#smothered onto thick slices of bread

[thepenultimateword]

im addicted to "date or die" help

(have some tea because I don't know how to ask for a next part without offering you something in return-)

♥️🍵♥️

Awww thank you!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

CW: Poison, vomit

Supervillain caught Villain's hand as they snuck yet another pickle from between the thick, mayonnaise-smothered bread of their sandwich.

“Stop picking it apart and just eat it.”

“But I don't like these things," Villain complained, yanking free and dropping the pickle onto a growing pile of soggy vegetables in the corner of their tray. It was pretty hard to be scared of one of the country's most deadly when their death was already scheduled for that afternoon.

"At least eat the lettuce." Supervillain lifted the top bread, scooped up a few limp leaves, and slapped them back on top of the ham.

"Hey!" Villain tried to pry Supervillain's hand away, but the more they pulled, the harder the master criminal pressed the sandwich against the table. "You're crushing it!

Supervillan raised their brow. "Are you going to eat the lettuce?"

"Yes!"

Supervillain relinquished their grip, and Villain seized their meal in both hands. Once it was secured, they shot the other villain a sideways glance.

"No..."

Villain swiped the lettuce out with the corner of the top bread slice then took out half the sandwich in one massive bite.

"You little--" Supervillain stopped, apparently noticing Friend's idle gaze on them, and plopped their hand on Villain's head instead. Their fingers dragged soft through their hair in a very good imitation of fond exasperation. "You're insufferable."

Why do you care if I eat my vegetables when I'm going to die today?

That's what Villain wanted to say, but there were some things even a dead person didn’t dare say to Supervillain, so they just leaned their full cheek against the inside of Supervillain’s arm and faked a cheeky smile. They were getting pretty good at this pretend dating stuff. Too bad it hadn’t amounted to much.

Friend and their spouse sat on the bench across from them, tanned and freshly returned from their honeymoon. Villain had been racking their brain for days for another life-saving plan, but here they were on their date with absolutely nothing. Supervillain would kill them as soon as they got home. Villain could have laughed at themself. Home? That house was a prison. And yet it’d never brought them fear or discomfort. Maybe that made it worse.

They knew things now. Things that no victim should know about their executioner. They knew that supervillain sang in the shower every morning. They knew that they didn't drink coffee. or any hot drink for that matter, but were partial to lukewarm water. They knew they were a health nut but still snuck seconds on dessert. They knew it took them either three hours on the punching bag or two episodes of Cake Boss to get to sleep when they were stressed and that they rubbed their feet together when sleepy. Most importantly, they knew they were a person, a fact that had successfully slipped under the radar in the three years Villain worked for them. Because of that they finally understood why the criminal killed so many of their own people. Fear. Fear that one day someone would pick up too many secrets, too many pieces of their kingdom, and overthrow them. And Villain wasn't sure that was something they could talk them out of.

"Looks like you two are closer than ever," Friend said, teeth gritting with their smile.

Geez, this dude had issues. It was satisfying at first, but couldn't they just let it go? They were married for goodness sakes. They couldn't be possessive of Supervillain forever.

"What can I say?" Supervillain shrugged. "They're a sweetheart."

"Not exactly your usual type," Friend said.

"Ah, the type that lets me decide what they eat on their sandwiches?" They ruffled Villain's hair a little and pecked their forehead. "Don't worry, I'm very much past that."

Friend followed each movement like a knife lined up for the throw and offered another smile, this one even more like a grimace than the last one. "No, I meant your real type. You know, other supervillains, super powerhouses, people like that."

Villain forced smooth the confused lines scrunching their face, however, the disbelief remained. For as much history as they shared, how did Friend not realize that the type they described was exactly what intimidated Supervillain? That it was the reason they treated partners like dolls in the first place? Friend was an exception because of their longstanding relationship as crime partners in the past, and they were obviously trying to remind Supervillain of that connection, but were they seriously that stupid?

"I'm not sure what you mean," Supervillain said, tilting their head innocently. "I've always preferred people like Villain."

Friend's nails tore through their sandwich wrappings as they curled into fists. "I see."

Villain applauded silently. As their situation was, they wouldn't exactly say they were on Supervilllain's side, but they felt even less sympathetic for Friend. Not with their manipulative behavior. At least Supervillain was honest...or as honest as you could be while fake dating your ex-employee and now-hostage.

"Hon," Friend's Spouse said, pulling on their arm. "Let's take a walk, hm?" They turned to Supervillain and Villain as they slid out of the booth. "Want us to refill your drinks while we're up?"

"Sure," Supervillain said without hesitation, obviously still preening from their masterful comeback. They shoved both their cups at the couple before Villain had time to make the appropriate light protest. Luckily, Friend's Spouse didn't seem bothered by the breach in social etiquette, and taking a cup in each hand, they looped arms with Friend and made their way to the soda dispenser on the other side of the restaurant.

Supervillain dropped their hand from Villlain's head to the back of their seat, a low chuckle rising in their throat.

"Maybe you should cut it back a little," Villain said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Next time you see them you'll have 'broken up with me.' Don't push it too far. Unless you've changed your mind about killing me today?"

"I absolutely have not," Supervillain said, folding their arms. "But I am feeling somewhat merciful after today's performance, so we can push it back to this evening."

"How magnanimous."

"Don't get mouthy."

Villain shivered a little under their glare. Wow, they really were getting too brave. Maybe this fake dating situation had gotten to their head.

"Don't you think your friend is being strange?" They partly said it in hopes of taking Supervillain's attention off them, but they were also truly unsettled.

"They're always strange," Supervillain said, but a sudden grin curved up their jaw. "Oh, do you mean how completely and utterly humiliated they've been today?"

"You have a strange way of showing your affection."

Supervillain scoffed. "As if they didn't start it."

"But no," Villain continued. "It's more than that. They're giving me some really dangerous vibes."

"They're a supervillain, what do you expect?"

Villain spotted the couple circling back around, and it really was none of their concern anyway, so they simply nodded. "I guess your right."

"Here you are," Friend's Spouse announced cheerily, setting the tall paper cups down in front of them. "Oh!" They switched the drinks' places. "Actually, this one is yours, Villain."

That strange feeling was back again.

"I'm sorry," Villain replied just as bright. "I'm actually not very thirsty. I shouldn't have had you refill it."

"It's no problem." The beautiful civilian waved away their apology with a neatly manicured hand. "We were over there anyway. So don't drink it if you don't feel up to it."

Maybe Villain was overreacting after all. And what did they even care if they were right? Were they really that desperate to live an extra few hours? Maybe it had less to do with the when and more to do with the who. They'd made this deal with Supervillain. If anyone was going to kill them, they should be the one to do it.

Supervillain apparently had none of the same qualms and downed their own drink in a few gulps. "Thanks for the lunch, you two, but we should get going, now. We have evening plans to get ready for."

Oh boy, did they have evening plans.

"Of course," Friend said. They gave Supervillain a hardy embrace as they stood up and clapped Villain's shoulder in a much friendlier manner than they'd been demonstrating earlier. Their spouse's hug was more believable. If anything really had been done to their drink, Friend had probably put them up to it.

"Let's get together again soon," Supervillain threw out before wrapping their arm around Villain's shoulders and leading them back to the car.

As they slid into the driver's seat, a sudden assault of short violent coughs made them double in their seat.

"Alright?" Villain asked automatically.

Supervillain cleared their throat. "Just a tickle."

By the time they got back to Supervillain's house, that tickle had turned into a cold sweat and shallow breathing. Villain stood behind Supervillain with their hands outstretched in case the criminal suddenly toppled backward.

Supervillain's suddenly clapped their hands over their mouth and ran stumbling to the bathroom, knocking their shoulder on the door frame on the way. Villain raced after them and, since the door wasn't closed, peeked inside. The master criminal braced themself over the toilet, long, dark hair curtaining their face as they proceeded to lose their entire lunch.

"Is it food poisoning?" Villain asked optimistically when there was a pause.

"It's some sort of poisoning," Supervillain coughed bitterly.

They surged up from the floor to grab the glass on the edge of the counter, dumping their toothbrush into the sink before spewing the next round of vomit inside. They sank back to their knees, fumbling their phone out of their pocket and struggling to put in the security code. They heaved again before they got any further.

"I need you to do something for me," they gasped into the toilet bowl, a shiver running down their spine. "Go to my contacts and search up Healer. Send a text telling them I need them to make a toxicology report on a sample of mine."

Villain debated for several seconds whether they should actually do as Supervillain said or if they should simply hide the phone away and wait for nature to take its course. Supervillain's pitifulness got the better of them.

The rumor of Supervillain's relationship had already been spread to most of their network, so when Healer showed up at the door, the look they gave Villain and the cup of vomit in their hand was slightly less condescending than it might have been previously.

"You know this is typically done with blood," Healer said as they stepped into the bathroom.

"Don't get...get cute with me. You get what you get." Supervillain smacked their lips several times to speak and the eyes squinted through their hair showed more iris than pupil.

Healer brushed the hair to the side, wrinkling their nose at the bile caught in the ends. "How's your vision."

"Blurry." Supervillain looked like they wanted to lean over the toilet again, but they forced themself to stay upright and meet Healer's eyes. Villain had nearly forgotten about their pride. Perhaps they only showed their weakness to Villain because they knew it didn't matter.

"Your symptoms look like a reaction to belladonna, but I'm going to take this back with me to be sure." They raised the cup in the air with thinly veiled disgust. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'm immune to belladonna," Supervillain said.

Healer raised their brow.

"Or in the process," Supervillain amended. "I'm past the life-threatening stage."

"I'm still going to act quickly. Keep throwing up."

"You don't have to tell me." As soon as Healer was out of the room they dove back down.

Villain knelt helplessly behind them and stared at the plush shower rug. Looked like they lived another day, though it wasn't how they expected it to happen. Several scenarios ran through their head. The first: to make a run for it, though, as they'd already established, they weren't confident in their ability to evade Supervillain once they recovered. The second: kill Supervillain first while they were in this weakened state. That is, become Supervillain's worst fear.

Villain rolled it over in their mind for a few seconds but eventually came to the same result as earlier. There was something too sickening about that thought, especially with the usually robust Supervillain drained to a husk of themself on the floor. Villain had just never been the type of killer to target the defenseless or cause unnecessary pain. So be it. They'd continue on their current path.

Villain pulled Supervillain’s hair back into a thick bundle and rubbed soft circles between their shoulder blades. Surpisingly, Supervillain didn't fight it, instead dissolving into a shivering mess. Each time they heaved, Villain patted their back and murmured meaningless comforts into their ear.

“Can you lean over the tub?” Villain asked when the finally seemed dry.

“I still feel like I’m going to throw up,” Supervillain moaned. Cold sweat glistened on the nape of their neck and trickled beneath their shirt collar.

“It’s ok if you do, there’s a drain,” Villain said, wrapping their arm around their shoulder and guiding them over. Supervillain's head flopped forward and they gripped the tub edge so hard their knuckles went white.

Villain lifted their hand off their back just long enough to pull down the showerhead and temper the water, then they were back at Supervillain's side, spraying all the crusted vomit from their hair. They dragged their fingers gently from scalp to ends, then faced the showerhead away to lather in a generous amount of shampoo. Once the hair was rinsed once again, they twisted it all up in a towel and helped Supervillain to their feet.

The supervillain leaned heavily on them all the way to their bedroom where Villain laid them on their side atop the covers. As soon as they were settled, Villain made a run to the bathroom for a brush and a second towel and then to the kitchen for a bowl in case the criminal threw up again. When they returned, Supervillain was curled up in a fetal position with their eyes scrunched shut.

“Let’s dry your hair, hm?” Villain said, settling down beside them. They unwrapped the soaked towel and began rubbing the dry one up and down the criminal’s damp locks. As the long hair fluffed, Villain pulled Supervillains head into their lap and began brushing their long hair to the middle of their back.

“There you go," they said after a few minutes, nodding at the clean, shiny hair proudly. They went to get up, but Supervillain caught weakly to their wrist.

“Don’t stop,” they ordered, though it came out more like a plea.

Villain blinked. “Oh. Ok.”

They resumed the brushing and Supervillain closed their eyes. Villain's arm fell into a silent rhythm with the passing seconds, to the point where they weren't aware of the sky darkening outside. They weren't sure how long they sat there, but it was Supervillain who finally broke the quiet.

“You're only doing this because you don’t want me to kill you."

“That's true," Villain said. "But I also don’t think it’s right to let anybody suffer.”

“What kind of a villain are you?”

“Being a villain doesn’t make me a monster. Isn't that how it goes for most of us? We'd all be heroes if it weren't for just a few rebellious quirks?"

Goosebumps ran up Supervillain's arms and the back of their neck, so Villain took the bottom corner of the bed covers and folded them over Supervillain's middle.

"Anyway, it's not all selflessness. I also get the awful feeling that something terrible might happen to me if you’re out of the way.”

"Like what?"

Villain paused. They couldn't exactly say. It was the same pit of anxiety that hit them when Supervillain had asked to meet with them three weeks ago. Probably not so much a superpower as it was an instinct. A deep, foreboding dread that chewed mildly at their insides.

"Who do you think poisoned you?" they asked instead.

"Friend's Spouse. They were the one who refilled our drinks and they were very particular about which one I got."

Villain hadn't thought about it that way before, that the civilian hadn't switched drinks to harm them but to spare them. "That makes sense actually seeing how jealous Friend has been acting lately. Maybe they wanted you out of the way so there was nobody to compete with anymore."

And to think they thought Friend's Spouse might be nice.

"What a hack job if it turns out to be belladonna." Supervillain's stomach gurgled and they curled in on themself for a moment. "Won't they be shocked when I show up for our next double date."

"Wait 'our' as in me and you?"

"Hm."

"Aren't you killing me tonight? Or, er, once you feel up to it?"

"Not after this," Supervillain said. "It's war, now. How do you feel about pushing your death off a little further?"

A weight Villain hadn't known they were carrying lifted off their shoulders. They had to hold back the relief in their voice. "Sounds fine to me."

***

Supervillain watched Villain's softly rising chest. They'd nodded off a few minutes ago and now half their body was sprawled out across the bed while the other half dangled over the edge. They were likely to fall off in that position.

Supervillain gingerly scooted a couple feet toward the other end then wrapped both arms around the smaller criminal's middle and dragged them fully onto the mattress. The small exertion left them panting and awkwardly draped around Villain.

A knock followed by the creak of the front door announced Healer's arrival. No one knew the real status of their relationship, so they didn't bother removing themself before Healer entered the room.

To their professional credit, the doctor blanched for only a moment.

"Belladonna," they confirmed. Supervillain was oddly relieved when they didn't ask them to lift their arm from around Villain's waist as they injected the antidote into their shoulder.

Supervillain winced, and Villain groaned a little in their sleep as they gripped them tighter. "I hate needles. I hate them."

"I know," Healer said, "but you'll be feeling better in no time, if not a touch sleepy."

'Touch' was an understatement. Supervillain felt like their brain had been overlaid with fog. They tried not to show it though. They wanted this person out of their house first.

"Thanks, doc. Really appreciate the assist. Now...could you..."

They flicked their eyes toward the door.

"Of course," Healer said, still all professionalism. "I'll stop by again tomorrow."

Supervillain listened for the front door to open and close before tiredly plopping their chin on Villain's shoulder.

"I don't think I can kill you," they whispered. It wasn't something they'd fully allowed to develop in their head, let alone say out loud, but there it was. "I'm much too fond of you being alive."

They spread their mouth into a wide yawn. Their limbs suddenly felt too heavy to move, so against better judgment they snuggled in closer.

"You don't act scared but I know that you are. Do you think you could...ever not be? Or maybe...forgive me?"

Folds of thick darkness swept over them slow and sudden, dragging them down down down into a vast dreamless sleep. No time, no thoughts, no end. Until the light pierced their eyes. Not the familiar glow of the sun through the blinds, something paler, harsh. The ceiling lights? But why were those on? More poignant than that was the emptiness of their arms. It took several moments to remember why that was important, but when it finally hit, it hit hard.

Maybe Villain had gone back to their own bed. Supervillain wouldn't blame them.

The creak of the bedroom door sent their heart jumping, and they had to practically pry their eyelids open. They struggled to blink away the combined blur of sleep and tears, but the picture slowly came into focus.

"Good morning," Friend grinned into their face.

Part Five

#villain x villain #supervillain x villain #heroes and villains community #writing snippet #hero x villain #villain #creative writing #heroes and villains #hero #fiction #villain x hero #superheroes and villains #long post #like really long post #how the heck did this get so long? #I'm so tired #so hopefully its still good #and um #surprise #things were looking up #but now everything is awful #teehee

[wasithard]

my self esteem is through the roof right now (thank you @vinylpaperclip​) i’m just gonna post the whole “australian!annabeth” fic here even though i think its wildly out of character based on the fact that annabeth is absolutely a self-insert for myself but who cares!!!!! 

in case it isnt clear footy = football and in this case is referring to the great game of rugby league. i apologise in advance for the ending which is just....a whole lot of cheese. enjoy!

She really did bring a footy jersey all the way with her to England, even though it was going to be seen by exactly zero other people as she watched the game by herself in her room.

But hey, it feels like home, and from the excited text she gets from her brothers in response to the photo she sends them of her in it lets her know that she made them smile, which makes it worth it.

They’re halfway into the first half, Blues up by 2, when her phone dings.

 Dumbass: are you around i’m bored

You: watching the footy you may join me but no talking this is important

Dumbass: if it’s australian football it’s not important but sure

When she opens the door for him a few minutes later Percy squints at her.

“Are you wearing a jersey? Did you bring a jersey all the way here?” He sounds incredulous.

“Gotta support the boys!” She says in reply, turning around and racing back to her bed and her laptop so she doesn’t miss anymore game time.

Annabeth hears Percy shut the door before he joins her, poking her in the side to get her to make room for him on the bed. She shuffles over and he settles in beside her, stretching an arm behind her as she sinks into his side.

“Oh, it’s rugby league. That’s acceptable at least.”

“What did you think I was watching?” She asks him, eyes not leaving the screen.

“I thought you were going to make me sit through your country’s sorry excuse for soccer.”

“You know what, I’m not even going to try and defend us on that one.”

He chuckles, “Good.”

They fall into a silence and Annabeth is wholly focused on the game. She fills Percy in on the importance of this game, the long, intense rivalry of the teams, who her favourite and least favourite players are. For his part, he seems to actually care, or does a good job of pretending.

At half time he raises his eyebrows, “This is actually pretty entertaining.”

“Well duh,” she says, turning to face him, “We’re world number 1s and this is an all-stars match.”

“I don’t know about world number ones,” he says. The smile on his face tells her he’s just trying to rile her up, but she can’t help herself.

“We literally won the World Cup last year.”

“Home ground advantage. Doesn’t count.”

She’s smiling as she shakes her head, “Shut up.”

“Make me.” He says, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick to her lips for the briefest of seconds.

It sends butterflies shooting through her stomach, and she’s suddenly very much aware of all the places he’s touching her. She loves it, this game they’ve been playing for the past couple of weeks, dancing around each other. She only loves it, she thinks, because she knows he feels the same.

There’s no mystery about either of their feelings for each other, the question is only when they’ll crack and act on them.

Not right now, she thinks to herself, I haven’t waited this long for our first kiss not to be romantic.

She grabs a pillow from her other side and whacks his face with it, laughing at the exclamation she gets out of him.

He grabs her and smothers her with it. She manages to blindly locate his armpit and starts tickling him there. Maybe not the most graceful way of getting him off of her, but it works.

“Did you just tickle me?!”

“Yes and if you try to do it back I can’t promise that I won’t draw blood.” She states simply, getting up from the bed and walking to the kitchenette. “Hungry?” She asks.

“Surely you know the answer to that.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, “I’ve only got snacks. Do you want chips or bread?”

He rolls onto his back, his head hanging off the side of the bed as he watches her, “Will that bread have Vegemite on it?”

“You know it will!” Her voice is cheery from inside a cupboard as she brings out her 1kg tub of Vegemite.

“Have I told you how happy I am that you recognise the sheer deliciousness of Vegemite?” She says, passing him a plate with two slices of Vegemite-lathered bread as she returns to the bed.

“Yes, many times.”

“Well, I’m telling you again. I’m so glad you have taste, unlike everyone else in this country who thinks Marmite is edible.”

“It’s a gift.” He says, grinning through a mouthful of bread. She scrunches her nose in disgust and fetches her laptop from the end of her bed.

“Perfect timing,” she mutters as the game restarts for the second half. They settle into their comfortable silence again, the only sounds the voices of the commentators, their mouths chewing the bread and Annabeth’s occasional gasps and muttered curses.

