#been having flare ups this past week but drawing this cheered me up :)

[nottspocket]

Sooo I really like @taysudon’s monster hunter/vampire au designs lol

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself. 

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win. 

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!” 

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them. 

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points. 

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders. 

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed. 

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough. 

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once. 

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed. 

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation. 

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out. 

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history. 

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test. 

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test. 

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them. 

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain. 

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match. 

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump. 

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down. 

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did. 

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly. 

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them. 

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly. 

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home. 

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out. 

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot. 

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!” 

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually. 

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.”

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp. 

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered 

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders. 

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations. 

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all. 

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better. 

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you. 

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest. 

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears. 

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.” 

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient. 

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back. 

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang. 

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway. 

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

[fruitcoops]

Hi, I love your blog so much! I recently got ankle lateral ligament reconstruction done, and as an athlete, it sucks so bad. I watched my basketball team play yesterday, and it felt really horrible to watch them lose by one point in overtime when I know I would have made a difference if I were on the court... I know you have lots of asks and prompts, but if you have the time and want to, could you possibly hurt me more than I’m already hurting with some angsty ankle injury stuff😩 like maybe Cap watching the Lions lose without him.

Thank you for all the awesome fics you write! Your blog is amazing!

Anon, this ask really struck a chord with me and I wanted to do it justice as best I could--going through a sports injury like that is the worst feeling in the world, and watching your teammates play without you just adds salt to the wound. Sending all the love and healing vibes your way, okay? Please keep me updated on how you're feeling if you feel comfortable <3

Combined with an ask for pre-Coops and Sirius' photo of Remus! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for canonical injury and mentioned scars (Remus)

Sirius felt a nudge at his arm and his irritation flared, but he did not take his eyes off the game. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as James missed yet another blatant pass. There’s three.

The next nudge was more insistent.

“What?” he snapped, sparing half a glance to his left and feeling his stomach swoop.

Remus raised his eyebrows and held the mouthguard out further. “Either put this in or unclench your jaw.”

You’re not my mother, Sirius almost snarked back, just to be even more of an asshole. He was cold from being at the rink without his gear, severely pissed off by the general bullshit happening on the ice, and the itch in the boot locked around his stupid fucked-up ankle was slowly driving him mad.

Remus offered the mouthguard again, and Sirius’ temper cooled by a few degrees at the soft encouragement on his face. Pretty, his brain supplied. He swallowed hard around his sudden dry mouth and shoved the plastic between his teeth, beating back the unruly emotions with a mental baseball bat. Nope. Not tonight. Focus on being angry.

Logan got distracted, and Finn paid the price as an enforcer slammed him against the boards; he bounced back immediately, but Sirius ground the mouthguard so hard it squeaked. “Tabarnak—”

“Come with me for a sec,” Remus said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the angry shouts of Lions fans.

Sirius shook his head. What he wouldn’t give to be in the heart of the fight, letting off some of the steam that had been building with no outlet for weeks. “Game’s not over.”

Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing; Sirius’ throat constricted as he looked at the scoreboard. There may have been three full minutes left on the clock, but the Lions had already lost—unless they pulled a miracle out of their asses, this game would be a stain on their record. Or if they just let me play.

Sirius sighed through his nose. The urge had been growing stronger the longer he stayed cooped up and restless, banging at the walls of his brain and bringing headache after headache.

“Cap.” The hand on the back of his bicep was surprisingly gentle and he closed his eyes as Remus gave him a light tug. “Come on. We can at least be productive instead of sitting here and stewing.”

He smells nice. How does he always smell so nice? Sirius stood and followed Remus down the tunnel, not even bothering to force smiles for the people pounding on the glass partitions. Don’t focus on the game.

Focus on his shoulders, something close to his heart suggested. You like his shoulders.

He scrunched his nose up at the thought—if he dwelled on the smooth, strong curve of Remus’ upper back for any longer, he would start remembering the one time he saw them bare, covered in sweat with scars that shone like moonlight and—

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, snapping him back to reality. Sirius jumped and concern flickered over the golden planes of his face. “You’re twitchy tonight.”

“Just…” He made a vague, aborted motion toward the ice before continuing toward the PT room, though he did not miss the worried look Remus shot him. Fantastic, now I look like a dick and an idiot.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” The door clicked closed behind them and Remus leaned against it with his arms crossed loosely as Sirius limped over to the table and sat down, pulling the mouthguard out. He stared at the floor and the hunk of plastic—don’t think about how nice his voice sounds around your name. Don’t.

He shook his head; through the door, the sounds of the game were faint. “They’re better than this.”

“Yep.”

“They’re all going to be angry tomorrow, which makes them sloppy.”

“Probably.”

“Coach will be upset.”

“No question.”

“It’s the Badgers.”

Remus made a face. “I know, right?”

“They’re a good team, but—” He tightened his jaw again and looked away.

“But we’re better,” Remus finished for him.

“Yeah.” Silence fell between them for a few moments, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being quiet around Remus was never uncomfortable, and Sirius was pathetically grateful for every scrap of it he could get. “I—the game would be different if I was out there.”

“Would it?”

“It would.” He had been going over every mistake for two and a half hours, placing himself in like a chess piece to stop the missed passes, fumbled pucks, and thoughtless plays. “They need me with them.”

The paper crinkled as Remus sat down next to him, and every one of Sirius’ senses went on high alert. “They need to you get better,” he said simply, those caramel-apple eyes making Sirius’ knees go weak. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Good.” There was no defensiveness or indignation in Remus’ voice—guilt snapped, a firecracker behind his teeth.

“Sorry.”

Remus smiled wryly. “When you’re around injured hockey players all day long, you get used to a little bit of bitchiness.”

“I’m not bitchy!” Sirius spluttered. The poorly-concealed amusement on Remus’ face made mortification heat his cheeks. “I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” The note of smug disbelief should not have been as attractive as it was. “Alright, lay down.”

Sirius swore he heard a few crackling noises as his brain short-circuited. “Quoi?”

“I’m not kneeling on freezing linoleum to check out your ankle, Cinderella,” Remus snorted. “Now get a wiggle on.”

“You have the strangest sayings,” he said as he laid back and stretched his leg out, bewildered and yet somehow relieved.

“And you—” Remus pulled the top buckle free. “—have no appreciation for the great American north.”

“I can take it off,” Sirius mumbled, feeling redness rise once again.

He cocked an eyebrow. “The boot? I might not be a muscle-bound athlete, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple strips of Velcro.”

“No, it’s—doesn’t touching people’s feet freak you out? Like, the sweat and everything?”

“If it did, I’d have to find another profession, because I’m damp all the time from you fuckers and you all seem to have a habit of breaking things below the knee. Bend.”

Sirius complied, drawing his knee toward his chest. His bare foot looked weird in the bright lights, pale and still swollen, but Remus was as golden as ever. You can watch from afar, he conceded when the cute little furrow appeared on Remus’ forehead while he felt around the bone. Just for a little while. “Your hands are warm,” he said before he could stop himself.

Remus glanced up, and his small smile caused a flood of butterflies in Sirius’ stomach. “Thanks. They’re usually pretty cold, so I’m glad I’m not accidentally giving you foot hypothermia.”

“Is that real?”

“No,” Remus laughed. Sirius wished he could keep that sound forever. “How’s that feel?”

“Uh, fine.” He blinked a couple times to come back to himself as Remus put light pressure on the sole of his foot. “Still fine.”

“You’re a lot more flexible than before. Things are healing well.”

A loud buzzer went off outside—Sirius closed his eyes as disappointment and frustration fired up once more. The crowd wasn’t cheering. The windows weren’t shaking. He didn’t even want to look at the TV to check the score. I should be out there, he thought for the umpteenth time. I’m letting them down.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said quietly as he worked through a few more exercises.

“Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Sirius wanted to believe him. “I’m the captain.”

“And you’re being responsible by doing this with me so you can heal faster.” People rushed past the door outside, but the PT room remained peaceful. Sirius stared at the plain ceiling and wished for a miracle. “They miss you.”

“Y’know, that’s not exactly making me feel better.”

“Sorry.” They lapsed back into silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Cool.”

Sirius chewed the inside of his lip for a solid two minutes, following Remus’ simple instructions without looking at him. He should have been out there with them, ankle be damned. It was basically healed anyway; they were just tying up loose ends, and maybe Remus needed to be a little less careful. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to ask a different question.”

“I’m just saying, it feels fine and—”

“Time’s up.” Remus let go of his foot and Sirius only spared a moment to mourn the loss of his comforting touch before he caught the stormy, mulish stubbornness that took the place of Remus’ concentration. “Sit.”

“I am.”

He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius dragged himself upright with a huff. Arguing with Remus Lupin was about as useful as arguing with a brick wall, and that was coming from someone who won the ‘Most Stubborn’ superlative at their last end-of-year party. “First of all, ankles are annoying and the soft tissue will still be damaged even if the bone is healed. Second, it’s my job to fix you up so your boys stop whining to me about healing you faster. And third, I’m not giving up on you.”

Sirius paused for a long moment. “What?”

“I’m not giving up,” Remus repeated. His jaw set and he made direct eye contact. “I would love nothing more than to kick Snape in the kneecaps and let you go out there as soon as you can stand on your own, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you’re ready to kick ass and take names no matter what that little shit was trying to do. So don’t you dare sit there and try to chicken out at the finish line, because I know you want this even more than I do.”

In his chest, Sirius heart was hammering like he had just run five miles. I’m not giving up on you. Sirius had never wanted to kiss him more. “Thank you.”

Remus softened with a slow breath. “We’re in this together, Sirius. You and me.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s get to work. Next time you play the Badgers, make ‘em regret this game.”

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

Sirius walked back toward the locker room feeling rather nauseous. The whole team leaked their bad moods into the air—Arthur had barely looked at them before sending them home with a quiet “we’ll talk more tomorrow”, the equivalent of an arrow through Sirius’ heart. I need a pick-me-up, he thought as the rest of the guys trooped out in a melancholy raincloud. He fist-bumped each of them, per tradition, but their responses were weak at best.

Ice cream sounded good. Maybe a milkshake. Oh, who was he kidding, he needed a solid hug and something other than ice to look at. Not for the first time, he contemplated getting a dog, just so the house wouldn’t be empty and dark when he returned.

Laughter rang out ahead and Sirius inhaled sharply, letting the sound roll over him. “I’m not kidding!” Moody chuckled.

“Bullshit,” Remus countered, still snickering. “There is no way—”

“I’ve been around here longer than you’ve been alive, kid.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Remus groaned, though Sirius could hear the smile in his voice even from around the corner. “You only bring it up every goddamn day.”

“Brat.”

Sirius entered the room just in time to see Remus playfully knock the side of his foot against Moody’s; both were grinning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

Moody nodded to him. “Night, twelve.”

“A demain,” Sirius called, offering a slight smile as his eyes lingered on Remus. He was leaning back against the wall with stick tape in his hands—his hands, which never failed to make Sirius throw caution to the wind—and raised it in farewell. “See you, Loops. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Cap.”

He grabbed his duffel off the floor and slid his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets as Moody and Remus resumed their conversation. He wondered how long they usually stuck around, and if they would oppose him staying—he wouldn’t interrupt, but being around people who weren’t going through the five stages of grief already felt nice.

