#I had to google if birds had nostrils for this

[frowerssx2]

Beyond the Boundaries~

Merry Christmas, Everybridie! This is the first time I have done a Secret Santa exchange! My recipient was @moonvarion. I hope you like this short fanfic I did for you ^_^

Summary: Hiyoko brings a Christmas present that allows Nageki to go beyond the boundaries of his prison which is the library. This Contains spoilers!

Word Count: 2,514

Like always, Nageki woke up in the same corner of the library without the knowledge of how long this "sleep" lasted. They were happening more often now, as they always do in winter. Apparently, ghosts need warmth to appear and having it in the Saint Pigeonation's library was an extremely rare thing. Anyway, at least there was a blanket for him to lie on now. It didn't offer him warmth or any sort of comfort physically. But, it did emotionally. It reminded him that he had good friends who truly cared about him and that was the best feeling in the world. However, it did also bring a strange sense of familiarity Nageki couldn't understand. With a sigh, Nageki stood up and shook both his feathers and wings to loosen them up. He then looked around, wondering what he should do today. After all, it was the Christmas holiday, wasn't it? Everybirdie will be at home celebrating with their families. That thought made Nageki wonder what his family was doing. Surely, he had one. Everybirdie has some sort of family, right? Maybe not made out of genetics, but made out of love and affection. 

"Love is not made by blood, it is made by caring for each other so much that you'd do anything, anything at all, for them"

Somebiridie once told Nageki that. Who was it? Why couldn't he remember them? All he knew about the mysterious bird was that he had a soft and caring voice. If Nageki had to compare it to anything then it would be a hug. Soft, warm, always welcoming, and loving. 

With another big sigh, Nageki walked to the window. Oh...It was snowing pretty badly too, if the forming ice on the glass was anything to go by. If any birdie living went out there they would no doubt freeze to death. Meanwhile, as a ghost, he wouldn't. Not like he wanted to go out there anyway. What would be the point? He wouldn't be able to feel the crackling snow underneath his feet, or the snowflakes that would fall gently and gracefully on his feathers. Suddenly, a flash of blue snapped Nageki out of his depressing thoughts. Was it lightening as well as snowing? Was that even possible? A second flash of blue a few seconds later made him realize that it wasn't happening outside, but inside.

Feeling both confused and curious, Nageki turned just to see beautiful snowflake Christmas decorations flashing above him in soft and calming tones of sunset orange. Nageki watched as the light nearest to him flashed then the one after it, then so on, causing him to feel tempted to follow it. But, could he? Was it safe? Curiosity killed the cat after all...

But, not a ghost…

Nothing in this world could kill a ghost. Well, not to his knowledge anyway. 

The lights flashed again, so beautifully that Nageki threw all caution out of the window and began to follow them. They had to lead somewhere and it was probably a little silly but Nageki hoped it would be somewhere different. Somewhere, he could escape his prison for a while. Somewhere that wouldn’t make him regret his decision to come back here instead of going onto the train with the King and the Migrant.  

He wasn't disappointed when he arrived at the end of the Christmas light trail. As there, stood proudly in the middle of the library was the most magnificent and beautiful Christmas tree he had ever seen. Soft glows of green, blue, red, and orange sparkled between the dark green branches of the Christmas tree. Each one, was as beautiful as the next, illuminating the dark library and the gold tinsel on the tree with the beautiful glow of a rainbow. That wasn't all though. There were stunning baubles shaped like Santa Claus, Christmas trees, candy canes, and round baubles that had faces of snowmen or were gold and red with glitter. But then, one decoration in particular captured his interest, so he slowly and gently reached his right wing to touch it. Now looking closely at it he realized that it was shaped like a N with what looked like shelves with books inside. Immediately, he smiled, his beak opening up to curve at the end. This was obviously a present for him and there was only one friend who knew him this well and cared for him this much and knowing Hiyoko, she wouldn’t do anything like this without leaving some way of communication. With that in mind, Nageki flipped his present over and read the engraving he found there: “Look under the tree, love Hiyoko”

At that moment, Nageki felt his heart flutter like his wings would if he took flight because this could only mean that there could be another present for him, right? That thought made his heart flutter again, this time it wasn’t just because of affection but also because of excitement. He slowly lowered himself down to look underneath the tree to find a literal winter wonderland with figures of snowmen, polar bears, reindeer, Iglu’s, and snow hills and balls. The sight of it made Nageki wish that there was some magical way he could live in this little snow village but, there was a large rectangular-shaped present waiting for him so he was going to pull it out and hold it in his wings.

“I hope you like it, Nageki”

For a second, Nageki thought that Hiyoko’s voice was inside his head because he was reading the card on the present but then he quickly realized there wasn’t one.

But that could only mean…No way…Surely, she wouldn’t…

A turn of the head told Nageki that yes, she totally did. However, he was shocked and rather relieved to see that his human friend wasn’t frozen like an icicle.

“How did you?” Nageki stuttered out wondering if that question would have an answer that would be logical. “That’s not important”

No, of course, it wouldn’t, that would be expecting too much…

“Open your present, I hope you like it” Hiyoko excitedly said, her amber eyes flicking down to the present in Nageki’s wings, shifting closer to him on her knees.

“Go on” she said moving to knock him with her shoulder playfully just to end up falling shoulder first onto the floor which had the Mourning Dove snorting in amusement. How on earth could she possibly forget that he isn’t solid? The embarrassment on Hiyoko’s made it painfully obvious that she was wondering the same thing. But then, that famous smile of hers went on her face as her beautiful eyes flicked to Nageki’s present yet again.

Feeling another flutter within his heart, Nageki slowly opened his present with his wings. Feeling thankful that Christmas wrapping paper was so delicate that even a ghost could get into it without much effort. Plus, the fact that Hiyoko didn't go overboard with the Sellotape did help matters a lot. Underneath the dark green paper that was littered with red and white candy canes and ginger beard men was a large book named:

[The Christmas Village within the mountains]

The picture on the cover was of a beautiful wooden cottage covered in a small amount of snow and an unbelievable amount of Christmas decorations. 

Wanting to see what else this book had to offer Nageki slowly opened it to the first page, Hiyoko shifting closer to him as he did so. Together they looked down at the picture of the welcoming sign of the village. It was truly beautiful. Faux Holly vines were wrapped around the poles and travelled across the top of the sign where artificial mistletoe and red and white flowers. On the next page was a footpath covered by thick snow and surrounded by pine trees which also was covered in snow but also gold and red tinsel and baubles. Not only that, but between the trees were hanging snowflakes, stars, and flags. The footpath itself was surprisingly decorated too. It wasn't much. Just a trail of gold, green and red strings travelling upwards beside large deep footprints that were obviously made by heavy snow boots. All of this together made Nageki wonder what was at the end of this winter Christmas trail. Luckily, the answer was on the next page. 

So, he turned it...

Waiting for him were pictures of a wonderful village square that had rows and rows of market stalls. Above them were rows of orange circular lights, all of which were like fireflies in the night sky. Then on the next page were close-ups of the stalls, showing off what each one sold. There was one stall selling the most delicious-looking shortbread, cookies, bread, and gingerbread in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Another one sold stunning handmade Christmas decorations and stockings. Another sold toys and teddies. Then there was one that sold clothes. Another that sold traditional Christmas foods from all over the world. Just when Nageki thought that this page couldn’t get any better, he discovered that there was a little round sticker in the corner of each picture.

“What is this for?” He asked Hiyoko in confusion, wondering what on earth would happen if he rubbed at the sticker like it told him to. “Oh! This is really cool!” Hiyoko answered excitedly, rubbing the sticker so quickly and with so much strength that Nageki worried she would somehow find a way to find a fire. Thankfully, she didn’t. However, she still did something strange which was to sniff her arm with a hungry groan.

Okay…That was…Odd…

“You smell, Nageki!” Hiyoko then said to him holding her battered arm in front of him, her quick movement causing him to flinch backwards. But now, he was just staring at her arm in absolute confusion. That certainly wasn’t a normal request. Yet again, when did Hiyoko and a normal conversation go hand in hand? Almost everything the human did was bizarre, impossible, confusing, or somehow all three.

“Go on, it smells delicious!” Her arm smelt delicious? How did that even make any sense? This was definitely a conversation that was all those three things. “Hurry before it goes!”

Wanting this conversation to make some sense, Nageki slowly smelt Hiyoko’s arm. It was the strangest thing he has ever done but it was almost the greatest. He smelt her arm again and hummed. The smell of sugar-covered shortbread filled his nostrils, the smell was so alluring, and intoxicating that it made his stomach rubble which should have been impossible because of the whole ghost thing. It also made him wish that he could stick out his tongue and taste the incredible food. Not on Hiyoko’s arm of course, because that would be totally weird. But on the page…That thought made him look down at the other pictures and see what their circles contained. The clothing stall had a small circle made out of the softest material Nageki had ever felt. The toy stall circle had a small bird paper toy that flapped its wings if you pulled the paper lever.

Then came the next page, on it was a game where you had to decorate the picture of the Christmas tree that was sat in the middle of the market square stalls. Nageki couldn’t remember the last time he decorated a tree but somehow, he could remember that he always did it with somebiridie else. Somebiridie who he cared for and so, he shifted closer to Hiyoko so they could do it together. When the tree was decorated it wasn’t as dramatic or exquisite as the one in the library, but it was theirs and that is what made it special and perfect. Nageki wasn’t surprised at all, he and Hiyoko has always made a great team. This was proven yet again when they turned to the next page as it ended up being four different Find the Hidden Objects game that were in different locations in the village as they ended up finding all of them easily.

Then came a normal photo album of the rest of the village showcasing the school, hospital, church, shops, huts, shacks, and houses. All of them as beautiful as the next. All of them going overboard with Christmas decorations. Then came the famous mountain of the village, the photos taking you up the trail mile by mile until finally, the photographer reached the top. The view was astonishing. There was nothing but cloud after cloud, the lights of the village below reflecting through them so wonderfully.

“I wish that I was there” Hiyoko said to him, stretching out her arms as she did so “I want to feel the cold wind underneath my arms” “I do too” “So, let’s do it!”

Before he could even figure out a reply to that Hiyoko was gone, returning seconds later with a large desk fan, she turned it on to the highest speed which caused the branches of the large Christmas tree in front of them to rustle angrily. But, it was perfect. Nageki stood up, closed his eyes, stretched out his wings, and leaned forward a little. Like this, he could pretend he was above that mountain and embracing the powerful winds. Winds that made him feel so free. He just wanted to flap his wings and fly above those clouds in the picture. But, no matter how powerful his imagination was, Nageki already knew he couldn’t. That didn’t mean he couldn’t just enjoy the feel though. Flying for birds was a natural thing that they all took for granted, none of them embracing how much fun it could be.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nageki folded his light brown wings back into his side, in response to the rustling sound they made Hiyoko turned off the fan.

“Thanks, Hiyoko, that was amazing…This book is amazing” “It doesn’t stop there!” Hiyoko smiled brilliantly, moving to get the backpack that has apparently been sitting beside her all this time to pull out a large plastic food container.

“I asked Mr Nanaki to make us the food in this book. It took four months, three house fires, and one food-tasting trail with Miru and Kaku for him to get it right”

“Hiyoko…That is very thoughtful but I’m a ghost, I can’t eat”

“Yeah but you can smell, and if you understand a smell well enough then you can taste it” she replied and even though Nageki didn’t know how he felt about that logic, he didn’t have the heart to argue or question it.

“Alright, I will try…What else do you have?” “I’m glad you asked! I’ve got two travel books in my backpack and I thought we’d travel through the world together underneath this tree while we or rather I eat” “Let the adventure begin” Nageki smiled wishing for the first time that night that he was indeed solid because right now, he’d give anything to snuggle beside Hiyoko while she showed him the world beyond the library.

For now, though, he’ll just enjoy this new adventure beyond his boundaries with her…

….Fin….   

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Dryest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

-

I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

---

(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)

[sukunastits]

Weaponized Incompetence

Weaponized Incompetence 2/?

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: none? other than my near endless supply of stupid shit that can be said to make men think you’re stupid. Sfw

Part 1

You were entirely blameless for the next incident. Truly, you had been minding your business, avoiding responsibilities like any good non-commissioned officer. Secluded in one of the far off storage rooms on the west side of the complex, counting boxes of paper towels - far enough out of the way that Sgt. MacTavish had to have come looking for you, specifically. Adorable man, you thought giddily, watching him situate himself in the metal fold out chair next to you. 

He wasn’t a tall man, maybe the shorter end of average, but you figured he made up for it by being the general size of a wide-load tractor trailer. Which was to say, when he slid the chair - legs scraping against the concrete ground - closer to you, he invaded like the tide. “Listen, lass,” he started, like you couldn’t smell his cologne over the stale, dusty air. Tobacco and vanilla, maybe. A little slutty, combined with the eyes and the facial hair and the accent. 

Maybe you were just projecting. 

“Ah get that you come from tae city,” he continued, phone in one hand while he braced the other one on the back of your chair. A part of you wondered if you should be worried; cornered in a far off room by a commanding officer wasn't the best start to happily ever after, but whatever. You were here to drive him up a metaphorical wall, not a white picket fence. “And ye probably never had tae deal with farm animals, but ye can’t go ‘roond spoutin’ nonsense like the other day.” 

Was he still on that? You had hit him with that well before the weekend, and he hadn’t wasted time with cornering you. It was Monday. God, you thought, I am blessed to live rent free in the Scottish Highlands. 

He wiggled the phone entreatingly. 

Staring back from the screen was Google, “are eggs dairy” typed into the search bar. Pressing your lips together, you slanted a sideways glance at him. He looked back, expectant. 

The nice thing would be to let him win this, you knew. A little tee hee, so sorry sergeant, let it die down before you hit him with some other out of pocket shit. But you hadn’t gotten this far in life by letting men win, even pretty ones. 

Especially the pretty ones. 

“Ohh,” you breathed, nodding to yourself like you’d had a world breaking - egg cracking, even - revelation. Sgt. MacTavish smiled, broad shoulders relaxing as he leant back, dipping back out of your personal space. “I get it now.”

“An easy mistake,” he placated. You both knew it wasn’t. 

“No, yeah. You still think birds are real.”

An atom bombed dropped slower than his smile did; there one moment, gone the next. Total annihilation. You would have to play this one carefully. Not laughing hysterically would be a herculean effort, but so worth it. 

“What tae fu -”

“No let me explain,” you cut in, flapping your hand at the wrist. It annoyed men, for some reason, a floppy wrist. Like a weak handshake, it triggered their little neanderthal brain. “I get that it sounds weird out of context. But like, okay. So in the, like, 1970s, in America? They had this President, right, Ronald Reagan?” Wrong. “And he, like, hated birds. So he formed the CIA,” made even funnier by the Task Force tangentially being CIA controlled, “And had them capture and kill all the wild birds, right? Except obviously people would have noticed if all the birds just disappeared, so he had them replaced with robots.” 

You stared at him for a moment, waiting to see if he was keeping up. He stared back, lips pressed together and nostrils flared. “Or androids? I don’t really know. Are they different? I think they’re synonymous. Anyways, he had robot birds made so that he could spy on the American people during the Cold War. And, like. He couldn’t do it with domesticated food birds, so he had them sterilized. And cows evolved to make eggs because birds couldn’t.” 

You nodded, and smiled, empty. Vacant. Not a thought in this head. “So I guess you used to be right,” you finished, patting his arm like it was a consolation. 

MacTavish opened his mouth, closed it. Let out a breath through his nose like an angry bull. For a moment, you wondered if this was it. Was this really all it took? The Birds Aren’t Real Conspiracy? You had so many more. GMOs. Bananas. You could be a very convincing Flat Earther. Buffalos. God, you loved the buffalo bit. 

“Who,” he stopped. Started again. “Who told ye that?” 

“My Governments teacher,” you answered immediately. “Mr. Schumacher. I loved his class, he taught us soo much.” 

“He lied.” MacTavished butted in, voice low. You bet he sounded like a blender in the morning, all gravely bass. You wanted to coo at him, at how cute he was, all ruffled. Instead, you did your best sure, Jan and shrugged. 

“I mean, I think a teacher would know better than the internet, but if you say so, sergeant,” you agreed placidly.

Stressed, he rubbed a hand over his mohawk. And then, phone still in hand, he pointed at you, and left. 

You watched him go, agreeable with the way his jeans sat on his ass. You wondered if he ever wore those bedazzled Buckle jeans. You wondered if you could ever get him into a pair either way. The door slammed behind him, shaking a layer of dust off the ceiling tiles. After a moment, when you were sure he wouldn’t be coming back, you tossed your package of paper towels into the nearest box. 

You needed a new hiding spot. 

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

The gentle stag Lovely surprise

The gentle stag Lovely surprise

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Keith x MC                                                                                           

Tag: Established relationship Birthday Fluff

Word Count : 725

Author’s Note: A special birthday deserves a special surprise, like a kiss from his lover that awaited his return admiring the country she take as their home. As soon as he comes back they did not shy away from confessing their feeling to each other, basking pleasantly in the warm hug of their love. 🥰

Side Note: All the images were found on Pinterest-Google and I was unable to find the source, please if any of you know the owner tell me and I will provide to give the artist the credit for the image.

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @lordsisterxotome  @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @natimiles @nightghoul381 @dragon-liquorice @candied-boys

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a frizzy winter morning, one of those she would have desired to spend snuggled in the covers, but duty calls and so she was up so early, waiting impatiently for the return of her husband.

She stifled a yawn leaning in the softness of the sofa lazily admiring the town stretching before her eyes, each corner bustling with noise while the early birds sang a sweet melody, she would have never got tired to listen to,  chirping happily as they flied carelessly around the trees, chasing one another in the shy tepid rays of the rising sun,

The roads were filled with chit chats and clatter of horses' hooves on the cobblestone, a suffused music came from the vast land of the countryside, a shepherds’ song followed by the tingling bells of the animals with their verses seemed to accompany the song.

The sweet aroma of bakery and cooking wafted in the frizzy air of dawn, eliciting her an idea or two about certain recipes she desired to bake with him, even though she already pictured the mess the palace kitchen would have been in after they finished.

A scenario that was not unlike to happen, as it already had, making her giggle at the image of his lovely husband grey's hair covered in flour as he looked at her like a puppy caught in the rain, knowing far too well she would have hugged him and reassured him with ever so sweet kisses ... and later when they were alone in the bedroom even more than that.

A smile raised to curl her lips as soon as the pleasant scent of musk and wood reached her nostrils, the same perfume she would have recognized amidst a thousand, affection wrinkling her eyes as she turned to greet him.

"Welcome home."

"I am sorry to have woken you up so soon, you could have slept a little longer."

"Thank you but  I wouldn't wish it any other way, or else I would have missed the spectacle the dawn was."

His ever gentle fingers adjusted the velvet jade shawl around her shoulder as he took a seat next to her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close as she nuzzled into his chest.

A rush of boldness ran in her as she raised her face to cup his face in her hands, staring in his gorgeous amber eyes glimmering with surprise as she leaned to brush a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Happy birthday Keith."

The smile curling his lips was so bright and pure she felt an urge to steal that ray of sun only for herself, but he moved first melting his lips on her in a sweet slow kiss they savoured each other with.

Favourite flavour because to them both their love tasted like Home.

Reluctantly he pulled away, brushing his finger ever so gently over her cheek leaving an achingly tender kiss on his forehead.

"Thank you. It is now you are here with me."

His smile mirrored her own, while his eyes reflected all the love and devotion he felt for her alone.

Swiftly he took her in his arms, laying with her on the bed determined to show off his love to her until the stars would have come out again, solitary audience to that spectacle that was their alone to indulge in behind closed doors.

Gently he pulled away looking straight in her eyes, losing himself in the contemplation of all the affection reflected in them as he bent over to brush his nose with hers revelling in her soft giggles.

"I love you so ma douche biche."

"I love you too mon cerf, all of you."

His heart burst with warmth at the unconditional love spreading from her words, but he did his best to convey his own happiness wrapping his arms around her as they basking a little longer in their soft hug, brushing gentle kisses on her hair making her giggle, music he would have never fog tired to listen to, feeling his heart swell with affection as she nuzzled in his chest.

That day he would have made more than sure to show the depth of his feeling to her, his one and only Queen, deepening that feeling that bound their heart together for nothing was stronger than the mighty power of love.

[writernopal]

Find the Word

Hi, hello, using this as proof that I do indeed live lol I've just been. Having A Time. Anyway, thank you to @oh-no-another-idea for tagging me here!