He takes their plates when they’re done and puts them on the floor next to the bed. They rearrange themselves so that she’s leaning against him again and this time his arm rests around her waist, hand laying on her hip.

It starts as nothing, but at some point his hand finds his way under the thick, blue cotton of her jersey and onto the smooth warmth of her skin underneath.

She hears her own sharp intake of breath and wishes her body wouldn’t be so obvious about the effect Percy has on her. He sounds genuinely worried when he says, “Sorry, should I–”

“No! No, you’re fine.” She says, glancing at him in reassurance, “It’s nice.”

Nice, she thinks, ugh. But she refocuses on the game, his hand a weight burning into her side.

They sit a few more minutes until he rubs his thumb slowly upwards along her stomach, and Annabeth thinks she might die. Involuntarily, she inhales again.

She can hear a small smile in Percy’s voice when he asks, “You ok?”

She doesn’t trust her voice so she nods and hums the affirmative, but her breathing is shallow.

“Ok,” he says, and brings his head down to rest on her shoulder, lips brushing the top of her back. She fights the urge to tense her body in anticipation and instead turns on him. He jerks back in surprise.

“Actually, you’re being distracting. I’m going to need to you stop this until the game is over.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips. “I’m distracting am I?”

“Yep,” she says, turning back around, “I already said it, not saying it again.”

“What about what I’m doing is distracting you, ‘Beth?” He asks, bringing his head back down to near her shoulder.

“I’m not talking about this while there’s a game on, unfortunately.”

“Ok I’ll just chill here then.”

“Unfortunately, you can’t do that either.”

“Should I leave then?”

“Nope.”

“Well…”

She huffs in frustration, “Percy!” She turns towards him, mouth open to berate him but the words get stuck in her throat at the way he is positively beaming at her. She hates him for it. She falls a little more in love with him for it.

She exhales, deflating. “Why now?” She asks.

He tilts his head, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she turns her body so that she’s fully facing him now, the game momentarily forgotten. “Why now of all times to be so forward?”

She can see his brain thinking, oh ok so we’re actually talking about this now, as he blinks a few times. “Why not?”

She thinks about spitting some more banter about how she’s in the middle of a very important rugby game and it’s actually quite rude of him to interrupt her with this but decides instead to try and be honest, to let herself be vulnerable. Because if one thing has become clear to her over the months she’s been living in England, is that she can trust this man in front of her. He’s listened to her talk about architecture and Australian politics just as intently as he’s listened to her tell him about her parents and step-family and her attempts to start living a life for herself instead of a life to try and please the people around her.

Her voice is small when she responds. “Why me?” 

She’s staring at him with an openness that scares her a little bit, but she feels a bit better when she sees his entire body soften.

Percy’s gaze searches hers for a moment, the expression on his face as if he’s asking, are you joking? 

He shakes his head a little in disbelief, “Because, Annabeth, how could I know you and not be desperately in love with you?”

A sound falls out of her, like she’s released a weight she’s been holding for years. She hesitates for one last moment before both of her hands reach out and grab his shirt, pulling him close and capturing his lips with hers, because she has to. 

His words are ones she’s been wishing to hear for years, a suggestion of a romance she’s been blindly, naively hoping she’ll find one day. She kisses him with the force of twenty-two years of yearning for someone to see her and love her as she is; she kisses him with the relief of finally finding it.

His arms come around her and hug her closer to him and her hands slide up his chest and around his neck, pulling herself into his lap so that they are flush against each other. She’s not sure how long they’re kissing, but when she eventually pulls back they’re both out of breath. Her hair is hanging around them both like a curtain, enclosing them in their own world where they are totally lost in this moment, in each other. His eyes are sparkling up at her and there’s a beautiful redness to his cheeks that make his eyes shine even brighter. She brings her hands up to cup his face, thumbs tracing his cheeks, and he just stares and stares until she closes the space between them again with one more long, searing kiss. One that she feels deep in her belly.

He rolls them over so they’re lying next to each other on the bed when they break apart again, and she keeps one hand resting on his face as they just look at each other, entranced.

An eruption of cheers from the tinny laptop speakers snaps her out of her daze. She bolts upright and checks the score – it’s full time and the Blues have won the game. She shouts with joy, shuts the laptop and tosses it to the end of the bed before falling back down next to him.

“I guess I’ve won twice today.” She says, shuffling closer so that her nose brushes his.

“Well, congratulations,” He says, “What’s the prize?”

She smiles slowly, her lips taking time to break apart and expose her grinning teeth. His eyes follow the movement, and his soft exhale as her smile grows bigger fills her chest with a golden warmth.

“He’s right here,” is all she says before leaning in again.

#here she is #im gonna go have a nap now bye #also if anyone cares/understands yes she is watching state of origin #percabeth fic #percabeth #pjo #hi i wrote a thing #i cant think of a title for this sorryyyyy

[drabbles-of-writing]

First Class Mess

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

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

Living with Edric and Emira had it’s ups and downs.

On one hand, Amity could finally get away from her parents. It wasn’t a permanent living space, and she always made sure to spend at least a few nights at her parents house, excusing her absence as being busy with the Emperor’s Coven. But it was far better than trying to hide at the Owl House where her anxiety spiked through the roof, no offence to the family.

On the other hand, her siblings were an absolute mess.

,

“Rule number five, I don’t wanna see any girlfriends here.”

“Wow, okay, no, I veto that rule.” Emira said immediately, leaning her head off the couch arm to look over at her brother, who was sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, what gives?” Amity agreed, sitting on her knees on the couch.

“Amity, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Emira asked, glancing back at her with a raised brow.

“You and I both know he just means Viney and Luz,” Amity growled, crossing her arms. “He just prefers to use the term girlfriends.”

“I meant they can’t stay over for the night,” Edric said, raising his hands defensively. “This apartment can barely fit the three of us without falling apart.” He said, gesturing to the room around them, which, admittedly, did look pretty ghetto.

“I don’t need to be dealing with you two causing more damage with your little crushes. They’re kind of known for causing trouble.” He said matter-of-factly. “And yes, I’m spreading this to Emira because it’s rude to stick it only on Amity.”

“Wow, thanks,” Amity grumbled as Emira gave an offended gasp.

“Unless someone is dying, I don’t wanna see any dates in here, understand?” Edric said. “At least not until we’ve gotten everything together in some capacity.”

“I resent this rule,” Emira insisted stubbornly.

“Yeah? Well, I’m older, therefore I win.” Edric said smugly.

“Ed, it was by eleven minutes.” ,

And that’s how Amity came to the apartment in the middle of a thunderstorm to find Edric and Jerbo in the kitchen. Both a little too close to be casual.

The second they registered the door opening, Edric sprung back. Jerbo whirled around from where he was perched on the kitchen counter (seriously, that thing can only hold so much weight).

Both of them looked like King when he’d been caught stealing from the fridge for the fifth time that week.

Amity stared at them for a few moments, her brain a little fried from dealing with the pelting boiling rain earlier.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Ed.” She finally said, walking in and kicking the door shut behind her.

“It’s just Jerbo!” Edric defended frantically, looking wildly between Amity and a very perplexed Jerbo.

“The fact you immediately knew which rule I was talking about isn’t helping your situation,” Amity called back, throwing off her overly thick coat onto the hanger by the door, too lazy to take off her Emperor’s Coven cloak on underneath.

“And unless you want Emira to taunt you endlessly, I suggest Jerbo should leave soon. No offence,” She added, looking towards the upperclassmen.

“None taken,” Jerbo said with a wave of his hand. “Viney’s not much different.”

Edric groaned and slumped against the counter beside Jerbo, head hanging. Jerbo gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.

Amity kicked off her boots and flopped dramatically onto the couch, waving her hand above her where the boys could see.

“Either go make out downstairs or make up your mind, ‘kay? Cause I’m tired.”

Jerbo made a strangled wheezing-like noise that reminded Amity of a deflating squeaky toy. Edric sprung upwards, flushing brightly.

“We were not making out!” He exclaimed, voice strained. “We were doing nothing even remotely like that, even!”

Amity sat up on the couch, turning her head to look over at her brother with a deadpan stare. She looked like she wanted to say something, but resigned to just sighing and laying back down on the couch.

“Whatever. I’m blackmailing you with this later.”

“You suck,”

,

“Quick question,” Emira said, poking her head into Amity’s room. “I can still get away with doing something illegal here, right?”

Amity looked up from her book, giving her sister a look that said her question was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.

“I’m only a cop when on the clock, Em.” Amity said. “Anything illegal you do when I’m not working is fair game. Legally speaking.”

“Nice,” Emira pumped a fist.

“Can I ask what you’re planning on doing?” Amity raised a brow.

“You gonna rat us out?”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did. Like somebody in this house!” Amity added the last part notably louder.

“Amity, shut up!” Edric called back.

“...I’m gonna ask about that later.” Emira said, pointing a finger at Amity. “Anyway, Viney can’t afford the supplies she needs to help out some baby bearstripes she found. So we were just gonna steal it and stash the supplies here.”

“You’re whipped,” Edric’s voice floated from the main room.

“Shut it, Ed!” Emira snapped back.

“Yeah, sure, go steal some stuff.” Amity shrugged. “I’m not working till tomorrow.”

“So we can totally commit crimes now?” Edric asked, suddenly appearing being Emira, looking far too excited.

“I mean, yeah, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” Amity said.

“If it’s a bad enough crime I could be put on a mission to hunt the two of you down. Obviously I’m not going to raid this apartment but if I catch you on the streets it is on sight.” She warned.

“Oh, so your little Owl family gets a free pass, but we don’t?” Edric scoffed.

“I do not give them a free pass!” Amity protested. “I throw Eda in jail all the time. I’ve never even had to break her out!”

“Right, sorry,” Emira amended. “Ed meant that your hopeless crush gets a free pass, but we don’t?”

Amity growled and threw her book at the two of them. They quickly jumped back and swung the door shut, letting the book hit it instead.

“That’s a yes,” Edric snickered.

“I’m not the only one who gives crushes a free pass!” Amity shouted after them.

There were a few beats of silence.

“You have got to be kidding me, Ed.”

,

Emira knew the rules of the apartment. Which meant there were barely any and they fluctuated from day to day.

The two big ones were that anything that happened in the apartment was a safe zone, and to avoid bringing over anyone associated with the Owl House, which sadly, included Viney and Jerbo, seeing as they were friends with Luz.

They loved everyone in the Owl House, they really did. But everyone in that family was known to be very chaotic, and they’d probably break the shabby apartment or piss off the neighbors more than the siblings already had.

It was simply a precaution.

Emira, however, was a known rule-breaker.

So, it wasn’t a surprise to find Viney sitting in the living room, currently wrapping up Emira’s sprained wrist.

“You're a mess,” Viney sighed, slowly bandaging her arm. “Can’t you ask your parents to cover your medical bills?”

“Course I can, but at one in the morning?” Emira scoffed, keeping her voice low. “I’ll bug them about it later.”

“Only you would get a sprained wrist and say it’s not that big a deal,” Viney sighed, gently raising Emira’s hand and letting her hand glow, doing her best to ease the pain.

“Eh, I’d say it was worth it anyway,” Emira hissed, flinching as she felt a sharp pain in her wrist.

“Sorry, sorry,” Viney whispered, laying her free hand over Emira’s to hold her still as she slowly healed the sprain as best she could.

“I don’t have any healing glyphs, so you’ll just have to leave it be till morning. The splint should work for now, though.” She continued, looking up at Emira.

Emira was staring at where Viney was holding her hand, blushing with her ears lowered, eyes blown wide.

Though that last part might’ve been because the only light was the moon shining through the small window beside the two.

“Em?” Viney tilted her head, smiling.

“Huh?” Emira jerked her head up. “Sorry, did, uh, did you say something?” 

Viney giggled and removed her glowing hand from Emira’s wrist, though she kept holding up her arm with her other hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” She said, shaking her head.

“All the best people are,” Emira replied, dipping her head to properly meet the shorter witch’s eyes.

Viney smiled and lightly pressed her forehead against Emira’s causing the girl to freeze and stiffen up.

Emira’s face lit up and her eyes darted around, though she didn’t move away.

“S-so, sorry to hi-hide you out here,” She stuttered, shoulders hunched. “But Ed pre-pretty much broke...broke that rule s-so I’m sure it’s not...not that big a--”

“Em,”

Viney leaned forward more and squished their noses together, giving the Blight a rather amused look.

Emira quickly shut her mouth with an audible clack, meeting the witch’s gaze.

Viney slowly tilted her head forward, her eyes closing.

Emira did her best to calm her heart before leaning in as well.

Something clattered, loudly, on the kitchen floor.

Viney froze and jumped back, startled. Emira only slumped, thoroughly annoyed.

“It is one AM!” Emira snapped, leaning around the couch. “Ed, what are you doing--”

It wasn’t Ed.

Amity shut the fridge, a slice of bread in her mouth and a bag of snacks in her hands, along with the cup she had dropped.

She looked over, surprised to see Emira, before morphing into a look of understanding when she saw Viney peek out as well.

Amity took out the bread in her mouth, setting the cup down in it’s previous position by the sink.

“Carry on,” She said calmly, holding her snacks as she walked out of the kitchen and back to her room.

Emira glared in the direction where Amity left for a moment before she heard a snort behind her.

She looked back, seeing Viney was doing her best to smother a laugh.

“...what?” Emira demanded, raising a brow.

Viney broke into a fit of giggles then, barely able to smother a loud laugh that would definitely wake up Edric.

“I’m sorry, it’s just--I wasn’t expecting that!” She snickered. “What’s your sister even doing up this late?”

“I guess being up at ungodly hours just runs in the family,” Emira sighed, embarrassed as she picked up one of the pillows that had fallen off the couch with her uninjured hand and placed it in her lap.

“I take it that was probably my cue to leave,” Viney chuckled, standing up. “My dad will get worried if I’m not there in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Emira said, visibly deflating.

“Keep off that hand, you hear me?” Viney said, gathering up her bandages and extra splints into her bag. “And go to the hospital to get it properly fixed in the morning.”

“I know, I know,” Emira muttered bitterly, looking up at Viney with puppy-dog eyes. “Do you have to go?”

“Sorry, Em. But I’d rather get at least some amounts of sleep.” Viney said. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?” She said, leaning down and kissing Emira’s forehead.

Emira, somehow, lit up even brighter with her ears twitching downwards. She held her pillow tighter and buried her face in it.

“‘Kay,” She mumbled shlyly.

Viney giggled and stepped back, making her way towards the door. 

“Don’t lay on your hand too much,” She added, opening the door.

“‘Kay,” Emira repeated, lifting her head ever so slightly and watching Viney with one eye.

Viney gave a small wave before stepping out of the apartment, shutting the door behind her.

Emira only continued watching the door where Viney left, absolutely lovestruck.

“All I wanted to get was a drink,” Came a grumble behind her.

“Amity!” Emira gasped, sitting upright and looking around the couch again to see Amity had wandered back in to grab a drink. 

“I didn’t ask to see my sisters failing flirting attempts,” Amity muttered, pouring herself a cup of apple juice.

“Go back to bed!”

“I’d rather die,”

,

“Okay, okay, but what if instead of teeth, the worm had legs inside its mouth.”

“Ed, it’s like, ten. I’m not doing this right now,” Emira groaned, sitting on her bed as Edric sat on the floor beside her.

“Helps keep us awake, doesn’t it?” Edric shrugged. “Shouldn’t Amity have come back by now?”

“Maybe she just decided to sleep over and forgot to tell us,” Emira said, checking her scroll.

Sure enough, her last text from Amity, thirty minutes ago, only said ‘I’ll be back soon.’

“Doesn’t really seem like her, though.” Edric frowned.

The sound of a window opening caught their attention. Both of them scrambled out of Emira’s room and peered around the corner, curious.

Amity crawled in through the window, brushing herself off before turning back around.

Luz was outside the window, standing on her staff as it flew beside the open window. The staff lowered so Luz could learn her arms on the windowsill, giving Amity a smug look.

“See? I’m not that bad of a flier,” She said proudly.

“Uh huh, sure.” Amity said, sounding amused. “After the first couple of terrifying minutes,”

“You wound me,” Luz said with a dramatic sigh. “Why must I be cursed to be with such a cruel witch?”

“Oh hush,” Amity chuckled, batting at Luz’s arm. “You made me late!”

“Was it worth it, though?” Luz said, tilting her head with a grin.

“...yeah,” Amity admitted, turning her head away, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“That’s the Noceda charm for ya,” Luz winked.

“You’re impossible,” Amity grumbled bashfully.

“Yeah, but you like that.” Luz said, leaning forward through the window.

“Very much so,” Amity agreed, meeting Luz’s chaste kiss with a smile.

“Wha--”

Edric, who had been leaning too far out, fumbled and fell over with a loud thump. Much to Emira’s chagrin.

Amity broke the kiss and whirled around, face flushing even more when she spotted both of her siblings.

“When did you two get here?” She demanded, pressing back on the windowsill, where Luz was now staring in, startled.

“We live here, Amity.” Emira deadpanned, not bothering to help up Edric. “And you have some explaining to do, young lady!”

“I think I’m just gonna…” Luz slowly flew a few feet away from the window. “I think I’m gonna go…”

“Yeah, you probably should.” Amity sighed, looking back. “Bye, Luz.” “See you tomorrow,” Luz gave a shy smile before sitting appropriately on her staff and flying off in a flash, clearly embarrassed about the situation as well.

“Hold on!” Edric shot up from the floor. “Since when was this a thing?”

“It was recent,” Amity grumbled, shutting the window.

“Are you telling me our Mittens got herself a girlfriend?” Emira asked excitedly, spinning the girl around.

“I can’t believe she beat me,” Edric muttered, crossing his arms as he sat dramatically on the couch.

“Suck it,” Amity teased, sticking out her tongue. “And listen, I was planning on telling you, but it was pretty recent and we didn’t really--”

“How recent, exactly?” Emira raised a disbelieving brow.

Amity looked away, ears flicked back.

“Like a week and a half...?”

“...that’s reasonable.” Emira nodded, releasing her sister. “And it was about time, too!” She said, ruffling her hair.

Amity slapped away her sister's hands, embarrassed as Edric gave her a grin.

“Guess we gotta compete for second place, huh?” Edric teased.

“You and I both know you and Jerbo couldn’t ask the other on a date to save your sanities.”

“I never said it was Jerbo!” Edric squawked.

The sisters shared a knowing look but didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, I’m tired. I had a long day,” Amity said, walking by her siblings. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Try not to get lost dreaming about that heart-stealer of yours!” Emira called after her.

“Don’t make me come back out there!” Amity’s voice warned from around the corner.

“Whatever you say, Mittens!”

,

Amity wasn’t used to late-night shifts.

Coming to the apartment early in the morning was a pain. Her mask was pushed up on her head as she walked into the apartment on quiet feet, ready to collapse and sleep all day.

Edric was in the kitchen.

He was never up this early.

His elbows were leaning on the kitchen counter, and he was covering his face with one hand, his other clenched into a fist on the counter.

Amity blinked and took off her mask, setting it on the coat hanger and slowly walking over, worry evident on her face.

“Ed?” She asked quietly.

Edric jolted and jerked his head up, expression flashing to that of momentary fear.

He was crying.

“Mi-Mittens!” Edirc gasped, quickly wiping at his eyes. “I-I didn’t hear you come...come in,”

“Edric?” Amity rushed over around the counter, gently grabbing her older brother's arm. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He said, giving her a sorrowfully forced smile. “Was, er, cutting some tear-peppers earlier and it hasn’t gone away yet.”

Amity sighed and looked up at her brother.

“Ed, that’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.” She said bluntly. “What happened?” She asked again, her voice softer.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about it,” Edric insisted. “It’s my job to look after you, remember?”

“You're my brother, not my dad, thank Titan.” Amity muttered. “I’m not thirteen, Ed.” She continued. “You can tell me,”

Edric gazed down at his little sister for a moment. He swallowed before sighing and letting his shoulders slump.

“Just a little stressed,” He admitted, turning away to stare at the empty counter. “You know, what with trying to actually make a living without mom or dad's help.” He sighed.

“And then there’s the whole rebellion thing me and Em are working on. And that stupid tennant I hate. And trying to find a decent part of the Illusion Coven to join, since we definitely want to stick to that.” He continued.

“And…” He glanced down at Amity. “Well, let’s just say that fear of loneliness isn’t looking too irrational right now,” He said, sounding like he was seconds away from breaking down, hands shaking.

“Hey, that’s not true,” Amity said, squeezing Edric’s arm. “Me and Em aren’t gonna leave you.”

“Amity, you’re in the Emperor’s Coven. You're a spy. You're part of something big.” Edric shook his head. “You’ve got a lot ahead of you.”

