopped up on painkillers."

"But I am the one who detained the agent that had broken her arm. Surely that deserves some credit."

Your eyes shot open once more at the mention of the mission, "Shit, the terrorists. What happened to them? Is everyone okay?" You jolted up, attempting to sit up fully. Natasha was at your side in an instant, hand resting on your shoulder.

"Hey, hey, calm down. We're fine; we handled them," she soothed, rubbing your back gently. "Everyone's safe, I promise."

You relaxed slightly, "And the artifact?" the hesitance was evident in your voice.

Natasha sighed kissed your cheek in reassurance, "We were not able to save you and obtain the alien artifact. They were on high alert at that point, and it was too risky."

You pursed your lips, shoulders drooping in shame. They had failed because of you. Dangerous technology continued to threaten the world because you were unable to do your job.

Wanda must have read your mind because she pulled you closer to her and placed a kiss on top of your head. "Hey, this isn't your fault. None of us knew that the compound would be so well protected."

You shrugged, looking down at your hands. Your right arm, the one the woman broke, was wrapped in a thick plaster cast the color of a hospital gown. Your other arm was dressed in a thick layer of bandages, covering the jagged cuts left by the bronze knuckles.

"Honey, there was no way we could have known," Wanda murmured, using a finger to lift your chin. "If anything, it's our fault for not being there in time. If something were to happen to you, I don't know what I would do." She placed a protective arm around your back as if she was shielding you from an invisible threat.

"You did very well defending her," Natasha soothed, kissing Wanda's cheek. She turned to you with a smirk, "You should have seen her; I thought she was going to send the whole building crashing down with how angry she was."

You smiled, "I'm sure you two did great, as always."

"She's right though, this wasn't your fault, nor was it a significant loss. Rogers is already with Stark and Banner at the location of the artifact. They plan on regrouping back here before following through with the next phase of the plan."

You sighed in relief, "That's good. So when do we go through with the next step?"

Wanda scrunched her nose and smiled, "It's adorable that you think you are going to be anywhere near the next phase of the plan."

"You can't be serious. I'm perfectly fine!" You insisted. Natasha raised her brow and pressed a finger against the bandages on your left arm. You winced and let out a quiet yelp before batting her hand away. "Okay, I may be a bit injured, but other than that, I'm okay to fight."

"Y/n, you have a minor concussion, a broken arm, and a broken nose," Wanda pointed out, her accent thick with concern.

"Nothing I hadn't had before," you shrugged.

"Y/n don't start," Natasha warned, standing from her place at your side. She strode out of your line of view.

"Where are you going?" You whined, not wanting her to leave.

"I'm just getting you water, Babe. Don't worry, I will be right back." You nodded, settling back against your other girlfriend. Wanda reached over you to pull the blankets further up your body. You hummed contently and sighed against her chest. Wanda was always warm; her skin seemed to radiate a cozy heat that filled you with a sense of peace. Her protective arms were coiled firmly around your waist.

"How are you doing, Honey?" Wanda asked, nuzzling against the top of your head.

"Tired," you complained, hiding your face away in the crook of her neck.

"I think I should talk to Bruce before allowing him to hop my girlfriend up on painkillers. He gave you a pretty high dose." Wanda tilted her head so that her cheek was resting against your hair. Her hair had a lingering smell of citrus and lavender that set off the butterflies in your stomach. You hummed and inhaled once more. Wanda chuckled, her smirk evident in her voice, "Are you smelling my hair?"

You paused, "...No."

The witch's shoulders shook with laughter, jostling you slightly. "You know I can read minds, right? I know you're lying."

You huffed and burrowed your face further into her neck, "Asshole."

She kissed the top of your head, "Love you too."

"I'm back," Natasha announced, striding towards the couch.

You turned away from Wanda's neck so that your back was against her front. The assassin sat down on the coffee table next to you, holding a glass of water. You licked your chapped lips and reached out to take the drink. Natasha raised a brow and pulled the cup further away from you. A frown formed on your lips, realizing what she wanted. "Oh, come on, Nat. I don't need help drinking water," You rolled your eyes.

Natasha tsked, "I'm not risking it, you may still be a bit sluggish from the meds, and I don't want you spilling all over yourself and Wanda," She tucked a strand of hair from your forehead. "Come on, Baby. Let us take care of you."

Biting your lip, you nodded exasperatedly, "Fine." Natasha carefully placed the lip of the glass near your mouth and tipped a bit of water out. This went on until only a quarter of the glass was left. You had not realized how thirsty you were until you saw the glass of water. "Thank you," your eyelids drooped, feeling tired once more.

"You should rest some more," Wanda murmured.

"But, I just woke up," you argued, words slurred with sleep.

"And if you ever want to go on another mission again, you will take the time to rest and recover," Natasha insisted, tucking the blanket around your body. She settled at your feet, pulling them into her lap. You opened your mouth to argue; however, Wanda had started stroking your hair once more. The words were lost in your throat as your eyes slipped shut. The warmth from both your girlfriend and the blanket seemed to wash over you in waves. The last thing you felt was a soft hand tracing patterns along your arm.

#wanda maximoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mcu fic #marvel #marvel fic #avengers x reader #wlw #lgbtq

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julemmaes · 3 years

Note

ahem... cassian taking nesta to that bookstore (fluff, don’t try making shit sad aight?)

Our First Non-Date

SURPRISE I GUESS!!

Nessian Archeron x Cassian

You can find the first part here.

A/N: this month has been really nice on me. I finally feel better, not crying every day for literally nothing and I wanna dedicate this to my fren Sim (@perseusannabeth) cause homegirl just finished the offcampus series and she's grieving. I know she is. So yep. Take some Nessian fluff

And Nina, I had to add some angsty parts, but they're not Irene Angst Level, okay?

Word count: 6,833

When Cassian had called her back the night after their outing with Amren and Varian, she'd stared at the phone for a full minute until it had stopped ringing and she could go back to reading the article on poisonous plants that Elain had sent her.

It hadn't even been five minutes before the words had been obscured from the call screen again and the name "Cassian Navarro" appeared.

When she had ignored the call for the second time as well, he had decided to change tactics.

Hi Nes, I was thinking about when you'd be free to go to the library. I need a couple of manuals because I'm building a little gazebo in Rhys and Feyre's garden and your sister is putting a lot of pressure on me, so I was wondering if you had the day off tomorrow.

Nesta was stunned at the amount of useless information he had given her, but managed to reply with a simple, Working tomorrow, day off on Wednesday. Sending you the address later.

She certainly hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to get up that day, her will to live must have been hiding somewhere under her bed and Nesta didn't know if it was directly related to their going out or just her stupid brain not being able to connect to real life.

The only other worst thing she'd been able to think of at that moment was having to explain to Cassian what was going on, so, pulled out of bed by the future embarrassment they'd feel in such a situation, she'd managed to dress, wash and style her hair so that she had a braid crowning her head.

She hadn't put too much effort into deciding what to wear, after all, it wasn't a date and Cassian had seen her many times before in far more outrageous and scruffy clothes than the comfortable black jeans and grey jumper she was wearing right now.

The silence had made her uncomfortable at first, only because Cassian seemed to be really stressed - about what, she certainly wouldn't ask - but after about ten minutes, he'd turned on the radio and popped a CD into the player and the melody of a Verve song had filled the cabin.

She'd started humming under her breath and he'd looked at her with a faint smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling. She hadn't mulled over that look too much, but she'd started eyeing him more closely and noticed the way he narrowed his eyes at every street sign and how he ran a hand over his face every time a strand of hair landed in front of his eyes.

When Cassian had to blow the hair out of his face for the millionth time, Nesta pulled a rubber band off her wrist and handed it to him abruptly.

Cassian looked surprised, but took it almost immediately, brushing her fingers. Nesta immediately withdrew her hand, feeling how warm and calloused his were.

"Thanks, my hair is killing me today," he finally spoke.

Nesta continued to look ahead, noticing that they were about to enter the highway. "Well, it wasn't very wise of you not to tie it up before you got in the car. I never drive with my hair down."

He nodded slowly, still with the band clutched between his fingers. And then, suddenly he let go of the steering wheel, "Hold that for me for a second." and Nesta's eyes went wide, launching herself at him to grab it and keep the car in their lane.

"Are you nuts?" she almost shrieked, keeping her gaze fixed on the road and feeling every nerve ending vibrate with anger.

"Relax." he said in a calm tone, shifting her hands and gently pushing her back into her seat one more time. "It wasn't even five seconds."

Nesta huffed out a laugh that lacked amusement, "You do something like that again without warning me first and I'm getting out of the car."

Cassian looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "A bit dramatic, but alright."

She sighed, shaking her head slightly and resting it on her hand propped against the window.

That awkward silence fell again and Nesta couldn't figure out what the problem was. She hadn't felt any kind of unease three days before, but after all, they'd been with friends and busy walking, not stuck in a car for two hours with no chance of walking away or splitting up.

And in that moment, the reality of their situation overwhelmed her.

She forced herself to steady her breathing, opening the window slightly so that more air could get in. She forced herself to think about all the things she would see today at the library and how beautiful and spectacular it had looked from mere pictures. She wasn't going to let her twisted mind stop her from having fun with someone who was desperately trying to be her friend.

She took a deep breath and a surprising calm enveloped her. She looked to her left to see if Cassian had noticed that temporal change in her behaviour, but it seemed to her that he was just as fidgety.

She was about to ask him if he was okay, because the knee that kept bouncing and the fingers opening and closing on the steering wheel were obvious nervous tics, when he did the eye thing again, this time leaning forward over the dashboard as well, and the sharp turn he took to the right caused her to shift in her seat so much that she bumped her shoulder against his.

Cassian grimaced, "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"What's wrong?" she asked, readjusting in her seat.

"Sorry?"

"What's the matter? With your eyes, I mean."

"Oh." he seemed surprised by the question, almost as if he hadn't realised she'd been observing him for the last twenty minutes. He cast her a curious glance immediately returning to the road. "I wear glasses when I drive, but I couldn't find them this morning and these contacts are the wrong shade and I can't see very well."

Nesta nodded thoughtfully, "Where do you normally keep them?"

"In the glove box. But I already checked," he replied, rolling his shoulders. Another nervous tic.

Nesta had to suppress a smile. There was no way he could be so worked up just because they were talking. She looked down at the phone in her hand to check the time, and a flash of light momentarily dazzled her. She blinked a couple of times and then scoffed, "Found them."

She reached a hand towards the hatch compartment and pulled out a pair of very plain black glasses, handing them to him. Cassian seemed to finally relax since she'd gotten into the car.

"Thank fuck." then he pulled into a lay-by and without turning off the car, slipped two fingers in his eye, removing one contact and then the other, leaving Nesta stunned. He put the glasses on his nose and flashed her a smile that went from ear to ear. And Nesta was stunned for other reasons.

She couldn't deny that Cassian was an attractive man. She wasn't stupid or blind, but the man next to her should have come with a warning sign or a bell.

Attention, hot stuff coming your way.

Nesta forgot the comment she had wanted to make about how antigenic and risky it had been to remove his contacts without first cleaning his hands and in such a dirty environment.

His hair tied back in a messy bun, with the hint of a beard he was letting grow, and now his glasses on, Cassian looked like a model on the cover of a newspaper about sexy carpenters. The short-sleeved black shirt he wore that pulled on his huge biceps every time he moved in the slightest was just one more point to add to the list of things that made him appealing.

"So," he began, getting back on the road, "what's your favourite colour?"

Nesta snorted, "Are you serious?"

Cassian seemed to blanch, "What?"

"Have you ever been out with a girl?" she asked him sarcastically, knowing full well what the answer would be.

He clenched his jaw so hard that a muscle popped out on his face, "Only on dates."

"And this isn't a date." pointed out Nesta, holding back a laugh at how tortured he sounded.

"It's not."

Nesta touched the tip of her nose, thoughtful, "Shouldn't this be easier for you then?"

Cassian released a breath through his nose, "I'm under a lot of pressure right now."

"Yeah?" she asked, looking away and smiling.

"Yeah, and stop looking like you're enjoying it." he retorted.

She feigned innocence, "Enjoying what?"

"My pain." he sheeted.

Nesta laughed, unable to contain herself any longer and when he glared at her, she covered her mouth with one hand, laughing harder. Only when he snapped his fingers against the steering wheel did she stop, laying a hand on his arm, just for a few seconds, "I'm so sorry." she wheezed, "I just don't understand. When you're hanging out with my sisters or Amren, or Mor, I don't know, you don't seem to be in this much discomfort."

Cassian sighed again and Nesta chuckled one last time, stopping when he smiled slightly. "I'm just trying not to make you uncomfortable. You accepted I take you on this non-date, and I'm doing my best not to flirt badly with you every chance I get." he confessed, nodding slowly, as if to convince himself that he was doing the right thing and not wasting their time.

Nesta was genuinely surprised at his answer and decided to offer him an olive branch.

"My favourite colour is blue."

"Nice." he smiled, showing a hint of a dimple, "Mine is red."

"It's too bright of a colour," she said lightheartedly.

Cassian chuckled, "I'm pretty sure it reflects my peppy personality."

Nesta nodded, "I read an article once about how a person's favourite colour says a lot about the person themselves," she said annoyed, "It sounded like one of those quizzes you find in gossip magazines, like it was written by a third grader. I hate those things, like horoscopes."

He grunted, "God, Mor's obsessed with horoscopes..."

The conversation continued without any more awkward silences for the remainder of the ride, and when Cassian turned onto a bumpy road, Nesta knew they were close. Of course, even if she hadn't looked at the directions from her house to the place, the myriad cars parked along the road would have been an indication.

They parked in the first vacant spot they could find and as soon as Nesta was out of the car, an icy gust of wind hit her face, making her shiver with cold. She looked over the bonnet at Cassian and found him staring at her with a half smile on his face. He'd left his glasses in the car and had let his hair down again, her hair band on his wrist, and he looked even prettier than before.

