#ajax swift

[alexcaninnit]

S h o w

He’s my new dndads oc :3

[ajaxswiftbabyyyyyyyy]

Hey lil dudes!!

I'm Ajax Swift, Taylor's big brother. I'm a transmasc teifling bard, I have a sword cane (emphasis on the cane part) and I like Slipknot and hate cops.

//This blog currently takes place before the events of season 2 episode one.

[baejax-the-great]

Still thinking about how Ajax isn't even in the Odyssey yet Homer twice is like, remember that guy? Remember Ajax? Damn that dude was sexy. Okay moving on.

[lqveharrington]

thank you for 1k followers???? i am beyond grateful for all of you 🫶🏼🫶🏼

*if you are waiting for the update to my silver roses and fallen snow series, i promise the next chapter will be out soon !! it’s finals week, so i’ve been super busy :(

[juju-or-anya]

Enid is going to the Taylor Swift concert and needs bracelets…

*The team is making bracelets and Kent shows the last one he made to Enid.* Enid: You call that a friendship bracelet? That's horrible, do it again. My grandfather makes more beautiful bracelets and he is an old and blind wolf. Ajax: I regret buying that ticket for his birthday. Wednesday: I regret contributing money to that entry. Tyler: I regret begging for forgiveness for last year and not letting him kill me, because I'm going to the concert with that monster. *Kent cries in siren*

[bluelavenderhaze]

"I know that I am mad, but mother dearest, now, for this one time, I do not rave." - Cassandra, The Trojan Women (1971)

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : your family arranged your marriage to childe, the eleventh harbinger of the fatui, due to financial hardships, and now you are bound to him as his spouse. pairing : childe x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships. author's note : got a little carried away with this one oops, sorry, it might happen again.

[ scaramouche version ]

you don’t remember when your life stopped feeling like your own. perhaps it was the moment your parents sat you down in the dimly lit drawing room, voices careful, measured, lips curling around words like duty and family as if trying to soften the inevitable blow. perhaps it was when the contract was placed in front of you, thick parchment with ink that had long since dried, sealing a fate you had no hand in choosing. or perhaps it was even earlier than that—before you knew his name, before you knew what it meant to be given away.

the tsaritsa’s harbinger. a man with a name spoken in equal parts fear and reverence. childe, they called him, though his real name was something softer, something ill-fitting for the bloodied path he walked. ajax, a name you only learned later, spoken in rare moments of vulnerability, whispered like something fragile, something not meant for you to hold onto. but it didn’t matter what he was called—only that he belonged to the fatui, only that he was dangerous, only that he was yours. 

or rather, that you were his.

you had met him only once before the wedding, a meeting arranged in the grand halls of your estate, where everything smelled faintly of desperation, of your family’s dwindling fortunes masked behind ornate furnishings and forced smiles.

he had arrived unannounced, without the pomp and spectacle one might expect of a man of his standing, dressed in dark fatigues that contrasted the opulence surrounding him. his presence was suffocating, not because he was outwardly cruel or unkind, but because he was too much. too confident, too self-assured, too at ease in a situation that had unraveled your entire world.

and then there was the way he looked at you.

it wasn’t love—not in the way fairy tales spoke of, not in the way little girls dreamed of when imagining their futures. it was something else entirely, something far more unsettling. interest, amusement, possession. a hunter’s gaze locking onto prey, not in an overtly threatening way, but in a way that left no room for escape. his smile had been easy, practiced, charming in a way that made you wonder how many people had fallen for it before you.

and then, in a voice dripping with amusement, he had said, “i hope you won’t make this too difficult.”

difficult. as if you had any say in the matter. as if you could change the outcome by sheer will alone.

the wedding had been swift, devoid of sentiment, the kind of affair that was meant to cement alliances rather than celebrate love. you had been dressed in the finest silks, adorned in jewelry that did little to disguise the hollowness in your chest.

the ceremony itself had passed in a blur—an exchange of vows that meant nothing, a kiss that barely grazed your lips, a hand placed against the small of your back that was just firm enough to remind you that there was no turning back.

and now, you are here. his home, your home now, though the word feels foreign on your tongue. the estate is grand, a testament to his wealth, to the power he holds within the fatui.

it is quieter than you expected, devoid of unnecessary extravagance, yet there is something undeniably suffocating about it. maybe it’s the knowledge that you are alone here, trapped in a life you did not choose. maybe it’s the weight of his presence, a constant, inescapable force lingering just out of sight. you barely see him during the day, but you feel him.

a brush of fingertips against your wrist when he passes by, a weighty gaze that follows you even when you pretend not to notice. he does not demand your affection, does not force his presence upon you, but his patience is not born of kindness. no, it is the patience of a man who enjoys the chase, of someone who knows that time is on his side.

"you’re unhappy." his voice cuts through the silence one evening, casual, conversational, yet laced with something heavier beneath the surface. he leans against the doorway, watching you with that same unreadable expression, head tilted just slightly. "i expected that much, but i have to admit, i thought you’d have warmed up to me by now."

there is no malice in his tone, no anger—just curiosity, as if he is studying a puzzle he has yet to solve.

you swallow hard, gripping the edge of the chair you sit in. "what do you expect, childe?" the name tastes foreign in your mouth, too personal, too familiar for a man who still feels like a stranger. "you bought me like a commodity. what reaction were you hoping for?"

for a moment, he says nothing. then, he laughs. it is a soft, breathy sound, something genuine, something that unsettles you more than outright cruelty would. "bought?" he echoes, amused, pushing off the doorway and taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "that’s not entirely fair. i didn’t buy you—i saved you. do you think your family would have lasted another year with their debts?"

his words sting because they are true.

"would you have preferred another husband?" he muses, stopping just before you, close enough that you can see the shift in his expression—the flicker of something darker beneath the easy smile. "a greedy noble twice your age? or maybe some merchant with wandering hands? at least i’m young. at least i care about what’s mine."

you bristle at the implication, jaw tightening. "i don’t belong to you."

childe hums, reaching out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw—gentle, but unmistakably possessive. "no," he concedes, "not yet."

it is a warning. a promise. a game he fully intends to win.

the room feels smaller with him this close, the space between you insignificant, irrelevant, nonexistent. you don’t want to move, because moving means acknowledging the tension, means playing into the game he’s laid out before you, and yet, staying still is somehow worse. because he watches you like you are already his, like your resistance is nothing more than a delay, a brief inconvenience to a victory he is certain of.

his fingers linger against your jaw, a featherlight touch that betrays the force lying dormant beneath it. you know what he is capable of. you know the stories, the whispers of what the harbingers do to those who oppose them. and yet, there is no outward malice in his touch—only patience, amusement, a quiet kind of satisfaction that makes your stomach twist into knots.

"you don’t have to like me," childe murmurs, tilting his head slightly, as if examining you from a different angle, searching for a crack in your resolve. "not yet, anyway. that part will come later."

the audacity of it makes your breath hitch, your fingers curling against the fabric of your sleeve. you should snap at him, push him away, do something to make it clear that you are not a willing participant in whatever twisted fantasy he’s weaving. and yet, the words stick in your throat, because, deep down, you know they wouldn’t change a thing.

childe isn’t the type to be swayed by defiance. if anything, he welcomes it.

his hand finally falls away, as if he’s indulged himself enough for now, as if he has already won something just by standing here, just by making you react. he takes a step back, not far enough to give you relief, but enough to make you realize how much closer he had been than you’d allowed yourself to notice.

"get some rest," he says, as though this is just an ordinary conversation between spouses, as though there isn’t an entire chasm of resentment and fear between you. "you look exhausted."

and then he’s gone, leaving you to unravel in the silence, heart pounding, hands trembling, the ghost of his touch still burning against your skin.

you do not see him for days after that. or rather, you do not speak to him. his presence is everywhere, woven into the very fabric of this house, a constant reminder of the reality you now inhabit.

servants move with quiet efficiency, always polite, always distant. you learn quickly that they do not see you as their patron, not in the way that should matter. their loyalty lies with childe, and though they treat you with the respect your position demands, you know that none of them would dare disobey him for your sake.

it is suffocating. and yet, a strange sense of relief settles in the absence of his direct attention. you begin to navigate the estate cautiously, taking solace in the gardens where the air is fresher, where the walls do not feel quite as close. you avoid the grand halls, the spaces where his presence is strongest, and for a brief moment, you convince yourself that this life, while miserable, is at least bearable.

then the gifts begin. at first, they are small. a necklace draped over your vanity, delicate silver with a deep blue gemstone, the color eerily reminiscent of his eyes. then, a silk shawl, impossibly soft, folded neatly at the foot of your bed.

the gestures are not extravagant, not enough to make a spectacle of, but they are persistent. unrelenting. you do not thank him. you do not acknowledge them. but you know that he is watching. and you know that he is waiting.

the inevitable confrontation comes late one evening, when the house is quiet, when the world outside is blanketed in darkness. you had thought yourself alone in the sitting room, curled beneath the glow of the fireplace, trying to lose yourself in a book you barely comprehend. but the air shifts before you hear his footsteps, the faintest change in pressure that sets your teeth on edge, that tells you that he is here.

