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phantomrose96 · 3 years

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Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #wanted to write A Thing so here is A Thing!

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5.5 Bonus

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local feral human spends some time with their new family. Four short bits featuring Daphne (Maiden OC), Bela, Lady D, Daniela, and a surprise guest. Enjoy. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts, 5: Heart Of The Matter

5.5: Family

“Wait, you’re telling me that you came here willingly?” You asked, mouth agape, eyes wide. It felt like every time you talked to Daphne she had something incredible to say. Which was, of course, why she was your favorite maiden to talk to. That, and the fact that she had adapted so quickly to your ‘charming personality’. So far she was the only servant you had been willing to be honest with. Mainly about your feelings regarding your blood bond, but also just about your relationship with Cassandra in general. Something about Daphne simply made her incredibly approachable. From what you had heard, you weren’t the only one to think as such, with her being fairly popular among the castle workers.

“More of us do than you might expect. Some consider it an honor to serve one of the four Lords, and Castle Dimitrescu is certainly… nicer than either the factory or the reservoir. Personally, I came here for a friend of mine. She, well, had less of a choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being here without knowing anyone, so it felt like I only had one option. Can’t say I regret my decision, if you can believe it,” Daphne explained, folding laundry all the while. At the same time, you carefully sort through the not yet washed clothing, separating them into two baskets. After all, you wouldn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to end up with a pink dress! Technically this wasn’t your job, nor did you have a job at all, but you hated having idle hands- especially when talking to someone who was working. At first Daphne had protested, but she had given in upon realizing just how stubborn you could be.

“That’s… impressive. I mean, holy shit, that's a real ride or die friendship right there. Is she, uh, is your friend still, you know, around?” You stuttered, cursing your tongue for asking such a thing. If the answer was no, you were going to feel like a real asshole. Which, admittedly, you had a tendency to be. But this wasn’t one of the times where it was intentional. Thankfully, Daphne is all smiles, and even seems amused by your spluttering.

“Yes, we’re even roommates. Well, us and five others. Possibly with a sixth one on the way, if we ever get someone to fill the empty space,” she replies, pausing to think. Then she’s back to work, refusing to waste any time. “Speaking of roommates… I know I said I’m not one for gossip, and I meant it, but a little songbird told me that Cassandra seems to be in a much better mood these days. Are the two of you, well, getting along? It would be nice to know that soulmates can overcome even the roughest of introductions.” There’s a hint of something odd in her tone, and you take a moment to wonder what she’s (unintentionally) hinting at. Had she met her soulmate, only for things to go poorly?... Before answering her, you make a mental note, deciding to see if any of the other maidens had a scar across their nose.

“It’s not like she and I are dating or anything. We’re just, you know, not hating each other. Currently,” you said, shrugging. But Daphne raises an eyebrow at you, and you find yourself instinctively feeling guilty, somehow feeling small next to the shortest person you knew. “Alright, alright, we might have… Okay we kissed. And promised each other not to die, because having your soulmate die hurts like hell. Also maybe she showed me her mom’s art collection and I made a joke about the titty sculptures because holy shit, this house has a lot of titties.” At this, Daphne bursts into laughter, grinning from ear to ear.

“Amen to that, for sure.”

ii.

“So… fan of science, I see,” you say, awkwardly, bouncing a little on your heels. Next to you is the eldest Dimitrescu daughter, who had unexpectedly joined your table in the library. There were several other places she could have sat, with both more comfortable seating and more workspace, but for some reason she had chosen here. So far she hadn’t said a word. Hell, you hadn’t spoken to her since your first meeting, where she had suggested killing you. Naturally, you weren’t quite sure what to make of her. Something told you that she felt much the same about yourself.

“Fan of oversimplification, I see,” Bela counters, after a few tense seconds. Then she sets down her book- a heavy text about Romanian avian fauna- to give you her full attention. “It would be more accurate to say that I enjoy studying biology, particularly the branch of zoology.” Well, this conversation was certainly… happening. Honestly, you couldn’t tell whether she was legitimately judging you, or merely chaffing you for her own amusement.

“You’ll have to, er, forgive me for being overly broad. Consider it a side effect of my nerves, those themselves being due to our unsavory introduction. In case you don’t recall, you put that sickle of yours into my shoulder,” you reminded, with a sarcastic smile. To your surprise, Bela chuckles at this, almost as if fondly remembering the incident. Seriously, you think, why did my soulmate have to be from this family?

“Staying silent was an option. Perhaps that would have suited you better?” Bela says, now clearly teasing, smile much more genuine than your own. Knowing she had a point, you’re quick to blush, mildly embarrassed.

“Touche. I am curious, however, why you decided to sit next to me in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have tried starting a conversation if you hadn’t,” you explained.

“Like I said… I enjoy studying zoology,” Bela replies, with a sly grin. It takes you a few moments to understand the intended implications. Once you do, however, you’re giving her a hard stare. Then you scoot your chair a few inches away from her, in exaggerated movements. “Don’t worry, I was only joking. Though you certainly are an interesting human. Much more, hmm, cheeky? Compared to the servants, at least.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that they simply prefer being alive, as opposed to not being as snippy. Except maybe Daphne, now that I think about it. Very sweet, that one,” you muse. “Regardless, I think I’ll return to my book now, for it lacks a tongue, and is therefore less likely to taunt me.” Doing just as you had said, you open the book, holding it a bit higher than what would be comfortable, so that it becomes a ‘shield’ of sorts. Nothing was quite as satisfying as subtle body language.

Accepting your words with a shrug, Bela also resumes reading, turning to a bookmarked page. Roughly an hour of relative quiet passes. Neither of you so much as glance at each other, not even when she drops the pen she had been taking notes with. In the end, you are the one who leaves first, and finally the silence is broken. You give your goodbyes, and Bela returns them politely. Though you do not know it, she sets her book down as soon as you leave, pausing to think about you. Now that things had ‘calmed down’, it was reassuring for her to know that you weren’t always full of spite. Still, you held onto your cleverness (for the most part), leaving her with no doubt about the universe’s decision. You were her sister’s soulmate.

iii.

“It’s official: I’m lost in a creepy castle. The universe hates me. Probably should have realized that sooner, considering how it decided to introduce me to my soulmate,” you mutter, scowling deeply, as you wander unfamiliar halls. How had you even gotten lost? Sure, you had taken a wrong turn, but it hadn’t taken long for you to realize your mistake! Evidently you somehow managed to make another one while backtracking. Now you were standing in the center of the corridor, hands on your hips, desperate for some maiden to come rescue you. What you really didn’t want was Cassandra to find you, because she’d make fun of you for the rest of your life. It’s not like she had specifically joked about you getting lost before. Except that was exactly what had happened.

A few minutes pass uneventfully. There aren’t even any distant sounds of life; no footsteps, nor echoing voices, nor the squeaking of floorboards. All you can hear is your own breathing. As well as the occasional sigh, admittedly. By this point, there’s a part of you that’s starting to panic. After all, there was a chance that the castle was big enough for certain sections to be abandoned. Hopefully that’s not the case, you think, I mean, they’d cut the power to those parts, right? Here’s hoping… With that in mind, you get back to wandering, figuring that you’d have to eventually run into a familiar landmark. Or better yet, someone who actually knew the castle’s layout.

When salvation at last reveals its holy visage, it is not in the form of a lowly servant, rather the muffled voice of none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. Neither her exact words nor who she’s speaking to is clear. At first, you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, but you quickly approach one closed door, then another, searching for the source. Several doors later you’re certain you’ve found her. By then you can tell that she’s not alone. Not wanting to seem rude by interrupting, you take a few steps back, leaning against the wall to wait. For the most part you still cannot make out what’s being said, but a few words do reach your ears.

“-expected more from you. How am I-” the voice gets cut off, not by Alcina, rather a sudden gust of air, akin to massive wings flapping. When the speaker continues, they are both louder and angrier. “Someone is listening. Have you not taken steps to ensure our privacy?” Then the door is swinging open, revealing your soulmate’s mother. At first she’s practically shaking with rage, but her expression turns to shock when she sees you.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, clearly stressed, as she steps into the corridor. There’s movement behind her, although you cannot make out any details. Besides, you’re quick to answer her, wishing to avoid her wrath (and that of whoever she was speaking to).

“I’m so sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I was walking from the dining hall to Cassandra’s studio, and I took a wrong turn. I’ve been wandering for half an hour now. When I heard your voice, I thought perhaps I could, well, enlist your assistance. But you were busy, so I figured I’d wait outside. If I had-...” you pause, gulping, as the other figure steps into view. It’s a face you’re all too familiar with. One that popped up countless times through the village, and again throughout the castle, the owner’s name always spoken with acclaim, with worship. Mother Miranda, in the flesh, wings spreading out behind her, somehow cutting a more impressive silhouette than even Lady Dimitrescu. Instantly you’re falling to your knees, knowing that your sharp tongue was no match for this practical goddess.

“Who is this, Dimitrescu? Why isn’t their blood staining your claws?” Miranda questions, gaze never leaving your trembling form.

“This… this is one of my daughters’ soulmates. They were brought in with the last group of sacrifices,” Lady Dimitrescu explains, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Twas a true testament to Miranda’s power, as well as her influence, that she could make someone so powerful seem so weak. Which was exactly why you were shaking with anxiety. But to your surprise, the goddess does not immediately order your execution for your trespass.

“And already they know their place, hmm? Kneeling before me?” Miranda says, a strange smile dancing on her lips. Whatever anger she had been feeling a minute prior had faded, though you couldn’t even begin to guess as to why. Regardless, both Alcina and yourself are quite relieved, though neither of you are quick to show it. “Either they have a good head on their shoulders, or you still take care of some of your duties. Very well, they may live. For now. But I expect next week’s report to be far more favorable. I don’t need to remind you of the price for failing me.” With that said, Mother Miranda turned to leave, a swirling mass of dark feathers flying past you.

A minute passes, maybe two, before either of you feel capable of speaking up.

“Let’s get you back where you belong, yes?” Lady Dimitrescu says, quietly, before placing her hand on your shoulder to guide you. Tension hangs clear and heavy over both of you. Even as you walk down corridor after corridor, the feeling does not ease. At least not until you’re back in familiar territory, near where you had originally made your mistake, finally able to breathe a little. It’s here that Lady Dimitrescu pauses to speak once more. “Tomorrow I will assign one of the servants to give you a tour, in the hopes that this does not happen again. Furthermore, I ask that you forget everything you heard earlier, for it is neither your business… or my daughter’s.” You’re quick to nod, and with that she bids you farewell, leaving you alone. Now, you think, was it left from here, or right?

iv.

“I’m just going for a walk. Why do you care so much? It’s not like it’s any of your business,” Daniela assures you, despite the fact that all you had done was say ‘hello’. If this was her attempt at casting aside suspicion, she had done a terrible job of it. What made her so nervous? Was it even worth investigating? Only one way to find out.

“You’re rather bundled up, planning on being out for long?” You ask, trying to sound casual, leaning against the wall as you did. In response, Daniela pretty much stomps her foot. There’s something odd in her expression, however, that implies your question hit a soft spot. Certainly wasn’t what you had expected. “Don’t mind me, just trying to make conversation with my soulmate’s sister. Speaking of her… have you seen Cassandra? Is she, perhaps, going with you?” A little misdirection never hurt anyone. Probably.

“No!” Daniela replies, fast as a gunshot, too much emphasis to be unintentional. But she realizes her mistake as soon as she’s made it, and makes a clear effort to relax herself. “She’s probably in her studio, doing whatever it is she calls art, on the other end of the house. Besides, I don’t want any company for this walk.” For a moment you merely squint at her, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, you decide that it really is none of your business, being more than satisfied by what teasing you’ve already done.

“Alright, alright. Well then, I’ll leave you be. Just… be careful, yeah? If you get hurt, and your mother finds out that I didn’t stop you from going… not sure Cassandra could save me,” you say, with a shrug. At first Daniela can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved, but she seemingly settles for the latter, giving you a brief nod before heading outside. As the door shut behind her, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done the right thing.

#cassandra x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #yeah I'm back #don't be weird about it

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angelguk · 3 years

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what happens in this section is entirely a result of what guys voted please do not! come for my head in my inbox im begging. very sad in general like Angst with a capital A with a sprinkle of despair and pain. listen to mess it up by gracie abrams. roughly 2k.

(titled — out of line)

You thought Lucas would help, the warmth of his body a distraction from your aching heart, but he didn’t. Not the way you needed him to. He was sweet enough, made you giggle endlessly before finding his place between your thighs. But even with his tongue on your clit, your (now usually sober) mind still lingered on Jeongguk, his memory a stain on your soul. It didn’t help when you spotted him with a girl hanging off his arm, her bright eyes stuck on his face, soaking him in like the earth does the sun. You didn’t know her name – Chayoung took the liberty of whispering it to you after your biology lab. She was Hyeri, a sophomore with a delicate laugh and graceful disposition. That vile vindictive black thing that now inhabited your chest swelled, brain already comparing the differences between you and her. Your clumsiness suddenly felt like a curse, even though Jeongguk had countlessly said he loved you for it (or did he say that just to ease your worries?). Insecurities spring forth like weeds and you don’t have the capacity to keep the careful garden of your heart tended.

They take over slowly, your eyes stinging whenever you see them huddled together in the quad. Bitter tears blinked back, your blinkered senses overlooking how Jeongguk’s quiet gaze followed your figure whenever you turned your back to him, even with Yoona yapping at his ears.

Perhaps the despondency that clung to your bones is what led you here, face planted in the musky scent of Namjoon’s sheets, your heart throbbing funny.

“Can you even breathe?” He questions. The timbre of his voice washes over you, familiar and somewhat reassuring. You twist upright to face him, eyes squeezing tight when the bright fluorescent lights in his room assaults your vision.

“I was hoping my heart would give up if I held it in long enough.”

Namjoon stills, brown eyes flitting over you. He coughs like he’s working through various sets of words before he decides what’s most suitable. “And then what? I get framed for murder when they find your body here?”

You laugh, and it hurts. “Maybe. My body is very portable though, did you consider first burying me in the backyard?”

“Rookie mistake,” Namjoon returns. He rises to fetch the mugs of tea sitting idle on a stool he’d dragged from the corner of his room. “The sniffer dogs would fly straight to that location. Also, I’d have to dig a hole big enough to fit your head in.”

“And why would the dogs find me immediately?” You say, shuffling upright, palms ready to receive the tepid heat that will seep through the ceramic the moment the cup settles in your hand.

“Your perfume,” Namjoon says. He hands you the mug, heat fulfilling its chosen purpose, the scent of gentle jasmine wafting to your nose.

You pout then, glancing at him. “My perfume?”

“It’s distinct. Violet, right? Maybe vanilla too?” Namjoon says it easily, sinking beside you, utterly unaware of the ticking in your brain. Your gaze falters then, shifting to his broad shoulder and thick biceps. The ivy shirt he’s got on barely contains all that muscle in, fabric stretched thin.

You take a sip of your tea, and despite the period Namjoon gave it to cool it still scalds your tongue.

“Why do you know what fragrance I wear?” It comes out accusatory, but Namjoon handles it well, laughing low.

“You’ve had the same one since high-school, I think. And I remember you telling me.”

The fingers around your cup squeeze tight, your brain unlocking a moment you’d forgotten in the wake of brighter ones. A quiet afternoon at the back of your high-school, Namjoon towering over you, his nose trailing the hollow of your neck, a stray comment about how you smelled good washing over you. It was followed by a flustered younger version of you deflecting, heart pounding wild when Namjoon drew back to look at you as you rattled off the different sillages that made up your favourite perfume. He’d laughed, low like did just now, before calling you cute and pulling you in for a kiss.

“Oh,” you finally murmur. “I remember now.”

You were actually going to change it after your break-up with him, but then Jeongguk had mentioned how much he’d liked it and the bottle had stayed.

Namjoon hums, his gaze slow as it shifts around the room. It’s a space that screams of him, light wood tones and plants breaking from the pristine white walls. Space carved for nature, a grounding sensation living within these four walls – something that seems to live inside of Namjoon too.

“How are you?” He suddenly asks, turning slowly to measure your features.

You blink hard, only realising then that you’d been staring at his face for a second too long. “F-fine. I’m okay. Just busy, y’know. Finals coming up, planning events; the usual.”

“I know,” Namjoon says with a ginger smile. “But that’s not what I’m asking. How are you? With Jeongguk and everything.”

“Oh.” You can’t answer that, his unexpected brazenness shocking your system. The smile on his lips fades, a solemnness in the brown of his eyes. His next words are earnest, and they settle in the pit of your stomach.

“Y/N, I know you didn’t just come here to chat for no reason. We can talk about Jeongguk, that’s okay.”

“N-no, we don’t need it. We’re over. It’s been two months already. We’re seeing other people and I don’t really want to discuss one of my exes with another one. And maybe I did just come to see you,” you tack on an empty laugh at the end, hoping Namjoon doesn’t read right through you.

But he does. Like a part of you hoped he would.

“I’m your friend, you know. We had something but nothing like what you and Jeongguk have. Two months isn’t going to make a lifetime disappear. It’s okay if you still feel bad.”

That’s what cracks you, a well-aimed hammer knocking your walls right down. You bite your lip hard, fingertips pinching the ceramic in your grasp, and swallow the tears looming in your throat with a choked laugh.

“I’m fine, Namjoon. I feel a little like shit but I’m working on it. And Lucas is a great guy–”

“But he’s not Jeongguk.” The sentence feels heavy as if it carries the weight of many hearts on it. But it’s also a line you were thinking about earlier, even with Lucas pressed against you.

“That’s not what I would say–”

“But it’s what you were thinking,” Namjoon cuts. Maybe there’s a peephole in your head that only Namjoon has access to. “And that’s fine. It sucks for Lucas, though. But you shouldn’t feel bad for thinking that way. Especially when you know how special Jeongguk is to you.”

Special. The word is bright, glimmering like Jeongguk’s eyes do.

“I-I just–it just–I don’t know.” The tears you’d attempted to seal inside burst, slipping down your cheeks quiet. Namjoon pry's the mug from your hand, replaces its warmth with his own, and for a split second things feel bearable.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, a calloused palm on your damp cheek, his steadiness clearing away the gloomy skies in your head. But he doesn’t tell you to stop crying, doesn’t whisper that it’ll be okay. He just tugs you closer, rests your splinting head on his wide chest, and soaks up the tears on your face with his shirt. Like the earth does for the pouring heavens.

You eventually hiccup the despair down, finding the words to explain to Namjoon what you were feeling in between the moments where breathing didn’t feel like a race. He takes the news of Jeongguk kissing somebody days after your break-up with wide eyes, his eyebrows drawing together. And then comes the second girl, you don’t even know her name but it still cleaves something out of you. And finally, Hyeri. Her name is a lament.

“And it sucks because he looks happy with her and I still want him to be happy because I still love him. I love him so much it hurts.”

Namjoon cocks his head then, his wide palm sliding down your back. “You think Jeongguk looks happy?”

“Yes?” But it’s a question, your upward gaze on his face imploring.

Namjoon shakes his head instead. You don’t hear it, the following words a deep muffled murmur, “Both of you are idiots.” But you see the twinkle in his eyes and it makes your back straighten.

You want to pester but Namjoon pulls you closer, and you lose yourself in the feeling of him, before a question can register on your tongue. His arms are huge, like sturdy branches defying the blistering gales of your heart. He lets you cry for a little longer, listening intently to the continuing spew of words from your lips, until the storm quiets into a breeze.

“Okay?” Namjoon asks.

You stick your head further into his chest, breathe him in deep. “Okay.”

When he shifts away your skin freezes, but then you realise he’s reaching for a blanket. He swathes it around you fondly, pulling you in for a swift hug before falling out of your reach once more.

“Now, I think we both need a moment to process that.” He’s talking about but you’re not listening, your eyes on his face, gaze gently trailing the curve of his lips. “I also think we need food before we start unpacking the mess you’re in–”

You swallow the sentence with your lips, salt singeing the corners of your mouth. But your movements are not reciprocated, Namjoon’s mouth is still under yours. The soft hand on your neck guiding you away is what pulls you back, right out of that strange dark desperate ocean that held you.

“Y/N–”

“Sorry, shit–shit, I shouldn’t have done that.” But there’s no use now, you can’t take it back. Namjoon is looking at you with those eyes, the ones that feel like pity. His sympathy suddenly makes you feel sick, and you wish the ceiling would give away and shatter your head. “I should go.”

He tries to stop you, firm but gentle with his words and hands. But you’re a wild storm again and nothing can stop you from snatching your butterfly tote bag from the floor of his room and fleeing. The black thing that had been subdued for a moment reemergence with vengeance the second you hit the sidewalks, vision reeling. How could you do that? To Namjoon? To the stable friendship you'd created? But he felt too warm, too caring, too much of everything that you longing for and that Lucas could never give you.

Just a reminder of the swimmer's name as you skidding to a halt, the thump in your chest vicious. Maybe Jeongguk was right. Constantly painting yourself the victim while actively hurting the ones around you. Maybe you should have never let him kiss you again on that rooftop. Maybe you should have never tried to love him.

—

It’s silent in your head when you get back to your apartment. Sieun is home, finally back from her trip to her boyfriend’s parents place, so you’re not surprised to hear the soft hum of laughter filtering through the house. You don’t expect to find Chayoung there though.

They’re huddling in the kitchen, drifting out cheery greetings when you trudge it, only to fall silent when you mumble back a hollow response. A gentle song floating from the radio fills the empty space, three bodies navigating something tense.

“Were you with Lucas?” Sieun eventually pokes. She’s not a big fan of him. She’s not a big fan of the current break-up between you and Jeongguk either. She’s going to hate you for what you’re about to tell her.

“No,” you mumble. There are twenty notifications flashing across your phone screen, all from Namjoon. You feel sick, and you might cry again.

“Well? What’s with the long face?” Chayoung adds.

You take a deep breath, gripping the marble counter tight before twisting around. Better to rip it off all at once right? And there’s no way you could hold this inside of you, not when there is barely any room for your broken heart.

“I kissed Namjoon.”

“WHAT?” Sieun’s jaw slams into the ground and Chayoung freezes beside her, like her joints have suddenly been welded together. They stare at you for long you might have grown a second head during it. And then the questions come, a torrent erupting. You blank for a second, and then the guilt crawls up your spine. It may only be thirteen past five in the afternoon but you definitely need a drink.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #bts x reader #i said this was gonna tomorrow but my brain said tonight so here we are #nobody ask me how we're gonna come back from this #this is ur fault!!#bts angst #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic

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behindyourbarrette · 3 years

Text

like you a latte - matcha latte

← previous | series masterlist | join my taglist | next part ->

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

a/n: SURPRISE i felt like dropping this a DAY early!!lololololol but here it is! i appreciate the love on the last two parts so so soooo much :) can’t beliEVE WE ARE HALFWAY DONE!! reblog if u enjoyed

—

Needless to say, Twilight Time isn’t very crowded on Thursday afternoons.