"Do you want my jacket?" he asked her, with a conflicted look on his face, as if he didn't want to. Nesta narrowed her brows and he hurried to add, "There's no hidden agenda to my offer, just a friend lending a jacket to another friend."

Nesta watched him for a moment, trying to really understand his intentions, but then remembered reading in one of the reviews that the library was heated inside and shook her head.

Cassian gave a small nod of assent and then pointed down the street, "Shall we?"

From where they had parked to the library it would have been about a ten minute walk and Nesta couldn't help but notice the way Cassian kept his distance between them as if he was afraid she would get scared and run away.

He was back to fidgeting nervously with his fingers and when he realised she was looking at him, he put them in his pockets, smiling tensely at her. He took a deep breath and then said, "So, what do you know about this library?"

Nesta looked ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the building, but the foliage of the trees was still too thick and they were still too far away for it to see anything. She brought her hands to her stomach, crossing her fingers, "I actually did a bit of research before I came. Did you know that the Peace Treaty between Prythian and Hybern of 1864 was signed here?" she asked in an excited voice.

Cassian smiled at her so naturally that she felt herself blush. He had an expression she couldn't decipher, but Nesta had never been good at cracking people in general, so she didn't venture to continue until he said, "Tell me more."

And Nesta launched into a detailed description of the events that had taken place inside the building, which only a hundred years before had become a bookstore. Only one wing of the building had been furnished in such a way as to become a real shop, the rest had been set up to be visited as a museum, one of the oldest libraries. She talked about the architecture and how it was obvious that the palace had been built long before it became an important meeting place for scholars and researchers.

"And in 1932 a fire destroyed the science wing, burning more than a hundred textbooks." Nesta sighed, thinking how devastating that loss had been. She lit up with happiness when she remembered what happened next. "But luckily, one of the most important literary clubs in the city got together and they managed to recover a small portion of the books. It took them years to rewrite every manual, but they got help from one of the local researchers, a certain Mr. Hawthorn, I can't remember the name or details of the research, only that he's mentioned often in the article I read."

When she paused to catch her breath, Nesta realised with immense horror what had just happened. Cassian had not spoken a word after asking her if she knew anything about the place and she had monopolised the conversation without even acknowledging him once. She felt herself flare up and knew in that moment that any hope they had of becoming real friends was gone.

Sometimes she would get lost in thought and ramble on about the things she was passionate about. Quite often people had stopped her, letting her know they weren't interested in the subject, but Cassian had never interrupted her and she was afraid to look at him, convinced she would only find boredom and disgust on his face.

That was why, when he spoke, she was struck dumb.

"I'm impressed." he breathed, chuckling immediately afterwards.

Nesta pushed herself to look at him and he stood admiring her with his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't find the words. She felt her heart clench in her chest so tightly that she didn't know if she could survive the pain. Who knows how many times he'd tried to stop her and she'd gone on and on about windows and arches and treaties of peace.

But when she got a better look at him, stopping in front of him, Cassian looked... happy.

He let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair, and Nesta was distracted for a moment by the sway of his arms before she was brought violently back down to earth when he said, "You surprise me more and more every time, Nesta."

And the way he said her name - Ne-sta - made her toes curl.

"Why?" she managed to throw out in a weak voice.

Cassian laughed again, raising his eyebrows so high they ended under the hair on his forehead, locking his eyes to hers. "I have a degree in history and my final thesis happened to be on this very library." Nesta felt the ground open up beneath her feet and hoped it swallowed her alive. "I came out of university with top marks and various accolades for finishing my studies on time and you, dreadful creature that you are, have just taught me at least three new things about this place."

His gaze was so intense that Nesta had to lower her head to hide the satisfied and surprised smirk that popped up on her lips.

"You're amazing." huffed Cassian, "Perfect in every way."

She shrugged.

"Although," he clicked his tongue against his palate, "You made a mistake."

Nesta looked up at him, frowning, "Oh, yeah?"

Cassian nodded, smirking fiercely, "Why don't you turn around and admire the palace, and once we're inside, I'll explain what it is?"

She must have been so lost in her chatter that she hadn't noticed that they had arrived in the large entrance forecourt, because when she turned, her back to Cassian, the building stood among the forest trees, as imposing and splendid as ever. The photos had not done it justice in the slightest and Nesta was left speechless.

Living in a country with a history going back millennia, it wasn't hard to stumble upon historic streets with old buildings and monuments, but this was completely different.

She was still admiring the way the stone around the windows had been carved to look like trees trying to get into the building when she felt something settle on the small of her back. A hand.

Nesta stiffened slightly, before closing her eyes and relaxing.

Cassian must have noticed her discomfort because a moment later his hand was no longer touching her.

They entered the museum part of the building in silence and Nesta paid the entrance fees, reminding him of the tea he'd offered her last Sunday and Cassian hadn't been able to argue with that.

They had just passed the doors to the first room, the smallest in the entire palace, when he leaned towards her, to the point of touching her ear with his lips.

The fact that he was whispering as if they had been in a sacred place did things to her little icy heart, "Mr. Hawthorn was not a man."

Shocked by that information, Nesta's head snapped in his direction and she realised too late that she had miscalculated the space.

Her lips brushed against his cheek, the corner of his lips, before Cassian reacted so quickly he startled her, but avoiding them both an involuntary first kiss. His sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and he reached out his hands towards her, straightening as he held on to her shoulders.

Both of them were holding their breath.

Cassian cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to the wall of books, but returning to look at her soon after, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, you just surprised me," she said when she had recovered. "I must have read the article wrong."

He was still watching her and shook his head, "Oh no, I don't think it's that. They only found out a few months ago that it was Georgina and not George Hawthorn. They found letters in the house of what was thought to be Hawthorn's wife. Some people think they were just friends, but anyone who has read the letters they exchanged knows full well that they were lovers. Anyone who says otherwise is either homophobic or stupid."

Nesta realised that she could have listened to this for hours on end. And so it was.

The visit continued relatively quietly, Cassian explaining every detail to her, expanding on things she already knew and when he forgot something, she would step in and have her say, commenting on every little aspect.

She'd noticed how Cassian hadn't tried to touch her anymore and how whenever someone was about to bump into her, he'd vocally warn her instead of wrapping an arm around her shoulders to move her out of their way like he had on Sunday.

The visit to the museum lasted less than expected unfortunately, because Nesta hadn't had this much fun in too long. It was becoming easier to smile at him or tease him when he said dumb things and even he seemed to finally be more at ease when he had to make jokes that smacked of him.

When they finally got to the shop, Nesta couldn't stand on her feet anymore, she just wanted to buy all the books she saw and go home and arrange them on her shelves.

"Which section do you want to see first?" she asked him, even though she had started hopping impatiently about the place.

Cassian gave her a smug look, "Why don't you go wherever you want and I'll look for the manuals for the gazebo in the meantime? That way you don't waste time keeping up with me. I'll be right there."

Nesta let out an excited squeal and ran off, hearing only the echo of laughter that shook Cassian from head to toe.

***

As Cassian flipped through the various books to find a picture of a gazebo that looked similar to the one Feyre had requested, he kept casting glances at Nesta.

Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed book after book without even reading the synopses. She was in the romance novels section, from what he could see from where he stood, but soon ended up in the classics, where she grabbed just as many books. She moved to the mystery books section, this time stopping to read the plots and putting most of them back on the shelves.

Then, surprising Cassian, she walked over to where the historical novels were and turned to face him. He bent his head to the side, raising an eyebrow to ask her what she was doing there. Nesta seemed at a loss, trying to move all the books from one arm to the other to point him to join her, but Cassian was already halfway there and when she looked back up at him and found him standing in front of her, she gave him a bright smile.

"Hello." she exclaimed.

Cassian's breath caught for a second before he too sighed a greeting.

"I was thinking," Nesta began, running her eyes over the titles in front of them, "that you could recommend something about..." she wiggled her fingers as much as she could, trying to point to the shelf, and Cassian leaned forward, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Here," he removed the first stack of books from her arms and she sagged a little, giving him a thankful look. "I can go get a bag so you can put them all in there and you don't have to carry them like this," he said taking all the books and having her help him arrange them so they wouldn't fall out.

He smiled at her over all the books, looking down at her and she smiled back just as happily.

Hell, if she looked at him like that every time he took her to a bookstore he should do it more often.

He had just turned to go towards the entrance, where he had seen special bags for carrying books, but Nesta stopped him by putting a hand on his arm.

"Wait!" she exclaimed almost impishly.

Cassian turned his head, genuinely worried that something had happened to her in the mere seconds he had been shot. He must have moved too fast, because one of the smaller classics flew off the top of the stack and landed right in her face.

Nesta groaned at the impact and brought her hands to her face, rubbing her forehead where it hurt.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!" he asked with wide eyes. And then Nesta laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she stared at him and he visibly relaxed. "Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw a book at you."

She waved a hand in mid-air, to let him know it was nothing, and bent down to pick up what he realised was A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Of course Nesta was reading feminist classics.

She turned back to the books as if nothing had happened and Cassian had the urge to look for a list of all the bookstores in the world to take her to if it meant having her in such a good mood by his side, it didn't matter if she would never agree to go on a real date with him, he realised. As long as he could see her smile like that, he didn't need anything else.

"So, I was saying, before you battered me with a book-" she cast an amused glance over one shoulder at him.

He frowned, muttering, "I said sorry."

Nesta ignored him, "What do you recommend?"

Cassian blinked.

"You said you read historical novels right?" she asked, looking for confirmation, "You could recommend your favourites. But not the English or Russian classics. Or French ones. Chances are I've already read those."

Cassian was stunned. Nesta wanted advice on books. From him.

They were silent for too long as she turned around impatiently, "You lied?"

He looked surprised, "When?"

"When you said you were reading. Were you just doing it to impress me or were you serious?" she asked and maybe Cassian imagined it, but she looked disappointed.

He was quick to reply, "The Black Coat, by Neamat Imam. It's pretty recent, but set in the 1970s in Bangladesh. It's about a man who needs help and seeks it from a journalist he asks for work and one of the main themes is the famine that hit the country after it became independent. It's not my absolute favourite, but it certainly gives you something to think about."

Nesta nodded, searching through the titles and finding it almost immediately, "Anything else?"

Cassian felt his neck heat up and coughed a little before resuming speaking. "The Long Ships by Frans G. Bengtsson. Set in the tenth century, it's about a Viking who is called Red because of his hair and focuses on the European political outlook in the late Viking Age. Again, it's not as good as the historical classics, but it's nice and shows a way of life that we're definitely not used to. It's different."

After looking for a few minutes, Nesta gave up reading and turned to him, crossing her arms. She tilted her head to the side, watching him closely, "What's your favourite book?"

Cassian shrugged, settling the books against his chest, "I think at the moment it's The King Must Die by Mary Renault. But I change my mind every month when I find something more interesting or captivating."

She nodded thoughtfully, "I'll take that one then."

And Cassian wished he could change the title immediately because... what if she didn't like it? Or if she thought it was a stupid book? What would she think of him then?

But Nesta had already found a copy a few shelves down and there was no turning back.

He could counterattack, though, "What about yours? You're not going to give me any advice on feminist classics or blatantly trashy romance novels?"

Nesta opened her mouth wide, looking outraged as she placed the latest addition on the pile, settling the book under her chin, "How can you say they're trashy if you don't even know what they're about?"

Cassian chuckled, "On the cover of You Came," he said as he gave her a sly look, "there's something called a 'spicymeter'. How am I supposed to take you seriously?"

Nesta blushed, "I read erotic novels, so what? I have to keep myself busy in my spare time somehow."

And then he challenged her, "Get me the hottest book you've ever read," he said in a joking tone, "I'll go get the bag in the meantime."

She had already left for the section when he had an idea that would surely doom him depending on how Nesta would react.

He walked up to the cashier's desk, making sure she didn't notice, and begging the clerk behind the counter to be quick, paid for all her books, gently placing them back in the bags.

When he reached her again, she seemed not to have noticed anything.

"'So, what did you get me? Ride Me? Fucked You Good? Last Night I Gave You A Thousand Orgasms?" he teased her with an annoyed grin on his lips.

Nesta gave him a fiery glance before noticing the bags, quite different from those you put the things you wanna buy in, and closed her mouth tightly. She frowned and looked at them for so long before speaking that Cassian began to feel self-conscious.

"You paid for my books?" she whispered, looking at him.

He nodded.

"It's not a date, Cassian," she reminded him for the umpteenth time.

"I know, but-"

"So why would you pay for things that are mine?"

He couldn't read her. She wasn't hinting at anything.

She didn't look angry but she didn't look impressed or grateful either.

Cassian placed the bags on the ground between them and Nesta followed his every movement with her eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing, "My adoptive family is filthy rich. I have a trust fund that I never get to spend on things I really want to do, the only way I get to use it is by giving gifts to my friends, so just accept these as my first gift - friend to friend - and call it a day."

Nesta continued to be impassive as she kept her eyes fixed on the books.

Perhaps he had gone too far. After all, she had taken more than a hundred and fifty euros worth of stuff, but he really didn't mind.

He was about to apologise, tell her she could give the money back if it made her feel better. Cassian would find a way to spend it back on her at other times anyway.

Then she raised her head, handing him two books with hilarious covers to say the least, "These two have storylines full of plot twists. You won't be able to put them down, but don't expect big epic battles or Viking warriors. It's just two college kids trying to survive in the modern world while finding solace in each other."

He didn't even have time to thank her that she was already across the room and waiting in line so she could pay them.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

"I guess you'll be paying for these two," he said as he caught up with her.

Nesta didn't even look at him, pulling out her wallet, "A gift from a friend to a friend."

As they walked back to the car, Cassian offered to carry the bags, but she didn't want to hear one more word so they had managed to compromise and had split the load equally.

They'd been on the road for about thirty minutes now and Nesta had gone through every book he'd bought her, talking about all the previous works by the authors she was holding in her hand at the moment.

Cassian could have died like that. Happy, relaxed, listening to the plots of those dirty books with no moral lessons to teach the reader, just pure entertainment.