An idea struck as Remus’ laugh raised goosebumps on his arms once again. With a careful glance over his shoulder, he slipped his phone out and snapped a picture before hurrying off toward his car. His breaths were shallow; that was such a creepy move, and surely one of them noticed—

No voices chased him. Nobody gave him strange looks. He waited until he was safely in the front seat of the car before unlocking his phone, and all the air in his lungs left in a rush.

The photo was perfect. It caught the lopsided tilt to Remus’ mouth, his slender-but-strong fingers, his long legs, the scrunch of his nose mid-laugh. Everything Sirius never let himself look at for long. He didn’t have much space left among the collection of paper memories on his dresser, but maybe if he put it in the back where nobody would see it unless they knew where to look…

He turned the car on. Later. He would print it out and deal with the taut rubber-band-ball of feelings later. Until then, he could settle for the imprint of Remus’ warmth taking away the pain in his ankle and the determination on his face as he promised to bring Sirius back from the personal hell he was living in. You and me, he had said, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to believe it.

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 7

A/N: scott's pov, finally!! as well as more of my "the empires smp gals deserve to go off, actually" agenda. also check out this rad art submitted by @dancinglifeboat! i also would like to apologize ahead of time, the updates from here on out are probably going to slow down a bit because while i am still extremely motivated to write this fic, it hasn't been as high as it was for the upcoming chapters as it has been for the previous ones. i honestly don't even know HOW i was so motivated to write several chapters so fast that i actually had a backlog of them for a bit and was able to post them daily. so the updates will likely slow down to being every couple of days or maybe every couple of weeks, depending on time/motivation. but yeah! anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: lying/manipulation, threats of violence, past violence, arguing, heartbreak

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

Scott felt just about sick to his stomach every time he looked at the slimeball Jimmy had given him. It was such a stupid little thing to get emotional over, and it was honestly kind of gross and sticky. But Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of it. It had stung more than he cared to admit when Jimmy had reminded him of how isolated and distant Scott was from everything. Staying up and away from the world kept him safe, kept his empire safe. But being safe didn’t make it any less lonely and isolating. And then Jimmy had looked at him like he was the world, and told him that he should be able to enjoy the little things too. Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of the slimeball, even though the memories were painful now. For as much as bluntly being reminded that he was alone stung, Jimmy telling him to leave stung even worse.

Looking back on it now, Scott didn’t really know why he had sided with Fwhip. It was long before Scott had really felt anything for Jimmy, mostly flirting with him to get a rise out of him. That flirting had always devolved into fighting, and it was after one particularly nasty argument that Fwhip had pulled him aside after the meeting and talked about how the House Blossom Alliance would be the downfall of their empires. And at the time… Scott had agreed with him. He loved Katherine, he really did- but there were too many rivalries in that alliance for it to ever truly work. So he went along with Fwhip’s plan- go along with the meetings until an opportunity arose. Then came the addendum of Scott keeping an eye on Jimmy to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem. And then came the plan of rigging the ballroom to explode and blame it on another empire. And even worse- Scott actually caught feelings for Jimmy, instead of it being an act like Fwhip had planned.

So before the night of the ball, Scott had struck a deal with Fwhip. If there was no argumentative behavior during the ball, then he wouldn’t set off the TNT. To his surprise and relief, Fwhip had agreed- and then went and purposefully antagonized Jimmy. And Jimmy- sweet, impulsive Jimmy- had fought right back. Scott didn’t get a chance to pull Fwhip aside and convince him to change his mind before Lizzie had asked him for a dance, then spun Jimmy right into his arms. Fwhip had been watching them the entire time they danced, then left as soon as the song ended, heading up the stairs. Scott snuck away from Jimmy to follow him- only for Fwhip to have flown off by the time Scott made his way up the stairs. Then Jimmy followed him too, and once he spotted Fwhip in the distance with his crossbow, Scott realized he had been used to draw Jimmy out. So he kissed Jimmy, and then Fwhip set off the explosions. It was then Scott realized Fwhip had lied to him about the plan- somehow he had rigged Katherine’s entire castle with TNT, not just the ballroom, and wanted to be sure that everyone knew it was Fwhip and the Wither Rose Alliance behind it all. A show of power, so that no one would mess with them.

So now Scott was alone again. Jimmy felt like Scott had betrayed him- and frankly, Scott had. He should have told the House Blossom Alliance about the TNT, instead of striking a weak deal with Fwhip. Now the House Blossom Alliance would never trust him again, and all Scott had now was the Wither Rose Alliance- which Scott wasn’t so sure if he wanted to be a part of anymore. And at their next secret meeting, Scott found out that he wasn’t the only one with this opinion. Usually they met in Gem’s hidden meeting room, but this time around, she insisted on meeting in the Grimlands, not giving a clear reason why. Scott had thought nothing of it, until the time for the meeting actually came.

“I’m done, Fwhip,” Gem said, not even taking a seat at the table. Fwhip leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at Gem.

“What do you mean, you’re ‘done?’” he scoffed. Gem slammed her hands down on the table, purple magic sparking in the air. Everyone in the room had ranging expressions of shock and terror on their faces. Gem never got angry like this, at least not as long as Scott had known her. Fwhip, however, seemed unphased.

“You lied to us. You said you were going to make a point at the House Blossom Ball. Instead you blew it up! You could have killed us!” she fumed. Fwhip rolled his eyes.

“Gem, you know me. What other point would I have made that didn’t go off with a bang? Besides, Sausage and Scott knew about the TNT,” Fwhip replied with a shrug. The glare Gem sent him was deadly, and Pearl rose from her seat at the revelation.

“I was hoping that maybe Scott was clever and figured out your plan, and just wasn’t able to get the information to anyone in time- but you told him and Sausage?! And I’m not exactly pleased that neither of them felt it was necessary to tell Gem and I what was going on, but the nerve of you to hide information from your own allies, Fwhip!” Pearl scolded. Scott and Sausage didn’t say anything, a little embarrassed- but to be fair, it hadn’t really occurred to Scott that Fwhip didn’t tell everyone about his plan. He had told Scott one-on-one, and Scott had foolishly assumed that he had told the others as well. Yet another frustrating hoodwink courtesy of Fwhip.

“Because I knew you would react like this! But there’s no sense in arguing about it now, what’s happened has happened. Let’s discuss plans for the future, shall we?” Fwhip said with an overly charming grin.

“No,” Pearl said firmly, and Fwhip blinked in surprise.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“You heard Gem. She’s done, and so am I. I won’t be a part of this senseless destruction anymore,” Pearl said evenly. And before Fwhip had a chance to protest, Pearl and Gem stormed out of the room. Fwhip let out a dejected sigh, before sitting up straight in his seat again.

“Fine. Who needs them? We’ll be just fine- won’t we, boys?” Fwhip asked, and the smile he gave Scott made his stomach roll.

“Yeah! Now we don’t have to tiptoe around them anymore!” Sausage cheered, and Scott could only give a weak smile in response. Something in Fwhip’s smile turned sharp as he leaned towards Scott with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“You know, I never properly complimented your acting skills. You really had Jimmy caught like a fish in a net. It’s a shame though- you got a little too wrapped up in the act- not to mention him- and we lost a valuable chance to deal with the Codfather once and for all. But that’s alright- I’m sure we’ll get another opportunity,” Fwhip said in a low and dangerous tone, the thinly veiled threat very clear to Scott. Don’t get in the way again, and don’t try and weasel out of plans. Or he’d make sure he’d regret it.

“R-right,” Scott said shakily. Fwhip seemed satisfied, and leaned back in his chair once more.

“Good. Now I suppose that advantage with you pretending to like Jimmy is gone now, unless you do a lot more than just kiss him this time around-”

“No,” Scott blurted, before he could really think about it.

“What was that?” Fwhip asked, raising an eyebrow. A lie about how Jimmy definitely didn’t want to see him again- which wasn’t really a lie per se, but it wasn’t the reason Scott said no- was at the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t say it. And in that moment, he finally decided to do what Pearl and Gem had done.

“I’m not doing this anymore. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about bringing more pain and destruction to J- to these lands,” Scott said, voice shaking a little but his eyes sharp as he glared at Fwhip. But Fwhip caught the wobble in his voice and how he nearly said Jimmy’s name. However Sausage spoke up and commented on it before Fwhip could.

“You WEREN’T pretending, you actually fell for Jimmy!” Sausage gasped, and the tone of his voice reminded him of simpler times, when Sausage would tease him about his flirting with Jimmy and Pearl would admonish him and tell Sausage to leave Scott alone. Then Fwhip had taken advantage of Scott’s banter with Jimmy, and brought Scott’s world crashing down around him as a result.

“You’ve gotten weak, Scott. What happened to the imposing, cold ruler of Rivendell?” Fwhip sneered. Scott rose from the table at that, glaring Fwhip down.

“I’m finally being the ruler I should have been. I’m not going to let other empires use me for their own gain, and I’m not going to be part of your destructive plans,” Scott fumed, wings flaring and making him seem taller, more threatening. Fwhip chuckled darkly.

“You walk out of here, and you’ll regret it,” he growled.

“I’ll take my chances,” Scott shot back, turning on his heel and exiting the room, ignoring both Fwhip and Sausage’s voices after him. He was done with the Wither Rose Alliance. In fact, he was done with alliances entirely. He was going to stay in the mountains and care for his empire, like he should have been all along.

-

Then the slimeball on the side table by his bed reminded Scott why he didn’t want to stay in the mountains. He would just be exactly what Jimmy expected of him- high and mighty, being too good for anyone. And being alone. Scott had a taste of what a sense of togetherness felt like, and now being alone hurt more than ever. But there was no one he could go to, no one who would trust him. Maybe he could form something with Pearl and Gem, or maybe the two new empire rulers, Shelby and Joey- but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same, not as long as the mere memory of Jimmy’s goofy grin sent his heart fracturing a thousand times, over and over again.

He couldn’t stand being within the walls of his home any longer. His wings itched with the need to spread and take to the skies, and flying always made him feel better. So Scott did just that, taking to the skies and flying nowhere in particular, just far away from all the empires as much as possible. Maybe if he flew far enough, it would all disappear and Scott wouldn’t have to deal with his problems anymore. And maybe with enough distance, his heartbreak would disappear too.

-

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[softcallofdutyimagines]

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 7 - Finale

Summary:

It all comes down to this. Will Frank be able to make things right?

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, age difference, angst

Tag requests: @direwolfspostsrandomshit

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 4 | Chpt 5 | Chpt 6 Warnings: strong language, age difference, and references to depression like symptoms and past childhood trauma

Another hour passes. Another beer down.

The television drones on in the background while he stares right through it. Why is he even watching this? He hates TV.

He should be training today, maybe the gym or the firing range, but… He just doesn’t feel like it.

His stomach growls. He looks at the clock. He should get something to eat, but… He doesn’t feel like that either.

At last the cramping moves him to action, and sluggishly he gets up and wanders to the kitchen. He grabs his go-to as of late, a bag of chocolate chips for baking. His diet’s been such shit lately, and he knows it’s not helping. He hates that. And he loves it. Because right now he’ll do anything just to get even a flicker of feeling.

Good. Bad. He doesn’t care.

He just wants to feel.

It’s been a couple weeks since he last saw you, out back behind the CIA gym, and he’s been numb ever since. Mason’s been trying to bring him out of it all this time.

‘You did the right thing’, he says. ‘She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know what she’s doing’, and then, ‘If anything, you did her a favor. She doesn’t really want to get caught up like that with an old guy, right?’, he laughs.