“And Em…” He looked away. “Em’s got something going for her. You don’t become mom's favorite by being mediocre.”

“Who cares what mom thinks?” Amity demanded. “She isn’t worth either of our times. Last I checked, she was just as mean on Emira after you flunked the Emperor’s Coven tryouts as she was with you.”

“...she said a lot of things you didn’t hear,” Edric said quietly. “I’m grateful you were at the Owl House.” He murmured. “You deserve a place like that.”

Amity stared up at her brother, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Just how long, she wondered, had Edric been hiding these things from her? From Em?

She leaned against his side, burying her head in the crook of his arm.

“You deserve it, too.” She said softly. “You were able to stand up to mom, you made your own choices and even let me live with you…I couldn’t do those on my own.” She shut her eyes.

“You never gave up, even after all that. That’s what I always liked about you, y’know?”

She felt Edric stiffen and shutter, trying to hold back cries as tears freely fell down his face. He drew an arm around his little sister, pulling her close and pressing his nose into her hair.

They stayed like that for a while. Holding each other in silent reassurances.

,

It was late in the afternoon, sunset fast approaching.

The three siblings were all at different places in the apartment, for once, having a moment of peace among them.

That was, until, the power cut out.

Amity raised her head from where she was reading on the couch. Edric paused making his sandwich and Emira poked her head out of her room.

None of them said a word for a few moments.

“Did you two seriously forget to pay the power bill?” Amity broke the silence.

“I swore I paid it!” Edric insisted. “They didn’t give a notice or anything!”

“You just keep forgetting to close the mailbox, you great idiot!” Emira growled, walking into the main room. “Maybe they just got lost or something.”

Amity got off the couch and opened the apartment door, peering out. 

There were no lights in the hallways, and she could see a few other tenants looking out in confusion as well.

“Nope, it’s a complex issue.” Amity said, looking back. “Whole place lost power.”

“Fantastic,” Emira grumbled. “In the beginning of winter!”

“At least there isn’t any snow yet,” Amity shrugged.

“We’re going to freeze to death in like half an hour.” Edric sighed, stepping out from behind the counter.

“I’m sure I could find some blankets,” Emira insisted.

“You guys know we could just like...go to the Owl House?” Amity raised a brow.

Both her siblings turned to stare at her, blinking dumbfoundedly.

“...right, you guys don’t go there as often.” Amity mumbled quietly. “Look, how about we just head on over? Eda will understand. This should only last for a day or so, anyway.”

“So long I’m not freezing, I’ll take it.” Edric said, already grabbing his coat.

“Isn’t it a bit late?” Emira worried.

“Someone in that house is always awake, no matter the hour.” Amity assured her. “They won’t mind.”

“Yeah, because you have special girlfriend status,” Edric teased.

“Jealous,” Amity shot back, a blush coming to her cheeks as she held the door open for her siblings. “The Owl House has its own power, anyway. So it should be fine.”

“And if not, you get to snuggle up to Luz,” Emira taunted.

“I’m going to let Fang bite both of you,” Amity threatened, walking out after her siblings and through the dark hallways of the apartment complex.

“Ha! Jokes on you, he already bit me.” Edric said proudly. “I’m immune.”

“That’s not how that works.” ,

“Hi, Amity!” Hooty greeted, well before the Blight siblings were at the front porch.

“Can it, Hooty.” Amity said with a sneer. “Tell Eda we’re here,”

“Oh, she already knows.” Hooty said cheerfully. “Luz saw you through the--”

The door was suddenly swung open, and Hooty’s face smashed against the side of the house, much to his complaints.

Eda stood there, looking over the two young-adults and teenager with a confused, but not unwelcome expression.

“Didja get kicked out of your apartment?” She inquired, flicking an ear.

“Power went out,” Emira explained. “Amity said you’d let us stay while it gets fixed?”

“What did I say about making decisions for me?” Eda scolded the girl. “I keep getting Luz’s friends showing up because you insist that I’ll let them in.”

“And yet, you never disappoint,” Amity said with a grin. “May we come in?”

Eda muttered under her breath about kids these days before stepping aside, allowing the three to wander on in.

“Amity,” Lilith greeted from where she was having a cup of tea on the couch. Amity swore that woman was addicted to the stuff.

“Amity!” Luz said at the same time, much more enthused as she rushed from the window and enveloped the witch in a hug. “What’s with the party?” She asked.

“Power problems,” Emira explained for her flustered sister. “We’re just gonna hang here for a bit. Don’t let us invade your mushy time,” She teased, stepping around them and looking at the house.

“Aw, come on!” King complained, crawling out from underneath the table in front of the couch. “Now I’ll never get sleep with a bunch of teenagers around.”

“Excuse you, we’re nineteen! Legal adults,” Edric corrected.

“Same difference,”

Lilith rolled her eyes and offered tea to the twins. Emira accepted it while Edric hung up their coats, watching as both his sisters seamlessly fit right into the discussions of the Owl family, despite their sudden intrusion.

He smiled to himself, slowly looking around the Owl House.

Yeah, they’d picked a good family.

,

It was late.

Amity hadn’t made it home.

Emira had called the Owl House to see if Amity was there. They said she’d left two hours earlier, and were surprised to hear she hadn’t made it back to the apartment yet.

They said Amity had left after getting a call from their mother.

It was nearly midnight.

Edric was beside himself with worry, pacing the living room.

They’d even called up Keene, the second-in-command of Amity’s Emperor’s Coven group. She had given his number to them for strict emergencies.

He hadn’t seen her either.

“I’m going to go look for her,” Edric said, breaking Emira out of her train of thought and storming towards the door. “Something must have happened with mom and dad.”

“I’ll wait for her here,” Emira nodded. “I’ll call you if she--”

Right as Edric was about to open the apartment door, it swung open very aggressively.

“Amity!” The twins exclaimed.

The seventeen-year-old stood hunched in the doorway, head hanging and bangs covering her eyes. She was shaking, violently. She was still in her Emperor’s Coven outfit, as she had visited the Owl House first and didn’t have a spare change of clothes.

“Where have you been?” Edric asked worriedly, crouching down. She was always shorter than them. “We were worried sick!”

“Did something happen?” Emira added, getting off the couch. “Mittens?”

The girl raised her head, and the twins gave a sharp intake of breath.

Amity’s face was stained with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She had a dark, angry purple bruise on her left cheek, and was rubbing at her left wrist.

“What happened?” Emira demanded, shutting the door as Edric pulled Amity into the apartment.

“I-I,” Amity stuttered, fresh tears already beginning to leak from her eyes as her siblings gently led her to the couch and sat on either side of her.

“I didn’t mean to,” Amity sniffled, shoulders trembling. “I didn’t mean to say it, I didn’t, I--”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Edric comforted, holding her hands to stop her messing with her wrist. “Just tell us what happened, Amity.”

Amity took in sharp, shaky breaths for a few moments, trying to calm herself down.

“M-mom wanted me to c-come home,” She explained, though the twins already knew. “She...she told me it was because I left something there. I-I went over and...and,”

She bit her lip, holding back a cry as Emira gently placed a hand on her back.

“She got mad,” Amity said, her voice rattly. “She...she said she talked to Keene and-and he said I wasn’t spending as much t-time at the Coven as I said...he...he didn’t know--”

“Hey, we know, we know,” Emira said softly. “What else?”

“Sh-she demanded to know where I-I’d been,” Amity sniffled, holding herself. “I did...didn’t want to tell her, so I,” She inhaled. “I got mad...I got mad, I told her it wasn’t...wasn’t her business…I didn’t even really li-live with her…”

The twins fearfully glanced at each other. Nobody talked back to their mother. Not unless they wanted a death sentence.

Edric raised his hand and Amity flinched, and he felt a stab of pain in his chest.

He slowly, and genty, brushed his hand by her shoulder, right below where her bruise was.

“It...it didn’t go well,” Amity murmured, pulling off her gloves and revealing she had a bruise around her left wrist, looking like she had been sharply grabbed.

“Did mom do this?” Emira demanded quietly, gesturing to the nasty mark on her face.

Amity didn’t answer.

“She said sorry right after,” Amity mumbled, almost inaudible.

The twins stared, horror striking them to the core. Edric wrapped his arm around Amity’s shoulders, pulling her closer. She let him, sniffling.

“...you’re not going back there.” Emira decided. “I don’t care how many laws we break. You won’t.”

“I already told them,” Amity murmured, glancing over at her. “I...I said I was a member of the Emperor’s Coven and they, they couldn’t tell me what to do anymore…”

She lifted her unhurt hand to her cloak and withdrew Fang, her palisman, who was curled around her fingers and looked up at the twins.

“Eda showed me a re-recording spell before I left. They know I can use it if, if they try to get me back.”

Neither of the twins wanted to know what that snake had seen.

“Good, because you were never going to go back there to begin with.” Edric said firmly. “Well, no, no, not good, that’s probably not--”

Emira punched his arm and he winced, but obediently went quiet.

“What if she finds out I live here?” Amity asked quietly, curling closer into Ed’s shoulder. “She-she’ll try to do something. What if she cuts you off?”

“We don’t want anything to do with her anymore, I assure you.” Emira growled.

“You-you need the money,” Amity sniffled. “I know you do.”

“We can start making our own--” “Please,” Amity turned her head, giving her sister a scared look. “Please don’t cut off mom. She’ll do something worse.” She said, voice going quieter. “Not yet. You need it now. I’ll be okay.”

Emira wanted to argue, she really did.

But she couldn’t.

Getting jobs in this time of the Boiling Isles, and in this region, was tough. Especially for illusionists. They’d made a bit of money here and there, but a lot of their support came from their mother and father, who grudgingly handed it out so to make their children at least look like they were surviving on their own, for the public.

And it wasn’t like any of them could go to the coven just yet. In a real court battle, they knew their parents would win. They always would.

It was their public image that worried them. And for now, the Blight children had the upper hand.

They’d have to let the spider come to them. As horrifying as the thought of waiting sounded.

“Alright,” Edric related, drawing circles on her arm. “But you aren’t going anywhere near them. Not ever again. Do you understand?”

Amity didn’t respond. She just pulled herself closer to Edric, shuttering with the strain to hold back sobs.

Edric pulled her into a real hug, and Emira wasn’t far behind. They both murmured words of comfort as Amity muffled her cries in Edric’s shoulder, tense with the effort.

If this was what the Blight name meant, they didn’t want it.

#four years au #the owl house #owl house #toh #drabble post #amity blight #edric blight #emira blight #amity #edric #emira #jerbo #viney #luz noceda #luz #lumity #jerbric #vinira #eda clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #king #eda #lilith #the blight parents #karen blight #chat blight #angst #hurt comfort #fluff #humor

[aelysalthea]

Speaking In Silences

Summary: It had been months since Binghamton's game and the world hadn't readjusted itself. It still stood as tipped askew as Andrew had always known it to be, yet since that game it had been worse. It was so askew that he could barely keep his feet. Neil was gone. Not dead, Andrew knew he wasn't dead, but gone. The worst part was that for once Andrew could do nothing to bring him back. Rating: T Tags: Canon-divergence - Binghamton’s Game, canon-typical violence, selective mutism, implied/referenced self-harm, sign language, ableism, hospitals, injury recoery

Chapter 1

The darkness of morning was almost complete blackness when Andrew woke. The kind of darkness that promised rather than defined the corners and edges of the houses across the road, that smothered the driveway into a smear of grey rather than the near-white that it was by day. The kind of darkness that, when stripped away, showed little of importance or novelty yet was oddly satisfying in its familiarity. In some ways it could even be comforting.

Except that it wasn't.

Taking a drag from his stump of a cigarette, Andrew wasn't comforted. Staring into the darkness, at the silent houses across the road, he wasn't intrigued by the unspoken promises of their blurred edges. Rather, Andrew stared and barely saw them at all. Last night had not been a night for sleeping, and the following day would be dull and thickened by inattention. Andrew knew. It had happened enough that he was familiar with the trend.

Though the heat wasn't intense, its persistence coddled the house, seeping through windows and warming the wooden floors. The step beneath Andrew hadn't chilled the night before and likely wouldn't the following night. Columbia had taken an unexpectedly warm turn that year. Uncomfortably warm.

Not that Andrew cared. He didn't find he cared for much of late, if he ever had. Not the holiday fever that had gripped and continued to hold Palmetto State in its grasp. Not Nicky's absence broken by frequent calls from the side of his offshore boyfriend. Not Kevin's grumbling that they could be practicing but weren't, or Aaron's silent distaste for their company when he could be chasing cheerleader tail, or the intermittent texts and calls from Coach to check in, to make sure they hadn't killed one another as he so often claimed was barely a terse word away.

Andrew didn't really care, and he didn't care that he didn't care. Nothing mattered since their exy season had ended, and it had little to do with the dissatisfying culmination of their season.

' An untimely withdrawal by Palmetto State University…'

'… unfortunate, given their improvement out of sight this year…'

'… but for the unavoidable loss of not one but two players…'

Sports news headlines still cropped up intermittently, despite months of time and distance between the Binghamton incident and the end of the college year. Excitement and unsavoury thrill had faded into questions, speculations, and then to even less savoury considerations and accusations. As if the loss of a player so far into the season held greater significance and curiosity than the season itself and the culmination of the Ravens' success.

Perhaps it did. Perhaps it wasn't every day that the son of a crime lord was thrust in the limelight that he'd battled to hide himself from. Perhaps that fact was made more exciting by said son's subsequent disappearance and the abrupt execution of his father.

Eyes blindly staring into the darkness, Andrew raised the stub of his cigarette to his lips. The absence of a thick influx of tasteful smoke shook him briefly from his detachment and a glance found nothing left to burn. With a wordless huff through his nose, he flicked it to the deck and drew another from his pocket. Kevin would grumble and quiver at anything resembling chain smoking, but Kevin could go fuck himself. Not just because of the cigarettes and disdain either.

Not a word. Not a single word had been offered in the past months. Andrew didn't really expect any better, couldn't expect more, because expectation inevitably led to disappointment, but there was something there. Something very like expectation that kept him up at night and dragged him from bed in the morning to stare into the darkness as it slowly, slowly dissolved into the morning light. Something that all but whimpered with relief when a body wasn't found and a single note was delivered in its stead. Andrew had read that note only once. He hadn't needed more than that, hadn't needed to stare and stare at words written in unfamiliar print bearing little by way of explanation but enough comfort that the Foxes had been able to release their pent breath just a little.

The season had been lost but at least another player hadn't been taken with it. Not completely. There had simply been no follow up to enforce that feeble comfort.

Darkness faded into bleary pre-dawn, then gradually into a lazy morning. Grey sky would undoubtedly peel away into blue before the clock reached seven. Andrew stared unblinkingly as seven passed, then eight, then nine or thereabouts. Murmurs disrupted houses and cars puttered away from drives as the working week began once more.

Such a dull life. So unremarkable. So coddled and naïve.

The house behind Andrew woke even more slowly than those around them but wake it did. Aaron never slept late even when he could, and Kevin was inevitably drawn from his bed by the itch to run himself ragged on the court, an itch that apparently pervaded even his sleep. The clatter of plates in the kitchen was barely enough to draw Andrew's attention from the cigarette butt that had long since reached its end, and that attention went only so far as to nudge him into climbing to his feet. The smell of toast was a poor temptation but enough to have him moving.

Aaron was cradling a mug of coffee when Andrew stepped into the kitchen. The barest glance of acknowledgement was followed by disregard, and Andrew afforded him just as much, similarly bypassing him without a word. Kevin eyed him sidelong as he stopped before the toaster, pausing in where he was meticulously laying slices of avocado onto his bread.

Andrew didn't spare him a glance and he knew Kevin could feel the weight of its absence. That disregard was enough to have Kevin itching in a different kind of way; he could never stand to be ignored for long, even when demanding for more would achieve less than his silence. Andrew could feel the shifting discomfort as he slapped his own breakfast together and was already turning to the table when Kevin managed to conjure the willpower to speak.

"What time are we leaving today?"

Andrew didn't reply.

"Andrew?"

He took a bite of his sandwich. Across the table, Aaron rolled his eyes.

"Should I… call coach?"

"Twice in as many days?" Aaron asked. "Why don't you just stay in the dorms from now on? It'd be easier than having him come and pick you up every other day."

"It's not every other day," Kevin muttered, dropping heavily into his own seat. "Besides, Andrew doesn't want to stay on campus."

Andrew didn't spare the unvoiced accusation even a passing thought, and silence fell over the table. It was the sort of heavy silence that Nicky would have unerringly filled with chatter and questions that went unanswered. Aaron didn't take up his mantle and Andrew never would, so Kevin was left to sit alone in the discomfort that Andrew and Aaron bore with little concern.

Except on days when he couldn't help himself.

"Coach is headed out to see another possible striker tomorrow," Kevin said, head bowed to give far more attention to his breakfast than was necessary. "We have to be at the airport by eight for the flight."

Another unasked question hung in his words, but Andrew ignored that too, tearing a bite from his sandwich instead.

"I might… I mean, I could see if I could stay with him or Abby tonight to make it easier," Kevin continued. "Unless you're coming."

So desperate for attention. If Andrew had a heart, he'd cry pity.

Aaron snorted as the silence stretched between them, but Kevin persisted. "Andrew?"

Andrew spared him a bored glance that had Kevin shifting in his seat, picking at his breakfast. "Are you… will you be coming?"

Uncomfortable. Not scared but so uncomfortable. That discomfort mounted as Andrew stared at him, blinking slowly, until he finally turned away, leaving the question unanswered. So Kevin was all but quivering in his seat? It wasn't Andrew's problem. Just as the past months of similar discomfort weren't his problem but his fault. Because it was his fault. Undoubtedly. Though Andrew had made a promise to protect him, there were some things that he wouldn't deny.

Kevin's stupidity and selfishness, his silence when for once speaking up would have really mattered, had landed him where he was. Andrew shouldn't have to get him out of it. He wouldn't.

"Just call coach," Aaron eventually said. "Better luck with him."

"If I'm going to see a new striker," Kevin began.

"You don't need Andrew for that."

"But he should come along."

"He didn't last time."

"That was only a drive away."

"So?"

"So, this one will be overnight."

"So you can't last one night by yourself? Grow up, Kevin."

Kevin's fist thudded on the table but there was only a tinge of anger to his words when he spoke. "It's not like that."

"Right. Of course not. It's far more complex but we 'wouldn't understand'." Aaron rolled his eyes again as he tossed back his mug to finish the dregs of his coffee. Rising from his seat, he bypassed the sink on his way to the door. "Apologies clearly aren't working, Kevin, so you're either going to have to change your game or learn to sleep a night without Andrew in the next room."

The thud of Aaron's feet up the stairs echoed his words, emphasising them in a way that Andrew suspected Aaron entirely intended. Not that Andrew cared. Just as he didn't care for how Kevin shuffled in his seat as he picked despondently at the last of his breakfast, as he didn't care that Aaron and Kevin had spoken of him as though he weren't in the room. Once it would have bothered him just enough to notice, but he simply didn't care anymore. Certainly not enough to verbalise discontent.

When was the last time Andrew had spoken? He couldn't recall.

"Andrew?"

Dusting his fingers of crumbs, Andrew spared Kevin another glance. Another slow blink.

Kevin's expression was heavy, all but sagging. "I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry before you'll believe me. I truly am."

As if that counts for anything, Andrew could have said, but he didn't. He didn't do all that much speaking anymore. As if that matters or could change the damage of what you've done.

Whether it really could have changed anything didn't matter. Whether, if Andrew had known, he would have been able to do something, would have changed the course of events and protected what was his, didn't matter. What mattered was that he hadn't been given the chance to try. It didn't matter that Neil had him rescind his protection either; what mattered was that Andrew hadn't tried.

Rising from the table, Andrew took his plate to the sink. The running water didn't quite drown out Kevin's words as he continued. "Andrew, I don't know what else I can do. Do you want me to try and contact his uncle? I don't know how, but I could try. Do you want me to – to – I don't know, put out a public search party? I don't know if it would help but I could. Andrew just tell me…"

Andrew didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear excuses or offers. Call the uncle? The uncle who had left little more than a slip of a note with an explanation so vague it was barely an explanation at all? To put out a search party for someone who had been missing for months, someone for who the only evidence that remained was suggested to be in the company of relatives 'caring' for him?

They were pointless, worthless offerings, and Kevin likely knew it. He offered but it was all empty offerings because Andrew would never take him up on any of them. Why would he? Kevin had proved himself useless when it counted, and that fact remained long after it had been pivotally important. It would continue to remain too, because Andrew didn't forget.

That note. That fucking note. Andrew wasn't angry, didn't know how to feel anger anymore, but he hated that fucking note as much as he clung to it like a lifeline.