He wondered at that moment if he would make it through the first few chapters of the books she had offered him and let out a heavy breath through his nose as he turned right towards the coast.

Nesta looked at him wide-eyed, stopping her rant about the headmaster's son getting the occasional model student to fall in love with him. She brought a hand to her mouth, "Oh dear, sorry, I'm boring you. I'm sorry."

He gave her a confused look ready to tell her she didn't have to apologise, but she continued.

"Sometimes I do and I don't even realize it. And I realize they're not challenging plots where you have to apply some hidden lobe of the brain to understand them, but they distract me from everyday problems, you know? It's fun to be able to unplug a few hours after I get home from work and-"

"Jesus, Nesta, stop!" he laughed, placing a hand on her thigh. She sighed. "You don't have to apologise. Not when you're so excited about something." he looked at her slyly, offering her a reassuring smile, "In fact, I'm glad you're talking so much today. Normally I have to pull the words out of your mouth."

She blushed slightly and then grew sullen soon after, sitting up straighter, "This isn't the way to Velaris, where are we going?"

Cassian didn't answer.

"You're taking me into the woods aren't you?"

"We literally just came out of a forest."

She ignored him.

"I knew it. You're a serial killer."

"Nes-"

"You're a little dense though. Why would you spend so much on someone if you're going to murder them?"

He decided to ignore her, chuckling, "I'm taking you to the beach."

"Why?" she asked, somewhat unconvinced.

Cassian shrugged, "I wanted to see the sunset."

"You didn't ask."

He sighed, gripping the steering wheel, "Okay," he whispered, then louder, "You want to go to the beach and watch the sunset?"

She nodded in assent and then continued to read the plots aloud.

And Cassian could have sworn he was in heaven.

***

Nesta gathered more sand, making a small ball out of it and placing it on the top of one of the towers she had made so far.

"Where did you learn to make such good sandcastles?" asked Cassian suddenly from behind her, startling her.

She jumped in the air, turning to face him and noticing the satisfied smile on his face for having taken her by surprise.

Nesta didn't answer him immediately, but allowed herself to admire him a bit.

Since they had arrived at the beach, they had taken off their shoes and were now both barefoot and then Cassian had bent down and started to roll his trousers around his ankles, offering to do it to her jeans as well, but Nesta had refused. She had sat down, looking at the sea for a while, while he walked along the shore and collected stones and shells.

When he had come back to her and shown them to her, asking her to make a sandcastle, she had laughed at first, but faced with his serious expression, she had been unable to do anything but get up and roll up her sleeves, moving to where the sand was a little more workable.

She looked away from that heavenly vision and made another ball, placing it next to the one she had just made. "When I was little my mum never let me do these, she said I'd get too much sun and forced me and Elain to stay under the umbrella all day," she replied truthfully, remembering the cruel bite of jealousy watching the children on the shore.

"And Feyre?"

Cassian had joined her, kneeling beside her and had begun to place the shells so that they served as windows to the towers.

Nesta sighed, "Feyre was still too little when Mini Me wanted to build sandcastles, but as soon as I became 'too old to play like a kid'," she gave him a knowing look, mimicking her mother's voice, "and Feyre started to figure out she was an actual being, Mama let her do whatever she wanted. Even stand in the sun for hours on end." she shrugged. "Whether it was out of indifference or love, I never understood."

Cassian had been silent the whole time and now he watched her, hands on his thighs as he waited for her to give him more. For her to tell him another little piece of her soul.

So she offered him a forced smile, "So to answer your question, it's all pent-up creativity."

"Well, you're very good at it," he granted her. "I can imagine what you could have done if your mother hadn't been so strict."

Well, yeah.

"What about you?" she asked him.

"What about me?"

"Did you go to the beach a lot?"

Cassian smiled weakly, getting up and heading towards the water to collect more shells. He nodded a couple of times and then said, "My mum and I loved coming to the beach and she loved making castles. And she always put so many 'windows' on the towers-"

Nesta turned to look at their work, realising how many shells he had placed on the piles of sand. She smiled softly, covering her eyes from the sun and watching him walk towards her.

"We always came when she was free from work."

A charged silence settled between them until Cassian chuckled, drawing her attention, "What?"

"You said this wasn't a date. And that we're just friends. Right?"

Shifting her gaze to him, she noticed how he kept his hands hidden behind his back and the mischievous glint in his eyes didn't reassure her at all. Slowly she stood up, nodding.

"So, I must treat you as I would treat my friends. Correct?"

"Cassian, I swear to god that-"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence that something wet and sticky landed in her face with a resounding splash, making her jump back.

She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it when a strong smell of stale water and seaweed flooded her nostrils.

When she opened her eyes again, wiping the seaweed from her face, Cassian was doubled over in laughter.

She didn't even give him time to get up when she started to run towards him - to do what, she had no idea - but he started to run away too and soon they were chasing each other all around the beach, not noticing the sweet looks they were getting from the people around them.

At that moment, Nesta was running so fast that she could feel the wind in her hair and the smell and sound of the sea, together with the laughter of the man who was chasing her, mixed with her own and the continuous tapping of her feet on the sand, made her feel alive.

She felt Cassian come closer every few metres until two strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was pulled up and spun around in the air.

A surprised yelp escaped her as Cassian laughed in her ear, "Gotcha!"

It wasn't until he stopped spinning with her in his arms that they realised the position they were in and immediately broke away, laughing embarrassed.

Nesta turned to face him, her face red from running and her breathing laboured. He was in no better condition. His hair was pointing in all directions and his sculpted chest was rising and falling with haste under the black fabric of his shirt.

He looked away first, scratching the back of his neck and fixing his eyes on the sunset, and offered her his arm as they returned to where they had left theirs things unattended.

Nesta shook her head, laughing one last time and started to run, " Last to reach the castle is stupid!"

Cassian burst out laughing, but he caught up to her in the blink of an eye and they both knew that she had doomed herself to lose. That's why, when he fell tripping over his feet, Nesta knew he had done it on purpose.

She helped him up and they sat back as in silence they watched the sun go down, disappearing past the horizon and the blending lights of the sky created a breathtaking spectacle.

Nesta couldn't have noticed, too busy admiring the clouds, but Cassian had been watching her the whole time, trying to understand how something as sombre and secretive as her could look so bright just by being.

The journey back was silent, but this time the silence was not awkward. They both welcomed it with open arms, a new awareness that there was no need for it to be filled with chatter and that gave Nesta the opportunity to close her eyes for a moment and doze off.

When the car stopped outside her flat, Nesta was surprised to find that she didn't want to get out.

She turned to Cassian after she had gathered her things and nodded, "I had fun today."

He gave her a genuine smile, looking surprised, "Me too."

And then she permanently shocked him, adding, "I'm not working on Saturday, we could do it again. Changing location."

He blinked once. Twice. Then he nodded, "Sure."

He didn't seem to want to say anything more, so Nesta waved goodbye to him and then got out, not waiting for an answer from him.

Cassian stood motionless in the car park of her flat for another half hour, trying to figure out what had just happened, and when the reality of things finally dawned on him, he smiled, "Fuck yeah."

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#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf #nessian fic #nessian fluff #fluff

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archies-litterbox · 3 years

Text

of poison, forest floors, and terrified wizards

Summary: Out all alone on what was meant to be a simple errand, collecting herbs for Merlin, Douxie is downed when some pickpocket throws a fistful of black powder in his face - a magic surpressant and poison to wizards, he comes to find out the hard way. Unable to move or use his magic, as attempts to do both cause nothing but agony, the moppet has no choice but to rely on the slim hope of someone finding him before the poison overtakes him.

A/N: This is my first toa fic! I’ve spent the past year mostly just doing fic for witcher, so this is a nice change of pace :) I had fun with this! I thought about what would happen if there was some sort of substance in TOA that acted as a poison/magic surpressant to wizards... and ofc it turned into douxie whump (but it’s moppet!douxie which is even more painful :( ). Enjoyyy!

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning/Sickness, Temporary Paralysis, blood mention (but no bleeding)]

---

All Douxie had been sent out to do was collect some herbs for Merlin. It wasn’t even in the uncertain ground like the Wild Wood, but a patch of forest he’d been sent to fetch ingredients from countless times. It should have been a simple enough task for the moppet, which is why he hadn’t woken Archie from his afternoon nap - which he was taking on Douxie’s bed - to have his familiar accompany him. And truly, the task itself was simple; it didn’t take Douxie very long at all to go into the woods and find a patch of the plants Merlin told him to fetch - something about a potion ingredient, the apprentice vaguely recollected.

Indeed, he found it without any trouble, but when he felt a figure speed past his back and steal away the little pouch of herbs he’d collected before speeding off into the woods, that was when the trouble started.

The rational part of him (which said exactly what he’d reckoned Archie would be telling him right now) told him just to pick more, but it was overshadowed by how downright insulting this woodland pickpocket was! Before he’d been taken in by Merlin, conning and using slight-of-hand to his advantage was one of his only means of survival, so to not only be stolen from, but in a way so lacking in cunning? The audacity!

It was the principal of the matter that sent him running after the thief, darting this way and that until he was lost in the thick of the woods, focused only on tailing the pickpocket.

“Hey! Stop!” Douxie panted, “You’re stealing from a master wizard!”

That didn’t seem to entice the thief to stop.

“Well… his apprentice, anyway!” he added for reasons unsure to even himself. Maybe honesty would help?

Well, thanks to his trusty, gangly legs, he caught up to the thief and got close enough to grab their wrist, and he thought it would be smooth sailing after that.

Yeah! Alright! I’ll just get my herbs back and deal with this thief and -

The thief turned around and threw a handful of black powder in his face.

Fuzzbuckets.

Douxie squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he felt them sting, coughing into his elbow to hack up the charcoal tasting powder that flew into his mouth and nose. That little trick stopped him in his tracks, but he wasn’t deterred. Not mentally. He still wanted to try to catch up…

...but his legs wouldn’t move.

No matter how badly he wanted - demanded his legs to obey him, they remained tense, frozen in that position of one in front of the other.

What?

One terrifying moment later, they did move. But not into the sprint he wanted to take - no, to do something worse: to buckle underneath him and send him falling onto his side against the forest floor.

And he couldn’t get up.

No matter how much he willed his body to do it, he couldn’t get up.

It was like when he’d have nightmares and he’d realize he was having a nightmare; it took forcing his body to toss and turn and shift from side to side as much as he could to rouse him back to the realm of the fully conscious.

But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t rouse himself from this nightmare because he couldn’t push himself up.

Wait.

No.

He couldn’t move.

Nearing complete panic, he internally begged and pleaded to find some sort of mobility, but his limbs grew numb by the second, and wherever he still had feeling, it ached - utterly, reprehensibly ached. Not only that, but it was cold. So, so cold, despite the warm atmosphere of the summer afternoon that hung around him so tauntingly.

He’d never felt more scared in his life. Not even being threatened at swordpoint by Sir Galahad and his men, knowing that he’d be killed for something like a measly alley trick, was as terrifying as this - not even that made his blood run cold (literally, it felt like, as well as figuratively) like this did.

And he was sure that was clear to the thief he’d tried to catch. They stood over him, and he couldn’t see their face from where his head lay on the ground, cheek against the grass, but with his glassy, wide eyes flickering between straining to look at his poisoner - because that’s what this was, a poison - and darting around wherever they could look without him moving his head - because he couldn’t even do that - as black strands of hair lay loose on his cheek because he couldn’t lift a hand to move them, he was sure looked every bit as terrified as he felt.

The thief laughed. Laughed.

“A master wizard’s apprentice, eh?” they spoke, their voice dripping with mock fascination that made Douxie wish that someone, anyone would come to help him, “And your great master never told you to pick your battles? He must not have, if you felt so inclined as to chase me all through the woods for a plant you could have just picked a little more of. It was right in front of you, after all.”

The realization which dawned on Douxie would have made his blood run cold if it didn’t feel like it already was. They’d pickpocketed him because they counted on him pursuing them, even to the point of ending up in the thick of the woods, far away from where Merlin or Archie expected him to be - far away from where they’d know to look for him.

Douxie finally tried to shout for help, but his throat was just as tense - as frozen as the rest of his muscles, and his jaw was too tight to open as much as he’d need to scream. All he could do was gasp and force shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs, which was still a trying ordeal - too trying for something like breathing to have been.

“Trying to scream? Really?” the poisoner-thief asked as if it was an absurd thing to do in the moppet’s position (which it wasn’t), “Next thing you know, you’ll try mustering a spell.”

Against his better judgement, for trying a spell couldn’t have been a good idea if his own assailant was suggesting it, he tried to force a little magic to his fingertips.

It burned. Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, it burned. His hand hadn’t even hurt this badly after he’d botched a lightning spell and scarred his wrist in the process.

Douxie wheezed at the sensation, and the thief laughed again.

“Oh, this is rich!” they exclaimed, “this has already paralyzed you hand and foot, and you thought some conjuring would help? What do you think this was made to diminish, Apprentice of Ambrosius?

Douxie couldn’t even think of a swear worthy of this (“fuzzbuckets” was too tame), his mind still flooded with fear and his hand still aching from his botched magic attempt. How had they already known he was Merlin’s apprentice? Sure, he’d mentioned being an apprentice to a master wizard, but he wasn’t that specific.

But he wasn’t worried about that as much as what this implied about his magic, and what this - whatever it had been - was doing to it.

“This,” His assailant bent down and held up their fingertips to his face, showing him the black powder on them. “Seeps away your magic. Or poisons it, or diminishes it, or eats away at it - I’m not a poet, and apt synonyms aren’t my strong suit.”

They stood back up all the way, and Douxie wanted to plead, but the words wouldn’t come out. They wouldn’t even form. This - he couldn’t lose his magic. Not on something as measly as an herb collection.

“All of this-”

They gestured to his paralyzed, twitching form.

“Is just a side effect. A byproduct of attacking your magic.”

Douxie tried curling his hand into a fist. Not only were his muscles so weak that he could only curl his fingers for a second in what looked more like a spasm than a conscious movement, but grabbing the wrong end of a knife would have hurt less.