He eats another handful of chocolate and looks down at himself. ‘She doesn’t want to...’ Is he really that repulsive? He runs a hand over his belly. It’s been feeling more rounded than usual.

Fuck.

For a moment, that same old burning, consuming flare of fury he’s so used to getting rises up. He grips the plastic bag so tightly, his knuckles turn white.

His discipline has been getting looser and his belt has been getting tighter, the polar fucking opposite of how things should be. His nostrils flare and lips draw back to reveal tightly clenched teeth, like a dog readying for an attack. Every muscle in his body tenses as he bores holes into nothing in particular. He starts to cock his arm back.

Throwing something will help him feel better.

Right?

He aims for the wall and winds up for an all star pitch, and then…

and then…

He can’t even muster the motivation for that.

As quickly as it came, the anger leaves, and as he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his entire body relaxes once more. What the fuck is wrong with him anyway?

What, mommy and daddy didn’t love him enough, so now he throws little tantrums whenever the fuck he feels like it? He mocks himself, feeling almost ashamed suddenly of all his outbursts, but when he thinks about it…

Yeah.

Maybe that...

He sighs, suddenly feeling extremely defeated and very alone. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised you left him. Everyone else who ever loved him did.

Woods drops the bag of chocolate from his limply hanging arm and watches the pieces scatter and roll all over the floor.

Whatever. He’ll eat something else.

This is how it’s been for weeks and this how it’ll be for the foreseeable future. He lazes around, completely numb to the outside world, grazing his pantry and doing anything to distract himself from his thoughts. If only any of it worked. Then at night he’ll lay awake well past midnight, until either regular exhaustion or exertion from shedding tears sends him to sleep.

But it wasn’t always like this.

After the first few days since he chased you off, he tried to make up for it.

He called.

He tried to see you at work.

He even sent you some fucking flowers and a letter.

Not a word back.

Well, aside from the ‘Get the fuck out of here, and don’t you fucking dare come back’ he got when he came to your office. After that one…

He hasn’t cried that hard over a woman in… Well… Ever.

And that’s what really gets to him, isn’t it? Just a woman. You’re just a fucking woman. There’s billions of others out there… And yet, he can’t manage to land even one, can he?

This message plays back in his mind over, and over, and over again.

Even now, as a slow stream of tears leak from his eyes to his pillowcase. He looks over just a few inches away to the empty half of his bed. Frank sniffs and swipes at his nose before gently plopping his hand on the pillow beside his. The fabric is icy cold against his skin.

You know, Alex told him once that he’ll lay in his wife's spot on the bed to warm up the sheets for her at night.

She hates the cold, and Alaskan nights are no joke. Would you like that? He wonders. He heard once that women are always fucking cold. He’d warm up your sheets for you, you know. Or maybe, you’d like a blanket? He’d get you one. A nice one! Fresh and new, not any of the tattered shit he keeps in his linen closet.

Or, maybe, you’d like it more if he just… Held you? He could keep you warm all by himself if you wanted him to. Would you even like him to?

Would that make you happy?

Would he make you happy?

A fresh round of tears breaks over him.

He closes his eyes and curls in on himself as he lets the sobs take over him. Damn it, he promised himself he wouldn’t do this again… He thinks about you far too much. All the time, really. And where does it get him? Somewhere about like he is now, he supposes.

He stews in his own wretchedness like this for quite some time, and it’s not until a few days later that anything changes.

Mason pounds on the door of the dingy little house, “Frank?”, he calls, “Frank, open up you bastard, I know you’re in there!”

Truthfully, he’s only in town on some work related business, but… He can’t just stand by and let his friend suffer like this.

So, he waits and waits, and pounds and pounds until he's sure the door is about to come off the hinges. Mason cups his hands to the crack of the door, shouting into it as loud as he dare, “I’m not leaving until you come out here asshole!”

At last, a quiet voice comes from the other side, “What do you want?”

For a moment, Mason is rather dumbfounded. Never before has he ever heard his friend sound so soulless. So… broken. He shakes his head, and pulls himself out of it, “Frank will you open up? I’m here to check on you man!”

Woods sighs, “Don’t waste your time”, the voice trails off as though he’s walking away.

“Hey!”, Mason pounds on the door again, “Son of a bitch, get back here!”

The door swings open abruptly, and Mason nearly falls over as the door’s taken out from him. He stumbles a moment, then catches himself as he stands up straight.

Mason locks eyes with his old friend, and Woods says nothing. Alex takes in the sight of him. His stubble is out of control, the bags under his eyes are dark and purple, and the undershirt he’s wearing could’ve used a wash about a week ago.

“Jesus…You look like shit”

“Thanks”, Woods replies flatly, “Now go away”

He makes to close the door, but Mason stops him, “Wait wait wait… Ok, I’m sorry, I just… Wow, um… Can I come in at least? Let’s talk about this”, Alex motions to Woods in his entirety.

“Do I have a choice?”

Mason pushes the door all the way open, letting himself in and taking his friend by the shoulders as he leads him further into the house, “No, we’re having a fucking intervention”

He leads him to the living room and clears a pile of clothes and trash off the cushions so they can sit down. Alex commands his friend to take a seat, then follows suit. Once they’re both settled, Mason grows serious but maintains a cautious, sympathetic veneer.

Mason rubs his hands together and gives it to him straight, “Look, I know you feel like you fucked up. I know you’re feeling lonely and it’s got you in the dumps. But… Come on man, look what’s been going on with you!”, He gestures to the living space around them.

Dirty laundry and neglected trash sit in little piles all around in a room that smells of old must with a faint, queasy scent of booze. “This is no way to live, buddy!”

Frank says nothing. Instead, he sits and listens without even attempting to make eye contact, like a child receiving a tiresome lecture.

Alex grits his teeth and tries to keep his temper in check. “So… What I’m trying to say is…. Maybe you need to get out of here, you know? Go to a game, take a vacation, something!”, he scoots a bit closer, taking on a more personal tone with his old friend, “I don’t want to see you destroy yourself like this Frank…”

Woods recoils at that, snapping to life as though he’d just now entered the conversation, “I’m not! I just… I need some time to get over this, alright!”

Mason casts an exaggeratedly doubtful look at the other man. Frank jumps to defend himself once more, but Alex cuts him off, “Ok ok! How about this, let’s you and me go out for a little bit huh? Have some beers, some guy time! I just want you to get out of this place for a little while, is that so bad?”

Frank grumbles a bit, but somewhere in there is an agreement. Mason cheers, "That's the spirit!", and drags his friend upstairs to clean up. He pushes him off to shave and shower before going downstairs to help himself to the kitchen.

It takes far longer than he anticipated, but Alex doesn’t go up to pressure the old Sargent even once. At last, the staircase creaks softly as Woods descends. He looks like a new man. Clean clothes, shaped up beard, and a gentle wafting of clean, musky shampoo emanating from him.

Woods walks up without much fanfare for himself, but Alex offers him a smile and a firm pat on the back, “There, now isn’t that better? You look great!”

Frank grunts and perhaps even mutters a thank you, but Mason is too busy trying to keep the momentum up. Once more, he drags his friend along and out to the car. The sun is starting to set and options for places to go are beginning to dwindle. Woods wonders where they’re going, and yet as the streets race by, he finds himself caring less and less.

By the time the car comes to a stop, he’s nearly fallen asleep.

Mason turns off the engine and shakes him awake, “Hey don’t fall asleep on me now, we’re just getting started!”

Woods snaps awake, but has to shield his eyes immediately. It seems impossibly bright out considering how late it is. He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes. Once they're fully adjusted, he finds that what he sees does nearly nothing to alleviate his confusion.

Before him stands the front of a pulsating night club. Blue and purple neon blaze in the dusky twilight. He can only imagine how they must look in the dead of night. A pounding beat comes from somewhere within, no doubt the drum track to some popular, modern song. Small clusters of younger people and a handful of adults hang around the doors pregaming for what they must be anticipating to be a long, wild night.

The pair get out of the car, but Woods is bewildered all the while. When Alex finally comes around to him, he can’t keep silent any longer, “What the fuck did you bring me here for?”

Mason seems almost taken aback, “For some fun? Come on, I know this isn’t really your scene but maybe that’s exactly what you need! Something new and fun, right?”, he doesn’t wait for a response, instead he pushes his friend along as they head towards the entrance.

The air seems thick and hazy around him, a fact only highlighted by the glowing miasma created by the neon interior. If Alex wasn’t pulling him along, he’s sure he’d get lost.

Alex takes him over to a table buried back in the corner. They take a seat and despite being right across from each other, Mason nearly has to shout to be heard over all the noise, “Want a drink?”

Woods thinks about it for a moment, still taking in the environment as he does so. He’s trying to find the bar, and when he does he figures it’s impossible to miss. A huge back wall of glass bottles, all lit up by a halo of purple neon and cool fluorescent lights stands bright as a beacon behind a solid bar top and array of stools and customers.

“Sure, I can get my own”

“Great! Hey, grab my usual would ya? I’m gonna take a leak real quick”, he points over his shoulder and excuses himself as he makes for the restrooms.

This… is not at all what he wanted.

Suddenly, Woods feels trapped and alone again, no better than he was back in his own home. Except now he’s surrounded by the heat, noise, and stench of over a hundred other people.

The lights feel heavy and blinding, the pulsating pop music, deafening. He trudges up to the bar slowly yet surely, but with every step he comes closer to committing to his plan of escaping back to Alex’s car.

He never should’ve went along with this… he was just fine at home, damn it.

Lost in his thoughts and half blinded by the smoke and lights, he runs smack into another person. With a dampened thud, they hit the ground hard. Wood swears under his breath and figures he can at least offer a hand. He bends down to help up the fallen individual, only to see…

You.

Suddenly, it’s as if all the haze and fog has cleared from his eyes. He can see you clear as day down here, and the noise and smells of the crowd all fade away. A soft blue glow highlights your features, and an electric magenta bounces off your hair. The sparkling, sequined little dress you wear glitters in the halo of light descending around you, and a thousand flecks of light reflect back onto his worn, tired face.

Woods' hand hangs in mid air, half way through it’s journey to assist you. He whispers your name, quietly and fondly, as though he never thought he’d see you again.

For the first time in what must have been days, a smile breaks free from his stern glower.

But all you see is the asshole who teased you along for weeks, only to give you the highest embarrassment by sending you off like a misbehaving child after you were at your most vulnerable with him.

You were ready to give him your very body, and he only felt up what he wanted and sent you off.

With a sneer, you slap his hand away and hop up on your own. You don’t even bother to spare him a word. Instead, you stare daggers into him and walk off.

For a moment. For a second time… He watches you go.

He should let you walk away.

After what he did, you deserve at least the privacy. And that’s aside from the fact that you’re clearly pissed.

But he can’t. Not again.

“Hey, wait!”, he dashes after you, shoving his way through the crowd. A little too roughly, he grabs your upper arm and spins you around. You yank yourself free from his grip and glare right through him. Even through all the rage…

You look so beautiful in this light.

“I… I- uh. Hey”

“Hey?”, your blood is boiling. Is that all he has to say for himself?

The venom in your voice makes him recoil, shrinking back into himself. But still… “I uh, I just… H-how are you… I didn’t think you’d be in a place like this, heh…”

Out of pure manners, you respond, “Fine. What are you doing here?”, you cross your arms, defensive, but genuinely curious.