My words to find were: remember, something, blue, and dawn. All sneeps are coming from Man O' War for this one because I desperately miss this project!

remember

‘Do not expect to return as you are.’  Quye’ck looked all around. Not a thing for miles. Did it matter where he went? ‘With any luck, you shall return as who you are meant to be.’ Perhaps. Perhaps not. But anywhere was better than standing here.  ‘The wilds are the furnace and anvil with which Kava perfects us in her image. Remember that and you shall not break.’

something

They walked, in his case, slithered, for miles and miles, cleaving through sand and across earth. Sand and earth. Sand and earth… Golden and shining. Waves upon waves of splendor decorated the horizon, marvelously unaware of their own violence, blotched only by the occasional tuft of something living and wild. Perhaps a hare or a dried up shrub. It was hard to know, and he hardly cared. The blank stares from before had yet to leave his mind, and the hobbling steps of the modest one created an uneasy clock, ticking down and down…  Four days later, the clock stopped ticking, striking instead a heavy sound.  They stopped. 

blue

A man as tall and wide as his Pa, though far more wrinkled, circled the couple, speaking words not of contract but of unity. He donned robes in the same bright colors of the squawking birds that decorated the canopies of The Heartlands—rich greens, vivid yellows, and brilliant blues—to stand out against his maroon scales. Jewelry crafted of carefully carved wood and bone dangled around his neck, wrists, and ankles, making the pieces of steel in his nose all the more noticeable. They glinted in the candlelight. One, two, three, four, five rings straddled the space between his nostrils, one for each of his wives. Not just ‘a man’ then, no, he was the indelible, the ancient, Lord X’chtlama, Clan Leader of Lexlar. The only one worth remembering in that sea of faces.

dawn

He flinched and from the cluttered space emerged a woman. She was old and walked with a cane. Her scales were a silvery-blue, like the waking color of the dawn sky, and her shoulders were hunched. They made the papery crest trailing down her back appear more like a vestigial fin or perhaps a tattered piece of old fashion. Swirls of shapeless fabric draped over her person, given structure by cleverly placed pins and a heavy belt. On her face, a kindly and teetering smile. One which made apparent the puckering creases on her snout and around her mouth as it quivered to form that pleasant look.

Tagging (gently): @tabswrites @void-botanist @thatndginger @sarahlizziewrites

Your words will be: wither, gather, surreal, and fragrant

M.O.W Taglist: @moonluringfrost @full-on-sam @illjustpretend @sparatus @outpost51 @captain-kraken @the-mindless @zestymimblo @mysticstarlightduck @tabswrites @void-botanist

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[shebeafancyflapjack]

Defiled

(Just me torturing my oc Silver some more to vent some feelings. Tw: this story has some clear SA allegories. Nothing explicit but yes it's intentional. Warning for homophobic and sexist slurs).

Boys will be boys.

Kids will be kids.

It doesn't matter if they're in their twenties. It doesn't matter if they are old enough to drive, to drink, own property or even have kids of their own. Some men will always be boys, the world little more than a playground for their amusement, rules there to be broken.

The five of them are on a stag weekend. Johnny boy is getting hitched to the barmaid in town, who he also happened to knock up a year ago. Tied down already but might as well make it official for tax benefits. His last few days of freedom, him and his pals are doing an epic crawl across Surrey, grabbing any taxi they can and crashing the nearest pub to drink themselves stupid, annoy the country bumpkin locals, and then move on.

No taxi rank at the last place, so they're taking the journey on foot, hiking across woods and fields in the dead of night. Simon and Chris are using their phones as torches to light the way, though everyone is stumbling and falling arse over head every seven steps.

"SWEET CAROLINE! WOAH WOAH WOAH!" They croon, ducking their heads to not bump into the branches of the trees. "GOOD TIMES NEVER SEEMED SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!"

"Oi, ain't we near that fancy golf hotel? I 'ear they got a members bar, bet they do shots!" Kyle pipes.

"It's half ten, ya numpty, they ain't gonna be open are they!" Chris slapped him on the back of the head.

"Posh arse place like that won't let the likes of you chavs in anyhow."

"Ey, who you calling a chav? I earn more than you, ya prick!"

"All about style, not money, bruv, and that's where some of us got class and some ain't!" Simon swaggered, while the others made mocking hoots as he tilted the stripper's police cap on his head.

They decided to cut across the golf course to reach the main road, very little in the way of fencing. A few decided to relieve themselves on some of the holes and bunkers, writing messages in the sand for the greenkeepers.

"Clean me." "Thanks mate!" "Hole in 1!"

Along with some dick images of course.

"Sure you don't wanna try breaking into that members bar? Ain't a good stag do unless the groom to be ends up in jail."

"Sod that. Let's just get on the coke already. Ey, look, some benches near them trees." Pointed Kyle.

"You wanna do lines off a bench, you scummer?"

"Think we're gonna come across another surface soon? You got us kicked out the last place by grabbing that waitress. She weren't even fit! Who ate all the pies, ey?"

Laughter from their group sent the squirrels running into the trees and the deer to their dens. But the boys had enough sense to keep the volume down enough not to be picked up by the hotel, all the way across the course.

Only a few lights were on in the building, mostly upstairs for the residents watching TV.

An hour later, the bench is covered with white powder as if it had been snowing in July. The boys are daring each other to climb trees and pose for stupid pictures, Simon trying to chase a poor deer to make Johnny try to snog it.

"Ey lads! Check this out!" Kyle called them over, rubbing his nostrils.

"What the fuck is that?"

They gathered around the weird ass shrine. Lots of flowers and little statues set up as if around an invisible coffin.

"This a grave? In the middle of the woods? Who does that?"

"Maybe it's for someone's dog."

"Nah, look here." Simon pointed to a sketch on the tree, above a plaque; "Some bird who croaked here. Silver Ravenstar. What kind of fucking name is that?!"

"Check out all the symbols. Must have been some hippy, tree hugging witch bitch."

They'd all attended good, Christian schools, not that it would be easy to see, or that any of them seemed to give a shit until tonight.

"Says in brackets 'Louise Smith'. Died about twenty years ago."

Kyle whipped out his phone; "Give us a sec." Quick Google search, though he misspelled a little in his coked state; "....Fuck. Only one newspaper from years back about a girl who was found here dead. No suspicious reason. Suspected....Ha! Suspected drug usage but most likely natural causes. Bitch was some crazy little junkie."

"Fuck that! My old man gets his leg blown off in Afghanistan - he kills himself two weeks later and gets fuck all 'cause we can't afford a decent funeral for him. But this devil worshipping cunt who no-one heard of gets this set up?!" Johnny spat against the picture.

The boys shared similar looks. Anything that made Johnny boy think of his dad was a touchy issue.

"She was probably the daughter of the hotel owner. Or some rich golfing twat who comes here." Despite not being anything close to poor, the lads were middle-working class enough to hate on both those above and below in wealth.

Simon laughed and lay atop the flowers, on his belly.

"You reckon she's buried here? She probably died a virgin! Reckon I can pop her cherry in the afterlife?!" He unzipped his flies, as if ready to begin humping the ground.

Johnny kicked his sides; "Nah, look at that sket. Bet she had already been with all sorts before she snuffed it. I met some freaky Pagans in college, d'you know they do all their spells naked? Sometimes even have orgies? It's manic!"

Chris grabbed at the little bisexual pride flag hung up; "Of course she was a fucking dyke as well!"

He laughed as he crumpled it up and threw it to the dirt.

"Let's make this little memorial more fitting, shall we lads?"

Simon tossed Johnny a can of spray paint. He shook it up, the contents light as they'd used most of it on the bus stops in the village.

Kyle picked up a rock and scratched the name from the engraving. Simon then sprayed over the tree with the more appropriate name.

No hammers or knives. But they found what they needed in the Earth around them, ironically.

False idols were to be broken, Johnny remembered from Sunday school, though Chris made a show of snogging and pretending to thrust into the statue of some goddess welding a bow, the crescent moon as her crown.

A few more lines snorted on the log chair set up close by. More words carved into the trees.

And then Johnny boy struck the match.

"BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!"

"Fuck yeah, burn in hell, you little slut, you fucking nobody!" Johnny dropped it upon the mound of flowers.

The alcohol from the cans of beer they'd been swigging as they danced and trampled over the site made the flames spread rapidly. Within three seconds, every bit of colour, every petal and stem, had been devoured. The boys stepped back as the smoke rose into a thick pillar escaping through the tree tops.

"Shit! Put that out! Before someone sees, then we're really gonna be in it!" Simon hissed.

The boys stomped their boots on the ground until every flame was snuffed.

"Get them fucking embers, man!"

All any of them had in the way of non-alcoholic liquid was a half-full can of Monster Monarch, which Kyle tossed on the last few glowing specks.

"That all of them?"

"Think so. Quick, let's get the fuck out of here."

"Where to next? Wanna piss on Stonehenge?" Chris asked, to which all the lads laughed, their arms around each others shoulders as they stumbled into the night.

Many people had barbecues this time of year. Burning was such a common smell that Robin paid little attention to it. His nostrils flare as he enters the woods, noticing it's getting closer. But there's no sign of any flames that would be easy to spot on a night like this.

And yet, there is smoke....

"Sorry me late!" He called out, sure she had to be awake by now. The sun had set nearly an hour ago. "Got too into Stompy's horror movie 'bout creepy clown....Moonah girl?"

Had she already gone off to the hotel? Wait. He sniffed, smelling her close. No trail. He was in the right direction.

And then, a tiny sound. A snuffle. A cry.

"Moonah girl?!"

He rushed forward. Then he saw.

"Oh...No...."

The mound of blue flowers surrounded by Alison's added lilies and roses was now a large patch of grey ash and black, shriveled stems. Fragments of smashed white resin and porcelain and glass littered the site. Sketches and flags had been shredded and now became caught by the night breeze. Across the tree barks surrounding the bed, sprayed in red, were the words...

Whore. Slut. Dyke.

Burn The Witch. Burn in Hell. Burn. Burn. Burn.

And there, laying upon the ash, was the witch herself. Sobbing, curled into a fetal position around the smashed framed sketch of...

Robin's fists curled at his sides, knuckles turning white. His jaw clenched.

How. Dare. They.

Silver continued to weep, her body racked with aching sobs, one hand next to Alison's drawing of Mary.

"....Who?" Was all Robin asked.

Static fizzled between his fingertips.

"Who?! Who did it?!"

She didn't answer. She didn't care. Not really. They were most likely gone now. They were nobody. Just as she'd been nobody to them. And yet the mere idea of her enough had encouraged such cruelty. Such perverse abuse upon a girl already long dead.

Her gods. Her bed. Her...Her Mary. Destroyed.

The caveman gingerly reached his paw to touch her arm. Only then did she finally scream.

[meiramenu]

Hii!! This is a series that I will mainly be focused on hope you enjoy!

Soul Switcher

☆ The classic story of two unknown lovers. ☆

The sun shined brightly into your window. The delicate music of the birds has brought a tin of hope and glory into your room. You ran down the stairs after fixing your hair, and putting on your clothes for school. The starchy smell from your mom's dark coffee lingered in your nostrils, tickling your brain. 

“Hey honey, ready for school?” your mom said, bringing the rim of the porcelain cup to her lips.

“Yes,” you said picking up your backpack. The bell rang, You stepped into your History class flopping your backpack down next to you. History class was one of your favorite classes. Yeah, learning about the different periods of time and learning about different cultures, was fun but staring at Krist’s gorgeous face was even more amazing, just as he is, I mean he WAS the captain of the swimmer's team. You have been thinking a lot lately about maybe going to one of the games. 

“Okay, class settles down.” Mr Stayser said, clapping his hands together in one swift motion. The whole class fell into silence, everyone was now staring at Mr Stayser.

“ I hope you guys had an amazing first day of school yesterday,” He said while replacing the number 4 on the board with a 5. 

“Well, let's get our first project ready”. Everyone's eyes rolled in sync one student sprinted out their arm and yelled without waiting for the teacher's approval to talk.

“It's literally the  2nd day of school why the hell do we already have a project.” He spoke out everyone's thoughts.  The teacher put a pause to his writing before ignoring the student’s statement and continuing his commotion on the board. The student sank into his seat. Partner culture project. He spelled it on the board. 

“So today I will assign you guys a partner for a project,” he said putting down his black marker.

“ It will be a year-round project so it will count for half of your grade,” he said, crossing his arm over his torso. 

“This project will require you and your partner to make very deep and insightful Google slides, or posters on a culture that I will be chosen by me” I could feel all the students ready to bounce on Mr Stayser like he was some kind of bush meat. A student nervously put up their hand. 

“Yes,” Mr Stayser said, giving the student permission to speak.

“Can we pick our own partn-” 

“Nope software will be randomizing you guys’ partners,” He said making his way to his desk and projecting his computer onto the board. 

you hear groans and exciting noises, you were partnered up with Krist, and you are excited, you turn around to see Krist's reaction, and he rolls his eyes. Oh. 

  “Go,” Mr Stayser said, the person next to me got up, and just as fast krist sat next to me, 

“Say hi to your partner, get used to them” you gulped

“After all you will be spending the rest of the year with them” Kirst stayed silent, did you really think he would talk to you? How pathetic. 

Mr. Stayser came up to you placing a roughly folded paper in between you and Krist. Krist reached out his veiny hands and unfolded the paper. 

“Italy,” he said. 

“Should we meet at my house?” you said.

“yeah whatever,” he said leaning in his seat and staring at the ceiling, his Adam's apple bopping up and down while he spoke. 

“Here is my number,” he said giving you the small piece of paper your country had previously been on. 

“Oh ok I will just text you my address,” you said holding the tiny piece of paper in your hands. Did Kristofer Smith, just give you his phone number? The bell rang. 

“Oh well see you there,” he said getting his backpack. 

“Y-yeah sure” you replied. 

He gave you a small nod before stepping out of class. His girlfriend was waiting for him.

You took your bag and walked to your next class.

[julietas-basil]

hellooou can I request a Julieta x Agustin or a male reader where in the kitchen is like early morning they are making out and then alma catches them imagine alma's face lol

i lovee your writting

Of course! thank you so much for trusting me with this! I hope you'll enjoy!

(I don't speak Spanish nor do I have knowledge,I just visit Google translate often)

Vocabulary

Nosotros estamos en la cocina: we are in the kitchen

Ni siquiera Los piences: don't even think about it

Vete de aquí: get away from here

It was morning,early after the sun has just extended its first Sunrays painting the sky in golden yellow shadows,the birds chirping soundly to accompany the beginning of a harmonious morning. Julieta was in the kitchen,staring outside the window over the trees. A smile was formed between her cheeks,taking into the scenery that slowly occurred in front of her eyes. With a sigh she pulled herself up,yawning under her hand so to gather enough powers for the following day. Coffee wasn't much of her liking,it actually didn't offer much to the sleepiness that threatened to take over her body,but it kept her in low levels of hyperactivity.

She walked back and forth in search of ingredients,herbs. She started humming an old song under her breath,tapping gently her foot on the ground. She had leaned a little forward to read some notes on another recipe,a finger scratching her chin in question and curiosity. Her eyes twitched,trying to focus under the dim light of the sun and the candles on the white paper note...

'Ay,my eyes have failed me'

She thought,moving her hands in defense of herself against the rules of the time,a long sigh escaping her mouth. Her body swifted from side to side,adding to the food,preparing the other snacks for the town's people. Multitasking had turned into a chance to dance even rather than wait for one thing to get ready...she could easily reach everywhere pretty fast,pretty skillful huh?

The sweet rhythm of the song started playing on her lips again,only mumbling a few lyrics to spice up her mood that was a bit influenced by the tiredness of the morning call. Agustín silently stepped on the main floor,fixing his tie with a satisfied grin - It wasn't every time he made up his tie right,Julieta had to be present for that and it was his favorite view first thing in the morning,he was not gonna lie...

His walking altered upon listening to her voice. Stepping between the door frame,resting his shoulder blade over the sculpted cement. He nodded his head in appreciation of his esposa's gentle sound and he simply stared at her -dipping in fingers to taste the food,tasting its flavor,burning her skin,cursing every now and then.

"¡Agustín!"

The cook exclaimed after noticing her husband looking fondly at her

"Buenos días,mi Amor"

Agustín stepped towards into the room,reaching for his girl. Julieta scavenged her hands together so as to face her bee boy. But a pair of hands firmly held her in her place

"Don't move,it's alright!" He whispered protesting. His lips came to rest on the soft skin in the curve of her neck taking in the cinnamon scent

'just like the first time...'

He thought to himself,the nostalgic scent filling his nostrils. It was like the first time he met her,her presence was identified by that aroma and that could easily inform you that she was there. He started planting kisses across the back of her neck,her shoulders

"Agustín,did you come to district me?"

He smiled,biting onto her flesh,his arms embracing further onto her stomach. Large hands grabbed onto a pair of full breasts over a detailed cooking apron. Her hands immediately gripped his in an attempt to stop his ministrations

"¡Agustín,nosotros estamos en la cocina!"

The tall man laughed in her ear. His left hand pulled the over the tiled kitchen stall,turning the older woman around. His pupils had dilated and irises had darkened,the nurse could tell by the way he roamed her with his quick stares

"Agustín,mi Vida the kids will be up soon,I have to make breakfast"

she leaned over to meet his gaze,her warm hand cupping his flushed cheek in reassurance. He just huffed and twisted his arm around her waist,his digits played for a short time with the ribbon of her apron

"I'm aware Julieta...just-"

he stood straight,untying the knot taking off the teal cloth slowly. Julieta just stared a puzzled expression in her face

"Honey,you're not listening..."

"Casita turn off the kitchen"

by the time she reacted at last,was removed from her waist and off her body,thrown over the wooden table. He sprung on the short woman by connecting their lips in a longing kiss making the nurse whine in surprise. Her arms pressed into his chaste,trying to pause him from going further unsuccesfully,as his hands traced over the hem of her underwear. The older woman's hands cupped both the sides of his arms,gropping just enough for him to alter his ways

Julieta then sensed a pair of hands extending over her backside,suddenly firmly gripping her mounds massaging the clothed skin in circles

"Mmh!"

She felt Agustín's grin against their passionate kiss,colliding their midsections together. A much softer moan escaped her lips now her fingers entangled between his grey-ish hair. At that moment she realized that she had betrayed herself,giving in to his -oh so undoubtedly caring attention- but at the same time it had been so long since they did something and away from everyone... Excellent idea! How hadn't she thought about that,besides that would be a very thoughtful present for his birthday...

"You feel amazing Chiquita...so warm,so soft,so-"

Agustín parted from their kiss and grinned once more bitting his bottom lip,while stroking her back fondly,Julieta joined his giggle,her fingertips fighting now over his pants' buttons,their lips joining into a sloppy kiss-

"¡Díos mio! What are you two doing?"

Alma's aggregated voice echoed across the room,startling Julieta,who in her panic shoved her esposo over the table in all her power. Her cheeks where so flushed and she was doomed and caught doing the 'deed' with her husband by her MOTHER . Never in her life could she imagine that this could happen and in the kitchen...well she was getting scolded for sure!

Poor Agustín stumbled in his footing,hitting his back at the edge of the table,hissing in the process

"Mamà!"

"¡Abuela Alma!"

Both of them replied in unison,as they stared onto a frustrated elder woman. The taller man gulped,while the cook looked at the floor,dusting off her skirt to escape showing her embarrassment...

"Buenos Días,mi Niños...Casita bring the table outside Linda!"

The 75 year old woman clapped for the Casita to respond in clicking tiles. The couple old couple released a heavy exhale after Alma went far away. Julieta furiously raised a finger at her husband

"Don't. Say. Anything!"

"You're so hot when you're angry-"

"ni siquiera lo pienses..."

Agustín mocked his wife by muttering her words on her ear,the proceeded diving a finger in the boiling stew earning a striking slap in his hand from his wife

"¡Ay,Vete de aquí!"

"Alright!"

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 [𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐋𝐄𝐑]

PAIRINGS —  Laszlo Kreizler x fem!reader

SUMMARY —  After the death of Martha Napp Laszlo can't seem to get out of his head and deal with his emotions concerning his own guilt and all you want to do is help.