You rarely pick up closing shifts anymore—for reasons totally unrelated to the doctor who almost exclusively arrives in the morning—but you’re covering for Sally, and it’s a nice day out. The rain has let up in favor of mild weather, the sun just barely peeking through the clouds as people drift past the shop. Despite the fact that there’s more foot traffic on the street, not many people come in to order. You don’t blame them. Why have hot coffee on a day like this?

Your back is turned when you hear a group enter, and your heart soars at the prospect of tips. For whatever reason, most people are more inclined to tip when they know their friends are watching. You call out to let them know you’ll be right with them, and after you’re done fidgeting with the settings of the coffee grinder, you turn.

It’s Spencer. But he’s not alone.

There are a total of four people before you, each intimidating you in slightly different ways. They’re all agents, as evidenced by their not-so-concealed carries. You recognize a few of the characters. Spencer’s told you about JJ, who you assume to be the friendly blonde, and Penelope, who is a vision in fuchsia. That leaves Emily, who’s whispering to JJ, eyes fixed on you. You try to absorb the sight, them together. Spencer looks at ease, a wide smile on his face as he looks between you and the group.

“Hey, Spencer. These your coworkers?” You crack a nervous smile, knitting your fingers together. He nods, introducing them each in turn. JJ grins in your direction, and Penelope waves at you with a fingerlessly-gloved hand. Emily reaches across the bar to shake your hand. You get the sense that there’s something Spencer hasn’t told you.

“What can I get you guys?”

Spencer shrugs, defaulting to JJ and Emily. Penelope pipes up, eyes bright as she peers at the menu above you.

“Do you have matcha, sweetheart? I’ve been meaning to try that. It’s great for your skin.” You nod, pulling a cup out and inscribing Penelope’s name on it. JJ and Emily both order americanos, exchanging a sheepish grin. After setting their cups aside, you turn to Spencer.

“Genius, you should really try the matcha. It’ll give you brain power. Not that you need any more.” Penelope does jazz hands to emphasize her excitement, and Spencer shrugs. You watch them interact for a moment before you realize he’s turned to you for your approval.

“Oh. I really like matcha. It’s green tea, and a matcha latte tastes light and sweet. I think you’d like it.” He nods, and orders it hot. Penelope orders iced; you smile as you consider that they compliment each other, eventually turning away to prepare everyone’s drinks. They’re all relatively simple, and you manage to include latte art in the hot drinks. Spencer’s is last, and you flick your wrist to finish the design. Crossing the bar, you hand each agent their drink in turn.

Penelope sips at her drink first, the bright green matching one of her rings perfectly. Spencer eyes his dubiously, poking at it with a wooden stirring stick.

“It’s very green.” He whispers to Penelope, who cackles in response.

JJ catches your eye as you watch, lingering between the bar and their seats. With a smile, she waves you over.

“You’ve totally ruined other coffee for Spence. We had to come try it for ourselves.” She whispers, leaning down. You aren’t sure how to feel about her tone; there’s a glint of something in her eye, something playfully secretive. You’re not sure what part of this you’re not in on.The idea of Spencer mentioning you at all is foreign—sure, you’ve told your roommates, and your coworkers found out that you do, in fact, have a favorite regular. Still, you never considered the idea that you bleed into other parts of his life. You steal a glance at him while JJ compliments her americano. He’s sipping at his matcha, a green mustache left behind.

“You have a magic touch, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever had coffee this good in the states.” Emily flashes you a grin as if she can sense your nervousness. You relax a little, asking her about her work abroad instead of getting lost in your head. She strikes you as a diplomat, and a compliment from her feels like something to be savored. Penelope raves to you about the health benefits of matcha, and you immediately feel welcomed by her. If you were to run a study comparing the approachability between pink polka dots and pantsuits, you're sure that polka dots would win.

“Are you an agent, too?” You ask, stirring your own iced coffee with a straw. Eyeing the clock, you’ve decided that this counts as your break. Tyler be damned. Penelope giggles, shaking her head.

“Oh God no. Well, technically. I’m a technical analyst, so I work on the computer and tech end of things.” She explains, and you nod. It makes a lot of sense. While both JJ and Emily exude the energy of most cops—authoritative, with a critical eye—Garcia does’t fit that mold. It’s this that draws you to her.

You learn that JJ has a son named Henry, a surprisingly Southern boyfriend to match, and that Emily has a cat named Sergio. Despite their highbrow titles, you don’t feel out of place. It’s easy to sip at your coffee, the cup cool against your fingertips, and listen.

“Are you in school? Spence mentioned that you majored in literature.” JJ sets her cup down, flexing her fingers against the air. You feel yourself flush now that the attention is on you. The fact that he chose this detail to divulge sticks between your ribs. You haven't told him much about your work—he insisted on reading your thesis, and even reread the source material to better discuss it with you—but apparently, what you have discussed has made an impression.

“Yeah, actually. I’m in my second year of law school.” You admit. Emily nods in approval, reaching out to high five you.

“Damn. With all the assholes you deal with in customer service, you’ll make a great attorney.” You high five her with a small smile on your face, stealing a glance at Spencer. He seems elated, clearly enjoying the dynamic he’s observing.

“Do you want to go into criminal law?”

JJ asks, eyes wide with curiosity. You shake your head ruefully. They take it well, shrugging their shoulders. To their credit, their branch of law enforcement deals with the process prior to prosecution. You shudder at the idea of what happens after they catch the bad guys.

“No, not really. I’m looking at either the entertainment or environmental sector.”

The group murmurs, and the conversation devolves into small talk about law. You look to Spencer for an escape, and he suggests that they take a walk. Once the girls have trickled out of the room, each hugging you goodbye, you’re left alone with Spencer.

“Hey.”

You laugh at the simplicity of his greeting, turning to toss your empty coffee cup into the trash. Spencer flushes a deep shade of red, raking his hands through his hair.

“Your friends aren’t how I expected. Really cool, though. Especially for like, Quantico professionals.” You wipe the counter down, and the reality that you’re on the clock hits you, a little dizzily. Did his coworkers really just want to meet Spencer’s barista? The realization tastes a little bitter, and you bite back any further questioning in favor of looking up at him.

“Yeah. They’re like family.” He looks out the window, hands deep in his pockets. His whole demeanor is stiff, and you resist the urge to reach out and force his shoulders down from his ears.

“Did you like the matcha? I wasn’t sure you would. I used the oat milk you like.” Slowly, he relaxes. With a small smile, he nods.

“It was good. I like most teas, I’m finding. It wasn’t too sweet.” You add matcha to the mental list you keep, of drinks he likes. It’s become your mission to expand it. In the months since he started branching out, you’ve managed to add a few drinks to his core rotation.

“You know you’re one of my friends too, right?”

This catches you off guard. You pause in the motion of sweeping the floor, carefully raising your eyes to meet his. While nervous, he sounds sincere. When met with your silence, he continues.

“I just wanted you to know.”

You nod carefully. The implications of this are something you’ll consider later, when you’re alone. He’s only confirming something you’ve already known, but something about it stings. The word crosses your mind briefly, but it sticks. It’s bittersweet.

“I know.” Your voice is low, soft against the din of the coffee shop. Spencer doesn’t look satisfied, opening his mouth to say something then closing it again. He glances between you and the window.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

Apples & Lattes

A/N: Not requested or anything, but I have been in my fall and Marcus feels, so here we are. Its just a lot of sweet fluff, but I hope you all enjoy 💕🥰

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 7.6k

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“When are you going to finally settle down and get married?” you nearly choked on your wine as your mother calmly asked you the question you’d pointedly hoped wouldn’t happen. But here it was. Again. Just like so many other times.

Once you’d calmed down and cleared the sweet, red wine from your throat, you set your glass down and plastered the kindest smile you could muster up on your face. The air in the room was so thick with tension it was physically palpable, “I’m not.. I’m not even seeing anyone, Mom. I don’t think that’s a feasible question at this point.”

“But honey,” there was that sticky sweet and concerned tone again, “you’re getting older and still haven’t married. Aren’t you worried that you’ll end up alone? Why haven’t you found anyone yet?”

“Gee, thanks for the concern,” you sighed as you pushed your plate away, suddenly losing your appetite. You knew you shouldn’t have to come to Sunday Dinner at your parents’ house. Everyone else in the room was deathly silent - no was sure what to say or do, “but um, no, it’s never occurred to me. I don’t think about it, really.”

Oh, but you did. You just weren’t about to admit that to her just yet.

“Look at all your friends, and colleagues,” she wasn’t about the let issue go. Fantastic, you wanted to groan and slam your head onto the table then and there, “they’re all married, getting married, or starting their own families.”

“And that’s great for them,” you cut her off, “I’m just not there, and honestly, I don’t know if I ever will be. And that’s just fine by me. I don’t have to be like everyone else.”

“I just want you to be happy-”

“And I am,” you insisted. And you were - truly. But there was a part of you that did long for more... “really. I’m also busy with work - in case you’ve forgotten I run my own business. Besides, I just haven’t met anyone that’s really caught my eye.”

You’d gone on dates here and there, but no ever really seemed to be...the one. The one you’d be willing risk it all for and with. Sure, some were nice, really nice, and others were good for a night in bed, but you’d never deemed anyone worthy of more. Your time was precious, and you weren’t about to waste it on anyone just because, just so you could have a half hearted relationship that ultimately left you unfulfilled.

“Maybe you should be...less picky,” she suggested and you almost snorted laughter.

"Listen," you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping lucky against the wooden floor, "this has been great and all, but I'm going to go. I didn't come here to be berated and belittled because of choices I've made. If I wanted that, I'd serve a customer a wrong order. And no, mom, I'm not going to be less picky or lower my standards just to find someone and please you."

"What if you ever find someone? You're so arrogant and stubborn sometimes-"

"Then so be it," you tossed the napkin onto the table and gave everyone a mock bow before turning to leave, "and then I'll be a lonely, but happy, old spinster!"

Before anyone of them could respond with so much as a sound, you stormed out of the room and out of the house, ready to be far, far away from them.

»»————-　♡　————-«

"Come on," you whispered under your breath as you reached for the last few apples on the branch. They were just out of your reach, and you were stretching precariously across the way trying to get them. The rickety old ladder under you wobbled slightly, but ignored its protests, reaching just a little more. These were the most perfect apples you had seen in some time and you needed them. Had to have them even.

Which was exactly why you were risking life and limb for them.

Finally, one of them came into contact with your gloved and you had made a small sound of triumph. But before you grab it and put in the bucket hanging from another of the branches, the ancient ladder decided it had had enough. And it started to tip over, causing you to do the same.

Everything happened so fast you almost didn't have to react, instead you braced yourself for the hard impact with the cold ground.

But it never came.

Instead you felt yourself securely enveloped in a pair of strong arms. When everything felt safe again, you slowly opened your eyes and peeked around to study your surroundings. Instead of the hard, dirty ground, you meet a pair of warm, soft chocolate eyes.

"Are you okay?" If his eyes were sweet and honeyed, then the voice that met your ears was even more so. You tried to find your own and tell him that yes, despite almost breaking your neck for some apples, you were just fine. But nothing came out - instead you stared at him, feeling a flush of warmth wash over you. He seemed concerned for a moment when you didn't respond but eventually you nodded and he gently set you back down, "there you are."

"I...ugh...erm...thank you," your voice finally seemed to return to as you bit your lip, suddenly feeling more shy than ever. Where was this suddenly coming from? Was it because you had quite literally fallen into the arms of one of the most handsome men you had ever seen? Possibly.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked with a warm chuckle. Slowly, ever so gently, he put his hand under your chin and tilted your face up to make sure there was no visible damage. His touch was like pure fire, sending a warmth and sparks throughout your veins.

"Yes," you said softly, giving him an affirmative nod, "just umm...apparently not very careful. Totally my own fault."

"That old thing wasn't helping," he gave the now ruined ladder a dismissal look, "it was ready to collapse at any moment."

"It didn't help that I was leaning over and trying to get those apples," you pointed at the few that remained, sighing heavily. You'd really wanted them, but now it looked like you'd have to leave them behind. Along with the rest that you had picked and left hanging in the bucket. Maybe you'd find some other good ones on another tree...

"Those?" he asked, pointing at the branch as you nodded sadly. A megawatt grin crossed his features as he walked over to the base of the tree, "the bucket - it's yours too?"

"Yes...I guess I should go back and get another ladder...hopefully they have some more," you were definitely more upset about your apples than you should have been. But hey, you'd been hunting for and picking apples for hours.

"No need," he said quickly. You were about to ask him what he meant but he quickly answered your silent question by climbing the tree and scaling the branch, effortlessly grabbing your bucket. But he didn't stop there - oh no. He siddled carefully along the branch and picked the remainder of your precious apples, setting them in the bucket along with the others.

Your mouth was open as you watched him in wonder, amazed by how effortless he made everything seem. Before you knew it, he was jumping down landing on his feet gracefully, a little smile on his face as you just watched him in awe.

"I believe these are yours," he said as he held out the bucket, filled to the brim with your treasures, "what's so special about these particular apples?"

"These are the perfect blend of tart and sweet," you said softly as you slowly took them from him, "for baking and making all sorts of pastries. They're hard to find around here and this orchard only has a few of the specific trees. So...I wanted to make sure I got them."

"And now you have them," he beamed at you as you struggled not to completely melt under his soft gaze, "I hope they serve you well. Do you do a lot of baking?”

"I-"

"Pike!" someone shouted as the man's face visibly contorted into a look of annoyance. You tried to hold back your giggles as he dramatically rolled his eyes, "we have to go!"

"I'll be right there!" he let out a long sigh before meeting your eyes again and giving you an almost apologetic look, to which you answered with a soft smile, "well, I guess this is goodbye."

"Thank you," you held out your hand for him to shake. He wasted no time in shaking it in his much larger one, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, "I appreciate you saving both my neck, literally and metaphorically, and getting my apples for me."

"Don't mention it," he said softly, "it was a pleasure to meet you. I didn't get your name and I -"

"Pike! Now!"

"Better get going," you jerked your head in the direction of the man that was shouting for him. Although, if you were being honest with yourself, you were reluctant to see him go, "thank you again."

He opened his mouth to say something else but instead his name was shouted yet again. Hanging his head in annoyance, he exhaled sharply through his nose, "any time..."

Not wanting him to get in any trouble, you took your apples and gave him one last wave before walking away. Your feet had never felt so heavy and every part of you was humming to turn around and go back to him. To at least get his name, first name anyways as you assumed Pike must have been his surname. But you didn't. Why bother? You'd never see him again and it wouldn't do well to dwell on him or what had happened. It was just an accident and he was a nice man that helped you. A one and done deal; it wasn't like you'd just met Prince Charming.

Then why did you want to turn around and run after him?

Marcus watched as you trekked away, wondering if there was actually a bounce in your step or if he was imagining it. He sighed deeply at what he already deemed the most annoying thing to happen in a long time. As he watched you, he realized that your scarf had fallen and been left on the ground. Marcus quickly picked it up, ready to rush after you and return it. But you were already gone. Clutching onto the soft, still slightly warm fabric, he tucked it into his pocket. One way or another he would find it and return it to you. He was an FBI agent for goodness sake, it should be an easy task.

"Pike!" Marcus cursed under his breath as he turned around to leave. He would find you again, he vowed, no matter what.

»»————-　♡　————-«

By the way the man called Pike had been living in your mind rent free for what seemed to be days, you'd think you'd have done a lot more than exchange a few words with him.

But alas.

You'd had your one interaction with him and the rest had been daydream fantasies. You'd even let your mind wander so far as to wonder what it would be like to kiss those plump pouty lips that were burned into your mind. You wondered if he was always so kind and thoughtful or if it had been a matter of convenient timing.

Or something...it was a random encounter and you were just glad he had been there to catch you.

As you another pie down to cool, you softly heard your name being called from the doorway. It was Sabrina, one of your several loyal employees, poking her head in and offering you a smile.

"What's up?" you asked as you wiped your hands on the rag over your shoulder before tossing it onto the counter.

"There's someone here to see you," there was something about the little grin on her face that had you intrigued. You tilted your head curiously, "just..come on."

"I'm busy with-"

"Come on," she innocently with wide eyes as you laughed lightly, amused by her persistence. You didn’t normally have people come and directly ask for you...not unless it was an off moment and someone was mad about something trivial, “the apple pies can wait.”

“I almost died for these apples,” you joked, stripping off your apron and laying it down on the counter, “this better be worth it.”

“Oh, I think it will be,” she promised as she held the door open for you and let you go in front of her. As you walked up to the counter, you prepared to put on your best customer service voice, hoping whatever little problem it was could be solved with a smile and a slice of pie.

As the person came into view, your mouth dropped open as he quickly locked eyes with you. His own mouth quickly turned into a grin, his warm, soft eyes almost twinkling.

“Hi,” you barely managed to choke out as you walked over to him. You hadn’t expected to see him again. Ever. But here he was, in your own little coffee shop out of all the places in the world. This had to be some sort of dream, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Hi,” he replied, producing his hand from behind his back, holding out your scarf to you. In all honesty, you’d completely forgotten about it, having made peace with the face that you’d probably lost it somewhere. But this was most definitely a welcome surprise. Your favorite scarf back - and hand delivered by a handsome man? This was definitely too good to be true, “you dropped this at the orchard last weekend. I wanted to make sure you had it back.”

“Thank you so much,” you gently took it from him, clutching the soft fabric tightly to your chest.

"You found me..." you said softly, amazed by his sleuthing skills. You hadn't even gotten the chance to give him your name and he had still found you. But then again...surely a coincidence..."how did you manage that? I didn't even get a chance to give you my name..."

"Well, it's kind of a part of the job," he said as you raised an eyebrow at him. His mouth formed a small o as his cheeks took on a pink tinge, "I realize that doesn't quite sound right. I swear I'm not some sort of stalker."

"That sounds like exactly what a stalker would say," you laughed as he hung his head in mock defeat, "even if you are, it was very kind of you to return my scarf."

"FBI," he admitted softly under his breath as you mulled it over. It would explain the suit, which you thought fit him perfectly, but then you caught a quick peek of a badge under the jacket. You were sure it said FBI on it. Maybe he was legit, "I work for the FBI."

"How perfectly mysterious," you teased with a small wink, "all this trouble for a scarf? I'm just curious...how did you put it all together?"

"Itwasformorethanthescarf," he mumbled so quickly you weren't able to quickly catch everything. Before you could ask him for clarification, however, he continued, "it wasn't hard really."

"Oh?" you grinned, "do tell. If you've got the time, of course..."

"I do actually-"

"Wait!" you almost jumped in excitement as a wicked little idea crossed your mind, "do you like apple pie?"

"Its my favorite," he admitted shyly.

"Great," you beamed at him, "I have fresh apple pie, with the apples from last weekend! You have to try it. How do you take your coffee?"

“A little bit of cream and a healthy amount of sugar,” you couldn’t help but grin at the simple order, thinking it suited him perfectly. You motioned for him to sit at a quiet little table in the corner as you got to work. You could feel his kind eyes on you the entire time as you prepared your coffees, hoping you made it to his liking.

Sabrina must have been lurking nearby and listening as she popped out with two plates of warm, fresh pie. Flashing you an innocent smile, she flounced over to Marcus, and set the pie down with an overly cheery smile.

“He’s cute,” she whispered as she pushed past you, “you’ve finally found a keeper it appears.”

“I don’t...no,” you insisted as you grabbed a mug in each hand, “he’s not...I don’t know him.”

“Oh, but you will,” she winked before waving at a newly arrived customer and going to attend to them.

You bit your lip, letting out a long sigh before turning around to go back to him. You weren’t going to get lost in your little daydream fantasies...not yet at least.

“Here you are,” you set the coffee in front of him as you took the seat across from him, “I hope it’s okay.”

“Perfect,” he promised as he took a long sip. Grabbing a fork, he looked at the pie as you encouraged him to take a bite. He took a big forkful, giving it a thorough look over before putting it into his mouth. Almost fighting back a moan at how sinfully delicious the pie was, all he could do was nod before taking another heaping bit. You had been right, these apples made for some delicious, maybe the most delicious pie he had ever eaten, “holy shit.”

“Good, right?” your voice was singsong sweet as you took a bite from your own plate. His eyes were wide as all he could do was devour the remainder of his plate, “I’m telling you, it’s the apples, they make all the difference.”

“I can see why you were willing to break your neck for them,” he agreed. You’d converted another one, “I’m glad you didn’t though…”

“Me too,” you stared at your plate for a moment, “otherwise no one else would be able to make this delicious pie. Now tell me, mysterious FBI Agent, how did you find me?”

“It was simple,” he admitted, “all I did was look up the apples, and low and behold, an article about the woman that loves to use them for her renowned pies popped up. It just so happens that it was the same woman that fell into my arms when foraging for said apples. And she owns a café in the city where I work. I took it as a sign.”

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you listened to him. You should have realized it would really be simple for anyone to find you, but the fact that it was him just sent a spark through your veins. He had chosen to go through all of this trouble for you, “ahh, well, I should have realized it would be easy to find me. Either way, thank you for going through all of this trouble to bring back my scarf.”

“Any time,” he promised like it had been no big deal in the slightest. To him it wasn’t, not for you anyway. That much he already decided. He said your name softly and you wanted to melt then and there. That voice. That honeyed, sofy baritone already did a number on you, “I was wondering-”

“Hold on,” you licked some of the pie filing off of your fork as you waggled it at him, “you know my name now, but I still don’t know yours. Although if I remember correctly, that annoying man that called you away kept calling you Pike.”

“Marcus Pike,” he confirmed, holding his hand across the table for you to shake. You eagerly took it, trying not to marvel at how large and soft his was, “or Agent Pike. But you can call me Marcus.”

“Marcus,” you repeated his name, deciding you liked how it sounded, especially coming from him, “I like it. It suits you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, “umm, I’m sorry, I interrupted you earlier, what were you going to ask?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to-”

“Boss!” Sabrina had the most impeccable timing as she poked her head back out from the kitchen, “I need your help. I’m having trouble with the oven…”

“Can it wait a few moments? I’m sure it’s-”

“Fire,” she said meekly, “small fire, but fire…”

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath as you jumped to your feet, instructing her to get the fire extinguisher, “I’m so sorry to cut this short, but I gotta go. It was nice to see you, Marcus. Thank you...for everything. I really appreciate it. You can just leave your plate and mug, I’ll grab them later.”

“No problem,” he said as he watched you all but run away, sighing lightly to himself. More perfect timing. He drummed his fingers along the table before stacking the plates and grabbing your mugs and taking them to the spot you had designated for dirty dishes, despite what you had told him. Before he walked out, he got a quick burst of genius as he quickly grabbed a napkin and the pen from his suit pocket, scribbling down his phone number. He leaned over the counter and tucked it near the register, hoping you would see it and know it was from him.

He hoped you would keep it and get back to him.

He hoped, he hoped, he hoped.

»»————-　♡　————-«

Several weeks had passed since you had fallen for Marcus. Literally of course. The jury was still out on the metaphorical part. Okay...that was probably true too. He was living rent free in your mind, occupying many of your thoughts throughout the day.