Woods looks over his shoulder then all round, searching for any sign of Mason. Nothing. He snaps his attention back to you, trying to come up with any reason at all to explain himself. Frank stutters for an answer, but you end your indulgent lapse before he can say anything coherent and turn to walk away.

“Wait! I… I-I miss you...”

You whip around, seething with anger. Then, very seriously, you ask, “Are you following me?”

“What? No! Fuck no! I just… I miss you, that’s all!”

You scoff, “Well maybe you should’ve fucking thought of that first”

“...You’re right”

That stops you dead. This is nothing like the Woods you know… You can’t recall a single time he’s had the humility, let alone the balls, to admit that he’s wrong.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…”, he sighs, and even in the darkness of the club you can see a glimpse of just how much pain he’s in, “Look… I shouldn’t have done that, back there behind the gym. You trusted me and I fucked it up. I know. It’s just… I was scared”

A biting edge creeps back into your voice. You don’t buy that. “Scared? Of what, getting caught?”

“What? No! I was scared… that I was taking advantage of you, alright?”

You blink, and suddenly all the rage leaves you, as though the hot air was deflated right out of you. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Well I mean… You know… Y-you’re just a kid, and I’m… not. I just- It didn’t feel right. Hell, I didn’t even get a chance to ask if you really wanted all that, I just… went for it”

You take a little step closer, your hard gaze softening just a touch, “Well… It’s not like I was saying no”, you chuckle

“Yeah, but that’s not the fucking same, you know?”

You look away, “Yeah…”

“So… Anyway… I’m sorry, alright?”

At last, you turn back and smile at him, “Alright. I forgive you, and… thanks. For saying that”

Woods nods and accepts your thanks. The two of you share a little smile and a short pause of uncertain silence until he breaks the silence, “So… What now?”

You look him up and down. He���s wearing jeans and a tightly fitting flannel, a stark contrast to all the trendy, flashy fashion of the rest of the clubbers, and yet it’s so… him. You trace a finger down his limp, tattooed arm, stopping at his fingers to intertwine them with yours.

“How about a dance?”, you tug his hand gently, then nod towards the dance floor.

A feeling like euphoria washes over him, and time seems slow as he floats along while you tug him through the crowd. Somewhere in the beautiful, prismatic show of lights, he hears himself agree. You lead him to a cramped, but vacant spot on the glowing dance floor and turn an ear to the music, “Hey, I love this song…”

Woods perks up to listen, just in time to catch the start of More Than A Woman, muffled slightly by all the noise and bustle of the crowd.

It’s like it’s playing from within a dream.

You rest your hands on his chest, letting them slide down so that the heels of your palms sit where the curve of his stomach begins to swell out. Frank has his hands on your waist, swaying in time with you slowly to the music. He clears his throat and looks away from your sparkling, gorgeous eyes, a nervous blush creeping up his neck.

He knows you’ve been over this before, but… “Yeah, uh… so, you know, I’ve been thinking I should lose some weight... You know, while you’ve been… gone”, he moves your hands up from his belly to clasp behind his neck.

You quirk up your brow, a confused smile on your lips, “Why?”

“Uh, I don’t know… I think it makes me look old, I guess”

You laugh and come a little closer, your bodies nearly touching, “Well, if it means anything... I don’t think so”, You inch up and kiss his cheek, bringing one hand down to rest on his softened pect. He huffs a nervous laugh and masks the flattered embarrassment with a timid smile as he covers your hand with his, holding it there just a little while more.

He's never forgotten how amazing your touch alone feels.

He clears his throat and re-establishes eye contact. A whole kaleidoscope of color plays inside your eyes. He could get lost in them for the rest of his life. “You uh… wow. You- you look beautiful tonight...”, he steals a quick glance as your little, sparkly dress and the neon rainbow refracting off the thousands of tiny sequins, “Nearly gave this old man a heart attack when I first saw you”, he laughs.

“Oh?”, you smirk and lead him into a turn, “ In that case, you should see me take it off”

His heart pounds underneath your palm, but his face looks frozen with surprise. He doesn’t hear women say that kind of stuff to him often…

“D-do you… Do you mean that?”

“Well, I mean… Maybe after this, I’d love t-”

“No, not that. I mean… Me. D-do you really feel that way about me?”

You stop dancing for a moment.

His words cut deeply with the quiver of hope they carry, as though it had never crossed his mind that someone would want to be with him.

“Of course I do. But… I want you more then just for that you know”, you chuckle.

His cheeks go pink, “Oh. Damn, so you like that kind of st-?”

You place a single finger to his lips, shushing him. “I meant… I love you”

Your words echo back to him in slow motion, as though reality and time itself are breaking all around him to unveil a haven of euphoria. His heart is beating in his ears, and yet it sounds slow and calm, just like the wild crowd and the blaring music all around him.

Everything grows quieter and softer until it all fades away, leaving behind just you and him.

He wracks his brain, trying to remember the last time he heard those words, only to come up empty handed. It’s been so long… He can’t even remember.

Frank looks back at you, a little neon angel clinging to his beat up old shirt. Gorgeous. That’s all he can think of when he sees you. He almost feels like he shouldn't even have the privilege to do so. You bat long lashes up at him and a slow smile draws across your soft, glossy lips.

More than a woman…

Slowly, you come up to meet your lips to his. You’ve kissed before, but this… It feels like the first kiss of his entire life.

He presses back gently, sucking softly as he draws you close. You smell like dark cherry and amber, some combination of perfume and lip gloss. The faint smell of whisky and musk radiating off of him mingles with the divine scent of you.

He can taste it all on his tongue, even as he slides it over to flick across yours.

More than a woman to me…

At long last you part, breathing softly as your eyes drift up to meet one another's. And when he looks down into those deep, glittering pools, he wonders how he never saw all the love and warmth they hold for him. The love they always had.

“I love you too…”, he whispers, tears stinging at his eyes and voice, before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

And now? The love they always will.

[head-empty-only-sunshine]

DJs Got Them Falling in Love

Ch. 11: The Announcement

A/N: This is honestly just a drabble of them announcing their relationship lmao. Short n sweet. It is done <3

Description: Cin and DJ decide to announce their relationship status to their audience.

Pairing: s/i X DJMM

Word Count: 833

[Index]

===

The next show was to be interesting if anything now that Cin and DJ had decided to consider themselves together. No one outside of the Pizzaplex knew because they weren’t around to see. All the staff and other animatronics saw the calmer, friendlier gestures they made towards each other, and eventually they all caught on that they had finally admitted to themselves that they were painfully into each other. Chica and Cin’s tech Sydney were the first ones to be overhyped and pick on them about it, which honestly, was really good for building up confidence. A few roasting sessions here and there made it easier when the news spread. It also helped for what they planned to do at tonight’s show: announce their love to the crowd. You know, before they found out by other means of being far more touchy onstage.

The past week was full of preparation… and a lot of cuddles for someone who threw hands with anyone that touched them. Turns out Cin’s love language was touch the whole time, and just needed the right person to allow those walls to come down and allow touch to occur. Most of their time was spent lying atop DJ in his seven foot casing backstage when they weren’t doing repairs. Hell, they even cuddled up and took naps in his palm when he was twenty feet tall, but that wasn’t as often. DJ had a preference to go the size down himself now, because it was easier to hold Cin in. Holding them was his priority too when he wasn’t being pinged to help out. Seeing Cin so calm and relaxed was rare, and he had to indulge in the sigh whenever he could even though all it took was being alone with them. He felt blessed to be the only one they could be at complete ease with.

Even now, Cin clung to his shoulders as he marched onto the stage the next Friday night, the crowd roaring for the lively night that was sure to come. Nobody questioned the clingy nature at first, but as the night went on, the crowd would soon find out exactly why Cin was so close to him like before, and they would find out through a fan making a bold proclamation.

It was bound to happen at some point in time. An outrageous fangirl in the crowd was at her personal limit and screamed at the top of her lungs that DJ was hot, and she was painfully in love with him. Another girl agreed, and followed up by screaming ‘date me’ as loud as she could. Both of the girls were hissed at by their friends, being told that ‘it was a robot and that shit would never work out’ with confused expressions. There was some whining, some fighting, and eventually DJ turned the volume down just a smidge to address the situation.

“Heyo, real quick! I’m very flattered to hear about the interest that’s going on in the front row here. One problem though,” He paused, making direct eye contact with their friends on the side. “It’s not because I’m a ‘robot’, it’s because my very real feelings have been secured by this one right here.”

DJ reached over and scooped Cin up in his arms, making them flare up with blush once more. He held them bridal style and looked down at them with such soft and loving eyes they almost melted on the spot. Most of the crowd erupted with cheers and aws, but some select few were just flat out disappointed and upset; as if they lost something they never had. These whines of loss made their way to Cin’s ears and they laughed, initializing their internal mic to speak.

“I am incredibly sorry ladies, but it seems I’ve beaten you to the punch! I was never supposed to fall in love, but this loser changed my mind~”

With that out, Cin reached down and cranked the volume all the way back up before flinging their arms around DJ’s shoulders and drawing him into one of the most confident kisses they’ve ever had with him. He had hearts in his eyes and happily indulged in the action, holding them close and proud, happy to show that they were his. Despite the odd sad fangirl here and there, the rest of the crowd was overwhelmingly supportive and applauded in celebration.

Everything slid right back into a groove when they broke apart, smiling big and getting right back on mixing like tomorrow would never come. With Cin close, DJ felt euphoric, a wash of joy and affection coming over him in waves. So many positive emotions made him generate his own personal version of butterflies in his stomach, and he was excited to always feel so good like this when he was with them. Cin was someone special to him. They made him feel… alive.

That was a feeling he never wanted to let go of, just like Cin.

[kpopmalereader]

assume ; na jaemin

• summary: you’re on a dance team with jisung and chenle. jaemin was on the team the year before and comes back. you’re rehearsing by yourself one day and jisung and chenle catch jaemin watching you through a window. they (and a few others) notice jaemin can’t take his eyes off of you, but you brush it off, not wanting to make any assumptions about jaemin despite the constant glancing and interest in each other • pairing: na jaemin x male!reader • word count: 2469 • to do

Music blares through the room. It bounces off the walls, shaking the mirrors in front of you, and resonates in your bones. You’re dancing by yourself in the large room, but your fluid movements and the personality you put into even the smallest moves morphs the room smaller. You could be dancing in the largest cathedral all by yourself, and you would only let the world be as large as you want it to be before you pulled it back in. 

Jaemin’s eyes follow you. He’s engulfed by your every move. His bag is packed to the brim, and it feels heavy on his shoulder, almost painful, but all he cares about is the way you look. You’re beautiful, arms moving gracefully. You portray every emotion flawlessly. Jaemin realizes he’s openly staring at you but doesn’t care.

That is until Chenle and Jisung come up to him. They look him up and down before looking into the room. They can just see your ending pose, sweat dropping off your forehead. Your shoulders and chest move up and down as you breathe. The music is still booming through the room as you lean on your knees and attempt to catch your breath.

Jisung and Chenle move their eyes from you to Jaemin, then back to you. The gears moving in their heads are almost audible as they click everything into place. Chenle gasps and slaps Jisung’s shoulder as realization sets in.

“You like-!” Chenle’s yelling is cut off by Jaemin shoving him away from the door.

“I don’t! He’s a good dancer, and he’s grown a lot in the past year. That’s all I was looking at.”

Jaemin pushes the other two further and further away from the dance room as he talks. Neither of the two seem to believe him as they walk.