"Look, I might not know much of anything," Kevin continued, an edge to his words, "but I know of the Hatfords. If they're his family, they'll protect him, Andrew. If anywhere would be safe for Neil it would be –"

He stopped short as Andrew slammed the plate into the draining rack. Turning, Andrew stared unblinkingly at Kevin as he bowed his head, a scolded child returning to his meal. He likely would have continued to stare, continued to feel but withhold any evidence of the hatred churning in his belly, had Aaron not called from the stairwell.

"Andrew, your phone. Someone keeps calling."

So? Andrew might have asked.

"It's annoying as fuck," Aaron continued as though he'd heard his thought.

Andrew spared a moment longer to regard Kevin's bowed head. A moment longer to wonder why he bothered, whether he could truly maintain the promise that he'd held for years in the face of a betrayal, before sidelining the thought for later. Striding past him, Andrew abandoned the repentant Kevin and made for the stairs.

The final chimes of his ringtone sounded as he stepped into his bedroom. Pausing at his bedside, Andrew plucked his phone from the nightstand and flipped it open. Three missed calls from Coach. A sardonic part of Andrew wondered if he'd heard Kevin's cry for pity, but he shrugged the thought aside to raise the phone to his ear in reply. It had barely begun to ring when Coach picked up the other end.

"Andrew?" he asked, then continued without waiting for a reply. "You need to get back here. Now."

Andrew still didn't reply, leaving the question unsaid.

"I mean it. Haul arse, Minyard."

Why? Andrew thought, because why bother? What was the point? Why should he have to -?

"It's Neil."

The world froze from where it had barely been moving at all. Why? Why, why, why, why -?

If there had ever been a better answer to that question, Andrew didn't know it. He was striding from his bedroom before he'd closed his phone.

You can find the rest of this chapter here. Thanks for reading!

#aftg #the foxhole court #fanfic #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #canon divergence #speaking silence #chapter 1

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE - Given Time (Part 10)

Part 1: [X] Part 2: [X] Part 3: [X] Part 4: [X] Part 5: [X] Part 6: [X] Part 7: [X]

Part 8: [X] Part 9: [X]

A/N: Some people missed Part 8 before reading Part 9. Make sure you’ve read Part 9 before this, as the ending of 9 sets up all of Part 10!

After a long night of fitful stops and starts, Chase awoke yet again to the gnawing, snarling and howling of his hollow stomach. Grimacing against the complaints, he curled into a tighter ball and stuffed his face into his pillow, trying to re-smother the emptiness in dejected darkness.

What little snippets he could recall in his sluggish state were dreams of food, slipping out of his grasp just when he was about to bite down on it, and Marvin perched on the edge of a full table in the far distance with a malicious grin on his face. Now even those dreams were less than forthcoming; his stomach would settle for nothing but the real thing.

With a deep sigh he let heavy eyes crack open, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the gurgling and groaning continued. What would he do if Marvin refused to bring him breakfast, as he had lunch and dinner yesterday? Maybe Chase would stay here all day, huddled away in bed, feeling sorry and spiteful. His stomach lining felt like it was seizing up in knots and—was that turkey he smelled?

Any remaining notion of sleep vanished without a trace as he bolted upright in bed, zeroing in on the source of that aroma: a halfhearted sandwich on a plate by the door. Pain, shock and gratitude soared through him as he lunged for it.

The bread was soggy, the meat was sliced too thin, the mustard was in salty globs and Chase devoured it just as eagerly as he had the premium waffles. He hadn’t felt this sick and frantic since he’d refused Marvin’s food the first week, an eternity ago. How had he brought himself to endure it so long the first time?

What was the point? Why’d he go and starve me? Some kind of exercise in obedience: ask no questions and you get to eat? he wondered bitterly he licked the last of the mustard from his fingers. Well, if that’s the way you want to be, Marv, I’ve learned my lesson. But screw you anyway. With what small rebellion he could muster, he kicked a foot at the door—and promptly stopped dead when it clicked softly under the force.

No way.

Openmouthed, he ran his hand along the seam, a shaky gasp escaping him as probing fingers found slight purchase on the edge of the stile. It was cracked open just half an inch, even less, but it was open!

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t truly be happening.

Head spinning with a combined rush of euphoria and terror, he gripped at the edge. Thoughts of fresh air, the sky, the sun, freedom, home swept over him, swelling in his chest even as his mental voices clamored.

What if this was a setup? Chase could open this door and fall right into a greater trap but if this was his one and only chance, after so long…Whichever the case may be, he knew in his very soul that this would never happen again.

The door groaned softly as he coaxed it open little by little. A wash of air, musty but cool, raised goosebumps on his arms as weak light bathed him from above. He was faced with a hallway.

His heart thundered like a racehorse’s hooves as he clung to the doorframe and leaned out, peeking his head perilously at one end of the hall, then the other. Marvin was nowhere in sight.

Trap, trick, trap, trick.

Knees weak, he took his first quaking step beyond the threshold and froze, expecting something to spring or snatch at him. Nothing did.

Make a mad dash, scurry to the nearest door! his voice of vulnerability cried, piped down by his voice of caution guiding, Slow. Silent. Find out where you are.

Sweat beading down the back of his neck, he crept to the left, approaching what looked to be an open floor. The closer it loomed, however, the harder his chest clenched and his lungs threatened to give out.

It was unrecognizable yet somehow unmistakable. This was their home. This was Egos Incorporated—dimmer, distorted, like a reflection in a mud puddle.

The carpet muffled his steps but barely gave under his feet, matted flat and ingrained with fallen hair, mud and dark splashes that Chase didn’t want to identify. The ceiling fan hung still, dust clumped in chunks to strings of cobwebbing that dangled from its blades. Paper and paint peeled from the fissured walls, some of it faded, shriveling, some seemingly ripped away.

The kitchen was the only area remotely maintained—the counters discolored but dusted, the sink rusted but still offering water. The intermittent dripping, combined with the sputtering hum of the light fixtures, was the only noise to fill the silence.

The burnished wood dining room table was rotting, bowed in the center, and the former coffee table was nothing but a warped frame and broken glass. The TV screen was scratched and spotty and the piano sank sideways, propped on two hobbled legs and half-hidden under a torn sheet. Yellowed ivory keys were scattered around it in every direction.

In a numb, twisted reverie Chase turned away, only to flinch at the muffled crunch of glass and paper underneath him: a photo, bent and tattered in its frame. His mouth went dry.

His own face smiled brightly back at him…Marvin’s too, but there were other bodies in the picture standing with them, scratched and scribbled into obscurity from their chests up. Chase didn’t need to see their faces to know; even through the damage he could make out the stark red jumpsuit, the white lab coat.

Why?

Other pictures had been disfigured and littered nearby, some shredded into halves and thirds, others scorched to black ash. The few frames still on the walls were the ones that held pictures of him and Marvin alone.

Why? Why is it like he wants to erase any memory of them? They’re our brothers! They’re—

His voice of safety barged in, startling him out of his daze with a thrill of hope. Backdoor!

Heart leaping into his throat, he dodged the table and fallen chairs, sweeping the dust-laden curtain aside to see a gray, storm-sick sky through the smudged glass. The backyard was a ruin, every flower strangled and overrun by weeds, but he hardly gave them a thought. There was a lock bar strapped across the door, thick, rounded steel—the one piece of metal that wasn’t rusted.

If he could jump the fence, he’d be free to run for it. He could start the journey to the city, find some help there, someone to hide him until Marvin gave up.

H̴e̶ ̛n͏e͡vȩr̡ ͡wi̧ll. Panic provoking him, he snatched at the lock bar with both hands and strained, muscles quivering in vain. Fo͜o̴l! Loathing snarled. F̧i͘n͡d͘ so͟me̷thi̶ng͜ t̨o s͞hatte͞r ̡the ҉g̸lass!

Another frantic pan around the room revealed nothing immediate. The furniture was too decayed to hold up; it would probably break against the door rather than the reverse. Praying for a miracle, he jogged to one of the other closed doors and jostled the handle, relief bursting through him as it gave way.

It was a bedroom, three walls coated in gray, the other red. The bed may be stripped and the closet empty but the bookcases and their contents were untouched, not at all like the rest of the house’s unseemly state. Graphic novels, figurines, picture frames, awards—Jackieboy’s trinkets, all cleaned and preserved.

Throwing a set of novels from the top shelf onto the floor, Chase seized the stone block bookend, weighing it in his palm. If his aim was true and he put all his force behind it, this could do the job.

“Chase!”

“Ahh—!” Chase stumbled in his fright, falling against the bookcase and lobbing the bookend in the same motion. Marvin deflected it with a fling of his arm, magic embedding it in the far wall with a crash.

“What are you doing here? How did you get out?! Do you realize what you could have done?!” he bellowed, eyes wild as he charged in.

“No, s-stay away from me!” Chase yelped, diving under his outstretched hands for a reckless lunge to the door.

“Go back to your room!”

___________________________________________________

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@egopocalypse 

#youtube #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #writersofjack #given time #part 10 #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #jameson jackson #dapper jack #dr schneeplestein #antisepticeye #jackieboy man #blue's clues voice: a clue a clue! #feedback is love

[kaetastic]

RUNAWAY WITH ME

pairing: Baker!Steve Rogers X Princess!Reader

summary: Y/N had finally reached the age she was to be suited to be married off to a prince who lives up to her father’s expectations. Except, her eyes were on Steve, the recently added member of the bakery. It doesn’t work out the way she wanted it to be...

word count: 10.1k

warnings: fluff start, hints of angst, a hurl and tsunami of angst

note: This has been in my drafts from 29th September!! Good lord! I’ve let it out to breathe, and yes- I haven’t been uploading 🥺😫😭 life is so hectic with all these piling works and exams coming up. Please don’t mind the Victoria Era X Middle Age and the inaccurate history behaviours. I’m sorry if the story feels rushed!! Happy new year! Have a nice day! Take care!! 💕 sorry for the long wait!

“And I was never sure whether you were the lighthouse or the storm.”

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, it pressed the softened baby-like flesh. The layers of creams heavily smeared by her maids had created it a soft padding, forming a thick layer. The taste of honey seeped into the crevices of her porcelain white that were monitored very closely by nannies as if she was a mere child. Running from one side to the other, just like a bustling market on the free days, the hurried and frantic air suffocated every worker- everybody in fact. Like a piercing caw of an eagle, the screech rung through her ears. The fabric worn by the servants sliced into the heavily thick air, it swishes before clashing of tools echoed throughout the almost no free-spaced left corridor; the scent of freshly cooked scrumptious and definitely worth salivating for meals peeled through the air. Although she was surrounded by so many eyes and figures of bodies that would be able to fetch a good fortune of gold for snitching as a witness, the possibility to succeed an escape from the crowded area was a hairbreadth short. While crying in agonizing pain, her dress crinkled under her mighty grip. God save the souls who dare to oppose her. Ruffles of her dress bundled in her fingers, and although her fingernails were maintained, it had somehow got caught in the sharp corners of each edge. The frilly material tickled her fingers, the sheer layers protecting the extravagant silk.

As if someone stared down onto her with pity or sympathy, a boisterous bang echoed from the room with clouds of steam puffing out of the kitchen. A twinkle glinted in her eyes when all the occupying figures of the hallway entered the crowded room. She took the chance, pacing away with only one goal in her mind. Raising the hem of her dress to hover over the dusty floors, the rush of excitement flushed her cheeks. The overlapping voices allowed her to speed off with no worry of the noises she could emit. Wearing a gleeful smile, the grin she tried to wipe off remained with determination. Nothing ached in her chest, the familiar hole of emptiness now light and as if wrapped in tight fabric- all the contents packed protectively. She felt like a bird. The recent sitting with her father had been the reason for her uncontrollable twitching fingers and short tolerance for annoyance. Anything would be better than to be in her father’s presence. She will not allow her father’s irritating tenacity ruin the addicting happiness.

“I said cream! Not milk!” The exhausted worker huffed, his fingers engulfed deep in the dough. His hunched shoulders ached, neck creaking like an ancient door. If another batch of requested items were given to him, he would’ve surely passed out. The blink of sleep he got last night was a blessing in such a long time. Even if an assistant was assigned to him- Leopold was practically useless. Although their task to do as their guider say, which was easy enough, Leopold was like a giraffe offspring who had recently breathed in the air. Despite the roaring anger, Steve had to remind himself every now and then that he should not express the rage towards the apprentice for he was new to the castle. It came to him with no surprise that the young boy got lost for a whole while.

His shoulders turned to face hers. The frustration he held for the apprentice had flipped to shock, which diminished into the air as a pair of gentle lips moulded into his. While she stood comfortably with her eyes closed tight and her arms wrapped around his neck, his icy blue orbs stared into her shut eyelids before curtaining to a close.

With an awkward stance, his fingers were decorated with strings of haphazardly thrown pieces of dough and flour powder ran from the tip of his fingers to his exposed elbow, hovered over the tight corset that suffocated her breathing- which she practically grew out of. The rolled-back sleeves bulged to form a miniature hill to rest on his arms, displaying his veiny skin. Smiling through the comfort of seeing him, she pulled back, chest smooshed on his. Oh, every time she would be with him, it was bliss. Eternal bliss she wished for and hoped forever since a child. Though she knew the happiness was maintained in secret and their love was not for display, every moment of terrifying imagination, the scenarios that are likely to happen (her greatest fear that had built up, standing tall above her) crept its’ way to manifest her thoughts. How scandalous it would sound. Familiar laughter and slicing whispers played in her exhausted soul. If it had ever reached her parents, the only thing she expected to see would be their disappointed smile as their eyes gloss over their failure of a daughter; that was not capable of even matching or level with other princesses who had carried their family name, done with their duty then thrown away. Like rag dolls.

Craning her head up to face the Adonis who she had admired ever since he had pulled up from his bowing position, her fingers trickled down the sides of his face. She still remembered when her eyes had landed on him, he was like no one else. Although the first thing she noticed about him was his youth which wasn’t that prominent in the castle. He was merely a servant and a baker for the castle but he had her eyes lingered on him- not because of his visage but him entirely. She recalled the day she had stuck to walls, spying on him. A difficult task that would perplex people to their core, a large clump for anyone to even gulp down; their expectations possibly (most likely to be) lowered or just deteriorated, not a surprise if they were eradicated completely despite her being a royal. When she had noticed him stealing the batch of fresh bread which were meant for the guests that rested in the castle for a while, her low expectations of him had diffused into a grin. He had brought it for the kids who had been smothered with emissions of coals and as if a beast with daggers as teeth had torn their pants, their knees had bruised open for the whole village to see. No child deserves to meet such fate.

Her thumbs rubbed the cumulus clouds flour that was swatched on his cheeks. A cheerful giggle laced with silk erupted out of her lips, “Hello good-looking sir.” Steve’s lips curled up even though he was filled with built-up anger minutes ago, a rosy blush pierced his cheeks at her sudden and clearly unexpected (but not shocking) compliment.

“Good morning, my princess,” The corners of her lips twirled down like the crescent of the moon, Steve was quick to realize his careless mistake which could lead him to the separation of his head from his body. His shoulders jerked back in an attempt to pull away, to bow and to salute towards the royal family member that stood before him. But her arms did not waver, it stayed in-tact as her eyes twinkled with disbelief. “Have you had your meal yet, my princess?”

The speed of his words flashed by due to the desperation of fixing his splotch of mistake. Her lips quivered down into a frown, not satisfied with the name he called her, “I’ve told you many times, there is no need to address me by such means,” Steve’s mouth gaped open to argue against her words, well, to correct and remind her of his position that was below hers, ‘But you’re a princess, my lady’ Her finger was quick to flick up, silencing him as she knew the disagreement from his side which was the only excuse he ever thought of and used. “No-huh, you’ve made a mistake and you shall face its consequences,”

The man’s face blanched. His lips quivered, eyes widened. The minuscule trembling of his muscles caught her attention. Regret filled her, the choice of words she had chosen was clearly not suitable for the time and situation, “Do you not recall? If you addressed me ‘princess’, you will have to take me to the lake. We made a promise.”

Almost entirely, his chest exhaled relief. The decrease in mass of weight in his chest has now caused the chains wrapped around him to loosen its grip. A breathy sigh fell off his lips at the words. However, some parts of his body went against to accept what she had said, it held a cage around his throat, encasing the tensed muscles that pleaded desperately, “We did?” Although the word of formality and great respect nearly fell off his lips, somehow- he had managed to swallow it back down as it glared into his vision.

She hummed, the vibration muffled by her throat as she shut her eyes tight, the thought of her father knocked on her head. But she was too exhausted from being irritated to even open the door, “You know..,” Pulling back with one arm wrapped around his neck while the other rested on his chest, she glanced at his outfit. Although it was plain in colour and made by someone who knew none of dressing, it was simple. Somehow, Steve had succeeded in making the outfit for elders look extravagant on him. The white top wrapped around his muscular body, if he had contracted one muscle- it would be for display. With an oat-coloured apron overlapping it, the ties around his neck and waist had slippery knot as they tried their best to hold onto one another, “How about we fulfil said-promise now?”

Steve’s lips dried, cracking like dunes of sand. All the moisture in his mouth and throat evaporated into the now unbreathable air. Even though it might’ve been the eighth time he had met up with the princess, he couldn’t help but feel the force nudging him to the edge. There was more than mixed feelings when he talks with the princess, and all of it walked side-by-side with questionable thoughts. Oh, how he would’ve fainted in the past to think he would be one to set the same pace with a royal member when he should’ve distanced at least a goat’s yard worth away from her or slow down so she could be at the front. Every time he breathed the same air as her (still somewhat a miracle to him), landed his blue eyes on hers’, pressed his skin onto hers and to cherish the time he had with her- an overwhelming emotion of second thoughts and the uncontrollable doubts about the situation he was in clawed his throat with monster-like cuts.

“I have to bake my pastries.” He stuttered before the quirk of his lips played a soft smile, he begged that she would be convinced to let go- even though, a part of him wanted the moment to linger longer, not wanting the it to ever end.

A genuine laugh like soft melody echoed in the room, her head thrown back at his lame excuse, “The pastries can wait. Although… a lemon tart does sound scrumptious right now…” Though his eyes glinted of hope to scurry away, the drumming of his heart could not find itself to rest. It was sure he would be a red mess as soon as she leaves- only if he knew that she saw the red creeping like vines onto his ears. The blush of rose on his neck peeking to greet her.

With a creak just like the crackling of fire from the humungous oven, the door was pushed to an open. The confused, blank expressions resounded a difficult reason for Steve to breathe. Silence bounced off the walls of the hallway, all the maids must have been busy elsewhere.

 The apprentice who held a weight full wooden barrel of milk froze. The first thing he saw was the twinkle of gems that embedded her dress that for sure costed a fortune. A fortune he could never be able to imagine. Was she real? There was a quick conclusion in his head that the only possibility for the mysterious figure would have to be of royalty and someone who held a great number of coins in their hands. Questions buzzed over his head, rapid blinking eyes- he hoped the medicine he had consumed in the morning did not cause him to see things. Was the princess really there? Of course, he had seen her wandering around and about the walls of the castle, however, it was rare for her to not be trailed around by a guard, his sharp and narrow eyes trained on her with their stance ready to jump on anyone that was able to harm her. If it was true, if she really was there, why were her arms around Steve? As if dug to the ground, his foot froze in place. 

 The only sound that echoed through the frozen-in-time room was the hissing of an angry container of water in the corner and the peaceful chirping of the birds outside of the gaped open window, very much contrary to each other. The two sets of eyes that rested upon the boy who had a slight quiver, the prickling fears that he will meet his death quite sooner than he thinks. Steve’s eyes shut tight in annoyance. Taking that as a sign to enter, Samson huffed under his breath, his sore arms cried out in aching before letting out a short celebration as soon as he dropped the barrel onto the floor. As the door met the frame, it let out a boisterous bang. Wincing at the minor splash of the pearly liquid, he made way to calm the steaming copper cauldron. Despite the toned-down noise of the water boiling, Steve sent darts of glares towards the wooden barrel.

“Are you deaf, Samson?” The words fell off his tongue like a sharp whip, the younger boy’s head curled down as his eyes were coated by embarrassment. Not only over the fact that this was his fourth time being scolded at such an early time in one day, but the presence of the princess had multiplied the humiliation by a tenfold. “How could we use milk for the recipe? It wouldn’t work!” Red fumes tugged his ears and cheeks, anger and frustration exploded like fireworks in his chest. If it wasn’t for the soft hands that caressed him, he would not know how the horrible the outcome would’ve been.