You’d found his number and after finally convincing yourself to text him, you found yourself exchanging texts with him throughout the day. It was on and off of course, with you at the cafe and him at the FBI, but was nice. It always brought a smile to your face to see a text from him.

It had even led to him asking to take you out on a date, a proper date.

You said yes, naturally.

But that was almost three weeks ago, and the date had yet to happen.

The first time you got ready to go out with Marcus, he canceled at the last moment. You were already all dressed and ready, makeup and hair done when you'd gotten the hectic call. It was work, naturally, and you couldn't blame the FBI agent. He sounded genuinely upset to cancel, but promised he'd make it up to you soon. At least you'd gotten some decent selfies out of night, even if you ended up eating Chinese takeout and watching Netflix.

The second time, you had to cancel on Marcus. It was the morning of your redo date night, and you had found at the last moment that a well known food journalist wanted to interview you. You were reluctant to go and cancel again, but Marcus had been more than encouraging. So you went and Marcus ordered a pizza and binge watched some cooking shows on TV.

The third time it was a mutual cancelation. Marcus' parents came to surprise with a visit and you ended up with a stomach bug. Both of you were reluctant to cancel, and swore the next time it would work out.

It had to, right? Surely things would happen this time.

But no.

The fourth time around, you were both thoroughly determined to make things work. It was going to work out this time. It had to.

But once again, fate had different plans.

You and Marcus had made all of your plans, and you'd decided to leave work early to go home and get ready for your date, and were ready to finally spend time with him. But it turns out the restaurant you'd selected was booked for the evening and your reservation had been given away. Marcus had a last minute briefing for a big case he was working. Once again, the universe had decided it was not meant to be.

Maybe...maybe it wasn't meant to be at all.

"Why do you look so upset?" Sabrina asked as the two of you set up some Christmas decorations around the shop, "you look like you're going to burst into tears any second."

"I'm just..." you were cut off by the sound of the bell, signaling a new customer. You quickly told her you would handle it as you walked up the counter. But your dismay quickly turned into hope and butterflies when you saw that it was none other than Marcus, "hi."

"Hi," you'd already forgotten just how much you adored that soft, gentle smile.

"What...are you doing here?"

"Well, my meeting ended early," he explained, "and I figured that even though our reservations were canceled, we could still have our date...finally."

"Really?" you tried to contain the pure delight that was flowing through veins as he slowly nodded, "I'd love to but-"

"We can handle things from here, boss!"

"I'd love to," you beamed at him, "I'm just...little underdressed."

"I know its nothing fancy," he started as you pulled off your apron and tossed behind the counter, "but I was thinking you could come over to mine? I don't want to brag but I'm a pretty good cook, and I've got some new wine I've been meaning to try. I hope this isn't too forward, I just thought a quiet evening in would be nice."

"I'd love to," you agreed eagerly. Sure, you'd only talked to him mostly through text or on the phone at this point, but you already liked him a lot - trusted him, "it will be nice to finally have our date. I was starting to feel like the universe might be against us."

"Everything happens as it should and when it should," he promised as you grabbed your purse, "and by the way, I think you look beautiful."

You didn't even bother to try and hide your smile at that point.

As it turned out, Marcus was an excellent cook, and the wine was indeed delicious.

You spent the night at his, despite your original intentions, but one thing led to another and soon enough you were in his bed, unsure where you ended and he began.

It was the first of my many such nights.

»»————-　♡　————-«

Falling in love with Marcus was easy. You didn't even have to think about it. It started out as a slow, gradual thing which soon blossomed into something you had never experienced before. At first it was scary, but like with everything else, Marcus made it wonderful.

At first it was things like good morning and good night texts. Then it was him randomly popping in to see you during his lunch breaks or you stopping into his office when you had some downtime.

Then it was the random evenings spent together - he stopped by your apartment with your favorite take out if he knew you'd had a rough day. You'd let yourself into his if you knew he was working late and make dinner and dessert.

It was the late nights spent watching silly movies or having a catch up on your favorite shows. It was lazy Sunday mornings spent in the kitchen the two of you cooking and dancing to slow music that was on in the background. It was Saturdays spent exploring new places and cities, or spending the day in bed, tangled up in each other.

It was the way he seemed to say I love you in a million different ways, without even saying the words. But he spoke them all the time as well, and you never once doubted their truthfulness.

»»————-　♡　————-«

Soon the fall turned to winter which turned to spring. In the spring was when he asked you a huge question.

"Move in with me?" it was so soft, so gentle, and completely out of the blue. You were laying in bed on a Sunday morning, the sun streaming in through the large, open window, along with the cool, crisp air. Marcus had his coffee on the nightstand as he read the morning paper and you were laying on his chest, watching the morning news. It was the perfect slow, lazy morning.

"What?" you asked as you turned your face to look up at him, a confused expression on your face. Surely you hadn't heard him correctly...

"I asked if you'd move in with me," he repeated casually, flipping to the next page of the paper. He was putting on a cool façade, but the corners of his mouth were tugging into a nervous little smile.

"Do you mean it?" you asked softly, pressing a kiss to the soft, golden skin of his bare chest. He peeked over the paper and slowly nodded before you snatched it gently out of his hands and tossed it to the side, "really?"

"Of course," he grinned, "we already send most nights together, and half of your stuff is already here...I just think it makes sense. But if you'd rather not, or wait, I understand too."

"No," you said firmly, swinging your legs over him so you were straddling his waist. You leaned down and kissed him softly, his lips melding against your own, "I want to, Marcus. Really."

"Not too soon?" he asked as he gently stroked your cheek.

"Perfect timing," you promised, "its like you always say, everything happens as it should and when it should."

And so within the month you were moved into his apartment, now yours as well.

It was easy to fall into a daily routine with him. And getting to fall asleep and wake up next to your lover every day? It always seemed too good to be true.

»»————-　♡　————-«

The apartment that became your home soon turned into a small, quaint house that the two of you got together. Although the apartment had become yours just as much as his, this was the next chapter of your lives, which you were fully ready to embrace.

It had been two falls ago that you'd met Marcus, and while it had been your favorite season before, it most definitely was now.

You didn't know what you did to deserve Marcus, but you were so glad you did. Waiting for him had been entirely worth it.

"Catch up babe," you called to Marcus as he trailed behind you, a metal ladder tucked under his arm. Ever since your encounter with the rickety wooden ladder that you had falling into his arms and life, he'd insisted on a sturdy metal one.

"I'm coming," he promised, a smile on his face, his cheeks tinged pink from the cool breeze, "besides, I'm enjoying the view!"

"Cheeky," you slowed and waited for him to catch up, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he did so, "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he said softly as he leaned the ladder against the base of your favorite tree. The very tree you'd fallen from during your first meeting, "let me go and check the apples. They look promising this year."

"They'll make the best pies ever," you agreed as he slowly climbed up and took the buckets from you.

"May this year you'll teach me the secret recipe," he said as he disappeared into some of the leaves.

"Nope," you teased gently, "it's Nana's secret. Only family can know it."

"We're practically family," he laughed as he poked his head down to peer at you.

"That may be so, my love," you agreed, "but you have to make an honest woman out of me first. Nana's rules."

"Oh, I will," he promised as your cheeks flushed with warmth. You had meant it mostly as a joke, but there was something about the tone in his voice that suggested he wasn't, "I'm going to marry you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm," he insisted as he gently climbed down the ladder, landing on his feet with a small plop, "I am going to marry the hell out of you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Agent Pike," you teased as you traded places with him and got ready to climb the ladder to start picking your prized apples. He stopped you for a moment, his hand on your neck as he pulled you in for a passionate, but gentle kiss. It was the kind that still managed to steal the breath from your lungs and thoughts from your mind, even after two years. You hoped it always would. You were sure it always would.

"I would never do such a thing, sweetheart," he whispered against your lips, "now go and pick your apples. I'll be here to catch you if you fall. Always."

"My hero," you grinned before starting your ascent, already keeping an eye open for the best apples of all.

As you searched, you noticed that Marcus seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet. You decided not to worry about it, attributing it to tiredness and a late night...but if it continued on, you'd ask soon.

"Anything good?"

"Hmmm..." your brows were furrowed in concentration as you reached for a few partially obscured apples. But instead of the soft roundness you were used to, felt something square and almost velvety. A small sound of triumph escaped your lips as you grabbed it...but then you slowly lost your balance and felt yourself slipping from the ladder.

"Sweetheart!" just like he had before, Marcus gently caught you in his arms. You looked at him with a sheepish grin as you wrapped your arms around his neck, "are you okay?"

"Right as rain," you beamed, "I guess some things never change, huh?"

"I'll take a lifetime of catching you," he said softly, "what happened?"

"I felt something," you said triumphantly as you displayed the little square box. As you studied it, you quickly realized it was...a jewelry box, "what is...how did this..."

"Open it," Marcus insisted as he slowly set you back onto the ground. You looked at him with wide eyes as he nodded. You popped the box open slowly, your breath taken away almost instantly.

Nestled safely into a soft, black velvet cushion was a beautiful diamond ring. It was simple, almost understated but elegant, nothing too large and garish. It was your favorite cut and color, both of which you'd only mentioned to Marcus in passing. You never thought he'd remember...or were you expecting this.

"Marcus," you were struggling to hold back your tears as you looked between him and the ring, "this is...are you..."

"Sweetheart," he delicately took the box from your hands, and pulled the ring out as he got down on one knee. This was happening. This was actually happening. He let out a shaky breath as he reached for your hand, "I love you more than words can describe. You have made me so, so happy. The past two years with you have been the best, and I hope we have so many more of them. I'm glad you fell into my arms then and today. I will always be there to make sure you're safe. So, in order to learn your Nana's secret recipe and to make you an honest woman and me the happiest man, will you marry me?"

"Yes," it came out without hesitation, without a second thought or single reservation, "yes, I'll marry you. I love you so much, Marcus."

"Really?" he had been so sure that you wouldn't say no, but the fact that you had said yes relieved all of the remaining fears he had. You nodded fervently as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. He quickly slipped the ring onto your finger before reaching up and wiping the tears away.

"Of course," you promised as you grabbed his face and kissed him, "I love you so much, Marcus. Everything - you are everything."

"I think that's you, sweetheart," he wrapped his arms around and held you tightly against him, "thank you."

"For what?" you laughed lightly, "you're always saving me!"

"You've helped me in so many ways," he promised, "I never thought...I never tonight I could love like this again. More than I ever have..."

"Me too," you promised, "I felt like I was gonna have to wait forever...waiting for you. That's what it really was. It was worth it. You were worth it. It's like you always say, everything happens how it's supposed to, when its supposed to."

"Exactly," he whispered softly, "I am so in love with you."

"And I you," you kissed him again, lingering against his lips as you took in all of him, "now - help me pick these apples or we won't be able to bake pies."

"We?"

"I guess you can know the recipe now," you grinned, "we're family. We've been family already."

"But not married yet," he said as he held the ladder for you.

"Close enough," you grinned, "I love you, Marcus."

"I love you, sweetheart."

»»————-　♡　————-«

“So when are you going to give us grandchildren?” as soon as the words hit you, you almost dropped the fork that was halfway to your mouth. Your face instantly warmed up as you turned to Marcus, ready to profusely apologize to him for your mother’s ever so straightforward nature. There was a tinge of pink in his cheeks as he gave you a little smile, “you’ll have such beautiful babies!”

“Mom,” you turned to her with wide eyes as Marcus put his hand on your thigh, tracing gentle, soothing circles onto the material of jeans, “we’ve only been married a few months. There’s no rush and it’s none of your business when and if we do.”

“I’m just saying, honey-”

“Mom,” you groaned and silently pleaded for her to stop. For once in her life she appeared to understand what you were saying, “please.”

“You’re right,” she calmed herself down as she grabbed a glass of wine and quickly finished it, “it’s entirely your decision, when and if. Either way...I’m happy for you, both of you. You truly deserve it. I know it took a long time, but I’m so glad you found your sweet Marcus.”

“Me too,” you agreed, calming down ever so slightly, “he was worth the wait.”

“I had you falling for me from the start,” he teased as he looked at you with the sweetest eyes, and the silliest of grins.

“You’re the worst,” you proclaimed, unable to contain your own laughter, “but I’m glad for that rickety ladder, and the almost lost scarf. Look at what it got me - the best part of my life.”

“I love you,” he whispered as everyone around the table awed at the two of you.

“I love you too,” you replied softly as you turned back to your plate, “now let’s get onto something else. Who all is going to come and pick apples with me for the shop this weekend?”

»»————-　♡　————-«

“I’m sorry about all that,” you sighed, shaking your head at your mother’s antics as you walked hand in hand with Marcus to your favorite little dessert spot. It was late, but not too late, so you’d both decided that a little sweet treat was necessary. And you had something else on your mind that you wanted to tell him as well, and figured it was best to do so when it was just the two of you, “she’s a little much...a lot much.”

“Don’t worry,” he gave your hand a spot squeeze, “you know my mother is just as bad.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t do it in front of half the family and basically ask when we’re going to have planned sex!”

“So we shouldn’t tell her we have sex all the time?” he gently nudged your side as a smile worked its way back onto your face. That was definitely not a lie...like everything between the two of you, the sex was good, very good, and plentiful.

“I’d rather not,” you chuckled, suddenly feeling nervous about sharing your news with him. Naturally the two of you had discussed the possibility of children, and it was something that the two of you both wanted, but were not in a hurry necessarily to get into. You weren’t actively trying to get pregnant, but you weren’t not trying to get pregnant. It would happen when it happened, the two of you had decided, and even the doctor had told you that it would sometimes take a while for it to happen, especially after coming off of birth control.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked after a few moments of silence. You’d been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you’d noticed that he’d been talking this whole, until there was nothing but silence on your end, “you’re thinking much too loudly.”

“I was just…” you tugged on his hand and he stopped, giving you a concerned expression. It wasn’t like you to just fall into silence and shyness. Marcus gave you that soft smile you were a sucker for before reaching you and gently touching your cheek, “you know I love you, right?”

“Of course,” he said fondly, “and I love you, sweetheart. I thought that was kind of obvious at this point, but if I need to keep reminding you, I have no problem with that. I will do all day, every day.”

“I...I’m pregnant,” you blurted it out before you could chicken out and wait for a different time. You wanted to tell him, to share your nervous excitement with him, “I...surprise.”

“You’re pregnant?” he repeated, a million different expressions crossing his features as you nodded, trying to decipher his reaction. Gods, you hoped he wouldn’t be upset, or think it was too soon. While it was true you’d only been Mr. and Mrs. Pike for a few months, you’d been together for several years now. Surely, this wouldn’t be upsetting...but in the moment you were questioning everything, and suddenly felt sick to your stomach, “pregnant.”

“Yes,” you breathed out anxiously, “I found out a few days ago. I just...I was trying to find the right time to tell you. And then my mom...of course she’d ask now, and it just…everything feels so overwhelming and I’m so nervous and scared and I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t want you to be mad or upset…”

“Mad?” he asked incredulously as he took your face in his hands, “I could never, ever be mad at you. Especially not with something like this.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No,” he promised, “I’m happy...so happy. This is wonderful news - the only other day that could compare was the day we met and you fell into my arms...or the day you said yes to marrying me...or our wedding. But this? This is amazing.”

“I just...I didn’t think it would happen so soon,” you admitted, “I just got off birth control and they told me it could take a while, and I thought we’d be fine with waiting, you know? Like it would happen when it would happen. And then boom - pregnant.”

“Everything happens just as it should,” he promised, closing the minuscule gap between your faces and pressing his lips gently to yours, “I love you, so much. Nothing is ever going to change that. Now it’s you, and our baby.”

He slowly slid his hand down to your waist and then over your still nonexistent belly, a small, contented sigh escaping his lips. You leaned into his touch, burying your face into his chest, “I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re excited, I am too. Nervous but excited.”

“And we’ll figure this all out together,” he promised, “you know I’m with you, every step of the way.”

“I’m so...I’m so lucky you’re in my life, Marcus,” you said softly, “you came along right when I needed you, when it was supposed to happen.”

“Like I always say, things happen as they should,” he wrapped his arms around you before kissing the crown of your head, “you have made me happier than I could have ever imagined. Just out of curiosity, how far along are you?”

“Almost nine weeks,” you admitted sheepishly, grinning at him. You could see him doing some quick math in his head, “yeah, I will admit I wasn’t the fastest on the uptake on that one.”

“Nine weeks,” he repeated, “so you got pregnant like right after you got off birth control.”

“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “it didn’t take much at all. Guess that means we got lucky...or something. Who knows, maybe we’ll end up with a whole little gang of baby Pikes.”

“I’m not opposed to that idea,” his eyes practically lit up at the idea. You didn’t care if you ended up with one or more, as long as they were happy and healthy. But you wouldn’t complain about more either, especially if they took after Marcus. Marcus, the kind hearted, handsome love of your life. You kissed him softly, wishing this moment never had to end, “but we’ll take it as it comes.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “we can do it all together.”

“We’re a team,” he promised, “now, are you the two of you ready for some ice cream?”

“Sounds perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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cicissketchbook · 3 years

Text

Y’all wanna read my Apritello story?

So sometimes when my artistic drive is down, the writing bug will come bite me. I’ve been working on an Apritello story for awhile that currently has three chapters that are up on my Patreon. Eventually I’ll post it publicly, but I want my patrons to have early access. Anyway here’s an excerpt from the first chapter.

It’s kind of angsty.

The summary is, April invites Donnie to join her for a long weekend at the farmhouse, which sounds romantic until you consider that she’s been plagued with visions of his accidental death and is desperate to stop it from happening.

To say there was tension in the air was a drastic understatement. Truthfully, things had been tense for a while. Blame it on cabin fever, or perhaps they were outgrowing their sewer lair, but the brothers had been quick to jump down each other’s throats.

Leo was especially on edge, and not unlike how it had been since they were kids, his mood had set the tone for everyone else. One thing that differed from childhood though, was that he had been butting heads with Donnie, while Raph remained a mostly neutral third party.

There was the knowledge that they were getting older and they all had desires to get out there and live their own lives, and then the realization that doing so wasn’t really possible for them in the world they lived in. They wanted what any young adults would want, but they were mutants. The world still saw them as freaks. They couldn’t lead normal lives the way they wanted to. They knew this, they had known this all their lives. They had all been on the same page about it. They realized that living their lives in the sewer, at least most of it, was probably in the cards. April had always contested this idea, believing that the world would accept them in time. It’s not like people didn’t know mutants existed, but the turtles weren’t willing to take the risk. It’s not like they couldn’t go out and do things like they always had, but leaving the nest for good just wasn’t feasible. And they were content with this. The sewer was all they’d ever known. They’d always been together and they were happy to always be together.

But like all families, arguments were inevitable. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all. And they were accustom to bickering. But… it was different now. Leo seemed ready to explode at the drop of a pen, Raph never seemed to be able to find enough alone time, Donnie felt like he brought more to the table than the other three combined, and Mikey… sweet Mikey was such an incurable optimist that he sought to find the positive in every situation, but they knew he did this to mask his depression.

If asked what they were arguing about today, the simple answer would be that they were all just getting on each other’s nerves. Donnie couldn’t even remember how the argument started because they fought about trivial things so frequently, but he remembered the thing that Leo said that set him off.

“God, why is it so hard for you to just do your part? Why do we have to pick up your slack?”

Donnie was silent for a moment, almost unsure he’d heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you never fucking help out with anything!” Leo’s tone implied that there was something else he was upset about that he wasn’t speaking of.

Donnie, by his best effort, kept his voice calm and composed. “I’m sorry, are you referring to three days ago when I didn’t help clean up the disaster in the kitchen because I was literally putting the microwave back together? Or perhaps last week when you left a mess for me to clean up that you all made while I wasn’t even here? And then you got mad when I didn’t?”

Leo seemed to get more aggravated at the mention of Donnie not being there, but continued on. “C’mon man, there are four of us that live here, it’s really not asking too much for everyone to help clean up around here.”

“Dude, I clean up after myself more than anyone. The difference is, when I make a mess, it’s in my lab rather than communal space and-“

“Oh, right, I forgot. The huge space you have that’s your’s. That none of us have.” Leo turned to their other brothers who sat near by. “Hey Raph, other than your tiny bedroom, do you have your own creative space that you can do whatever you want in? Mikey, how about you?”

Raph hadn’t spoken, but seemed invested in the exchange his brothers were having. It was impossible to tell who’s side he was on. Before Mikey could speak, Raph stopped him and said firmly, “Leave us out of this, man.”

“So now your mad at me… because of my lab?”

Leo paused, not making eye contact, before he huffed. “No.” He admitted quietly.

Normally, Donnie was used to these arguments making little or no sense, but Leo seemed genuinely angry and he couldn’t understand why.

“Bro, what is up?” He demanded. “Why are you actually so upset?”

“I just…” Leo started. Donnie could tell there was something he didn’t want to say. Leo crossed his arms and turned away from his brother. “I just want to know… where your priorities are.”

“My priorities?” Donnie was trying not to lose his patience. He had no idea where this was coming from nor where it was going. Which meant one of two things. Either there was something his brother wasn’t telling him, or this was in fact going no where. Like, this had started out a fight about cleaning duties, and now he’s talking about priorities. If Leo did have a point, he wanted him to hurry up and make it because this argument seemed like a waste of time.

“It just…” Leo blew another huff through his nose. “It just seems like… you are… distancing yourself from us, Donnie.”

This statement completely threw Don for a loop. He hadn’t expected that at all. “What in the world are you talking about?” He asked, truly bewildered by the turn in conversation. “Because I don’t want to clean up messes that aren’t mine? Like what the hell-?”

“No, obviously it’s not that. It’s alot of things.” Leo spoke quieter now, not as impassioned.

“Well, I would love to know what those things are, because I am completely lost here.”

“You never want to hang out with us anymore, and when you do, you act like you’d rather be doing anything else-“

Donnie cut him off with a humorless chuckle. “We’re brothers, we all get on each other’s nerves.”

“And I get that, but we do all still live together and we all need to contribute to the household chores, and you’ve just been acting like you are so far above doing any type of housework that doesn’t directly effect you.”

“Well, excuse me Leo, sorry if when it rains and the power get knocked out and I have to go topside by myself in the cold pouring rain to fix the power line, I don’t also want to have to mop up the leak in the kitchen when none of you did anything to help!”

“Okay, you keep bring up specific instances, but I’m talking about in general-“

“No, you’re talking alot of nonsense is what you’re doing!” Donnie’s lack of patience was starting to show. “First you’re mad that you think I don’t clean enough, then you’re mad that I have a lab and you don’t? Then you say I’m distancing myself from you all…?” Donnie stood and made a move like he was going to walk away. “If you have something to say, Leo, you better just say it because this whole conversation seems like a waste of time to me. It’s late and I’m tired, so make your point, or I’m going to bed.”

“Are you distancing yourself from us because of April?”

Donnie had already started walking away, as he didn’t expect Leo to actually have a point, so he was halted to a standstill at his words. “What does she have to do with anything?”