"you don’t like the gifts."

his voice is light, conversational, but there is something beneath it—something sharp, something dangerous. you do not turn to look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on the pages before you, fingers curling against the binding.

"you don’t have to give me anything."

a chuckle, low and amused, as he steps further into the room. "that’s not what i asked."

you finally glance up, and there he is—leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable save for the glint of amusement in his eyes. it is infuriating, the ease with which he exists in this space, as if he hasn’t uprooted your entire life, as if he belongs here.

you inhale slowly, measured, keeping your voice steady. "what do you expect, childe? that i’ll wear your gifts and suddenly fall at your feet?"

his lips twitch into something that is not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. "no," he says, and then, after a pause, "but it’s a start."

you want to scream. you want to throw the book in your hands at his face, want to shatter the illusion of patience he so carefully maintains. but you do none of those things, because you know, deep down, that he is waiting for you to break.

and so, you turn back to your book. ignoring him was a mistake.

before you can react, he is there, closing the distance between you in a single step, his hand gripping the arm of the chair, leaning down just enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple. "you can pretend all you want," he murmurs, voice soft, almost gentle. "but you’ll have to talk to me eventually."

your pulse hammers against your ribs, but you force yourself to remain still. "and if i don’t?"

he hums, as if considering it, before his fingers brush against yours—not harsh, not forceful, but firm enough to remind you of what he is here, even if you try to ignore him.

"then i’ll just have to try harder," he muses, his grip tightening, just barely. "you’re my one and only, after all."

it is a claim, a reminder, a leash tightening around your throat. and no matter how much you struggle, you know that he will never let you go.

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (some fluff for my distressed baddies xoxo)

“you’ve got a little something there,” you giggle. 

light like the breeze, your fingers brush the fallen leaf from ajax’s hair.

it drops to the ground, joining the growing piles of auburn and brown that rest upon the sidewalks, rising with each breath of wind.

“careful there. you know i wouldn’t let anyone else touch my hair, you better not mess it up,” he grins, holding your wrist in his palm. it keeps you close.

“oh, i wouldn’t dream of it.”

all too easily, your arm slips from his grasp and reaches towards your ankles. with a swift motion, leaves crumple in your fist as you lift them up, up, up, tossing them into the air above.

autumn’s gravity pulls them back down, crowning both of you with their remnants of orange and red.

“you little-”

before he finishes, he’s shaking his head, flashes of ginger dancing across the fall sky. back down, down, down the leaves fall, returning home.

glimmering blue eyes sparkle as he turns to you, laughing.

“you got a little something right there.” slender fingers pluck the remaining leaves from your hair, letting them tumble with your giggles in the wind.

when he smiles at you, it’s warmer than the crisp air turning his cheeks pink.

“you better not mess up my hair,” and your grin is soft and welcome, all cinnamon and spices.

you hold his wrist, freckled skin on skin. fingers intertwine, until you’re breathing the same brisk air. you keep him close.

a/n: needed something to make me smile so here’s two losers in love or whatever :)

[taylorswiftarthistories]

Cassandra Imploring the Vengeance of Minerva against Ajax by Jérome Martin Langlois the Younger / "Cassandra" by Taylor Swift

[mikashisus]

PRIDE OF THE SUN

SYNOPSIS: being a child of apollo was a great honor... until you have a vision about a certain ginger that flips your entire world on its head.

PAIRING: ares kid!tartaglia x apollo kid!fem!reader

warnings: blood, angst

wc: 5.9k

notes: if u couldn't tell, this is a percy jackson au... anyw this whole fic took me the entire day yesterday to write- like no joke i spent 12 hrs on this shit... NEVER AGAIN *looks at drafts* nvm i might have to do this again in the future... u guys will see why soon enough. wink wink.

You hated this. Hated him. 

There you sat, on your ass on the hard ground with Ajax’s spear pointed to your throat. You sneered up at him. 

One wrong move and that spear would go straight through your neck. You glanced down at the sharp tip and the way it gleamed under the light of the afternoon sun. That only made it all the more menacing. 

Truthfully, you were a bit scared he might finish the job and shove the spear right through you. He didn’t… for obvious reasons. 

But you swore you saw him move just a tiny bit closer. You swallowed the fear you harbored in your heart, ignoring the way the organ thumped impossibly fast against your ribcage. You would never show weakness in front of him. You would never let him know you were scared. 

Revealing your weakness to him was like a rabbit leaping right into a wolf’s jaws. 

You refused to be the rabbit. 

As he was busy gloating over his victory, you sought an opening. With one swift kick, you knocked him down onto the ground. His spear struck your cheek, leaving a clean cut through the flesh. You barely felt it happen until a stinging rose from the area. 

Touching your cheek, you frowned. Blood coated your fingers. Eh, you’d live. It was just a scratch. 

You stood up and grabbed his spear, smirking at him as he looked up at you with a fire burning in his eyes. You loved beating down the Ares kids. They were nothing but arrogant bastards, and here you had the best one in camp on the ground with his own weapon pointed at his face. 

“Looks like I win, brute.” 

Your little distasteful nickname for him made a scowl appear on his face as he slowly stood up and spit blood out of his mouth. He stared at you, brows furrowed and eyes devoid of any life. That was what you hated most about him: his ability to look so fucking terrifying when he wanted to. Or maybe it was without even trying. 

He wiped the blood from his lip, the trail staining the side of his chin and his cheek. The earring that hung from his ear sparkled in the light of the sun, and you had the urge to ask where he had gotten it from. It certainly wasn’t from his father… or was it? 

You knew his double-edged spear came from his father, but you were skeptical on where he had gotten the earring. Did he even have that a few days ago? 

The scary look on his face made you falter for just a second when you whisked yourself back to reality. His breathing was hard, his chest heaving as if he was angry. Suddenly, you felt small and weak under his gaze. 

He wasn’t called the strongest child of Ares for nothing. 

“That was a dirty trick…” for a second, you thought he was serious, until, “I like your style, sunshine!” 

You scoffed, throwing his spear onto the ground and shoving past him. He quickly reached for it and scrambled after you, yapping in your ear all the way. You were beginning to get a headache from his voice. 

This wasn’t the first time he chased you around camp while you ignored him, and it definitely wasn’t the first time you two fought. According to the other campers, you “had a history” with each other. That made it sound as if you were once in a relationship, which couldn’t be further from the truth. 

You’d never date someone like him– someone so bloodthirsty for power and warfare that it drove them to the brink of insanity. 

Okay… so maybe he wasn’t insane (though, you firmly believed he was from that crazed look in his eyes) but he was certainly a warmonger. 

Like father, like son. 

It was true you had a history, but it wasn’t in the relationship type of way. It was the “I’ll kill you because you insulted me when we were kids” type of way. 

When you first arrived at camp, you were eleven years old. Back then, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with anyone or anything. Your own mother casted you out of the house, calling you spawn of the devil for being a half-blood, even though you knew she gloated when it came to the fact that she had a child with a god. You never understood her hatred for you when all she did was brag to her friends about your father. 

Out on the streets, with nowhere to go, you learned how to fend for yourself. With nothing on your person but the necklace your father had supposedly given your mother, you did what you could to survive. Your ballads and ugly crying garnered the attention of passerby, and with the little kindness they had in their hearts, they gave you money. You used that money for necessities, like food and water. But you also used it for things you wanted; like, that shiny guitar you saw in the downtown area’s music store. 

You saved up enough money to buy it within half a year, luring in passerby with your gift of song. Like a siren’s call, you drew them in, and you quickly learned how to utilize your demigod abilities to get what you wanted. When you bought the guitar and strummed the first chords to a song your mother always absentmindedly sang, that’s when your father appeared before you for the very first time. 

And that was how you wound up in camp a few days later. You were guided to the Apollo cabin by your own father, who was way more flamboyant than you expected, and after that, you were left to settle in. 