WARNINGS — minor season 2 episode 1 spoilers, descriptions of death (by electric chair), a bit of sadness and minor angst (but there's fluff too I promise), pregnancy

NOTE — Alright you guys! This is it! The fic you guys helped me plan! As you can see it's for Laszlo, and a fluff/hurt comfort fic. The prompts that got the most votes are bolded and used down below and I took a few of your guys' suggestions as well. I can't wait to see what you guys think and thank you so much for helping me pass so many milestones <3 [Also I got the translation of the name (Ilka) off google so apologies if it's inaccurate]

The rhythmic bouncing of the carriage was not enough of a distraction to deter Laszlo’s thoughts from what had just happened. The images of her convulsing body through his mind, the way she shook, screamed and then stopped. The silence was worse than her screams.

If he had just managed to find the baby, well and alive this would have never happened. He wouldn’t have failed them. Failed them both.

But now Martha Napp was dead. The smell of her burning flesh stained in his nostrils. The words of the guards as they called for higher voltage. More than necessary to kill. 1000, 2000, his voice caught in his throat, wanting to scream for them to stop, they had done enough. They had taken the poor mother from her child. An innocent woman.

He couldn’t comprehend who would have taken her baby. Let alone why.

He couldn’t go home. No, not yet.

“Stevie,” he said, his voice more strained than it would have normally been.

“Yes Dr. Kreizler,” the boy nodded, turning his head around.

“Would you take me to the park please,”

“Not home?” he asked and Laszlo shook his head.

“I find myself in need to… clear my head,”

Stevie turned the carriage to go towards the park while Laszlo tried to focus his mind elsewhere in a much futile attempt. All that he could hear was the shaking of the chair against the ground and the sloshing of the water in the bucket at her feet.

Stevie stopped the carriage in front of the park, letting Laszlo climb out of the vehicle and walk carefully over to the bench, the chatter of children and families, birds chirping, drowning out his thoughts if even only for a short time. The evening air was cool but refreshing and the sun gave everything a wonderful orange hue. It would have been a nice day if his mind wasn’t plagued with guilt and regret.

Although when he sat down on the bench, he wasn’t not expecting to have another body join him. A familiar one at that.

“Laszlo,”

His head turned and he was met with John’s tired and apologetic eyes.

“What might you be doing John?” he asked carefully.

“I thought I might find you here,” he admitted. “I wanted to make sure you were alright,”

Laszlo chuckled humourlessly. “What a curious thing to ask after a day such as this,”

“Laszlo what happened was terrible, but it happened,” John insisted. “There’s no going back, all we can do is try our best to find the child before any more harm comes its way,”

“You didn’t make promises John,” Laszlo shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as a small breeze blew across them, leaves swirling at their feet. “I was a fool and I promised her things I couldn’t deliver,”

John turned to face his friend more fully.

“Laszlo this is not your fault,” he insisted. “You fought for Martha Napp, tirelessly, at every single impasse you were there, putting your reputation at stake, you mustn't forget that,”

Laszlo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“As much as I would like to wish what you said had granted me some comfort I’m afraid it hasn’t. Martha Napp did not deserve to die and I let that happen to her,”

John didn’t say anything, only extending an arm to place on the shoulder of his friend.

“Don’t think too hard Laszlo. We’ll find the child. That’s the first step to fulfilling the rest of the promise,”

Laszlo nodded his head and the two men stood up, sharing a handshake before parting ways.

Stevie was still waiting for the doctor, his carriage parked off to the side.

“Where to, Dr. Kreizler?”

“I should think I would like to stop by Sara’s office before heading home,” he said.

“Of course, hop in, we’ll get you there in no time,”

Laszlo nodded, greatly appreciating all the help Stevie had brought him, especially as of late. He wished to let his eyes rest on the way there, but every time he closed them he saw the most disturbing things. No, it was no longer only Martha’s death that his brain wished to put at the front of his mind. Images of his loved ones, in situations so foul he would never be able to find the words to describe them.

From that moment onwards he was determined to keep his eyes peeled open.

By the time they reached Sara’s office, the sun had set, and most if not all of the lights were off. He quietly crept in, peeking his head through the doors, and walking the halls until there was a slight click followed by,

“Laszlo! You must be more careful! I could have killed you,”

Sara was holding a gun, outstretched towards him. She placed it back in her purse and looked over at the doctor. Sympathy, but also the same amount of guilt in her own eyes.

“You would have been doing me a service,” he said quietly. “I can’t seem to rid myself of the smell of burning flesh,”

“A drink is in order then,”

“Ah yes,” he nodded. “I’d love a glass of-,”

“I’m going to stop you there,” she opened the door to her office, letting him come inside. “By drink, I mean American bourbon, straight or watered down,”

“I’ll have it straight then,” he nodded and Sara went to pour him the drink. “It’s quite interesting, the way you’ve decorated this place. It’s very you,”

“Laszlo please,” she sighed, handing him the drink, “I’d really wish for you not to try and discover the deepest secrets of my mind through the furnishings of my office,”

“Very well then,” he nodded, lifting his glass and sipping the strong amber liquid.

“There must be some reason you’re here,” Sara noted. “Is there a way I can be of assistance to you Laszlo?”

“Will you be taking on the case of finding the Napp child?” Laszlo asked.

“I feel like I must. The police have already determined it to be murder. No one will be looking for the baby,”

Laszlo nodded, taking another sip of the alcohol, his eyes trailing to the many guns and certificates that lined the office walls. There was a chalkboard in the corner, Napp was written in big white letters in the top centre and everything they knew about the case underneath it.

“Should you ever find yourself in need of my assistance,” Laszlo started.

“I will not hesitate to call on you,” Sara assured.

“I made a promise to Martha,” Laszlo explained. “You would be doing me a service Sara, as your friend, for letting me be involved in this,”

“Of course,” she nodded, tracing the rim of her glass with her thumb. She lifted it slightly as if in a meagre toast. “To Martha, may she find peace,”

Laszlo pressed his lips together, lifting his glass in a similar motion, tilting his head forward. “To Martha,”

Laszlo finished his drink then bid Sara goodnight finally instructing Stevie to take them home. Entering the house with a creak at the door he almost felt guilty. It was so late, he hadn’t called home all day, you were probably worried out of your mind.

He didn’t find you in your usual waiting spot, in the living room by the piano. Instead, upstairs, he saw the light of a candle illuminating his study and carefully made his way towards it, just barely grazing his fingers over the doorknob before gripping in tightly and twisting it with a gentle push open.

You were still in your day clothes, no doubt highly uncomfortable at this time of night, curled up in his chair with a novel in your hands.

He didn’t think you noticed him, but when you whispered,

“One more paragraph,” he knew you were nearing the end of the page and wanted to mark it properly.

As soon as your eyes scanned over the last word, you took the small slip of paper and placed it in the centre of the next two pages and shut the book, looking up at your husband and giving him your full attention.

“It’s late Laszlo,” you said simply and he pressed his lips together and nodded.

“I know, I apologize,” he said simply, not wishing to elaborate on his worries, but you had a different idea.

“Won’t you come closer?” you asked. “I haven’t seen you all day,”

You changed your seating on the chair, feet down on the ground, legs pressed together, your arms resting on either armrest. Laszlo blinked once and for a moment his heart stopped. Your feet were placed in a bucket of water, arms tied down, a cap on your head, but he blinked again and it was gone.

“Why don’t you come to me,” he suggested gently, trying to coerce you into leaving the chair, allowing his mind some rest and ease.

You agreed silently by standing up and walking over to him, your hair falling down in its natural way after having unpinned it some time ago. You looked peaceful. You always did, especially this late at night, it was the time your mind was most at ease.

Your hand reached out to move a misplaced curl from his forehead, a weak smile grazing your lips.

For some reason, Laszlo wasn’t altogether sure why, he flinched at the contact, causing your smile to turn into a frown. You removed your hand quickly, bringing it to your chest, fingers gently fiddling with the frilly fabric of your dress.

“Something happened,” you said simply, knowing without him having to utter a word. “Talk to me Las,”

“It was nothing,”

He knew it was pointless to lie, but it came out anyway. He didn’t want to burden you, he never did. And this, this was the burden to bear all burdens.

“Laszlo,” you said, your voice almost lightly scolding. “Qui n’avance pas, recule,” (He who does not move forward, recedes)

“I-,”

“You cannot say it doesn’t apply to you my love you’ve used that many a night to win an argument with me,” you said, but it was gentle, loving, you wanted to help.

“(Y/N) I can’t say,” he shook his head. “I can’t tell you,”

“What do you mean?” this worried you. “I’m here to help Laszlo, I took that as a part of my vows to you, that I would be here through it all, don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” he nodded, but then shook his head and broke his gaze away from you. “I just… I just can’t say,”

You took a deep breath, your own eyes trailing to the clock on the wall. It was late, you couldn’t fight all night.

You didn’t say another word, only gently pushing past him and making your way to your room.

It was a relief to rid yourself of your dress and corset, you felt as if you could finally breathe, the physical side of your body now relaxed along with your mind. Well, as relaxed as your mind could be after the conversation with your husband.

You thought of him while you picked up your sleep clothes, one of Laszlo’s shirts and a pair of his trousers, they messed them up at the tailors and they seemed to fit you better and you loved to sleep in them. It made you feel like you were eternally being held by him. A pseudo embrace.

These past weeks had been hard. The case he was working took much of his time, he was overworked, overtired, and stressed beyond words. You just wanted to be next to him, you wanted to be able to work through whatever was going on in his mind with him. He may have been the alienist, but alienists needed someone to look after them too.

You had been laying in bed, staring out the window, praying that the door would open and Laszlo would come rest by your side, but nothing happened. A half-hour passed and still, nothing.

Your worries got the better of you and you pushed yourself up on the bed, going to make your way to his study where you assumed him to be, but the candles had been since blown out. So carefully, you made your way down the halls, peeking your heads into the rooms until you reached the middle one, pressing against the wood and glancing over at Laszlo.

He stood, placed almost in a calculated manner in front of the bassinet, his hands in his pockets, looking down at the sleeping figure of your daughter, and from there everything started to make sense.

All these demons haunting him, whatever was causing him to feel this way was because he thought you, you and Ilka could be in danger. His darling angels.

You chewed your bottom lip, watching his hand reach out to gently stroke her cheek, such an innocent, loving gesture and you could sense how much he wanted to hold her, but at the same time not wishing to rouse her from her peaceful sleep.

For a moment, your mind drifted back to happy memories, memories of a time when things seemed to be alright after one madness had ended and before another began.

—

You stepped out of the doctor's office and into the summer sun, your breath caught in your throat. This was news, you hardly thought it was going to be anything like this. You thought maybe just an illness that might require a tonic or medication of some kind, but this was more of a permanent affliction. Maybe affliction was the wrong word.

But suddenly the air smelled fresher, the sun shone a little brighter, and everything seemed right.

You decided it might be nice to walk home instead of being stuck in a carriage, an unusual smile on your face up until the point where you realized something.

How in the world were you supposed to tell Laszlo?

He was out of town for work, you hadn’t told him about your symptoms, you knew it would worry him and now you were in a bit of a bind. You were so caught up in your thoughts of how to inform your husband (surely you would want to do it in person) that you didn’t notice the lady walking directly towards you, her head bent down in concentration, reading a newspaper.

You both bumped into each other, spewing out apologies immediately before you realized that you knew each other.

It was Sara Howard.

“Sara!” you grinned, placing a hand against your chest. “Goodness you gave me quite a fright, are you okay?”

“Oh I’m fine,” she nodded, quickly folding her paper up and giving you her attention.

“It seems we are both a bit lost in our minds,”

“Yes, I fear more so for me, I seem to be going in the wrong direction,” she frowned with a playful chuckle. “May I accompany you?”

“Yes of course,” you nodded, extending an arm to her so she could link it with her own and you could walk down the street together. “What brings you to this end of town?”

“Just work,” she nodded. “I’m looking for some office space currently,”

“For the detective agency?”

Sara nodded with a smile.

“Oh! There’s a nice cozy little place on Broadway that might work perfectly,”

“I’ll have to take a look at it,” Sara hummed. “Now what has got you in such a chipper mood? Normally when Laszlo’s out of town you barely leave the house,” she remarked.

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, but unable to keep the smile from your face.

“(Y/N) you are such a terrible liar,”

“Well if I’m such a terrible liar what am I hiding?” you asked, raising your brows.

“I’ll give you the recipe for my grandmother's pound cake if you tell me,” she coaxed.

“Oh really?” you asked, your stomach already growling at the thought of the sweet treat. Sara gave you another nod and you bit your lip and stomped your foot down on the ground. You wouldn’t be able to tell Laszlo until he got back and it was such a heavy thing to keep to yourself, perhaps it was best to share it with your close friend and confidant. She would already come to know it at some point.

“Alright, but you mustn't tell Laszlo until I’ve had the chance to speak with him myself,” you insisted and Sara nodded adamantly. “I was at the doctor's office and they told me… well they told me that I’m with child,”

Sara’s eyes were blown as wide as you had ever seen them, clearly not expecting such an answer.

“(Y/N) this is wonderful news,” Sara stopped walking to pull you into a hug. “I’m incredibly happy for you and Laszlo,”

“As am I,” you nodded, holding your friend a little tighter. “I must admit we’ve spoken about starting a family recently, but nothing quite so serious, but I suppose the decision has been made for us hasn’t it,”

“Yes, it does seem that way. Let me walk you home then, it only seems appropriate to have someone watch over you at such a time,”

“Oh Sara I would be fine, but I won’t deny you my company,” you smirked and she rolled her eyes lightly.

“Is there someone around that you can call on if need be?”

“Stevie is at home and if it turns out I need more than his assistance I won’t hesitate to call you or John,” you assured her, “You have my word,”

“Good,” she smiled somewhat victoriously and let go of your arm so you could turn to walk up the steps to your home. “(Y/N) be sure to tell me as soon as you’ve mentioned it to Laszlo,”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to keep either of you waiting too long,” you chuckled. “It was nice seeing you Sara and don’t hesitate to stop over for a visit, we do not do it often enough,”

“I’ll be sure to keep the offer in my mind,”

You bid your friend goodbye and walked up the steps to your home, entering quietly despite the fact that no one was there and pressed your back against the door, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. You wished Laszlo would hurry back home, you did, after all, have big news to share with him.

—

A few weeks had passed since your encounter with Sara, Laszlo had made it back safely home a week ago, but it seemed, as with most things, it had slipped your mind to tell him about your...delicate situation.

You sat together in the dining room, sharing a dinner of beef stew when suddenly a wave of nausea overcame you.

Laszlo didn’t notice it at first, talking about a piece of literature he had read, but when his eyes flicked up he saw your head in one hand and the over placed on your chest as if to suppress a not so delightful feeling.

“(Y/N), is something the matter?” he asked, quickly wiping his hands and stepping away from his chair to come closer to your side.

His hand pushed some hair away from your forehead and prompted you to look at him.

“It’s just another bout of nausea, it should pass soon,” you said, taking in a shaky breath.

“My beloved, this is happening far too often don’t you think?” he asked. “We must find a way for you to see a doctor soon,”

“Laszlo I’m fine it’s just the baby,” you waved off your husband and his face seemed to go ghostly pale.

“B-Baby?” he repeated, standing up and you finally realized the problem with what you said. You cursed under your breath and looked up at him with an apologetic smile, standing up to be at eye level with him.

You held back a small chuckle as you tried to explain yourself to him, “I-I was meaning to tell you, but it must have slipped my mind,” you said. “You were gone for so long and I wished to tell you in person, but after the appointment, I ran into Sara and she’s been helping me with things I practically forgot I didn’t tell you,”

At this point Laszlo surprised you, you thought he might be upset, but his face bore the same light-heartedness as your own, a playful frustration.

“Sara? You told Sara before me?” he said, unable to fight back the smile that came upon his features.

“In my defence, I forgot I didn’t tell you,” you retorted playfully.

“Forgot you didn’t- it was my own child good God (Y/N)!” he laughed and oh what a wonderful sound it was. It wasn’t often you heard such a thing, but the amount of pure joy that radiated through his voice was enough to lift one off their feet.

“I’m really sorry Laszlo truly,” you giggled, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Were you ever going to tell me or was I just supposed to live in ignorant bliss the rest of my life?” he jested and you slapped his arm lightly.

“Just shut up and kiss me already,”

That was something you didn’t need to ask Laszlo twice to do, his lips were firmly on yours, his right hand pressed against your stomach while his left held the back of your neck.

“A child, my beloved, I-I’m at a loss for words,” he whispered into your lips.

“For once,” you rolled your eyes and he kissed you harder to silence you, a slight squeal escaping past your lips.

He paused, his forehead pressed against yours looking deep into your eyes before something dawned on him.

“Your corset, it’s constricting your airways, increasing your nausea,” he looked worried now. “We’re at home you should take it off,”

“I assume you’re finished with dinner then,” you chuckled lightly.

“My mind is spinning, of course, I no longer have an appetite,” he took your hands in his. “Come let us rest,”

Nodding your head you followed him up to your room, discarded dishes on the table paired with unfinished food.

When you entered the room he drew the blinds shut and closed the door, coming back to your side to help you.

You had already removed your blouse and he placed his right hand holding your waist while his left undid the knot of your corset, carefully pulling back the string until it could be easily slipped off.

He gave you a shirt, far more comfortable to wear and for once it felt like you could breathe, your brain was able to focus and the headache slowly faded.

Laszlo was in front of you, his hands ghosting your stomach. You gave him a gentle look, your hand pressed against his cheek, your thumb stroking his beard.

“M-May I?” he asked his hands now at the hem of your shirt.

You nodded and he bent down carefully, lifting your shirt up to the top of your stomach and allowing you to hold it up for him yourself.

You were just barely showing. A small bump.

Laszlo held your waist once more, his grip slightly tighter while he leaned into your stomach, pressing a delicate kiss, right below your belly button. You almost shivered at the close contact, his beard soft against your bare skin.

When his lips pulled away they were replaced by his forehead against you and he whispered a quiet, almost inaudible,

“I love you,”

And it was only then that you really got a sense of how much he craved a family, children, to be a father. You knew from the moment he found out he was ready to give everything up for your child, no matter what the cost.

—

Laszlo was pacing wildly outside of your bedroom in the hallway, flinching each time you cried out in pain, begging for the nurses and midwives to let him in, but they refused. It was no place for a man to be.

His finger started tapping mindlessly on his side while his other hand stroked his beard and ran his hands through his hair, multiple times.

It had been… he didn’t even know how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity. He just wanted to be in there. Sitting next to you, holding your hand. He wanted to comfort you because that was his job as your husband. Not mindlessly pacing like some useless decoration in the workings of this delicate process.

Laszlo was so engrossed in his thoughts that he almost missed the small cries coming from the room. His ears perked up and his eyes widened as he pushed past the door, rushing into the room, not giving the nurses and midwives even a second to let him get out because he was kneeling at your side, entwining his left hand tightly with your own.

“Are you feeling alright my beloved?” he asked, eager to hear from you.

“Exhausted, but well,” you breathed out, “H-How is she?” you asked.

“It’s a girl?” he responded, his face beaming with pride and you nodded.

“Happy and healthy Dr. and Mrs. Kreizler,” the head midwife assured, bringing the newly wrapped child to your arms. Laszlo let go of your hand so you could better adjust yourself to hold the baby.

“Oh she’s beautiful,” you cooed, using your fingers to delicately move the blanket coming into her face.

“Do you have a name for her ma’am? Sir?” one of the nurses asked the two of you and Laszlo smiled.

“I believe we do,” he nodded and you agreed. “Ilka, our little torch of light,”

“A beautiful name fit for a beautiful girl,” she smiled. “We’ll let you two have a moment alone, but we’ll be back soon to check up on you ma’am,”

“Of course, thank you,” you nodded and the room was cleared, leaving you, your husband, and your daughter. After a few moments of silence, you looked up at Laszlo, staring so intently at the small girl. “Would you like to hold her?” you asked.

He seemed to hesitate a moment and you quickly quelled his worries with a gentle hand to his cheek.

“Your daughter Laszlo,”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, standing up first and coming to the other side of the bed to sit next to you. Carefully he scooped Ilka out of your arms, holding her close to his chest, her small eyes just barely blinked open as her mouth moved around in odd kissing motions.

Laszlo’s lips flicked up into a smile, letting out a small chuckle, accompanied with teary eyes.

“Hello there meine Schatz,”

You smiled at your husband, letting out a yawn and resting your head against his shoulder, more energy leaving your body with every second, it was nice to just shut your eyes, hear him whisper sweet words to the both of you. The two most important people in his life. The two people he would love unconditionally.

—

“Laszlo what did we say about having her around these things,” you whispered somewhat harshly, pointing to the photos of previous crime scenes.

Laszlo’s eyes went wide and he quickly flipped over the images on the side of the table where Ilka was looking. She was sitting in his lap while he looked over some additional paperwork for the institute.