Leo looked away again, like he didn’t actually want to have this conversation. After a moment, he sighed and continued without making eye contact. “It just seems like… I mean… I thought we were all on the same page here. We’ve had this discussion, a long time ago. We aren’t…. Human. We’re getting older and it makes sense that we’d want to start living our own lives, but… we can’t. Not really. The world doesn’t accept us, so staying down here is just how it has to be. I thought we had agreed on that. That no matter what the world thought of us, no matter that we can’t lead normal lives, at least we all had each other. But… now it seems like you have other plans, Donnie.”

He finally looked at his brother and Donnie could see the emotions in his eyes. Nothing of what he said had been new information, of course. Donnie knew, painfully well, that the world saw them as freaks and being “normal” was not a luxury they’d ever be able to have. Alot of their friends were at the point where they were starting to branch off, which didn’t help. Karai and Shinigami were currently back in Japan. It was just a visit, but the kind of visit that lasted for a month or two. Casey had gotten a hockey scholarship for a different school than the one April attended. He was trying to go pro, so he poured all his time and attention into practicing. He still came around, but not like he used to. Mona Lisa had left Earth awhile ago, also with promise to return, but they hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks. They were sure it was just a new mission she had, but that didn’t make Raph feel any better. April was the only one who still came around all the time. With most of their enemies gone, everyone was moving on and it felt like the world didn’t need them anymore.

The pain in Leo’s voice would’ve normal made Donnie want to hug him, but it was the accusation that he couldn’t get over.

“Leo…” He gestured non threateningly with his hands. “Why are you acting like I’m not literally living down here in the sewers right along with you? And I still don’t see what April has to do with anything-”

“Okay, I’m going to jump in here.” Raph said unexpectedly. “Look, Dude, I know we don’t… we don’t say it enough but… we would be up schitts creek without a paddle without you.” He crossed the room to give Leo a lighthearted punch in the arm. “Wouldn’t we, Leo?”

“…Yeah.”

“So because of that, the idea of you leaving is…. It’s scary.” Raph admitted. He was going to say something else, but Donnie interrupted.

“I’m not going anywhere! What in the actually hell are you guys talking about?!”

Leo rolled his eyes, apparently getting annoyed again. “Don, can we please stop pretending like you’re not going to marry April and then move in with her?”

Donnie froze. To say they touched a nerve was an understatement. April was his best friend, but truthfully, it was very painful to be her friend sometimes. His feelings for her were still just as intense as ever, but for different reason now. In his youth, he’d maintained a kind of innocent hopefulness that they would someday be together, and he never even really thought of the details of how. He knew, even back then, that it wasn’t that simple and when he really thought about it, nothing about it made sense. Which is why he didn’t think about it. Now though, after some soul searching and dropping into a deep depression which he was starting to get better from, he’d resigned himself to the reality that she would never be with him. He’d accepted it, and told himself that it was enough to just be her friend. But the truth was, that pain never went away. They had such a close friendship, they had developed such a level of comfort with each other, but he knew it would never be enough. The idea of never seeing her again was unbearable, but to be so close to her, knowing that it was as close as he would ever get… it was torture. He didn’t care though, he just couldn’t let her go.

What really hurt was when she would talk about the next stage in her life. She was in school now, but with her grades and what she was studying, she could go anywhere. She wanted to travel, she spoke of it often. She never made any committal remarks about moving away, other than when she talked about the farmhouse and saying how expensive it is to live in the city. Her dad had signed the property over to her for tax reasons, and she would’ve inherited it anyway. She wanted to renovate it.

He was only vaguely aware that Raph and Leo were still talking.

“It’s not like we’re mad at you for finding love, that’s not it at all!” Raph was saying, obviously more concerned than Leo about ruffling his brother’s feathers. “It’s just, we need to be realistic about what would happen if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah, and the reality is, frankly, I think we all feel left behind by our friends, but we didn’t think our clan would be breaking up as well!” Leo threw his hands up, finally letting his true feelings out. “I mean, all we have is each other, we’re the last of the Hamato clan! I can’t let this clan die, I just can’t.”

“Why do you guys feel the need to do that?”

They stopped, taken aback by how low and serious Donnie’s voice was. He was done barking, he looked ready to bite.

“Do what?”

Donnie’s chest felt tight and he had to taken in a sharp breath through his nose to keep his cool. “Why do you guys feel the need to not only remind me of my unrequited feelings for my… our best friend… but now, you’re holding it against me?”

Raph looked concerned at first, but then sighed. “Donnie, c’mon, don’t act like you wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to get out of here. April isn’t going to stay in New York forever.”

The statement, while probably true, hurt to hear. “What does that have to do with me?” He said, quieter this time. “I can’t help what April does.”

“Dude, she is literally planning her future with you in it. Have you not noticed that?” Leo nearly screamed. “You have the opportunity to get out of here and do something with your life, and we’ll be-“

“No she’s not!” Donnie shouted back. “Are you guys smoking crack or something? Don’t say that shit to me! April doesn’t…” He paused, his words getting caught in his throat. “April doesn’t want me. I thought we’d been over this.”

Mikey, who hadn’t yet spoke, immediately picked up on how much pain Donnie was in. “Hey guys, let’s just drop it, yeah?”

Leo pressed on as if his youngest brother hadn’t spoken. “Maybe she didn’t five years ago, but she sure as shit does now.” He didn’t seem bothered by Donnie visible cringe. “I mean, dude, you’ve spent the night, alone at her house.”

“So has Mikey. And Raph once, I think.” Donnie said quietly, and Raph nodded in confirmation. “And she’s spent the night here a billion times, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Mikey and Raph didn’t sleep in her bed.” Leo said accusingly.

“I did.”

They all paused and turned to the youngest brother. Raph spoke. “You did?”

“Every time I go over there, I sleep in her bed.” Mikey said matter-o-factly. “Whenever… whenever I’m sad, she let’s me come over and… she’ll listen. She doesn’t try to offer solutions, she doesn’t try and tell me things to make me feel better, she just… listens. And that’s what helps me the most. Then we watch funny videos.”

None of them commented at first. They all knew Mikey struggled with depression, but he rarely, if ever, talked about it. They all had told him at some point that they were there if he needed to talk, but he never came to any of them. One might of thought that hearing that his brother shared a bed with April might make Donnie jealous, but quite the opposite, it made him very happy and appreciative to hear about it. It made sense that Mikey would be more comfortable talking to April than to any of them, and to know that she had been there for him was comforting. Donnie wanted that for his brother.

“See?” He said finally, more to Leo than anyone else. “April… she’s there for all of us. She cares about all of us… I’m not special.”

“Donnie, don’t say that.” Mikey offered and rose from his seat to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Donnie placed his own hand over Mikey’s and squeezed it, staring at the floor. “She cares about you the most. More than you know.”

“Mikey, please, please don’t.” He said through his teeth. “I can’t… I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation right now. You know how long it took me to accept the fact that I was kidding myself by thinking there could ever be something between us? Of course you guys know, which is why it is so baffling to me that you feel the need to do this.”

“So if April wanted you to move away with her, you wouldn’t do it?”

Raph punched Leo in the arm again. It was a strange thing, to see Raph scold Leo for being insensitive. Donnie had had enough though.

“I’m out of here.” He turned on his heel and heading towards the turnstiles.

...............

Yes, it’s NSFW, of course it is.

#TMNT 2012 #apritello #donatello #leonardo #raphael #michelangelo #mikey #raph #leo #donnie #apriltello #tmnt #fanfiction

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frostedfaves · 3 years

Text

Repercussions (10)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda take you out for a bit and you work on escaping.

Warnings: dark themes, staged suicide attempt, mental health discussion, angst

A/N: good morning/afternoon/night! enjoy this chapter of reader using a bit of what she’s learned from watching her girlfriends...

Previous part

A few days later, you woke up to find your shared bed empty as usual. Deciding to get a head start on whatever they had planned, you took a shower and got dressed, grabbing a bottle of water on your way out to one of the swings in the backyard. You were lying on your back, looking up through the tree branches to the sky when you felt gentle hands lifting your legs and placing them on a lap.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” Natasha spoke to you in a soothing tone, smiling when you sat up to meet her eyes. “Have you been up long?”

“Yeah,” you sighed heavily in response that caused her to frown. “Just wanted to sit outside for a while.”

“What’s wrong, baby? You seem different today.”

“I guess being stuck inside is making me feel all moody or whatever. I don’t know.”

“Well, today is grocery day,” she reminded you, rubbing her hand across your knee. “Did you make your list?”

“Yeah, it’s in the kitchen with the main one.”

“Good. Wanda’s just about ready, so let’s head to the car and wait for her.”

She moved your legs and stood up, grabbing your hands and pulling you onto your feet and into a kiss, a sweet one that had you smiling against her lips.

“There she is,” Natasha praised as she pulled away.

“Do I get one of those too?”

Natasha laughed when she spotted Wanda in the doorway, leading you over to the house and dropping a quick kiss on Wanda’s lips before continuing into the house without you.

“Printsessa,” Wanda began with a frown, intense gaze focused on your own as she touched your shoulders. “What’s going on? I could feel your bad mood across the yard.”

“It’s nothing, Wan. I think getting out to the store today may help.”

“I hope so. I hate seeing you like this.” Her hands slid toward the base of your neck, her touch warming your skin as she leaned in to peck your lips a few times. “Mm. Delicious as always, baby. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

You were given your list upon reaching the store, along with the freedom of shopping on your own. At first you noticed them hovering while you shopped, but they eventually backed off with time as they needed to grab their own things. You were quietly inspecting cereal boxes when you heard your name in a voice that made you freeze. Brittani.

“Hey.” She approached you quickly as you faced her. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days now. What was that?! Do you need help?”

“Britt, you shouldn’t be here,” you warned, keeping your eyes and ears open for one of your girlfriends. “I’m fine, but please leave while you can--”

“No. I can’t stand by knowing you’re in an abusive relationship.”

“That’s not what--”

“Here.” She quickly grabbed your hand and shoved a small object into your palm, closing your fingers around it. “It’s a burner. I programmed my number into it in case you need me, okay? I’m only here for another few days or so, but I won’t hesitate to fly back out here.”

“You don’t have to do all of that for me, okay?” you insisted after sliding the phone into your pocket discreetly. “I don’t need any help.”

“Y/N, please listen to me! I can…” she trailed off, eyes widening slightly at something behind you as an arm came around your waist, the hand gripping your right hip possessively.

“Is this woman bothering you, printsessa?” Wanda questioned softly and directly into your ear and you nodded slowly, placing your hand over hers and lacing your fingers together. “Let’s go somewhere else while Tash handles this.”

You allowed her to guide you to another aisle, catching a glimpse of Natasha approaching Brittani and ignoring her calls of your name. When you got to the cart, you turned in Wanda’s hold to rest your head on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her torso and sighing lightly when her hands began to run down your back.

“I got your cereal, printsessa,” Natasha’s voice interrupted your moment, and you pulled away slightly to meet her eyes when you heard the box drop into the cart. “Did that bitch touch you?”

“She grabbed my hand, but that’s it.”

She nodded in response as she grabbed the short list sticking out of your back pocket. “I’ll finish up in here, Wan. Just wait in the car,” she requested, kissing the two of you before you walked away.

“You’re okay, right?” Wanda asked as you walked outside, her arm around your waist again. “We don’t mean to scare you...we just don’t like anyone coming too close, especially that shitty ex-girlfriend.”

“I’m fine,” you assured her with a gentle smile. “Everything is fine.”

It was better than fine, but Wanda didn’t know that.

The rest of the day went without incident, coming home to unload the groceries and watching Wanda as she made an adorable snack tray for the three of you to have during your movie marathon. The three of you fell asleep during the second movie and woke up just in time to order something for dinner, which you also ate in the living room in front of the television.

“It’s Clint,” Natasha sighed as she looked at the text she just received. “He needs to discuss a mission with us.”

The two of them glanced over at you, wrapped in a blanket and asleep in a corner of the couch, and quietly decided to take the call in the locked office area in the basement. As soon as you heard their footsteps hitting the bottom of the staircase you sat up, pulling the burner phone from your pocket and drafting a text to a number you’d always remembered.

I need your help. Don’t reply to this or any other messages I send you.

You quickly explained your plan and signed it all with your name, putting the phone on silent and coming back to delete the text when you were sure it was delivered. You then head upstairs as quietly as possible, slipping into Natasha’s room and setting up a bug on her mission bag, repeating the same steps in Wanda’s room. Next, you wandered into your shared room and reached on the side of the bed, pulling out the gun Natasha hadn’t realized you’d seen her hide for emergency protection.

Your eyes watered as you stared at the heavy object in your hands, shaking a bit at the feeling you’d never thought you’d experience again. At least, you hoped. Part of you wondered why Natasha would dare keep any type of weapon this close to you given that she knew everything about you, which included the dark thoughts that led to the first time you held a gun. Still, she was an Avenger and former assassin, so the hidden gun made sense to you.

“It’s okay,” you tried to convince yourself nervously as you walked into the bathroom to see your reflection. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Printsessa?”

The call came from down the hall, and you took a deep breath as you turned the safety off and closed your eyes, lifting the barrel of the gun to your temple.

“Baby, what are you--no!”

The gun was ripped away from your hand and smashed against the wall, and you opened your eyes as Wanda ran over to wrap her arms around you.

“Baby, please please don’t ever do that again, okay? We can’t lose you...I can’t lose you.” Her entire body seemed to tremble against you, and it reflected in her voice.

“What’s going on?” Natasha questioned as she entered the room, eyes widening at the sight of Wanda squeezing you against her and the remnants of a gun at your feet. “Wanda, what happened--”

“I’ll explain downstairs. Go.” You flinched at her unusually cold tone as Natasha left, and Wanda placed one hand on your jaw as she pulled away a bit. “Wait for us on the bed, okay? Don’t touch anything and don’t move, please.”

You nodded and sat on the corner of the mattress as she passed you and closed the door behind her. As soon as you heard her footsteps hit the bottom of the stairs, you jumped to your feet and pressed your ear against the door, listening as the two began an argument downstairs.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Natasha?! Putting a gun in a room with a woman that attempted suicide in the past, seriously?!”

“I didn’t--”

“No, you did know, Natasha. You told me!”

“It’s for protection, Wanda! If someone attacks us in the middle of the night, I can--”

“We live in a fucking fortress! We set this place up so that no one could get in and she couldn’t get out without us knowing! If you need the gun that badly put it in a fucking safe so it won’t be so fucking easy for her to get it! We almost lost her tonight because of your carelessness!”

A moment of silence passed, and you pressed further against the wood to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

“I’m sorry, Tash. Come here, please. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to lose her, Wan.” The words were separated by sobs and you felt a bit of guilt settling in your heart.

“I know, I don’t either. That’s why I panicked and I took it out on you, and I’m sorry.” Another moment of silence passed. “I’m gonna check on her while you calm down, okay?”

You quickly climbed onto the bed again, scooting back to the headboard and forcing yourself to think about terrible things to build more tears as Wanda came back upstairs. You lifted your head as she opened the door, one of the building tears gliding down your cheek without warning.

“Oh baby,” she cooed as she came to sit on your left side, quickly pulling you in against her. “You’ve got to let us in that pretty head of yours more often. Is this what you’ve been blocking me from hearing lately?”

You nodded, sniffling as you tucked yourself into her hold a bit more. “I didn’t want to worry you but it got worse so fast.”

“What happened when we left, printsessa?” Natasha questioned gently as she climbed onto the other side of the bed, wrapping her arms around you from behind. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was, but I had a nightmare. It was a recurring one I hadn’t experienced in years and with everything I’ve been feeling lately, it was too much. I came here to find a sweater or something to comfort me because I didn’t want to bother you, but I found the gun and my mind just went blank.”

“We want you to bother us, printsessa,” Natasha told you with a crack in her voice, and you felt a couple tears drop and soak into your shirt. “No matter what time of day or night, no matter what we’re doing...please always bother us.”

The two of them whispered more soft reassurances that you ignored as you sank further into their holds, getting in a comfortable sleeping position. They followed your lead when they realized you were tired, each of them kissing your cheek as they also settled, and you couldn’t fight the smile that came to your lips.

Phase one was complete.

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @emilyprentisswife @fayhar @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @muted-stoneheart @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @sxphiaswitch @wannabe-fic-reader @becka107 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @trikruismybitch @beforeoursecrets @mjaudrey @messuhp @creepingwolfberry @cosmicbrownies7 @darkangelxoxo @witchxaf @sakurat123 @natashadeservedmore

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tobealostwanderer · 3 years

Text

Faerie Dust

Oberyn Martell x Faerie!Reader

Cw: Fluff, implied kidnapping, destroying of nature, bit of ooc Oberyn, faerie you is centuries old but no taller than a 11 year old.

Inspired by "The Willow Maid" by Erutan

He had come over a few times. A strange man in too shiny armor. He talked about marrying you. Bedding you. Taking you away from your home in the middle of the dense forest.

Your wings drooped with every day that he visited. He was becoming more violent with every time you told him no. You don't even know his name. He just referenced himself as "The richest Lord in the area". And he always told you how he would take you away, to his castle.

He also always told you things that he thought should impress you, he talked about his riches and how mant maids he had. He wore purple and green clothes to establish his wealth. He brought gifts. He even left you a horse, who you set free after the Lord left for the day.

You were seated on a branch in your willow tree as you heard the clopping of his horse's hoofs. Something felt wrong this time. Like his coming was screaming 'danger'. More than usual. So you unfurled from your position and climbed further up, seeking out the help of your bird and butterfly friends. Giving them a bit of faerie dust in payment, they went and sought out the bigger animals of the forest.

The Lord came into the clearing. A big, shiny ax on his back which immediatly concerned you. He dismounted and faced your willow tree.

"My fair lady! I have come to unbind you from this place so you can finally join me in your true home, in my castle with our bairns running around." The Lord said. A bird flew back to you, chirping it's message. Swallowing your nerves, you spoke louder than you normally did.

"Sir, I ask you to leave this place alone. Leave. Now." You cringed at how unstable your voice was. You looked at the little tit bird worryingly, and you felt it's worry course through the air as well. To comfort it, you gave it a bit more faerie dust. Then it left again.

"My lady. This is not a way of life! So I shall be starting with taking down this tree to symbolise my love for you." The Lord yelled up to you. You shrieked in fear.

"Don't! Don't touch my tree!" He didn't listen and proceeded to hack into the side. The tree moaned in pain and it felt like you were cut down as well. The century long pact you had with your hometree was being taken away harshly.

Pain coursed through your body and you fell off your branch and landed on the floor harshly. The Lord stopped for a bit to look over at you before continuing. You yelled out in pain, yelled for him to stop, yelled for help, as he continued to hack away at the ancient tree.

Suddenly there is a new sound. More clops of horsehooves. Voices. The Lord stopped, turning to his left to see the horses trot into the clearing. You couldn't see who was there from your position on the ground and your willow stood in the way, but you did see the Lord fall on his knees as whoever set foot into the clearing.

"Lord Brynt. A surprise to see you this deep into the forest. What are you doing here?" A deep, manly voice said. It sounded like honey and a sunny evening at the lake closeby your meadow. It drew you in, unlike the squaky and unwelcome voice of Lord Brynt.

"I could ask the same of you, My Prince. But my reasons to be here are private." Brynt said. You quietly sat up, crawling to the back of the tree where Brynt wouldn't see you, but you could spy upon the new people in the meadow.

There were three people. Two in shiny armor, like Brynt's but these had a sun symbol on their chests, unlike Brynt's who just had a blank chestplate. And in the middle, a man in golden robes. His hair was black and short and he had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He was most likely the man who spoke, and Brynt called 'Prince'.

"Hmm.. why are you cutting down a tree in the middle of the forest? There are enough trees around. And if you need more wood you know I can work something out with you, hm?" The Prince said, a smirk on his face.

As Brynt looked around in panic, the Prince's eyes found you without moving his face, like he knew you were there. You locked eyes and he winked before setting his eyes back on Lord Brynt.

The man in question was stammering, trying to make up an excuse why he was chopping down a pretty big tree in the middle of the forest. The Prince just held up his hand.

"I think you by now figured out that you are not supposed to be here. You will leave, now, and you will never come back to this meadow. If you do, you and your family will be banished from Dorne. Go back home, Lord Brynt." The Prince said in a loud and firm tone.

The Lord scrambled up and tried to step towards the tree, but one of the guards cut him off by throwing a spear in front of his feet. This spooked him enough to run to his horse and leave the meadow. The Prince waved the guards off, who, after retrieving the spear, both turned around and left the meadow.

The Prince dismounted his horse and slowly stepped towards you, still keeping some distance as you placed your hands firmly on the tree as a barrier. The Prince smiled softly.

"It's okay, little faerie. Remember me? It's Oberyn." He said.

Your mind whirled as memories streamed through your mind. Meeting a young boy who had walked away from his caretaker and ultimately lost his way in the forest. You had helped him find his way back to the edge of the forest but he came back almost daily for a year, until he never came back.

"O-obi?" You whispered softly, your voice trembling as you gazed at him. In your mind, you placed the boy you knew so long ago next to him. The same kind eyes, the same dark and curly hair. The same bright smile and the same crooked nose. Oberyn's smile widened as you stepped out from behind the tree and raced to him, your arms encircling his waist as you held him again for the first time in years.

He had grown taller and since you hadn't grown much, it must be quite comical to watch a child-like creature hug a grown man like the fierceness you did, but you didn't care. You were glad to have your friend back.

Oberyn talked sweet nothings in your ear as he ducked down to hold you closer to him, his entire body enveloping yours. His hands moved comfortingly over your back as you snuggled deeper into his chest. His comforting smell enveloping you like his body and you sighed happily.

"He wanted to take me away... To his castle... He wanted to cut down my willow, Obi... I couldn't do anything" you said after a few moments of standing there. Oberyn held you impossibly closer at that.

"I knew something was wrong. I wouldn't have let anything happen, little fairy. Your bird friends found me patrolling the land and I came as soon as possible. You don't have to fear anything anymore." Oberyn said softly. He slowly knelt down, taking you with him as he positioned you on his lap. Your arms moved to his neck and you snuggled into his shoulder.

"Why didn't you come back earlier?" You then asked. The years that had passed by were lonely without him. And even though you had your animal friends, it was different with Oberyn.

"I wanted to, but my family wouldn't let me. They had me guarded so I couldn't run off into the forest again. I wanted to come back, once I wasn't constantly followed, but I never seemed to have the time. But I am glad I am back now, my faerie." Oberyn answered. You nodded, accepting his answer. Already glad to have him back.

"I need to heal my tree" you eventually mumbled and got up from Oberyn's lap. He sat and watched as you held your hands above the angry ax marks on the tree. You closed your eyes, sending energy through you into the tree to heal it.

It was too much, you knew it, but you needed to keep your home alive. Without this tree you would cease to exist. You would... Fade. Turn into a flower to eventually wilt and die again. But loosing too much energy, like this, wasn't good either, so as the wounds in the tree closed, your head became light and you fell back onto your behind.