You watched your father disappear into a flurry of golden flames and a soft hum of a heavenly choir. When you turned to your bed, a drawing of a sun was etched into the fine wood of your guitar. Over time, there would grow to be more and more drawings left on your guitar, one for each time your father visited you. 

Settling into camp was hard. You were shy, and quiet, and the other kids in your cabin were a bit too outgoing for your liking, a true testament to your father’s personality. At first, it seemed as if you were the black sheep among your siblings. That was quickly proven wrong when a boy who was a year younger than you showed up at your cabin one day, staring at you with a menacing fire burning in his eyes as you played your guitar. 

You didn’t notice him right away, as you were too lost in the music and the homey atmosphere of the cabin to even pay attention to what was going on around you. That’s what it was like for you with music: you lost all sense of the material world as you plucked at the strings of your guitar, mentally transporting yourself to a different plane of existence. This was how you– most of the time, connected yourself with your father. 

Unbeknownst to you, you were also plucking at Ajax’s heartstrings. Ajax, the boy who was standing in the doorway, completely enraptured by your performance. His eyes lit up with an excitement no one had ever seen in him before. Then, he spoke, his words tumbling fast and loud out of his mouth like a roaring lion. 

You jumped, and you were forcefully pulled out of your meditation. The more he rambled on, the more you grew annoyed. You put the pieces together. He was loud; boisterous, bellicose, arrogant, and every step he took made the earth rumble beneath his feet. There was a fire that burned brightly in his eyes, one that screamed ‘Come at me if you dare, I’ll show you what I’m made of.’ 

There was no doubt in your mind: he was a child of Ares. 

Was every child of Ares this full of themselves? He even claimed he was better at the arts than you! How dare he! 

That was the first time you cursed him to speak in rhyming couplets for a week straight. You didn’t even know you could do that. When you asked your cabin leader about it, all they said was that you had a lot to learn about what it meant to be a child of Apollo. 

And ever since that day, you swore you’d knock Ajax off of his high horse. And boy were you determined to do so. 

There were quite a few things you could do that he couldn’t, and one of them was wielding a bow. 

You were the most skilled archer at camp. The first time you picked up a bow, you felt the wind rush past you and caress your form. You felt relaxed, at ease, as if you’ve been wielding a bow your whole life– as if you came out of the womb with it clutched tightly in your hands. 

Wielding a bow was Ajax’s weakness. It was the one weapon he could never master. You held it over his head like a vice. 

All your insults never deterred his advances, and you found your hatred for him growing with each passing day. But you never once gave up trying to prove him wrong. You would prove to him that you were more than what his siblings called you: a siren. You’d prove you were a worthy opponent, and that your skills were worth it in not only his eyes, but the entire camp’s. 

It was not just because you hated him, but because he utterly humiliated you on more occasions than you could count on both hands. 

As soon as you managed to get out of his reach for today, you let out a sigh of relief and decided to take a nice, warm bath. It was very much needed after a long day of combat training. 

You bid hello to your half siblings and made a beeline for the bath as soon as you set your bow down on your bed. When you sunk into the hot water of the bath, you felt as if you were ascending to the heavens. The water felt heavenly against your muscles that were previously screaming. Now, they ached as you gently massaged your calves. Your nose scrunched up from the soreness. 

You were on your feet for almost the entire day. It was no wonder your feet felt a little numb from all of the exercise. 

Leaning back against the tub, you allowed your whole body to breathe and relax. A knock sounded on the door, and your eye twitched. Just when you thought you had some alone time…

The voice of your half brother, Kaeya, sounded from the other side of the door. 

“Hey, sis, you in there? I heard there’s gonna be fireworks tomorrow to celebrate Diluc’s return.”

Diluc was Kaeya’s adoptive brother and a son of Athena. They weren’t on the best terms, but they still considered each other brothers. At least, that’s what you assumed. They’d probably drop dead before ever admitting it out loud. 

Regardless of how well they got along, you were also dragged into their little family. Kaeya was a few months older than you, and although that wasn’t much of an age gap, he still liked to call you his little sister. 

The first time he introduced you to Diluc, you were scared out of your mind. Diluc was intimidating and he towered over you. It took quite a while for you to be able to talk to him without being terrified of him. Once you saw how much of a big softie he was, the fear was quickly replaced with admiration. 

You admired how strong he was and how much he cared for his family.

You jumped up at Kaeya’s words. “What!? That’s tomorrow?” 

You heard him chuckle. “Yes, dummy. His pet arrived today with news of his homecoming, so Jean decided to hold a party. There’ll be fireworks!” 

Your love of fireworks was well known throughout camp. Although you weren’t a fan of loud noises, you had a deep love for fireworks and their ability to light up the night sky with their beauty. 

You wished you could shine as bright as they did. They shone like the sun, and you were a lover of the sun. 

Scrambling out of the tub and leaving your warm bath behind, you dried yourself off and threw on a new pair of clothes before exiting the bathroom. Kaeya stood outside, a knowing smirk on his face. Suddenly, you had a bad feeling about going to that party. 

Kaeya and that look was never a good omen. It always led to something bad. 

“What’s with the face?” He asked, following you to your bed. His was right below yours. 

“What face?” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That one. The one you’re making right now.” 

“You have something hidden up your sleeve, don’t you?” You squinted. “Whatever it is, I want no part of it!” 

He only snickered, which did nothing to help your suspicions. He climbed onto your bed, ignoring your protests to get off. You threw one of your stuffed animals in his face. 

“Get away from me!” You laughed, attempting to fend him off but it was no use. 

“I just want a hug from my baby sister!” 

You kicked him in the ribs, causing him to double over in pain. He slapped your foot, resulting in a loud ‘OW’ from you. 

The next day was the day Diluc was coming home. You asked Jean if you could help prepare, but upon seeing how much she already had done, you realized that she probably didn’t even need your help. Or anyone’s, with the way she was yelling at people to let her do all the work. 

“So, your brother’s coming back today, huh?” 

You sighed heavily. Of course, Ajax was here to bother you yet again. When would you ever be able to catch a break? 

“Yes,” you replied curtly. 

He frowned at your cold response. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for you, but just once he wished you’d talk to him like you talked to your friends. 

He tried again. “I never asked how the two of you are related. Or do the two of you just refer to yourselves as siblings because you’re close?” 

“It’s none of your business.”

A sigh left your lips, and you grabbed your bow from beside you. Instead of answering his question, you walked off to go practice shooting. Ajax stared after you longingly, the pout on his lips resembling that of a kicked puppy. 

He wouldn’t give up in his pursuit. 

You couldn’t count how many arrows you ripped through targets in the last hour, but you sure were more aggravated today than you were the day before. Ajax continued to push your buttons, and you were running out of ways to calm yourself down each time. 

Meditation with music no longer worked unless you were completely alone, and now you couldn’t even focus entirely on the targets without thinking of his annoying face. One thing that helped was imagining the target was him and that your fire arrows were ripping right through his head. 

Kaeya asked you about your hatred for him once, and to his question, you replied, “All he ever does is humiliate me. All he does is shove his skills in my face and boast when I can’t do things that he can. I feel powerless when I’m standing next to him.”

You pulled your arm back again, ready to fire another arrow, when suddenly your vision went white. Not now! You thought, cursing out your own precognition as you watched future events play out. 

You assumed it would be the same old, same old of someone getting hurt and needing to be healed by one of your siblings, or a mellow talk between you and Kaeya, but it was nothing of the sort. You even assumed it would be a vision of Diluc returning home, or something that would happen at the party tonight, but it was neither. It wasn’t anything dangerous, either. 

Instead, what you saw was Ajax sitting down in front of you on the training grounds. It was dark outside, and the only light sources came from the lanterns hanging in the trees. You were staring up at him with the same scowl you always gave him, but the smile he always wore was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a frown, and in his eyes, the fire that always made itself home there has completely fizzled out. 

He reached a hand out to you, the side of his face dripping with crimson red blood. He looked about ready to pass out right then and there. Hesitantly, you took hold of his hand. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your form. 

You weakly fought against his hold, grabbing onto his shirt tightly. Instead of pushing him away like you thought you’d do, you pulled him closer, until your lips were mere inches apart. He muttered something then, something that was indecipherable to you. 

After that, you looked into his eyes with a look you never thought you’d give anyone. Then, his lips met yours, and the vision faded into nothing. You gasped for air, clutching tightly to your chest as a figure in front of you held you by the shoulders. Their voice was frantic, distorted, as the ringing in your ears blocked out everything. 

When your vision cleared, you looked up, expecting to see the comfort of Kaeya’s periwinkle colored fluffy jacket, only to see the red of a certain someone’s scarf. The ringing stopped, and you were finally able to hear the voice you loathed. 