The powder-tosser winced mock-sympathetically.

“Shame, really. I hoped the master wizard you served could be the one to deal with this.”

For a moment, in his agony, he wished he was. Douxie squandered the thought as quickly as it came up, hating himself for conceiving it. He couldn’t wish this on anyone, least of all the wizard who saved him, who plucked him off the streets.

But why couldn’t he save him now?

“Ah, well.” They reached down to Douxie’s face and put a strand of hair behind his ear.

Douxie wanted to cry.

“S’pose you’ll do. It’ll be a kick in the teeth for him anyway, when you don’t come back from your little errand after hours and hours, and by the time they send out a search party…”

The smugness and certainty in their tone made Douxie whimper, the first vocal noise he’d been able to make in all of this, after naught but wheezing and gasping. Where was he going to get dragged off to? The Wild Wood? Were they in league with trolls, hoping to get an edge on King Arthur? Or were they a bandit, hoping to take all his goods off of him (which weren’t much, unless they counted the black cat fur on his vest) and keep him in some rackety shack until a ransom note made its way to Merlin?

(Would he even pay it, considering Douxie’s incompetence?)

“Well, they’ll find you right here, I’m sure, but…”

Douxie could hear them mock-wince again, and their implication was worse than anything he’d assumed in the moments before. He couldn’t hear the rest of their sentence over his own panic that, combined with the poison, made his head swim.

He wasn’t going to be taken anywhere.

He was going to be left here, to - to - to -

His panic pushed him to try his magic again on impulse alone, and it felt like both his hands were on fire. His throat, as tight as it was, finally let him groan through his teeth.

“An exercise in futility, little wizard.” his attacker taunted, “In fact…”

They took his bracelet - only three fingers wide at this point in his training - right off his wrist, which made him squeak as he tried, tried, tried to shake his head, and threw it into a bush in what was both further assurance of his powerlessness and an insult to injury.

“I would say you should try to get comfortable…”

They stood up and took a few steps back, leaving the little field of vision Douxie had from where his head lay on the ground.

“...But I suppose that would be another exercise in futility.”

He heard the poisoner-thief run off, their footfalls fading as the pounding of his racing heart, which drummed against his ears in sync with their steps, drowned out the noise until they were out of earshot.

He was alone.

He couldn’t move, some poison was seeping away his magic - his very lifeforce - and tensed his body up so rigidly that he couldn’t even scream, and he was alone.

If he could’ve, he would have curled up into a ball as small as he could make himself in hopes that the dangers of the woods and the dire circumstances of his situation would pass him by.

If he could’ve, he would have screamed, even though he knew he was far away from the earshot of anyone who might have come looking for him by that patch of herbs where he said he’d go, and he knew that Archie, who could have tracked his scent here, was still sleeping because, in his arrogance, he hadn’t thought to wake him.

If he could’ve, he would have dragged himself to his gauntlet, wherever it had been thrown, because even if it wouldn’t have done anything to get him out of this, at least he wouldn’t have felt so helpless, even though helpless was exactly what he was.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and feel his tears run down the bridge of his nose as his lips contorted into a grimace, the only two things he could do with his body where the movement itself didn’t outweigh how badly he wanted - needed to do it.

All he could hope for, against hope itself, was that he’d be found here.

Before all that could be found was his body.

---

He wished he could just sleep.

The grassy ground underneath him was soft enough, and his position on his side could have been comfortable enough. Maybe it would have helped pass the time until the poison ran its course, whatever that entailed.

But whatever this was, it didn’t even grant him that luxury. Whether it was an effect of the poison or a product of his own adrenaline and terror, Douxie was wide awake.

Not only that, but after what might have been an hour or two (judging by the sunlight’s reflection off the dewey grass), his body would periodically twitch because of the poison. Sometimes his leg would kick out like a dog, or his shoulder would seize up to the point where it touched his ear, or his hand would ball into a fist.

But his poisoned body didn’t care which of his movements were voluntary or otherwise - it stung all the same. Not like the horrific burning that came with his attempts at magic, but a grating, awful ache right down to his bones. The spontaneous twitches never let him even come close to unconsciousness, and maybe that was a good thing - every breath was more or less of a laborious gasp, a conscious effort of his, and if he’d lost consciousness and stopped forcing them in and out of his lungs… he didn’t want to imagine it.

He wished his panic would quiet enough for him to get bored laying here - he would have preferred it to this, and it would have made sense, considering that he was stuck staring at the same blades of grass and patch of trees that he’d been staring at for the past hour.

And they weren’t even particularly interesting trees or blades of grass, not that they would have distracted him very well if they were.

He wondered if anyone had started looking for him by now. Maybe Merlin was growing impatient without the ingredients he asked for, and maybe Morgana had started to wonder why “Little Douxie” hadn’t come back to the castle.

He wondered if Archie had woken up from his nap and noticed Douxie’s absence yet. If anyone could insist that someone go out and search for him, it would be his familiar. He didn’t want to delude himself by thinking it would help though.

He wondered the importance of those herbs he was collecting before. Were they really that important to whatever Merlin had been working on? Were they worth chasing that thief down? Were they worth all of this?

He was pulled from his thoughts when a shadow cast over the grass he’d been staring at - the shadow of a creature flying overhead and hovering above him.

If he could’ve curled into himself, just to look as small as possible, he would have. What if it was a vulture, waiting to scavenge him? What if it was a monster, or a winged troll, here to carry him off to some trollish nest in the Wild Wood? None of the thoughts that came to mind were soothing by any means. As the creature swooped down, all Douxie could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope he wouldn’t be harmed any further.

Even when the figure landed in front of him and stepped closer and closer, he didn’t look at it. It wasn’t until he could feel it’s breath on his face, one of the only sensations of the past few hours that didn’t hurt, that he opened his eyes.

A face of black fur greeted him.

And yellow eyes.

And a round pair of glasses.

Archie!

He couldn’t even say the word, but a sob escaped his throat - a sob of relief? A sob of terror that this might have been the start of an onslaught of hallucinations, the first of which being a sign of rescue? He wasn’t sure. Either way, all he wanted to do was reach up and pet the cat-dragon familiar, or hug him and not let go, but he couldn’t. His arm felt like it weighed half a ton, just like the rest of his limbs.

So, he sobbed. It was all he could do.

“Douxie!” Archie cried.

Merlin’s apprentice could hear the worry in his voice as he stepped back a few paces, his ears back and his wings to his side. Of course, he’d shifted into his dragon form - he must have been able to track Douxie’s scent like that. But Douxie hated the thought of his familiar being in danger because he’d flown here. He was already suspicious enough as a black cat, since they carried the notion of being bad omens. What if he’d gotten taken down? He wasn’t worth that!

Douxie was too relieved - yes, he chose relief, not terror, because that’s all he could afford - to think about all of that though.

“Douxie, I’ve been looking for you! What’s happened to you?” Archie asked, “Merlin expected you back hours ago!”

The first thing that came to mind, despite everything, was an apology for his absence - an apology he couldn’t even say. He couldn’t even say what happened to him, not like -

A spasm cut off from his speeding, scrambled thoughts - a large one in his left arm (his right was still mostly underneath him) that reached all the way from his fingertips to his shoulderblade, forcing his hand to ball into a fist, his arm to fold so tightly that his fist touched his shoulder, and his shoulder to tighten so much that his shoulder pressed to his ear.

The sound of agony ripped from his throat was the closest to a scream he’d gotten yet.

Archie looked horrified, and Douxie could only imagine what the sight of him was like - black strands loose from his bun strewn over his face, his eyes puffy and tear-ringed, his lips contorted in a pained grimace. He imagined he looked as pitiful and helpless as he felt.

(In fact, he didn’t have to imagine it. He could faintly see his reflection in the lenses of Archie’s glasses, and he was right in what he pictured, save for the addition of smudges and speckles of that powder still on his face, the black splotches of dust contrasting his color-drained skin, pale as death.)

His arm relaxed again after a few agonizing moments, letting his hand fall in front of his face and leaving a throbbing ache down to his bones, and Douxie tried to collect himself. He had to tell Archie what was wrong. He had to try. If Archie knew, he could fix it. He could get Merlin to fix it. Right? Right.

“P-” he started, trying his absolute best to form words despite the constriction in his throat and lungs that barely let him breathe at all, “puh- poi-”

His own wheezing cough cut him off.

“Poison?” Archie asked, getting it right much to the little relief that Douxie could manage. He nodded - at least, as close to the motion as he could accomplish - and tried to hum a “mhm” of affirmation, since trying to talk hadn’t exactly worked. Far from it.

Archie stepped forward and sniffed his face. He immediately recoiled, his big eyes widening, and Douxie was proven wrong for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

“Oh, dear.” His eyes glanced to what must have been a few more clumps and speckles of dust on the ground, “Ohhh, not good. Not good at all.”

No. Archie couldn’t be scared. If Archie was scared for him, then this was so, so much worse than he thought. How could it possibly be worse?

Douxie squeaked out a whimper in fear, and Archie’s attention snapped back to him (as if it could have been anywhere else).

“Douxie, don’t worry.” he said, “You’ll be alright.”

Archie was never a good liar, much to Douxie’s dismay. If Archie was going to hide the truth to soothe him, he at least would’ve liked it to work. His immediately telling Douxie not to worry had the opposite effect of what was intended; it showed him his worry - his terror - was entirely warranted, which was the exact thing he didn’t want to know. Even if all he said was “You’ll be alright.”, the fear that seemed to bristle through his fur was indication enough of the contrary.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in the fur above his eyes, upturned as if in dread.

“...But I need to go.”

NO!

If Douxie could have screamed the word and reached out to hold Archie, he would have done it right at that moment, but all he could do was whine like a kicked puppy, his eyebrows raising as his head shook - an unconscious movement, minute despite his desperation.

“Douxie, Douxie, listen.” Archie said, softening his voice, “I can’t carry you back to the castle. I wouldn't be able to fly carrying you anyway, but especially not with your-”

Archie got cut off by another one of Douxie’s spasms - this one made his left leg curl up so tight that his thigh touched his torso, causing the apprentice to nearly involuntarily hit Archie with his knee, which the cat-dragon barely dodged.

“-that." Archie said, "Not with that.”

Douxie saw the sense in that, despite his panic. He did, he did, he did.

But -

He sobbed again.

-But he didn’t want to be alone.

Sweet heart of Avalon, he didn’t want to be alone.

The worst of his pain and terror wasn’t from the paralysis, or the aching, or the random twitches, or the burning that came from trying to use his magic, or even the tightness in his throat and lungs that robbed him of speaking or even screaming; it came from being alone in this - from wondering if anyone would come for him, or find his body; it came from knowing that there was nothing he could do but lay there, at the mercy of nature, the poison wracking his body with every beat of his heart, and the determination (or lack thereof) of someone else to find him.

And when he opened his eyes to find Archie there, all of that went away - all of that fear that told him he’d die alone here. He didn’t want it to come back. He would’ve rather the poison take him right now.

“I just need to go back to the castle and bring Merlin here. He’ll know what to do.”

Archie put his paw in Douxie’s limp, open palm. All Douxie wanted to do was hold it, and he so desperately hoped the next twitch would be in his hand so he could.

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

But what if it was too long, even if he hurried?

What if Merlin was too late, even if he hurried?

What if it took too long to convince his master to come here? Would the fact that he’d been poisoned and needed help be enough, or would Merlin refuse because it served Douxie right for his insolence?

(No, no, he wouldn’t do that. Merlin said that mastery over magic was mastery over life, and he had to learn how to live. He couldn’t learn to live if he died here in the woods.)

What if…

What if this killed him before Archie came back?

...No.

It wasn’t the same this time. Douxie wasn’t lost here, hoping against hope that someone would find him. This was hope - someone knew where he was, and help would come. He could handle a little bit more fear for that hope, he knew.

So, fighting the grating, awful ache in his bones, Douxie closed his hand around Archie’s paw and put on as brave a face he found himself able to muster, nodding as much as he could while causing as little pain to himself as possible.

He didn’t trust much in this - not even his own body to keep fighting the poison - but he trusted Archie, and he trusted his promise.

His familiar gently pulled his paw away before slipping it under the side of Douxie’s head, lifting it a little off the ground. The little apprentice was confused for a moment, until Archie reached behind Douxie’s head with his mouth. He could hear the sounds of the woods stifle as fabric came over his ears, warding off the now-coolness of the woodsy air around his head as Archie pulled the hood of his vest over his head and gingerly laid it back down.

Ah, he got it now - it was a little comfort, a little shelter from the world.

And of course he took it, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

He kept up his brave front as Archie turned away from him, something Douxie could tell he’d done reluctantly, and flew off. It wasn’t until he couldn’t see his familiar anymore - until the sight of the cat-dragon vanished behind the treetops - that he let it fall and shatter.

He just had to keep waiting. That’s all he had to do - wait and trust Archie to come back with Merlin. He knew that.

But he could still feel new tears come down his face.

---

Douxie wished he could see the sunset from where he lay. It would have been beautiful, he knew.

The spasms subsided a little while after Archie flew back, leaving Douxie limp on the ground - still unable to move without hurting himself or try to use his magic without thrusting himself into agony - with a lingering pins-and-needles sensation in his hands and feet that felt like it was crawling up from his ankles and wrists.

(Honestly, Douxie still wasn’t sure if the spasms had truly subsided for good, or if this was just a rather long interval between them. He hoped it was the former. The spasms never hurt any less as they went on, and he was so, so tired of the pain.)

Archie still hadn’t come back with Merlin yet, obviously, and at this point, it seemed like Douxie was fighting off his doubt more than the poison. At least he knew what the poison was doing to him - he could feel it every waking moment. But Archie… Douxie didn’t know what had happened to him, and he wouldn’t unless he came back.

(No, until he came back. Douxie had to keep that certainty alive in his mind.)