Oberyn was quickly at your side with a water canteen. He held it up to you to drink and you gulped it down quickly. You leaned back against your friend as you finished it, gasping for air and still feeling a bit lightheaded.

"I am here now, little faerie. I am not going anywhere. Not today at least" he said with a smile. You smiled back. "Would you... Would you mind if I took someone with me next time? I really want you to meet someone, my faerie"

"Of course, Obi. As long as you trust them. And as long as I can stay here and you visit me." You said with a smile. And with that, you leaned further into him and closed your eyes, turning out the world, safe in the arms of your friend.

Oberyn smiled down at your sleeping form. He leaned against the tree, stroking your hair as he went over every memory he had of you, waiting for you to wake up again. He didn't care how long he would be sitting here for. He was just excited for you meeting Ellaria, and for finally holding you close again. He had missed you immensely and now he wouldn't let you go like that ever again.

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #faerie #faerie reader #game of thrones #the willow maid #erutan #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic

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crackededges · 3 years

Text

Starry-Eyed

Pairing/s: Analogical

Warning/s: Kissing, implications of anxiety, and self-deprecating thoughts. If there should be more, feel free to let me know.

Summary: One night, Virgil finds Logan alone, gazing at the glittering sky. It takes Virgil every ounce of his being not to fall for the starry-eyed nerd in front of him, not knowing that he already has...

Genre/s: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Word Count: 4366

Author’s Note: Leave it to me to make a Moceit ficlet and write this monstrosity after. Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated.

AO3

*****

“It’s getting pretty late…” Virgil stood solemnly across from Logan.

The night was warm. Warm enough to make the air heavy with musky scents of nature. From the sickly sweet smell of freesias to the shallow whiffs of grass, every little detail stood as an unashamed reminder of spring.

The evening breeze grazed his skin, wrapping him in its sultry embrace when he found Logan, seated on the ground, lost in his own head. The surroundings sighed. It was a delightful change from the usual cold nights that blew mercilessly at whoever was found awake and rattling with restless thoughts.

Restless thoughts like Logan’s.

Logan stiffened. He looked to the source of the voice, and let his muscles loosen once he recognized the figure in front of him. A short, relieved exhale could be heard escaping his lips. If one were to be quiet enough, maybe they’d hear Virgil’s curiosity spark in weak but volatile bursts.

“Virgil,” he began. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Virgil stepped closer. The grass brushed against his shoes, delicate but assertive. He usually didn’t like the sound. It was much too unsettling, especially at a time where darkness enveloped each corner with its presence, rendering anyone weak and helpless. But at that moment, it was the least of his worries.

It wouldn’t be a part of his worries for quite a while.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” Virgil stood beside him, making sure to maintain a comfortable distance. “You’re usually so strict with your own schedule.”

In one swift move, Logan brought his hand up to inspect the watch on his wrist and his eyes went wide. “My apologies.” He looked around, clearly disarranged. “I didn’t seem to notice the time.”

“Distracted?”

Logan looked up. “Pardon?”

“Were you distracted by something?”

His gaze retreated to the ground, shame and embarrassment flooding his face. “Yes…” He admitted. “I suppose that would be a good assumption.”

Virgil cracked a smile, finding amusement in Logan’s sudden loss of order about himself. He glanced at the sky above them. A dark blue canvas had covered its entirety with clouds bleeding into the thick veil, sporadic and untamed. Stars were scattered across the heavens, enthralling in their unaligned pattern. It provided balance in some way. A solitary flaw in a sea of flawless elegance. Now that was a sight to see.

“I don’t blame you,” Virgil said. “The sky’s pretty clear tonight.”

“It is.”

“It’s rarely like this.”

Logan sighed, melancholy lacing his tone. “Unfortunately.”

A wave of empty silence passed. Logan cleared his throat, clearly not wanting to tolerate the awkwardness that hung in the air. “Speaking of nights, I should be preparing myself to sleep now.” He took one last glance at his watch before heading in the opposite direction. “Thank you for reminding me, Virgil.”

Virgil turned to look at him, his face tightening. He weighed his options, creating thousands upon thousands of reasons that spoke against what he was about to do. Yet...

“Wait.”

Logan stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder and Virgil could’ve sworn his heart fluttered inside his chest, repeatedly colliding against the walls of his ribcage, when he was greeted with curious eyes he would willingly lose himself in.

“Virgil?” Logan asked, soft and cautious. “Is there something wrong?”

Virgil’s mind scrambled for something to say, desperately hoping that incoherent gibberish wouldn’t erupt from his lips. Luckily, they didn’t. “Like I said, the sky’s rarely like this. And it’s a weekend. It wouldn’t hurt to stay up for a little longer if you want to…”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how that would be a logical idea.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Logan stayed bolted to where he stood, unwavering. Virgil sighed. “Things don’t always have to be logical, Logan-”

“I highly doubt that.”

“And I saw the way you were staring before I interrupted. You seem so... intrigued.”

Strangely, Logan’s voice diminished, possibly subdued by the last word. “What about it?”

“Nothing. It’s just that…” Virgil paused, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t see you like that often. It’s a good break from being…”

“Unapproachable?”

“Stoic.”

“‘Stoic’?”

Virgil nodded.

Logan opened his mouth, hesitated, and said, “Should I take that as a negative observation?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I don’t think you should. You have a lot of self-control. That’s admirable.”

Logan stared at the ground, his face contorted into something Virgil couldn’t read. A crease formed between his eyebrows and that was enough of an indication for regret to start seeping into Virgil’s handwoven cloth of conscience. With an uneven voice, he quickly added, “Unless you don’t want to be called ‘stoic’, then just forget I said anything. I’m sorry if-”

“No.” Virgil cocked his head to the side, feeling the pricks of fear disperse and disintegrate. “It’s fine.” Logan turned to properly face Virgil. A hint of a smile could be seen upon his lips. “‘Stoic’ it is.”

It was Virgil’s turn to exhale with relief.

Logan went and sat back down, letting meaningful silence pass between them aside from the faint rustling against the grass. Virgil shifted his footing. He tried to decide if his presence was still welcomed or not.

“Virgil?”

Virgil glanced back. “Yeah?”

Logan smiled. His next words were enough to make Virgil numb from the long-lasting buzz of excitement that jittered through his bones.

“Would you like to join me?”

***

That was how it started. Every week, after all of the strain, after all of the fatigue, the worry, the tightness that slithered and branched from every shortcoming, they found themselves in the same spot at the same time. There was never any formal discussion about it. Neither of them told or urged the other to meet them there. A specific time was never set. It simply happened. Every week, there was an itch in the deepest parts of Virgil’s insides, slowly but surely growing until it was impossible to ignore. He needed to be by Logan’s side, and he feared trying to form a sensible reason behind it.

Maybe he didn’t need a reason. Maybe they could continue this small routine of theirs, forever gazing at the endless sea of stars above them while ignoring Virgil’s agonizing feeling of wanting more. So much more. More of Logan’s presence. More of his demeanor. More of his calming voice that cascaded along crevices of Virgil’s uncertainty and distress, filling them with nothing but mellow security.

He wanted what lay beyond civil words and shallow smiles, but he would be a fool to say that it wasn’t far from his reach. Wanting more was a luxury he couldn’t afford. And what he had in that spot, beneath the stars, was all he could ever claim as his.

If that was the only thing he had in his grasp, he was going to savor it.

Logan had just finished discussing Sirius A, the brightest star that could be seen from Earth’s sky. Earlier, he pointed towards three stars spaced uniformly from one another. They eventually led to a ball of light that seemed to outshine the rest, grand and dignified with its superiority.

Virgil thought it was lucky.

“Do you remember the other day?” Virgil asked, poking through the wall of silence between them. That was another thing. Silence was rarely tense; never rigid. In some miraculous way, Virgil found comfort in the lack of noise. With Logan next to him, taut air was left with no room to settle. And Virgil was thankful. “When you said you were unapproachable?”

“I rarely forget things, Virgil.”

“I know.” A shaky hand ran through his bangs. “I just wanted to be sure.”

Virgil felt Logan’s stare. He didn’t dare to meet it. “Yes, I remember.”

There was a pause.

“Is that seriously what you think of yourself as?”

Logan turned to him, giving a confused look. Something dangled behind his voice. Hurt. Hurt that wasn’t his to carry. He couldn’t understand how the word could have affected him. Maybe he was tired. That must be it.

“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, it’s just that…” Virgil’s hand traced against his jeans, taking a stray thread and holding it between his fingers, a faux expression of focus plastered on his face. “Don’t you think that’s kinda harsh?”

“Being unapproachable?”

“Calling yourself unapproachable.”

“I don’t think so.” Logan reached up to adjust his glasses. Virgil still didn’t look at him. “It’s merely an observation. I know the others find it particularly difficult to consult me for dilemmas. Making an assumption based on their selective interactions was a logical thing to do.”

“Do you think we see you as unapproachable?”

Logan frowned. An answer stood stalling upon his lips. Maybe he didn’t like that. Maybe the question wandered to a place where it shouldn’t, and he couldn’t decide what to do with it other than wave it away like a fly that was much too adamant for its own good. “It would be a reasonable assumption…”

Virgil finally looked up and met Logan’s eyes, shiny with doubt. He barely noticed how close they were to one another, and that revelation almost made him choke. He took a breath and finally said, “Look, take it from someone who rarely leaves his room half of the time and hisses at anyone who tries to make any form of social interaction. You’re not unapproachable.”

Logan blinked, but their gaze didn’t break other than that. He stared into Virgil’s eyes, examining them. Waiting for something to falter. Something to hang back, show delay, and possibly give him a reason to believe otherwise. After a while, he turned away. Virgil had punched the air out of his arguments. When he spoke, his voice sounded lost.

“Is there any logical evidence for that claim?”

With that, Virgil inched closer. He placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. The touch seared into his skin, but he didn’t pull back. He didn’t shy away. His hand stayed, rubbing fond circles on Logan’s back. Logan didn’t protest.

“You’re a lot of things, Logan. Unapproachable isn’t one of them.”

***

Logan's eyes rarely left the glittering sky. Virgil never complained. In fact, he found delight in it. Logan was in the middle of explaining the expansion of the universe, but Virgil couldn’t help but steal a small glance. He was glad for that. Studying the way Logan’s face lit up from uninterrupted immersion, a jolt of warmth danced without rest.

That was Logan’s effect on him, and it was certainly going to be the death of Virgil one day.

“I never got to ask why you were interested in space so much.”

“Hmm... ?”

Virgil shuffled, his shoulder brushing against Logan’s. They were lying on the grass now. What Virgil once considered as a comfortable distance was thrown out the window, forgotten, and replaced with a new meaning. He cleared his throat. “You always seem so excited whenever space is involved. I mean... I’m pretty sure that’s the reason why the two of us are here every week, isn’t it?” Among other reasons. “Why?”

“It’s big.”

Virgil snorted, nudging Logan slightly. “That’s why?”

Logan laughed at that. Virgil had heard Logan’s laugh before. No, not the stringent one that he uses around the others for the sake of emitting laughter. He had a real one. Raw and vulnerable. He heard it every time he was done with another one of his rambles about the origin of certain constellations, laughing off the far-fetched beliefs made by the Greeks and the Babylonians. He heard it after Virgil recounted an instance with Roman, on the brink of losing his mind after being told that he needed to have facial hair before he could shave, let alone use a godforsaken sword to do it. He heard it when a firefly strayed too far and found itself landing on Virgil’s nose. He wasn’t a stranger to Logan’s laugh. Even so, that didn’t stop his chest from stirring with endearment every time he did.

Logan shifted. “There’s something intriguing about large things, Virgil,” he began once the lighthearted jests had died down. “There’s always more to learn, more to explore, more to understand. Even with that in mind, space is something beyond that; it’s beyond our understanding.” He gestured vaguely towards the sky. “It’s a seemingly infinite void that holds non-Earthly phenomena and continuously expands even before we’ve had the chance to witness it all. Space alone proves that our knowledge compiled after millions of years is only a speck in our universe.”

He paused, taking in the view in front of him, relishing in it as if it was the only time he could do so. His eyes reflected the same fervor that spilled and oozed from his words. “Many think it’s overwhelming, perhaps terrifying, but I think it’s interesting. I even think it’s, dare I say it, beautiful.”

Logan sighed. A smile hung on his face, reaching past his cheeks and up to his eyes. Seconds later, his smile fell. He cleared his throat as a faint blush started forming on his face. “My apologies for rambling. I got quite carried away-”

“You don’t need to apologize, L.” Virgil’s hand trailed to Logan’s, squeezing it gently. At the corner of his eye, he could see Logan’s smile reattach itself, and Virgil couldn’t have been anymore lovesick.

“I agree,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the sky anymore. “It’s beautiful.”

***

One night, it was different. The usual balmy and cordial breeze had come and gone, leaving nothing but tight air that stung Logan’s nose. Virgil laid on the ground, frigid and quiet. There were no cynical remarks. No skepticism towards the constellations and the history they held. No glint of clever retorts. Not even a dismissive chuckle that acted as a sign of Virgil’s confusion from the overwhelming buckets of knowledge Logan threw onto his lap.

Something was wrong.

“Virgil?” Logan finally asked, having decided that he couldn’t withstand the sudden shift of the air between them. “Are you alright?

It took longer for Virgil to respond. Much longer. “Kinda…” His voice was worn and raspy. “Just had a rough day today.”

Logan sat up, facing him. He could see the restraint on Virgil’s face, clear as day despite the low glow of the night that only highlighted the sharp lines of his caricature. The view tugged at his chest, almost wounding. Since when did he feel like this towards another’s sorrow? Was it the way Virgil was clearly being selective with his words? Did he not trust him enough to be more open... or was it something else? Something he had yet to understand… like the dark veil above his head that held more questions than answers. Whatever it was, it tugged harder when he noticed Virgil turn away. It only added to his pain.

“Would you still be able to tolerate my presence for today? If you would rather be alone, that’s completely understandable-”

“No.”

Logan paused. Virgil tried to sneakily wipe his eyes, but it failed to get past Logan.

His expression softened. Virgil was struggling, but Logan didn’t want to be another stone for him to carry on his already weakening back.

“You can stay,” Virgil said, his voice as quiet as a whisper. His face remained hidden. “Only if you want to.”

Virgil didn’t give him time to respond when he continued with, “If you don’t, that’s fine-”

“It’s okay.”

Virgil’s chest rose unevenly. He looked up, exposing his tear-stained face, and caught Logan’s comforting gaze. For a moment, maybe that was all he needed; a look that held sincerity without an ounce of selfishness.

He didn’t want to look away. He was afraid to.

“I’ll stay.”

In a heartbeat, Virgil leaned into him, his face gently pressing against Logan’s shoulder, warm with tears. Logan wasn’t used to it, to say the least. Consoling someone was far from what he usually knew. Normally, he would leave the emotional complications to Patton. He knew more about emotions than Logan ever could. Quite frankly, Logan found himself vexed by it which meant that it would be doing both of them a favor. But today was different. Virgil was different… and he’d be damned before he’d catch himself sending Virgil away to someone else.

With his lack of experience, Logan only did what he felt was right. He wrapped his arms around him, placed a hand on the back of Virgil’s head, and he held. He held, and he held. He held Virgil close as if he had all the secrets of the world kept in his pocket. No. It was more than that...

He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Maybe what they had was beyond wanting. Beyond the usual things they craved from one another. At that moment, they held each other. They held without wanting anything in return.

Logan and Virgil sat on the grass, the sky twinkling without pause, and against all odds, they would stay. As long as Virgil needed him, as long as he had more tears to shed, they would stay.

In the midst of it all, Virgil’s words broke through, wobbly but certain.

“I’m really happy you’re here…”

***

A week passed.

Logan wasn’t there.

At first, Virgil didn’t know what to make of it. More days passed... and he still didn’t know. He knew the reason behind his absence. Thomas had started on another project. As a result, both Logan and Roman were whisked away, tucked back in their respective rooms, drowned in schedules, blanketed in pressure, and wrung dry with expectations as high as the stars. Virgil was no exception. That’s the thing with him... he’s never excluded entirely, is he? The sudden change in the flow of things left him winded; it left him gasping for air more than it usually did. Was it because of the anxiety that came with it all? Was it the tension and weight that he had to endure that disrupted the calmness of his days? Or was it...

No.

No, it wasn’t. It shouldn’t be. Logan had every right to shift his attention to something else. After all, it was for the betterment of all of them. A victory for Thomas was a victory for all. If Logan wanted to dedicate his time to something that was clearly more productive and more worthy of his effort, who was Virgil to stop him?

Still, the pain that clawed in his chest didn’t cease.

Virgil didn’t expect Logan’s absence to be as hollow and bleak and... empty as it was. Surely, a little more than a week wouldn’t hurt much, would it? Oh, how wrong he was. As the yesterdays bled into tomorrows, something deep within him ached. It twisted and crumpled into a misshapen mess of longing and yearning. Yearning for the slowly expanding void to disappear until it morphed into a dismal hum, forever to be ignored and overlooked. He wanted it to shrink into what it should have been: something to pay no attention to.

He wanted... but he couldn’t afford wanting. He never did.

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could pretend it didn’t bother him. He could pretend that the barrenness Logan left didn’t gather into a thunderstorm, raging and merciless. Menacing and violent. He could ignore how it lashed against his skin, the icy wind thrashing to and fro until he turned numb. He could lie. He could hide. He could find another way to ease his mind.

He could do that.

But if he could... then why was he sitting on the grass, looking out into the darkness, desperately wishing to hear who Orion was and why he was considered as such a great hunter from a voice of familiarity?

Why was he here?

“Virgil?”

It was Virgil’s turn to stiffen, but he didn’t turn and look to the source of the voice. He didn’t need to. The way his heart leapt to his chest served as undeniable evidence.

“It’s late,” Logan said, words drenched in fatigue.

“I know.”

There was a pause.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“This sounds familiar.”

Logan smiled through his words. “It does.”

Silence stretched. It stretched much longer than they would have liked. Logan shifted uncomfortably. “Virgil, why are you here?”

Virgil’s chest rose. His mind scraped every corner for a reason. When he turned up empty-handed, he replied with, “I’m not sure.”

They were met with silence once more. Logan took one step towards him. Then another. And another. He sat down, and the warmth of his presence was probably enough to tip Virgil over the edge from his precipice of constraint. For a while, they stayed like that, scared of saying the wrong things and making the wrong moves. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe talking wasn’t worth their time anymore. Maybe Logan had decided it was for the best that they stopped. For the best...

Why did the best always seem to hurt the most?

“I’m really sorry if what happened last time put you off.”

Logan glanced at him. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know.” Virgil scratched the back of his head shamefully. “I thought I scared you or something.”

“I don’t get scared.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I... don’t think I do.”

“Why do you always-” Virgil stopped and took a breath, letting his head drop into his hands. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Virgil-”

“Did I upset you in some way?” His tone started to waver like how a gate shook and rattled before bursting open, letting loose whatever creature that panted for freedom.

“Of course, not.” Logan’s next words were soft. Light. Delicate. “I was busy. You know this.”

“I do.” Virgil sighed. “I do know. I’m sorry. I just…”

For a while, Logan looked at him. Thoughtful and evaluative. He still had a hard time grasping why he cared so much about the words that left Virgil’s mouth. It wasn’t even merely the words anymore. With every action, every mannerism, every breath that filtered through his chest, he was left to dangle on a limb, desperately trying to understand more. Perceive more. Absorb more than what Virgil was letting on. Maybe, by some miracle, he could finally decipher the weird language of Virgil, and he could offer him what he wanted. What he needed. The chances of Logan actually giving him that were ridiculously low, but for Virgil, he would try. As long as Virgil’s mind went rampant with whirlwinds of disquiet, he would try.

Again and again, Logan would try.

Virgil lifted his head, still avoiding Logan’s gaze. “I’ve never had something like this.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Like... what?”

“This.” Virgil gestured to the space between them. “Just talking and listening and looking and…” He paused, taking his time to consider his next words. He ran a nervous hand through his bangs. “It’s always just been me, y’know? I’ve never had anyone else to talk to and help forget that the rest of the world exists. It’s nice. It feels nice. I guess I was just... scared.”

“Scared…” Logan repeated hesitantly. “Of what?”

A weak laugh escaped Virgil’s lips. “Of losing it in some stupid way.”

“Virge…” Logan began, but the rest of it trailed off. It wasn’t important. Not anymore.

It all started with a touch on Virgil’s shoulder. Just a small pat that said Logan was there. But it burned. It burned with aching. Tenderness. Affection. Everything that was stripped from them after so long came together in one touch, crowding around like a whirlpool. Before they even noticed, Logan wrapped his hand around him. Virgil clung onto it, holding as if his life depended on it. Logan came closer, taking the gesture Virgil threw his way and wrapped him with another hand. His embrace formed a port, a cover, a shelter to shield him from the raging storm of the world outside of their little spot. Logan would do that for him. He had no doubt about that.

When Logan was close enough, he rested his head on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil turned to him slightly and he let their foreheads touch with a warmth that spread like a wildfire. Logan still had his arms around him, his heat infectious in the best way possible. Virgil couldn’t believe it. He almost didn’t want to. He feared for the sun to rise from its dark and desolate chamber, shedding its light and revealing what they had to be nothing but an illusion. He didn’t want the sun to rise. He didn’t want the night to end. He didn’t want to open his eyes and be greeted with the same stony loneliness he was used to.

But he wasn’t. He opened his eyes, and there was Logan. And Virgil couldn’t have asked for anything else.

Virgil spoke. It was soft and breathy, but Logan was close enough to hear it. “Are you still busy?” He finally asked, his lips lightly grazing against his. “Do you need to leave?”

“No.”

Virgil swallowed thickly. “Can you stay?”

Logan squeezed him tighter as if proving a point… and he smiled. “As long as you want.”

His smile was contagious and Virgil couldn’t help the way the corners of his mouth quirked up. After a while, he lifted his head and was met with blue eyes as dark as the night sky. His smile faded. So did Logan’s. The air quivered between them, shivering with uncertainty. But amongst all the doubts that clouded the moment, they were certain of one thing and one thing only.

Virgil leaned forward. Logan met him halfway. Their eyes fluttered shut before their lips met in complete and utter adoration for the other. Logan’s lips were sweeter than Virgil expected, but that didn’t stop his stomach from spinning and twisting into knots in the slightest. Why would it?

When they broke away, Virgil opened his eyes again and was surprised to see the same starry-eyed look Logan always had when he was lost in the stars above. Virgil couldn’t do anything else but lean forward for more.

Perhaps space wasn’t the only thing that Logan found captivating.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #analogical #analogical fanfiction #romantic analogical #roman sanders #patton sanders #fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #fluff #sanders sides fluff #comfort #angst #virgil angst #kissing #anxiety #sanders sides fic

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justonecitizenoftheearth · 3 years

Text

The Saga of Rögnvald réttilbeini

Notes: This is a fanfiction about an old norse text! My friend proofread my final thesis about men who used a certain kind of magic in ancient northern Europe. This kind of magic is very strongly connected to women, so men using it were seen as unmanly, or ergi in old norse, which is also a term used for gay men. There is one story in the Heimskringla, a text about the first kings of Norway, about 80 wizards who practice this magic called seiðr living together. My friend liked the gay wizard commune very much, was very disappointed by their gruesome end, and asked for a fix-it. So here it is: The Saga of Rögnvald réttilbeini!