“Are you okay, sunshine!?” He asked, his eyes filled with worry. “I found you on the ground and you weren’t responding, so I called Chiron. He’ll be here soo–” 

You shoved him away from you. “Just stop!” You yelled, overwhelmed from the vision you just witnessed. Your body felt warm and sweat trickled down the back of your neck. You were shaking uncontrollably. 

He frowned. “I was just trying to help! You looked–” 

“I don’t need your help!” you retorted, your chest heaving as you finally let all your anger loose. “I never have and I never will! Why would I ever need help from the likes of you, anyway? All you do is belittle me!” 

His brows furrowed. “What? No, I never meant to–” 

“Just go away!” You shoved past him, leaving your broken bow on the ground. 

Diluc was happy to be back, but as he scanned the crowd of people at the party, he couldn’t find you anywhere. He could’ve sworn Kaeya said you were here. 

He tossed a glare in his brother’s direction, only to see Kaeya just as disappointed at your absence as he was. That was when Mona, one of your half siblings, approached them with a panicked expression on her face. She was breathless from running, and judging by her urgency, there was something wrong. 

Kaeya, already having a feeling it was something to do with you, stepped forward. “What happened?” 

“It’s (Name)!” Mona panted, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow before continuing. “She had a vision. Ajax said he found her passed out on the ground after leaving the target area. She’s in the infirmary now–” 

Kaeya pushed her aside, setting off into a sprint towards the infirmary. Without a second thought, Diluc followed, leaving the party behind. 

When you came to, you were in the infirmary. You didn’t know how you got here, but all you could remember was the vision you had hours prior. Your head was pounding– a side effect of precognition, and your whole body felt hot. Did you have a fever? 

You sat up, wincing as the sunlight filtering through the curtains hit you right in the face. It did nothing but add to your awful migraine. Where were you? You took a look around, your vision a little blurry from just waking up. 

“Well good morning, sleepy head,” a smooth voice said, placing a hand to your forehead, “I was starting to get a little worried you wouldn’t wake up!” 

As soon as your vision cleared, you saw none other than your father sitting next to you, a wide smile on his face as he stared down at you. He retracted his hand and placed it in his lap. 

“Dad!? What are you doing here?” You questioned, your voice hoarse. 

You reached for the cup of water on the table next to the infirmary bed. You gulped it all down in seconds flat and let out a sigh of relief. 

Apollo crossed one leg over the other and placed his chin in his palm. “Why do you think I’m here, sunshine?” 

That nickname– that dreadful nickname. You used to like when he called you that, but not after Ajax started using it too. It sounded like he was mocking you whenever he addressed you as such. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you threw the blanket over your head and curled into a ball, “so go back to Olympus, or whatever.” 

Your father chuckled. “You have to tell me everything you saw, sunshine. Otherwise, I won’t leave. And I think we both know that I am a very patient man.” 

A tense silence passed. You could still feel his presence in the room even though it was completely silent, devoid of a sound. For a few minutes, you were silent, biting your lip out of nervousness.  

Truthfully, you were embarrassed to tell him what you saw. It wasn’t something you wanted to share with your father of all people. And knowing him, he’d tease you to hell and back for it. You wouldn’t say anything, you decided. 

“Fine. If you’re going to be stubborn like that boyfriend of yours, then why don’t I tell him what you saw?” 

You jumped up, a terrified look in your eyes as your father laughed raucously. You glared at him. He was so vexing sometimes. You never understood a thing he said or did. Then again, you never understood a single thing any of the gods did. You probably never would. 

With a heavy sigh, you sat against the wall and explained your vision to him, avoiding his gaze the entire time. It was embarrassing enough you had to tell him, but it would’ve been worse if you were looking at him when you did so. 

After you finished, he hummed thoughtfully. “I see,” he muttered, “well, if I had to guess, my dear beloved daughter has a crush on this child of Ares.” 

“I do not! And I never will!” You immediately sputtered, feeling your cheeks heat up. 

He snickered. “I think you do. After all, that vision spoke for itself.” 

You shook your head, adamant that you didn’t harbor any sort of feelings for the ginger you claimed to hate all these years. There was no way you liked that crazed, warmongering lunatic. Your father was off his rocker. Officially. 

“It’s false. There’s no way I like that wackjob.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “All he does is fight people. He never stops. It’s so annoying. And don’t get me started on the way he smiles when he gets hurt, like he enjoys it! Who in their right mind is happy when they’re practically bleeding out!?” 

Your rambling took your father by surprise, but he was amused nonetheless. This was the first time you got so riled up like this, and all because of a boy. He couldn’t help but find teenage love so, so amusing– especially when you were the one experiencing it. 

“I think someone has a crush!” He said again, only for it to be shot down by you once again. 

“As if! I’d rather take a swan dive into the bottomless pit where Kronos resides than fall for that warmongering brute!” 

He sighed. “The prophecy always comes true, sunshine.” 

You shook your head. “Not this time.” 

Apollo stood up, placing his sunglasses back over his eyes before handing you something. He ruffled your hair. “You can’t escape fate, my dear. I think you’ll be in for a rude awakening.” 

With that, he disappeared into a flurry of golden flames, leaving you alone in the infirmary. On your lap sat a golden lyre, another gift that you would add to your collection of instruments and weapons. This one seemed particularly special, though you couldn’t place your finger on why. But your father’s words echoed in your head, even weeks after his visit. 

You avoided Ajax like the plague, ignoring him on most occasions, and making sure you didn’t have to interact with him on others. Until one night, you found yourself training with Kaeya. You excelled with bows, but you were also a swordmaster. Reestablishing a firm grip on your sun blade (gifted to you by your father), you swung your sword at your brother once more, clicking your tongue when you just barely grazed his arm. 

Your swords clashed, and with one final push, you knocked him onto his ass. His sword flung out of his hands, landing somewhere in the distance. You let out a small laugh, standing over him with your hand outstretched. He took it without a second thought, and you pulled him to his feet. 

“You’ve gotten stronger,” he told you, pride evident in his voice, “how much have you been practicing on your own?” 

“A hell of a lot,” you answered, giving him a lopsided smile, “Jean’s been sparring with me. She’s a formidable foe.” 

Kaeya laughed, retrieving his sword. “Indeed, she is. Though, it’s rare for you to take her on. Have you been missing your usual victim?” Of course he threw in a tease. He always did. 

You sighed. “I’ll admit it’s been a bit boring.” 

He raised a brow. “That’s it?” 

“What do you mean? What else am I supposed to say? You know I hate his guts.” 

He shrugged, though you knew he was hiding something. “I just thought, after your talk with father, you had a change of heart.” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you froze. “Dad talked to you?” 

“Briefly. He told me about your vision. I must say, that vision sure is revealing the desires hidden in your heart–” 

“Dad told you!?” You screeched, fear bubbling up inside of you. 

If your father told Kaeya, there was a chance he might’ve spilled the beans to Ajax as well. You didn’t know how you could ever face him again. If he knew, you’d have to launch yourself into the nearest pit of vipers and hope you never come back out alive. 

Your pride– and your dignity, were ruined. 

Kaeya patted your head. “Not the specifics,” he reassured, “just that it included a certain someone. And no, before you ask, he didn’t say anything to said individual. He only told me… and maybe Diluc.” 

You groaned before you let out a whine. The next time you saw your father, you were going to kill him. Well, you’d try to. 

“I better get back to the cabin,” Kaeya sighed, “I’d like to shower before bed. You coming back with me?” 

He hoped you’d say no, but only because he had a little plan hidden up his sleeve. 

You shook your head, much to his relief. “I’m gonna stay out here a bit longer. I wanna practice with more dummies.” 

He smiled at you, genuinely this time, and pulled you into a tight hug. “Alright. Just don’t wear yourself out. If you aren’t back in an hour, I’ll come and drag you back to the cabin myself.” 

You laughed and pushed him away from you playfully. “Yes, mom.” 

He laughed softly in return, messing up your hair again as you protested and swatted his hand away, before he set off back to the cabins. 

Your smile slowly faded as he got farther away, and you looked down at your sun blade. In the darkness, it looked like just any old scrap of metal, but in the sunlight, it glowed a magnificent gold. It was a sword many children of Apollo had used before you. That’s what your father told you when he had given it to you. 

Only the best warriors born from your father were given this sword. And upon their death, it would stop glowing and your father would take it back into his possession before giving it to the next child. When the sword was given to a new owner after the former owner’s death, it would glow brightly again, filled with the life force of whoever wielded it. 