But how was he supposed to know that his familiar hadn’t taken a tumble? That he hadn’t been brought down by some witch hunter’s net? What if Merlin was being stubborn about coming for him? What if he’d been busy in another row with King Arthur?

...Indeed, he would have loved to see the sunset - to at least try to let it distract him from the tornado of worst case scenarios in his mind.

But he couldn’t.

For a bit, he tried distracting himself by thinking about how Merlin might’ve reacted to him being in danger - to hearing that he’d been poisoned. He sort of liked imagining how scared he’d be, for he preferred fear to indifference. The mental image of his master dropping whatever book he’d been flipping through and rushing to follow Archie… it was a comforting one, as strange as it might sound. That fear meant he mattered.

But Douxie soon grew tired even of that. He hoped he might’ve ran into a patch frequented by fireflies. Those would at least come low enough to dip into his line of sight, and they were always so beautiful, like stars visiting earth for a night before going back to the sky…

Douxie grew cold again at some point. Not just cold, but damp. Since it hadn’t started raining, fortunately, he rightly assumed that it was sweat. Perhaps he was finally sweating this out, like a fever, but that was too good, too fortunate to figure. This was another progression of the poison, he was sure. Just like…

Douxie noticed something in his left hand that lay in front of his face, something wrong…

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

His veins were black.

Hoping, begging, praying to be wrong, he pushed through that dreadful ache in his arm so he could pull it closer, but it only confirmed his suspicions - his dread - his terrors.

The veins in his wrist, in the creases of his knuckles - they weren’t deep blue anymore, just barely visible underneath his skin, but as black as that powder that got blown in his face. Ink could be coursing through them right now, and he’d have been none the wiser.

In that moment, Douxie was proven wrong once again for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

He gasped as much as his throat and lungs let him, and he didn’t stop gasping. But then his chest -

No no NO!

-his chest started to seize up.

He fought the growing tightness in his chest with every breath, forcing each one in and out like a wheeze, but it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t tell if it was from poison or panic, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d even started coughing, which was inevitable, but the black splotch that splattered into his hand terrified him all the more.

This was it. He was going to die here. He was going to succumb to this. He’d never come back to the castle - to Archie, to Morgana, to Merlin - from a trivial herb picking. Archie would come back here, but all he’d find was - was - was -

“HISIRDOUX!”

Douxie burst into tears.

He could recognize the voice of his master - his father - anywhere, but he was so, so scared that it was a hallucination. The fear in his voice already sounded so foreign, coming from the great and powerful Merlin Ambrosius, and if the sound of his voice and his footsteps coming near him came only from his desperate imagination, then he’d - he’d -

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him onto his back. Finally, he could look up at the sky, aglow with sunset, but his glassy eyes only saw Merlin kneeling down at his side, and Archie flying above him.

The terror in Merlin’s eyes was the exact opposite of comforting, but Douxie didn’t get to see it for long before Merlin conjured a damp cloth and wiped off his face what had to have been the rest of that poisonous powder. He hadn’t realized how flushed he’d been until that moment, when that rag felt so cold against his cheeks.

Merlin finished wiping off Douxie’s face and made the cloth disappear. Douxie missed the coolness on his face. He wanted it back.

“Hisirdoux, say something!” he demanded. But Douxie couldn’t - didn’t Merlin think he would’ve already been screaming his lungs out if he could?

“D-” he choked, “Da-”

He hacked up another throatful of black phlegm, whimpering as the violence of his cough made his torso curl up. Merlin dodged the cough, but put an arm under Douxie’s back before he could fall back.

An apology lay at the back of his throat - one he didn’t know the reason for, even if he could’ve said it.

Merlin brought his other arm behind Douxie’s knees and lifted him like he weighed nothing (and he probably didn’t weigh much to Merlin, being the gangly moppet he was). The edges of the plating of the master wizard’s armor dug against him uncomfortably, but it was the least discomforting thing about this, overshadowed near-completely by the comfort that came just by being held. But he was still scared - if more of that powder was on him, and Merlin touched it by holding him, then -

He stifled a cough, and his leg kicked out unconsciously like a thumping rabbit’s foot. He didn’t realize how badly he’d been tremoring until it was contrasted with the steadiness of Merlin holding him.

Yes… steadiness, safety - two things he’d wanted to cling to more than anything since all this had started. And now, he had them. He had his familiar, and he had his father.

His head, still covered with the hood of his vest, lolled back uncomfortably without any support, but he felt something soft push against the back of it- it was actually Archie, though Douxie couldn’t see it - until the side of his head lay against one of the shoulderpieces of Merlin’s armor, cushioned by the cloth of his hood.

He sighed as much as his tightened chest would allow.

He was so scared.

Douxie was still so, so terrified that Merlin couldn’t save him after all; that he’d die tonight; that he’d never use his magic again; that he’d never get to become a master wizard or get his own staff to wield; that he’d never again get to go back down to the marketplace and talk to that pretty girl who frequented the shops.

(What was her name? Zelda? Zona? Zola? Zo-)

He felt something warm settle on his abdomen - Archie had turned back into a cat and curled up on his tummy, purring as he nestled where Douxie’s legs curled.

At least, despite everything else he feared, he didn’t have to be terrified of being alone anymore.

---

Douxie wasn’t sure if Merlin used a portal, or the relief of being found by his master had finally let him lull out of consciousness for the length of the time it took to be carried back, but the next thing he knew, he was in Merlin’s study. Despite the fluttering of his eyelids, he could recognize the shelves, the desk, and the stained glass window letting in the last light of day.

Home.

He was home.

No matter what happened next, he was home.

“Douxie!” He could hear Morgana’s voice shouting his name in worry, followed immediately by her fast-approaching footsteps.

“Mmh…” Douxie whimpered. It wasn’t clear whether or not the noise was just a pained whine or an attempt to try saying her name - not even to Douxie himself. He couldn’t see her very well, but he could tell when she’d come to them, stepping to the side as Merlin walked forward to his desk.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Somehow, yes.” Merlin answered. Douxie hated that “somehow” and the fear it brought, but it was just a little more to add to the onslaught of the past hours. He could just add it to the pile, he supposed.

In the middle of the room, Merlin’s big desk was empty, so the wizard laid him down on the surface, having him lay flat on his back with his hands at his sides, his legs straightened out, and his head facing up. Now, he could fully see Morgana, the sorceress he’d come to see as something of a big sister just as he came to see Merlin as a father, looking down at him. Her face was upside-down from where she stood over him, but he could still see her upturned brows and glistening eyes, and the way she clasped her hands close to her chest so they didn’t even touch him. He hated that look of worry on her face. Seeing Morgana - always fearless, always grasping for more from the world than what others had permitted, always steadfast in her ruthless ambition - look so scared for him…

...It was worse, if such a thing was possible, than when he saw how scared Merlin was for him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he was still just focused on trying to breathe as deeply as he could.

Archie got off his abdomen and sat next to his head, gently headbutting his temple before putting a paw on his forehead. It was a little comforting, almost enough to distract Douxie from realizing that Merlin wasn’t at his side anymore.

Almost, though. Not enough.

Douxie tried turning his head to the side, but Archie gently kept it still with his paw.

“He’s just finding a spellbook, Douxie.” he assured, immediately knowing what the apprentice was trying to turn his head for, “He’ll be right back.”

Morgana looked down on the little scene and closed her eyes for a moment, as if to quell her tears, before opening them again.

“You shouldn’t have held him.” she warned, turning her head to wherever Merlin stood now, “You know what that can-”

“I’m well aware.” Merlin interrupted from wherever he still was, “And you know I’ve little concern for that.”

Douxie didn’t understand. There was still so little he understood about whatever was doing this to him, and he didn’t know how to ask about it - he couldn’t.

But apparently, his upturned brows and whimpers of confusion were enough to indicate - at least to Archie - how lost he was.

“Douxie, that powder - it’s called Draining Dust.” Archie explained, “It’s a magic suppressant, and… a poison, as you know by now.”

“Witch hunters would put this in shackles.” Morgana said, finally speaking to him, “To nullify wizards’ and witches’ magic on their way to the gallows. Or the stakes.”

“Trace amounts, yes.” Merlin came back into his view, an open spellbook floating near him with a signature green aura around it, “Pinches of it, cast in the metal. It would suppress the wearer’s magic as long as it was on their body, with a few side effects. Fatigue, headaches, nausea…” he started listing as he flipped through the pages.

Douxie remembered the handful of the stuff that had been thrown in his face. That was far from a few pinches. And those side effects he’d started listing - they sounded tame, menial compared to what was happening to him now.

“But direct contact with raw powder…” Archie started. Douxie knew he was hesitant to finish that sentence, and it wasn’t hard to assume why (but it was terrifying).

“It’s deadly.” Morgana said, “Few wizards have ever survived inhaling or digesting it. More sadistic witchfinders have used that to-”

“Morgana!” Merlin snapped, urging her to leave off. But she didn’t.

“He should know!” she snapped back, “It’s already in his bloodstream, old man. It’s killing him, and he deserves to-”

Douxie started crying again at Morgana’s brutal honesty, as if this all weren’t brutal enough. His eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his temples, but when he opened them again, it was darker, like he was looking through a veil. The sight made him want to cry even harder.

It was in his tears.

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, the poison was in his tears.

It made sense now, why Morgana was so scared to touch him. His own body fluids - his blood, his tears, probably his sweat soon enough - were turning poisonous from this. The only reason Archie was still touching him was probably because he wasn’t a wizard, but a familiar, and this wouldn’t affect him so badly.

(It actually very well could have affected Archie for the worse, but watching Douxie endure this without any comfort would have been worse than any poison.)

“It’s not killing him.” Merlin denied as if he was trying to convince both Morgana and himself, “His death is not certain. If it were, I would have already placed a sleeping spell on him by now.”

Douxie clung to that little hope and tried to watch Merlin scan for the spell he’d been looking for. Merlin had a way to fix this, of course he did; it’s as he said - he would have already put Douxie to sleep to grant him some peace if he didn’t.

Douxie watched his master’s page flipping stall as his eyes scanned over one particular page. His face fell - a minute, near-unnoticeable change in expression, but one that made Douxie’s pounding heart sink.

“Merlin?” Archie asked, “Have you found something?”

Merlin said nothing at first, only taking his place by stepping right to the table’s edge, coming right to Douxie’s side.

“I’ve found a spell to expel the poison and it’s remnants,” he explained, still only scanning the book, “But purging it from his body when it’s progressed this far will be…”

His eyes fell on Douxie’s.

“...quite excruciating.”

But Douxie was already so, so tired.

Not physically - the combined force of the poison and his own adrenaline warded off any chance of fatigue - but in his heart. He was so tired of being scared. Of being in so much pain. He didn’t want to do it - he didn’t think he could…

...But he remembered something Merlin said to him before.

“If there is a universal truth in this world, it is that struggle is the flame which forges one’s soul into steel.”

Well, if there was something tougher than steel, that’s what his soul would become.

Because wizards were strong. Brave. Unrelenting to pain or fear. That’s how Merlin was, that’s how Morgana was, and that’s how he would be.

He put on a brave face - as brave as he could possibly muster in the face of what he’d endure - and nodded. He could do this. He had to do this.

And he would.

The green aura around the spellbook faded as Merlin set it down. Archie lifted his paw from Douxie’s head and stepped back a few paces.

“Morgana, keep him still.” Merlin said, “His thrashing may cause him to injure himself.”

Morgana nodded and brought her hands up, an unsaid apology in her eyes. Seconds later, Douxie felt warm, gentle heat around his wrists and ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was unrelenting. He didn’t test the bonds, lacking the strength or any actual will to do so. Still under a sort of paralysis, he wasn’t scared of being pinned down, for he knew it was just a precaution; he was just scared of how bad the pain would be in order for restraining him like this to be necessary.

The precaution was far from unwarranted, he came to realize in the coming moments.

Merlin hovered one hand over Douxie’s chest and the other over his abdomen. Douxie watched him say some incantation, but he didn’t catch the words. He was too busy bracing himself for the pain as he saw the green aura of his master’s magic out of the corner of his eye, glowing above his torso.

Before Merlin even got to take a breath after the incantation, the pain started.

And no amount of bracing could have prepared Douxie enough.

The sudden agony in his torso ripped the breath from his lungs. He thought - hoped it would start small and get worse and worse, like a simmer that got hotter and hotter, but instead it was like a pot of scalding water got poured over his chest. No, even that would have hurt less. This… it started at the surface, but it bled deeper and deeper under his skin, and then -

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

-then it started to spread.

In moments, as if searing agony itself coursed through his veins, there was nowhere on his body that didn’t burn, not even his fingertips or the tip of his pinky toes. If he could feel it, it hurt, and it hurt unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

As the agony overrode his paralysis, he thrashed against Morgana’s magic that kept his wrists and ankles in place, arching his back one moment and curling forward the next.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to try to open his eyes. It hurt to keep them squeezed shut. It hurt to try to hear the voices of those around him - Morgana trying to tell him to be strong, Archie trying to soothe him, Merlin repeating the incantation. It hurt even to think - the pain, blinding and deafening, flooded out all other thoughts.

For a moment, like a fire burning so hot it feels cold for a fleeting beat, he stopped feeling the searing, searing agony.

But the moment was too, too fleeting before it wracked him again.

Finally, finally, he screamed.

It was a raw, shrill, agonized thing. He felt it come up from the base of his throat, and when Douxie realized, through his hysteria, that he was actually screaming, not wheezing or whimpering or anything he’d had to settle for tonight, he couldn’t stop. He screamed for all the torture of the day, all the fear of being alone, all the panic and terror and despair that he couldn’t let out in the woods, tense and spasming and paralyzed.

All the screams that couldn’t come out before, when his throat was so tight that it barely let him breathe, came out right now, bursting at the seams of his pain-delirious mind.

He didn’t stop screaming until he finally felt Merlin’s magic let off.

Even then, his screams settled only into groans and wails until the burning across his body finally cooled; until the pain weakened from a searing sensation all over him, like the most brazen of fires, to a low ache, like the embers of a dying camp flame.