Jisung turns his head as his shoulder is hounded. “You’ve never looked at anyone dancing like that, no matter how good they are.”

Jaemin ignores his statement even though he knows it’s true. He continues to force both of them until they’re on the other end of the long hall. They can hear the music turn off, and not too long later, they notice you walk out of the room and out the side door. Chenle and Jisung are still looking at Jaemin like he’s oblivious, eyebrows raised and amused expressions. Chenle begins to smile at the thought of Jaemin having a crush on you and doesn’t bother hiding it.

“Don’t,” Jaemin warns.

“You two would look so cute together!” He cheers out. He sighs and places his hand over his heart. Jisung is pulled closer to him, clutching his shoulders and pretending to swoon. Wouldn’t they? Two dancers, they could do duets! They-”

“Are never going to together because neither of them like the other.” Jaemin finishes. “I was watching him dance. I haven’t been here in a year. I should scope out my competition.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, still being pulled down by Chenle. He argues against Jaemin’s statement, raising his voice as Jaemin begins to walk away. “We’re on the same team. There is no competition!”

*

The ground beneath you sways slightly as you stand. Your legs are far too tired to be still. You struggle to listen to the words the dance teacher is saying. Jaemin stands on the other side of the room with his arms crossed. His eyes sweep from the speaker to you, but when he realizes he hasn’t caught any of what she has said, he brings his attention back. 

Not soon after forcing himself to pay attention, his eyes go back to you. His eyes follow the curve of your cheeks down to your jawline. He watches you tilt your head back and forth, eyes seeming bored and disinterested with what the guest teacher says. You notice his stare a long time after the looks began. You glance up at him and make eye contact. You look away immediately, face turning light pink at his appreciative look.

He doesn’t look away from you. You can feel his eyes on you still but try not to pay attention to it. He absolutely devours the consistent darkening of your cheeks the longer he watches you. The other dancers around you notice Jaemin eyeing you up and start to draw conclusions about it. You’re still ignoring the look, somewhat certain he’s looking at everyone and not just you. 

Chenle and Jisung once again question Jaemin’s interested looks and big eyes as he watches you. He finally begins to relinquish some feelings but denies any reciprocation on your part.

*

Jaemin sits against the wall of mirrors, legs crossed and head leaning back ever-so-slightly. Over the few weeks that have passed since Jaemin came back, his looks and constant moving to get closer has gotten more and more exaggerated. It’s unable to be avoided, but you’ve tried your hardest to. You’ve given every excuse in the book as to why Jaemin is looking at you that is not any romantic interest. In the beginning, when his long looks and passing glances began, you cast them into a single box. 

It was a box of him being intimidated by how much attention you’ve gotten since he left and him thinking you weren’t talented enough to be given that attention.

Shortly after, the box was relabeled. It became more of a blossoming acquaintanceship. You categorized the looks to him deciding if he liked you or not.

The gazes are still in those boxes despite Jisung, Chenle, and anyone else who spends more than ten minutes with you or Jaemin telling you they’re endearing. 

Now, Jaemin studies your every move. He stifles the unplaced jealousy in his chest as another dancer leads you in a duet. You follow along, learning the actions on the fly as the other man has his hundredth practice. Even though the other dancer has learned and shaped the dance over a month and a half, you stomp all over his performance. Your moves are half-a-second behind his, but your performance is closer to perfect than his will ever be. You could dance circles around him and the choreography, but Jaemin doesn’t mention it quite yet.

The man’s hands brush along your back, and he touches your face gently. Jaemin’s nostrils flare. The look of appreciation and wonder he was given to you turn to glares and hate at the other dancer. The dance ends, and you roll your eyes at yourself. 

You pull at your hair, immediately stepping away from the other dancer. Jaemin’s heart swells at the disinterest, wondering if you would be so willing to move away from him if he was there with you. You walk over to the teacher and ask her to repeat the song, not feeling happy with your first dance of a song you’ve never learned. She shakes her head, and your shoulders fall forward. Jaemin can hear her telling you that you did great for just learning the dance, but you don’t believe her much. You find a seat next to your friends with a frown.

Before, Jaemin’s gaze could be considered merely concentrating on the dance. But now it’s obvious he’s only been viewing you. He watches the frown on your face and how you chew your lip. He can see the talking of everyone around you enter and leave your head in less than a second. The next duet steps up to center-stage. The music begins, and though it’s not at all similar to your song, you begin to practice the moves. Your movements are small, just marking the movements, but your eyes are pointed. You are wholly concentrated on remembering the moves for the next time you get in front of everyone.

Jaemin watches your eyes dart around the room. You try to make sure you’re not interrupting or distracting anyone, but that worry causes eye contact with Jaemin. He smiles and raises his eyebrow at you, lighting up even further when your hands halt and fall and your eyes go wide. Your face begins to flush, and you suddenly become very interested in the dance in front of you.

The practice ends shortly after. You start to rush out of the room but Jaemin sidelines you. He appears in front of you with a cocky smirk playing on his lips. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you smile at him. You begin to walk around him, and he steps to the side.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“No! No... no,.” You repeat the word, calmer each time. “I’ve been here for a while and want to get home.”

His left eyebrow lowers in a question. “Why don’t I believe that?”

You clear your throat and shrug your shoulders. Jaemin doesn’t quite understand or know where the small boost in confidence he gets comes from.

“You did well today,” He mentions. “It’s difficult performing a dance so soon after you learn it, and you were following along well.”

Your eyes are pointed at the ground. “Thanks. I need to practice it more.”

“Well,” He starts a sentence but cuts himself off with a hum. “Actually, never mind, you said you wanted to get out of here.”

Your curiosity gets the best of you. Your eyes slowly move up until you’re looking just to the right of Jaemin’s face. You don’t want to ask the question or share too much, but you breach the world. “What were you going to say?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I was going to offer my help. You could practice some more, but if you want to get out of here, that’s fine.”

The beating in your chest quickens. A minute of silence and wide eyes pass before you finally speak again.

“I- I-” You breathe halfway out, the rest of it getting caught in your throat. “I can stay a little while. Do you remember any of the dance?”

You didn’t know he could get any more confident, but he does. He stands taller and nods his head. “I have a pretty good memory.”

The room is cleared out quickly. He drops his bag at the edge of the room and walks over to the speakers. You stand by the door, waiting for direction.

Jaemin hums as he moves around the room. “You seemed like you really wanted to go home.”

You don’t say anything back to him, following his movements.

“It almost seems like you want to spend time with me.”

He knows he’s teasing you. Even though his back is turned to you, he can feel your face turning darker as he speaks.

He begins the music and gestures for you to join him in the center of the room. You start to dance with each other. You’re exceedingly hesitant as you move until Jaemin starts leading you around. You get swept up quickly. You find it difficult to take your eyes off of him as he dances around. Jaemin can feel you shiver as he brings his hand down your back. You clear your throat as the music ends. Jaemin asks you a question, but you can’t quite understand it, overwhelmed with the thoughts running through your head. He can see the wide eyes you give him. He disregards the question he asked and turns the song on again.

You pay a bit more attention this time around, putting more effort into it. The song ends, and Jaemin holds you in place longer than needed. You gulp and look up at him. You don’t move away either until another piece begins to play. You jump back and clear your throat, walking swiftly to the speakers. Jaemin chews on his cheek to hide the smile he wants to show and waits for you to come back to him.

You walk back to him as the song begins. Jaemin grabs your waist and pulls you in. He begins to dance, not taking his eyes off of you as he does the choreo. You try to maintain eye contact but soon can’t stand it and look away. He smiles brightly as he dances, feeling energetic even after a days worth of dance practices. The song ends. Jaemin doesn’t move away. You stay with your arms around his neck even after the song ends. Jaemin looks down at you. His eyes are warm. You watch him for a few seconds before the weight of it becomes too much.

You take one step away from him, letting your hands fall to your sides. The next song begins to play, but you don’t move to turn it off. Your face seems conflicted as you stand there. Jaemin just watches you like he always does.

You begin speaking after moments of silence. You open your mouth, then close it again. You look flustered, and Jaemin is surprised he can’t see any red on your cheeks.“I didn’t want to assume anything about you.”

“Okay?” He raises his eyebrow and waits for you to continue.

“I didn’t want to assume anything, so I hadn’t said anything or pursued anything or listened when Jisung or Chenle said to.” You realize you’re beginning to ramble and shake your head. “I didn’t want to assume anything about you. I tried to tell myself that you were only staring because you didn’t know if you actually liked me or not or for some other made-up reason that seemed stupid even to me. So, I don’t want to assume anything, but I want to ask if you were staring at me and act like this because you have feelings for me?”

Jaemin smirks slightly as you talk, trying to control the overconfident feeling blooming inside of him. You look up after you ask the question. Everything you’ve feared coming to light since Jaemin rejoined the dance team is laid out on the floor. And, yes, he’s smiling, and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen, but he isn’t saying anything, and your nerves are running wild. Your mind begins to backtrack and regret even the small amount of things you’ve said. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Your head is telling you to run away and change your name. The panicked look on your face becomes too much for Jaemin, and his smile turns sweet. It is more than adoring as he steps forward. 

“Jisung and Chenle have been telling me to do more than stare for a while now, and I’ve never pursued it.” He chews on his lip and leans down. “Now, I wish I would have said something sooner.”

The blush he’s grown to love appears on your face. You hope he can’t hear your heart beating, and, for once, you’re able to keep your eyes locked on his longer than a few seconds.

[some-dr-writings]

Izuru, Gundham, and Kazuichi comfort their S/O after they break their arm

Izuru Kamakura:

·       “Just-” “No.” “It’ll only be a sec-” “No.” “Izuru.” You almost flopped onto the couch in frustration but Izuru deftly caught you. “You were going to crush your arm. “I… yeah…” Instead with a huff you sat on the couch. “but this sucks!” “You’re the one who told me to keep you from further injuring yourself.” “I know.” “And I did warn you to take caution when climbing the ladder.” “I know.” He pat you on the head once before exiting the room.

·       Once in the kitchen he tied back his hair before setting about cooking, which took a few minutes trying to hold back all those locks. When he finally set about cooking his mind wandered, seeing you flipping a pencil between your fingers. “No drawing.” “I’m not! I swear!” “Just reminding you.” You were so reckless for your art. You’d do just about anything to get the perfect angel for your landscape pictures. There had been multiple occasions where Izuru acted as your assistant, holding on to a rope, dangling you over a bridge or cliff as you hung from the end, drawing, not caring about the danger till some wind flew past, swinging you about, no longer in the perfect position. Your language became rather colorful in moments like that. Most everything was boring to Izuru, but you managed to capture his interest, mostly due to how you always dragged him around, forcing him into your antics. In all those times not once could he ever recall you asking him to look out for your safety, only now. You actually asked him to keep you from further injuring your arm so you could get back to your art.

·       Strange as it was, he found it… endearing. “Breakfast is ready.” Taking the sketchpad and pen from you he placed it aside, linking one of his arms with your uninjured one, leading you to the dinning room. “No.” “But-” “You asked for this.” With a sigh you began to eat, soon your mood lifting, humming in delight at those delectable treats.

·       With how chaotic your world was, being in this this kind of domestic setting, seeing you just… being here with him, it was somehow exciting.

·       Perhaps he could convince you to let him take care of you like this even after you heal. This was nice.