“Steve.” Samson’s head twitched up at the soft and lustrous voice who suspected, very much to obviousness, that it was the only royal in the room. Her tales have been uttered, although he has tried to lay a peek on her- the stories have done her no justice. All the words said by the people did not know what it felt like to breathe in the same room as the princess. It almost felt like a miracle. Taking in all of her presence and her beauty, he stood at awe. “No matter, I’ll note the maids to retrieve it,” Snapping her head to the blond-haired male, she stood on her toes, brushing her lips over his ears with the gentlest touch. Steve pursed his lips into a thin line. “Sunset. I’ll be waiting under the tree.” 

There was no need to inquire her which tree she had set the meeting at, for that was where their rendezvous was often set at. The warmth of her body had stranded him cold. Sending a delicate smile towards the apprentice, the whisper of the brief string of words painted a cheerful expression, Samson nodded hastily, clearly delighted. Which made Steve more curious. His eyes bounced from her to his apprentice, he needed context.

Before she left, her eyes glinted with content.

Steve’s joints creaked like the well’s rusty lever near his perimeter. Falling onto his scrapped knees, who had quirked an eyebrow with astonishment at his attempt to stay awake, he let out a silent groan as he met the cooling stone floor. Body begging and pleading for warmth, the contact between his body and the warm cloth played tricks as if a hairy blanket had been draped over his shoulders, heating his shivering figure.

Although not a streak indication of morning daylight was seen, the awakening rays of yellows and orange were fast asleep- their accompany, consisting of the glowing moon and joy-filled stars burst into a shimmering twinkle party as they dance. The weight that rested on his lashes pulled like a curtain to a shut despite his creditable effort to stay wide awake. His lips rested on her saggy knuckles. The spark of her abnormal warm skin reminded him of the hottest of the summer days when energy evaporated into the air.

Even though his lids made frequent contact to shut tight, his mind was on high alert just like those boisterous noises at a bustling market. He didn’t deserve any of it. If his mother fell sick, he does not have the privilege to lay back, ears rung with her pitiful whooping coughs. That was how it was ever since he was a little boy. Whenever he fell ill, an unfortunate curse set by the gods for his stick-like figure (thanks to his mother for shoving down a tenfold bucket full of food down his throat) and the ability to fall into exhaustion effortlessly, his mother would always be there, the only one who watched. The father figure for him existed none, he knew not a detail of him since it was rare for the topic to be brought up even though there were times he wished his questions were satisfied with even the slightest of answers. Not his visage, not his voice and not his clothing remained in Steve’s memory or the house. Steve concluded that there was not even a single string that wrapped around the two who shared blood.

Bringing his eyes to look upon the effects of the terrible sickness, corners of his lips withered down. The promises and words uttered by her now felt like an empty jar of hope, a false reassurance. As if her lips were smeared with more than a swipe of flour, the snow-covered mountains meandered with cracks that erupted a layer of now dried red. Glossing her faded face was the dancing of the fire hung upon the stone walls. Its red light glazed her powder-white hair. The heat shrieked every so often whenever the wind whispered towards the deaf inanimate object. Even though he had made her drink plenty of water, her body still limped with pale contour. There was something that he wasn’t giving right and it was prominent. Shivers ran down in tingles, her chestnut eyes blinked towards the swerving lit sconce used to light the shadowed house.

Steve scooted closer towards the bed, leg accidentally slamming onto the hard wooden slab that hovered few centimetres over the ground. The thin layer of horse skin that draped over her itched his skin, piercing through his pants that had somehow transformed from wheat-beige to smouldered black. He pursed his lips at the minor inconvenience that did not want to be eradicated despite his efforts of squirming out of the discomfort. Thoughts bounced off his messy vessel, there was no more space to think calmly.

Gripping her hand which was clamming with sweat even though the night seemed to be chilly and full of frost, her hand smaller in size compared to him, he needed to know that she was there with him.  It was his only rope to reality. Prodding his head into her spectrum of view when it seemed she did not notice his presence, he sighed as a red blush smeared onto her nose.

“Ma, are you in need of nourishment? Water? I’ve snagged a few pastries that I have baked up today,” He needed to do something, he has to- or his body would find it as an excuse to sleep it off, hence why he was ready to do as she commands with no hesitation or thought. Except, she didn’t utter a word. The light in her soul quivered, dim, as darkness flickered. 

“I told you we should’ve paid the healer a visit.” His shoulders drooped down with a sigh. Very much to his disappointment, he knew she would’ve rejected his suggestion even if he had stretched it out for days. He regretted not taking responsibility into his own hands. There were so many options he could’ve chosen and there could’ve been a possibility for her to return back to her healthy shape once again. But no, he had to agree with her stubbornness.

The straining of her raspy answer (most likely to scold at him for bringing up the horrible idea) snapped a reflex in him to grab the handle of the water jug, somehow, despite her low energy and lack of hydration- her hands were agile to stop him from doing so, “No… I, I can feel it, Stevie.” His eyebrows furrowed like waves of the sea. Confusion struck him.

“Feel what, Ma?” The weight pressed onto his knees, the pressure of the stone floor punctured into his skin. Although his knees screamed in agonizing pain, he paid no attention for his eyes rested on her now almost-soulless ones. The mirrors that would reflect his smile now hazy with unbreathable fog he would not be able to pass through. The wrinkles creased on her cheeks formed bumps of dunes and petit hills gone. It was nothing but a vast area.

“The end.”

Caressing her leg was the prickly grass, Y/N’s fingers curled tightly around her frizzy dress, the sweat that poured out of her pores glistened the thin layer of the complex white sheet. Poking her head in all directions, she bit her bottom lips in slight distraught. Where was he? He must have faltered back a bit. An exhausted sigh left her lips, the back of her head ached as the harsh marbling of the tree bark pierced into her skin. With her head in her palms, she groaned in frustration at the prominent tears in her dress. Darn it. It was a freshly seamed one too.

Despite the fading colours in the now-night sky, her focus was not spent on the change in time. She desperately hoped no one was sent to find her. But of course, in the corner of her thoughts- there laid the knowing that her father was the one to surely send a servant to fetch her. The only way she could see was due to the light source that glossed over the grass patch over the small hill that seeped through the hairbreadth spaces of tree leaves were the moon rays, which glazed her skin and the warm yellows from distant houses. While distracted playing with her shadows, moving her hands in the forms of animals, a figure appeared to rest their eyes on the needed princess to complete their quest.

“My princess! Oh! I have finally found you!” Panting, the woman who held a magnificent bosom yelled out, quite too loud as villagers who inhabited the houses in the nearby perimeter popped their heads out of orifices of their house, towards the girl who sat with fading hopes.

As she snapped to a sitting position, staring at her maid with widened eyes, she prayed Steve had not made an appearance for it would’ve created a painful problem that would be perplexing to solve. Although a part of her craved him to claim his love for her- and then maybe, they could run away, she saw the sparkling glitters in his eyes that didn’t want to let go of the memories that he had made and obviously, his mother who he loved dearly.

There was no sign of him. Fingers digging the sandy soil, small bits and irritating chunk made home in the crevice of her fingernails; the blossoming hair-like grass poked her, taunting every time she twitched to find a more comfortable seating. Frantic emotions raised in her, “Sybil!” With widely open arms, she waited for the woman to climb the hill, who breathed heavily, taking in quick inhales and exhales, most likely exhausted.

Sybil raised her hand, flapping like a bird stuck in muddy water as a surrender to the energy-absorbing activity. The princess stood patiently with her hands behind her back. Finally, the maid had reached her designated place, her hands rested on her knees- still panting heavily as if she had never breathed.

“What are you doing out so late my princess? The castle has gone frantic! It’s a mess! We’ve all been so worried about you! Oh, thank the lord Caspian’s prediction he called ‘theory’, of you was not true. A crazy bloke he is,” Rolling her eyes at the recent unexpected meeting with the king, the vomit worth words spewed by Caspian echoed in her head. God knows where he got his slight gruesome ideas sent shivers down her spine, hopefully, it was somewhere far away from her. The strenuous exercise caused her muscles to groan. The only activity in the castle that called for such pulling of her tissues would be the making of butter for the royals, which nowadays is rare as she has been newly assigned to keep her eyes onto the heights of the grass of the garden; that is until they need her professionalism in the kitchen. “Come along, his Majesty will not be pleased to hear that you’ve spent all this time under the moon.”

In the corner of her eyes, she had seen the streak like the yellow sunset. The burning flame that hovered over the stick formed an orb of light, reflecting his face. Although relief filled her chest to see him before she disappeared into the cage called home, she noted the rough clothing he wore. Then, she was home.

 Screeching like a bird who had set its eyes onto the meal for the day, the silver cutlery traced itself against the twinkling pewter plate. With closed doors, passerby paid no attention as they remained unbothered. The caged tension that sparked between the figures who sat on the dining table formed a twitching silence that’s been waiting to be cut in half.

Sawing the chicken into proper consumable pieces, she plastered a notice onto her head as a reminder to sit with her back straight up and to make sure it was her food that approached her mouth, not the other way around. It was not so lady of her. Eyes glancing at the circular bread that sat in the middle of the table, she bit her bottom lips in contemplation if she should place it on her platter. Almost like a languid creature, she grabbed a slice of the bread when it seemed like her parents were too focused on their thoughts. Munching on the seasoned meals while playing the memory of the embarrassing time where she chewed loudly with an opened mouth formed a stressed string in her head. It was when the Odinson’s family paid to visit. However, she was just merely a child of 9 years. Surely no blame could be placed on that, right? Sighing in her head, she knew that the memory would haunt her to another sleepless night of squirming in an attempt to block it away.

The remembrance of their eyes snapping to her as if she committed a crime that was worth an execution sent shudders every single time she would look back at the horrible memory, not that she wanted to, an accident remembrance. There was an intense despise against the memory that lingered longer than she wanted it to be.

Ever since she had been visiting Steve, she had been very aware and conscious of her surroundings. It was as if her ears had awakened to be on high alert, guarding the world and sounds around her. Therefore, any crack or shingle of her father’s heavy armour, troubled sighs of her mother and the difference in everybody’s breathing or footsteps had been embedded into her head. It amused her how hard she focused on the smallest and subtle aspects that no one would pick up, the overlooked things.

There was no doubt that if her father had caught up with the unusual and… little to no help hobby of hers- the lecture would have taken the whole day. Poking her eyes to peek at her father, who flicked his fingers as a gesture towards the guards to leave the room, there was no usage of words as they seemed to comprehend him. The noble King’s eyes faltered to a shut at the ear-pinching noise of metal dragging onto the ground and the armours that clashed with the floor like the clatter of plates. Not so stealthy and sly anymore. The whooping of the door shut was followed by his heavy weighted sigh.

“There is no point in addressing your late coming to the castle. It is no use to me to inquire you of your adventures outside of these walls, rather than perfecting your sewing,” There was an almost enlightenment of relief, the stone that wrapped around her heart cracked with joy. Letting out a silent sigh in content that she didn’t know she held, she watched as her father languidly placed the luxury utensils onto its’ proper and correct positions beside the plate. However, she wished the feeling of relief was the conclusion to the emotions, it wasn’t. The clench and churning of her stomach were like whispers, feeding onto the idea of horrible possibilities that were very much possible as long as her father remained in his solid position of nobility. If this was like any other normal day, he would have gone on and on with his mouth babbling and spewing as if his hair paled whiter with every word he uttered. “However… this behaviour must be altered if you were to wed.”

As if her ears had finally found something interesting to actually listen to, her hands froze mid-air, hovering over her food that she was about to pierce into. Disbelief painted her face.

“Father?” Gulping down the mass that blocked her throat, she pulled to rest her back on the chair. Not wanting to comprehend his words, she wished it was like a blur. A part of her thought she was overthinking the situation, just like with any obstacles she had faced- having no predictions with her father who she has learned growing up to be very random and most of the time, spontaneous. Although she aged as a part of the royalty, she had heard the consequences faced when the children had gone against their father, who sadly, was also the King. So she knew it wasn’t a wise decision to go argue his proposition, not including the morning’s argument. Despite her wanting to listen to him with a muffled ear, God knows what problems she will have to face if she didn’t list the words.

The grip she clenched onto the narrow silver knife tightened, the lubricant produced by her palm had formed a slick lining of moisture, the pointy object nearly flapping off her hand like a fish who jumped out of its comfort zone and onto land. A sigh breezed out of his tainted lips. The rare sound she barely heard was one of those she scripted in a list amongst the ones she did not like. Although the background of her family prominently impacted the royalty of the kingdom, she paid respect to her father who had managed to keep it stable and monitor such power in his hands that compared to other royals, who’ve lost their minds as soon as that immense energy is placed in their palms. The only time she could recall hearing the sound emitted by him was when she was a child, up late at night (the reason being her dark room), peeking through the door’s crevice of her father’s office. Where he would sigh once, massaging his temples in distress before continuing back to proceed his papers.

“Never would I imply something onto you that you do not consent… but this is for the good of the kingdom,” The tension between the electrifying shocks from the two increasingly intense glares quivered as she vibrated over the string. “It’s finally time for you to tie the knot so peace can be set between lands.”

In the corner of her eyes, she noticed her mother who held her head down, quiet throughout the whole dinner. Even though she did not converse with anyone, Y/N could read the words embedded in her head. Her mother was a strong woman but if you had visited her to sit down and converse, it would most likely be her boasting of the gold that laced in her hair. The last time her mother had done her hair was a long time ago, the memory faded into something she could barely piece together. Her hair was pinned up tall, strands of locks torn down to cover her visage, hands still working through the thick meat.

“Father, I thought we have settled this in the morning? I’ve said what I’ve said and I stand by it,” Distraught cowered her lungs, the hope she held onto now dimmed into the shadows. The war in her head narrowed the possibilities. Even if she was to go against, there was no point. Her father was the king after all. If she knew her father, he was a very patient man who would and could not be wavered even if large amounts of intense and chaos had bestowed upon him. Even though they have discussed the same problem in the early sunrise, the two sides remain to not find a conclusive flat mutuality and understanding. She nearly brought up the one name she prohibited herself to utter in front of her parents and she had somehow succeeded, containing herself not to. “There has to be another way.”

She knew there was no other way. All she hoped for was her father to tarry so the time between her and Steve could linger longer. The clear message was received. However, not well as she watched him shake his head with a lurking disappointment. The appetite that had been building throughout the long day evaporated despite the small amounts of food she had consumed for breakfast. The knife and fork in her hand met the table with a clash. The Queen’s head snapped up. Without hesitation and her heart drumming like tap dancing of the rain, her chair screeched into ears painfully. Nibbling her lip at the ear-piercing sound, her breathing hitched at the path she had decided to walk on. Descending her knees with a hurried speed, she bowed her heavy head which was overflowed with exhaustion, not bothered to keep her back to remain straight.

Before her father had the chance to order her to sit back onto her seat, she scurried out of the dining room with a chained heart.

The yells behind her faded away as the distance grew largely. With frantic movements, she paid no attention to the mud that settled onto her luxurious dress that costed a fortune to be made by the finest of dressmakers. Tears rained down from the upset clouds. Craning her head up, droplets pricked her skin like that of a twitch of a mistake in sewing classes. Somehow, she had managed to outrun and fade away from the peripheral of the guards who paced behind her and the maids that were too occupied with finishing their tasks. All the sound that seeped out of the crevices of the door were gasps of the maids, clashing of armour and yells echoing from one another.

Despite strands of her hair that laid itself onto her face, branching like roots of a plant, she was unbothered to give a care. Sticking to her skin to form a twirling painting, the incomprehensible image itched her. She felt so bounded. The chains that curled around her body tugged her back, the mark it left behind burned her skin. She was hopeless and useless.

She no longer cared for the expense of the dress that was worth tens of lands, all she needed was to be as far as she could from the perimeter of the castle. Fingers curled around her dress, the splashes and squishing sounds emitted when her feet made contact with the mud waved like a piece of awful music which had no rhythm to her ears. If she poured her heart contents’ out, she knew it would not be enough to stabilize her uncontrollable thoughts and the full container of pouring emotions.

Thanks to her informative lookout of Steve, this was her third time seeing his house. The first when it was the second day of him working as a baker for the royal, the second when he had pointed out to her that there were ducks that had been waddling around his area (she was more than ecstatic to have been invited to watch ducks quacking); unfortunately, he did not know that she had already known of the plot of land his house situated on, his neighbours and the continuous long list of those who had inhabited the homes before.

Faint glowing of light blazed from creeks of window shutters of the houses she paced by. The warm and comforting light patted her back, a reminder that she was not alone. That darkness was not stealing a victory this time and that if there were the presence of a vicious beast who would have popped to scare her, there would be multiple to witness her.

Not all monsters embody bodies. Some might as well be words.

The familiar yellow straws that had been thatched onto the roof of the house flapped at the intensity of the wind. Even though the brick walls were similar to those neighbouring ones, Steve’s house seemed different to her. Maybe it was facing the pond but she believed it was due to the range of colour difference in the roof’s straws.

Although she knew it was rude of her to bang on someone’s door at such a random moment in the night time, quite destructive also, she was manifested with irrational actions that could be the end of her. Rapping the door with her knuckles, her hand hovered over the wood. Teeth chewing her bottom lip, she wondered if she had knocked for too long. Annoying, that’s what I am. What if Steve gets irritated? She had started to have second doubts if this was a mistake. Crackling of fire seeped out of the door’s cracks, the rainfall that represented her imaginary sobbing had finally calmed down. The trickles of rain played a soft melody, splattering to meet contact with the small puddle, its own creation that had transformed into a hindered flood. After a solid minute, the door creaked open to expose a Steve with dishevelled hair that weaved messily. She had almost lost her breath when her eyes landed on him. His eyes snapped wide open once he realized who stood in front of him. In a frantic mess, fear engulfed him, if a beloved royal was seen in front of low status houses at so late at night- not only was it over for him, it was for her too. He whipped the door and Y/N caught a glimpse of a fading body in the bed.

“My princess,” Pulling the door to shut behind him, his eyes darted along the path. Despite it being so late at night, it was normal for the villagers to sleep late as they would have to prepare for the next day. Which applies to his parallel neighbor, Peter, who worked day to night with little to no sleep. The reason light was strong from his house was due to his occupation, Steve remembers when he had seen Peter’s fine crafts. The details speckled on the timbres were fascinating, it must’ve taken weeks. Hence, why he mumbled under his breathe. “Please follow me.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but nonetheless, scurried behind him. It was not far, but good enough. The shade allowed Steve’s drumming heart to beat at a slow rate. But not adequate to satisfy the comfort to pace away from his fear. Licking his lips, his knees were jumpy in impatience.

“What do you mean?” With her head stuffed in the clouds, all she had been doing was daydream of the moments they could’ve created. She wouldn’t deny but agree over the fact that she was scared to face the harsh reality. Ever since she grew up, the only thing she could remember was the horrid room she would have to sit in for hours. The walls were menacing and haunting. Hands aching as she would have to sew or practice how to silently place cutlery down. The lingering memory when she had eavesdrop her parents mumbling about her marriage was plastered in a solitary room, the door would open for the memory to lead her to sleepless nights. The longer she remained in comforting happiness, the results end up to be rather unexpected.

Steve let out a sigh full of weight and exhaustion, his fingers waved through the locks of his hair. Ruffling his hair, beads of sweat cascaded down. He bit the inside of his cheeks, “Our love is forbidden. This… this tie around us has already been written down as indecent. You’re a princess and I’m a nobody,” The lashing of his tongue left no time for her to speak out her own opinion. “I’m not like you. And you know that.”

“You’re not a nobody, Stevie,” The ache in his heart left a crack open as pumps of air filled it up. “Sure father’s head would be blown into pieces if I ever told him and sure it will bring my family’s name down… but isn’t that what love is?” She inquired with confusion. The last word she uttered held a strong weight to it and she mumbled it with no hesitation. “Sacrifice?” With his head held down low, eyes focused onto the suddenly interesting puddles with baby ripples, his ears could not help but perk up to everything she uttered. “Steve… please.” As if poked with a finger, her throat froze when she stepped forward in hopes of holding him in her arms. He stepped back.

“I just don’t think we should continue this… meeting. I’ve thought about and you probably did too. I know your father is searching for someone with a status worthy for you. Someone who has land, someone who has a title. Who’s like you.” His eyes drooped down, the fire in his chest roared to awaken for it had not sided with his head, gritting for him to follow his heart who had been trapped in an inescapable cage. The air closed on him, first, he could not think, now he couldn’t breathe. There was one thing his mother had taught him, which he believes does not apply to the current situation. When you run away from your problem, you will only leave a trail that leaves a track for it to follow. And so ever since a little boy, he had followed her words without a doubt. But not now. A force had bounded his ankles, it was as if something did not want him to follow his decision.

“Then let’s go away,” Stopping on his heels, the droplets of water slid down his roof to drench his shoulders. “We can leave a-and live somewhere else, somewhere far.” Clenching on her hand, fear erupted as she never thought of losing him like so.