Once he fully stilled, which took a few more moments, Morgana’s magic came off his wrists and ankles.

Finally, he came back to his senses and see Merlin, Morgana, and Archie still around him. Archie looked relieved and nuzzled the side of Douxie’s head. Morgana smiled a shaky, hesitant smile - still so foreign to see from her.

And Merlin…

Well, he seemed as difficult to read as usual, but at least he no longer had the expression on his face of a man watching his apprentice die. Traces of relief lay there, and Douxie gladly took them.

So… was it over?

Douxie groaned and lifted his arm. It didn’t hurt to do anymore - well, it did, but more like a soreness left in the wake of heavy lifting, a residue of what happened than a symptom of it. He brought it up to his face so he could see his wrist.

His veins were blue again.

Sighing, he let his hand fall on his face and wiped away some tears - lifting it to see they were purely clear, like before - before letting it slide off his cheek and fall limp next to his head.

“Master…” his voice was so little, so hoarse, “‘s it gone?”

“Every bit, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, putting his hand on Douxie’s shoulder, “It's over.”

He sounded weary. Douxie hoped that spell didn't take too much from him.

“Mm… my magic… 's it gone too?”

Merlin’s eyes said he wasn’t sure himself.

Douxie sought to answer the question on his own and willed forth his magic. He felt his fingertips thrum with the life of his sorcery. Lifting his hand again, he saw little specks of light, blue and true. It didn’t burn anymore, but it felt warm and gentle, like a heartbeat. His heartbeat. Exactly as it always felt.

He sighed. Not shaky, not fighting to keep his breathing level - a tired, relieved sigh. Despite how sore even the muscles in his face felt, he smiled a little smile.

“Thank you…” he said, “If you all hadn’t… I’d be-”

Merlin moved his hand from Douxie’s shoulder to his forehead.

“Don’t pay that scenario any mind, Hisirdoux.” Merlin urged, “You’ve survived, and although you and your magic have been weakened, both will fully recover.”

Douxie’s little smile fell.

“Wha… what about the poison? It couldn’t just be gone.”

“That it can.” Merlin assured, taking his hand off Douxie’s head, “As brutal as it is to the wizard affected, an unaffected wizard with strong magic can eradicate it from their body and return it to it’s untarnished condition.”

...Well, that was that, and Douxie wouldn’t question it. Besides, he remembered something.

“Mmmy bracelet… I lost it. That - they took it off. It’s in a bush out there.”

“I can see that. That’s alright.” Merlin said, “It can be retrieved.”

“And… and I'm sorry.” He said to Merlin’s subtle but obvious surprise, indicated by a little raise in his eyebrows.

“What for?”

“I… the herbs.” he answered, “I couldn’t bring them back. They got stolen.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, “They aren’t a rarity, you know.”

...Douxie sniffled.

“That… they only snatched those plants so I’d follow them deeper into the woods. So I’d get lost. So they could throw that dust in my face and - and leave me there, knowing I’d gone further into the forest than… than anyone would’ve looked, and I wouldn’t be found.”

“But you were found, Douxie.” Archie said, “They weren’t counting on you having a dragon that could track scents for a familiar.”

Douxie’s voice started to break.

“I should have left it alone - I knew I should have left it alone. There was more right there, I should’ve-”

“Hisirdoux, cease this.” Merlin said in a tone that left no room for insistence, “You must grant yourself some relief in you and your magic’s survival. I won’t have you fret over something as menial as a handful of herbs, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.”

Douxie sighed. That statement didn’t leave any room for argument. It never did.

Finally, a little normalcy tonight.

Morgana put her hands to the sides of Douxie’s head. After she’d been so scared to touch him this whole time, the feeling of her fingers against his temples, brushing his hair away from his face, was a final, true assurance that the poison had been well and truly purged.

“Sleep, Little Douxie.” she soothed, “I promise you’ll wake.”

He couldn’t tell if she cast a sleep spell in that moment, or if this was from his own fatigue, but he obeyed without hesitance as he was finally lulled away from the realm of the conscious and fell into slumber.

---

Merlin looked down at the boy lying asleep on his desk, the color slowly trickling back into his face as his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths.

“He’s a brave little moppet.” Morgana said as she kept her fingers against the sides of his head, her voice hushed despite the fact that the boy’s exhaustion had lulled him into a deep slumber, and he’d sleep like a stone until morning no matter what.

“...No, he’s not.” Merlin denied, “Not for this.”

Morgana snapped her head up.

“He’s just gone through more torment from that powder in one day than either of us have in all our lives!” Morgana she contested, “Not even you have endured effects that brutal from Draining Dust.”

“To be brave requires a choice - being faced with the ultimatum to either run and give up, or face your fight.” Merlin said, too proverbial and righteous-sounding as he stood over Douxie, “A choice was the exact thing he didn’t have in this. Perhaps if he’d been withholding something from that assailant, even with the threat of this, then it might be different. But as it is, even if he’d wanted to succumb to this before Archie had found him, his adrenaline hadn’t let him.”

“Maybe so,” Archie started, “but when I found him there in the forest, and I told him I’d have to come back with help, he was terrified of being left alone again. I could tell. But he put on as brave a face he could have. He chose that for himself, at least.”

“He did the same thing moments ago, when you told him how much that spell would hurt.” Morgana added, “He may not have had a choice in enduring this, but he did choose to steel his nerves when faced with every reason not to, and there’s bravery in that, old man.” She crossed her arms. “Even you have to admit that.”

Merlin almost found it endearing, seeing them both try to defend his apprentice’s honor when they felt it threatened, and maybe he could’ve seen the bravery they saw, if he’d been looking at anyone else.

But as he looked down at Hisirdoux… that’s all he saw. Hisirdoux. His apprentice. His son. His gangly little moppet who tended to cause more messes than he cleaned up, but smiled like the embodiment of joy itself.

If daylight decided to make itself corporeal and walk among humans for a while, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took the form of Hisirdoux Casperan.

So, the sorcerer didn’t see bravery when he found Hisirdoux writhing and gasping on the ground in those woods, he didn’t feel bravery when the boy trembled in his arms, and he most certainly didn’t hear bravery when the boy wailed and screamed his lungs out as that poison was taken out of him, black tears streaming down his face until they became clear again.

No, if Douxie had been brave, pride in that laid nowhere in Merlin’s mind.

After all, when fear for his son’s life flooded his mind, and hatred for whoever did this to him flooded out that fear, where, pray tell, could pride reside?

Morgana kept looking down at Douxie as he slept.

“How could you risk that?” she asked Merlin.

“Risk what, Morgana?” he asked, “Be specific.”

She snapped her head back up.

“You know what I’m talking about!” Morgana almost shouted, stifling her volume so the sleeping moppet wouldn’t hear, ““Eradicate” my foot, old man. I know the spell you used. You didn’t use a spell of eradication, you used a spell of transference!”

Arhcie had been staring down at his own sleeping familiar, but he snapped up when he heard that word, “transference”. First he looked to Morgana, then to Merlin.

“You told him it got destroyed, but you just - all you did was soak it up like a sponge!”

“Merlin… is that true?” Archie asked, obviously afraid that after all of this, Douxie would wake up without his mentor - his father - because he’d taken the poison for him. The little apprentice left without a master would never stop blaming himself, no matter how hard Morgana and Archie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Merlin sighed, an affirmation without words or nods.

“I spent the years since it’s conception,” he started, “building an immunity to the dust and its properties. It was too big a risk, potentially having a weakness to something so daunting - something I’d seen subdue and poison countless wizards. Too high a risk - a threat to the greater good.”

“So… the poison’s not having any affect on you?” Archie asked, stepping around Douxie to approach Merlin, “It’s not… he couldn’t have gone through all of this just to lose you.”

“And he won’t.” Merlin assured in confidence, “Much more than a handful of that powder would have had to be thrown at him to have any severe affect on me. No, this won’t need more than a night of rest to fix. Besides, what’s the good in spending all that time building up an immunity to Draining Dust if not to make use of it? A waste of time and tolerance built.”

“You couldn’t have known it wouldn’t...” Morgana said, “You couldn’t have possibly known you’d survive taking all of it like that!”

“I didn’t.” Merlin snapped.

Morgana’s eyes widened, as if everything about what the boy meant to him fell into place.

Because he hadn’t worried about his survival - the matter didn’t even cross his mind, not when he could still hear Douxie whimpering in pain with each page of that spellbook he skimmed. No, he only concerned himself with the likelihood that it would save the boy, his only worry being about how badly it would hurt Douxie when he’d already had to go through so much senseless, ludicrous torture.

Merlin always prioritized the “greater good”, some vast, staggering, intangible concept that encapsulated so much - the lives of thousands, the wellbeing of millions, the good of humanity.

But when he found his son writhing, hurting, suffocating, dying, he found he couldn’t spare any more regard to the “greater good” in that moment than he would a layer of dust on one of his books. If saving Hisirdoux’s life meant casting aside the greater good, then there was no question about it - he’d let the greater good rot.

It didn’t matter to him if his magic would’ve been permanently diminished by extracting the poison, or even if it killed him. Cast the greater good aside - the greatest good was the life in Hisirdoux’s eyes, and by all the heavens, he’d protect it.

And thankfully, he did just that tonight, at the cost of neither his life, his health, or his own magic. And that was the greatest good he could have asked for.

With another sigh, relieved that Morgana chose not to pry, Merlin looked down at the boy, still sound asleep, laid out on his desk. He put one arm under Douxie’s back and the other behind his knees, picking him up just like he did when he found him in those woods.

But this time, instead of trembling in his hold, Douxie made a little noise and unconsciously put his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, snuggling closer, if it were possible, to the master wizard.

Yes. he thought. There’s no greater good than this.

Morgana put her hands over her mouth and looked at the two of them as if the sight was something adorable, and Merlin huffed. Archie took his same spot curled up on Douxie’s abdomen.

“I’m taking him to his room.” he said, hushing his voice even though he knew the moppet wouldn’t wake, “And I’ll let him sleep in tomorrow morning. He needs to rest.”

The sun had set sometime during the painstaking ordeal, but torchlight along the walls of the castle made it easy to take his sleeping apprentice back to his room even once night has fallen. After using a simple spell to swing the door open while his arms were in use carrying the boy, Merlin walked in and used another little spell. The green aura of his magic glowed around the blanket on Douxie’s bed as he folded part of it over using his magic, providing room to lay Douxie down on his bed with head nestled right in his pillow’s usual dent. Once Archie stepped out of the way, Merlin reached over and laid the blanket back over him.

Douxie stirred a little, but only to turn from his back onto his side, his back to the wall and his front facing Merlin. Once the boy settled again, Merlin tentatively reached behind his head and let his bun loose so it wouldn’t get tangled if he moved around too much in his sleep. He doubted it would, considering the exhaustion and soreness in his muscles would probably enticement enough to stay still, even unconscious, but the gesture couldn’t hurt.

Archie crawled right underneath one of Douxie’s arms and nestled against his chest, and the moppet unconsciously held the bespectacled cat a little tighter.

And that was Merlin’s unspoken cue to leave Hisirdoux to rest for the night, so that’s what he did. He needed rest too, after all - his built-up immunity may have saved his life, but the poison, like everything else in the onslaught of the evening, left him weary.

Tomorrow, a search would begin.

Tomorrow, Merlin would find out who was behind this.

Tomorrow, the greatest and most powerful wizard in Camelot would not relent until he found the monster, human or trollish, who almost killed his son.

But tonight, Hisirdoux lay curled up in his bed, sound asleep as he kept his familiar close. Tonight, his life was saved.

And tonight, that was enough.

#tales of arcadia #toa #mine #toa fanfic #whump #hurt/comfort #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #moppet!douxie #archie toa #toa merlin #toa morgana #toa wizards #fic: of poison forest floors and terrified wizards #draining dust

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amimimi · 3 years

Text

dreams; kyan reki

synposis: in which you tend to reki’s wounds after his second beef with adam; second part to this fic but it can be read on it’s own! takes place after episode 11

pairings: gn! reader x reki

genre: fluff. just fluff. and caretaking.

warnings: mentions of injuries. swearing. brief nudity (?) sap, so sappy.

word count: 3.5k

notes: i loved the series so much! reki has suffered enough, so i decided to show his some love. i was so so proud of him during episode 11. again, i apologize in advance for grammatical/spelling errors. i'm pretty busy with school so i'm just churning fics out at this point.

“i’m not letting you lift a finger for a month” you moan as you help seat reki on his bed. you’re both mostly dried from the rain, save for your hair and clothes. he only giggles in response and you can’t help it when you lean down to gingerly place your hands up to his face, kissing the bridge of his nose. “a month”

“ahh, i don’t think that’s gonna work” reki gives you an easy grin, before placing a kiss on the side of you mouth. “i got a shift tomorrow”

“i’ll cover your shift” you say, stone-faced. disbelief momentarily flashes across reki’s face before he breaks out into uncontrollable giggles—the kind that erupts straight from your stomach. your hands drop from his face. “shh! i’m serious!”

he hangs his head forward and brings a hand up to his mouth, attempting to quell his giggles. “you don’t even work there, y/n!” he manages to say before delving into yet another fit of giggles. reki must’ve curled in too far because his laughter is cut off by strangled cry. immediately, you surge forward, gingerly placing your hands on his shoulders.

it wasn’t unusual for reki to be banged up from skateboarding—everything from scrapes to fractures were all pretty common for him. in the beginning of your relationship with reki, it worried you to no end, and you even begged him to wear a helmet (he said no, of course). eventually you came to accept that injuries were going to be a normal occurrence for reki. but his injuries this time were slightly different.

reki had his second beef with adam earlier that night. technically reki had lost, but it felt more like a victory instead. he came so close, and he did so well. and he was happy. seeing him like that in his element, gleaming with joy, eyes lit a flame with passion—you felt like ten years was added to your lifespan. of course, reki took quite the beating but no where near the damage of last time.