You gripped the sword tightly in your hands. You could feel a small thrum run through your fingers. That was the sword. It was talking to you, bonding with your life force. Although it lost many wielders in its life, the sword always glowed again. Just like the sun, it always came back. 

The sound of footsteps drew you out of your stupor, and you saw the figure of your arch nemesis approaching you. You let out a sigh. What did he want? And at this time of night, too. 

He raised his spear wordlessly. A small, almost invisible smile pulled at his lips. He wanted a fight… again. But this time felt different, as if he had come to some sort of realization. It wouldn’t hurt to allow him this one fight, especially when he wasn’t opening his mouth. 

So, you raised your sword and positioned yourself into a fighting stance. A few seconds passed. The air was silent. Then, in a flash, the two of you dashed forward. The sound of clashing metal was loud in your ears, but you were focused– more focused and attuned to your opponent’s attacks than you’ve ever been. 

He grazed your arm, you hissed. You slashed his side, he let out a small sound of pain. Back and forth you went, minimally hurting each other and side-stepping and clashing. Finally, you let out a frustrated yell and swung your sword. You didn’t care where it landed, as long as you beat him at his own game. 

It happened too fast for you to notice. One moment, you were filled to the brim with adrenaline, and the next, you watched as he collapsed onto the ground, holding the side of his head. It all happened so fast… 

You panted breathlessly, your chest heaving as you stared at him in complete and utter shock. The adrenaline was wearing off, and you could finally move your body. You rushed forward, throwing your sword to the ground to kneel beside him, pulling his hand away from the deep gash on the side of his face.

Did you do that? 

“Let me see.” You said worriedly. You were experienced with wounds, as most of your siblings were healers. 

Before you could get a closer look, he knocked you back. The wind got knocked out of your lungs, and you could feel your head throbbing. You raised a shaky hand to your head and slowly sat up, groaning at the pain. 

Ajax stood in front of you, his face devoid of the smile he always wore, and the side of his head covered in crimson blood. Your vision cleared, and when you looked up, your eyes widened. You knew how the next events played out, you saw them for yourself. You gulped, your shock turning into anger as you glared at him. 

“I win.” He said flatly. 

You huffed, looking away from him. He knelt down in front of you, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You wouldn’t let this play out like it did in your vision. 

You wouldn’t. 

“There. We’re even,” Ajax muttered, “You pulled a dirty trick on me. I returned the favor.” 

You shoved him away, though he barely budged. “That’s just like you. Selfish, prideful. You always have to have the last say, the last laugh.” You spat. 

Ajax was quiet for a moment, studying you. You began to feel anxious under his scrutinizing gaze. You fiddled with the grass beneath your fingers. 

He held his hand out, and you stared at it. The fire in his eyes was gone, and he looked just about ready to pass out, but you could tell that he was fighting off the urge to close his eyes. You had the chance to get up and leave. You didn’t have to take his hand. 

Yet, you found yourself drawn to him. Like a moth to a flame. And so, you grabbed his hand. He held tightly onto yours, pulling you closer to him and wrapping his other arm around the small of your back. You still had the chance to push him away. To let him pass out here on the grass. 

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t move a single muscle. You gripped tightly to his shirt as he pulled you closer. Your brows furrowed as he opened his mouth. 

“Sunshine, I.. I’m sorry.” 

You certainly weren’t expecting that. “For what?” 

“For making you feel weak. Your brother told me…” 

You were 100% going to punch Kaeya in the face when you got back. 

“You’re not weak,” he told you, his voice firm, “I don’t have weak opponents. I have strong ones. Ones who I want to test my strength against because I know they’re gonna send me packing, but I still come back anyways. Because the only way I can get stronger is if I fight those who are stronger than me.” 

“I don’t need your–” 

“Would you just shut up and listen for once!?” He snapped, holding you tighter. 

That made you shut up instantly. 

He sighed heavily. “I’m not pitying you. I’m being sincere. I only ever fight against you because you’re strong, and I want to learn from you. My master taught me that every battle is worth it, that every person I fight is someone I can learn from. You’re one of those people. So shut up and realize your own strength. Your own worth.” 

You stared at him with wonder in your eyes. He held your gaze. 

“You’re the pride of Apollo’s children. Even your father has recognized your strength. Please, just see it yourself. See yourself the way I do.” 

“I…” You couldn’t say anything. You didn’t know how to respond, so you did the only way you knew how. 

You pulled him closer, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, gentle kiss. His lips were chapped, and you could taste the metal of the blood from the cut on his upper lip. His kisses were messy but gentle, as if you were fragile and he was handling you with the utmost care. 

When you pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours. A smile erupted onto his face, so dazzling you felt as if Cupid had struck an arrow through your heart at that very moment. He let out a content sigh. 

“Do you see now?” 

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, “maybe if you kiss me again, I will.” 

He chuckled, his warm breath hitting your face. You smiled, caressing his face with your thumb. “And I thought I was slick.” 

You hugged him tightly, scared of letting him go now that you had him in your embrace. 

“(Name)... I feel dizzy…” 

“Oh shit!” 

You spent that night in the infirmary, nursing his wounds.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat; Chapter 15: Her Pain.

Summary: Wednesday doesn't understand how she had let this happen...

Warnings: EmotionalOutOfCharacterWednesday! A bit blood! But mostly Angst...

Parings: Wednesday x Fem reader. A bit of Wenclair friendship.

Chapter 1 ------- Previous Chapter

Her Heartbeat's Chapterlist.

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It had all happened so fast. One second, she’d been on the verge of…something. A confession, a kiss, a surrender—she didn’t know, and now it didn't even mattered. Now she stood in front of the mirror and she hardly recognized herself.

Her dark hair, usually so perfectly groomed, was disheveled, with stray locks framing her face in a way that felt uncharacteristically wild. Her pallor was more pronounced than usual, the ashen tone of her skin bordering on sickly.

But it was her eyes that held her attention—wide, rimmed with a redness that betrayed the tears she refused to shed. She hated them, hated the weakness she saw staring back at her.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The world around her had descended into chaos the moment you collapsed in her arms, and now…now you were in this hospital, surrounded by strangers and medical equipment, your fragile body fighting to survive. And Wednesday was here, staring at herself, useless.

“Turn off the damn smokes!” she had screamed, the desperation in her voice so raw and unguarded that it startled even her.

Through the haze of panic, she saw Enid’s ears perk up from across the dance floor. The werewolf immediately darted to the sound booth. In seconds, the artificial smoke dissipated, but it didn’t matter anymore. The damage was already done.

“Wednesday, what the hell happened?” Enid’s voice was panicked as she skidded to a stop beside her. Her wide eyes darted between you, limp in Wednesday’s arms, and the crowd forming around them.

“Get an ambulance, RIGHT NOW.” Wednesday snapped, her voice trembling with fury and fear. She barely noticed the shocked expression on Enid’s face as Ajax fumbled for his phone, dialing emergency services with shaking hands.

Wednesday tried to lift you, her arms wrapping around your frail form. But as she strained to lift you, something inside her cracked. It wasn’t physical weakness—it was deeper, more insidious. Her knees buckled, her body trembling as the crushing weight of helplessness bore down on her.

“Damn it,” she hissed under her breath, her arms refusing to cooperate. The feeling of you slipping from her grip was unbearable, a visceral ache that clawed at her chest. She was strong—she’d always been strong. But now? Now she felt like nothing, like a hollow shell incapable of protecting the one thing that mattered most.

“Let me,” Enid said softly, kneeling beside her. Without waiting for permission, the werewolf scooped you into her arms with surprising ease, cradling your unconscious body as though you weighed nothing.

Wednesday followed her outside, her legs moving mechanically as her mind screamed at her to do something—anything—but there was nothing to be done.

The other students had gathered at the gates, forming a worried, murmuring crowd. Wednesday barely registered them. Her entire focus was on you—on the way your head lolled against Enid’s shoulder, your skin unnervingly pale in the moonlight.

“Wednesday, what happened?” “Is she okay?” “Is she breathing?”

“Quiet!” Luckily it was Weems who silenced them all before Wednesday snapped. She looked at Wednesday, but said nothing. She already understood that words would be wasted. Instead, she focused on the task at hand, her phone in one hand as she coordinated with emergency responders.

She remembers the paramedics rushing to take you from Enid’s arms, their movements swift and efficient. Wednesday tried to follow, her feet moving of their own accord, ready to climb in after you. But the paramedics stopped her.

“You can’t come with her,” one of them said, his tone apologetic “Only family members or authorities are allowed to ride along.”