   Gundham Tanaka:

·       “My Emperor! You have need of fear no longer for I, the Overlord of Ice, Gundham Tanaka, shall heal thy wounds and lift the curse that plagues and warps your body!” Gundham was rather insistent on being by your side at all times. Having taken care of many creatures, he knew how to heal many kinds of injuries and he wanted to put that knowledge to good use for you.

·       With a light blush he’d do almost anything you ask, saying he’d act as your servant, making sure you didn’t lift a finger. Even if you were uncomfortable with this he’d still do it to an extent, making sure you didn’t place any strain on our arm, any off-hand remark you made about getting something or other such things similar in nature he’d take as a commend and lend his assistance.

·       “Gundham, you really don’t have too.” “Nonsense, it is my pleasure.” You sighed as you stepped aside, letting Gundham lean against the counter, reaching up to get that just out of reach mug. “My love, I appreciate all you’re doing for me, but it’s okay, I can still do things on my own.” “I realize that, I would never fall for one who could not.” With a light clink sound, he placed the mug on the counter. “Then why?” He looked to you for what seemed to be an oddly prolonged moment. “I…” He took a step towards you, his gaze shifting to your broken arm. “You are strong, you need help not, yet… I am still compelled. You are my soul’s mate, not matter how small or insignificant, I wish to alleviate your pain. Showing weakness often leads to death, the weak are prayed upon, especially so when it’s one of great power, others wishing to protect themselves by eliminating the greatest threat. We are much too powerful to be taken down in such a manner, but…” He looked you in the eyes, his sharp features seeming to soften. “You may show weakness with me. I suppose… I simply wish for you to know that. Know you can rely on me, even in simple times such as these.”

·       You smiled, taking a step closer closing the distance between the two of you. “You’re so sweet, you know that?” “Sw-SWEET!?” His entire face flushed a light pink as he pulled that scarf up over his face, looking away. His blush only darkened seeing how gentle your expression was, clearly too pleased seeing him so flustered. He much preferred showing his affection for you through action, but how you just so gently compliment him was always too much… even if he did absolutely adore it.

   Kazuichi Soda:

·       “You’re okay, right? How bad is it? What did the doctor say? How long will you have that cast on?” Initially, he was a bit panicked. He needed to know you were alright. He’d soon calm down though and generally act like nothing was different, just the occasional question about how you were feeling or if he could help with something, but not much else. Not being sure what he could do to help you, he simply just wanted to make things as normal as possible since he was sure you had enough things to worry about.

·       The incident did get him thinking though, what if something worse happened? What if you had lost your arm? No matter how much he’d try to act like nothing had changed, you’d still be hurt. How could he help you then? Try to cheer you up maybe, but would taking you on fun dates or riding on one of his motorbikes be enough? He doubted it. So… what could he do?

·       “Hey, Y/N! Come be my assistant, please.” “Huh, uh, sure?” You passed Soda tools as he tinkered away, working on something rather small. “What is that anyway? A new part for one of your bikes?” “A robot arm!” “A… a what?” He grinned that sharp toothed grin, determination flaring in his eyes as he explained away. “A cool robot arm just for you! That way, you’ll have nothing to worry about! Though it’s still a work in progress, and I’m still not sure how I’ll make it, I’ll find a way!” You lightly chuckled, leaning closer to him. “Silly, it’s only two weeks. I’m sure I’ll be fine till then but thank you.” You gently kissed his cheek, giggling as you pulled away seeing how Kazuichi’s eyes sparked in delight. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close and nuzzled his face into the nape of your neck. “I know, I know, but… You deserve the best in life, and I’m going to be the one to give it to you!” “But I already have the best. You’re so silly.” “Huh?” You hugged him, caressing his cheek as you kissed his forehead. “I have you.” He melted under your touch, holding you closer. “Then… want to take a break, cuddle on the couch and watch a movie?” “That sounds lovely, but anything with you is great. You can keep working.” Hugging you close he kept working, happy knowing this was indeed enough for you.

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 11- Qualifiers

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

The moment right before the start of the sports festival is shockingly nerve-wracking. Each step through the tunnels, closer to the main field of the arena, fills you with more dread and excitement and anticipation. You keep your head raised high, wearing your UA gym uniform proudly as the roaring of the crowd starts to meet your ears. With Bakugo on your right and Kirishima on your left, you almost feel invincible. This is your chance, your opportunity, to show everyone what you’re capable of and show all of Japan that you refuse to be defined by your father’s tainted legacy. Present Mic’s voice booms over the speakers, his grinning face plastered across the monitors as you finally step out onto the field, astroturf crunching beneath your feet as he sings the praises of hero course class 3A. The crowd’s enthusiastic cheering is addictive. You make a point to soak it in while you can. Right now each and every one of them see you as a hero. While some of the students lamented not being able to wear their costumes for the event, you were secretly glad for it. The uniform made you a generic UA student; for now, unburdened by the past.

“This never gets old,” Kirishima grins next to you as you all step into the central area and the other classes begin to filter out into the coliseum as well. A few of them grumble, giving the hero classes jaded looks, but even their ire cannot dampen the overall atmosphere. You instinctively find yourself seeking out a familiar pair of heterochromatic eyes, eventually finding them next to Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka. You can’t help the way your heart trips over itself when you lock eyes with Shoto. Memories of the night before and of waking up in his arms float to the forefront of your mind and you scowl before shaking your head to physically dispel the image from your mind. You turn away from him, missing the hurt that flashes across his eyes. He redirects his attention back to Principal Nezu, chief umpire as usual for the third years. “Now Shoto Todoroki will give the class pledge,” Nezu announces before ceding the floor.

The school had made the executive decision not to let Bakugo give the pledge after that first year. Midoriya had nearly passed out when it was his turn second year (as much as he has grown, public speaking still isn’t quite his forte). This made Todoroki the obvious choice for this year’s class pledge. As he approaches the mic he can’t help but think of Bakugo’s first speech. He remembers Midoriya telling him later the apparent narcissistic declaration that Bakugo had made to be number one had actually been to box himself into a corner to make sure he followed through. The more he thinks on it the more Shoto relates to that desire. His eyes scan the crowd until he spots his father amongst the rest. He makes sure to make direct eye contact, his eyes boring into his father’s as he leans down to speak into the mic. “I pledge... that we will create a new legacy of our own and destroy legacies of old,” he says confidently. He thinks he sees a flash of hurt and disappointment in Endeavor’s eyes even from the great distance between them. He turns to stride down the stairs of the stage and he can’t help but seek you out amongst the crowd of fellow students, hoping you got the message.

You tense a bit as your heart skips another beat. That boy is going to give you heart palpitations. Bakugo nudges you harshly in the side, causing you to jerk your head to scowl at him. “You good, nerd?” he asks, concern softening his usual bite a fraction. “I’m great. Ready to start kicking ass,” you reply, pushing down all your Shoto-related feelings for examination later. “Good,” is all Bakugo replies before his attention returns to Nezu. You can’t help but smile a little at Bakugo’s concern. He’s a surprisingly good friend and you’re grateful Kirishima introduced the two of you. When the direct elimination round comes around you’ll be merciless, but you have full confidence the two of you will make it through the qualifiers and you know the two of you and Kirishima will make for a great team for whatever the second round will be. “Don’t forget loser. I better see you on the fucking podium,” you remind him with a smirk. “You ain’t gotta worry about me idiot. Worry about yourself,” he replies although there’s no heat behind the words and he’s smirking just as much as you.

As the first game is announced you resolve yourself to staying middle of the pack for now. You don’t want to draw too much attention and let everyone discover your identity too quickly. You’re keenly aware that the second round is almost always a team event and without knowing how many people will be on a team, you can’t rely on Bakugo and Kirishima. Furthermore, any team you’re on would only become a target. Bakugo would kill you if he knew you have no intentions of trying your all in the qualifying round of course but you have to be strategic. No one pays much attention to the lower ranks from round 1, it’ll be easier to slip under the radar. Then, in round 2, you’ll kick it up a notch to prove your worth. At that point winning will become the only important matter. Creating a new legacy while destroying the old, as Shoto put it.

So that’s exactly what you do. The first game is a so called “Tower of Terror” that had been constructed in the preceding weeks. The task is simple enough in theory: scale the tower, cross from there to the ramp connected to the stadium, and return to the field. Only rule is that falling off the tower entirely is an immediate elimination. The amount of people being promoted out of the qualifying round is, as usual, a secret but you do the math to get a good idea of how many would optimally be removed and think you have a good estimate to ensure you’ll remain relatively anonymous. Your strategy pays off and you finish in the 30s out of the approximately 50 who qualify. As you finish your slide down the ramp, glowing faintly as you heal the minor injuries you’ve collected, a fuming Bakugo is storming up to you and you roll your eyes.

“The fuck you doing half and half?” he demands as you dust yourself off. “None of your goddamn business Pomeranian,” you fire back. “What happened to trying to be the best huh? Didn’t think you were one for dirty tricks,” he accuses. You feel your temper starting to genuinely flare at that comment. “I’m not pulling dirty tricks I’m trying to survive asshole. Not all of us can afford to be showy right out the gate,” you seethe. “I didn’t take you for a coward.” “I didn’t take you for an idiot.” “Say that shit again and I’ll blast you out the fucking stadium.” “I’d like to see you fucking try.” Both of you grip hold of the front of each other’s shirts, your right hand raised as your quirk makes shadows pool in it and one of his hands raised already popping off explosions. Before either of you can draw more attention to yourselves or actually act on your anger, you’re frozen in place. Literally. “All that work you did to keep your identity under wraps will be for nothing if Present Mic or Nezu comment about you and Bakugo fighting between games. Especially if they decide to disqualify you over it,” Shoto says as he approaches the both of you before melting the ice keeping you and Bakugo from pummeling each other. “I don’t recall fucking asking you,” you spit back, whirring to face your former friend. “I’m only trying to help,” Shoto responds placatingly but it’s too late to quell your anger. “Well fucking stop trying to,” you tell him before storming off. You need to focus on the next event anyway and not stupid Shoto with his stupid face and his stupid need to stick his nose in your fucking business.

The second event is...

Rough.

To say the least.

You and Bakugo were still too pissed at each other to make a proper team so you’d ended up with Yaoyorozu, Denki, and Sero. You admired their quirks and objectively they were strong, but it wasn’t exactly a perfectly complementary combination of skills. Each member of the team was given a target they were required to protect, almost exactly like the provisional licensing exam held during your first year, except with one major twist. Every member of your team was linked together by a short leash attached to their wrists. Last four teams standing would advance to the finals. Without his costume or support items to help direct his lightning Denki’s quirk was difficult to utilize without risking stunning the entire team. Sero’s quirk was more useful but the placement of the leash made it difficult for him to use it without tugging around the hands of the teammates on either side of him. You and Yaoyorozu, the only two whose quirks weren’t actively impeded, struggled to compensate for the other two and coordinate your actions. In the end, the four of you had barely qualified, leaving you frustrated.

So much for crafting a new legacy.

As Present Mic gleefully announces that the teams of Midoriya, Bakugo, Monoma, and Yaoyorozu will be moving on, a picture of all those advancing flashing on the monitors, you can’t help but sink deeper and deeper into regret and frustration. The others head to the cafeteria as the lunch break is announced but you storm off in the opposite direction in hopes of getting an opportunity to cool off and clear your head before the break ends and the next game begins. The universe, however, seems to have other plans because instead you crash into another, much larger body. As you look up your apology shrivels up and dies on your tongue as you find yourself staring into the eyes of the only man who inspires similar ire in you as your father does.