I feel a bit blasphemous writing fanfiction about a 13th century text, but I think it turned out fine. Also, I know now a thing or two about norse magic now, but I took some creative liberties, this is fiction after all. ENJOY!!

@disorganisedautodidact

@fiifuchs

Rating: T

Content warning: Era-typical homophobia, era-typical gender roles, violence (not very graphic though)

Read it on AO3!

The Saga of Rögnvald réttilbeini

There was a man called Rögnvald. He was the son of the famous Harald hárfagra, the mighty king of Norway. But he wasn´t like Haralds other children. His fate led him to a different path.

The first time Rögnvald thought that there was something wrong with him, was the day he lost a swordfight and won a bet. He was nine years old and tried to be a good warrior, a good fighter, a good viking, so he could follow in his father´s footsteps. His father, who cast such a long shadow over the land and over the lives of his sons and daughters that Rögnvald wasn´t sure what the sun even looked like. But the axe and sword lay heavy in his hands and the anger and violence of his opponent hit him way before the wood did, let him stumble in fear and confusion. He wasn´t a good fighter. He was scared of his first raid. Of the pain and suffering he would have to endure. Of the pain and suffering he would cause. So he lost the swordfight against his older brother Eirik, who looked at his tears with a mix of pity and disgust. Men didn´t cry. Men didn´t lose. Men didn´t run into the woods afterwards, hands clutching the bruises on his arms and waist.

The woods were Rögnvalds friends. They held their own dangers, big animals, bad weather, you could trip and nobody would find you for days. But sometimes, when he allowed himself to dream, it seemed as if the vines opened a path for him, as if the birds sang louder when he came along, as if the rain fell warmer on his skin, as if the branches of the trees bowed down to him. Rögnvald had seen a bear or two, and there was a pack of wolves living nearby. He didn´t look for them in the vast forests, but he had seen their gray fur in the underbrush. But he never felt the same anger and violence in them that he did in his own brother, and Eirik had yet to kill him, so he decided to let them be as they let him be. Yes, the woods held dangers. But nowhere else seemed his father´s shadow so weak, nowhere else could Rögnvald breathe so deeply. His favorite place was on a cliff, looking over the fjord and away from the town. The sea breeze carried the smell of water, salt, and algae up to him and the trees sang their whispering songs in his back. It was his other brother who found him, Håkon, who sat down beside him and began throwing stones down into the grey-green waters below. It annoyed Rögnvald, but what was he supposed to do? So he looked away and up into the clouds.

“I think it´s going to start raining soon.”

Håkon looked up and frowned. “No, I think we have time before the rain starts. At least until we get back if we get going now, I bet.”

Rögnvald closed his eyes. The trees whispered. The wind sang. And up, way up in the clouds, he swore he could hear the soft tinkle of raindrops. He concentrated. He counted aloud. “One. Two. Three. Four.” The wind fell silent. “Five. Six. Seven.” The tinkle filled his senses. He sat up straight. “Eight. Nine. Ten.” He opened his eyes. The first raindrop hit his nose. He looked at his brother with wide eyes, who stared back through the downpour with disbelief and something between awe and mistrust in his eyes. Rögnvald didn´t know yet that he would get to know that look very well.

Rögnvalds grandmother Solveig was a Völva, a seer. She lived on her own and people came to her for advice or healing. They came with wounds and insecurities, with hurt in their hearts and sickness in their stomach. She had wise words and herbs for them. She could see what plagued them in their eyes and their future in clouds and the ashes of the hearth. Harald didn´t like her very much, he never came to her cottage, which was one more reason for Rögnvald to go there as often as possible. He sat at the fire in silence, watched her cut and dry herbs and listened to the sagas she told time and time again. He hid in her sleeping chambers when visitors came, listened to their stories of battle and love, of heartbreak and marriage, fishing and farming, the hardships and wonders of raising children and the weight of keeping secrets. Solveig didn´t judge. She listened patiently, gave advice when needed, warm tea for cold hands and hearts and an open ear for words that had to be said. It was in the darkness of her chambers in his eleventh summer that Rögnvald first heard of a man loving another.

The boy fled into the sleeping chambers of his grandmother as soon as he heard footsteps at her door. He sat down leaning against the wooden wall, and listened to the heavy steps of a man entering the house, bent down by grief. The voice of the man was surprisingly soft as he spoke, although Rögnvald had heard the heavy thud of an axe being set to the ground next to him. His name was Þorsteinn, and he had just come back from a raid to the Eastern coast. The raid had been a success, but not for him. His voice broke when he told Solveig about his friend Halvdan. How his eyes had gleamed under the moonlight when they got there. How his face had lit up by the fires of the first building burning. How ragged his breath sounded when he fell to the ground with an arrow in his chest. How cold his skin became when he died in his arms. Rögnvald cried Þorsteinns tears when the whole story broke free. After that, there was just the sound of grief for a long time. When he regained a little bit of his composure, Þorsteinn started to tell their story with faltering words. He told about a life-long friendship. About strange and secret feelings blooming. About the sweetness and terror of a first kiss. About two hands reaching for each other when everything they had been taught tried to pry them apart. About the thrill of fighting together and loving each other. About the hole left in his soul that he wasn´t allowed to show anywhere else. About the suspicion. About unmanliness, ergi, that they had been accused of, and the painful weeks apart to convince their families that nothing had happened that shouldn´t have. Solveig didn´t say anything. She brought tea and herbs for easier sleep. When Þorsteinns cries turned muffled, Rögnvald suspected that she held him while he fell apart. But he couldn´t move, couldn´t even wipe his face, was frozen in terror and excitement. It was forbidden. It was shameful. But he couldn´t help but wonder what it felt like to love another man so much. To touch his skin and know his soul, and his heart pounded, overwhelmed by the feeling of coming alive.

When Þorsteinn left, his steps were lighter, as was his heart, he had said that much. It took some more time until Rögnvald could make himself move. Solveig didn´t come to check on him, she let him be, let him take his time. It was one of the reasons he loved being with her so much. When he came back to the room, he just stared at her with wide, wet eyes. She looked back for a long moment, listening to the words unspoken. Then she kneeled down and held him, soothing his shivering, and humming a soft tone. When she got up again, she caressed his hair and lifted his chin. The light of the fire danced in her eyes.

“Fate is not always merciful, but it is never wrong.”

The problems of his childhood grew heavier with every year of age that Rögnvald lived among his family. He had to learn how to fight eventually, it was the only way. He also learned to dread his growing feelings when fighting other boys hand to hand, his heart pounding with more than fear, his skin prickling with more than pain, pleasure and torment taking his breath away. There were, however, things he enjoyed, like hunting and learning how to provide for himself in the wilderness. Solveig taught him about herbs and plants, about the weather and the wind, the waves and the frost and every growing thing. But he had to come more secretly with every year, the disapproval of his father and his brothers weighed heavier with every spring. He didn´t understand it, until a skald came to Harald in his 14th summer, and was allowed to sing at the feast. He sang about Haralds deeds as the king of Norway, about the gods and the nine worlds. But then came another song, one that took Rögnvald back to ancient times. The woods were even wilder then, the cold harsher, the people more violent. But there was one more danger out in the wild. A man, half human, half beast. A man who could control the wind and the wild creatures of the woods. A man who sang forbidden songs to the sea and the rain, soothing or enraging. A man who was hunted. A man who killed his brothers like prey. A man who wasn´t a man but a monster. And Rögnvald thought of the woods and the wind and the rain that felt more like his family sometimes than his older brothers. He didn´t know when or how he left the hall. He came to himself when his own voice interrupted his ragged breathing and he whispered into the bark of the tree he was clinging to: “I am a monster.”

Rögnvald kept away from his grandmother for some time. He fought hard to be what he was supposed to be, and kept himself away from the woods. His brothers approved, even his father seemed reluctantly pleased, but he failed to be happy about it. The woods called to him at night, his dreams haunted by visions. He saw a storm roll over the town, ripping down the mast of a ships and killing a man. He woke up in a cold sweat, dread heavy on his chest. Three days later he stood at the grave of the man killed by a falling mast in an autumn storm, and he thought he couldn´t breathe, he told himself that it was a coincidence and went hunting. Two days in the woods calmed his spirit, but he never forgot. The dreams became more frequent, his predictions more precise and he refused to sleep. He kept himself up and useful, stood guard in the dead of night and in the coldest days of the winter. Rögnvald shivered his way through the darkness and went to sleep in the morning. He dreamt of fire and rage, his skin turning black under the relentless flames, and when he woke up, the fire refused to leave his mind and veins. Rögnvald burned.

The fever ravaged his body for two weeks. Rögnvald barely ate, bare drank, wasn´t conscious for most of it. He screamed at the gods and begged them to take the foresight away from him. He swore to never touch a man, to never look at one, to never listen to the wind and the water again. He thrashed on his bed until he had to be bound to it and then he chaffed his skin raw on the ropes.

In the middle of his delirium, he had a moment of clarity. His grandmother sat at his bedside, bent over with worry, and she took his hand.

“The gods don´t make mistakes. You are what you are. Stop fighting it. If you are a seiðmaðr, you are supposed to be one. It´s alright, my dear Rögnvald. Your gift is not a curse.”

“It is alright?”

“It is alright.”

Rögnvald slept for four days. When he woke up, weak and nauseous and thin as a bear in spring, his mind was clear for the first time in months. He smiled at his grandmother and stayed in her house during his recovery. He learned everything he could from her, every herb, every spell, every secret. He learned to understand the voices of the forest, he learned how to bribe the wind to do his bidding, and how to coax the fish to the surface of the ocean. She told him about Freyr and Freyja and the Vanir. About growth and death and the afterlife. He spent his days in the forest and avoided his brothers and parents. The people of his town started to turn their heads when he passed by, whispering filthy words, and uttering unfriendly suspicions. But he kept his head high, his sight clear and his mind calm.

When Rögnvald turned 17, his grandmother passed away. It didn´t come as a surprise. She had grown weak and slow over the past months. He had been the one to look for herbs in the fields and forests, he had talked to everyone who was willing to confide in him. Rögnvald had been sitting at her bedside and had carried her out to the cliff. They had watched as the sun climbed down towards the gray-green waves, tinted the mountains red and the sky golden. The sun took Solveig with her to the lands of the dead. Rögnvald buried her on a hill close to the water, where she could look over the sea and far into the forest covered mountains. Then he announced that he would leave his family and travel to find adventure. Nobody stopped him. Nobody thought he would return. Rögnvald knew he wouldn´t.

The mountains were harsh in their beauty. Survival was hard, but Rögnvald learned to become a part of the land. He listened to the sky for rain and to the ground for shelter and prey. He read his fortune in the flight of the birds and the turn of the seasons in the clouds. His first winter was spent in a cave that he made into a home. But the cold wind found a way into his shelter, and the loneliness into his heart. When spring came, he swore he wouldn´t spend another winter like that.

Rögnvald had crossed Vestfold and came to Gulbrandsdalen. It was a lovely place, but the people were not fond of the name Harald hárfager, so he turned west into the mountains and towards the Hardanger fjord. Autumn sent it´s first cold breath over the lands when he crossed a meadow, the mountains in his back and the sea ahead. Sheep grazed peacefully and he stayed for a moment to admire the view. The rustling sound of steps behind him made him turn around. A man smiled at him; his face alit by the soft glow of the sunset. Rögnvald noticed long blond hair, shining green eyes and a firm grip as they greeted each other. The strangers´ voice was deep and rich as he announced his name:

“Frodi”

“Rögnvald”

They smiled at each other and Rögnvald followed back to Frodis hut. He stayed for the night and they talked much about Rögnvalds travels and Frodis sheep. About the summer passed and the winter ahead. Rögnvald helped Frodi with the harvest and the sheep. He hunted and fished for them both. When he called the fish to the surface of the pool out of habit, he turned in terror, expecting to see the same awe and suspicion as in his brother´s eyes, but Frodi met his gaze unafraid and full of warmth. Rögnvald couldn´t look away. The fishing net glided from his fingers. He took a step forward, heart in his throat, but he didn´t dare to go further. Instead, he turned, took up the net and caught the fish he had called. Frodi helped him to pull out the catch, fingers brushing and cheeks burning.

Rögnvald stayed another day. And another. They saw the first snow together. Every night came earlier and left more reluctantly. Every night found them laying down closer to each other. When Frodi took Rögnvalds hand and asked him to stay the winter, it didn´t come as a surprise, but that didn´t damp the happiness Rögnvald felt. His heart pounded in his chest and for the first time in his life, he felt as if he could stay.

Only the fire and the howling wind outside their hut witnessed them as they sat by the hearth one evening, shifting closer and closer together, fingers and hearts shaking as their hands found each other. For one eternal moment they looked into each other’s eyes, question and answer in one. The first brush of lips was sweet as the first touch of spring and as overwhelming as the first winter storm. Rögnvald wrapped his arms around Frodi when it ended, and held on as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did.

Winter went by slowly, in darkness and bitter cold, but Rögnvald barely noticed. He spent his days under warm furs, wrapped around an even warmer body. He learned what it meant to feel another mans skin on his own, how lips could burn and what pleasures another one’s company held. They talked a lot and by the end of winter, they knew each other so well that words were mostly unnecessary. Touches and looks were enough. Rögnvald learned what it was to love and to be loved in return, and a part of him lived in this time until the end of his life.

Spring came, and they saw the rise of the sun with soaring hearts. They sat in front of their hut, holding hands, and looking over the endless ocean, sure about their place in the world. Summer came and they rolled around in the soft grass, the sun witnessing their joy and pleasure. Autumn came and they brought in the harvest together and reveled in the riches that nature gave them. Winter came and Rögnvald told Frodi everything he had learned from his grandmother. They talked about the power of nature, about the prejudice of humans, what it meant to be a man and what it meant to be a seiðmaðr. They dreamed about finding others of their kind. About finding and shaping a place that would allow them to be who they were. When spring came, they were ready. As the snow climbed up the mountains, they did too, hope and sorrow both heavy in their hearts as they left their sanctuary. They turned southeast, towards lands where they would be able to grow the plants they needed to feed their people, and towards the border of king Haralds influence. In the middle of summer, they found a remote valley in Haðaland, green and lush, secluded, and safe. They built a home for themselves and their sheep, and prepared for the winter. A wandering skald came through. They saw a longing in his heart they recognized. His name was Kjell. He stayed for one day that turned into ten and then into all winter. They shared with him what they had, their food, their shelter, their bed, and their hearts. Food became scarce, but house and hearth stayed warm, and they made it to the next spring. But Kjell wasn´t one to stay in one place for a long time. He longed to roam the land, but promised to spread the word among others like them, and to return for the winter. Their farewell was heartfelt and warm.

Rögnvald and Frodi began to prepare the land for their reign. They cut down some trees, but they didn´t clear the land as their people had done. They planted what they needed in the half shade of the birch forest. They dreamt of others coming to join them, and prepared shelters in time for their arrival. Three other men arrived, Erik, Þorgrim and Ragnar, they had met Kjell and were in awe about the bravery of the two seiðmenn. Two others came, Þorleik and Reik, led to them by their dreams. Two were led there by fate, Halvdan and Leif. Rögnvald and Frodi listened to their stories of violence and abuse, broken families and broken trust. They dried the tears of their new friends as well as they could and gave them something to believe in. Together, they built more houses between the trees. The men had brought goats with them that mingled with Frodis sheep. Summer was as warm and rich as the season could be, and their gardens and fields flourished. They bathed in the river nearby and watched the birds fly by overhead. Rögnvald and Frodi stayed close together, in awe of how their lands and lives bloomed. Autumn brought rich harvest and good hunt. Halvdan and Reik, who had found shelter in each other´s arms, went down to the fjord, with furs and art to trade for salt. Rögnvald, Erik and Þorgrim went hunting and came back in time to pickle the meat. Kjell returned with the first snow and Rögnvald and Frodi welcomed him back into their lives and bed with open arms.

Years went by. More men came. Bonds were made. They spread their houses far and wide over the valley. Some of them preferred more secluded, remote places where they lived in harmony with nature. Some were happy to have found company that didn´t judge them for who they were. However, they were human, naturally there were some fights, jealousy over lands and hearts, or power. But those fights could be solved quickly, and most were aware that there was no better place to be for people like them. Women joined them, too. Mostly those unhappy with the role that they had been assigned for by their communities. They were women who loved another, who had no interest in settling down with a man, or to bear children. Many of them had learned the things that Rögnvald had learned from Solveig from their own mothers and grandmothers and didn´t want to hide who they were.

Of course, there were hardships, too. Being able to influence the weather didn´t mean that they could change the climate. Sometimes all attempts to call for rain were in vain. Sometimes even the nightly fires couldn´t keep the apple blossoms from freezing in the early spring. Mud and cold weather were as uncomfortable as ever, and sometimes the healers tried in vain to chase the sickness from a friend. But they helped each other out through all grievances and held each other up and laughter was heard more often than weeping.

Life flourished, and after ten years, about 80 people lived in the valley in Haðaland, some all year, some all summer, some came back for winter like Kjell. Music and dance were omnipresent, and they dressed as they wished to. Frodi had taken a liking to dresses while some of the women, like Þora and Ragnhild, who had fled their husbands together with their children, preferred breeches. Rögnvald and Frodi loved to take care of the children while their mothers were out and hunting, or fishing, or taking some time for themselves under the warm glow of the summer sun. The longing for Kjell was a permanent ache in their hearts, but one they shared.

Summer and winter solstices were celebrated with great fires, with drums and song, and many ate mushrooms or inhaled the smoke of burning herbs to widen their minds and leave the confines of their bodies to look for truth and vision in the depth of the space between the worlds. Rögnvald led those dances, and it was Frodi who brought him back from the vast emptiness of a space beyond sense and reason with gentle kisses and touches. Frodi, who brought him tea for his aching head and held him close and safe as he sank into an exhausted sleep. As they enjoyed the company of Kjell during the winters, there were many who didn´t exclude others from their pleasures, as well as those who preferred to stay by themselves. Live in Haðaland was free, and easy, and in harmony with nature and each other. But darkness tends to be drawn to places of light, and Rögnvald and his 80 seiðmenn and völvas were no exception. Dark dreams came as a messenger of hardship to come, and while they lived in peace and prosperity, the dread sank in like ink seeping through a piece of parchment.

It was Kjell who brought the news. He had been at the court of Harald hárfager and he had ridden his horse half to death to get to them in time. He jumped from his exhausted steed, far too early for his return, in the beginning of autumn. With wide strides, he crossed the village to get to Frodi, who was pulling up weeds. His green eyes gleamed when he saw his beloved return, but his gaze quickly darkened when he noticed the pain and regret in Kjell´s face.

“Call everyone together! I will look for Rögnvald! Quickly, we don´t have time!”

Frodi nodded, but pulled Kjell in for a desperate kiss. “I will. Rögnvald is in the woods. Listen to the birds, they will lead you. Everything will be alright!”

Kjell nodded and ran into the forest, leaving Frodi with dread and fear in his heart.

Harald was coming. Harald hárfager, who hated seiðr-magic, had sent Rögnvalds brother Eirik to them, to come and clear his father´s name of the shame that was a seiðmaðr as a son.

“I´m sorry. It is my fault. I told the seer Vitgeir about you, about us. I thought he would join us, but he revealed your gifts to your father. It is no secret where you dwell, but the nature of our community was, and is no longer, because of me. Please, forgive me, my love.”

Rögnvald stood and pulled Kjell up into his arms.

“There is nothing to forgive, beloved one. There was no reason to distrust one of our own. What has been done has been done. But the wheel of fortune spins quickly.”

He turned towards his people. He saw their frightened eyes and the hope shattered in their hearts and a fire roared in his ears unlike any he had ever felt before. These people were his family, his kin. He would rather burn than let anything happen to them by his brother’s hand. He´d rather turn the land itself against the men coming for them. He´d rather perish with them then let them touch what was his to protect. He spoke:

“Pack what you can. Hide in the mountains. Let Eirik come, he will find no living soul on this ground.”

Frodi took his hand, worry clearly visible in his frown.

“They will know we have left. They will hunt us like deer.”

Rögnvalds gaze turned to steel. “No, they won´t.”

Nightfall saw the village empty. Everything that could be carried had been packed. The animals had been led far into the forest. The children had been silent and scared. Rögnvald saw the last of his people disappear into the dark of the forest at night. Frodi pulled at his hand as Kjell watched the horizon with growing dread.

“We have to go.”

“No.”

Rögnvald saw the pain and fear in both his lover´s faces. He pulled them close.

“I will not let them get those I love. They will leave here believing that we have all perished. Then we will go and find another place to live.”

“How?”

“You will see.”

Rögnvald felt the faint vibrations of many feet approaching the village.

“Go, go now! Return with the sun!”

Kjell hesitated. Then he spoke:

“I have travelled many dangerous roads, and you always trusted me to come back. I trust you now.”

Then he pulled Frodi up and muffled his cries with his hand as he dragged him into the safety of the forest. Rögnvald stayed behind and sank to the ground. He beckoned the wind to do his bidding. He asked the clouds to cover the moon. He asked the animals around him to flee to safety. He waited and felt his fate approach. When the darkness was deepest, they came. And he was ready.

Rögnvald asked the wind to lift the dust up to form running humans, darting across the village. He asked it to cry with children´s voices. He let it carry his voice down to his brother, to beg him to turn back. He didn´t. Rögnvald wasn´t surprised, but he felt fire and rage burning in his veins like never before. For a moment he realized that he understood his brother now more than ever. Here, at the crossroads, before they would part ways forever, they were closest to each other. Then the thought vanished, drowned out by fire and fury.

Rögnvald let the doors of the great hall in the middle of his village fly open and let the wind carry the dust inside. He rattled with the swords and axes left behind as a cover. He clouded the minds of these people he had once called his own, as he had clouded the sky. And when they threw the first torch into the house that had once been his home, he let his rage fuel the flames, let the fire scream with the voices of his family, let the light lead them to all their houses. He let the wind carry embers into their faces and away from the trees. He raged with the roaring inferno as it devoured everything they had built up with their bare hands. Rögnvald bowed down and begged the bones of the land to imitate the bones of the people closest to him as the rain poured down and tamed the raging flames. His words died down with the flickering fires and the silence of death sank heavily onto the land. He sank down with the ashes, too drained to move, and watched as they looked through the buildings, taking everything that hadn´t been burned to a crisp, too tired to listen to their laughter and delight. He watched as they pissed on what they thought were his bones. He watched as the last one disappeared with the first light of morning. The black, scorched earth came closer, blocked out the light of the sun and pulled him down into the cold and dark, and then there was nothing.