“I’m more than—” Wednesday began, her voice rising in anger, but Weems cut her off.

Weems intervened immediately, her tone brooking no argument. “I am the Principal of this school. I’ll go with her,”

And just like that, the ambulance doors slammed shut, the wail of its siren tearing through the night as it sped away. Wednesday stood there, rooted in place, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. You were gone, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

“It’s okay,” Enid said gently, stepping beside her. “Ajax is getting his car. He’ll be here in thirty minutes tops, and we’ll go to the hospital together.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She barely heard her friend’s words over the deafening roar in her own mind. Thirty minutes felt like a lifetime, and every second that ticked by was another moment where something could go horribly wrong. And she feared she wouldn't be there.

When they finally reached the hospital, it was Weems who met them in the waiting room.

“They’ve taken her to the ER, The doctors are doing everything they can"

And now here she was, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at a version of herself she barely recognized.

God, she was weak. How had this happened? How had she let herself become so vulnerable? So…pathetic? She had spent her entire life building walls, shielding herself from anything that could make her feel this way. And yet, here she was, unraveling piece by piece because of you.

Her reflection mocked her, its hollow eyes and trembling lips a stark contrast to the composed, unflinching image she usually projected. She hated it. Hated herself. How had she let this happen? How had she allowed herself to care so deeply that the thought of losing you made her chest feel like it was caving in?

Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving as she struggled to remain in control.

How had she become so weak? So…human?

With a growl of frustration, she slammed her fist into the mirror. The glass shattered instantly, cracks spidering out from the point of impact. Pain shot up her arm as shards embedded themselves in her knuckles, but she didn’t care. The blood that dripped down her hand was nothing compared to the storm raging inside her.

The door creaked open behind her, and she stiffened.

“Wednesday?”

It was Enid.

“I’m fine,” Wednesday snapped, her voice like a whip.

But Enid ignored her. The werewolf stepped into the bathroom, her gaze softening as it landed on Wednesday’s bloodied hand. "Oh Wends..."

“Don’t,” Wednesday warned, taking a step back.

But Enid didn’t listen. In one swift motion, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Wednesday in a firm, unyielding embrace.

“Let go,” Wednesday hissed, struggling against her. “Enid, I swear—”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Enid interrupted, her voice steady.

“Get off me,” Wednesday hissed, her voice laced with venom. She shoved at Enid’s arms, but the werewolf didn’t budge. “I can rip you apart,” she muttered, her voice low and dangerous.

“I know, but I’m not letting go.” Enid said simply, tightening her hold.

Wednesday’s struggles slowed, her strength waning as the weight of her emotions finally broke through. Her hands, bloodied and trembling, fell to her sides.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Why did this happen?”

Enid didn’t have an answer, but she held her friend close, her own tears silently falling. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured. “You’re not alone.”

For the first time in her life, Wednesday didn’t push the comfort away. She allowed herself to lean into it if only for a moment, her face pressed against Enid’s shoulder as she struggled to breathe through the ache in her chest.

And for that moment, she wasn’t Wednesday Addams, the girl who thrived on darkness and chaos.

She was just a girl terrified of losing the one person who had managed to break through her walls.

As she followed Enid out of the bathroom, she barely registered her surroundings until she stepped into the waiting area outside the ER.

Her hand still bleeding from her earlier outburst, but she paid it no mind. There were more pressing matters, you.

First, her dark eyes immediately landed on your father, who was speaking with Principal Weems.

But then, just past them, Wednesday’s gaze fell on a cluster of people she did not expect to see.

Her therapy group.

What the hell were they doing here?

Wednesday strode toward them. Blood dripped from her injured hand, leaving small crimson spots on the tiled floor as her fists clenched tighter with every step.

The group turned toward her, their expressions ranging from surprised to concerned.

David was the first to step forward, his gaze landing on her bloodied hand. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Wednesday…”

“I don’t want your sighs, David,” Wednesday snapped, her tone dripping with irritation. “I want answers. Why are you all here? Who called you?”

“I did.”

The voice came from behind the group, and Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as Brooke stepped into view. She was wearing an intern’s scrubs.

“You?” Wednesday’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “You work here?”

Brooke shrugged nonchalantly, “Yeah. I’m an intern here. Surprise.”

“Why does this matter?” Wednesday demanded, gesturing toward the rest of the group. “Why are they here?”

“I was working the ER when they brought her in,” Brooke explained, her voice softening slightly. "Then after a while I saw you, looking all worried and...I thought I might need some backup so I just called them I guess."

Wednesday opened her mouth to argue, Enid, standing a step behind her, finally found her voice. "Wednesday, who are all these people?”

“The therapy group,” Wednesday muttered, her tone laced with disdain.

“What?” Enid blinked. “These are the therapy people?!”

“Unfortunately.”

“Look,” David said, running a hand through his hair, “we might just be a group of angry psychos who meet in a circle every week to complain about our lives— but Y/n is part of our little group of angry psychos.  And when one of us is in trouble, we show up. She’s one of us. And…” He hesitated, glancing at Wednesday. “Like it or not, you are too.”

“I’m not—” Wednesday began, her voice cold and biting, but Rick interrupted her.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I am Batman, darkness incarnate, blah, blah, blah, ” Rick said, waving a hand dismissively. “But here’s the thing, Addams: you’re stuck with us. And if that means standing around a hospital waiting for news, then that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Also, I got a new car,” Rick added, jingling his keys. “So, Brooke, maybe don’t burn this one if we need to give someone a ride home, yeah?”

Ashley hit Rick with her elbow “Now’s not the time, idiot.”

“Let me see your hand,” Brooke said firmly, her tone more doctor than therapy member now.

“It’s fine,” Wednesday snapped, instinctively tucking her injured hand behind her back.

Brooke raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “That’s not going to fly here. Sit down, or I’ll have security drag you out for bleeding all over the hospital floor.”

Enid put a hand on Wednesday’s shoulder. “You should let her, Wends. I mean, you wouldn't want Y/n seeing that."

With a huff of annoyance, Wednesday relented, sitting down stiffly on the bench as Brooke began cleaning and bandaging her knuckles.

“I still don’t understand why you all care for people you barely know so much.” Wednesday muttered as Brooke worked.

“Like David said,” Brooke replied without looking up, “we take care of our own. You might not like it, but you’ve somehow become part of this dysfunctional little family. And like it or not, we care about you.”

Wednesday was about to retort when the door to the ER opened, and a doctor stepped out. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto the man, and for the first time that night, her breath caught in her throat.

The doctor’s expression was professional but grave as he approached.

“Are you here for the young woman brought in from Nevermore Academy?"

“I am. How is she?” Wednesday asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then said, “She’s stable, but…”

“But what?” Wednesday demanded, her voice sharp and trembling.

“She’s in a coma,” the doctor said gently. “For now, her condition is critical but stable. We’ll be monitoring her closely, but it’s too soon to say anything definitive.”

The words hit Wednesday like a physical blow. She felt the air leave her lungs, her vision narrowing as the weight of the doctor’s words settled over her.

A heavy silence fell over the group. Enid placed a tentative hand on Wednesday’s shoulder, but she barely felt it.

“Can I see her?” Wednesday asked, her voice barely audible.

The doctor nodded. “Only one visitor at a time for now. But you’ll need to address that hand of yours before you go in.” His gaze flicked to Brooke, who was finishing up the bandaging.

“It’s taken care of,” Brooke said smoothly, giving the doctor a pointed look.

The Doctor nodded before walking back into the ER.

As soon as he was gone, Brooke handed Wednesday a pair of disposable gloves. “Hide the bandage. You’re not sneaking past anyone with blood all over you.” She gave Brooke a small nod before taking the gloves.

As Wednesday followed the doctor into the ER, the rest of the group exchanged quiet glances. David sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s not gonna take this well,” he muttered. Enid, her gaze fixed on Wednesday, let out a small, humorless laugh. “When does she ever take anything well?”

[Author's note: Back to writing again but its kinda hard to manage time nowadays, Comment how you guys feel about this chapter.]

NEXT CHAPTER

[alexcaninnit]

HEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEH BEHOLD THE LITTLE GUY ONE AND ALL.

[ajaxswiftbabyyyyyyyy]

oh you misunderstand the shovel's for disposing of the body

Oh. Oh yeah.

[neiptune]

hihi v ! i wanted to join your event with buche de noel + childe and prompt #3 ! also, the trope is opposites attract. i am pretty much the opposite in every aspect of him. we are literally golden retriever + black cat duo LMAO ! tysm for hosting this cute event :> 💝

childe x first christmas as a couple/family

“I’m not coming”.