“Apologies,” he chuckled nervously. “I must have forgotten I had them laying there,”

You nodded and took a seat across from your husband’s desk, watching as your daughter fisted his coat in her small palm, trying to reach for his pocket watch with her other hand to put it in her mouth. She sat in the center of Laszlo’s chest with his arms used as barriers so he could continue to read while she played around with whatever she found herself inclined to.

Laszlo was insistent to get as much time with her as possible. He had read many articles that said the beginning years of a child’s life and the way they presented their attachment were highly important to the ways they would perform in relationships in the future.

Sometimes you would just sit, watch how they interacted. His quiet mumbling about whatever he was reading followed by Ilka’s babbles.

Every once in a while when his mind needed a break he would pause and turn to her, trying to teach her new words or even just playing silly games like peek-a-boo.

Now Ilka’s eyes were on you though, expecting some sort of interaction from her mother.

“Hi my love,” you waved at her, a sweet smile adorning your lips. “Are you having fun with your papa?”

The girl, having understood you nodded her head and giggled before gurgling a bit of drool and having it all on Laszlo’s lap, he didn’t mind.

She reached out a hand to you and you extended yours across the table allowing her to hold two of your fingers in her tiny hand. She attempted to place them in her mouth and for now, you let her because it wouldn't be long before she had teeth and well you would make for a pretty bad chew toy at that point.

Laszlo bent his head down pressing a gentle kiss to Ilka’s head, letting himself rest there, his glasses perched upon his nose, still flipping through his papers.

Ilka wasn’t a fussy baby, she loved just sitting with her parents, especially her father. She was her dad’s girl, that was for sure and you doubted that would change as she got older. You didn’t mind too much, there was always the next child that might cling onto you, perhaps a boy. But for now, it was the three of you, the Kreizlers. A family by all definitions of the sort and not something you and Laszlo ever thought you might have had the honour of having.

—

“This is about Martha Napp isn’t it,” you whispered finally, causing Laszlo to turn around and face you, not having realized you were there before. “Today was her execution day, I saw it in the papers,”

Laszlo swallowed thickly and only nodded.

“A daughter holds her father’s heart,” he looked over at the resting baby again.

“Of course she does,” you nodded, not entirely sure what he was getting at.

“What happened to her child could have been Ilka,” he whispered, “What happened to her-,”

“No don’t say that,” you shook your head, walking over to him quickly and wrapping your arms around him tightly. “Don’t say that Laszlo,”

“But I’ve failed all of you,” he whispered shakily, clinging onto your frame.

“No you haven’t Laszlo,” you assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head while he continued to shake in your arms.

“It was so terrible (Y/N),” he sounded so distressed, you had never heard that kind of emotion in his voice before, that desperation. “The way she shook and spasmed when they shocked her, w-when her screaming stopped, but they kept going,” he gulped. “I can’t get the smell out of my nose, I can’t!”

You hushed him quietly and pulled him away from you slightly to press a kiss to his forehead before leaning down to his trembling lips.

“That’s a terrible thing to have to witness,” you acknowledged. “It’s not fair to you, to Martha, she deserves justice and there’s no one better to help serve it than you, do you understand me, Laszlo. You are in no way responsible for what happened to her. Look at me Laszlo,” you insisted and his eyes flicked up to yours. “You’re not responsible. And you know what else, you have me here, Ilka, we’re safe and we’ll do whatever you think is necessary to stay that way,”

Laszlo nodded and bent down to press a grateful kiss to your lips.

There was a small shuffle in the bassinet followed by a quiet cry and you both turned around to see Ilka waking up. Laszlo carefully walked over and scooped her up in his arms, hushing her gently, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Come on,” you placed a hand on his back, leading him out of the room. “She can sleep with us tonight,”

Laszlo silently agreed and followed you out of the nursery, the three of you pressed closely together and closing the door behind you.

[mrs-gucci]

Lucky Lady {Sir Clyde Logan x nobility!Reader}

author’s notes: KNIGHT!CLYDE LOGAN HAS ARRIVED!! and damn, I think he’s here to stay <3 <3 ((yes, I’m fully aware that southern drawl likely didn’t exist in medieval times, but it’s just a signature of Clyde’s character and I couldn’t bring myself to take it away lol))

warnings: fluff. some hurt/comfort themes/elements. blossoming romance. r.i.p. historical accuracy.

(possible) tw’s: brief depictions of battle & dead bodies (non-descriptive). injuries/wounds. blood (non-graphic).

word count: 1.9k

clyde’s taglist peeps!  @goddessofsprings​ @icarusinthesea my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp​ @babbushka​ ​@mrs-zimmerman​ @dirtytissuebox​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)

terms to know:

mare is a female horse.

Far off thunder gently rumbles the rain-softened ground and bolts of white streak across the darkened sky as you ride out of the kingdom gates towards the sight of the once raging battle. The vicious storm has passed, now, and despite your father’s warning, you rode out to search for any survivors. Bodies litter the ground and you have to look away, feeling sick to your stomach. 

Your horse begins to snort and whinny in distress, suddenly panicked. You can barely see through the hood of your cloak, but you’re pretty sure you see one of the soldiers moving.

You nudge your horses side and she lunges forward into a slow trot, carefully navigating through the maze of fallen soldiers. The closer you get, the clearer you can hear his groans of pain. 

“P-Please,” He breathes, voice hoarse. “Help m-me.”

Without hesitation, you jump down and rush over to him, trying not to slip in the thick layer of mud. 

“Sir? Where are you wounded?”

You pull out the few bandages you managed to fit in the saddlebag in preparation for his response. 

“Ma arm.”

Your eyes fall onto the limb, and you see that almost his entire lower forearm has been sliced off by a crude blade, leaving in its wake an open wound. You quickly and very, very gently wrap the bandages around it.

His half mud-covered face scrunches with every little bit that you wrap and small grunts of torment leave him, but he remains relatively still and calm. When you finish up, you can see the tears that have fallen and cut through the brown painted over his skin.

“Can you stand? I cannot lift you myself, but if you can mount my horse, I’ll walk you back to the castle.” You say, using your cloak to wipe away the rest of the mud, revealing the other half of the knight’s breathtakingly handsome face. 

He nods. “I t-think I can stand, but I might need a lil h-help at the beginnin’.”

You place your hand on the center of his back as he slowly sits up with a soft grunt. “There we go. Are you feeling alright still?”

The young knight chuckles, and you furrow your eyebrows. When he sees your confused and hurt expression, he shakes his head.

“‘m not laughin’ at ya, milady, I’m just not used t’ this sorta treatment. Them nurses n’ ma fellow brothers-in-arms, they ain’t usually so kind or nice t’ us. I’m used t’ gettin’ picked on n’ bossed ‘round.” He chuckles quietly, then blushes a bit. “And none of ‘em ain’t ever as beautiful as ya are.”

His nickname makes your heart skip a beat, and your cheeks warm as you laugh softly.

“Well, now, I never said I wouldn’t be bossing you around.” You jest, which makes him smile. “Only when you’re being stubborn.”

“That, I think I can handle jus’ fine.”

The handsome man chuckles before he begins to rise up from the ground, legs quaking as his weight is put on them once more. He eventually steadies enough to take his first step to where your horse is standing.

Your mare’s ears perk and her nostrils flare at the physically imposing figure approaching. You go to try and calm her, but the knight promptly stops you.

“I got ‘er. It ain’t you she’s ‘fraid of, an’ if ‘m gonna be gettin’ on ‘er back, she’s gotta know I ain’t a threat.”

He slowly walks up to her, taking one step at a time, holding his good hand out. 

“That’s it, ’m not gon’ hurt ya. Good girl, ‘m not gonna do ya any harm.”

She looks a bit hesitant still, but allows the tall, limping man to come up to her. He lets her inspect him for a moment and briefly sniff his outstretched hand, then she relaxes a bit. 

You’re amazed at his natural ability to work with horses, smiling as you step up and put the excess bandages back into the saddlebag. He rubs her head and strokes her muzzle, laughing softly when she starts nudging him with her head whenever he stops petting her.

“Woah now, don’t get too rough with him, Lucky.” You say, smiling shaking your head. “He’s still on the mend.”

“Lucky, hm? Well, I guess now that I know ‘er name, it’s only fittin’ I know yours.”

Your cheeks warm again. “Y/N.”

“Mm, Y/N.” His hand extends to yours. “A pretty name fit fer a pretty girl such as yerself. ‘m Clyde.”

The two of you shake hands, then Clyde gives Lucky one final scratch before approaching the saddle, climbing up onto her back with a surprisingly swift ease. You go to walk up and hold her head to walk back to the castle, but he stops you.

“An’ where is it ya think yer goin’?”

You look up at him, confused. “I told you I was gonna take you back to the castle.”

“Yer not walkin’ all that way, I ain’t allowin’ it.” He pouts softly, huffing as he thinks up a plan. “C’mon up ‘ere. Ya can lay right ‘ere in front ‘a me an’ hold on.”

Your eyes widen for a moment. Surely he can’t be serious... “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

His good hand drops the reins and extends down to you. He looks at you with a kind expression.

“I’ll make sure ya don’t fall. Do ye trust me?”

For some unknown reason, you really, really did. You nod, allowing him to help you lay across the front of the saddle, legs hanging off one side of the horse. You look up at the handsome knight and he looks down at you, smiling.

“Hold on tight, milady. We can’t have ya fallin’, now can we?”

You bite your lip, nodding as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. Once you’re secure, Clyde nudges Lucky forward and heads off towards the palace at a slow gallop.

This close proximity and angle allows you to truly drink in his natural beauty under the low glow of fading sunlight. His dark hair flutters in the evening’s breeze, brilliant alabaster skin splattered with all sorts of freckles and moles, each one even more perfectly placed than the last.

Lucky’s hooves soon hit the cobblestone and you look out between her pricked ears to the scarcely-populated streets of the villages. Everyone who happened to be out on the street gave bewildered looks as the bloody and muddy scene trotted by them.

You direct Clyde to the castle entrance and jump down, already missing the heat of his body pressing against you, informing one of the guards that you had an injured knight that needed immediate attention. He nods and rushes off to grab the doctor.

Clyde smiles when you walk back up to him, hopping down from the saddle slowly and carefully. He strokes Lucky’s neck as he speaks.

“So, will I be seein’ ya again sometime, m’lady?

Your cheeks burn and you giggle softly, biting your lip. “Only if you’d like to.”

“I’d love nothin’ more than to see ye again.” He says with a smile.

“How about I have the doctor inform me when you’re all stitched up and I’ll come down, if you’re feeling up for a visit?”

He nods, pausing his strokes along Lucky’s neck to scratch the back of his own. “I’ll always be feelin’ up for a visit from a pretty lil lady like ya, Y/N.”

You feel your heart flutter for what must be the thousandth time since you met the handsome young knight. Somehow, his words seem so much more genuine than anyone’s have before, and you find yourself truly believing them.

His head dips down a bit and you look up at him, instinctively leaning up towards his lowering face. You can feel his hot breath spread over your skin, noses touching now, and your eyes begin to flutter shut as his lips reach just over yours--

“Milady!” The guard says from behind you, jolting you and Clyde apart. He turns a soft red color, looking down at the ground while you spin around and try to keep some wits about you as you approach the guard and doctor.

A brief visual inspection of the wounded knight is done and immediately, the doctor insists that Clyde come to the medical ward right away. He hands Lucky’s reins to you with a small nod, then allows himself to be escorted up through the large castle doors.

You take Lucky back down to the royal stables before rushing up to your bedroom, eagerly awaiting the doctor’s arrival. The night draws on and, before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Birds chirp as the sun begins to rise over the land once more. You’re roused from night’s slumber by the light peeking through the luxurious curtains and you instantly arise from bed, acutely panicked by the fact that the doctor never came to retrieve you last night. 

You quickly re-pull your hair up before scrambling to find something suitable to wear down to the medical ward, settling on a simple blue villagers dress. As soon as you open the door, you’re startled to find the doctor standing just outside, his hand raised in preparation to knock.

“Milady.” He greets you. “Sir Clyde has been unwavering from his desire to see you all throughout the night. I assured him that I’d come to get you first thing.”

Thanking the doctor and pushing past him without another word, you quickly rush to where Clyde’s laid on a cot in one of the closed-off areas. You smile at the sight of him before knocking gently on the wall outside his room.

“I believe my presence was requested.”

Clyde’s entire being lightens when his eyes land on you, content pout pulling up into a soft smile. 

“It was indeed, m’lady.”

You walk up and sit at his bedside, trying to ignore the way your body warms at the sight of his bare chest. Your hand slowly slides over to meet his, resting atop it.

“How are you doing? Are you in much pain?”

He nods. “The pain ‘s pretty bad, but ‘m doin’ alright. But, ‘m doin’ much better now that I get t’ see ya.”

“Always happy to help.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m glad to hear that you’re okay, Sir Clyde.”

His cheeks turn pink and he shyly threads his fingers through yours. 

“So, now that yer here, I was hopin’ that we could...” He trails off and you smile, moving up a bit closer to him, leaning in slightly so that your faces are close together. The breath catches in his throat. “F-Finish where we left off, ‘fore I had t-t’ go.”

You laugh softly and, as soon as you nod, Clyde closes the space between you, lips pressing on yours gently. Both of you let out a soft sigh of relief at the feeling of finally being joined in this way, and his good hand comes up to cup your cheek. His lips tug up into a big, face-splitting grin as he pulls away slowly, still cradling your cheek.

“Thank ye fer savin’ me, Y/N. I dunno what I can do t’ repay ya.”

You smile and chuckle. “I think saying ‘thank you’ a few more times is a good place to start.”

Clyde laughs softly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Whatever yer heart desires, m’lady.”

[imgoingtocrash]

my teen angst bullshit has a body count

by @imgoingtocrash for @hailxhydra

Rating: T

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Jim Morita, Hydra Agents

Summary:

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

Two years ago, Peter Parker escaped Hydra's control and was taken in by the Avengers. Traumatized from the experience but healing, Peter's starting to get a hang of this whole normal teenager thing. However, when Flash brings up a happily forgotten trigger from his past, Tony comes to give comfort and remind Peter that he's worth more to his loved ones than Hydra could have ever dreamed of.

Read on AO3

My fic for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! Hopefully you enjoy it @hailxhydra!!!

Full fic under the cut as requested by the exchange:

“—But I’m asking if it’s a good movie.”

“I’m telling you, it was either picking Selena for the third time or Rio, which is a stupid animated movie about birds.” Ned shakes his head dramatically. “Everybody else will fall asleep, and if everybody falls asleep, then Misses Rodriguez will give us a pop quiz instead of letting us have a movie day.”

“But I like animated movies. We like them. We watched A Bug’s Life like last week!”

“Because you hadn’t seen it before! Your film under-education is criminal, and if I don’t help you fix it, who will?!”

Ned has a point. Being kidnapped and raised by Hydra after the age of six really limits a person’s entertainment consumption, as he’s learned more than ever now that he’s surrounded by other teenagers who grew up with movies and tv shows to watch at their fingertips.

“I mean, Steve does have a list…” Peter points out weakly.

Steve keeps it in his little notebook along with other things he doesn’t understand the references to yet. He tried to encourage Peter to start something like that in the beginning, but Peter’s never really considered himself a list person. He just sort of soaks up the world now, like a curious sponge. Sometimes it means he has to Google things he doesn’t really understand the meaning of, but it also means a lot of movie nights with both the other Avengers and Ned, which is actually sort of a bonus.

Ned stops them in the hall. “Yeah, but are they cool movies or are they movies for old people and war veterans who haven’t been alive for the last 100 years?”

“...You know that I don’t really know the difference.”

Ned gives a sad shake of his head. “You’re lucky you liked Star Wars, bro. Otherwise we’d be in a very different place right now, like, friendship-wise.”

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

Peter got to pick the movie for their classes’ Cinco de Mayo party. Peter’s not sure what either movie has to do with the Mexican Army’s historical defeat of the French, but he only picked Selena because Ned suggested it. Maybe he should be regretting that choice, if the other option was harmless little Spanish birds.

“You know, Parker, I have a question,” comes a very annoyingly musical voice from behind them.

Peter just barely resists to roll his eyes. Every time with this kid. Not that Peter is any less of a kid than Flash Thompson, technically, but he definitely feels more mature.

Ned, also more mature than some of their other classmates, completely ignores Flash.

“You’ll be humming the disco medleys for weeks, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, disco? I thought you said this was supposed to take place in the 80s and 90s?”

“Music endures, dude.”

“Hey, el idiots, I’m talking to you!” Flash interrupts again.

“That’s not even how you—” Peter starts to correct, only to realize he’s stepped directly in it when Ned groans.

Flash laughs obnoxiously to himself. “Just can’t help yourself, can you, Penis?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter grumbles. It doesn’t really matter what he says now. Flash has the attention that he wanted, which means he won’t bug off until the bell rings and until he has the last laugh. And that always happens, because he’s really the only one entertained by all of the poking and prodding at Peter.

Peter breathes in, steeling himself. He’s survived worse. So much worse. Bullies with electric prongs and steel cages and control over every other aspect of his life. This is just high school. Normal kids survive it all the time, even when there are bullies and bad test grades and cliquey subcultures. This is just one privileged asshole who thinks Peter’s an easy target.

In some way, Peter’s actually proud of that. No one has ever seen him as un-intimidating before. Even his Hydra captors knew that if they lost control of him as an asset, he could easily turn on them.

(Part of him always asks why he never did. If he wasn’t evil, if he wasn’t like them, then why didn’t he just fight back? But Sam says that’s just his mind trying to deal with trauma, and Peter is trying really, really hard to get better at ignoring those kinds of intrusive thoughts.)

Speaking of talking to himself, Flash snaps his fingers in Peter’s face to get his attention back.

“You’d think for such a genius, you’d be a lot quicker on the uptake.” Flash shakes his head like he’s disappointed.

“Please just get to the point already,” Ned begs, throwing his head back.

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

C’mere, Pet.

Stay down, Pet!

He was property, he was an animal, he was a weapon, their weapon, he was a mutant and he deserved it, needed it, he was the Spider, a mongrel, nothing, he was nothing and no one and Hydra was the only home a no-good runt like the Spider would ever have and he should be grateful—Kneel, Pet, be a good boy and kneel for your masters—but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t—

Foolish Pet, you wouldn’t survive out there.

You need us, Pet. You’ll always need us.

“Peter?”

He returns to the moment with one heaving breath, only to realize he can’t take in another.

His collar is too tight, they always put it on too tight and if he complains they hit him and if they hit him he bleeds and it gets on his clothes and he won’t get any more until his bath and he hates bath time because they water is cold and stings his skin and the soap is so harsh it burns his nostrils and they’re watching him he knows they’re watching because they never leave him alone because if they did he would try to escape, he would—

“Peter, what’s wrong, are you—?”

He did. He escaped and ran away but now they have him again and he can’t live like this, not when he knows about best friends and pizza and friendly ribbing and how warm he feels when Tony pulls Peter close on the couch and presses a kiss to his head and tells Peter that he’s proud. He can’t be here anymore, he has to go, he has to run.

“Peter, wait!”

Tony is, to say the least, nervous when he gets a call from Midtown Tech’s front office.

He trusts Peter by now. The kid has come a long, long way since he snuck onto the Avengers helicarrier during the chaos of a Hydra raid. Skinny as a rail, scared, brainwashed...abused.

The Spider.

Peter didn’t like being with Hydra since they were the ones that made him enhanced, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be locked in an enclosed space with a bunch of Avengers at the time either.

As was evident by the fight he put up until Steve knocked him out. Steve still feels bad about cold-clocking a kid when Peter jokingly brings it up now, but Tony’s never shamed Steve for the decision. It was that or some kind of drug injection with the way Peter fought back tooth and nail, confused and defensive. Practically feral, from the well-fitting clothing to his lack of speech.

It was all for the better, though, once they got him back to the compound.

Peter was a talkative kid once he let himself be. Funny, too. Almost normal, if you forgot the mutant spider genetics and years of torture from a bunch of descendant assholes that seemed to hate and resent the very thing they created.

That’s why Tony agreed to let Peter start school. Real, normal, human school just like every other teenager in America attended until they finished all twelve years of it.

Because he needed to be normal, sometimes. He needed movie nights, [other things], and most importantly, friends that were his own age rather than a bunch of adult superheroes that often acted like children.

But also because Peter wanted to go, and Tony had a really, really hard time denying anything that the kid wanted when he could so easily provide.