The first thing Rögnvald felt was water dripping onto his face. It was salty. The ground seemed to sway underneath him. He opened his eyes and saw the faces of his lovers, distorted by desperation, their tears falling onto his lips and cheeks. He wanted to reassure them, but the black earth called him back.

The second thing Rögnvald felt was water dripping onto his face. It was sweet. His body swayed as if carried. He opened his eyes to a cloudy sky. Rain fell into his eyes as he was carried to a wagon and laid down carefully by Kjell. He wanted to ask something, but the darkness called him back before he could find his tongue.

The third thing Rögnvald felt was water dripping onto his face. It was salty. His body swayed and as he opened his eyes, he found himself on a ship. His head rested in Frodis lap and as he slowly sat up, he saw the coast of Norway disappear in the distance. His hands were cradled in those of his lovers and together, they turned their backs on the land and people who had never wanted them in the first place.

They sailed west until they came to the coast of a green land. Mountains rose into a clear blue sky. They didn´t want to go to Iceland, which was too far away to settle down before winter. They didn´t want to go to the Orkney islands, which Harald had shown interest in even before Rögnvald left. They sailed around the land called Alba, and were welcomed with open arms. The people helped them over the winter. They shared stories of a god with antlers, and an island covered in mist. They tended their wounds and shared what they had and stayed their friends over many winters to come.

In the spring, Rögnvald and his family sailed over to an island barely visible from the mainland. It was partly covered in forests, with a steep northern coast and soft slopes leading down to the waters in the south. It wasn´t as lush as their old home, but it was more than enough.

They sowed the seeds of their old home and watched them grow over the springs to come. Getting enough wood to build all the houses was difficult, so they started building with clay and earth, let grass cover their roofs and protect them from unwanted eyes. Some of the people from the mainland joined them and some of their own decided to live there. Kjell started to roam the lands again during summer, after being afraid to leave for some years. The island stopped being their exile and started feeling like home.

They took the legends of the land they had settled in to heart, and whenever foreign ships approached, they surrounded their island with mist, impenetrable for the eye and frightening to the heart. Only those who had been led there once were allowed to set foot on the land. Rögnvald and the others built a seat on the steep northern cliff, and there was a guard watching over the island at all times, who called the mist in and warned his friends when strangers approached. The land beneath their feet started to recognize their footsteps, just as they learned to hear the song in the old bones of the land, and they became one before the first one of Rögnvalds family realized it.

One morning, Rögnvald stood on the watchtower with Frodi. It was spring, and a small ship sailed out towards the mainland. On board was Kjell, who sailed out to his annual journeys. He had been more reluctant to go than ever before. They all suspected that he would one day grow tired of his wanderings, but it wasn´t this year and it was his decision to make. So they watched him go with a familiar longing in their hearts. After the boat had passed from view, Rögnvald turned his head towards Frodi. The first silver strands had started to sneak into his golden hair. But the green eyes were alive and warm as ever, just as the arm he wrapped around Rögnvald. They watched the sun rise over Alba and the light flood the land to their feet, where their family slowly awoke to a new day.

#norse mythology #norse folklore #heimskringla #snorri sturluson #seidr #seidmadr #I can´t believe this is a tag that existed beforehand!!#ragnvaldr #rögnvald rettilbeini #freyr #freyja #vanir #fanfiction

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staticscreenwriting · 3 years

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The loneliest time of the year || Part one

Part 1 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ? A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Every sunday leading up to Christmas you will get another part. That’s 4 parts in total. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Christmas time is the most depressing time of the year. Seriously, you can look that up. There’s a bunch of statistics about it and essays using long fancy words.

It’s a time that makes you so acutely aware of how lonely you actually are. And then you’re left to reflect on all the reasons why and that’s just fucking depressing.

Frankie maneuvers his car along the streets of his hometown, a light dusting of snow covers the ground and the trees to his left and right have long sharp icicles hanging from their branches like the sharp teeth of an imaginary monster that lives under your bed.

He passes by the old movie theatre, the 7/11, the diner where he got his first kiss, the red brick building that was once a printing house but has been turned into a Starbucks for some reason, and the public library that he used to volunteer at when he was in high school. There are ghosts in all the windows looking back at him. Ghosts of the boy he used to be and the memories he thought long forgotten.

This wasn’t the plan. He’s not supposed to be here. Or maybe he is. Maybe this is exactly what he deserves. To come crawling back home to mom and dad because the future he had tried so hard to build for himself came crumbling down on him in a matter of moments. And all of it is entirely his own fucking fault. If only he wasn’t such a damn mess.

“I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue just thinking about you.”

“Ah fuck off, Elvis!”

He turns off the radio and is left with just the quiet and his thoughts until the little blue house at the end of a cul-de-sac comes into view. This house has seen many versions of Frankie. Highs and lows. He wonders if he even knows the person he is anymore.

Across the street sits a park and then another little house, this is one red and the shutters are white and the paint is chipping. It used to sit empty for a while but there’s a car in the driveway and light coming from inside. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he isn’t the only one that changed, maybe the town did a little bit of changing too.

His mom is a hugger, always has been. Still is. At least that hasn’t changed. She has him wrapped in a warm big hug as soon as he gets out of the car. She smells the same way she did when he was a little boy. Like lavender and fresh cotton and warmth. His mom, Frankie thinks, has the ability to talk faster than anyone else he knows. Even faster than Pope when he’s drunk. She bombards him with information about various distant relatives and has him caught up on the last several years of their lives before his dad even manages to get to the door.

His dad looks older than the last time Frankie has seen him, but not in a fragile way. Age doesn’t make his dad look sickly or weak, it just makes him look wise. He’s got lines etched into the skin around his lips, from all the laughter and the smiles. Every adventure, every memory, it’s all there in his face and Frankie admires that so much. With every day passing he himself just looks sadder and more worn out.

“Darling, let him come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Ever since he was little, Frankie knew that what his parents have was special. There was so much love in the way they talked with each other. It exuded from every word. From every look. They were a package deal. One could simply not be without the other. It’s something he knew most of his family members were envious of. Hell, he himself was envious of it.

“Hey Pops, good to see you.”

His dad wraps him in a hug as he steps into the warm house. His dad isn’t a hugger, he’s more stoic and calm but that doesn’t make him any less loving. There was never a day in his life, that Frankie ever doubted his father’s love for him. It’s just that he’s not the most physically affectionate guy, and that’s fine. When he does give out hugs, they are the best.

“Did the Murphy’s house get sold then?” Frankie questions, motioning over his shoulder towards the little red house. The couple who lived there, Margaret and Edwin, were lovely. They were the kind of old people that others just adore. Always a smile on their faces, always greeting you with the most infectious of good moods. They were already old when Frankie was a kid, but they were the kind of people you’d expect to live forever. Though death doesn’t care for any of that and eventually it came for them too. The house went to their only son, a man that always intrigued Frankie. Michael was a photographer and always on the road looking for a new adventure. He was his parents' age but there was a youth about him that made him look much younger. He always seemed like more of a friend or older brother to his daughter than a father.

His daughter. (Y/N) and Frankie weren’t friends. Not really. For that, they didn’t spend nearly enough time with each other. But whenever she would come around and spend the summers at her grandparents' place, Frankie and her would gravitate towards each other. There was an undeniable attraction, a magnetic pull. She always had the most exciting stories and for a teenage boy, there was nothing more exciting than a pretty girl with adventure in her veins.

He hasn’t seen her for a long time though, eventually, she went off to college and he joined the military. She came around less and less and then when first Edwin and then Margaret died, the house stayed quiet and lonely. Last time he saw (Y/N) was when he randomly ran into her at a bar but even that must’ve been at least 10, maybe 12 years ago.

“Oh no. Their son, Michael, do you remember him?”

“Sure.”

“He had a bad accident. Can’t work no more, needs a lot of help. You know what he was like, always on the road never really having a place he called home. Other than this house. So him and his daughter are back here. Do you remember her?“

“ (Y/N), yeah.”

“She’s moved back too. Gave up her entire life to help her father. Poor thing now works at the diner waiting tables for a living all the while taking care of Michael and her young son.”

“She has a kid?”

A sting of pain runs through his heart. Big brown eyes stare up at him in his mind, eyes that look so much like his. Eyes he couldn’t wait to see sparkling from joy on Christmas morning. Eyes he ain’t allowed to look into anytime soon.

“Yes, a little boy. Leo, he’s 7 years old. So well behaved and smart. Such a lovely little boy.”

A warm mug of coffee is thrust into Frankie’s hand as his father guides him to sit down on the big couch in the living room that’s been there ever since he was a kid.

“We invited them to come around for Christmas Eve dinner which reminds me that I still need to get a present for the boy.”

“Darling, it’s December 5th we still got time.”

Despite his heart laying in shambles by his feet, being around his parents sends a warmth through Frankie. It’s so familiar and comforting to be here. Maybe this isn’t all bad. Maybe this is exactly what he needs.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: One sweet reunion.

Frankie sits on his old bed in his old room. There are fewer posters there and the wall that used to be painted a dark blue is now a soft peach color. The old dark wood furniture has been replaced by white cupboards and two beds, both white too. An adult-sized bed for him and a toddler bed for Rosie. Little butterfly decals decorate the walls and soft pink curtains hang before the window. This is more Rosie’s room that’s his now, only she isn’t here to see it.

A knock on the door shakes him from his daydream. Voices echo through the halls and up the stairs. Voices he doesn’t recognize but by the tone in his mother’s words, he can tell they’re friendly faces.

“So we thought maybe we could borrow your car.”

Frankie sees her before she sees him. Had he not knows she was in town, maybe he wouldn’t have recognized her. (Y/N) looks older. Not old. Just more mature. She must be in her 30s now. Grown into her body. A mother.

“Of course dear, Frankie can help you get the tree if you want. We still need one ourselves anyway. Two birds one stone.”

“Frankie is home?”

(Y/N)’s voice shines with a glimmer of hope.

“I am.”

A smile spreads on her face, and that one he recognizes so well. It’s equal parts mischievous and warm. Familiar and comforting. Sassy and soft.

“Oh man, it’s so good to see you. It’s been some time, huh ?”

“Sure has,” he replies and the two of them share a quick hug. She’s cold from the air outside and smells like winter and snow. Her hair is hidden beneath a beanie and her fingers are kept warm by some fluffy blue mittens. She’s adorable. So fucking adorable.

“So, you want help getting your Christmas tree?” Frankie asks as she pulls away, missing the softness she brought.

“Well actually I was just asking to use your dad’s car but since you’re here, would you mind helping out ?”

“ Course not! We need a tree anyway and I’ll have you know, I’m great at finding the best Christmas trees.”

“That so?”

“Sure is.”

Another big smile spreads on (Y/N)’s lips. “Okay cool. Let me know when you’re ready. Leo and I are free all day.”

“That’s right, you have a kid now.”

There’s an infinite sense of pride that washes over her face. He knows the feeling, sees it in his own mother when she talks about him. Feels it in his heart when he thinks of Rosie.

“Frankie has a baby too, little girl.”

His mother means well. Doesn’t matter though, the mention of her still sends a pant of pain through him. Right to his heart and then it spreads slowly but surely to the rest of his body. Like an ice pick melting slowly.

“You do? Oh, I can’t wait to meet her.”

His heart breaks. Shatters. Crumbles.

“She’s uh — she’s with her mom for Christmas.” And pretty much any other day too.

“Huh, well I guess you’ll just have to tell me all about her then. “

He appreciates this. Her not asking but just taking the situation for what it is. Questions ask for answers he can’t give, doesn’t want to give.

“I can do that.”

“Okay great. Let me bother you no longer, just come knock on our door when you’re ready. You know where I live.”

With a wave and a smile, she makes her exit and steps back into the cold. Snow now falling in big white flakes from the skies, like big bubbles of soap. Like star fragments.

“She’s such a nice young woman, I wish life was a bit more gentle on her. “ his mom spoke up from beside Frankie.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too mom. Me too.”

When he steps out of the house a few hours later, the ground is already covered in a thick coat of fluffy snow. His boots leave deep prints in the pristine white blanket.

Across the street, he can hear a melody of laughter flowing through the air before two figures jump out from behind the house, wrapped in warm clothes, throwing snowballs at each other.

“Mom you’re cheating!” The young boy, Leo calls out, laughter ringing along with his words.

“No way! Nu-uh.”

“Yu-uh! “

The exchange puts a smile on Frankie’s face. It reminds him of his own childhood. When the world didn’t feel like it was working against him. When it was kind. When things were easy. When he was happy.

Realizing neither of the two has spotted him yet, Frankie squats down and gathers some snow in his glove covered hands. In a swift motion, he pulls his arm back and throws the snow in (Y/N)’s direction hitting her right in between her shoulders.

“Hey!”

There’s a second where anger and confusion reign over her face and then she realizes it’s Frankie who threw the snowball and it melts into warmth and mischief.

“I’ll get you back for that, dude. “

“That a threat?”

“Nah, it’s a promise.”

The boy regards them with careful curiosity.

“Leo, come here. This is my friend Frankie.”

To be quite honest, Frankie hadn’t really considered himself a friend of (Y/N) but to hear her introduce him as such felt real nice. He had friends, good friends, brothers even. Pope and the Millers knew him like the knee themselves but this was different. This was home.

“Frankie, this is my son Leo.”

The boy is all (Y/N). Same smile, same eyes. Like a copy and paste.

“Hey, Leo, nice to meet you.”

The boy gives him a shy wave. “Hi.”

“You guys ready to get some Christmas trees?” Frankie asked, looking from (Y/N) to Leo and back to her. The excitement on their faces makes him feel a little giddy.

Back when he was a kid, buying a tree was one of his favorite things to do during Christmas season. His dad always used to wake him up real early so they could be one of the first people at the Christmas tree sale. They’d stay for hours looking for the perfect tree. Now perfect didn’t mean it had to be actually immaculate. Perfect meant perfect for them. Sometimes they’d decide to find the fastest one or the one with the biggest hole. One time they found one with a bird's nest still inside.

Those were the good times and Frankie, knowing now how harsh life can be, will never take them for granted.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Two perfectly imperfect Christmas trees.

“Too big.”

“Too small.”

“I can literally count the branches on one hand.”

(Y/N), Frankie realizes as they look at what feels like the 12 millionth tree, is very particular when it comes to her Christmas trees.

“Mom, can we just pick one? They’re all good!” Leo chimes up as his mother dismisses yet another tree for being too skinny.

“I just want it to be perfect. When I was a little girl my dad and I were always traveling and when we’d come to my grandparents for Christmas they’d have this big beautiful tree every year. I want my dad to have that again.”

There’s more there, he can tell. By the way, her voice shakes slightly and the determination and chaos raging in her eyes. Frankie has yet to find out what exactly happened to her dad, what kind of accident he got in. But it’s not really a conversation starter now, is it?

Leo’s eyes meet Frankie's, a clear message traveling between them. A silent understanding.

“Look (Y/N) how about we let you roam this place in peace until you’ve found the perfect tree and Leo and I go see if we can find one for my parents? “

Leo nods his head in enthusiastic approval. A smile playing on his lips that is so strikingly similar to the one Frankie has seen so many times on the boy's mother.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, two of us are gonna find a perfectly imperfect tree for my folks and you go find the tree of your dreams. Just call if you need us, okay?”

She takes a breath, lets out a sigh. “Okay sounds good. Leo?”

“Sounds good to me too, mom.”

“Okay. Well, you boys have fun then.”

As she rounds the corner in search of the tree straight from a Christmas fairytale, Frankie turns to Leo who regards him with a guarded kindness.

“Thank you. “

“ For what? “ Frankie asks and raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“ For not making fun of my mommy. She’s so worried about grandpa, sometimes she goes a bit crazy.”

“ Nah she’s not crazy. She just wants to make everyone happy. Why would I make fun of her? Did someone make fun of her? “

It sends a flash of anger through him, the idea that someone might ridicule her for caring too much. If anything it’s what makes her so endearing. The world could do with more people like her. People who care. Deeply.

“ She talked to my daddy on the phone yesterday. I think he made fun of her. She cried. “

“ That’s — that’s not nice.”

Leo shrugs his shoulders in a way that seems casual but weary. As if he’s so used to it. Geez, the kid is 7. This isn’t something he should be used to.

“ Dad is not a nice person. Mama always says he’s busy and that he wants to see me but I don’t think that’s right. I think mama just doesn’t want me to be sad. I think daddy doesn’t really want to see me. Don’t think he loves me. But that’s okay mama loves me so much that’s enough. “

Leo’s words sent small cracks to Frankie’s heart and it’s quite hard not to let it crumble entirely. He’s never known what it feels like to be unloved by those that are meant to love you most. His parents adored him, still do. Even when he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t even begin to understand how much that must hurt. How devastating it must be, especially to a 7-year-old.

And yet Leo looks so — at peace. Like it bothers him sure, but it’s no big deal really.

Because he is loved either way. By (Y/N).

“ You’re a cool kid, you know that? “ Frankie asks and pats the young boy’s back in a friendly manner.

“ Mom says so. “

“ Well, she’s completely right. You really are. Now, you wanna help me find a tree? “

Leo nods enthusiastically.

“ Okay cool, but I’ll have to tell you how it works. “

“ We don’t just look for one we like?”

“ Oh no, you see the Morales family has a very specific tradition. Each year my dad and I go looking for a special tree. “

“ A special one? “

“ Mmmh. We always think of something special and then try to find a tree that fits that special thing. One time we tried to find the tallest tree on the lot or the widest or the skinniest. “

“ So what are we looking for this year? “

“ How abouuut … we look for one that has two tops? “

A giggle falls from Leo’s lips. “ That’s silly, that’s not a thing. “

“ Sure it is. You wanna go look for it? “

“ Yeah.”

There are big trees and small ones. Ones in shades of greens and some that look almost blue. There are fat ones with lots of branches and skinny ones that look like they’ve seen better days. None of them have two peaks though — until …

“ Frankie, look !”

His small, glove-covered hand is outstretched, pointing towards a tree before him. It’s a big tree, wide too. It’s blueish green color shines through the white haze of the winter's day.

And true to Leo’s words, the stem of the tree goes halfway up before it diverges into two different branches. Two tops.

“ That one’s perfect! “

“ He’s special! “

“ He is special. Good job, kid. “

The two share a high 5 as a laugh sounds from behind them.

“ I see you boys are getting along well. “ (Y/N) says as she approaches the two of them, placing a kiss on her son’s head as she reaches him.

“ We found a special tree, mom.”

“ Did you? Well so did I, it’s perfect. “

Her eyes wander towards Frankie’s and for a second it’s only the two of them there, veiled in shared understanding, a silent thank you.

“ I’m glad you found your tree, (Y/N). “

“ I’m glad you two had fun. Now hooow about we get those trees home and set up? “

“ Can we have hot cocoa at home, momma? “

“ Duh. Of course. You can’t decorate a Christmas tree without a good hot cup of cocoa.”

The softness in her voice, the pure adoration she holds for this boy, it makes Frankie think back to Leo’s words about his father and about (Y/N). About how she loves him enough for the both of them. And he can see it, clear as day. Her love for Leo.

Those two, he thinks, don’t need anyone. Especially not someone who doesn’t treat them with the love and respect they deserve. Those two are their own warmth, their own little universe. And it’s enough. It’s plenty. Everyone who’s allowed to be a part of their little world should be grateful because it’s a good world. It’s gentle and kind.

“ Alright you two, let’s get those trees home. “ Frankie pipes up and for a moment he is part of their little universe too. And it’s wonderful. He doesn’t wanna let go of this feeling. How anyone ever could is entirely beyond him.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Three mugs of cocoa.

Bobby Helms’ voice echoes through the room accompanied by the soothing crack of a vinyl record. It’s an old one, one (Y/N) has found in a box of her grandparent’s stuff. Jingle Bell rock fills the air with a sense of excitement and wonder only a good old Christmas song can bring.

There are 3 cups of cocoa on the table, one of them in a Star Wars mug. It all feels warm and cozy. Homey. And for the first time since he’s back, Frankie doesn’t feel out of place. He doesn’t feel like a stranger watching through the window into someone else's life. Someone familiar. Someone he once knew. Someone he once was.

Right now he feels like he’s right where he’s meant to be. With friends who chose him. A family that lets him into their lives and willingly shares a piece of their kindness and warmth and magic with him. Not because they are bound to him by blood, by shared trauma. Just because they like him, as he is.

(Y/N) and Frankie sit on the old leather couch that’s been there in this same living room for so many years. One that has seen different versions of (Y/N). Some of him too.

In the corner of the room, across from the big window leading out into a snowy dreamland, stands a perfect Christmas tree. (Y/N)’s perfect tree. It’s decked out in lights and ornaments and tinsel. Leo hops around the tree, adding yet more ornaments here and more tinsel there, a big smile on his face the entire time.

And as she watches her son relish in the pure unfiltered joy only a child really knows, (Y/N) smiles too. Because sometimes this is what it means to be happy, seeing your loved ones smiling.

“ Thank you, Frankie. “ she says, eyes still locked on her son.

“ For what? “

It’s the second time that day that he is being thanked and for what? For being there? Really he hasn’t done much. This is what friends do, isn’t it? What they should do. Help each other out. Be there for one another.

“ For playing along with my crazy antics. I know it’s just a tree but I just want this Christmas to be — to be good. For me and for Leo and for my dad. We haven’t had the best year and I just want to make this perfect for us. Or as perfect as possible. Thanks for not letting me see how annoying I was back at the tree sale. “

Frankie shakes his head dismissively. “ You weren’t being annoying. I get it, don’t worry. Leo, he uh — he said something similar to me earlier. Said his dad made fun of you? Made you cry. “

(Y/N) lets out a scoff, curls her lips in an unamused smirk. “ Derek’s a — “ her eyes trail towards her son who pays the two adults no mind “ — he’s such a dick. Always has been. But he was suave and he had a motorcycle and I just kind of fell for his bad-boy charms. He’s unreliable though and a goddamn child. When I told him about Leo he bailed on us. Sometimes he tries to be a dad, whenever he gets one of his moods and feels like he needs to turn his life around. Those don’t last very long though. He sends birthday gifts and Christmas presents and he calls every once in a while but — well his interest in Leo isn’t all that big. “

“ What an asshole. Why’d he make you cry? “

“ Ugh, it wasn’t really any particular thing, just an amalgamation of so many. He was making me feel stupid because of the tree thing. He was being dismissive of my feelings. He didn’t want to talk to Leo. It was just his entire mood that day that once again made me realize why I ended things with him in the first place. And it isn’t fair. It really isn’t. That I have to work twice as hard to be a good parent because I have to fill both roles and he gets off scot-free. Not even a guilty conscience. How am I ever gonna be able to play both roles and play them well? How can I do that? I feel like I am failing already. “

“ Are you kidding me? “ Frankie says and softly nudges her shoulder with his “ You’re a great mother. You’re fun, you’re loving. What else could Leo want? (Y/N) you are doing an incredible job, trust me. Little mistakes you make that might seem big to you, they really don’t matter to Leo. Not now and especially not in the long run. He’s gonna remember the good times. The snowball fights and the hot cocoa and the tree decorating. Those are the little moments that will become memories. “

“ You think so ? “

“ I know so. It’s what I remember about my childhood. And it’s uh — it’s what Leo told me. He said that his dad might not be around but that it doesn’t matter because you love him twice as much. Said that’s plenty enough. The boy loves you. You’re a wonderful mom. “

He forbids his mind from going to that dark corner where he’s banished all his own fears. Those that whisper to him in quiet moments. About how his shortcomings, his mistakes, his faults, how all of that will stain his relationship with Rosie. His ability to be a good father.