Childe hums, not at all bothered by your pragmatic refusal.

“See, I knew you’d say that”, with the swift movement of lithe fingers, a letter appears in his hand and he offers a wink. “That’s why I already told them you are coming”.

Incredulous, you grab the letter from his hands and do everything in your power to ignore the double-edged sword that cheeky grin in your peripheral is. He’s not lying: the missive, signed by his older sister, conveys rather clearly how excited they are at the idea of you joining them for the holiday celebrations. A sudden dizziness worms its way into your limbs.

“What did you tell them?”, you don’t mean to sound so hostile but the urgency in your tone is hardly sufficient to express the frosty anxiety clutching your chest.

Childe’s gaze softens. Some might argue he had not been in your life as a lover long enough to catch on every inflection of your voice, to interpret every crease between the brows. Yet, he just knows. Despite a confident, often frivolous exterior and a thirst for battle that never subdues, his world never really stops revolving around those who are most dear to him. He’s always been a keen observer and he’ll be damned if he fails the test of noticing when the person he’s in love with is upset.

“Nothing”, because he wouldn’t dare share what you have layed bare in yet another display of genuine trust, “only that I would like to bring home someone who is very important to me. I’d like her to meet the people my heart is always with, my family”. He gently slips the letter from your shaky fingers and offers a smile, eyes warm with fondness.

“Oh, don’t do that”, you feel the guilt threatening to bubble up from your throat and swallow you whole, yet stubbornly push against it still.

“Do what?”.

Be so caring. Make me believe I’m worth all the fuss, every time.

“Will you die if we spend one christmas apart? Go enjoy it with your family. We don’t have to be together all the time, you know”, it’s painful, covering up traitorous fears that squeeze your heart with razor-edged remarks. You don’t want your presence, so different from his bubbly one, to be an imposition.

To your surprise, Childe bursts in vibrant laughter.

“Why, yes! I may in fact die if we are not together all the time, I already feel dangerously close to my own demise when I’m in Inazuma and you stay in Liyue!”, the infectious grin lights up his playful stare. You roll your eyes.

But then he takes your hand to gently press his lips to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours.

“I write to them. About you, I mean. I have ever since meeting you”.

“What is there to write?”, it’s a genuine question. Your life is quite ordinary, far less exciting that the one of a Harbinger or a traveller, made of a calm routine, architecture and interior design projects you and Kaveh constantly exchange ideas over.

Childe furrows his brows.

“Everything. How you healed me when I couldn’t admit to myself that I needed someone’s help, the way you still take care of me. I write about the dishes you allow me to cook for you, the recipes I learned when we visited Sumeru. I told them all about how easy it was to fall for you”. He smiles again when he notices how flustered such simple, sincere words make you.

“Teucer really wants to see you again. He still remembers, you know? Won’t shut up about the nice lady who once found him by the harbor. Forget me but you’re really going to break a kid’s heart?”.

You deflate, sparing him a good natured glare that is met with a shameless wink. He wins, doesn’t he always?

“Fine”.

“It wouldn’t feel like home without you there”.

“Ajax, I already said yes!”, despite the mock exasperation in your voice, you’re smiling too. Because he wants you there and it doesn’t matter that it’s only your first christmas together as an official couple, it doesn’t matter that you can’t remember the last time you had someone to celebrate the holidays with. Let alone a family.

It doesn’t matter, because Childe loves you so much he’s eager for his family to love you too.

And so you hardly care that you had to pack to spend an entire week in the frozen nation of Snezhnaya, the small seaside village of Morepesok being as welcoming as an environment perpetually covered in ice can be. How can you even remember how much you hate the cold when, the minute you walk inside your lover’s childhood home, his father takes your hand in between his and greets you with so much warmth? Five minutes and you’ve been hugged by all three of Childe’s youngest siblings, Teucer being particularly keen on not letting go of your hand as his eldest sister guides you further inside the house. Ten minutes and you’re dressed in traditional Snezhnayan clothes, a necessary protection against the harsh climate outside, one not even locals like to face if they can avoid doing so. It takes several minutes to comprehend that Childe’s sister has made the clothes herself, just for you.

“So? What do you think?”, his eyes always carry a peculiar light you wish it could be bottled up to brighten dark nights, but it’s different now that he’s home. The joy in his stare is so intense your heart grows in size each time you meet that wondrous gaze.

“Well, it’s cold”, you tease, blunt. It makes him huff with impatience.

“About my family”.

“Oh, that”, you grin, “they’re really… loving”. It’s a word you don’t use lightly. You knew about familial relations carrying a special meaning in Snezhnaya, being so close is part of their culture. Yet, you weren’t prepared to feel all that warmth yourself, a stranger who was enveloped in their affectionate embrace right away. Even when Childe wasn’t there (you kindly but firmly refused to join him and his father on their ice fishing expeditions), his siblings never once left you alone or made you feel like an outsider. You spent days drinking tea, helping them cook so much borscht, you laughed when Tonia got flour on her nose while you were all in the process of preparing the dough for a good serving of pierogi.

It’s christmas eve, the only day you were shooed out of the house because guests are not allowed to help with the arrangements. It’s not like you don’t have a feeling it was just an excuse to grant you some time alone with him.

“They are. And now they love you, too”, his gloved hand playfully squeezes yours. You hum with a smile, the almost empty glass of Fire-Water making faint memories resurface. Back then, Childe didn’t know how bad you are at holding your liquor and once ended up having to patiently carry you home when you downed one too many shots, perhaps also too quickly.

As you observe the way Childe beams next to you, with his childlike glee, you’re once more reminded of how in love you are with him. While he never shies away from providing tangible proofs of his deep fondness, your house practically overflowing with letters and gifts in every size or shape, it feels like this is the most significant evidence you’ll ever get. Him wanting you where he doesn’t have to be Childe nor Tartaglia, the one place where he gets to wake up and be nothing more than a son and a brother. Here, where he drinks hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows and reads his younger siblings stories by the fireplace. Home, where there’s room for you as well from now on, a seat saved at a crowded table, the comfort of a couch illuminated by the colorful lights of a tree too big, one of the presents crammed underneath it carrying a tag with your name.

“And now I love them, too”, you whisper a little too quietly and his smile grows. “Thank you”.

“You never have to thank me. This is also your home now, my heart is yours and so is my family”.

“Ajax”, his name is coated with amusement but Childe recognizes a deep emotion behind the playful tone, one that matches his.

“Promise you’ll always spend christmas with us?”.

“I promise”.

“Pinky promise?”.

“Pinky promise”, you grin. He hums.

“You know what that means. You make a pinky promise, you keep it all your life”.

“I break that pinky promise, you throw me on the ice”.

“Damn right”, he grins, proud. When he kisses you, it feels like even the blizzard raging outside the pub would surrender to the prodigy that are his lips.

thank you for your generosity and for supporting @ficsforgaza. request a character + prompt here :)

[witch-hazels-musings]

this is what it feels like

warning: sfw, fluff, comfort | seeing them after a long time apart

includes: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Thoma, Zhongli, Xiao

character x gn reader |  anthology | short read

You could feel your heart, how it thrummed in your chest and fluttered slightly when you picked up the pace. The closer you got to your destination, the more painful the waiting became. You wanted to be there, wanted to see him with eyes you swore were growing cloudy and getting more challenging to keep clear.

You were ready, so you practically ran.

Albedo

Sounds of whirring machines spilled into the hallway. They mingled with the swift, drumming pace of your footsteps. A voice, his voice, slipped through the cracks in the door and you pushed forward, ignoring the kind strangers who greeted you.

There was only one thing - one person - on your mind.

Albedo.

"It may be that a miscalculation occurred; I would recommend we review more closely the --" Alebeo paused mid-sentence and lifted his head from the bent-back notebook he was previously reviewing. The student who was sitting in the chair next to him saw you as soon as you stepped through the door. They glanced at Albedo and tried to hide their smile.

Albedo twisted and your eyes met.

"Hi," you said with a small wave. Panting, focused on the man you'd dreamed about seeing for days. Now that you were here, however, it was hard to move again. Was it appropriate for you to be here, had you interrupted something important?

You let your one-track mind get the better of you again.

Albedo let the notebook slide into the ready hands of his student. His gaze locked, taking all of you in.

You laughed, relieved, "I'm home," you professed with a smile and opened your arms as Albedo left his work behind to greet you with a wanting embrace.