Peter had such a hard time wanting anything, in the beginning. What did Peter want to wear instead of the plain, grey, dirty sweatpants from Hydra? What did Peter want to eat now that he could have an adequate amount of calories for his enhanced, still growing body? What did he want to watch? Listen to?

All of these choices were suddenly available to Peter, but shaking years of being denied any kind of want, any kind of choice took a toll on him that took a lot of work to get through.

Peter had put in the work. Unsurprisingly well. He was smart—tactically from years of being trained for missions, academically from whatever education Hydra must have thrust upon him. Not so much socially, but they were doing better as Peter spent more time around people that actually cared about him and lobbed insults around to tease rather than to actually cause emotional harm.

But was that enough...training, of sorts, to be around a bunch of teenagers? Sure, Peter was technically also a teenager, but they’d found him at 14. Tony still looked at Peter and saw the wide-eyed little kid sitting in the corner of a containment cell, flinching every time Tony moved.

Two years later and a lot of growth physically and emotionally, but was it enough?

Tony was hesitant about it, wish-washing the entire summer with maybes and I’ll think about its until the deadline arrived and Tony had to actually make the call.

Peter had pleaded, citing an extensive, cheesy list of films that made him want the high school experience himself for some reason. He very genuinely enjoyed shopping for school supplies. He passed Midtown’s entrance exam with results that faked years progressing in homeschooling that Tony knew would have been true, if Peter had gotten the chance to grow up like he was supposed to.

So, Tony eventually said yes, knowing that one day this call might come and Tony would have to be prepared for whatever was on the other end of the line.

An “incident” of some kind. Whatever that meant. The secretary was entirely unclear, only insistent that Peter’s family should get down to the premises immediately to handle things.

That was Tony.

Part of Tony couldn’t fathom why Peter chose him out of everyone on the team to latch onto. Another part wasn’t exactly shocked. Trauma recognized trauma, after all, even if the context was entirely different.

Tony knew what it was like to be belittled. To be seen as something you weren’t. To be abused by someone you never really trusted in the first place.

He and Peter talked a lot in that little containment cell. Hours of Tony blabbering like he always did when he was uncomfortable and Peter just sitting and waiting, waiting, waiting for the strikes to start coming.

When he said his first words.

When he told Tony his name—not Spider, but Peter Parker, a little boy from Queens who lost his parents and his whole normal life in the same night, according to FRIDAY’s records.

When he touched Tony’s arm for the first time and got a smile instead of a reprimand.

He waited and Tony was patient and it was a rough road, but...Tony was kind of a parent, now. A parental figure, at least, among others of varying degrees of quality and influence on a scarred teenager.

He was Peter’s family, whether either of them was any good at it in a traditional way or not.

And also, you know. His money was paying Peter’s tuition. His time went into helping Peter study for the entrance exam. His name was technically on Peter’s manufactured birth certificate because he was the one forging it and it wasn’t like anyone else was offering when the subject came up.

And maybe, a little, because he cared about Peter. Loved him. Wanted to be what Peter needed, what he deserved, and what better way to do that than to write his name on a piece of paper that signified the job he sort of kind of wanted?

Tony slams the car door behind himself after pulling into Midtown’s parking lot, putting on his sunglasses for the brief trip into the early afternoon sun. He’s checking security cameras, exits, and also preparing a hefty sum of cash to go into Principal Jim Morita’s bank account as well as a handful of government officials, if that’s what it takes.

Again, not that Tony doesn’t trust Peter, it’s just...when you get this kind of call and your kid is a highly trained former assassin, you prepare exit strategies on multiple fronts.

It’s been two months and Peter has only made one friend at this place. The kids can’t all be angels like Peter proclaims Ned Leeds to be. If one of them touched Peter out of nowhere or said the wrong thing, maybe Peter lashed out. Maybe Peter forgot to hold his strength back like he’s been training to do. Maybe something was broken.

Maybe it’s something far worse.

Tony has to be ready for that. He has to be ready for whatever it takes to protect Peter.

At the very least, the police aren’t on site. That’s probably a good sign that they’re willing to leave this as an internal matter for now.

The unhelpful secretary of before leads Tony out of the office by the arm at a quick pace, not explaining the situation at all before they arrive at the scene. Whatever it is. Tony was definitely expecting more blood or yelling or...anything, really.

A small crowd stands outside of a door, marked by a golden plaque to be the janitor’s closet.

Leaning on the door itself with his arms resolutely crossed is a kid about Peter’s age. Short black hair, light brown skin, dressed so similarly to Peter that Tony’s starting to wonder if that’s where Peter’s new obsession with those geeky little t-shirts has come from.

“Mister Leeds—” An older Asian man pleads, dressed in a suit and standing up straight with all of the authority he can seem to muster against the stone wall that is the teen in front of him.

The kid shakes his head in response. So this is Ned, then.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not moving. If he wants to stay in there to calm down, he should be allowed to stay in there.”

“I’m sure his parents—”

“He doesn’t even have—you don’t even know what he’s gone through!”

“And you do?”

“Well...kinda? No. But—but he’s obviously freaking out and everyone crowding around him is only going to make it worse!”

The adult rubs a hand across his forehead, stressing at a fold of wrinkles that settles there from the stress.

“Ned, I recognize you’re just trying to be a good friend, but this is a problem for—”

Tony clears his throat, catching the attention of both parties.

The older man sighs. “Oh, good. Thank you, Theresa, you can go on back to the office. We’ll take it from here.”

The secretary nods, brusquely turning around and heading off, leaving Tony there to be examined by both Ned and what must be the principal.

“Mister Stark, I’m glad you could come down, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I’m Principal Morita.”

“Obviously you know who I am,” Tony replies, shaking the man’s hand. “What did happen, exactly? Theresa was sparse on the details.”

“I told you, it’s Flash’s fault! He was being a dick and—” Ned shouts.

“Mister Leeds.” The principal interrupts, stern. “Another student apparently said something...unkind to Peter. He didn’t take it well and locked himself in the closet. I haven’t even been able to assess the situation properly yet. Normally I would start with asking Peter’s side of the story, but...”

He looks to the closet, where Ned still stands, defensive.

“The bouncer is a real stickler, got it,” Tony jokes, aiming a small smile at Ned. “Peter does seem to attract the protective type.”

“Oh,” Ned says, suddenly meeting Tony’s eyes and gaping like a fish. He seems to have finally realized exactly who he’s talking to. “Oh, wow. Mister Stark, it’s an honor. I’m a huge fan, like, so huge. Peter tells me to shut up about you at least three times a day. When he showed me a picture of you guys I was like, ‘Oh my god, your dad is Tony Stark!’ and he was like ‘Oh. Yeah, I guess you’d know who he is, huh?’ like he totally didn’t get how awesome it is that you’re Iron Man. And I know you’re only kind of his dad, but still—”

“It’s suddenly become very clear to me why you two are friends,” Tony responds, keeping his smile on.

It’s actually kind of sweet to see that Peter’s found someone to confide in, even if he’s seemingly left out the more traumatic elements. But he also knows that Peter can hear them through the door, and he wants to get to the kid as fast as possible instead of dawdling for time.

If Peter wants to see him, that is.

He does, doesn’t he? Tony has been there for everything, so far. Every breakdown when the choices became too much, when the world outside of Peter’s little cell and all of the things he did that he wishes he could forget attack him at night. He hasn’t gotten old enough to not want Tony around when he’s upset, right?

“Sorry, Mister Stark. Sorry,” Ned apologizes. “I’m just nervous and worried about Peter and—”

“I get it, kid. You’re good.” He gives a reassuring grasp to Ned’s shoulder. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to see Peter now. You can ask him yourself, but I’m usually the exception to any rule about Peter wanting to be alone.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll just—”

Ned turns to open the door, but gives Morita a shifty look, like he doesn’t trust the man not to dive bomb in if given the chance.

“Peter—”

“Let him in,” replies Peter’s strained voice. He’s definitely been crying. Poor kid.

Ned pulls back and nods at Tony, stepping aside to let him through.

“You did a good job protecting him, Leeds. Thank you,” he says to the teen before stepping into the dimly lit closet and shutting the door behind him.

The room smells musty and over-powerful at the same time thanks to the potent combination of cleaners and the mop cart sitting so close together. Out of anywhere Peter could have picked, this probably isn’t the kindest to his sense of smell if it’s making Tony already scrunch his nose.

It’s lit by a single pull-chain light bulb, and in the shadows of it sits Peter, curled into himself and leaning against a rusty metal shelf filled with paper towels, cleaning equipment, and a few bottles of product that have to be expired.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony frowns at the cracked floor tile, but settles himself next to Peter anyway. His back catches some kind of spray bottle sitting on the shelf that digs uncomfortably into his back.

Peter sniffs, not looking up from the cradle of his arms. “Hey.”

Tony heaves a sigh, for the drama. “So, I hear you got your first bully.”

Peter shrugs. “Guess so.”

“That Ted kid is pretty nice. He’s a good friend.”

“Yeah. And his name is Ned.”

Tony stops beating around the bush. “What happened, Peter?”

“It was fine. It was good, you know? I got an A+ on my Spanish test, and Misses Rodriguez offered to let me choose the movie we were gonna watch for the Cinco de Mayo party as a reward. I didn’t even know any of the movies, but Ned said Selena was good because Jennifer Lopez is hot, so that’s what I picked. It was a good day, Tony!”

“...But?”

“But then Flash—”

“I meant to ask, is that his actual name? Like, legally?”

“No.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Flash said…he said I was a…” Peter’s hesitant to let it out.

“Pete, a lot of kids at this age are testing boundaries. They’re going to say a lot of stupid, insensitive, offensive—”

“He said I was a teacher’s pet.”

There’s a long minute of silence. Tony blinks curiously a few times. He doesn’t want to belittle what Peter’s feeling, but he also doesn’t understand why it’s caused him so much stress.

“I know, I know it’s—but they used to—” Peter swallows hard, probably only delaying another wave of tears. “Sometimes, before, they would call me…”

“Pet.”

Peter nods, starting to shake next to him on the floor, their arms lightly touching at just Tony saying the nickname.

“They liked it. I think it made them feel better about themselves if they acted like I wanted it. Like—like being locked in the cages or collared or—or being muzzled was good for me.”

“You need to learn a lesson, little pet. Be a good pet and eat your dinner. Stop your crying, pet. No more of your barking, pet.” Peter quotes with venom flinging from every syllable. “But I didn’t want that, Mister Stark! I promise! They gave me these powers and I didn’t want to be their pet and they made me—”

“Peter, I know. It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault, I know.”

Tony curls Peter into his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“When Flash called me that I just—I felt the collar around my neck again and I couldn’t breathe though the muzzle and they kept kicking the cage even though it hurt my ears and I could never sleep in there because it was so small and—”

“Peter—” Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s panicking, Tony realizes. Probably just like he did initially. A flashback that triggered him into having a panic attack.

“And I know that’s not what Flash meant but I was back there and I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Peter breaks into sobs, burying his face into Tony’s shirt and clutching on tight.

“Oh, Pete. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Tony soothes.

He presses a kiss to Peter’s hair, unsure when he became this tender. Probably the moment he realized this was the way he wanted someone to treat him in the midst of his worst, most vulnerable moments.

“Sometimes the bad memories come back unexpectedly, it’s alright.”

“But don’t wanna think about it anymore!” Peter cries childishly.

If it wouldn’t break Tony’s ribs, Peter would probably start banging at his chest in frustration.

“What if it gets bad and I don’t talk anymore and I can’t go to school like a normal kid and I lose everything and then you won’t want me anymore because I can’t get over this and stop being a stupid animal who needs its owners to—”

“Peter Parker, no. Absolutely not.”

Tony pushes Peter away so he can hold the boy’s face in his hands. So that he can fucking imbue into this kid how much he is loved and cherished and human.

“You’re not property, and you’re not an animal. What they did to you was wrong, and you know that now. I know that you do.”

Not just because Peter’s been to therapy since integrating with the Avengers, but also because he’s talked to all of him during his recovery from the horrors of his earlier childhood. About how his life felt before and how it feels better now. How he wouldn’t have left in the first place if he really wanted to be a part of Hydra like they raised him to want.

He’s not the child soldier they raised anymore. He’s so much more than they ever allowed him to be in that awful place.

He loosens his grip on Peter’s face only to bring him back again with an arm around his shoulder. Maybe if Peter feels him, touches him, the kid will remember all of the growth he’s made, the family he’s gained.

“Buddy, you are getting better. I know it. I’ve seen it. You know we’re all so proud of you and the progress you’ve made.”

Tony sighs. Part of him wants to sugarcoat it. That Peter has seen the worst of the world and now he’ll just be able to move on from it scott-free. It’s what he deserves, but Tony knows from experience that nothing in life is that sort of kind.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t have setbacks. I have had setbacks. Healing from the bad stuff is really, really hard, but it doesn’t make you anything that they said you were. You’re a wonderful, good kid who deserves everything he’s worked so hard for. And you’re going to get it because you have me and the team and your new best friend behind your back. You’re not alone, you’re not in a cage, you’re—you’re home, Pete. You understand?”

Peter sniffs, a sign that he’s worked himself up again, but his weak nod into Tony’s chest tells him that some of them at least might be happier tears.

“Listen to me, Pete. And I mean really, truly listen.” He looks down at the snot-covered, tear-stained teenager practically in his lap. He does love Peter. He wouldn’t have gone this far for any other kid in the world.

“It doesn’t matter what happens—hitches, mishaps, a dumb teenage mistake. You’re our kid now, Peter. You’re never going back to Hydra. Never. Not with me around.”

He knows it means something to say it out loud rather than leaving it to be assumed. He doesn’t have as much of a problem admitting it as he thought he might.

“I’m never giving you up, or letting you go, or treating you like anything other than a person. Do you understand me? That is something you never, ever have to worry about. Not from me.”

Peter sobs against him. This time it feels a lot more like relief. A release in the safety of Tony’s arms that Peter hasn’t really allowed himself, even after two years of being free of Hydra.

Peter didn’t tell the team everything. He may never even tell Tony everything. But this is one more thing Peter doesn’t have to carry alone, and Tony is happy to help their kid navigate the horrors it's brought back into his improving life.

They sit there for another minute, Peter’s whimpers muffled in Tony’s dress shirt. He’s sure the principal and Peter’s friend are getting antsy. But all the same it gives Peter another chance to calm down, and this time he seems a lot lighter when he picks his head up to look at Tony.

“Feel better?”

Peter gives a sniffle, but accompanies it with a nod and bright, attentive eyes.

“Look, I think school’s a bust for the day. Let’s go home. Whatever you wanna do, just you and me. Nobody else needs to hear about this unless you want to tell them, okay?”

“And if you wanted, I guess…”

Peter tilts his head, expectant.

“We could...nah, it’s probably offensive, right?”

“What?” Peter insists. Tony tried to warn him, but Tony also can’t resist an idea once it pops into his head.

“I just thought, you know, if you wanted—if you thought it would help, we could get you a—“ He almost ruins it, but catches himself.  “An animal. Like a dog or something.”

Peter is silent. He bites at his lip, contemplative. Looks in the direction of a mop bucket in the corner.

“Is that bad? You don’t have to, I just thought it might make you associate that word with good things, but if not—“

Peter finally meets his eyes with a tentative grin on his face.

“What kind of dog?”

[sirtadcooper]

Javier Peña and the Brown-Nosed Bear

Fandom: Narcos Category: Gen, Humour, Crack Relationships: Javier Peña & Steve Murphy Characters: Javier Peña, Steve Murphy Word Count: 1,900+ For: @djarsdin and @javierian.

Warnings: Swearing, drug mentions, crack (as in a silly idea) treated far too seriously, period inaccuracies, food, McDonald’s.

Summary: Javier Peña is not having a good day so Steve Murphy brings him a McDonald’s Happy Meal to cheer him up.

Notes: This makes no sense. The Happy Meal menu is from the UK in 2021, the toys are from 2018 and the boys are in the 1980s. But just go with it, for me, pretty please?

This, all of this, was inspired by @djarsdin’s tag “someone get this man a happy meal” under this already dryly funny post by @javierian. This is for both of you. :)

Any Spanish is from Google Translate so please forgive me if it’s wrong.

(One-shot.)

Javier Peña and the Brown-Nosed Bear

Javier is staring blankly down at a page, cigarette hanging loosely from one hand as he cups his chin with the other. The typewritten words are blurring and he’s read the same paragraph countless times now, in limbo, unable to get any further.

A small red box, having evidently just been thrown in his direction, lands with a soft thud right under his nose. Javi jerks back with a start, blurry black and white suddenly replaced with bright red and… yellow? Javi blinks, his tired eyes finally focus — it’s a McDonald’s Happy Meal.

“There,” says Steve, “now cheer the fuck up.”

He sets two soda cups down safely on the desk and throws himself down onto his chair with enough force to send it rolling backwards a few feet. Identical Happy Meal box cradled lovingly on his lap, he rolls the chair forwards with his feet until he’s close enough to his desk again to put his boots up on it.

Looking over, Steve nods meaningfully at Javi’s paperwork.

Javi follows his gaze. “Shit.”

Javi’s half cigarette has been dropping flakes of ash onto his page. He swipes the tiny flakes away with the side of his hand — when only faint grey stains remain on the crisp white paper, he rests the still lit cigarette on the rim of the ashtray and leaves it sitting there, hazy wisps of smoke rising into the air.

“You look like shit,” Steve comments needlessly around a huge bite of a chicken burger.

Javi grimaces, rubbing at his tired eyes. He feels like shit, he doesn’t need to be told, thank you, he wants to say. Instead, he says aloud, “How’d things go with your C.I.?”

Chewing noisily, Steve shrugs. “No shop talk over dinner. I’ll tell you later. Eat up.”

With a pointed look, Javi sets the paperwork aside. Perhaps he will try to finish it again later, perhaps tomorrow, or even better still it may find itself in Steve’s annoyingly sparse inbox.

Opening the red and yellow box, Javi finds a bag of fries and a box of chicken nuggets. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was — as soon as the scent of fried fast food hits his nostrils his mouth starts to water. He glances at the clock — well after four in the afternoon. Last time he had checked it was just before one.

“Oh — almost forgot.” Steve plunges his hand into his jacket pocket. First he places a tiny tub of ketchup on Javi’s side of their desk, then a wad of napkins an inch thick.

“Your kid joining us?” Javi asks, meaning the excessive collection of napkins, but concentrating on pulling the lid off the ketchup dip.

Steve, halfway through his chicken burger already, adopts an enigmatic expression. “I’ve learned to be prepared.”

Javi is absolutely ravenous — the chicken nuggets and fries after almost a day’s unintended fasting are heavenly.

They both eat in companionable silence until—

Crunch!

Javi looks up from his food, takes a moment to register what’s in front of his eyes. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a carrot stick.”

“What’s it doing in a kid’s meal?” Javi asks, and then, more to himself, “Why am I eating a kid’s meal?”

“One — it’s healthy. Connie and I are watching what we eat right now and trying to keep in shape.” Javi can think of other ways two married people could keep in shape, but hasn’t the chance to voice his opinion as Steve carries on, “Two — shut up, it’s tasty, ain’t it? And three — I thought it might cheer you up, you’ve been a real downer today.” He doesn’t use a finger to emphasise each point, rather a wiggle of a carrot stick with the end bitten off. Javi decides instantly that he doesn’t like that.

“I’m touched,” he says dryly, dipping a fry in his sauce. He really is touched by the kind thought from his partner, but the kind thought is wrapped in so many layers of hillbilly bullshit that it’s hard to find the words to express that. He leaves his gratitude unsaid, veers the conversation away. “How did you order all this, anyways? Your Spanish isn’t that good.”

Steve appears offended, which Javi knows to mean that he isn’t offended at all. “Hey, I know the words for ‘drug dealer’ and ‘cocaine’ and ‘gun’.”

Javi peers into his red and yellow box — only a plastic bag with something black inside remains. “I don’t see any cocaine in here,” Javi mutters under his breath, deliberately loud enough to be heard.

“These carrot sticks are better than coke, believe me,” Steve says, shoving another piece of carrot into his mouth with a triumphant grin as if that proved it.

Javi shakes his head, sips on his soda. “Lying bastard.”

Steve’s expression gives nothing away.

“I just pointed at what I wanted. Took me a few attempts but I got there in the end. How do you say carrot sticks in Spanish? Just, you know, for future reference.”

“Palo de mierda,” Javi tells him with a straight face, without hesitation.

“What?”