“m’fine!” he wheezes, placing a hand over his stomach. “it’s just a bruise.”

you’re not convinced and it shows on your face because reki gently places his hand on the back of your head, pulling your forehead up against his. “i’m fine, baby”

you let yourself stay there, forehead pressed against reki’s and staring right into each other’s eyes. for the first time in weeks, you felt the tightness in your chest completely dissipate. because here you were gazing into his eyes—reki’s eyes, in his darkened room, knowing he was safe and okay.

“okay,” you whisper. reki gazes at you with half-lidded eyes and attempts to press his forehead closer (if that was even possible), brushing his nose against yours. “but i gotta patch you up”.

you wiggle out of reki’s grasp, who whimpers at the loss of contact, to grab the first aid kit he’d kept in his drawer. stumbling in the dark, you feel around for his desk, flicking on the lamp. reki watches you sift through the contents of his drawer, overtaken by a sudden wave of fondness. he loves you, always has. but suddenly, in this moment, he feels the love he has for you in a new way. it pools in his stomach, warm and fuzzy, and he feels so full, so content, like he ate a whole meal.

“i love you from my stomach” reki blurts out before he’s aware of what he’s saying. from over your shoulder, you glance at him quizzically and he feels a new sensation—mortification, burn all over his face. later, he’s going to blame his misspeaking on the fact that it was so late into the night and that every inch of his body was practically throbbing in pain. but right now, he can’t form any thoughts, let alone excuses.

“huh?” you’re facing him now, first aid kit in hand and your face twitching with the urge to smile. feeling his ears burn up, reki presses his lips and shakes his head, refusing to repeat what he said. “reki~! what did you say?”

he turns his head to the side as you make your way over to the bed. “i forgot”

“no you didn’t!” you whine, throwing the first aid kit on the bed and placing your hands over his cheeks. “say it again, please?”

“ahh, i meant it like—”reki pauses, thinking about how to put his feelings into words. “i-i don’t know! i love you, but sometimes i feel it in my stomach”

“oh”, you plop down right next to him on the bed, pulling your legs up to sit crisscross. reki follows your movement, pulling his legs up on the bed and crossing them. he’s looking at expectantly. “like butterflies, yeah?”

“no, not that. this feels warm—and kinda heavy”

“oh”, you tilt your head to one side and smile coyly. “so, desire then?”

reki rolls his eyes at you, his ears still red. “you’re so—”

“desperately in love with you?” you offer with a grin before leaning and catching his lips in a noisy kiss. you pull back, but not before kissing the tip of his nose just to see his reaction. reki fights back a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he shakes his head.

“j-just patch me up, please”, he sighs as his lips finally quirk into a smile.

“can I change first?” you ask. wet jeans felt like murder and your shirt was starting to stick in uncomfortable places on your torso. reki nods and points to his closet.

“i have clean shirts and sweatpants folded in there” he informs you, watching as you sit up and make your way over to his closet. reki’s not surprised when you grab his pink dope sketch shirt, shooting him a cheeky grin.

you start tugging off your jeans and reki looks away to give your privacy. “you’re so precious, reki” you coo at him. reki only smiles at the opposite wall and shakes his head. when you’re done, you drop your wet clothes in his laundry and walk over to him. “i’m decent!”

reki looks back at you and his heart twists at the sight of you, clad in his work shirt, hanging just above your knees and slightly hugging your waist. he prays he isn’t blushing and gulps.

“i have sweatpants if you want some, sweetheart”, he reminds you weakly, trying to stop staring.

you blink at him, lost and then you gasp. “oh, sorry! I didn’t meant to make you uncomfortable!” you rush. “i’ll put some pants on—”

“no!” he practically shouts, before squeezing his lips shut. you both hold your breaths when you hear his little sister in the next room, groan and shift in her sleep. waiting, until he’s sure it’s safe, he continues much quietly. “i’m not uncomfortable. you look really good, i love you like this. i just want you to feel comfortable”

adoration surges in your chest as you watch your boyfriend clumsily and earnestly explain himself, a blush adorned on his face. “i feel the most comfortable when i’m with you” you admit with a shy smile, your face growing warm.

reki blinks up at you for a second, looking momentarily stunned before his face morphs into a soft grin. his eyes twinkle as he holds his hands out for you, sure and steady. placing your hands in his calloused ones, you sit down beside on the bed and sit criss crossed.

the both of you sit like that for a while, staring lovingly at one another and taking turn squeezing each other’s hands. finally, you bring reki’s hands up to your lips, littering his knuckles with kisses before giving them a quick squeeze.

“where do you hurt the most?” you question, sliding your hands out of his to open the first aid kit. you skim over his injuries, not even knowing where to start. there’s a line of dried blood and a bruise forming on the right side of his face, must be a small laceration under his headband. you know his back is cut up pretty badly and you hope it’s nothing too deep.

“my whole body is sore, if i’m going to be honest” he replies sheepishly. frowning, you gently tug off his headband to assess the damage. just as you suspected, a small cut right under his hairline. the area is beginning to bruise too. you remember adam repeatedly punching him at one point, as reki had locked his arms around him... maybe reki should go to a hospital?

“I promise you i’m fine”, reki assures you, having picked up on the mounting worry on your face. he takes your hand in his, rubbing the roughened pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “trust me! i’ve had worse. i was jumped and hit with a car all in one day and i didn’t even get a concussion”.

despite reki’s face beaming with pride, you frown deeper and fidget at the thought of reki getting hurt like that. “please don’t remind me...” you sigh, sitting up off the bed to grab a face towel from his closet. “i’m gonna run this under water, okay?”

“alright”, reki answered, watching you step out of his room to make your way to the bathroom. you hurry back, the wet towel dripping water down your forearm, and gently seat yourself on the bed.

you arrange yourself so that you are sitting criss cross in front of reki. “I’m going to clean it, alright?” you say, before leaning into give him a peck.

“okay” he murmurs, placing his hand on your knee. reki squeezes hard when you gently press the wet towel against his wound. you do this repeatedly until you make sure there’s no visible dirt around the wound before placing the towel on reki’s bedside table. you’re quick to patch up his forehead before placing a gentle kiss over the bandage. he snickers through his nose at this, squeezing your knee once more.

“now for your back...” you purse your lips. “take your shirt off.”

you’ve seen reki shirtless a thousand times before and he knows this. still, he can’t help but squirm under your gaze as he works at removing the layers of clothing he’s wearing. he takes his jacket off fine but he struggles a bit with his hoodie, still damp from the rain, wincing as he tugs upward on the fabric.

“here, lemme help you”, you murmur, sitting forward on your knees to tug his hoodie upwards and over his head. you work at the white t-shirt he had on under his hoodie next. gently as you could, you peeled the shirt off reki’s torso trying not to disturb his wounds. but he still flinches, sucking a quick breath in. “sorry! i’m sorry!”

“no, no! you’re fine, it just stung a little” reki promises you, giving your thigh a squeeze. you tug the t-shirt over his head, grimacing. his torso is littered with bruises and a few scrapes, but nothing too worrisome.

“okay, lemme see your back”, you tell him, bracing yourself as you crawl around him get a full glimpse. just as you thought, his back is scraped up and still bleeding lightly—nothing too deep. you grab the wet towel on his bedside table and hop off the bed to go run it under the bathroom facet.

when you return, reki is sitting on his bed exactly like you left, watching you tip toe over to him. “do you wanna take off your pants?” you ask, folding the wet towel. “maybe change into something dry?”

“um, yeah actually...” reki mutters, fumbling with his belt. “c-could you grab me some sweatpants? please?”

with the wet towel in one hand, you grab a pair of gray sweatpants from reki’s closet with your other hand. you can hear reki shuffling out of his pants as you walk over to the bed, with your face turned away.

you hold the sweatpants out for him, your face turned to the side. “you don’t have to look away if you don’t want to”, reki tells you and you can hear the smile in his voice. he takes the sweatpants from your hands.

“you gave me privacy, so i’m returning to the favor—give me your wet clothes, i’ll put them in the hamper”

you trade off the wet towel for reki’s clothes, wheeling around to place them in his hamper. when you turn back, reki is sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, wearing just his sweatpants and holding the wet towel in one hand.

“whenever you’re ready, nurse y/n”, he smiles at you, showing his teeth. you squint your eyes at him playfully and shuffle over to his bed. accepting the wet towel from reki, you crawl behind him so that you have full access to his back.

“okay, i’m going to clean your wounds, let me know if i’m hurting you”, you warn him, folding your legs underneath you. he grunts in response. taking a breath to steel yourself, you gently press the towel against the abrasions. suddenly, reki gasps loudly. you squeak and pull back almost immediately, your heart in your throat. “what?”

reki’s back is shaking and to your relief (and horror), you realize reki is laughing. he turns his head around to catch a glimpse at your expression and laughs so hard, he snorts and it almost makes you laugh—almost.

“i’m sorry, i couldn’t help it”, he gasps between laughs.

you suck your teeth. “well, now that it’s out of your system, can you hold still? i seriously don’t want to hurt you” you reposition yourself, heart still hammering in your chest.

“sorry, angel, go ahead”, he stifles a giggle, holding still. hesitantly, you press the wet towel to abrasions on his back.

“that okay?” you question and he nods. taking another breath, you dab his entire span of his back with the towel, stopping every now and then to check in on him. once you’ve cleaned his wounds up, you dig around in the first aid kit for some gauze sponges to pat his back dry. “i’m gonna wrap you up for tonight but you should let it dry tomorrow, okay?”

“you got it, nurse” reki chimes back and you bite back a smile, reaching for the gauze dressing in the first aid kit. once you’ve placed the dressing over the worst of his wounds, you grab the gauze roll and begin to wrap it around reki’s torso.

at one point, your fingers brush up against his side and his breath slightly hitches. you freeze, giving him a concerned hum.

“i’m ticklish” he whispers sheepishly and you smirk, continuing to wrap the gauze around his torso.

“storing this information for later, thank you!” you tease causing reki groans. “i didn’t wrap it too tight, did i? can you breathe?”

“i can breathe fine, don’t worry” reki sighs, as you loosely tie the gauze. “you did great, thank you”

once you’re done tying the gauze, you place your hands on top of reki’s shoulders. “good?” you ask.

“good”, reki nods. you take in reki’s bandaged back, his slightly toned shoulders, his red hair pressed against nape of his neck, even the back of his head. he look’s so good with his hair down.

before you even know what you’re doing, you gently press your lips against the nape of his neck. reki freezes, his shoulder tensing before you press another kiss along the back of his neck. he shivers and his whole body melts. you kiss again, this time further up the nape of his neck and into his hair and he lets his head hang forward, sighing slightly. another kiss is placed where his neck meets his shoulder, and he has to bite back a whimper.

“i’m so proud of you”, you whisper into the back of his neck. he reaches around to squeeze your hand. “you did so great tonight—you’re always so great, you never fail to amaze me.”

upon hearing your words, reki feels a lump form in his throat. you always told him that, how proud you were of him for doing things he thought were exceedingly mundane. he remembers that night he was panicking in your bathroom, shaking on his legs like a newborn deer and barely managing to control his breathing. how even then, you were proud of him, for what exactly? he couldn’t answer.

but now, when you tell him that with your lips soft against his nape, in the darkness of his room, he believes you. he’s banged up and unbelievably sore, but he believes you. and further more, he’s feeling proud of himself too, for not disappointing himself, for doing what he had come to do at that beef.

reki shifts around, so that he’s facing you to see that you're smiling at him in a way that he could only describe as pure adoration.

“and...” you start, pushing his bangs back from his forehead. “you looked so fucking hot”.

reki eyes widened slightly before he blows air out of his mouth and rolls his eyes. you grab his face, forcing him to look at you.

“no, no! but you actually looked really good?” you giggled, squeezing his cheeks between your hands. “like, when you nailed that landing off that cliff? and when you dodged him like that? like, i knew you could move, but you were really moving, you know—?”

“y/n—”reki starts, grinning pretty hard as he tries to advert his gaze from yours.

“and you were smiling so hard, like you were actually glowing—beaming! i don’t know, something about the way you looked under those lights they have at S...i actually wanted to bark, like wow—”

“y/n, shut up!” reki is giggling now, flushed right down to his chest. he tries to wrestle your hands from off his face, but you kept your grip.

“don’t act all shy now, mister! you knew exactly what you were doing! when you were like ‘and you’d better remember it’, i was this close to dropping to my knees—”

“y/n—”

“and every one was screaming your name and i was just like ‘yea, that’s my boyfriend! my man! my prince—!’”

suddenly, reki flips you over pinning you arms right beside your head, the both of you giggling.

“oh my god, why are you still going” reki half groans between giggles as you continue to cackle.

“my sweetheart, my baby, my sweat pea, my darling, the future of father of my children, my honey bunch, my sugar pie, the apple of my eye, the light of my life—” you list off, delirious with laughter, not even fighting against reki’s grip on your forearms. he hovers over you, laughing too, his eyes shining and his face beaming

“you need to stop” reki shakes his head slightly, his bangs falling onto your forehead as he leans in for a kiss. he pulls back and you're silent for a moment...until you start rattling off corny pet names again, but this time less giggly.

“my sun, my moon, my stars, my whole world—” you murmur before reki presses his lips against yours. he pulls away and kisses the tip of your nose, the skin slightly under your right eye, and onto your left eyelid.

“you’re so annoying”, reki whispers, letting go of your forearms to hold your face instead.

“you kinda are too”, you whisper back, placing your hands over his, rubbing your thumbs along the back of his hand.

“mmm, i guess we’re destined for one another then” he murmurs and you nod, fervently. reki kisses you sweetly and you hum against his lips. “i love you so much”.

“i love you too, baby” you sigh, putty in reki’s hands. he looks so pretty above you, the lamplight reflecting his eyes and his cheeks still flushed. he looks like the human embodiment of honey.

you turn your head over to glimpse at the alarm clock on his bed side table. 3:37 AM

“our sleeping schedules are so messed up” you groan turning your head back to look up at reki. he blinks, following your gaze towards the alarm clock.

“oh, i usually sleep around his time anyway” he shrugs.