Lord knows he wishes his daughter was here now. Maybe not in this exact moment, a toddler really ain’t much help when setting up a tree. But here. In his arms. With him. During Christmas time. He fears that she never will be. That the times he gets to see her will become few and far between. That he will one day only be a distant memory to her because he ain’t ever given the chance to make any good ones with her.

His heart aches from how much he misses his little girl at that moment. But he has to remind himself not to wallow in it. Because once he goes there, lets himself fall into this big black hole of grief and of missing and of fear, there’s no coming back.

So he looks back at the people around him, at their soft smiles and the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes. Shining with happiness. Shining with joy.

And as the snow falls softly outside, he tries to focus on the warmth in this room. The warmth from the fire and from the hearts so soft and so filled with love.

Because he’d rather get lost in a beautiful dream than the sad reality of his fears.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales imagine #frankie morales imagines #francisco morales imagines #triple frontier imagine #jos2020xmasspecial #catfish imagine #catfish x reader #catfish x you

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aliennopossumm · 3 years

Text

Like Real People Do

Happy 11 months, @andromedaspace ! I love you more than words can describe

Pairing: currently platonic Analogical, future romantic Analogical

Warnings: some cursing, cult joke, one line mentions bullying, “nerd” used affectionately, some of Vee’s teasing makes Logan upset but xe comforts them, brief blood mention, anxiety

Characters: Logan Sanders, Virgil Berry

Character notes: autistic nonbinary Logan [they/them], autistic trans Virgil [xe/xem]

Fic summary: As they usually do, Logan adventure’s into the forest. But when they explore somewhere they haven’t been before, they meet somebody new

1,795 words 10,235 characters

Logan, despite how well they behaved academically, was never one for following orders. Whether it was pirating a video game, or staying up until 2am on a school night, they didn't mind bending a few rules. More often than not, as well, they weren't caught. Their rule breaking wasn't confined to their own apartment either, occasionally exploring the forest by their highschool, staying out ten minutes to several hours too late. No matter what weather or time, they loved to walk through the trees that towered over their, now seemingly small, self. Nature was so fascinating to them. Books about plants and animals were scattered in their room, as well as writing in a journal about their favourite parts of the world.

They brought along the book on this particular day, tucked away safely in their messenger bag, along with pens, coloured pencils and other essentials. Wind barreled through the trees and their hair, making Logan subconsciously pull their hoodie closer to their skin. It was surprisingly cold for an average windy day, possibly too cold. Logan mentally pinned it down on being close to water, taking a seat next to a large, moss-covered rock. Whilst humming along to the sound of the birds, they started to remove their journal and stationary from their bag to comment on the plants around them. They opened the book to about three-quarters through, jotting the date down on a clean page. It was starting to become difficult to find new information, laying the book open on the dirt in front of them. A small, but happy, sigh escaped their mouth, turning to the rock behind them and starting to inspect the moss, their pen balanced in their mouth.

Hardly any sound surrounded them now, only quiet chirps and now softer wind being heard. Logan looked back behind them, where-

"Oh..?" Logan breathed, now slightly concerned at the lack of their book. It wasn't as if the wind blew it away, the pencils were much lighter than the journal, and yet they were in the exact same place. Attempting to not panic, they looked to the lake first, then to the tree's, before finally looking up.

"Looking for this?" Logan gasped shakily, finding their book in the hands of a stranger.

"Give- give it back!" It became embarrassingly obvious Logan had never been in a situation even slightly similar to this one.

The stranger, dressed in dark, just laughed softly, "what even is this-" they shut the book, the only thing on the cover being a name and a small yellow, white, purple and black flag, "Logan?"

"It's a journal, now give it back!" Despite their tone attempting to be intimidating, Logan still sat on their knees, seemingly shaking. "Who... who even are you!?"

"Well, I know your name, so it's only fair if you know mine," they jumped down from where they perched on a tree branch, starting to walk over, "it's Virgil. Don't laugh."

"Why would I... I laugh?" Logan's voice was now unmasking their anxiety, watching as Virgil moved closer. Along with their dark black clothes, the way they walked only made them look more bat-like.

Virgil shrugged, crouching in front of them, "people can be rude. You're alone in a forest, you probably know that well enough." They squinted their eyes slightly at the anxious person, "but you don't look like an outcast."

"Look closer at the cover," they mumbled, biting their lip slightly. Logan turned their head away, but kept their eyes focussed on the odd stranger. Virgil did as prompted.

"It just says Logan Sanders? That isn't a weird name," it slightly surprised Logan that a nice comment escaped their lips.

They took the journal from Virgil, poking at the flag, "Nonbinary."

"Ah."

"Yeah," they started to pack away their stuff, "just call me a name. I'm leaving. This is obviously your turf."

Virgil gently grabbed their wrist, "no. I didn't mean it like that, I'm just dumb and-" they sighed, unzipping the black and purple patched hoodie with their free hand and pulling one side back to reveal a trans patch on their chest. "Xe/xem. My dumbass just didn't process the flag."

What felt like a boulder of anxiousness was lifted off their chest - this was somebody in their community. Of course, that doesn't make xem an inherently good person, but it helped Logan feel safer.

"That's valid. They/them," Logan anxiously held out their hand. Is this how people introduce each other?

Xe looked at the awkward hand, "are you sure you're not a part of a forest cult and this is a blood pact?"

As if Logan was literally invited to said imagery cult, they let out an almost anxious gasp. Virgil's teasing smirk started to fade, "I'm kidding, L. You just don't know how to socialise." Xe gently shook their hand.

"That's- well-" Logan tried to gather words to defend themselves before just sighing, "yeah, you're correct. I don't."

Yet again, the forest fell silent, bar the sound of the wind. By this point, Virgil let go of their arm and hand, moving back by a foot or two. Logan took this as a sign to silently unpack their bag yet again, gently laying their beloved possessions back onto the dirt. Xe glanced at the bag. "Got anything else in there?"

Logan couldn't help but interpret this as a taunt, lowering their head to focus on finding today's page in their journal, "just general stuff." They didn't look back up, still sorting through the papers, until they felt a gentle hand on their shoulder. Even a gesture as simple as that made their soul melt in the best way possible, making them crack the first smile Virgil saw of them.

"Hey, L, I was being genuine. What do you have in there?" Xe smiled back, showing sharp teeth.

Trying to not focus on how attractive that was, they nodded and pulled the bag between the two of them. Virgil let go of them, sitting opposite Logan.

"You probably now think whatever's in here would be amazing, but it's really not," Logan frowned a little at the thought of letting their new possible friend down, opening the bag wider so they could both gaze in. "It's really just essentials other than what's already out - food, water, cellphone, nature books. There's some small scissors in one of the closed pockets in case I need a sample for something. I rarely test on plants, and never on animals, but sometimes it can be pleasant to just own a part of nature." They froze up slightly once the ramble escaped their mouth, "Oh- I'm sorry for speaking so much, Virgil."

The taller one just smiled, "no, no, don't apologise. I like hearing about all your nerd ramblings, it's sorta... sweet, how much you care."

They nodded, a small smile cracking onto their face again. "Thank you. Do you uh- do you have anything in your..."

"I don't have a bag, if that is what you're asking," xe chuckled a little, inspecting the book labeled 'Common Berries and Mushrooms', "most of my stuff is kept in the jacket. Same stuff as you, mostly. Just replace books with crystals and your journal with headphones."

Logan didn't know whether to question xem about the crystals or what kind of mystical jacket could contain all those things, resulting in them blurting out the gibberish of "how crystal fit."

Xe chuckled at them, "you're adorable, L. The jacket was modified to fit more shit, deeper pockets and that. And I work with crystals, if that's what you were trying to ask." They nodded in understanding, breathing out what sounded like 'fascinating'. "So, what brings you to the forest?"

Trying to gather themselves again, Logan cleared their throat and starting to flick through one of their several books, "I find nature amazing. How a single bug could run the entire forest... it truly is beautiful. I like coming down to the forest, usually after school or dinner, and just walk around, commenting on everything I see - new or known. I love learning. I hadn't been to this part of the forest before, I tend to turn right when entering, but this time I chose the left path."

Nodding along, Virgil listened intently to another one of their infodumps, which ended in xem learning new information about the forest as well. Xe couldn't even blame Logan for finding the forest interesting once xe heard it from their perspective. In all honesty, it made xem want to learn more so they can have genuine conversations about it, as right now it was similar to Logan literally talking to a plant. The ramble continued for almost twenty more minutes, Virgil warming up to asking questions and even making a few notes in xyr phone about this all. It slowly started to form into a proper conversation, eventually leading Logan to politely question the crystals xe carried, which in turn led them to dedicating an entire page to the rocks.

By the time both had worn themselves out with talking, Virgil smiled at the orange and purple sky, "I think it's getting quite late... do you need help packing your things up?" In the time they were infodumping, they also shared a picnic of sorts, leaving a lot more mess than Logan usually had at the end of their forest sessions.

"No, I'm alright..." They smiled, starting to gently stack the large informative books at the bottom of the bag, so they would not crush anything else. "Thank you for this, Virgil, it was nice to talk to somebody."

"Virge."

"Mh?" Logan looked up, Virgil appearing half-blurred as their glasses had slightly fallen down.

Xe chuckled, pushing the glasses up for them with what seemed like a fountain pen, "call me Virge, it's what my friends call me."

Blushing at the gesture, Logan went back to packing their bag, "we're friends?"

"Of course, I don't sit in the forest for hours with strangers," Virgil smiled warmly, the sound of pen scratching being heard as the rest of the forest seemingly fell into quiet. The sound stopped, "well, I better get going back to my dads. I'll see you around, nerd."

As Logan looked back up, xe was already in the tree's. They chuckled softly, "bye Virgil- Virge." After a few more minutes of rearranging their items, the bag was now almost fully packed. Logan took their journal from the ground, about to close it but noticing some new writing. It was in bright purple pen and scruffy handwriting, standing out amongst the neat, black text on the rest of the page.

"Call me - +1-541-555-0130"

They smiled gently, shutting the book and placing it at the top of their bag. Maybe they should.

#virgil writez #sanders sides #analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #tw cult mention #tw anxiety #cursing #tw blood mention #ask to tag #fic #fanfiction #sanders sides fic #fanfic #tss #andromedaspace #🌌my moon my sun and all my stars #platonic analogical #analogical fanfic

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alirhi · 3 years

Text

yay random inspiration?

I have no idea where this came from, but... Here it is XD

Untitled AU BuckyNat fanfic Warnings: It's pretty mild as far as content, but definitely heavy stepcest themes. 18+ just because if I continue it, it will definitely get racier. Summary: Natasha's just barely gotten used to her nagging stepmother, and now she has to deal with meeting her army vet stepbrother for the first time. Bucky hasn't been home in two years, and Nat doesn't know what to expect.

"Natasha, will you please put on something remotely presentable? Your brother's going to be home any minute!"

She rolled her eyes, not moving from where she was sprawled on the couch in a tank top and tiny pajama shorts. "Stepbrother, and I don't see why I need to get dressed up for some guy I've never even met."

"At this point, baby," her father teased as her exasperated stepmother stormed off, "forget dressed up. I'd settle for dressed. It's his first time home in two years-"

"Talking about me?"

"Bucky!"

Natasha's head whipped around at the soft voice coming from the front door as her stepmother flew across the house to hug her wayward son tight. The only photos she'd seen of Bucky were from when he was a little kid or an awkward, gawky teenager. This Bucky was definitely none of those things! Heart racing at the sight of that sweet smile that didn't quite reach haunted blue eyes, she leaped off the couch with a hasty "I'll be right back" and raced into her room.

She was going to Hell. Good lord, she was absolutely going to Hell! ...But god! Bucky was hot!

Moving as fast as she could, she yanked off her pajamas and slid into a pale yellow sundress. Long red hair released from the strangle-hold of her ponytail, she brushed it until it laid more or less flat, pushed it back out of her face, took a deep breath, and made her way back out into the living room. "Hi," she greeted her - way too freaking gorgeous - stepbrother as casually as she could. "I'm Nat."

"Bucky." He grinned at her, taking her hand when she offered it and kissing the back of it. "But you already knew that. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah, nice to meet you." A glint of light off something shiny caught her attention and she glanced down, only then noticing that Bucky's left arm was metal. Eyes wide, she quickly forced herself to look away, trying not to be rude, but she could tell from his soft chuckle that he'd noticed her staring.

"It's okay," he assured her, his tone gentle and patient. "It's normal to stare at something you're not used to." He rotated his left shoulder a bit, as if adjusting the arm's fit in its socket. "To be honest, I'm still getting used to it, myself."

"How long...?"

"Six weeks." He flashed their parents a wry smile and, addressing the whole room now, added, "It means I'm back home to stay."

Natasha's father frowned. "I thought the point of the advanced prosthetics program was to give wounded soldiers a chance to get back out on the field."

"It is, but it's still experimental." Sinking wearily down onto the sofa, Bucky smiled at Natasha and patted his lap. "C'mere, 'sis'."

Nat didn't even think; she immediately plopped into his lap and rested her head on his shoulder as his arms came up around her. She'd expected the metal arm to be cold, but it was almost as warm as his flesh-and-blood arm. She traced the lines of the seams between each piece of rigid steel, marveling at not only the thing itself, but its gentle dexterity. Bucky's grip, whether with metal or flesh, was gentle, almost feather-light.

She felt his faint, contented sigh more than heard it as he gave her a quick, light squeeze. "Thank you. I was afraid you'd think I was weird, I just... I'm a cuddly person and it's kinda hard to find someone to snuggle when you're getting shot at."

She giggled, kissing his cheek. "No problem. You're honestly a more comfortable seat than the couch."

"Awww! Look, Nick! I told you they'd get along!"

Natasha's father laughed, shaking his head at his wife's cooing, but didn't comment.

"Anyway," Bucky said, picking his train of thought back up, "they can't start sending us back out to fight until they know how well the prosthetics actually hold up to regular use. We typically try not to lose limbs, so they don't exactly have a huge sample size to work with. Until they know nothing's gonna wear out or malfunction, they treat us lab rats like any other wounded and ship our useless asses back home."

"Well, good!" Nick nodded his approval, grinning at the younger man. "Since you'll be home, maybe you can talk your sister out of putting her life on the line, next!"

"Stepsister," they both corrected him at the same time, laughing when they realized what they'd done.

Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes. "Law enforcement's not the same as the military, daddy."

"Oh, no? There's still a lot of bullets flying and innocent men and women getting killed these days."

"Yeah, well, it's not usually the ones in the uniforms who are getting killed!"

"Enough!" Her stepmother cut in, waving them both quiet. "We are not having this argument again! Bucky just got home; can we at least let the poor boy settle in before we make him witness to another war?!"

"What branch?" Bucky asked her softly, those big blue eyes locked on her like Nat was the only person in the world, much less in the room.

She blushed, trying desperately to get her heart to stop racing, but it was just so unfair that her stupid stepbrother had to turn out to be this hot! "CIA, eventually. I mean, that's the goal. But I'm starting in the local PD; I'm supposed to start at the Academy next week."

"Oh, you're already eighteen?"

"Nineteen." Why did he sound so interested? She risked a glance at his handsome face again, and once again felt her face heating up with a bright blush.

"Huh." The look in his eyes had shifted almost instantly from friendly and sweet to almost predatory. "Well, it's not like they can stop you, then. Just do whatever you want."

From the look in his eyes, and the way his metal hand dropped from her waist to her bare knee, she had a feeling he wasn't referring just to her career choice. And she wasn't sure she minded.

#fanfiction #au #bucky barnes #natasha romanov #buckynat #m/f #stepcest #mcu #winterwidow #sebastian stan #scarlett johansson

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hpdabbles · 3 years

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Prompt: Severus thinks the best way to get revenge on Sirius Black is seduce his brother. It goes horribly wrong

The idea comes to him right after Black taunts him by announcing the loser of whatever game the large group of lions and baggers are playing had to ask out Severus Snape on a date. The pain of the others gagging as they turn to look at him is nearly as much as the hate he feels for those smug-looking silver eyes.

See how much you repulse everyone? They seem to say. See how much no one wants you? You’re the worst punishment I can think of.

He forces himself to walk away willing their mocking laughter to silence for once as he steps. Severus had been enjoying the sun, reading his books not bothering anyone, enjoying himself for once and they had to ruin it. They always have to ruin it. Especially Sirius Black.

He keeps his eyes on the ground, watching his feet raise and fall as the earth passes him by. There is a deep ache in him that earns for vengeance, to make Black rue the day he said that about Severus.

But how could he? Even Severus can admit the teenager is outrageously handsome, and had he not been an ass then even he would fantasize about dating the Gryffindor. Trying to say that no one would date Black would only make him look like a fool.

“Excuse me.” A soft voice said as a person passed him rather abruptly. Severus spared the running student who was most likely late for a class a disinterested glance. Shorter then him, with long wavy black hair, a sweet looking face and green robes of the finniest silks.

Regulus Black. Black’s younger less impressive brother. He didn’t have any friends, barely even talked but looked and acted like a deliciated porcelain doll. He is beautiful like his brother but he was also always one harsh word from breaking. He bended before conflict and tried to blend into the shadows when every one so much as looked at him.

Half the time the youngest Black looked frighten to even be out of bed much less in public. The only reason he isn’t a target of bullies, who would love to turn such a weak little boy into a toy is because his family name protects him.

Severus found his lack of strength disappointing. If he had been born lucky enough to be part of such a powerful family he would use that power to the fullest. Such a privilege was a waste on Black who-

Who is the younger brother of Sirius Black, someone Severus wanted to hurt. Who adored his precious little brother no matter how much he tried to hide it. What would the bastard do if said little brother was to be deflowered and become a laughing stock were the knowledge ever to get out?

It’ wouldn’t be that much of a challenge really, to seduce the younger male. After all he is isolated, any attention would be welcome even if it was from someone as repulsive as Severus. He just had to find the right things to say, the right buttons to push and he would have a warm body in his bed.

Severus smiled a wicked thing watching meek little Black run up the stairs, ducking his head as he pass other students. “What fun this will be.”

He waited for the perfect moment to approach the other. It took two days but eventually, Severus is able to find the way to seduce him in the library. He had been watching him for a while, making notes of what Black did in his spare time and found the boy absorbed in a fantasy novels more often then not.

Most purebloods turn up their noses at that branch of literature, thinking too uncouth for their refine taste. Black knew this because he only read them when he was sitting in the farthest corner of the library away from all other students in a old table that was half hidden in shadows. His silver eyes lit up with more joyous emotions then even flying as Slytherin Seeker did, as he read his books while Severus watched from a between the space of two books a bookshelf over.

Severus had his mother send him a book from his bedroom, a old copy of the Thief and the Fantasy Spell-book, where a muggle finds a spell that allows him to cast magic. Of course it’s not even close to real magic but hopefully it would do it purpose. It was the only book he knew that had the word “Fantasy” take up have the book cover.

He walked out his hiding place pretending to be so engross in his novel that he did not notice Black scrambling to hid his book. He looked up with a well-practice surprise look on his face fighting not to smirk in amusement. Black is sitting with hunched shoulder, a advance potion text book now in his hands. It is upside down.

You fool no one. Severus thinks tauntingly.

“Apologizes I didn’t realize anyone was back here.” He says out loud instead making his tone casual. Black flinches, as if being address is a physical attack, but he lowers his book ever so slightly as Severus turns making sure he can see the cover.

Like a fish hooking onto a line the Black blurts “You read fantasy?” in surprise before shrinking back.

Hiding the satisfaction his plan is working, Severus struggles to keep his face the perfectly even disinterested expression he is known for. “Hm? Oh, yes. I think it’s a lovely past time, though I only read muggle kind. I haven’t been able to find a wizard series I enjoy besides Spartan’s Path.”

“You’ve read Spartan’s Path?” Black lowers his book completely his pretty face on full display. Severus, despite himself, feels a bit stun by the eagerness and wonder in his expression momently blinded by how attractive the boy is.

“Y-yes.” He coughs. Now was not the time to be distracted by his hormones. “My favorite is the third book, The Sea of Sin.”

“Mine too! I just adore the scene where they fight the giant sea serpent all the while the ship captain is attempting to seduce Nephele!” Black exclaims with far more life then Severus has ever seen. “Oh but it was romantic don’t you think? Especially when the Veela shows up to try and lure him away? I have a theory that it didn’t work because the captain despite being male who is attracted to a female, is not actually interested in gender but rather the person. It would explain why his magic comes form the necklace of his True Love then Nephele herself. The cave scene for example-”

Severus took a seat across from Black who was speaking more now then the last five years he’s been at Hogwarts. He couldn’t get a word in because Black jump right into another theory of his, citing examples from the text to back up his claims in a very un-pureblood matter.

He couldn’t look away.

Oh no Severus thinks watching as Black spoke with his hands a happy little flush on his cheeks, those lovely grey eyes focus entirely on him Oh no he’s so cute.

His plan of revenge! How would Severus go through with his plan now, that Black had gone and placed butterflies in his stomach with his surprisingly sharp mind and energetic softness?

“Oh by the way Snape.” Black says some hours later when they are walking back to their dorms, after talking so long about various book series they both enjoyed. Severus himself got carried away with a few potion academic essays but found that Black could keep up with. He never had so much fun speaking with a other human about possible changes to potions before not even Lily. “If you keep following me around I’ll make your intestines into out-ines. Well good-night!”

Severus blink as the fifteen year old waved at him with a sweet smile and scurried down to his dorm.

Did....had he been aware the whole...time? He never felt more off balance then he did in that moment questioning every action of his that could have given him away.

“Don’t beat yourself up Snape” Black called over his shoulder, twisting his neck so one grey eye could peak at him. A playful smirk was on pink lips that had lava boiling in the pit of Severus’s stomach. “Not everyone is as intelligent as me to pick up the signs. I’m sure you’ll get better at deceiving people when you’re a big boy. I wouldn’t mind teaching you a few....things.”

The last word curved with sinful promise that a shiver ran up from the half-blood’s toes to his head as Black threw his head back and laughed. But it was not mocking. It was a honest to Merlin, laugh of mirth as if though Severus was someone who could inspire that type of emotion in someone.

“Oh no.” Severus whispers watching the back of the other until he disappeared behind a door. “Oh no he’s hot.”

#Anonymous #Harry Potter #hpdabbles #regulus/severus #Severus underestimated Regulus #Regulus just chooses not to talk to people #Severus went out for revenge but only caught feelings instead

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