“Palo de mierda,” Javi says again, unrepentant — he holds in a breath, hoping that Steve doesn’t catch on. He needn’t have worried.

Steve repeats it a few times, committing the phrase to memory. Javi stuffs a whole chicken nugget in his mouth before he can laugh.

They lapse into silence again — or as silent as it can be when one of them is crunching on raw carrots.

Chicken burger and carrot sticks finished, Steve wipes mayo off of his moustache with a napkin. A few minutes later when Javi reaches for a napkin from the pile as well, Steve looks very pleased with himself.

Javi starts tidying up, collecting the leftover rubbish from his desk and putting it inside his red box. Only his soda remains to be finished.

“Nice,” Steve says and Javi looks up — he’s got a little stuffed penguin toy in a plastic bag. “My little girl’s gonna love this.”

Javi reaches into his box and pulls out a bag too — it’s a black thing with a brown nose and tummy, some kind of stuffed animal he doesn’t recognise. He turns it over — there’s a card inside.

SLOTH BEAR, it reads.

“Here you go,” Javi says, lifting himself out of his chair to reach across their desk made out of two desks. He holds out the sloth bear in its plastic bag for Steve to take — but Steve doesn’t make a move, just stares at Javi like he’s sprouted an extra head that’s just told him the sky isn’t blue. Catching his look, Javi asks, “What? It’s for your kid.”

“No, no, man, that’s yours,” Steve says, shaking his head along with every ‘no’.

Javi doesn't retreat, just shakes his outstretched hand as if to tempt him — the little bear in the bag jumps up and down and the plastic crinkles noisily with the movement. (Javi hasn’t thought of the Serpent tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden for a long time.)

After a few moments of them staring stubbornly at each other, bear in a bag suspended between them, Javi falls back into his chair with a huff. He looks down at the bear in his hands. “What am I going to do with this?”

Steve rolls his eyes and lifts up his hand, fingers wiggling to beckon Javi — or the bear — to him.

He gets the bear — it flies across the desk and slaps him on the cheek with some force, bouncing off of him and to the ground. Steve bends over in his chair and it rolls back slightly as he strains to reach the bear where it has landed. He straightens, the bear clenched securely in his fist, and fixes Javi with an outraged look. “What the hell?”

Javi takes a drag of his half-finished cigarette, blows out the smoke. “It’s a tiny stuffed animal, Steve, it can’t feel a thing.”

“He’s got a brown nose.”

“He?” Javi mutters to himself, but is talked over.

“He’s got a brown nose, d’you know what that means?” Steve points at the bear’s pale brown muzzle, just in case Javi hasn’t noticed — he has noticed, he just doesn’t see why the hell he should care.

Steve’s expecting an answer — Javi rolls his eyes, feebly attempts, “He — it — has been using a sun bed wrong?”

“No, it means he’s your mascot,” Steve declares with childlike glee.

Javi blinks in the face of Steve’s unaccountable delight. “You’re losing it, Murphy.”

“He is. Think about it — how much brown-nosing do you and me have to do on a weekly basis? It’s a fuckton. I can handle it fine because I am calm and collected and an excellent people person — but you? You look like you’re constipated the whole time — quit flipping me the bird, man, I’m serious here — and the big cheeses know it, Javi, they’ll start taking a real dislike to you. But this bear is an expert, look at him, it’s all over his face. You take inspiration from him and he’ll show you how to brown-nose like the best of them.”

Steve holds out the bear in the bag for Javi to take. The three of them stare at each other — Steve with a look of ridiculous seriousness, Javi with straight-up disbelief, and the bear with the blank expression of the fucking inanimate.

“Kiss my ass,” Javi says, and in one swift and graceful movement he’s out of his chair and heading for the restroom. His knees protest after sitting for most of the day but he’s not fucking stopping. He has to get away from this maniac. “I’m going for a piss,” he throws over his shoulder as he disappears into the corridor.

When he returns several minutes later Steve is gone — but the brown-nosed bear is unwrapped from its plastic bag and nestled in between his outbox and his pen pot.

Javi sighs, but the bear stays.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Ambassador Noonan wants to see us about my C.I.,” Steve tells Javi, almost apologetic, as he puts the phone back on the hook.

“Both of us? Great,” Javi says, the final word sounding chipper but dripping with sarcasm.

They both head for their desks, collecting I.D. badges from drawers and putting their coats on. Steve fiddles with his hair — which makes very little difference, Javi thinks — and picks up his car keys. “I’ll drive,” he says, and goes on ahead.

The brown-nosed bear catches Javi’s eye as he turns to leave. He pauses despite himself, mutters, “Fuck it.”

He puts the bear in his pocket and follows Steve out of the building.

In the meeting, every time Noonan says something that will needlessly halt their progress in catching Escobar, Javi squeezes the bear hidden in his pocket and tries to look less ‘constipated’, as Steve succinctly put it.

Steve’s C.I. will get them a small step closer to Escobar but a small step is better than none at all. Noonan is pleased, grants them some extra funds and manpower to follow the C.I.’s lead. In all, the meeting goes much better than usual — they leave with more than they arrived with.

Javi and Steve are descending the stairs to the underground parking lot together when Javi says, “Palo de zanahoria.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“Palo de zanahoria. Carrot sticks. In Spanish.”

[spicykoreantatertots]

Sleep Alone - Part One

Pairing: Namjoon x Female Reader (ft. Hoseok and Seokjin)

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: PG-13

Genres: SFW, Soulmate AU, Angst (Future Fluff)

Summary:  The timer on your wrist is ticking away until the moment you get to meet your soulmate. You often spend time daydreaming about your him. The time remaining on the timer has fluctuated throughout your life. Each big decision you or your soulmate makes can have an affect on the timer. A week before you finally get to meet, the timer gets extended by an additional forty years.

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, drug dealing, drug lording, meth labs, death, murder, blood, scary guys being scary dudes, someone gets arrested, but there is not smut lmao. 

A/N: Proud to be part of Bangtan Scenery’s April Showers Bring May Flowers Collab! This is the first part of this fic. Part two will be coming in May! I may also do a NSFW one shot later this year. I’m excited to continue working on my soulmate series (one for each member). They are all based on songs by Waterparks, check out Sleep Alone. 

Big shout out to @megahwn and @ho-baebae​ for beta reading and thank you to @lovely-literati​ for always being supportive. Love y’all! 💜

~~~~~~~

The street is deserted, only one parked car about a few feet away. He sneaks around the corner into the alleyway. Careful not to step on any debris or in any puddles, he slinks past the dumpster overflowing with garbage. He can barely make it out in the dark, but he’s found the door with the marking. 

He reaches into his back pocket for his lock picking kit, but when he begins to work on the door he finds it unlocked. He pauses, unsure if he should continue inside, but the overwhelming metallic scent of blood floods his nostrils.

He rushes into the building. The first room is large and dim. But he can see boxes, buckets, beakers, tubing, and trash everywhere. It’s a meth lab. The smell of ammonia starts to overtake the smell of the blood. Until he sees two bodies in the next room and one big puddle of blood between them. 

As he approaches cautiously he begins to recognize one of the people. Dae-hyun. He falls to his knees. The one person he was trying to protect from all this. Before the grief strikes him, there’s a crash from the other room. And footsteps. And then his chest is on the ground, the breath knocked out of him, a knee in his back. A booming voice.

“Kim Namjoon, you are under arrest for the murders of Jung Dae-hyun and Yoo Young-jae. You have the right to remain silent...” 

~~~~~~~

It’s the same dream you always have. Following the path of rose petals up the hill. The sun is setting and at the top you can see him: your soulmate. You’ve never been able to see his face. You always wake up just before you reach him. This time as you approach the hill, he’s nowhere to be seen.

The gentle thunder from the approaching storm wakes you from your sleep. An early morning thunderstorm, one of your favorite types of weather. The gray sky and light drizzle almost lull you back to sleep. But just as you’re dozing off you see it. Your timer. 

44y:67d:54h:23m

You have to do a double take. Forty-four years? Just last night your soulmate timer was counting down from four years. It’s not uncommon for it to change. 

Each decision you make could potentially affect the timer. You changed your mind about college three times before you settled on the one that only added two years to the timer. One day, your timer went from 5 years to 3 minutes, but then quickly returned to 5 years. You had just been watching TV, so you often wondered what decision your soulmate made that brought you so close together and why he would have changed his mind. 

But you couldn’t have done anything in your sleep last night to cause this... what did he do?

~~~~~~~

It’s the story of the year. Of all the exciting cities across the world, it has to be breaking in your hometown. The sexy new drug lord, Kim Namjoon, finally caught. It’s sick, but it makes for good news. Or whatever Buzzfeed is. They’re taking it as far as possible with their quizzes and bullshit articles. 

Are you compatible with Kim Namjoon?

10 reasons why Kim Namjoon is the sexiest drug lord of the century. 

Which paradise should you and Kim Namjoon escape to?

22 things to know about Kim Namjoon’s life before drugs. 

Kim Namjoon as exoctic birds.

It’s not something you would normally be interested in, but during your morning social media scroll, one article catches your eye. 

Could Kim Namjoon be your soulmate? Click here to see his timer. 

There’s something growing in the pit of your stomach. It really really couldn’t be. The fact that the story broke the same day your timer had 40 years added means nothing... Right?

You check the comments, refusing to give into click bait. 

Kim Min-seo

President Namjoon 2020

Steven Borden

Why do we care about this? He’s a murderer and drug dealer. 

Karen Smith

prayers for the family

Jae Lee

He can murder me any day of the week. 

Julie Ann

Can’t imagine having a half empty bed for 44 years. Thank god I got my mans already.

The feeling in your stomach radiates throughout your body. It can’t be. You give in and click on the article. A picture of Kim Namjoon. A close up of his wrist. It’s not exactly the same as yours, but it was taken two days ago. At 3pm. You do the math in your head. Then you do it again on a piece of paper. Then you plug it into Google, just to be sure. 

It’s him. 

So if any of you ladies or fellas out there have the matching timer, you can find him at the 48th Police Precinct before he’s transferred to a maximum security prison upstate. Click here to stay up to date on all things Kim Namjoon. 

A gif of Namjoon being escorted into the police station plays on a loop at the end of the article. He is beautiful isn’t he? He could be a murderer, a full on drug lord. But as it begins to fully sink in, you know there has to be more to the story. Your soulmate couldn’t really be a killer. 

~~~~~~~

There was no air conditioning on the bus to the police station. The warmth of late spring is making you sweat. You might think it was just your nerves, but the overwhelming smell of body odor confirms that everyone else is sweating too. 

Looking around the bus at the other passengers, it’s hard to imagine where they might be coming from or where they’re going. Most people are probably doing normal things, shopping, going to work, visiting friends. Is anyone else on their way to face their soulmate?

Some chattering from the front of the bus pulls you out of your head for a moment. Everyone on the bus begins looking out the windows on the opposite side. You crane your neck to try to see what everyone else is looking at. It’s a crowd of people, but that’s about all you can make out. 

“Stop #27: West 12th Street!” The bus driver announces over the intercom. The bus slows to a stop, your stop, right in front of the police station. 

Fiddling with the strap from your bag, you exit the bus slowly. Soon you’re able to get a good look at the crowd. It’s mostly young women, all crowded near the entrance of the police station. They’re holding signs, it must be a protest of some kind. 

As you get closer you can read some of the signs. 

HUGS AND DRUGS

LEGALIZE

FREE KIM NAMJOON

END THE WAR ON DRUGS

PRESIDENT NAMJOON 2020

The protest signs seem... inappropriate? Especially considering he was arrested for murder and not his alleged drug lord-ing. 

“Free Namjoon!” Shouts the girl wielding the “President Namjoon 2020” sign. 

“He’s too hot for prison!” The girl next to her screams.

“Ji-woo shut up! You’re invalidating the cause.” You don’t stay to hear Ji-woo’s rebuttal, instead opting to duck inside the police station before they engage you. 

It’s a bustling place. Lots of people in the waiting room. A woman with two small children is ahead of you in line trying to reason with the woman behind the counter. She’s trying to convince her that the $10,000 bond for her husband’s DUI is unreasonable. 

“Ma’am, the judge sets the bail amount. There are bail bonds services down the street. Next!” She motions for you to step up to the counter.

“How can I help you?” She asks, not making eye contact, but instead clacking away at her keyboard.

“I’m here... to see Kim Namjoon?” It comes out as a question, without looking up she responds.

“You can go join the group of your friends waiting outside. No one can see him. Next!” There is a grunt from the man behind you in line when you don’t move immediately. 

“I think...” You start quietly. “I’m his soulmate.” The woman stops typing to look up at you. You reluctantly pull back your sleeve and show her your timer, still ticking away. 

“I see.” She stands and disappears down a hall and out of sight. You fight the urge to look around the room, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone who might have heard you. The forty years on your timer don’t change and you’re not sure what this means. Maybe they still won’t let you see him, soulmate or not. 

After several minutes of awkwardly standing and waiting, she returns with a police officer. 

“Ma’am please come with me.” The officer motions toward a door that leads out of the waiting room and the woman returns to her keyboard. The officer meets you on the other side of the door. It’s quieter than you expected. A bulletin board of wanted flyers stares back at you. 

“He doesn’t want to see you, but he was willing to add you to his phone call list.” Your stomach drops. How could he not want to see you? He’s the one who’s been arrested, it’s you that shouldn’t be willing to see him.

The officer continues down the hall to a small conference room. There are two other people in it, another police officer and a man. The officer guides you in and then leaves. 

“Hi please have a seat and fill out this form.” It’s a fairly simple form. Name, address, phone, relationship to detainee....

“Who are you?” The man next to you asks. He’s looking at you trying to fill out the form. You don’t respond to him at first, because who is he? He looks like any other guy off the street. Well maybe not quite. He’s dressed in basic dark jeans and a graphic t-shirt, but he is very handsome.

“I’ve never seen you before, why are you here to see Namjoon?” He prompts you again. He must know Namjoon. But if he’s friends with Namjoon... Namjoon the potential drug lord and murderer... can he be trusted?

“I’m his soulmate.” The words still feel awkward falling out of your mouth. But you don’t have much choice but to trust him. He’s your only line into the life of Namjoon. The man tenses up, drops his head into his hands. He says nothing, the lights in the room flicker slightly.

After too much awkward silence, you push your completed form toward the officer across the table. He tells you that you may receive calls from the station or prison when Namjoon is able to call, but the only way for you to reach out to him is to send letters to the prison. You thank him for the information and pause, waiting to see if Namjoon’s friend will say anything. He doesn’t, so you get up and leave the room. 

You manage to get out of the police station and through the crowd of weird fan girls before the tears start flowing. What are you supposed to do now? Just wait around and hope he calls? 

“Hey! Hey!” You turn and see the man from the conference room running toward you. You quickly wipe the tears away and straighten your posture. He slows a bit before approaching you cautiously. 

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know... God. I don’t really know what’s going on to be honest. I just know that what they’re saying... what they’ve accused him of. It isn’t true.” Even though he’s a stranger. Even though you have no reason to trust him. You feel relieved. 

“Who are you?” You finally ask him. He smiles a little and stretches out his hand.

“I’m Jung Hoseok.”

~~~~~~~

Namjoon’s friend, Hoseok, walks with you down the street to a cafe. He buys you a drink and tells you about Namjoon, the English, Government, and Philosophy triple major. The boy set to start law school in the fall. His best friend for years now, the friend who helped him finally find his own soulmate connection. 

And now here you are. Namjoon’s soulmate, sitting across from Hoseok at a coffee shop. 

“So, you clearly don’t think he could have done this,” you mumble across the table, “so what do you think is going on?” Hoseok is quiet for a long moment. He’s looking down at the cup of coffee, stirring mindlessly.

“I think he’s being framed.” The air between you is heavy, the weight of the situation settling onto your shoulders. 

“Namjoon has- had this friend from his childhood,” Hoseok starts again, “he got mixed up into some bad things.”

“Dae-hyun?” You ask before taking another sip of your drink. Hoseok nods.

“I know Namjoon was trying to help him. He asked me to follow Dae-hyun a few times because he wouldn’t have recognized me.” Hoseok shakes his head a bit, as if he’s wiping away some memories.

“You followed him? That was so dangerous, why would you do that?” You question. 

“I owed him one.” A faint smile crosses Hoseok’s lips. 

“Well.... Did you learn anything?” Eager to hear more, eager to figure out how to fix this problem.

“Dae-hyun was dealing something, I’m not sure what. I guess meth, they found Joon in a meth lab didn’t they?” Hoseok takes a drink before continuing. “Dae-hyun was in a relationship with the other guy that was killed, Young-jae. I wasn’t sure, but Namjoon thought they were together. He said Dae-hyun would never do drugs much less sell them, so he assumed Dae-hyun must have been trying to help Young-jae get off drugs, get out of the drug ring.”

“Why did Namjoon do all this, why not go to the police?” You ask, your head beginning to hurt. Trying to connect the dots is taking its toll. 

“If he had reported it to the police they would have busted Dae-hyun and Young-jae.” Hoseok pauses. “I think Namjoon was trying to take down the whole drug ring.”

“By himself?” You laughed to yourself. The stupidity... the guts... your soulmate is something else, isn’t he?

“Namjoon is a genius, but even more than that he’s compassionate and caring. And he must have been close, because they framed him for murder, framed him for running the drug ring himself.” Hoseok was right. The real leader of the drug ring must have felt Namjoon was getting too close to exposing them. 

“Hoseok?” You tilt your head to the side, an idea brewing in your mind. “Do you think Namjoon may have left any evidence or clues for someone to find?”

“What are you thinking?” Hoseok raised his eyebrows. 

~~~~~~~

It wasn’t difficult for you to convince Hoseok to take you to Namjoon’s apartment. It’s proving to be much more difficult to convince him to cross the crime scene tape. 

“Hoseok this isn’t even where the alleged crime took place!” You shout, tugging your hands, trying to break Hoseok’s grip on you. 

“We have to be careful about this. If we get incriminated too there won’t be anyone left to help Namjoon.” You don’t want to admit it, but he’s right. 

“This is the closest I can be to him Hoseok, please let me go in.” Your shoulders droop and you stop fighting him. He doesn’t let you go though. He’s about to speak, but before he does, both of you hear footsteps running down the hallway. 

A tall man wearing a baby pink sweatshirt is running toward the two of you. Hoseok drops your wrists and puts his hands on his hips with a huff.

“Jin what are you doing here?” Hoseok greets his friend with a hand slap and a bro hug. 

“I don’t know exactly. My fiance sent me here to see if I could find anything helpful. She’s headed to Namjoon’s hometown to be with his family. They were close growing up.”

“Oh yeah... does that mean she was friends with Dae-hyun too?” Hoseok questions.

“Yeah she’s really upset about it.” Jin turns to you finally. “So who are you?” 

“She’s Joon’s soulmate.” Hoseok says before you can answer. 

“Bad timing, huh?” You laugh a bit to stave off the uncomfortable feeling. 

“Yeah, well. I know a thing or two about bad soulmate timing. I’m Seokjin.” You shake his hand. He laughs a bit, not bothering to tell you about his soulmate story. The focus is back on entering Namjoon’s apartment. 

Hoseok stands in front of the door, still wanting to weigh the options. Without hesitation Seokjin begins furiously tickling Hoseok’s underarms. Hoseok doubles over in laughter and then dead weights himself, sending both of them toppling to the ground. While both of them are laughing, you decide to reach for the door. 

The door is unlocked, so you swing it open. You step through the tape, trying not to break it. Silence breaks over the three of you. The boys scurry to their feet and enter the apartment behind you.

“Don’t leave your finger prints on anything.” Hoseok whispers. It takes a moment for it to set it in, but the more you look around the room it’s easier to see. 

Someone has been here. The place has been completely trashed. Drawers are open, couch cushions thrown about, pictures and decorations knocked down and smashed. You reach down and pick up a framed picture of Namjoon and his family. The glass falls out, so you remove the picture and slip it into your pocket. 

Before anyone can say anything, there’s a sound from the back of the apartment where the bedroom must be. It sounds like a drawer slamming and then someone curses. Someone else is in the apartment. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you look back at Hoseok and Seokjin. They’re both frozen. Footsteps are coming from the hallway and a figure comes out of the shadows. Hoseok grabs your arm and pushes you back behind him. 

It’s a man, yet another person you don’t recognize. He’s wearing all black and a leather jacket. Hoseok seems to tense further upon seeing the man’s face. 

“What the hell are you doing here Min-jae?” Hoseok demands. The man stills upon seeing the three of you standing there. He puts his hands up and slowly continues walking toward you. 