“okay, but you have injuries...so you need to rest to heal” you reason while sitting up slightly, forcing reki to sit up with you. “are you still in pain? i can get you a tylenol”

“i’ll need one in the morning, but i’m fine for now”, he assures you with a grin.

you both climb under his blankets, but he wants for you to sit back against his pillows. already knowing, you hold your arms out for him and he lays between your legs, wrapping his arms around your torso. reki presses his ear to chest, taking in the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, as you smooth his hair back.

“goodnight, sweetheart” you whisper, leaving your hand in his hair.

“goodnight, baby” he murmurs into you chest, pressing a kiss there. “i love you, i can’t wait to wake up and see you tomorrow”

you chuckle tiredly. “i love you too, i’ll see you in the morning”.

notes: this was also, long as hell. i apologize! this is honestly the sappiest sh*t i’ve ever written, idk if it can get any sappier than this (it probably can, and will >:3) .

#sk8 the infinty #reki #reki kyan #reki x reader #sk8 the infinity x reader #reki x y/n #sk8 the infinity x y/n #reki kyan x reader

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nothoughtsonlynat · 3 years

Text

Resurrect Me: Part 2 (N.R.)

Part One

Huge shoutout to @confusinggemini612 who requested this a loooong time ago and I’m just now getting to it (I am so sorry for the wait). I hope this is what you had in mind :)

Warnings: swearing; PTSD; mentions of suicide/self-sacrifice

Word count: 2.6k

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

The cool breeze blows through my hair, the hand in mine being the only source of warmth in the chill of the Russian countryside. As we walk closer, a chorus of pigs snorting fills my ears. Natasha had given me a brief rundown and a quick pep talk before taking me to meet her family. Now, it was game time.

“Are you ready?”

“Not in the slightest,” I respond to the redhead.

“Let’s do it then,” she says with a smirk, to which I reply with a scoff.

We walk through the gate and enter the small house, immediately hearing three distinct voices, each laced with a thick Russian accent. The voices hush as the door closes behind us, and a blonde woman is the first to greet us.

“Ah, сестра! Mom and Dad are flirting again, let’s make a run for it,” Yelena whisper-yells.

“So put a sedative in their vodka or something, I don’t know,” Natasha replies. I’m not sure if I should introduce myself or not, so I just stand there awkwardly.

“They are both spies, they’re not going to fall for- actually, Alexei would, but Mom would never fall for that,” Yelena pauses as she notices me. She looks me from head to toe and squints before her lips quirk into a smirk. “And who might this be? Is this your little girlfriend?”

“Yelena, don’t be an ass,” Nat grumbles with a scowl.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Yelena hums before turning back to Natasha. “She’s definitely your girlfriend.”

“Oh shut up,” Natasha whines, walking further into the house. I look at Yelena and nod in confirmation before following Nat. I hear her whisper “I knew it” from behind me, causing me to laugh. Natasha turns to give me a questioning look, but I just brush it off with a shrug and a smirk. She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by a deep, booming voice.

“Natasha! Welcome home! Look at this, all my girls back together again! It is so nice to see you,” Alexei says, moving forward to pinch Natasha’s cheeks. She gently pushes him away with a scowl, and I can’t tell if she’s really uncomfortable or not. Either way, it brings my guard up, ready to defend her.

“And who might this be?” Alexei questions, turning to face me.

“Dad, this is Y/N,” she says before I can answer. I offer a kind smile.

Yelena, who had made her way to the kitchen table with a bottle of vodka, says “She’s Natasha’s girlfriend.”

“Thank you for the input, Yelena,” Natasha says with a tight-lipped smile.

“Girlfriend, huh? When did that happen? Natasha, I was not aware that you, uh, how do you say? Swing that way?” A dark-haired woman slaps his arm for his comment and he exclaims, “Ow!”

“Pay him no mind, Natasha. He is a bit slow, but Mama always knew. You were not very discreet about the way you looked at that Hannah girl in Ohio. And as for you, it is nice to meet you. I’m Melina, what is your name?” Her demeanor is friendly, but her gaze is skeptical. She’s probably already planning how to kill me if she decides that I’m not good enough for her daughter.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say with a nervous smile.

“Alright, guys, that’s enough. Please stop harassing my girlfriend,” Natasha says with a sigh.

“Come, sit,” Yelena commands with a wave, still sitting at the kitchen table.

I sit across from her and Natasha sits next to me. Melina and Alexei follow soon after, with Alexei sitting at the head of the table and Melina sitting next to Yelena.

“Here you go,” Yelena says as she slides me a shot glass full of vodka. I clink it against hers in the air and down it in one go, grimacing at the burn. “Are you alright?” Yelena asks with a smirk, clearly enjoying my agony.

“Oh, yeah, I’m great. Just not used to Russian vodka, that’s all.” Yelena nods, satisfied with my answer, before going to pour me another shot.

Natasha stops her by saying, “Yelena, no more vodka. You’re going to kill her.”

“You’re no fun,” the younger sister says, but complies, nonetheless.

“Natasha, you are slouching again. Sit up straight,” Melina interjects.

“Mom, I’m not slouching. I told you I don’t slouch,” Nat protests.

“So how did you two meet?” Yelena asks, interrupting the banter.

“Oh, we met in New York during the invasion, when the Avengers were formed,” I answer.

“You are an Avenger! I knew you looked familiar. Tell me, does Captain America ever mention me, the great Red Guardian? I could kick his ass, you know. I’ve done it before,” Alexei says, causing the three Russian women to groan and complain.

“That never happened, Dad,” Yelena mumbles at the same time Natasha says, “He doesn’t talk about you because you guys have never met.”

I raise my eyebrows at them. They seem awfully familiar with this conversation; how often does Alexei say this crap?

“So, Y/N. What happened when you guys brought everyone back? How did you do it? Natasha won't tell me,” Yelena questions. I chuckle nervously, glancing at Natasha, who is clearly uncomfortable with this topic of discussion.

“Um, I don’t know if I should… It’s complicated, really,” I say, trailing off.

“Yelena, stop. It doesn’t matter. And don’t put her in the middle of things,” Natasha responds, defending me. An awkward silence fills the room until Alexei speaks up again.

“He really hasn’t mentioned me? Have you even asked him about me?”

<//>

“Why won’t you tell them what happened?” I ask quietly. It’s nighttime now, and I’m lying in bed next to Nat in the guest room. She seemed so uncomfortable, and it’s been worrying me since.

“They just don’t need to know,” she replies shortly

“But they got snapped away, Natty. Don’t you think they deserve more of an explanation than what they’ve seen on the news?”

“Don’t tell me what to do with my family, Y/N.” Her sharp tone feels like a blade to the heart, but I take a deep breath and soften my resolve, knowing that she’s only snapping at me because something else is upsetting her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push. I just, I can tell that something is upsetting you. You can’t just bottle stuff up, Nat. It doesn’t have to be me if you’re not comfortable, but you need to talk to someone about it.”

She doesn’t respond immediately. “I’ve told them. I gave them the basics: Thanos snapped people away, we time traveled, got magical stones, snapped people back, and then killed Thanos. That satisfied my parents, but Yelena wants to know the whole story.”

“And you’re not comfortable retelling it?”

“Parts of it are bearable, but… I can’t think about it. You almost killed yourself for me, Y/N. You did die for me. I can’t think about that day, let alone tell my baby sister about it,” she says. Her voice is quiet, breaking as the tears flood her eyes. I pull her head into my chest and run my fingers through her hair.

“I’m right here, Natty. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. You don’t have to tell anyone about what happened. I was terrified of losing you on Vormir. I hate talking about it, too.”

“Is that why you went to Dr. Garcia?”

“Partly. There were other reasons, too.” I hesitated before continuing. “I kept hearing the tortured screams. When I slept, in my head, everywhere I went. I heard them all the time. And I would get random whiffs of burning flesh. As you know, I went to the Underworld when I ‘died’ and I guess it just affected me more than I had originally thought.”

“Angel, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want to worry you, or freak you out. The whole thing was pretty weird. For a while, I honestly thought I was haunted. It was probably pretty selfish, but I didn’t wanna scare you away.”

“You could never scare me away. But just to be clear, you aren’t haunted, right?”

I laugh quietly. “No, I am not haunted. A mild case of PTSD, but I’m doing better now. The therapy helped a lot.”

“Do you think it would help me? I still get nightmares sometimes...of you going over that cliff. I just, I close my eyes and you’re gone, and I hate it.”

“I’m so sorry, my love. I hate how much pain I’ve caused you. But I do think it would help. We can find someone when we get back home, yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Natty.”

<//>

“Just do it! It will be fun! I will go easy, I swear,” Yelena begs.

“Okay, fi-”

“No! No way in Hell. You are not sparring with her,” Natasha argues.

“I’ll be fine. Worst case scenario, she kicks my ass,” I say.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure the worst case scenario would be if I accidentally killed you,” Yelena says flatly. “But that won’t happen! Please, Natasha. I want to see what she’s got,” she pleads with a pout.

Natasha sighs and rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath about us being a bunch of children. “Fine, but if you so much as scratch her-”

“Y/N will be fine. Come on,” Yelena says, grabbing my hand and dragging me into the backyard.

Thirty minutes later, I’m flat on my back in the grass, wheezing. I groan as I attempt to sit up, the whole world spinning as I do.

“Yelena! What the hell did I say?! You literally threw her,” Natasha yells.

“No, no. I’m good,” I say weakly.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting her to be so...defenseless.”

“I am not defenseless,” I counter.

“You cannot even throw a punch,” the blonde deadpans.

“That doesn’t make her defenseless,” Nat says as she helps me to my feet. “She could take every single one of you out right now without even moving.”

From a few feet away, Melina quirks an eyebrow and Alexei mumbles “she could not take me out.”

“You are delusional, Natasha. How are we supposed to trust this woman to protect you when she cannot even protect herself?”

“She can protect both of us just fine, Yelena. Not that I need anyone’s protection.”

“Your sister has a point,” Melina tells Nat. “Sorry, Y/N,” she adds. I open my mouth to speak, but don’t even know what to say. This is my worst nightmare.

“You must be able to punch when you are in trouble! Much like I did to Captain America back in the day,” Alexei adds.

“Alright, enough. I’ll have you know that Y/N is one of the most powerful Avengers. Actually, she’s a literal goddess,” Natasha snaps.

“Well, of course you would think so. You are her girlfriend,” Melina says.

“Guys, I’m being serious!”

“Do not get snappy with us. We are just looking out for you,” Alexei says.

“I don’t need-”

“Somebody has to be there to keep you safe, and this girl could not bring harm to a plant,” Melina remarks.

“I’m literally standing right here,” I mumble under my breath.

“She literally saved my life! How is that not keeping me safe?!” My eyes widen; what happened to not revealing that tidbit of information?

“What do you mean? You saved her life?” Yelena asks as she turns to address me.

“If it wasn’t for her, I would be dead right now. And you guys never would’ve come back,” Natasha retorts, clenching her jaw.

“What? Why? What happened,” Yelena rambles. I can see the worry etched on her face, and it makes her look oddly childlike. It almost makes me want to pull her into a hug, but I’m fairly certain she’d throat punch me if I tried.

“On a planet called Vormir. A life needed to be sacrificed to get one of the Infinity Stones. It was me, Clint, or Y/N. I tried, but Y/N stopped me. That’s what I mean.” Natasha is seething. She clearly didn’t appreciate her family’s doubts.

“You tried to kill yourself?” Yelena addresses Natasha, but no one has the chance to answer her before Melina speaks up.

“If you sacrificed yourself, then how are you here?”

“It’s complicated,” I say with hesitance. “I am technically a goddess. I have many different powers, but most of them deal with death. When I died, I went to the Underworld, where I met my mother, Hecate, who is a goddess. Then, I came back. Resurrection is one of my powers. I know it’s a lot to take in, but that’s the truth.”

It’s silent for a minute as everyone processes my words. Everyone is staring at me with bewilderment, except for Yelena, who hasn’t taken her eyes off of her sister. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and a deep frown rests upon her lips.

“You tried to kill yourself?” Yelena repeats, this time only a whisper. Natasha finally turns to look at her younger sister and her mouth bobs open and closed, seemingly unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t have a choice, Yelena,” Natasha finally says.

“You saved her?” the blonde asks me.

I hesitantly nod my head. “Yes, I guess I did.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, giving a curt nod before turning and walking mechanically back into the house. I awkwardly clear my throat and turn my gaze to the ground.

“Will you show us?” I raise my head to look at Alexei, confusion crossing my features at his request. “Will you show us your powers, I mean.”

“Dad…” Natasha warns.

“No, it’s okay. I can show you a little bit,” I say, right before teleporting away. I watch from a hill in the distance as Alexei looks frantically around him. I can hear him asking where I went, which makes me laugh.

I teleport into the house and walk around, looking for Yelena. I walk into a bedroom and find her sitting on the floor with a bottle of vodka. “Hey, are you okay? We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m fine. Because learning that your sister almost died and there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent it is so much fun,” she scoffs.

“I’m sorry. We probably could’ve broken the news a bit softer.” I sit on the ground next to her, leaving about a foot of space between us.

“It’s not your fault,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“Don’t be. I am a horrible fighter,” I joke. She chuckles slightly, nodding in agreement.

“That you are. Can I see some of your magic, or whatever it is?” I hold out my hand and black mist dances above it with eerie elegance. I close my fist as it fades away, lowering my hand.

“Cool,” she says with a crooked smile. We hear the front door open and three sets of footsteps entering the house. I hear Nat calling my name.

“You okay?” I check one last time.

“I’m good. Thank you, Y/N, for saving my sister.”

“I’d do anything for her, Yelena. You don’t have to thank me for it.”

The bedroom door opens and Natasha’s head pokes in. “Y/N, we thought you’d completely left for a minute. Everything okay in here?”

Yelena and I look at each other and I look back to Natasha, overwhelmed with love for the redead. I smile and say, “Yeah, everything is just fine.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #Black Widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader #yelena belova

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