--

Childe

You better return to me - I promise

The promise you made over a week ago swirled in your mind. You'd let the scene play out so much that it was starting to twist and distort into fallacies and imaginations untrue to the source. However, nothing dared warp the feeling of his lips when he pressed them to your cheek and whispered, 'Don't make me wait long.' Those recollections lived on in destitute moments just before bed and the bittersweet seconds of rising from it.

But, now. Now the boat was pulling into port and you could hardly contain your excitement.

Would he be there? Would he be the first thing you see when you docked?

You were desperate, hopeful, but most of all, you were tired of feeling lonely.

The dock appeared slowly. You scanned the sturdy boards for him and rushed to the other side of the bow to get another view. No matter how hard you looked, you couldn't find him. You jerked forward as the boat docked and wasted no time making it to the pier below.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you ran into the thick of the crowd. Eyes scanning, head on a swivel as you searched for him. People glanced your way but kept on. One woman looked at you with knowing eyes - eyes that lamented, 'You're looking for your lover too, aren't you?'

You turned to look down the stone harbor but couldn't see him. Disheartened, you let your bag fall to your side.

Then, like the whistling wind of the sea, you heard your name. Snapping your head to the left, you saw a man standing at the top of the stone hill, chest heaving, shoulders rising and falling, and eyes zeroed in on you.

"Ajax!" You called back, dropping your bag where it was and rushing up the hill to meet him. He did the same, and as you ran toward each other, you crashed into him like a wave. Childe hoisted you in the air. The momentum carried the two of you toward the water, but he never let you go. "I've returned. As promised," you told him, tears bubbling up in your eyes so you hid your face against his shoulder.

"So you did," he replied, kissing the top of your head and tightening his hold on you as if his hands were making their own vows to never let you go again.

--

Diluc

It had been weeks since the two of you had seen each other. Weeks since you had woken up next to him or found him lost in thought in his study. Countless hours had gone by since you heard his voice or felt the warmth of his touch. You were desperate for it but also nervous to accept it again.

Distance was meant to make the heart grow stronger, right?

As you paced back and forth across the floor, you were starting to regret your decision to hide in the upper room of Angel's Share. Charle's assured you he'd send Diluc your way, but what if they got busy, what if Diluc realized he needed to walk back to the Winery? You should have gone to the estate instead of concocting some elaborate surprise - especially when you were terrible at them.

Shaking your head, you made for the door. Unable to keep the antsy tingling of your nerves from taking over, but the moment you grabbed the doorknob, heavy footfalls made you freeze and you were just fast enough to stumble back when the door swung open with immense force.

Your alarm was replaced by overflowing elation at the sight that greeted you. Diluc's hand gripped the doorknob, his eyes held pools of desperation as they looked at you, as they searched your face, pleading to reassure him that you were, in fact, not a dream.

"I'm home-" you started but he cut you off by pulling you into a suffocating hug. His body leaned into yours, his palm cupped the back of your head and his other gripped the back of your clothes. You returned the hug with just as much fervor.

Pulling back, you pressed your hands against his cheeks and found his lips like one finds a flicker of light in utter darkness. You heard the sound of the door slam shut but didn't care to pull away enough to look. Diluc's fingers tugged at your hair while he kissed you with famished lips.

"I hate when you leave," he professed when he let you finally catch your breath, his eyes heavy, lost in you.

"I'm not fond of it either," you admitted and let your fingers rest against his chin. "Did Charles tell you I was back?"

Diluc shook his head, his lips brushing over yours and placing several more heated kisses against them, "I heard you."

Furrowing your brows, you pulled away even though he tried to chase you, "Up here? That could have been anyone," you chuckled.

"No one else's footsteps sound like my dreams," he explained and you answered him with a trembling lip and a warm, forever, embrace.

--

Thoma

It had been nearly two weeks since you'd been near Thoma. Since you'd received the comfort he was so keen on giving. Since he reminded you of the qualities you forgot when he wasn't around. Since you could caress his face and have him touch yours.

Each night was more challenging. Sending letters was too slow. Hearing updates from others felt impersonal. You wanted to see him, wanted to hold him, wanted to hear him. So, you picked up the pace and apologized to the attendants you waved off so you wouldn't get distracted.

Your chest tightened the moment you saw him. Even when you tugged at your clothes to create space, it wasn't enough to alleviate the pressure building inside your ribcage. Your heart ached. Involuntary tears ran down your cheeks. Taking a step toward him, the wooden boards beneath you creaked and, though it was small, quiet, impossible to detect even for you, Thoma stopped what he was doing and turned toward the noise.

Confusion shifted to disbelief until realization set in and the pounding sound of his footsteps made their way toward you.

Thoma wrung his hands on the towel tucked into his pants so that when he made it to you and slid his arms under you to lift you into the air before letting you fall toward him, against him, in his arms that felt so much like home, he made sure his hands were clean and void of any stain that could tarnish you.

"I missed you," he proclaimed, one hand flush against the back of your head while the other kept you as close as it could.

"I missed you more," you admitted and held onto him with no intent of letting go.

--

Zhongli

You pressed a finger to your lips to hush the receptionist whose eyes lit up at the sight of you. "He's in his office," they whispered with a smile. You nodded and crept further into the parlor. The halls were coated in familiar scents. Scents you associated with the resigned archon who walked them every day.

When you got to the door, you lifted your hand to knock, hesitated, then let your knuckle rap against the door one, two, three times.

"Enter," the voice on the other side said, so you did. "I have yet to sign off on the procession request. The contract is of issue, which I will review with careful consideration ..." Zhongli explained, and you stifled a laugh.

He was turned away from you. His elegant chair turned to face the window. A steaming cup of tea had been left abandoned on his desk - a clear sign he was lost in thought.

When you were close enough, you slid your hands around his face to cover his eyes. Without missing a beat, Zhongli said your name, ruining the surprise.

"How did you know it was me?" you asked as he twisted in his chair to take your hands in his and hold them tenderly against his lips.

"I would recognize the sound of your footsteps even if time had taken all my senses," he professed as if it were a simple fact, as he kissed the tips of your fingers in adoration. When he looked at your face you were trying your best to keep your eyes upward to stop the tears that fell because of him.

Because of the love of him.

"I missed you dearly," he added, his thumb caressing your cheek to wipe away the warm tears.

"I missed you. So much," you mirrored and wrapped your arms around his shoulders even as he rose to his full height to draw you nearer to him.

--

Xiao

The marshland smelled just the way you remembered, the clinging warmth of it lingered on your skin. After being on the dry, salt-biting sea for so long you could feel yourself reacclimating to the climate.

It had been weeks since you last saw him.

You almost couldn't stand it.

The tower that was Wangshu Inn lingered in the distance but no matter how close you got to it, the further away it seemed. You were frustrated, anxious, ready to climb to the top and wrap your arms around the man who invaded your thoughts more often than you thought possible.

You imagined him, remembered the comfort of him, could recall the lingering presence of him - like something familiar was hovering in the edges of your view, but you could never quite place it. He was always there - or, at least, the intensity of your love for him felt that way.

"Almost there," you promised as you climbed one of the red bridges above the streams surrounding the marsh.

"Took you long enough," a voice answered, making you spin on your toes to see its owner.

Xiao stood at the bottom of the bridge, arms crossed, eyes falling to the ground while you stared at him in disbelief.

Was it really him, or was it another figment of your desperate imagination?

When his eyes met yours, you knew. You knew it was real, and so you ran to him. Xiao caught you like wind rushing through his hair, and you slid your fingers across his back to remind your hands what he felt like.

"Aren't you going to say it?" he asked, gruff and close as he pressed his forehead against your neck.

"Say wh--? Oh, sorry," you laughed, overwhelmed with love and joy, "I'm home."

"Welcome home."

--

[guraiuna]

(about Skirk's drip market)

"The one who despised destiny plucked a young girl from the hand of fate.

Once she had grown up, she too saved a child ensnared by providence."

Intersting choice of words here. As in Skirk was "plucked"– severed from her roots akin to a flower and taken to a place unknown. Wherein Childe was "saved" – by the very same girl who had been taken. As if the girl saw the kidnapping as what it was at first, only for her view on her fate to swift...

Makes you wonder what Skirk's fate would have been if she wouldn't have been taken...

Makes you wonder what Ajax's fate would have been if he wouldn't have been "saved"...

And if we're talking about use of words then we have this too:

"child ensnared by providence"

(in case you don't know what "providence means like me until I looked the word up)

WAIT– WHAT DO YOU MEAN...? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!

WHAT WAS AJAX'S DESTINY IF HE WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN TAKEN BY SKIRK?!?!?!

AND WHICH GOD ?!