Enji Todoroki aka Endeavor aka the (second) largest tool in the entirety of Japan.

“Where are you sneaking off to?” he asks, making no attempt to mask his suspicion of you. “None of your fucking business,” you retort. You move to step around him but he quickly steps back in front of you. “The cafeteria is the opposite direction,” Endeavor informs you. “Gee thanks, I had no idea even though I literally go to this fucking school,” you reply, each word dripping with sarcasm. “Then what could possibly have you traveling this direction instead?” “Like I said. None of your fucking business.” “Your suspicious behavior is my business. I made a mistake with a (y/l/n) before, I won’t make one again,” Endeavor swears and you reel back almost as if struck. “I am not my father,” you spit out. Your quirk activates unbidden in response to your anger, black shadows curling out of your clenched right hand and forearm. “Sure looks like it to me,” Endeavor scoffs, looking pointedly at the shadowy tendrils rising out of the right side of your body. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a familiar voice asks from behind you and you wish the earth would swallow you up. Shoto steps around and in front of you, taking up an almost protective stance between you and his father. “Shoto step aside and-“ “No,” Shoto insists, staring down his father in challenge. He and Endeavor’s gazes stay locked in a silent argument, neither willing to back down, so you take the opportunity while they’re both distracted to slip away. You make it to about halfway down the hallway when a hand catches your shoulder. You whirl around knocking it away to find Shoto there looking genuinely stunned at your hostility. “Jesus christ will you fuck off!” you snap at him and maybe it isn’t fair but you’re frustrated and angry and you fought with one of your best friends and you’ve barely squeaked through each round so far and the last thing you are mentally or emotionally prepared to do is confront your increasingly complex thoughts on Shoto fucking Todoroki whose father just all but accused you of attempting to sabotage the competition.

“Hey I just wanted to check on you,” he says and for some reason, the show of compassion only pisses you off even more. “Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” you demand. “Please (y/n) I-“ he tries to say, clearly confused by your rage. You know most of your anger is actually directed inwards and not at him but you don’t care. “I get that you are trying to grow as a person or whatever and pity me because you were a complete and utter dickhead a decade ago but I don’t want your fucking pity friendship so leave me the fuck alone Icyhot,” you spit with all the venom you can muster before promptly spinning around and continuing your path down the hallway, leaving a stunned Shoto behind.

No one needs to know that you’ve already started crying before you’ve even turned the corner away from him.

A/N: Oh you thought the good feelings from last chapter would last? Nah, have some angst 🙃

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut

[clevercxs]

Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 2]

[MORE CHAPTERS]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Word Count: 6.8k

_______________________________________________

With dawn came an uneasy feeling of dread within the Saxon warrior. Her face, distorted with worry, belied her ethereal youthfulness. She seemed to have aged an entire decade in the day it took them to reach the fortress of Beamfleot.

Beads of cold sweat glistened upon her furrowed brows. Lady Blædswith found herself anxiously gnawing at the insides of her cheeks like some famished barn rodent - though it wasn’t out of hunger. She’d bitten her chapped lips until they were stained red like fresh blood upon newly fallen snow. Her fair skin was drained of all color except for the rosy hue beneath her windblown cheeks.

Dark rings had formed beneath her pale eyes causing her to look all the more ghostly. Once filled with such vigor and spirit, her irises were now dull; lifeless even, and heavy with exhaustion. Her body, bruised and broken from the trauma she’d endured, swayed achingly with the rhythm of Sigefrid’s steed beneath her. It was by the strength of Sigefrid’s arm alone that she managed to sit upright for the duration of their travels.

She was a lamb being led to the slaughter, or frankly something far worse for a woman to endure than death itself - the wrath of men.

Unlike a lamb, or cow for that matter, Lady Blædswith didn’t have the luxury of being blissfully unaware of what lied ahead.

For the first time in a long while she was completely and utterly defenseless. Above all else, she believed it to be the scariest, most unusual feeling she’d ever known.

And she hated every second of it.

A light mist began to fall from the sky awash with ominous shades of grey. The air was humid and smelled of a storm brewing in the near distance. Thick clouds of fog encompassed each horse and rider though they began to dissipate over time. An unmistakable roll of thunder rumbled through the damp earth causing the horses to feel uneasy once more.

Lady Blædswith firmly grasped handfuls of mane between her fingers and took as deep of a breath as her ribs would allow.

For the love of God, or gods, please don’t throw me off.

Barren trees shivered in the wind, their naked limbs often snapping beneath the weight of fleeing crows and squirrels alike. Eerie branches, gnarled and twisted, extended towards the band of Danes and their princess like the very hands of Skaði herself - the Pagan goddess of winter.

The shivering princess found herself retreating into the fur pelt draped over her shoulders for warmth. Sigefrid decided she’d suffered enough from the cold, though found himself growing fond of the way his grey fur looked beneath her dark, unruly curls.

Although Lady Blædswith was born and raised in Wessex, Sigefrid could see there was something different within her; something worth saving. He could sense a feral presence bound by chains that could never be tamed - not even by him.

Odin had dealt her a great hand, and she spat it back at him by defying all odds.

____________________ ➴  ____________________

The infamous fortress of Beamfleot was a rather grim sight to behold.

The surrounding field was brown with decay. Remnants of battles past lie scattered in the weeds; broken swords, cracked shields, dented helmets, and the occasional skull or two left inside said helmets.

Its cold, uninviting walls of aged wooden planks loomed high above the approaching Danes and stretched towards the gods. Stone watch towers encompassed by cages of sharpened wooden pikes protected archers keeping watch over the land; Sigefrid and Erik’s land.

Sigefrid led his fellow Danes along a narrow path and towards the main gates. “Lady Blædswith of Wessex. Welcome, to Beamfleot. Your new home... should you want it.” His dark eyes gleamed with mischief, the corners of his lips perking into a rather menacing smile.

Lady Blædswith shook her head with confusion. “I-I do not understand. I thought you intended to sell me for ransom? T-to my father?”

Sigefrid chuckled haughtily, “Oh, for a while I did.” He tightened his arm around her waist and pressed the entirety of her back against his firm chest causing her breath to hitch. “But then I grew to like your company.” She could feel every muscle in his core flex and constrict against her frame as he held her in place. Every part of her yearned to resist his warm touch yet she couldn’t bring herself to do so… and she couldn’t understand why.

“How could I join you?” Lady Blædswith scoffed and craned her neck to face the Dane whose arm encompassed her being. “I have experienced quite enough to know better.” She pressed the palm of her hand against her dried arrow wound as if recalling the incident all over again. “You must think me a fool!“ She twisted back around and purposely bumped her back into his chest.

“I do not-“ Sigefrid growled lowly.

“Then how can you possibly expect me to trust you so soon?”

Sigefrid’s nostrils flared and his lips pursed out of bitterness; his narrowed eyes seemed to burn with a newfound frustration despite the truth behind her words. “Very well.” He huffed. “Warriors join us by the day. With word of your... capture… there will be more; all waiting for war.”

“Against who?” She urged. “Mercia? Wessex? My father?” Both kingdoms, as far as she knew, had large armies of noble and courageous men… but the average Saxon warrior was no match for a Dane like Sigefrid Thurgilson. “Tell me.”

Sigefrid smiled wickedly from ear to ear and simply responded, “You have my thanks, Lady.”

As they grew nearer, a set of heavy gates were drawn open revealing the inside of Beamfleot. Lady Blædswith could hear Danes of all walks of life applauding their Lord’s fruitful return. Once through the gates and inside, Hæsten rode up beside them and nudged her boot with his own. She kicked him back, harder, causing him to curse beneath his breath.

With the sound of the gates closing behind her and locking in place, all hopes she had of escaping fell into a pit of despair; of defeat.

The two Danes proceeded to ride through the village, passing by mothers joyfully embracing their children and drunken men clinking horns of ale together.

“Lord.”

“Yes?” Sigefrid drew slowly out of exasperation. “Speak.”

“How does she feel? Warm?” Hæsten’s serpent tongue grazed over the bottom of his busted lip. His eyes dilated at the mere thought of his hands ravishing Lady Blædswith’s womanhood. He believed it to be what she deserved for not only being a Saxon, but publicly humiliating him and nearly taking his life in front of everyone.

“Rich, as she should.” Sigefrid leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to the back of her hair, exchanging a sly grin with Hæsten before leaning back. “She is priceless.”

Lady Blædswith felt completely numb; frozen in time as the world around her faded to a blur. Danes began clawing at her legs once more and tugged at her clothes. No one knew of her identity thus far but some had their suspicions. It was clear she was of grave importance to their Lord, therefore she had a great value.

She remained stoic; her attention fixated on the large building up ahead with pits of seductive flames dancing in front of frostbitten Danes.

Hot tears streamed down her flushed cheeks yet she kept quiet; there was nothing she could say that would matter to anyone - assuming she could even get them to listen in the first place.

Lady Blædswith could feel each tear dripping from her chin and falling onto the dense fur around her neck, one she wished could shield her face from the dirty looks she received as Sigefrid paraded her around.

“I bring you King Alfred’s eldest daughter! I swear to the gods… that this prize will not be sold cheaply. There will be wealth and glory for every man here!” An uproar of cheering and laughter rang out from children of all ages, the elderly, returning warriors and even slaves who’d taken a break from their chores to gape in awe.

They hoped they would have an easier week ahead of them now that a new woman had been introduced, so they celebrated her capture without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Sigefrid marveled triumphantly at the celebration that had begun in his honor. He could hear his name being praised and chanted loud enough to be heard for miles, a sound he would never tire of.

After the crowd simmered down he was the first to dismount. His boots, upon doing so, struck the earth like the mighty hammer of Thor. He reached up and grabbed Lady Blædswith by her waist as best as he could without harming her with his hand-blade nor disrupting her broken ribs. It was a rather tedious task.

The Lord of Beamfleot decided it was worth the risk of impaling King Alfred’s daughter if it meant no other man would lie a hand on her.

By the hour he found himself increasingly selfish and greedy; hungry with lust and a burning desire of having a princess all to himself in the interim of negotiating a price for her release.

She carefully dismounted and found herself clinging to Sigefrid’s armor for support. The warmth of her hands seeped through his leather attire causing his breathing to hitch for a moment. His hand remained a constant upon her waist until she found her balance. They held each other’s gaze a moment too long before she cleared her throat. “I’m fine. You can let go, now.”

With a sigh, Sigefrid rolled his eyes and stepped back just in time for a friendlier face to arrive by his side. Whoever he was, he seemed to have missed the big announcement.

“Sigefrid? Who is this woman?”

“Erik!” Sigefrid clapped a hand to his brothers shoulder and brought him closer to see her. “This is King Alfred’s daughter.”

Erik’s lips formed an ‘o’ before he stepped even closer out of sheer curiosity.

When Lady Blædswith looked up she met a pair of gentle blue eyes underlined with kohl. He had a small, rounder face than Sigefrid decorated in thick scars and smudges of dirt. It seemed Erik had been kept rather busy in his brother’s absence. Below his button nose was a short, dirty-blonde beard bound by a single ring of silver. Similar to Sigefrid, his head was shaved at the sides and his hair was knotted into a short braid down his neck.

“How did you come across her?” Erik asked over his shoulder though quickly turned back when she answered for his brother.

“My men and I were ambushed on our way to Mercia. They were all slaughtered in cold blood and I was taken as a hostage.”

Erik’s brows furrowed as he gently caressed the side of her bruised cheek with the tops of his knuckles, retracting his hand after she winced in pain.