“I can’t. Just like I said, I’m not like you. I don’t have much.” The screeching of owls emitted from the crowd of trees. Oh, she used to adore the feeling of the soft drips. Now it was nothing but emptiness and darkness comforting her, or an attempt to. The thought of a secret ceremony flew over her head.

For so long she had tried to discreetly escape her room and the castle. The doors that she used frequently to walk into the town or the rooms that seemed unused were barricaded or guarded by loaded guards. She could barely count the days, which have turned into weeks. All of them, she got caught and she ran out of excuses. Whether it was sunset or when the moon woke up from his long nap. All for one person. Even though she had tried countless times, never giving up with a fierce determination, she had finally concluded to the silence echoed from her father. It was possible he did not want her roaming as he decided to find the solution to her marriage. She had no idea who he was discussing her availability with, she doesn’t know who she will be sold to.

There was a time she thought of actually escaping. To run away from the walls of her heart. However, Steve was right. Despite her being a royal family, all she had was family even if people would only glance at her way when gold would flourish every time she walked over the ground.

At first, she thought everyone in the castle was cunning and snitches. She was wrong. Somehow, a maid of hers- very close to her years, knew there was something wrong when she was combing the royals’ hair. The numbness. The aching of her muscles. Mary, her name was. Stood up and had inquired her, she had risked it all- her life, the money she worked hard for, for her parents. Even though it was difficult at the start, the rocky tides had soothed to finally land. The barriers that stood between the two crashed, no side expected the other’s action. It was not right and wise for Mary to judge the princess but she did, she thought she was nothing but a spoiled and ungrateful girl. It had applied the same for the royal.  Y/N assumed that after the day Steve established his, very well-received, thought, everyone had been viewing her differently. As if she was somebody else.

Her head was clogged with him, every second of every day. Whenever she was doing something that held no ability to remind her of him or memory that was connected to Steve, it made her think of the only person she found comfort in. It was unhealthy. A part of her hoped that he would be doing the same, even though it was selfish and cruel of her to wish the pit of feelings she was going through to be placed upon him, but she had to face reality and forced herself to comprehend that he wanted none of it. Even from the start and she was blind to see. Too caught up in the idea of a world with only him and her. All because she was a princess. All because of class.

Steve had been begging the gods to stop haunting and torturing him with all the memories he was forced to leave behind. The day he snapped the string, he felt like everything was over. He couldn’t believe all those words spat from his own mouth. But… that was what he wanted right? She was a princess. He was a mere servant. The possibility of him to call her his lover was nothing but exuding with impossibility.

Whenever Mary had errands to run such as purchasing from the market, she would sneak away to slip a piece of paper under the baker’s door. And although his fingers had run along each- never had he responded. The bundle had laid like a pile of coal that were contrary to warmth.

Something changed that one day. Frustration soared in his chest when those who lived around him glanced at him, they were sceptical. Suspicious. The buildup created flows of anger and irritation to prickle his skin for days. Even though it had felt longer than it actually was- the last string had screeched. He reminisced the painful ripples in his jaw. As soon as his eyes had rested on a girl who halted in the middle of her pace towards his house, he was very much sure it was Y/N’s messenger. The letter that she had held between her fingers creased as Mary stopped, eyes have gone wide at his unusual appearance.

He was never outside when she had dropped the letters. There was nothing but panic and the desperation to go back that fluttered in her head.

He didn’t mean to. Days he stood in front of the shy fire, head in his hand in an attempt to play the day he would always regret. He didn’t mean to snatch the paper from her frail hands. He didn’t mean to rip it through the middle like a knife cutting the thick air, without thinking about tears that seeped into it. He didn’t mean to watch her fall into the watery mud. As if the gods were outrageous with his pathetic actions, the rain roared with vibrant thunder. The witnesses that had circled around them had scurried into their comfort of a house.

The words he had muttered pinned into his skin, a forever memory that he would have to carry away with a heavy heart. The words that he thought would’ve been the last, “Tell her to stop. I’ve had enough of her childish words and actions,” Grinding his teeth, narrowed eyes as he looked down on her. “She’s making this very difficult when all I asked for was for her to leave. I don’t want to be part of her little chess game. She’s nothing but like all those royals, snobbish and selfish. So run along. I never want to see her face ever again.”

Tears of the sky glossed her skin as fear churned in her stomach, the praises and high words uttered by the princess felt like poisonous lies. He was no kind soul. He wore not the silk-gentle eyes. The figure who stood on top of her wasn’t a man. Vibrant and striking like the flag, his eyes flickered with redness. Her hands gripped the sludge, mud slipping around her fingers as a stress reliever.

When Mary paced towards the castle like a newborn giraffe, the castle had never felt hotter than the summers or when one would linger too close to the oven. Even though it had rained minutes before.

“Mary! Oh dear child, what had happened?” Concerned servants circled around her. They stared at her with pity, nose scrunching at the mess she had left behind that trailed behind her.

“Where is the princess?” The river of dirt ran over her cheeks.

So he stood, caramel shirt smudged with dirt and bits of green plants embedded his pants, it seemed as if he had just run out of a jungle, eyebrows furrowed at the elongated script that was hung on the wall. The wind whistled, almost sighing at his atrocious history. It did not soothe the growing fire.

Although the thought of her had peeked over his thinking, he had managed- beating himself to avoid the lasting ends of her. That was how it was for weeks… turning into months. Torturing his head that had no restrictions. That night he went home, the bed that he would always be able to snooze in felt like prodding bricks. He wanted nothing but to rest- somehow, he had been punished.

It seemed like the eyes that watched over him felt that it was necessary to add more weight to his guilt and grief. It was two months in when his eyes had faded, the soul of his mother had abandoned him to live sole. There were times when he had thought it was selfish of her to leave him because ever since a child, it was always him and his mother. Then, living felt difficult to cope with. For weeks his muscles felt sore, his voice never echoed in the house, the door stood shut for weeks before it creaked open when he realized the food that had languidly been consumed and it was time to pay rent. He had prohibited himself to touch his mother’s bed that rested a couple of steps away from him. His eyes had only glossed over the blanket that created bumps and waves.

Oh, how much he had missed walking under the sunny heat and beside the salty sea with his mother. The last memory he had of such a fond moment was that when he was merely a boy of 6 years. Somedays, he had liked to sit in front of the ajar opened window that invited the cooling air with his head rested on his arms- lips pouting as he cranked his memory box. He had reminisced most of the time he had when he was just a boy with twigs as arms, there was nothing he could do, and he could not even aid his mother in hopes of a better lifestyle.

Thanks to his mother’s care, he was now a man with arms stuffed with fish and rabbits, not forgetting the greens. There was pride that had twinkled in her eyes once he had announced that it was possible for him to work under a lord to support the two of them. There was hope that relit with a burning flame.

Acceptance flew by, but it was not easy. Easy was not the word he would use to describe the conditions he was under, at all. It was more of a strangling experience, a horrible one. Days before the unexpected announcement from the royals, he had been battling in an exhausting war within himself. He was desperate for equilibrium and balance. There were silent days and times when he had left his window a hairbreadth space to breathe in the air from the outside. When he had finally found stabilization, out of nowhere, the raw wound that felt that it was losing attention cried once more. The scandalous ties he had with the princess had prodded his mind when his life was finally riding a calm wave. Despite his attempt to build a robust barrier that he had hoped stood tall, it seemed his barrier was not strong enough. The miniature holes exposed his weakest spots, allowing the thoughts to engulf him.

The following days, his hearts weighed heavier than the forest he would chop trees from. A job he had picked up from a lord who inquired him with an interesting offer. Although he had tried to keep his mind busy, Y/N was just splattered all over his head. The ghouls that slept in the corner of his room taunted him with whispers at night, the haunting song led him to the disability to think for a week.

Regrets dreaded his soul. It was not only cruel of him to scare an innocent and harmless maid, but entirely, it was not him. Was it? Hours he spent hoping that the person who had pushed the servant into the mud. Did he even push? If he did make her flinch and land in the mud, was it his fault? Did he become intimidating? He found no closure when he was surrounded by his house walls, accompanied by his own thoughts that seemed to shut his mind from having any other opinions.

The rush of air that occupied his house comforted him, well, it was more of reminding him of what he could’ve got. Time spent with Y/N was the only thing he looked back at, craving for her presence. He would wonder as he chopped woods if she had thought of him. Because all he could do was glance at the door in case of a knock. He had hoped for her to visit him, for way too long. How could she? When I basically ordered a royalty?

Just like a failed pastry, it had seemed his life was crumbling to pieces. The unexpected and uncommon announcement from the castle had caught off the villagers.

It was a sunny day, beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead and puddling on the thirsty yet dry dirt. Since he had been chopping the forest away with the day before, his muscles had weakened with a splat. There was nothing more that he wanted other than to dip his arms in icy water. Despite the decrease in orders in the following day and time to rest, it did no justice to his energy.

The commotion around the messenger who had scrambled onto a platform so everyone was able to see him away felt as if it was just yesterday. While bodies had paced away from the announcement and back to proceed with their chores, Steve remained standing. His eyes flickered in bewilderment. The clench in his hands loosened, the tight grip had slackened as the words had seemed to muffle his hearing.

Prince Loki of Asgard was expected to wed the princess.

Following weeks, it seemed the new announcement had been trailing after him, haunting him with every possibility it can. The news was whispered from lips to ears, like an endless cycle and repetition. The most discussed gossip was about the Prince’s beauty. It had been rumoured that the gold he was drowned in, glittered in his eyes. Young maidens would mumble between one another, passing on the (he believed to be) false rumours that Prince Loki had a voice of silk that roared during battle. Although Steve liked to latch on and believe that maybe, just maybe- if Prince Loki’s… rumours were false, maybe Y/N would be in his arms once again. And then he could start it all over again.

Waves hurled at one another, jumping over each other as it dragged it towards the bed of the ocean. Although it was harsh and rough, it was nothing like the tranquillity exuded close to shore. Whereas the threatening water stared with taunts, the baby waves cuddled and coated the variety sized pebbles of different shapes. With a random arrangement of colours, the gradient of multi matched rocks displayed an accident masterpiece of nature. To some disgusting, others- home. The smell of one day on the water body would either cause someone to regurgitate their meals or sleep with ease.

Glossing over the indigo sparkly surface were two pairs of eyes, though one had far much distance from the other. As if the water had absorbed all the moisture in his throat, his lips fainted to a dry like a dehydrated paintbrush’s bristles. Fiddling with his fingers with his eyes on the figure that had caused him all of the increasing tenfold anxiety.

Approaching the brick wall, separating the two worlds as protection, his jaw clenched with a halt in his pace. It took him everything to hold back, to not take a glance to his right- the clawing of desperation in his gut generated a lot of heat. His eyes quivered. Lips parted in an attempt to utter the words that had been embedded onto the walls of his mind. To only produce a faint buzzing of a groan and lip smacks.

Although deep down inside of him, he held onto the burning rope of hope- wishing for it to come true, his tongue had lashed before he had control over it. With a string of saliva pulled, his words rung through the thick and deafening air, “Are you glad?” As soon as the word echoed into his ears, a groan emitted in his head at the useless inquiry. The answer was prominent, yet he dared to ask.

With every blink, her energy drained out of her body. The will and motivation to raise a muscle eradicated as her head blared to find the answer to his question. A moment passed. “Glad?” She chuckled softly. “I don’t think that is the right word to use with all these tiring emotions and situation,”

He nodded, not knowing how to proceed with the conversation, “I’m a married woman now. It is not right for us to see each other. I will get going now,” Like a spin of a rose, she twirled around with all her gentleness and majestic swirl. Halting as their shoulders stood a hairbreadth away. “It was nice knowing you, Steve Rogers.” Though like a painful tug when her maids braided her hair, she clenched her teeth. Pinching the sides of the dress and hovering it over the ground, she curtsied like an ancient doll who creaked with every nudge.

Steve stood speechless. She was married. And it was not to him.

tag: @bookgirlunicorn

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #baker!steve rogers x princess!reader #princess!reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers oneshots #steve rogers oneshot #avenger imagine #avenger oneshot #captain america imagin #au #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel oneshots #marvel oneshot #loki x reader #loki

[peachyteabuck]

everywhere, everything, anything

summary: thor meets a cat in new asgard. 

pairing: thor odinson x brunnhilde 

words: 1,424

trigger warnings: angst, takes space in the space between canons that the mcu is made up of, some fluff. 

notes/other: my therapist told me “you need to recenter your hobbies so that you find joy in them. self care comes from the appreciation and dedication to self, not obligation.” so i wrote this. also, @m00nlightdelights gave me like $15 for my first tattoo & this is my thank you. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Thor meets him the day he goes to pick up his month shipment of Misgardian alcohol. There, in a house made from empty crates and discarded fishing net, lies a large cat. Freckled with dark grey patches with swirls of lighter and lighter greys, he looks at Thor with translucent green eyes. Large pupils, a swishing tail. Thor chooses not to move the animal just looking for somewhere other than the cold, muddy ground to sleep. He, in all his regality, understands the creature’s desire for such basic accommodations.

Brunnhilde notices the creature two weeks from the day Thor gives him an old towel for the feline to sleep on. She loves Thor, loves her with each cell in her fatigued body, and that is why she does not mention anything until she notices the collar, the nameplate around the grey mass’s fluffy neck.

It’s red – not blood red – but red like cherry-flavored beverages, like the remnants of a red velvet cupcake on a paper plate. Red of a shift worn down from time and love. Red, the cheeks of a twelve-year-old with a crush. Brun walks to the cat with narrowed eyes and a container full of ground fish.

The cat, one very happy to accept such a prized snack, does not mind when Brun moves to check the small letters indented into the shiny silver.

Lands-maðr

New Asgard

If found, please leave me alone

Brun snorts, and does as the nameplate tells her to.

She brings it up that night as she cooks, slicing meats and vegetables into a crockpot so it can become a meal as she and Thor sleep. It’s a mess, the counters and kitchen, but she likes it. It’s a sign of something warmer than the chill running through her veins. Thor’s there, leaning against the counter, stealing bits of vegetables and suggesting spice combinations as if he knows what he’s talking about. Brun doesn’t snap at him, though, just rolls her eyes and directs the conversation towards something else.

It’s when Thor mentions coriander that she mentions the new addition to their property. Thor, unlike before, says very little. He simply shrugs, and bites into a bit of celery.

“Showed up one day,” he says.

Brun nods. “I knew that part.”

Thor shrugs again. Not much else to tell.

Brun doesn’t push him, just sets the timer and ushers him into their massive, messy bed. He snores as loud as usual, but in the early morning when she goes to shower the dried sweat from her nightmares she doesn’t find him dead asleep. Rather, he’s tapping away at a laptop that’d nearly been busted in a fit of anger a few weeks prior. When he abandons it for his own shower, Brun can’t help but peak at the cracked screen.

It’s some pet website. Specifically, something called a cat tree. Brun scoffs and rolls her eyes. Nonetheless, she finds it a little heartwarming that Thor has something to focus on besides how his literal and figurative world was blown to bits and how it may have been but also wasn’t his fault and –

Exactly twenty-three days later, she finds a weather-proof cat tree four feet to the left of the large stack of crates. The mid-afternoon sun is bright and warm, something Lands-maðr is well aware of as he lays on the highest platform in a sun beam. Brun, a woman who has worked tirelessly for everything she has, glares at the creature. Not in anger or jealousy, per se, but marvel.

Just shows up in Thor Odinson’s yard and suddenly gets to live like a king who hasn’t been displaced. Still, she can’t remain too mad when she finally runs her fingers through that beautiful, thick fur – all that warmer as it heats in the sun.

The first time Lands-maðr wades his way inside, he jumps in through a window as Brun and Thor clean the house. It’s the last warm (well, their definition of warm) day of the year, and they celebrate by opening up the house to let the fresh air in while they scrub and wipe and sweet, slow songs play in the background. Thor treats the feline’s presence as something normal, welcomes the animal as it follows him around and brrrooowwws every once and awhile to force Thor’s hand to give him the attention he so deservedly wishes for. Sometimes Lands-maðr receives pieces of chicken and fish and bread for his troubles, something Brun may or may not contribute to.

For the first few hours she considers saying something, considers telling Thor to stick the cat back outside or question him about this grey mass that has decided all on his lonesome he now lived in their home with these two humans who have so humbly devoted themselves to his servitude. But, after Lands-maðr finds himself a bed in the form of a pile of fresh-out-of-the-dryer laundry and swishes that tail around as he stares at Brun while she so indignantly pulls more and more of his throne from him so she can put them away, Lands-maðr looks at her with this large, green eyes with large, round pupils and she cracks. Her heart cracks. And she decides this creature has staked enough of himself in the wood walls of their home there’s no way she can kick him out.

“Fine,” she mumbles to herself. The next few words she mumbles to the cat (a fact she’s just a little bit ashamed of). “But only because you make him happy.”

Lands-maðr does nothing in response.

That night forward, Lands-maðr spends each night on Thor’s massive chest, warming the man’s face and purring louder than anything Brunnhilde’s ever heard in her entire goddamn life. Lands-maðr’s good about sharing Thor, let’s Brun curl up into her lover’s side and rest her head on the small bit shoulder not covered in fluff. Lands-maðr also takes care not to smother Brun in her sleep, something she greatly appreciates.

Maybe she now has to share the love of her life with some other creature, but when she wakes up each morning and doesn’t feel Thor tenser than the day previous – instead feeling him calm and sated as this cat warms his skin – Brun thinks giving up real estate when she cuddles Thor is worth it.

One night, Brunnhilde has to leave. Some diplomatic thing, Thor calls it. A way for New Asgard to get access to a larger variety of produce from a neighboring place that’s been growing beautiful fruit in these large greenhouses and New Asgard has been struggling to-

Either way, Thor is left by his lonesome for a little over seventy-two hours. This, before all of it, wouldn’t be a problem. He’s a grown man, he’s a grown man who can handle himself and can remember to feed himself and remember to bathe himself.

He is also a grown man who uses the woman he loves to keep the voices in his head that tell him to curl up in a ball and never leave the house. The ones that tell him to eat nothing all day because he forgets he’s a living thing that needs to eat, the one that makes him watch seven seasons worth of trashy television in less than a week.

He’s fine for the first day or so, but as the sun sets on night two (2) alone, every bit of medical grade steel he’s used to keep the rest of the world out disintegrates in his hands like…like…

Thor cries, cement in his ribs making it hard to breathe and heart desperately beating to keep his hands from becoming too cold. Tears, thick fat ones that rest in his beard, roll down his face like waves onto a shored ship. He makes no move to wipe them from his face.

“Am I some sort of infection?” His voice is low as the cat accepts his pitiful attempt at pets. “My skin – it remembers. It knows each piece of ruin New Asgard has built itself out of, built itself without me.” Thor sniffles again, rubbing at his face with the hoodie he’s worn every day for the past two weeks. “How am I ever to apologize to my people sufficiently? To myself?” he sniffs. “How am I to apologize to you, for bringing all these foreign people to a place such rightfully yours?”

Lands-maðr, still purring louder than two ships hitting each other during a lightning storm, simply rubs the flat of his head against Thor’s chin.

Apology accepted.  

#thorkyrie #thor & cats babey!! #das what it's all about!! #lukis writes stuff #thor odinson x valkyrie #thor odinson x brunnhilde

[diceforanaltmode]

Team Ice: Adventure 2, or, The One Where They Get A Dog

Team Ice played a follow up game after their first adventure (read about that here!) and we’re bringing you the summary!

The Cast - TEAM ICE

Skids by Soundwave (human rogue) Tailgate by Butter (dwarven barbarian) Cyclonus by Ren (tiefling paladin) Nautica by Robophelia (half-elf wizard) Velocity by Cee (high elf cleric) Brainstorm by Bex (air genasi wizard)

First session

The party wakes up the morning after their adventure at the inn First Aid recommended for them.

Skids has had a troubled night’s sleep as his memories kept coming back to him.

They have the various materials looted from Zeta’s castle throughout the room - there isn’t much space  to step freely. Much of it is books, and also the papers from his private study.

As you wake up the party notices the delicious smell of baked goods wafting up to your room. They didn’t notice before, but the inn is set just next to a bakery and pastry shop.

---

As Velocity, Nautica, and Skids walk into the shop, you see baskets of bread and bagels and rolls, rows of pastries in glass cases, and in a large, round case, a whole cake, smothered with frosting that rises in decadent swirls, brightly colored in turquoise and purple and blues.

Skids is still a bit out of it. He orders coffee for everyone. Velocity is fascinated by the cake. Not a slice of cake, a whole cake! Nautica orders food for herself and Velocity, who is still distracted by the cake.