“Probably the same thing you are. I just need some answers man.” Min-jae stops about ten feet away and puts his arms down. Hoseok turns to you. 

“Young-jae’s brother.” Hoseok mouths this information to you, trying to hide what he knows.

“I need to know what happened! Why would this guy kill my brother?” Min-jae shouts. He kicks a chair over in the kitchen while tears begin to fall down his face. 

“Listen, we came here to figure something out too.” Hoseok continues, cautiously approaching the man. “Namjoon didn’t do this. He loved Dae-hyun, he was trying to help them. Dae-hyun was on drugs, your brother was probably trying to help too, but just got caught up in the mess.” 

Hoseok was intentionally sharing the wrong information. He must have a reason to not trust Min-jae. Seokjin looks over at you and you shake your head once, so slightly as to not let Min-jae see. 

“Well good luck because I haven’t found anything.” Min-jae let out an exasperated sigh. 

“You’ve never been here before, so maybe we should give it a once over. We’ve all seen this place before.” Hoseok says, again, not the truth. You’ve never been here. You play along with Hoseok’s ruse. 

The four of you search the house for anything that might be helpful. It’s more difficult than you thought because you don’t know what you’re looking for. But you are learning about Namjoon. 

In the kitchen you learned that he seems to eat a lot of take away and instant ramen. In the bathroom you learned that he has a full skin care routine and that he uses cinnamon toothpaste. In the bedroom you learn that he probably misses the hamper when he’s in a hurry, and based on the polaroids taped to the wall, he enjoys traveling. Back in the living room, you learn that Namjoon is an avid reader. You’ve parked yourself in front of his book shelf, scanning each title carefully. 

“He’s always got a book with him.” Seokjin says as he comes out of the kitchen. He reaches past you to grab a book from the shelf. It’s leather-bound and has his name printed across the cover. 

Seokjin opens it and the two of you stand there, silently looking through the notes scrawled throughout the pages. Except, they aren’t notes. They’re song lyrics. 

Your phone begins loudly ringing in your pocket, causing both you and Seokjin to jump. You excuse yourself into the hallway. It’s an unknown number, your heart skips a beat. 

“Hello?” You answer quietly. 

“A detainee at the 48th Police Precinct is attempting to contact you, do you accept?” An automated voice is on the other line. This is it. Namjoon is calling. 

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kim Namjoon on the other end of the call, it sounds like he’s crying. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Oh I know sweetheart.” You coo into the phone, it feels strangely natural to comfort him.

“Where are you?” He sniffles.

“I’m with Hoseok at your place.” You continue speaking in a hushed tone.

“Okay that’s good. Stay with him until this is over. You can’t trust anyone else.” The words send a chill down your spine, reiterating the seriousness of the situation. 

“Seokjin is here too.” Your voice is trembling now, your hands shaking. 

“Jin is safe.”

“A guy named Min-jae was here when we got here.”

“Son of a bitch.” Hoseok seemed to be suspicious of him and Namjoon’s reaction confirms that he is bad news. “Listen to me. Listen carefully.” Namjoon takes a deep breath.

“I can’t say much, I don’t know who is listening. There is a small flash drive taped to the back of the painting above my couch. Jin will know who to take it to. Get away from Min-jae as soon as you can, don’t let him see the flash drive.”

“Namjoon I-”

“You don’t have to do any of this, you can leave now and I won’t blame you-”

“No!” You almost shout it, probably getting the attention of the boys back inside the apartment. “No, I’m in this now. We’re in this together.” Namjoon takes a deep breath.

“Thank you. Please get yourself out of there.”

“I’ll see you soon, Namjoon.” You say firmly. It’s not an option. You will get him out. 

“See you soon.” He chuckles lightly before hanging up the phone. 

You take a moment, pressing your back against the wall. You try to catch your breath, but instead you cry. The tears silently roll down your face.

Back in the apartment, the three boys seem to be in the back of the apartment continuing their search. You tiptoe toward the couch and reach for the painting. It comes off the wall easily and you set it down silently on the couch cushion. 

It takes a minute to spot it. It is actually very small and painted to be the same color as the back of the painting. You carefully remove it and stick it in your front pocket. You put the painting back up and turn to go find Hoseok and get the hell out. 

Min-jae is there behind you, staring at you. 

“Find anything interesting?”

~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Part Two coming soon! Check out my Not Warriors Soulmate Series Masterlist! 

Want to be added to the tag list, let me know!!

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course chapter 7) Women’s Business

.-.-.

A new day came while an old task remained. Ivar awoke by the sound of an unblemished wooden bowl dropping near his feet. As he pulled himself into a sitting position, two dead chickens dropped next to the bowl. 

“Yalla,” Piglet hurried him, wavering at the two dead birds. But in her order lay a clear plea; for reasons unknown, she did not want to see him hurt or die by the hands of the Giant. 

Ivar could refuse, but the dark bruises on his bicep reminded him of how much he had to lose. 

  So, instead of fighting, Ivar picked up the first chicken and started tearing off it’s feathers. His mind was blank and he had to blink his eyes as he watched his calloused hands pluck the feathers. It was as if he watched the hands of someone else, because surly his hands weren’t meant to be doing such idiotic tasks. This was women’s business, preparing food. 

At least someone was pleased to see Ivar’s stubbornness deteriorate. Piglet’s humming filled up the shed while she swept the floor and fed the animals inside. 

The sunbeams came trickling in through the cracks of wood when their door got unlocked by the Giant. 

Seeing Ivar’s worn down demeanor and first plucked chicken brought out a gleam of indulgence in the Giant’s grey eyes. He dropped a sack of onions near Ivar’s feet and barked a few orders to Piglet, who’d retreated to the farthest space in the shed the moment she sensed the intruder. 

The Giant left the pair of them alone again. Ivar stared at the deadweight of onions, uncertain what to do with it. 

Piglet noticed his wonder and motioned him to throw her one of the onions, still determined to keep herself out of Ivar’s reach. 

Ivar did and watched the slave girl peel off the first two layers and then put the onion aside. Ivar sensed the vegetables were meant for pickling, a common way to preserve food during hard times. 

Once both chickens were ridden of their feathers, Ivar started his other degrading task. One that brought tears to his eyes and made his nose run. Piglet noticed his struggles while trotting along his box each time with a different tool or task. 

She granted him a bucket of frigid water and motioned him to watch how she dunked her onion into the water, then pointed at her eyes. When receiving a dull glance from Ivar, she clucked her tongue and with her finger drew a line from her eye to her chin. 

Was she mocking him? 

Ivar’s short fuse and pride, made Piglet hurry out of the shed, dodging unpeeled onions. 

But after a while of tearing up and sniffling like a wailing baby, Ivar found it wise to put Piglet’s gimmick up for the test. And indeed, the burning of his eyes lessened if he dunked the onions into the water before peeling the first layer off. 

The rest of the day, Ivar prince of Kattegat sulked and slaved his way through the entire sack. He’d half expected Piglet to check on him, and more importantly,  provide him some sort of meal. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, by now he’d missed out on all. 

For a moment, Ivar’s blue eyes fixated on the plucked chickens, but reminiscing on the night before, made the fear of disobedience larger than the growling inside his stomach. 

His blue’s then focussed on the preposterously large mountain of peeled unions. Surely the Giant must not have counted them? 

Ivar took one onion and closed his eyes, focusing on any sounds that might indicate that of the Giant's return. He listened intensely, but aside the buzzing life of cattle and chickens, he could not filter out any approaching footsteps. 

Hastily, Ivar’s front teeth ripped off the first layer and started chewing. The sticky yellowish mass stung his eyes, burning his tongue. It’s scent rose into each nostril and he had to hold his stomach not to heave. Ivar had always savored onion soup, but for now it was causing nothing but agony on his tasting buds. 

He still managed to trial himself through three hole onions before surrendering to the vile stingy taste. Trying to lessen the burning sensation he brought the bucket of water up to his throat and drank greedily. 

“Urgh,” he shuddered and scrunched up his face, it had been a terrible idea, but it nurtured the worst bit of his plaguing hunger. 

“Hamar?” Piglet blurted, she blinked and made a small smile as she witnessed him spit out the best of a mouthful of onion water. 

Although Ivar was faithfully throwing daggers at her with his eyes, she presented him a bowl of groats porridge and a handful of forest strawberries. The gnawing hunger made him hastily hunch forward and slouch across his box as far as his shackles allowed him too. Although it was evident that he was not mobile enough to touch Piglet, the young woman stiffened and winced back while Ivar extracted his hand to snatch all food items from the floor and drag them back to his side. 

Growling at her, Ivar did not bother to chew the food and used both hands to spoon the porridge into his mouth. It was lukewarm, the texture full of chunks and the taste was stale, but it was the best porridge Ivar had eaten in his life. Of course expressing his delight was out of the question and once he was done he twirled the wooden bowl across the floor near Piglet’s feet. She picked it up without a sound and left him alone again. 

The sun casted its golden rays through the crack between the wood panels on the opposite side of the morning; soon the night sky would settle. 

Ivar had neatly filled up the sack with the peeled onions and dragged it as close to Piglet’s makeshift line as he could; if he could prevent the Giant coming near him then the small struggle was nothing. 

But the Giant did not bother to retrieve Ivar’s work, instead Piglet came in, noticed the sack and stored it aside without uttering a word. She must resent him by now, good, because he’d been insufferable to her.  

Someone from the outside locked the door and left them in the duskiness of the shed. Piglet moved around for a bit, but wasn’t foolish enough to go near him. Eventually, Ivar dwelled into sleep while the girl chanted her prayers. 

.-.-.

A/N: this was a short chapter, sort of an interlude for the next part. Some might feel that the pace of this story is slow, maybe too slow for the liking. But I really enjoy drabbling out day-to-day life and adding historic detail (like the groats meal, I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time googling ‘Dutch breakfast during the viking era’). 

If this pace is not your cookie, then I hope you stay on this ride, because there will be more gore/death for the angst-lovers. Oh and of course more beating-up-Ivar-for-being-a-little-shit, for the hurt/comfort fans. 

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The tagged:  @xbellaxcarolinax @youbloodymadgenius @saldelys @shannygoatgruff @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @readsalot73 https://lauraaan182.tumblr.com/ @lauraaan182 @pieces-by-me

[skelffricat]

Good grief, Charlie Brown.

I’ve never owned an electric toothbrush. I’ve never had a dishwasher. I am the dishwasher. I like washing dishes. I never bought an iron. I don’t have a hairdryer. I find it strange that I get advertised these reusable alternatives for things that I never use anyway. Alternatives to cling film. I put another plate over the dish. Alternatives to cotton buds. I use my finger. (Ew, you may say, but surely a finger’s that size to fit in ears and nostrils? Or whatever orifice you please. Wash your hawnds.) Alternatives to cotton wool circles. What? I dont know why these thoughts have come into my head, when I want to write about my youngest child. Really, I’m meant to be working, but an annoying email from my dead daughter’s school sent me down a suicide rabbithole. Perhaps those other thoughts come about as my classic brain avoidance schemes. Like when you hoover instead of doing an essay. Positive procrastination, I used to call it. I wanted to visit some friends last night- a fun thing! but I was feeling all solitary and awkward. I cleaned the bathroom ceiling at first, instead! I had to really talk myself into going to see them. I was looking at my bed and it was saying, “Get into me! and read your book!”

Then I went, and I had a lovely time, of course. I still finished the book I was reading, when I got home at midnight, until three am, making myself ever so tired. I’ve stopped taking the tablets- beta blockers and mirtazapine (more by accident rather than design. They’re still up in the chemist waiting for me. I’m rather disorganised) and so sleep doesn’t come as readily. I have to take deep breaths for ages sometimes, to get over. And I awake in the night hearing things that aren’t there. I heard The Woodcarver calling me, one night, plain and loud as day. Another time, I heard my son knocking my door three times, sharply (or was it a burglar? I said that to someone and they laughed. Burglars don’t knock! Oh, hello there, wake up, I’m robbing you blind!) Bounced out of bed. Heart hammering. Called him. He was fast asleep. Was it her ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts, really. Kind of wish I did. She’d be a mischievous one, no doubt. Is it always 5:57am, when I awake? The same time. Time to find your dead child. 

I’m often in the house alone, now. They didn’t want to leave me alone, and there were so many people in the house, for ages. Then all of a sudden, it stopped. And I changed lovers... I changed to the one I’d been in love with for over a year, the one who seemed too young, the one who wasn’t interested. Suddenly he was interested. Well. It wasn’t sudden. It took a few weeks. Seven weeks? The seven week itch? It coincided with when the Scottish lover asked me to stop letting other people come to the house. He wanted me to himself. Which is kind of fair enough, though I knew it wouldn’t last anyway. (People coming to my house, I mean, not the relationship. I really enjoyed having a relationship with him. He is very sweet, funny, intelligent, and kind. The sex was great. He can cook wonderful food and play guitar well. I liked to sing with him. I am ashamed to say I was bothered by his being smaller than me, though. His face tended to itch me, too- he never quite grew a beard long enough to stop that. As he kept shaving it off, not because he couldn’t. That was the first time he kind of annoyed me, though.)

Lockdown doesn’t help, of course. We were all breaking rules in our grief. Covid is cancelled, my mother said. Masks off. Hugs all round. A friend told me you need extra oxytocin when you’re grieving. I was getting plenty of it. Good grief... 

Now I am frequently alone, and as my new lover is very busy studying (or perhaps less interested in me again now that he has my attention back? Though his reticence in getting with me stemmed from his concerns about the uneven nature of our interest in each other...) I haven’t seen him all week. I feel myself becoming depressed, and withdrawn, and paranoid, yet I still don't feel particularly sad about my daughter’s death. Which is strange. Isn’t it? Here is the email I received from her school this morning (it had her name and class at the top of the email): 

“Good morning

I hope this email finds you all well.

A number of years ago I signed the college up to the campaign against period poverty. I receive and distribute sanitary products to girls, primarily on free school meals, but any who are in need of the products and either can’t afford them or it is difficult to get them. The products are normally distributed by myself, during P.E and games, unfortunately this can’t happen at present.

These products are still available during the school closure. If you wish to avail of them, please contact our school info account (which is only read by one member of office staff) your request will be directed to me and I will contact you directly regarding collection.

These are difficult times for many at present and to quote my favourite supermarket, ‘every little helps’.

Kind regards...”

I was really with her until she quoted Tesco. And said they were her favourite!! Ugh! I mean, it really is a great idea. Though they really should check if the people they are writing about are still capable of bleeding. My heart bleeds....

I replied thus:

“Hello there.

Great idea, but as (my youngest daughter) has died, she won't be needing them any more. I hate Tesco- they ruin many little businesses.

Maybe take me off this mailing list?”

Then I attached one of her seven suicide notes: the one for school. Which I had previously not shown them. I only found it on Christmas Eve. Can I attach it, here? It has no names... 

There we are. Is it wrong of me to find her notes amusing? She is so angry, people say. I wonder how much of it is literal, and how much of it is using the school as a big nameless scapegoat. She was funny in the rest of them, too, and very loving. I found them comforting, like a fucked up Christmas present.

Then I started reading articles about suicide, and they were about how we shouldn’t call the people who do it selfish, about how depressed they are, how they need pity, not anger. I’m tired of the pity (though I’m not the suicidal one). I’m not producing enough sadness from myself when people pity me, either. Where is my sadness? Am I too acceptant of it all? We are all going to die. Is suicide like a C-section? Is it cheating death, like I thought my Caesareans cheated birth? Is suicide self euthanasia? Why do I not miss my daughter more? Is it because she had already left? Was she released, happy, free as a bird, swooping away on an Awfully Big Adventure? Trapezing her way into the æther? I googled to see if I could find any positive reactions to suicide. Is this my nature, to try and find the good in everything? To try and make light of the horrific? Is everything a joke to me? 

I found this blog post, from Andreas Moser.

I love it. Am I trying to take the blame away from myself? The NHS? The school? Should I be reeling and railing against the systems that let my daughter get into that state? Why am I instead trying to find ways to applaud her behaviour, accept it, even enjoy it?! When I read his words, “I admire their courage (because logical as it may be, it’s not easy) and the determination to make the ultimate decision in life oneself.” I felt a strange sensation of relief, that someone else could think those things. I had been thinking them, but trying not to, because it seemed like such an awful thing to think. But then I think, why does anyone else have to be to blame? It was her decision. 

The book I was rereading is called Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson. It’s my favourite book, I have decided, for now. Do favourites stay favourites? I was looking at my old Couchsurfing Profile today (because of Andreas’ blog- he, as a hippy hermit, is, of course, on Couchsurfing). One needs to update these every so often. Explain that you have watched another film in the last twenty years, that there is one less sofa in your living room, one less child on your earth. Even though no-one is allowed to move around, really. No visiting. No exploring. Perhaps she killed herself to escape the boredom. 

In Life After Life, the main character, Ursula, lives again and again. (I forgot that to live again and again, she had to die again and again. It's a very sad and graphic book, spanning two wars- read it. It is, ultimately, uplifting.) I wanted to read it again to make my daughter live again, and again. We need to write her alive. Show her drawings and paintings. Listen to her songs (they're hilarious). Read her poems. Admire her photographs. Tell the stories of her antics.

I know that really she was actually depressed and withdrawn. I know it isn’t a glorious escape. That her wee head was broken, and that sometimes it’s just easier to say, it was unfixable, she was determined, this is what she wanted, than to contemplate it as my (or anyone else’s) failure to help her. I know that she used to be confident and gregarious. She would have danced in front of people, inspiring others. She was always upside-down, tumbling, twirling, cartwheeling. She had a dry, cheeky wit, and rather an amusing obsession with poo and wee. She was kind, and wise. She liked to bake vegan treats. She could draw, and paint, and sing so beautifully. She played the ukelele, but by then she was hiding away. She had started to write poems- songs? She wouldn’t show us them. We had to beg her to perform on the trapeze for her Granny’s eightieth, in July. She did so, beautifully, but you could tell she hated the attention. Four months later, she hanged herself on it. 

Had we all withdrawn into ourselves, this 2020? Was there really nothing else to do? Yet I remember the start of Lockdown seeming idyllic. All that free time, all that sunshine. Was I just trying to convince myself, as usual? The only people we saw were the Woodcarver and the neighbours. She taught the wee boy next door to ride his unicycle. When she died, he brought in a picture he had drawn, of them on their unicycles, she as an angel above herself, a rainbow arcing over the three figures. His sadness affected me. I felt like I could only be sad through other people. Where is my sadness? Where is my grief? Good grief, bad grief, no grief? Alternatives to grief.

[trashpandaorigins]

Stop for Me

During the GOTG Comic Run Faithless, Rocket is dying. He's run away from the Guardians and cannot be found. It is implied/stated later by Groot that Gamora actually found the ringtail and was secretly going back and fourth to see him and drink with him. She was keeping his location and condition secret, killing any of his enemies before they could get to him so that he could die in peace. She was, according to Groot prepared to bury the ringtail and honor his desire to choose how he gets to be remembered. It's all tragic and emotional and sappy so I leapt at the chance to write this. My interpretation of that behind the scenes.

I'd recommend googling a summary of the gotg comic run Faithless before reading this fic. It will help you understand things. I jumped around quite a bit so be warned.

Heather Douglas aka Moondragon has the ability to invade someone's mind and control them.

Also I am basing this off my understanding of the comics. I don't know where Gamora actually was, her status with the rest of the team etc. This is my interpretation.

*Warnings: Themes of death/dying/mortality. Implied animal abuse, torture, scenes with hospitals/medical equipment (not explicit but mentioned).*

“Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.”

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Emily Dickenson

Tyressel - Deserted Forest Planet 11th Quadrant

Target locked, armed with two Kree evart guns. Gamora crouched in the branches of a large tellwart tree, squinting between the branches at the lone Estarian down below. The fool stopped, glancing around the dark trees. She lunged, landing on the Estarian’s broad shoulders and disarming her in one fell swoop.

“Where is he?” Gamora growled, pressing her blade to the assassin’s thick purple neck. She flailed, twisting, trying to reach her arm out for her evart gun, scattered across the forest floor. “I know you were after him, where is he?” The alien made to bite, cursing in some foriegn tongue.  Gamora pressed the blade harder, keeping her grip tight. “Take me to him and I will make your death painless.”

“Wh….who are...y...you?” The Estarian whimpered through her beginning to weaken under Gamora’s weight. She could feel it in the way the assassin’s muscles tensed and loosened, tensed and loosened again.