Velocity: Nautica. Nautica, look at it. It’s real. Cakes exist!

Nautica: Do you want to order a slice?

Velocity: No! I can’t destroy the cake. Nautica, you don’t understand, it’s a whole cake. Not a slice!

Nautica: Are you going to order?

Velocity: Please order for both of us, I need a moment to look at the cake.

There are a few people in the shop having breakfast or picking up loaves of bread while they’re fresh. One person in particular is notable, a halfling man named Rung, who seems to be quite absorbed in his breakfast, a simple apple turnover.

Nautica and Lotty make their way to Skids’s table. Lotty would have noticed Rung if she hadn’t been so focused on the cake. In fact, she takes a seat that allows her to look at it.

Rung notices Velocity and waves. Lotty signals for him to join them all at the table.

“Velocity! Well it is lovely to see you.”

Velocity introduces Rung to the party. He buys her a slice of cake (“since you gave me cake once”) and she is extremely happy.

“You are my new favorite person,” she says to Rung, who seems amused and bemused.

Skids  “Lotty, are you crying?”

“You don’t know what it’s like to grow up without cake!” Lotty sobs, still looking at the slice in front of her.

“Uh, no, I don’t But, uh, it’s nice that you have cake now,” says Skids, sounding very, very, very confused by her reaction to cake.

---

When Velocity and the others come back to the inn, they find Roller, First Aid, Perceptor, and Whirl in the lobby (and Orion. Orion came to thank Skids for freeing him from the charm person spell)

First Aid calls out, “Velocity!”  

When Velocity and the others “I wanted to check up on Skids, and the rest of them - well, they were worried when you all disappeared so suddenly.”

Whirl, in the back: “I wasn’t worried, I just got sick of all the political mumbo-jumbo back at Swerve’s.”

“Don’t worry,” First Aid says, “Prowl doesn’t know we’ve left.”

The party and friends start sorting through the loot from Zeta’s in their inn room. Nautica recalls that a symbol in one of the documents is connected to certain old religions, but that’s all she knows other than that it gives off a bad vibe.

They also find orders for construction under the castle. There’s no updated map, but they see information on where construction would have begun. The various plans and correspondences suggest that Zeta was concerned about the security of the castle, and wanted to keep his most important research and laboratories hidden, in a place that Nine of Twelve wouldn’t know about because it did not exist when he controlled the castle. The research referenced includes vague references to the plane of his patron, and also information that Skids recognizes, as being about the enforcers Tyrest provided to the Functionists, and further experimentation on them to improve and reverse engineer them for further production.

Prowl arrives. Skids sees him through a peephole in the door and writes on a piece of paper that they can’t let him see the loot they’ve collected from Zeta. A lot of writing ensues, with the whole party trying to plan how to fool Prowl without being heard by him. Nautica casts featherfall on Skids and he leaves through a window and goes to talk to Prowl. Prowl followed Aid and co. there and claims he was worried about Skids. Skids pretends he still has amnesia and wasn’t trying to hide from Prow, he was just tired and asked Aid where he could go to get some undisturbed rest. He claims he doesn’t know why First Aid kept this information from Prowl. He also says they didn’t find any important items in the castle. Prowl is very tired and buys it.

First Aid leaves, along with all of the people he brought except Whirl. Whirl wants to stay with the party because things at the hideout are “boring”. Skids trusts Whirl because Whirl also dislikes Prowl. While they are sorting through the They stash the loot from Zeta’s, partially in Perceptor’s lab and partially in a secret place Whirl uses. The party also keeps a few dangerous or important things with them.

Then they leave for Zeta’s new construction with Whirl in tow.

----

The entrance to Zeta’s secret underground lab construction is in the courtyard of his castle. Once the party makes their way through the hidden entrance and down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, they find another stone troll. They answer the following three riddles to move past the troll.

You can see me in still water, but I am never wet. What am I? Your reflection

To keep me, I must be given. If I am not kept, I am broken. What am I? Your word or promise

Speak my name, and I am broken. Seldom heard, and never spoken. What am I? Silence

Water room: A room full of water magically kept in place. A mechanism on the far side can be used to drain it. Nautica easily swims to it but isn’t strong enough to work it and has to swim back. Nautica then uses shape water to move the mechanism instead. The room drains.

Canyon room: The room has a canyon, about 2 stories deep and ~13ft (~4m) wide. Brainstorm flies across, tying a rope on either side. Skids and Tailgate cross the rope easily (Skids cartwheels across cause he’s a big showoff) but the rest of the party fall into the canyon. Velocity and Cyclonus are slightly injured. Skids and Tailgate throw down a knotted rope and everyone but Nautica climbs out. Finally, Nautica holds onto the rope and the rest of the party works together to pull her out.

Wolf room: There is a horse-sized wolf chained to the wall. Skids doesn’t like wolves and immediately shoots it, but Tailgate and Velocity feel bad for it. Nautica casts sleep on it, which almost puts it to sleep because it was injured (“You’re welcome! I still hate wolves.” -Skids) Tailgate and Lotty give it rations and Tailgate is able to calm it down so the party can walk by it without a fight.

After giving rations to the wolf, Tailgate decides to approach it and calm it down. He succeeds, so Lotty dares to approach it too. She feels terrible for it and considers healing it, but she knows she can’t spend spell slots or potions that the party might need on it, so she promises to it that she’ll return for it and free it.

----

Zeta’s Study!

The first thing the party notices in the study is a large birdcage with a young aarakocra child inside. Before anyone can do anything, Whirl smashes the birdcage, and everyone in the room briefly senses Something Important, like something intense and overwhelming rushed into the room. Whirl picks up the child and Skids goes over to check on them. After a quick check from Lotty confirms they aren’t physically hurt, Skids and Whirl take the child - Scrappy - to go look for their parents.

Lotty examines the cage to try and figure out what kind of magic they sensed. This magic feels different from the other types of magic in the room. It has a chaotic vibe.

There’s a piece of correspondence with Caminus that suggests the Functionists might be trying for an alliance.

There is also more Planar research, letters from the Functionists reminding him that they allow Zeta his Patron but he is not their focus, and his to keep his focus on the end goal.

Letters suggesting that he needs to speed up his research and production of the legislators because Tyrest has become slow and uncooperative after the attack a year ago, the one that Skids knows he was responsible for.

The party gets to the other side of the study and through the door sees a laboratory full of what Skids recognizes as parts of the legislators, chopped apart and twisted in various ways. In the center, you see a tank where parts seem to have been cobbled together around something round… growing. It’s hard to tell through the thick greenish gel in the tank, but it almost seems that it could be… orange. It does not wake up, though.

----

Skids and Whirl take the child, Scrappy, to the hideout, where the charmed guards are being examined to make sure they really were charmed and not loyal to Zeta. Scrappy’s mom has recently been cleared and they’re happily reunited. Scrappy’s mom is still in the process of getting in touch with her wife, who was outside the city when the wall went up. Rung is there and offers to counsel the child if their parents agree. After an insight check, Skids decides he trusts Rung.

---

After inspecting the cage where Scrappy was being held and taking a quick look around the room, Lotty returns to the wolf. Brainstorm helps her remove the wolf’s shock collar. Since apparently they won’t be fighting anyone, she heals it, finds out it’s a ‘she’, and proceeds to sit down with her back against the wolf’s side and pet her.

“Who’s a good girl? You are!” says Lotty as she pets the wolf.

Inside the study, Tailgate found a cold crate, containing ice-cream and everyone has ice-cream. Brainstorm tries to translate some documents from Primordial, and is excited to study the contents of the lab.. Other documents are taken to Lotty, who refuses to leave the wolf’s side, who tries to translate them from Infernal. Other members of the party

The wolf is adopted by the party and named Luna. The party returns to the inn with their new giant wolf in tow, as well as a new collection of papers and journals stolen from Zeta, and finds Luna a place to sleep in the barn. Skids rejoins the party, having successfully reunited Scrappy with their mom, and everyone settles back down in the Inn.

Adventure 3!

#game recap #team ice

[fierypen37]

Romantic Jonerys Prompts. Hella. -----Foreign Food! Either Dany Dealing with a Northern Diet (fucking eels) or Jon dealing with Essosi food (poor baby bean's bland pallette)

Temptation  

Jon scowled down at the plate set before him. It smelledinoffensive enough: buttery and rich with a faint tang of a spice he couldn’tname, but Jon remained dubious. Jon poked it with the tine of his fork, it feltfirm and crisp.

“You needn’t worry, my love. It’squite dead. It won’t bite you back,” Daenerys said, smothering a grin. Daenerysplucked a fried locust from her plate and dipped it in spiced honey. She took abite with evident relish, and as lovely a picture his wife made, the sight madehis stomach turn. It was the insect’s tiny legs and glazed eyes staring at himthat he found unpalatable. Jon set down his fork, leaning back onto the plushsilken cushions, a cloud of floral perfume wafted up.

“I think I’ll manage without,” Jonsaid.

There was little about Essos thatagreed with him. Too hot, too crowded, too noisy. The air sultry—so thick itwas like trying to breathe through wet cotton. Pentos teemed with peoplebabbling and shrieking in a dozen tongues. The city reeked of sweat, elephantdung, stagnant water, a myriad of perfumes and spices. Even now as the lampsglowed gold and moths fluttered, with a cool breeze teasing the gauzy curtains,Jon could hear the faint cry of strangers’ voices.

Besides the locusts—which he wastold was a Meereenese delicacy—the table groaned with food. Plump slices ofmelon dripping sweetness, skewers with honeyed dovemeat, blue-veined cheeses,flatbread seasoned with saffron, a tangy paste made from chickpeas and seasonedwith vinegar and pepper. Everything foreign and rich. Jon rubbed his stomach,longing for a simple kidney pie with peas and onions.

Daenerys eyed him through herlashes, a smile curving her ripe lips. On second thought, there was one thingabout Essos he liked. The heat goaded Daenerys into wearing flimsy gowns andwraps. This one was his favorite. Near-sheer blue silk, with straps thatcrisscrossed over her torso, leaving a tantalizing window around her navel, theskirts cupping close to her hips. He was dazzled by the curves and hollows ofher body, he longed to taste her sweat, nuzzle the patterns of her body hair.Jon forgot his hunger in the slow pound of arousal. Jon floundered closer tosteal a kiss. Mmm, her mouth tasted of sweet dark wine.  

“I think I’ll sup on somethingelse,” he rasped. Though her violet eyes watched him from beneath heavy lids,Daenerys nudged him away.

“No, Jon. You must eat. Much betterthan bread and gruel. Who knows? You might even like it.”

Jon heaved a beleaguered sigh, rakinga hand through sweat-damp hair. Daenerys giggled, nuzzling the shell of hisear.

“If you try it, I’ll make it worthyour while,” she purred. Jon growled, contemplating the fried locust with abaleful eye.

“Fine,” he said, plucking up thewarm morsel. Before he could dither any longer, he stuffed the whole thing inhis mouth. As he chewed, some of the tension eased. The flavor was almostnutty, rich and warm. The texture was a pleasant crunch. Jon washed it downwith a gulp of Dany’s sweetwine.

“What do you think?” she asked. Jongrinned, rolling her beneath him on the cushions.

“I think I need to work up anappetite for more.” 

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: joshua x fem!reader. ⚬ word count: 4.3K. ⚬ warnings: none. ⚬ genre: predominantly angst, fluff.

— ✧✎ synopsis: joshua has always been sweet and delicate, an exceptional lover, yet these days he’s been notably distant, cold, and agitated. so much in fact that youre scared to talk with him. until the culmination of your worries and his stress clash, and all is not pretty.

→ 20 Days

It’s not that you were keeping a physical tally of Joshua’s fragility, his ever so faintly apparent attitude that left a bitter taste to stain your mouth. It’s not that you were keeping track of each day that passed, ticking by akin to broken clockwork, stuttering for even an hour to pass without his sigh becoming heavier than its previous counterpart. No, it couldn’t be that you were monitoring the way he brushed you off, impetuously, without a single flinch in his brow or a crease in his eyes.

He did it flatly, as though cancelling your third attempt at a dinner date was a simple task he needn’t think about. Each time you began planning the outings, you were excited, anxious even, to finally sit down with the love of your life and just drawl on until you were the only pair left in the restaurant, surrounded by dim candlelight and the distant noise of silverware tinkling together.

It made your stomach curl, flip, dance, as you recalled your past dates, when Joshua’s hand would smooth across the tablecloth to slowly enclose your own, running his thumb along your knuckles whilst you shoved a whole cupcake into your mouth, nearly choking as you tried to splutter every detail of your day. Now, you were left to wonder where those sacred memories wisped off to, his voice sounding almost bothered as he dismissed you over the phone for the umpteenth time.

“Are you sure there’s not another time we can arrange a date?” You posed softly, afraid to even put the tiniest bit of force into your tone.

“Mmhm.” He replied. “I’m busy.”

It was late. From a curled up position on the couch you were staring through the glass panes of your apartment, toward the city lights that gleamed like jewels on a crown. When you focused hard enough, you could etch out your form reflected in the window, a frown weighing down your mouth. Flipping through the schedule planner on your lap, you took your marker and wrote a black X over the upcoming Friday night, hating how your eyes randomly began to sting and blur the dates on the calendar when Joshua sighed again.

“Is that all?” He was most likely scampering fingers through his hair as he impatiently waited for you to end the call, to swallow that stupid salt block in your throat.

You didn’t want him to hear your frustration, how pent up you became after listening to his intoned words rasp through the static. Maybe he was tired, not in an amiable mood; he could be hungry or eager to get back to training. You weren’t sure. And it fucking sucked that you were afraid to ask. Sitting up and letting your feet hit the floor, you leaned forward with a hand masking your forehead, as though you were checking to see if you had a fever. Well, if your fever was an entourage of silent suffering, than you better pray that there was a remedy. You forced a sweet, sleepy voice.

“I won’t keep you up any longer. Get lots of rest, okay? Goodnight, I—“

You stopped, throwing the phrase back onto your tongue, out of curiosity, to see if he would even care that you hadn’t told him the three words he would blush over each time they poured from your lips. Moisture was condensing between your forehead and the palm that encased it.

“Goodnight.” Joshua mumbled. The long, sorrowful hum of the closed telephone line did not register in your mind until your arm couldn’t be bothered to hold the device up any longer, your throat feebly tightening whilst you finally swallowed that stupid salty lump.

→ 40 Days

Joshua had come home. A dinner date was set. There wasn’t another thick, daunting X on your planner anymore. Everything should be peachy, right? You should be restored to living life with rose tinted glasses. Yearning all day and all night for that statement to be true was nothing but a squander of precious time. Joshua had come home indeed, yet unlike the other moments that preluded his arrival, such as your heart walloping the paper cage of your chest, or the sudden outbreak of butterflies in your stomach; you were nearly skulking away from the entrance.

In the past, you would always remain in the living room. You knew that pale oak door would swing wide open and Joshua’s bags would hardly have time to slap the floor before you leapt on top of him, a mass of wriggling limbs and incoherent squeals whilst you realized that his warm, honey skin under your fingertips was remarkably tangible, that the clean, dyed ferns of his hair was actual velvet tickling your nose. Joshua liked to hold a palm against the back of your head and secure his arm around your waist; practically crushing you so close against his body you could feel every inch of his new muscle.

If he had been gone for an agonizingly long time, not a single breadth would bar him from grasping your face in his hands, holding you as gently as he could, yet with enough need to freeze the blood in your body. Joshua kissed you so desperately that the air in your lungs would be whisked away within seconds, leaving your chest barren yet warmed by the love that kept him nipping your bottom lip, until it became redder than a Christmas poinsettia.

This time, when you heard the distinct jingling of copper and the crisp click of a key unlocking the door, you were just leaving your room for a sandwich. And now you were wishing you had ignored your hunger pains for even a minute longer. You didn’t know what you felt when he appeared through the frame. The slice of bread and small jar you had just pulled from the cupboard keened to slide from your grip, though you held each item with a steely strength. He had his usual duffle bag over the shoulder, the same black baseball cap and grey sweats and that comfortable flannel you’d worn so many mornings before.

When his gaze found yours, you felt like suffocating. If someone were to shove a pillow in your face and smother you to the floor, it would be more bearable than Joshua’s flint black eyes leaving ash on your skin, his full, rubescent lips not even quirking upward in the slightest. He couldn’t be bothered to feign a slice of mirth.

However, if you thought that incident was bad, than you had no idea what dinner had in store.

Joshua is beautiful. You can’t help but fill the chasm between you with admiration for the depth of his eyes. They flare very softly, like the wispy ends of a willow tree, and his lashes are long, satin black fans that swoosh with elegance. His irises have always been glossy, twinkling, like the Milky Way touched down from its blanket in space and dappled the brown circles with light. His suit is black with a pure white dress shirt that peaks from underneath. The comma style of his lilac washed hair is fluffy yet sharp. Everything blends. You wonder if he still thinks the same attributes about you, though there isn’t much to wonder when he seems more interested in his beverage than your beauty.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve gone shopping. Do you wanna go to the Plaza tomorrow?” You ask, covering your mouth whilst chewing a chuck of your meal.

Joshua’s wine glass hits the table. “Not sure,” he comments, his eyes darting from the deep purple liquid to lock his gaze with yours, “You don’t really need another dress, do you?”

You’re holding a napkin in your lap, now squeezing it fiercely. This was a stark contrast to the last time you went out for dinner. It appeared as though the Joshua in front of you— wasn’t actually Joshua. Or at least, it seemed that way. You poked your meal with the fork’s prongs.

“No, no. It doesn’t have to be dress shopping. It could be for anything. Sometimes it’s just nice to browse, ya know?”

Joshua stared at you. He just stared. You couldn’t tell if he was spacing out, tapping his mind for a reply, (because your conversation was that enthralling he needed to ponder for the right words) or if he was flat out searing you with judgement. This was definitely not the same as your last dinner.

“Yeah, I get it.” Could the other customers tell something was off? Perhaps your mind was forging illusions, but the atmosphere clouding your table could be sliced with the butter knife next to the bread basket.

“Feeling okay? You haven’t really touched your food.”

He glanced at his plate. It was his usual choice, his favourite choice, yet the dish was nearly full.

“I ate a lot today.”

“Is that why all my Poptarts were missing?” You teased. He hardly cracked a grin; it was more of an exaggerated huff through his nose.

Why, why was that all you could get from him?  You felt like a mother trying to pry even just a sliver of her teenager’s life into her own, so she could decide if everything was sugar and spice or if she needed to intervene. It frustrated you, so immensely you wanted to lunge across the table. You wanted to grab his collar and shake it until he addressed you like an actual human being. The old dinners, they were perfect, simple, there was no concrete pressure to keep talking. You ate until the business nearly closed, stepping onto the misty night streets with to-go containers full of red velvet cake and apple pie and extra appetizers that you would heat up in the oven.

Then you would melt into your apartment, tearing off glossy pumps and suit jackets, tight dresses and creaseless button-ups until you reached the bath, accidentally dropping the whole bottle of soap into the water so that bubbles of lemon grass and citrus were practically spilling from the tub. At first it would be humorous as you giggled off all the wine fizzling in your veins, but as the suds slowly popped away and the steam from the hot water lessened, Joshua would have you against his chest, slightly rough fingertips gliding from your shoulders, tickling down your back, up your legs, simply appreciating how your figure fit so primly with his, that his luck had managed to serve him the most beautiful girl is his arms, where he could leave as many kisses as he wanted to the glistening skin behind your ear.

Your reminiscence was interrupted by Joshua’s voice. He had just turned away the waitress.

“Hmm?” You pressed your lips together, coming back from your stored memories. Joshua let his napkin flop on the table.

“Nothing,” he said, “I feel like neither of us are in a mood for something sweet tonight, that’s all.”

“Oh… Well, maybe another night.”

You responded, smiling. He was right. You weren’t in a fluffy dessert mood. In fact, if you had a plate of red velvet cake right in front of you, a forkful in your mouth, it was doubted you would be able to taste even a hint of its richness with the numbness that you were succumbing to.

→ 60 Days.

The breaking point, it was horrible, awful, and sinister. You couldn’t tell left from right, black from blue, touch from taste as you stormed out of your apartment, a silvery film crowding your eyes as you jammed your finger against the elevator button. It only emboldened your anger, increased the sob that strained against your throat as the metal doors took their sweet time pulling apart. You punched the button again and again and again, secretly praying no one would stick a curious head from their apartment to see a distraught, shaking woman taking out her heartbreak on the elevator key.

Screw this. You whined within your head, whipping toward the staircase that twisted in a downward spiral for at least a good five minutes. You didn’t care if the walls were stained with peculiar faded residue, if the steps groaned under your every step or if the frigid current swept coolly against your face. What mattered most was that you were away from him. His face may be seraphic, lovely and chiselled with gold tools, but his words were harsh slaps that you were unaware could formulate on his tongue.