“I,” Gamora seethed, watching blue blood pucker from the Estarian’s neck, “am the most dangerous woman in the galaxy. Take me to your target or I will gut you like an orloni on a spit.”  

Gamora, sucked a breath, counting down before she made her move. One, two...three, she flicked her blade from the assassin’s mouth, instantly checking her in the temple with the helm of her sword. It worked. The Estarian stumbled, in time for Gamora to leap off of her and grab the tossed guns. The assassin stumbled weakly to the side, tripping on an unassuming root. Gamora sprinted after her, taking aim best she could with the cumbersome weapon and shot. The assassin screamed, buckling.

“Take me to him NOW!” Gamora shouted, voice cracking. Assuming he is still here. He’d better be.

“.....I’ll….t...tale you to him...if you promise not to k...kill me.”  Gamora caught up to her, tackling the alien unceremoniously to the ground, pinning her once more. ….I’ve come too far to give up now. Risked too much, lied too much. The thought of it made her stomach churn. She shook Peter’s face from her head; turning again to the Estarian bleeding on the ground.

“Deal.”

---

“H….here,” Gamora stopped, smirking. A Tellinian cruiser, I might have known.  She tightened her grip on the limping Estarian. Dragging the wounded assassin closer and trying to stifle the panic rising within her. What if she was too late? What if all the lying was for nothing? What if it’s not him?  Gamora held her breath as she neared the ship. A window on the port side.

“What’re you w...waiting…” Gamora clamped her hand over the assassin’s mouth, tightening her grip.

“Shut up.”

She peered through the window, heart dropping in her chest. All the imagining, all the speculation and wandering had not prepared her. Her hand tightened over the assassin’s mouth, trying to stop her own shaking.

“Rocket!” She pounded her fist against the metal door. “It’s Gamora! Open up! Now!” She sucked her breath, waiting for any sound. “I mean it! open this door or I will….hey!”  Gamora spun, realizing the Estarian had slipped from her grip and was darting away through the trees. Forget this, she gave me what I wanted. Gamora fingered the evart gun, holding steady, aimed and fired true. The assassin went down without a cry, the bullet going straight through her skull. She ran, I had no choice. She would’ve come back and finished Rocket off some other day, Gamora rationalized. She unloaded the gun and dropped it to the ground. Waiting in the heavy silence. Now it was just the two of them. Her stomached flopped again, her arms shaking. Every time she thought of the image she had seen through the ship’s window Gamora swallowed down the panic. I knew it was bad...I didn’t realize it was that bad.

“Rocket,” she tried softer this time. “It’s just me. The others are quadrants away. I’m here alone. Please, open up.”  She waited, some distant bird called in the canopy above. Through the trees she three green suns cast emerald light around her. It would be a pretty planet, if it didn’t reek with rot and swamp water and muck. What a fitting place Rocket had chosen to die, she thought darkly.  Something inside the ship shuffled, metal against metal scraping. She waited, standing square before the ship’s main door. Finally, the red door slid upward. Gamora took it in by degrees as Rocket slowly came into view, from the claws on his paws, the shaking legs, the thin whip of a tail, no longer bushy and ringed but dull like a piece of frayed rope. A sunken chest.

Calm yourself.

Gamora ordered, swallowing a lump in her throat. Rocket’s neck was thin, eyes red and swollen nearly shut, patchy fur dull. Bandages fixed to his arms, an intravenous line on each limb, tubes stuck out every which way. If she didn’t know better he may have robbed the nearest emergency room on Retaok. That is most likely exactly what he did. She watched him pull down the clear breathing mask that was strapped across his muzzle. He looked her up and down, cocking his head.

“Staring is rude Gamora,” he wheezed. She did her best not to flinch.

Of course he wouldn’t want to be found.

She tried to ignore the sight of his lungs under paper skin, pushing against his ribs with the effort.  She strode past him.

“Got anything to drink?”

“I th….thought...thought you’d never aa..ask!”

His hollow laughter only made her want for more alcohol.

“G...gams, what’s with the ...d...dead b..broad?”

She stopped, turning.

“That dead broad wanted you dead. She was on her way here to kill you.”

Rocket shrugged.

Gamora turned on her heel, taking off down the corridor. The screech of metal halted her step. Rocket limped behind her, dragging the metal poles that hung heavy with liquid bags. Inexplicable rage mounted in her, misplaced. She stormed back over to him, forcing herself to calm down and walked in step with his lame gait. It took everything within her not to offer help but she knew what would come if she did.

“You...you said it's just you?” He sounded so uncertain. Refusing to meet her gaze. She walked consciously slowly, allowing him to lead the way with his equipment until they made it to the ship’s main bay and low and behold an makeshift bar.

“Yes, it’s just me.” She snapped, reaching for a bottle of clear quasian liquor. It’s stinging taste burnt her tongue and tingled her stomach. She set it down with a firm clink. Watching him take the bottle with trembling hands and pour it liberally.

“You don’t have to do this,” Gamora spoke through jaw clenched frustration. “We will find some way to stop whatever is happening to you. Come back to the ship. To Peter and Groot….come home Rocket.”

His ears twitched, looking away. She watched him take a drink. The veins in his neck swelling as he swallowed. When had his fur begun to fall out? He tapped his claws against the glass.

“I ain’t going soft.”

“What’s wrong with being soft?”

Rocket shook his head,

“It’s..” he devolved into coughing. Gamora took another drink. “I’m protectin’ them!” He sputtered.

“You’re being selfish.” She snapped back, the fiery alcohol adding a bite to her voice. The ringtail poured himself another drink.

“I never got no say in this,” he gestured weakly to himself. “Didn’t get much say in anything. So let me have a say in this.” He whispered, staring into his glass. “Lemme have a say in how I go.” He looked up at her, eyes glossy, unfocussed. He looked at her without seeing her. Gamora shifted uncomfortably. Pouring another drink. “I…I’m not going soft,” he repeated.

That was it. Gamora slammed her fist down on the table, sending the glasses scattering.

“Why not choose life?! We can get you help. There are places all the across the galaxy that can save you.”

“I ain’t going nowhere!”

He tried to yell but it came out a grating whisper. Too late, she’d seen it already. Fear. Terror. Horrific speculation that whatever it would take to heal him would be worse than that which was already happening. She twinged with sympathy, what an awful choice...what would I do..? If I had to go back to Thanos or...or die?   What kind of a choice is that? Gamora steeled herself. Determined. There was only one way to find out.

Gamora snatched one of the tubings, a clear chord running from the raccoonoid’s mouth to the oxygen tank beside them. She pinched it, kinking the tube, the whine of the gass erupting. Rocket went rigid.

“G...Gamora!” He shook, thin chest heaving. She glared even as he collapsed. She knelt, looming over him. He gagged for air. “G….Gamora...I...I can’t.” Red eyes bulged, kicking weakly.

“What?” Her fingers tightened around the coil. She knelt over him, watching him struggle. His nostrils flailing. “You can’t what?”

“G...gmora…”

She held her own breath, whole body tense. Her sweaty hands held fast to the tube, the squeak of the building gas arched, building her anxiety. Beneath her Rocket shuddered, eyes roving. His chest puffed in and out, limbs going heavy. Gamora had seen it plenty of times. He looked at her, making his choice.

Gamora let go, the rush of the air spouted back through the tube. Rocket arched upward, tubes and contraptions shuttering. Gamora reached out, gingerly taking his fragile arms and helping him upward, her own heart sinking.

“So you’ll die alone and in pain for your pride?” She fumed. Gamora had long prided herself on measured emotions and logic, it was the only thing that had kept her alive for most of her life, it was what had allowed her to survive. But this? This she could not muster through. Confused, helpless rage coursed through her. She glared at the raccoonoid with righteous vitriol.

Rocket fiddled with the monitors attached to his chest, still panting.

“I’ll….die with...d..dignity the way I want.”

“Because drinking yourself into oblivion, stumbling around in your own piss and shit is so dignifying!” Gamora snarled, blazing. Rocket bared pointed teeth,

“Then why’d you even come Gamora? Did the tree put you up to t...this?” The ringtail heaved for breath from his outburst, lifting the oxygen mask and taking three deep breaths. Gamora looked away. He teetered for a moment on his shaking feet, but watched her carefully like a deer wary of a coming wolf. For her part Gamora wrung her hands together; as soon as the rage had flooded her, it was gone.

“I came,” she began slowly, “because I watched my parents die in front of me...and I was helpless to stop it.” She took a shaking breath, trying to suppress the memories. “But not this time. This time I can do something,” she continued with renewed determination. “I’m not standing by while someone I love....”  

Rocket’s mouth fell open, his whiskers twitched.

“You….you l..love me?” He breathed.

The most dangerous woman in the galaxy rolled her eyes, then stopped realizing his genuine shock. She stopped short, stepping closer to him.

“Why do you think I’m here Rocket?” She whispered gently, “Why do you think we’ve all been searching for you since you left? Why do you think I went behind everyone’s backs to come here?”

Rocket looked away, coughing for a moment. Gamora reached out a hand impulsively but he shook it away.  He’d made his choice. He has a right to his own decisions.

“If this is what you truly want, fine.”  She watched him cling to the pole for support, sucking a few more breaths of air. “I’ll be back in two Xandarian turns. Medicine, bandages, supplies, whatever you need.”

“More booze?” Rocket gestured to the spilled liquor and remaining bottles.

“There will be others like that Estarian,” she thought aloud. “You’ve pissed off a lot of people and they will be coming. I’ll take care of it. If you are determined to die,” she forced the words past the lump in her throat, “you deserve to do it on your own terms.” Rocket nodded. “I’ll keep your location secret for now, but they’ll find you eventually. Either Heather will with her powers or Groot will find you by sheer force of will.”

“If Groot’s gonna find me you better grab this oxygen tube again and be done with it,” he fingered the clear tubing in his claws, managing a wheezing laugh she did not reciprocate. Instead she turned back down the hall of the ship, making for the exit.

“I appreciate you doing this for me...” Rocket called after her softly. Gamora turned, looking down at him. Something gray and heavy overwhelmed her inside, taking her reason and dashing it to pieces. Her chest synched.

“Of course. That’s what family does for each other,” she managed, tears welled the rims of her eyes. “They respect the wishes of their loved ones. No matter how much they h...hate it. No matter how much..it hurts. And you’re right. You never got a say in how or why you were made. They never gave you that right. But you have it now. And I respect that.” She sniffed, watching his own large eyes dampen. She forced a smile. “And besides, you’d do the same for me.”

Rocket punched the controls, opening the large door of the ship.

“I’m gonna miss you Gams,” he managed.

Gamora sniffed once more, wrapping her grief around resolve. She straightened, clearing her throat and smiled good naturedly.

“I’ll see you in two turns....and every two after that.”

---

Thirty Three Xandarian Turns Later

The Benatar:

“Where is he?” Groot bristled, angry thorns erupting from his broad shoulders. Gamora planted her feet on the metal floor, folding her arms.

“I’m sorry about this Groot, but I’m not going to tell you.”

Groot grimaced, before she could react he unleashed one long arm, seizing her in his vines and lifting her off the floor, slamming her into the hard wall of the ship’s bay.

“Unhand me Wood God...I don’t want to hurt you,” she leveled with him, staring into those ruthless brown eyes. Who knew Groot would go from easy going and peaceable to stalwartly angry so soon after Rocket disappeared. The flora colossus’s tight grip loosened.

“You already have.”

Gamora twisted, landing on her feet just in time. She swallowed her shame. Groot stalked past her, sitting heavily in the co-pilot's chair.

“He wants to be left alone Groot,” she tried. “I know it’s...it’s terrible but...it’s his decision. I told him I’d honor that.”

“No it’s not his decision.” Groot growled. “It’s ours. He is part of this team,….I won’t just let him...,” the flora stopped short, words choked. Heather reached out gently touching the flora’s shoulder.

Peter looked up from his hands, wary.

“Groot’s right Gamora, we have to do what’s best for Rocket. But..what’s best for him and what he wants...might be different.”

He’s right. You know he is.

Gamora grumbled.

“Gamora,” Heather reasoned, “I don’t want to do this, but...if I must…I will make you tell me where,”

“Try it,” She dared, casting a glare at the woman.

Groot stood abruptly, turning for one of the small pods.

“I’m going to find him. I don’t care what he wants.”

Gamora stood, hand going to her sword but Peter jumped between them, raising his arms, placating.

“Gamora, let him go.”

“I’m going with him,” Heather stood, following the Flora colossus. She returned Gamora’s contemptuous look before disappearing down the hall.

Gamora stepped forward, startling as Peter gripped her shoulder,

“Let them go. If they find Rocket and manage to talk to him, well….if anyone can get him to come back, it’s Groot.”

Gamora frowned,

“I doubt it Peter.”

---

The Benatar After The Battle

with The Universal Church of Truth

“What are you doing?!” Gamora shouted over the sound of gunfire as the Benatar sped away. Peter frantically punched coordinates into the ship’s navigation. She stood, looking over his shoulder, sweat beading on her forehead. She sucked a breath, heart nearly stopping.

“Halfworld?!”

“They are the only people who know Rocket’s biology and how to fix it. If anyone can save him it’ll be them.”

Gamora rounded on the Flora colossus, who held Rocket tight to him in a protective cocoon.

“We're not bringing him to Halfworld! They were the ones who tortured him!”

Gamora’s unyielding restraint and reason were crumbling, fast. She knew it but at the moment there was no time to care. Groot only stared straight ahead as the ship lurched across another jump point.

“Groot!”

Gamora beat her fist against him in a rage. The ship raced onward, she curled her fingers into his arm for stability, and in anger, pieces of bark flaking off.

“He’d rather die than go to some hospital or lab, never mind Halfworld! You bring him back there, you're no better than the people who created him! You'd hand him over to those sadists! How could you do that?!” Her voice cracked. Groot grunted, throwing her off of him with a single uncaring shrug.

“Guys….” Peter tried from his position at the wheel.

Gamora regained her stance, only to have Drax’s impenetrable arms wrap around her. Any other time, she’d easily free herself with her sword but her mind was not working, not focusing on tact or precision. Somewhere amid all those branches Rocket lay without any life-saving equipment, his own cybernetics rebelling against him. He was being unmade and he’d only sped up the process trying to save them. And this...this was how Groot was returning the favor? She’d seen the hollow terror in the raccoonoid’s eyes when she even suggested getting help. Now that fear was becoming hers.

“How can you do this to him?!” She screamed, thrashing in Drax’s hold. “He doesn’t want to hurt anymore Groot don’t you get that?! He doesn’t want to be put back together again and again!”

“Gamora we will be with him the whole time,” Heather tried to intervene. “We won’t let anything happen to him.”

“You can’t take him back there, you can’t betray him like that! Groot!” Her voice rose to a shriek, unable to contain her outrage. Groot, Groot out of all of them. That was the worst, most heartbreaking part of it all. Rocket trusted him, loved him above everyone else and Groot was going to hand him over to them.

“He’ll die! And if he doesn’t die he’ll suffer! They'll make him and unmake him again! How can you live with that?!”

When the flora finally looked at her it was with eyes as cutting as steel.

“I’d rather do something than nothing.” he rumbled. “At least I could say I tried to save him ....unlike you.”

Gamora only gnashed her teeth, trying to free herself.

“Halfworld coming up,” Peter announced.

Gamora twisted, elbowing Drax in the ribs and darted forward, blade out and aimed at the wood god, who’s attention had returned to Rocket. Gamora ran, swinging the sword upward and...fell to the ground, Heather’s presence crashing into her mind. Heather now possessed control of her body and, despite Gamora’s will, steered her to the copilot seat, strapping her in. Through the large windows, the forbidding planet loomed, half forested with pinkish trees, half bare and covered in buildings visible even at this distance. Halfworld.

I’m so, so sorry. Forgive me Rocket.

She’d failed him.

---

Halfworld BioEngineering Facility

Keystone Quadrant

Four Terran Days Later

Gamora bypassed the security on the door and entered the small, sanitary room with caution, her stomach one wrong motion away from expelling itself at any given moment. Rocket lay motionless in the too large bed, monitors beeping steadily, which if nothing else she assumed was a good sign. The scientists at Halfworld had welcomed Rocket into their care, perhaps a little too enthusiastic at the prospect. Going so far as to offer “further enhancements.” But between threats and constant vigilance however the team more or less agreed to allow the procedures that would save the raccoonoid’s life. For her part she’d reserved herself to silence. Trying to recover the embarrassment from her outburst on the ship. It had all happened so fast. Heather had not released her from her possession until they’d whisked Rocket back behind the O.R. doors and by that time she was too exhausted to fight anyone.

She crept closer, Rocket appeared to be sleeping soundly. His little chest going in and out still unnervingly skinny but breathing better. Gamora stopped short, only just realizing Groot. He sat hunkered at the bedside, a freshly grown bouquet of flowers on the nightstand, adding a pleasant smell to the otherwise chemical stench. His eyes only stared at Rocket, still as stone.

“I should not have yelled at you.” Groot murmured after a time. Gamora remained stoic but took a step closer eyes surveying the chart that hung on the other side of the bed. She plucked it up, reading the report.

“They completely upgraded his mods,” she read aloud. “Skeletal, muscular, nural.”

“I know what it says.”

She threw the chart down on the nearby table and collapsed  in the chair opposite Groot, watching the subtle fur on the raccoonoid’s ears twitch with every tiny motion. She ran a hand across her face, her own exhaustion catching up with her.

They sat in tense silence. An occasional beep or innocuous announcement interpreting their brooding. She watched Groot who watched the ringtail. He picked at his own bark mostly, doing anything but looking at her.

The blankets shifted, Rocket stirred. Gamora’s heart leapt into her throat only to fall when he did not open his eyes, but fell back into a steady sleep. Groot stood, and beant down over his friend, gently touching his own brow to Rocket’s, one large hand cradling the raccoonoid’s face and closing his eyes.

“You are the most important person in Rocket’s life,” Gamora whispered, rotating the rings on each index finger, anything to avoid looking at the imposing flora.  “You were right. His choice to run away and die affected all of us, you most of all. And I was going to let him die without saying goodbye.” Tears threatened to resurface.

Groot withdrew his embrace and stood, looking down at her; that rigid cracked face unreadable.

“You were honoring Rocket’s wishes without question. Protecting him. Sacrificing your own feelings to do so. You were going to bury him.”

“Yes.”

Groot nodded.

“That takes more honor and more of a different kind of love than even I could muster.”

Gamora glanced up at him, raising a brow. Groot only opened one large hand, and she watched in memorization as a small blue and white flower grew from his palm.

“Rocket will like that,” she attempted a lighter tone.

“It’s not for Rocket,” Groot held it out to her. “I was right, that he is a part of this team. This family. His life and his death do not belong solely to him. But you belong to this family too.”

With that the tears escaped her, she took the flower, gently snapping it away from his palm.

“I am sorry,” Groot professed. She watched him walk around the bed carefully to her and open his arms. Gamora fell into the hug with as much overwhelming joy as exhaustion. The strong bark steady and assuring.

“I’m sorry too Groot. I didn’t want to hide things from you.” He’d never know the insatiable guilt that had wracked her during those months. He’d never know how it took everything within her not to say anything. How it had haunted her. “But I promised him I’d honor his choice and I know he’d do the same for any of us.” Groot’s arms tightened around her. “He didn’t want to come back here, he’d rather die and...I’d make the same call if I had to go back to Thanos.”

Groot’s large head leaned on top of her own, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

“I know.”

She let herself remain in the flora colossus arms a moment longer, a safe warm place. No wonder Rocket liked to curl up with the tree creature when he went to sleep. Gamora finally reluctantly withdrew, tucking the flower behind her ear.

“I’ll give you two some privacy. He’ll want to see you when he wakes.”

“You can stay Gamora. He’ll want to see all of us.”

The rest of them filed in later, after the Halfworlders approved it. They gathered around the raccoonoid shortly before he woke up, cursing but relieved.

“I know I’m not doing any good by lying here. I’ll get better,” he breathed.

“Hey,” Peter took the ringtails hand. “Don’t worry about that, take all the time you need.” Rocket surveyed them all. Gamora stood beside Groot, her heart light for the first time in her recent memory.

“I knew we got a whole galaxy to save….”

“The galaxy can wait.”

Rocket nodded, happy tears formed around the edges of his eyes. He moved from person to person, finally landing on Gamora.

Thank you,

The raccoonoid mouthed to her. Her heart hitched in her chest but she grinned, standing there with all of them. Rocket would be okay. Groot forgave her. She’d kept her word after all. Peter was right, the galaxy could wait. For all of them.