Joshua never got mad. He never swore. Hell, he’d hardly even raised his voice at the most absurd things. So, no one could really blame you for wanting to hide away when you had pressed him to his breaking point. If Joshua was juggling stress, he was not one to openly speak about it. He handled his anxieties covertly, without so much as a hint he was nearly crumbling on the inside. You had told him so many damn times, I’m here for you but I will not push you. I love you, Joshua. Please know you can come to me with anything. He always repeated your words with gentle squeezes to your hips, plush lips against your forehead.

You broke your word that you would not push him. Maybe, in some way you got what you deserved. But if a broken heart was supposed to feel this painful, then you weren’t really sure if “deserved” was the correct word.

He had been sitting on the couch when you returned from work, sort of slumped with his guitar in his lap. You didn’t say anything to him and he said nothing to you. Sure you may have thrown together a last minute meal, some chicken fried rice and vegetables circling depressingly in the microwave, but sitting at the table and silently shovelling the food into your mouth made you sick, nauseated. The food had no taste. It was just mush on your tongue, bland and artificial and you couldn’t describe how irritated you felt when Joshua kept rehearsing the same strings on his guitar, always falling out of tune when he couldn’t get the sound right. Even the noises from the clock, the water dripping from the kitchen faucet, it all made you want to slam your face into the food.

“Jisoo,” You called, shedding all attempts at trying to sound polite and sugary, “Could you please practice in the bedroom? I had a rough day and I need just a little bit of silence right now.”

He perked up. When was the last time you’d called him Jisoo? It was so far back in his memory that cobwebs had grown over it.

“Sorry to hear that, baby.” He glowered. By now his attitude was typical.

“Yeah,” You hummed, “When I’m really bothered by something and I want to be respectful to the people around me, I tell them about it.”

Joshua’s brow crinkled. You could hear the sofa creak as he sat up, black eyes churning without a twinkle whilst he stared at your back.

“You get it all out of your system yet?” He scoffed. There was enough intoned coldness in his voice to make you turn around, dropping the fork into the container. It was always clear as day when Joshua was joking. You could hear the springy elation behind his tone and feel the warm rays from his eyes flitter across your skin. Now, you felt nothing.

“Have you?”

Joshua plucked a few guitar chords and resumed slouching. He was shaking his head, as though to wordlessly convey, let’s just drop it. But you did not want to drop anything, to let this moment slip like silk between your fingers without a chance of tugging it back. Things were not meant to progress like this. Two months had gone by, colourless and lurching off what little affectionate displays were transiently exchanged. Joshua used to tell you he loved you. Each morning he would roll over, hair a dishevelled hut that poked out abstractly, tickling your cheek as his arm wove around your waist, cuddling you back into his chest. With a hand subconsciously painting constellations on your stomach and a voice quite rough, yet still ripe with its honeyed texture, he would tell you he loved you. And you believed it.

“No,” you huffed and stalked over to the couch, “We’re talking about this.” He watched you sit on the coffee table, hand stilling over his own to stop the melody from his guitar.

“And don’t act clueless. What is up with you, Jisoo? It feels like I’ve been talking to some mindless clone for the past two months, and it’s hardly talking. I know I’ve said you can tell me anything, that I won’t push, but you need to tell me what’s going on.”

He moved his hand from under the guitar, losing touch with your fingers. It was only a small act, but the laceration it left on your heart was enormous.

“[Y/N], I don’t wanna do this right now.” He warned. You wouldn’t let him escape.

“What’s stressing you out? Is it training? One of the members? Family?” His eyes darted to where you had grabbed his hoodie sleeve; fingers bunching into the fabric as though you were pleading for him to remain seated.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about everything, but if we don’t discuss this now I feel like we’re just gonna hit rock bottom at this point. For god’s sake, we are at rock bottom!”

“Then why don’t you leave?!” Joshua suddenly barked, pushing his guitar out of the way. “If you’re so convinced that we’re at rock bottom then why don’t you leave me?”

You leaned back on the coffee table, shrinking away from his voice, but not willing to forget the whole argument.

“It sounds like you’re practically asking me to leave! Is that what you want? I’m sorry if I can’t tell because you never say anything!”

Joshua shot up from the couch and began pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. You had never seen him like this. You could hardly hear your own voice over the deafening thumps from your heart.

“If it gets you to shut up, then maybe you should go.”

“Excuse me?!” Now it was your turn to shoot up. You stopped him from pacing, a palm sliding along his shoulder that he did not hesitate to push off. “Jisoo, I’m trying to help you!”

“You ask what’s stressing me out. You wanna know what it is?” He growled. The manner in which his voice had lowered sent a worrisome shiver to drip down your spine. You nodded, afraid that if you spoke, your voice would break like the dried petals of a rose.

“It’s you.” He said, not wasting a single breath in between. “Right now, it’s you who’s fucking stressing me out!”

The breaking point. You had finally ticked it. The distinct ring that joined hymn with his shout, his curse, you would remember it forever. Joshua refused to look into your eyes, knowing they would be glassy and split with pain, yet he was still numb and continued on, raising his voice until any smooth quality it ever had was stripped away.

“If you wanna leave then be my guest. Maybe I’ll leave instead, just so you can get that peaceful silence you’re talking about and so your voice can get out of my damn head.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead, akin to rubbing at a horrendous migraine. “Fuck,” Joshua groaned, “I swear, [Y/N], right now you’re really making me so—“

“No.” You cut him off, slowly retreating toward the door. You didn’t need an optometrist to tell you your eyes were turning red and the tears were making them swollen, you could already feel the burn tightening your face.

“I’ll go, Joshua. I’ll go so you can pretend I don’t exist. So you don’t have to think about my voice or my face or every other thing I’m gonna guess you’d like to forget.”

He simply stared at you, his own face wearing thin, hollowing with a sick grief.

“By the way,” you sniffled, peeling the dark flannel from around your torso and throwing it at his chest, your words wobbling like a skyscraper amongst the wind, “You can have your fucking shirt back. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Then, without another word, you fled from the apartment, Joshua not realizing just how badly he had hurt you until he took a deep, unstable breath. Your sweet scent was still attached to his flannel, engendering his head to spin whilst his whole world came crashing down by flames and rubble.

He knew where you were; at a friend’s house. The iron cloak that compressed his body from moving was finally peeled away. Joshua could feel his lungs fill with air again; he could at last let his forehead move away from the cold window frame, his eyes that cradled the luminescence of the city steadfastly glistening. The past two months he had felt utterly caged in, unable to express his anxieties and clogged with thickening tension. Now, Joshua was completely, unfathomably empty. Like someone had taken a balloon just about to burst under the pressing air and popped it with a harsh clap. His throat still stung from the venomous words it had once harboured. It made him never want to open his mouth again.

Yet, there he was, pacing back and forth, a churned up mop of hair and lower lip swollen in cherry from how often he chewed into it. His fingers were texting you at such a rapid pace they were nothing but a blur to his eyes, darting insanely across the lurid screen. Text after text after text, Joshua was pleading with his soul to see that stupid grey bubble make an appearance, even just for a second to acknowledge that you had read his messages.

[ JOSHUA | 11:03pm ] Irene stexted said you were at her palce.

[ JOSHUA | 11:03pm ] Thank goodness thank goodness thank goodnesss youre safe.

[ JOSHUA | 11:03pm ] I odnt expect you to come home tonigh or even look at my texts all that matters is that youre with someone right now and

[ JOSHUA | 11:04pm ] I cant even type properly without feeling my heartbeat in my finger s because im so angry with myself for hurting you. I love you i love you so much okay I need you to know that more than anything.

He hadn’t even realized he’d stormed his way into the bedroom, now seated at your side of the bed with all your clothing still glaring at him from the open closet. The flannel that you’d thrown at his chest before rushing out the door was still in his grip, though he finally let the soft material fall to his lap when the device in his palm began glowing and vibrating. Your number was beaming on screen, engendering Joshua to nearly choke on his own saliva. He was tremoring almost too much to accept the call, though it took no less than a second for him to have the phone pressed against his ear whilst he leaned forward, fingers tangled in his hair.

God, he felt like crashing through the ceiling and piercing the moon if he were to hear your voice, no matter how ruined or quaky through the phone line. You’d only been absent for a little over half an hour and Joshua was feeling the full throttle of vacancy, his other half that he’d so foolishly pushed away for the past two months because he let things covertly fester. The words that flew from his tongue held no truth, yet the brutality in his voice emboldened them to hurt more than the truth. When he heard a voice through the static, his heart hit his feet.

“Joshua? It’s—“

[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], please I don’t want to talk to anyone but her, I need to hear her voice or else I’m gonna go crazy.

“It’s Irene.”

Fuck. The only excusable time Joshua would curse again.

“Is she okay? Can I talk to her? Has she read my messages?”

He questioned immediately, tightening his grip in his locks of cotton candy. He listened for traces of another voice in the background, though everything seemed quieter than outer space.

“I don’t think I should say anything, except for that she’s safe, alright?”

“Can I—“

“I’ll let you know when she wants to see you.”

“Irene, please, I need to talk to h—“

Dead. The phone line was a solemn melody that creeped through the stereo, nicking Joshua’s ear the wrong way and forcing him to tear the phone from his ear. The device landed somewhere in the room with a thud, yet he did not possess enough care to go check if it was damaged, not when he knew you were damaged and he couldn’t be there to coax you as he usually would, setting your head on his chest, speaking softly in his saccharine voice until your crying was peaceful breaths that made his lips curl. He was the one to cause you so much emotional distress. He felt like the bed was an island and the water was lapping pieces of your heart that he’d broken.

Joshua ran his hands down his face, groaning, aware that you were sheltered at Irene’s, but completely unaware you’d secretly stolen back your phone from her as she went to make a pot of tea, hiccups stuck in your throat as you read his texts. Your head hit the back of the wall.

Why is it so impossible to hate you?

✎ A/N: uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh i rly lov angst okay??!!?!?! n like joshua is so soft spoken n dainty i just wanted 2 unearth him from his usual attributes sorry 2 make u suffer ;((((

#seventeen #joshua #seventeen scenarios #joshua scenarios #jisoo scenarios #seventeen angst #joshua angst #hong jisoo #seventeen imagines #joshua imagines #seventeen fluff #his adam's apple is so sharp in tht pic i almost cut myself tryna snao #snap** #*choco's library

[mmeyer53]

Traveling along the Turkish Turquoise Coast via Gulet is all about submitting yourself up to debauchery—one of Turkish delights.

It’s an excuse to feast on fresh Mediterranean fare while the sea tickles your hair and the sun slices the water.

The main objective of the crew is to take care of your every need and want. Specially to offer multi-course traditional meals from the Turkish Mediterranean basin.

It seems our cook Ibrahim works from daylight to well after sunset.

He is content to carve the middles out of short peppers and elongated eggplant. A mixture of aromatic rice, onions, garlic and herbs are neatly stuffed inside each—the rice is not cooked.

He plunges the lot into a large pot of boiling water tempered with a sluice of oil. Here they tumble and boil as the rice puffs and cooks and fills the skins.

These stuffed wonders are served at room temperature with homemade Turkish raviolis called Manti. Small and triangular, they are filled with meat and smothered in a warm yogurt with red pepper and oil sauce.

The gutted interiors of the peppers and eggplant are employed as a base for the cold garnishes that will appear at supper.

One day it is cool and rainy. We sit inside and listen to our captain; Yusuf recounts his days of gastronomic discovery. Only after years of cooking under his father’s direction on the sea did he earn the title of Captain.

Because it is chilly, the lesson is about lentils. Our Captain explains that there are four types of lentils: bright red that cook easily and green, yellow and black that must be soaked first. Once softened, they can be turned into a stew or mashed with hands into dumplings.

Under his tutelage Ibrahim prepares a traditional red lentil soup.

Smooth and spicy, this traditional soup is easily made and often served with a squeeze of lemon and paprika-infused oil.

After sorting through one cup of bright orange lentils and sautéing them with onion, olive oil, and a pinch of salt, they are cooked in a sweet broth. The ingredients cook for 20 to 30 minutes until the lentils have fallen apart and the carrots are completely sodden.

Cumin, paprika, mint, thyme, black pepper, and red pepper are added. Then, in a non-traditional twist, Yusuf makes a roux of butter and flour and adds it to thicken and flavor.

Ibrahim grinds the soup through a colander for the desired consistency.

He makes the topping by swirling together a few tablespoons of olive oil, paprika, and red pepper in a small saucepan over medium heat. The moment the paprika bubbles, he removes the sauce from the heat. It’s done.

The bowls are anointed with a drizzle of the paprika oil, wedges of lemon, and extra mint and red pepper.

The soup is served with a panoply of cold starters made from leeks and carrots, eggplants and tomatoes—many are ingredients torn from the middle of the luncheon vegetables.

  A large green salad studded with tomato and black olives finishes the feast.

One day we visit a local market in Oren, a very small village on the mainland. The sights and smells are exotic, the cabbages gargantuan, tomatoes, beans and peppers in every form and shape!

  I buy something for its beauty—I know not what it is.  Turns out to be a bitter melon used for medicinal purposes by the local grandmothers.

Our captain buys fresh pumpkin flowers for the next evening’s feast.

He shows us how to make this local “dolma” with stuffed pumpkin flowers and cabbage leaves.

A mixture of raw white rice is mixed with mint, parsley, minced beef and garlic. He shows us how to roll the mixture in the leaves of a cabbage—one that never forms a true head.

They are rolled and laid down in the bottom of a sturdy pan.

Next, Yusuf shows us how to take the pumpkin blossoms and pluck off the naughty stems, boles and all the hairy bits.

  He gently takes the flowers into his hands and stuffs the remainder of the rice, meaty mixture into the center of the blossom. He folds them tenderly into the middle and lays them down like babies in a blanket.

He covers them with some of his mother’s olive oil and a ration of salt.

They rest until the next evening when they are gently simmered in water and enjoyed with salads.

For the next day’s lunch, Ibrahim begins making Adana shish or Turkish lamb kabobs. He combines lamb and beef with slightly more lamb, mixed with salt, which will keep them juicy- along with paprika flakes.

Molded thinly by hand, they are gently fried in oil and set aside. The same oil is used to deep fry large wedges of yellow potatoes—or as the Brits on the ship call them – “chips.”

  Large flatbread is warmed over the pan to soften and then folded with bits of onion, parsley and the meat.

  Heated briefly in the oven, they are split open and laid beside the chips—served with a yogurt -leek dressing, more onions and a spicy Middle Eastern salsa.

It reminds me of a shawarma sandwich I once ate in Tel Aviv.

One evening a barbecue that is literally strapped onto the side of the ship is fired up. Chicken wings and pieces that have been marinating in paprika, oil and salt are skewered and await the flame.

Our captain offers eggplant and peppers to the flames to make a sort of baba-ghanoush.

The chicken is served with tomatoes, stewed leeks, sautéed beets, greens, and green beans—all retrieved from the Oren market.

  I have failed to mention the breakfasts in this post. They always have the usual fare: peeled tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, yogurt, bread and jam. But each one has a special addition—one day a spinach and cheese Gozleme, a Turkish folded flatbread. Another day, thick French toast, fried in pure butter and topped with a prune plum, quince compote and more butter.

Sadly, we come to the last evening; Ibrahim has been cooking all afternoon while Yusuf hoists the sails one last time.

He grates onions, parsley, carrot and potatoes into a bowl. Milk, flour and eggs are added. He spoons them into hot oil to create little savory fritters.

  He has steamed celeriac, leeks and a bit of lemon for one of our cold starters. He chops eggplant and red peppers into cubes and fries them in bubbling oil.

The sails are lowered, and we motor to our final inlet as the hot oil spits and shivers.

A filet of beef is served, cooked in water first and then hot oil. Perfectly rare and then medium and for the uniformed—well done!

I’m thinking of organizing a culinary Gulet tour in a year or two.

The captain and crew would be happy to cook and teach some of their ancient Mediterranean culinary secrets to a few gourmands on the Aegean.

Let me know if you would like to join me on a Gastronomic Gulet Getaway.

      Traveling along the Turkish Turquoise Coast via Gulet is all about submitting yourself up to debauchery—one of Turkish delights...The main objective of the crew is to take care of your every need and culinary want. Traveling along the Turkish Turquoise Coast via Gulet is all about submitting yourself up to debauchery—one of Turkish delights.

#Food #Gulet #Health #Travel #Turkey

[jetgame11-blog]

Grand Marnier French Toast #BrunchWeek

This is the sort of quick and easy brunch recipe that looks and sounds incredibly fancy, but comes together fast! Grand Marnier French Toast is perfect for a special holiday or just because! 

This post is sponsored in conjunction with #BrunchWeek. I received product samples from sponsor companies to aid in the creation of the #Brunchweek recipes. All opinions are mine alone.

What happens when you want to dive into a plate of childhood nostalgia smothered in maple syrup and powdered sugar, but also want the fun of ‘adulting’ at brunch? Pretty much an excuse to add some liquor.

In this case, just that.  I wanted a thick perfect slice of Fench toast and the feeling of a perfect Sunday brunch, mimosas and all. So I grabbed the Grand Marnier and made a theme of it.

French toast is best with really eggy bread. Think challah or brioche. Something that already is loaded with flavor. Slice it and let it sit in the air for a few hours before making, so the semi-stale bread absorbs more liquid without falling apart on you.

By the time the gang is all over for brunch, this Grand Marnier French toast comes together quick! I cheat and keep my oven on 200 degrees F with an oven-safe dish in there so that I can pop slices in, and keep them hot and fresh, while I chat and toast all of them.

So, ready for some more brunch week awesomeness? Maybe a little weekend hurrah? This recipe is fast, fancy and perfect for a Mother’s Day Brunch, or a Tuesday stay-cation, and everything in between.

Now, onto the #BrunchWeek goodies… (Psst, did you see my other Brunch Week post? The Chocolate Chip Pecan Cinnamon Rolls make the Dough Boy jump for joy)

See this post for the full list of swag!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Grand Marnier French Toast

Ingredients

1 loaf challah bread, sliced 1" thick (Brioche is also a great bread for this)

3 eggs, beaten

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 teas orange juice

2 teas orange zest

1 tbs grand marnier liquor (or orange flavored liquor)

1 teas vanilla extract

1/4 cup sugar

butter for melting

Maple syrup, powdered sugar, and additional orange wedges or slices for garnish

Preparation

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees F.

Beat the eggs, heavy cream, orange juice, zest, grand marnier liquor, vanilla, and sugar together in a large bowl until everything is well combined and starting to foam a bit.

Preheat a large griddle or skillet over medium-high heat.

Add a pat of butter to coat pan, keeping more on hand as needed.

Soak the challah slices in the egg mixture, flipping to coat evenly on either side.

Place the egg soaked challah onto the hot cook surface and toast until golden.

Flip and toast the remaining site until golden.

Keep the toasted pieces warmed in the oven as you work through all of the slices.

Serve with softened butter, warmed maple syrup and a generous sprinkle of powedered sugar.

Adapted From

Use an orange emulsion instead of orange juice in this recipe to double down on the orange flavor!

3.1

https://passthesushi.com/grand-marnier-french-toast-brunchweek/

�©Pass The Sushi!. All Rights Reserved.

Take a look at what the #BrunchWeek Bloggers are creating today!

BrunchWeek Appetizers:

Artichoke Bruschetta from Daily Dish Recipes

Artichoke and Sun-Dried Tomato Spread from Family Around the Table

This recipe is intended for individuals ages 21 & up. Please drink responsibly. Thank you to #BrunchWeek Sponsors: Dixie Crystals, Cabot Cheese, LorAnn Oils and Flavors, Cento Fine Foods, Michigan Asparagus, Cal-Organic and Eggland’s Best for providing the prizes free of charge. These companies also provided the bloggers with samples and product to use for #BrunchWeek recipes. All opinions are my own. The #BrunchWeek giveaway is open to U.S. residents, age 18 & up. All entries for the winner will be checked and verified. By entering you give the right to use your name and likeness. The number of entries received determines the odds of winning. Seven (7) winners will be selected. The prize packages will be sent directly from the giveaway sponsors. The #BrunchWeek Bloggers are not responsible for the fulfillment or delivery of the prize packages. Bloggers hosting this giveaway and their immediate family members in their household cannot enter or win the giveaway. No purchase necessary. Void where prohibited by law. This promotion is in no way sponsored, endorsed or administered by, or associated with Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Twitter, or any other social channel mentioned in the #Brunchweek posts or entry.

Source: https://passthesushi.com/grand-marnier-french-toast-brunchweek/

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more