“She is unwell, brother. Who did this to her?”

Lady Blædswith looked around to see if anyone would try to stop her from confessing. When she looked to Sigefrid he averted his gaze and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hæsten.” She croaked, “But Sigefrid stopped him before it was too late.” The mere mention of his name through her lips caused Sigefrid’s chest to constrict.

“Lady,” Erik took a step closer with his hands raised to show her he meant well, “I would like to see what Hæsten did to you.”

She scoffed. “You want me to undress, here, in front of everyone? In the cold?”

Erik nodded with a sigh, acknowledging the extent of his request.

“Are you mad?” She then turned to face Sigefrid. “Sigefrid you can’t let him-“

“I can, and I will. Take off your fur, Lady. Now. We want to see such a woman in all her beauty!” The eldest Thurgilson pressed firmly, asserting himself to the Saxon woman who so boldly spoke out against him.

Exhaling slowly, she allowed the fur to drape down her arms and pool at her wrists before falling to the ground. The back of her neck was scorching hot as hundreds of eyes watched her every move.

“I’d like that back.” The princess wore a long sleeved shirt beneath a leather vest tied in the back like a corset. Her chainmail armor had been torn to pieces and left in the clearing where she was ambushed.

“Now, your vest.” Sigefrid motioned with his blade.

Lady Blædswith slowly reached behind her to untie the laces of her vest but stopped halfway, wincing as pain coursed through her body. “Damn!” She hissed, “I can not.” Her hand tightly clutched her right shoulder as she cried out in pain. “I can not lift my arms high enough to do so.”

Erik’s brows furrowed with confusion. “Why is that?”

“Well,” She gulped dryly, “it would appear that I’ve been struck by a bloody arrow! So I will not be taking it off.”

“Then I will. Allow me to be of... assistance.” Hæsten cooed as he slithered past the Thurgilson brothers.

“No!” Sigefrid and Lady Blædswith shouted in unison, leaving Erik unable to determine who’d taken greater offense to Hæsten’s offer. It struck Erik that perhaps Lady Blædswith meant more to his brother than he’d let on.

“Leave us, Hæsten. Now.” Sigefrid dismissed.

Hæsten swore to himself once more and passed by Lady Blædswith, though stopped dead in his tracks after she grabbed his wrist. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.” She whispered by his ear. “One day I shall make you beg for mercy as I did. Only your Lord won’t be there to save you like he did with me.”

“Sigefrid needed you alive. He knew he couldn’t hump a corpse.” Hæsten sneered, only to be knocked off balance by her forehead slamming into his nose - causing it to break and ooze blood down his lips. Before he could raise his fist Erik grabbed him by the forearm and redirected the hostile Dane elsewhere. Hæsten brushed shoulders with the younger Thurgilson before searching for a slave to take his aggressions out on.

Lady Blædswith caught sight of Sigefrid with his bottom lip between his teeth, concealing a coy smirk of amusement as his chest shook with laughter. He ran a hand over his devilish beard before strolling towards her.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

The Dane shrugged. “Mmm….Maybe I did? Though Hæsten was right. I needed you alive.”

“So you could hump me, is that it?” She yanked him down to her eye level by the collar of his leather armor and narrowed her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me.” The princess hissed through gritted teeth and released him with a shove.

Sigefrid chuckled to himself after regaining his stance. “Oh? Is that right?” He’d caught onto the game she dared to play without realizing she’d awoken the beast within him. It was risky of her to challenge such a man of Sigefrid’s reputation, but she couldn’t help it. It was simply in her nature. After all, what had she to lose?

“It is. Besides, I would slit my own throat before bedding a Dane, especially you.”

Sigefrid laughed heartily, evoking Erik and the surrounding Danes to harmonize with him as they mocked the injured woman.

“I mean it. Lord or not, I don’t give a damn.”

“That is enough, Lady. Turn around.” She sighed and did as she was told, now facing Erik who passed her a subtle grin. Sigefrid began working the laces out of their knots until her vest fell open in his hands. Once it was discarded he tore the sleeve from her shirt to reveal the main source of her discomfort.

Sigefrid and Erik visibly cringed at the sight - and smell - of her wound seeing fresh air for the first time. She handled the pain better than Sigefrid expected she would, and by a long shot, her strong will to live had exceeded his expectations.

Lady Blædswith had the face of a beautiful Saxon woman... but the heart of a Dane.

“Sigefrid, if you value Hæsten’s life you will keep him away from me. I will not hesitate to defend myself against him. He still wishes me dead.”

Sigefrid narrowed his intimidating gaze into her eyes. He knew she was right; Hæsten, almost as much as himself, couldn’t keep away from the Saxon princess.

“I do not take orders from you, princess!” The dark haired Thurgilson growled. “You should be glad to still have your tongue.”

The sound of gravel crunching beneath the steady rhythm of boots caused them both to look up as Erik approached.

Heavier droplets of rain began to fall upon their heads as forbidding clouds lurked overhead causing some to retreat indoors for warmth.

“Enough, Sigefrid. We need to get her inside before she freezes to death.”

“Very well, Erik. She is coming with me.” Sigefrid roughly grasped onto the princess’s forearm.

“Wait!” Lady Blædswith shouted, tugging her arm free of Sigefrid’s calloused grip before pulling her torn shirt up and beneath her bra line for all to see. Dark, unpleasant blotches of purple and green had appeared overnight as the pain worsened. It looked - and felt - as if she had been kicked by a horse when both brothers knew the truth.

“You have broken ribs... Hæsten did this as well?” Erik frowned solemnly, receiving a nod from the princess as she covered herself up once more. Sigefrid took a rather possessive hold of her hand in his and squeezed it tightly to ensure she wouldn’t slip away.

“It will not happen again, Lady. You have my word.” The sincerity of Erik’s words was as refreshing as a cold drink on a hot summer day. However, she had to remind herself that he was no saint.

Erik Thurgilson was the lesser of two evils. Lady Blædswith couldn’t help but feel safer around him despite the fact that he was Sigefrid’s younger brother.

The princess mouthed a quiet thank you and passed the blonde Dane a frail smile before Sigefrid pulled her towards the Mead Hall.

“Sigefrid, you will not hurt her.” Erik demanded of his hot-headed brother whose mind was already made up. Lady Blædswith stumbled behind him in an attempt to keep up with his long stride to avoid being dragged through the mud.

“I will do as I please.” Sigefrid laughed with a smirk. Erik couldn’t help but shake his head in disapproval, now trailing behind to ensure no further harm came to King Alfred’s daughter.

“Try, and see what happens!” With a loud huff Lady Blædswith dug the heels of her boots into the dirt causing him to stop and face her. “Your hand won’t be the only thing missing from your body when I am through with you.” As their faces drew closer a single white cloud was formed from their sharp breaths intertwining. Suddenly she felt the pad of his thumb flicking over her bottom lip and resting upon her chin as he held her gaze.

“You have a sharp tongue, Lady.” Sigefrid snarled, his nose scrunching with vexation. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her lips. “That will get you in trouble.”

“How fitting.” The princess muttered and swatted his hand away before he snatched it back it in his own. “That seems to be all I am good for lately.”

____________________ ➴  ____________________

A frigid breeze nipped away at her face and had crept beneath the tattered remains of her clothes, spreading across her skin as if she were trapped in the frozen realm of Nifelheim.

Her hands, tucked away in the cavities of her armpits, were painfully numb to the touch. Her pale lips had turned a bluish hue and her teeth chattered with the unsteady rhythm of her breathing. The nearest fire pit was just out of reach no matter how far she stretched her arm; it was close enough to tempt her like the Forbidden Fruit to Eve, yet remained unattainable despite her efforts.

Lady Blædswith fell heavy with exhaustion after frantically searching for a way out; a weak plank of wood, a loose nail… nothing. She had repeatedly thrown herself at the locked gate, crying out in frustration each time whilst doing more harm to herself than the filthy cage that confined her. Its rusty bars remained stationary yet they closed in on her all the same, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of claustrophobia curdling within her.

A shroud of darkness had enveloped her broken wings, for Lady Blædswith was a flightless bird.

Occasionally she found peace by slipping into an unconscious state, only to be startled awake by ungodly booms of thunder or Danes clinking horns of ale along the metal bars. Even a brood of clucking chickens strutted past her, showing off their boundless freedom before Danish children chased them outside. Curious hounds sniffed around the princess from time to time, trying to determine whether or not she was to become their next meal, or perhaps just something to urinate on.

And by the smell of it, they chose the latter.

An overwhelming series of events had occurred in the mere day or so she’d been in the Thurgilson brothers’ possession. Evidently, the Saxon princess began to lose track of time.

How long had she been trapped here? For a few hours? Days? And how long had Sigefrid allowed his men to tease and taunt her whilst she lay curled in a ball, weeping as a small child would? Praying to her God who seemed to have turned a blind eye once and for all?

From beyond the shadowy gloom of the dimly lit hall came a tall silhouette carrying something. Lady Blædswith found herself scrambling to the furthest corner from the gate out of fear of her approacher’s intentions. When they stepped closer to the cage their face became visible beneath the chandelier hanging overhead, revealing it to be Erik Thurgilson with a fur pelt in his arms.

She had ill-heartedly anticipated it to be Hæsten returning for a helping of spiteful revenge.

“Are you ready to talk, Lady? I brought you something warm.” Erik gestured the fur towards her, receiving a frantic nod as she rose to her bare feet. Sigefrid had ushered everyone out of the hall and into the cold, barring the doors behind them. He then found himself drawn to her cage like a moth to candlelight, watching wearily as Erik retrieved a key from his pocket and opened the gate. He carefully set the fur down for Lady Blædswith before locking her in once more.

Collapsing to her knees with a gasping sigh of relief, the trembling princess wrapped the thick pelt over her body and curled into a ball, now teetering back and forth on her tailbone. Sigefrid and Erik pulled up a carved bench and made themselves comfortable for what they anticipated to take some time: interrogating the rogue daughter of King Alfred of Wessex.

“I shall t-tell you everything you wish to know,” She shivered, “b-but only if you release me from this wretched cage where I am to remain under your protection. I am not a damned chicken… This cage is rather small for a princess.” Lady Blædswith quirked a dark brow. She smirked ever so slightly and allowed her gaze to fall deep into Sigefrid’s lap, “I expected it to be… bigger.” She so crudely joked, catching both brothers by surprise at her sudden vulgarity.

Humor, of all things, seemed to keep her sane even through the worst of days.

Sigefrid’s eyes glimmered as he chuckled into the palm of his hand as he stroked the length of his sleek, raven beard.

“I like her.” Sigefrid cooed, turning to face his better half though his eyes remained glued to his Saxon prisoner.

“Perhaps too much.” Erik grinned teasingly, “Shall I leave, brother?”

Sigefrid shook his head and sighed. “No, stay.” He then directed his full attention to the princess. “I accept your terms, Lady. It is done.” He muttered, “You will be freed... And, you may be surprised how well such a cage would… suit your needs.” Sigefrid smirked devilishly at the witty Saxon, displaying teeth as sharp and frightening as knives. Her heart seemed to beat faster in a dizzying manner that her breathing could not keep up with.

How was he menacing yet alluring at the same time? How could she loathe such a man yet want nothing more than to be in his presence? To hear the low growl of his voice sent shivers down her spine in the most pleasant of ways. She craved the danger; the unpredictability of his Pagan nature. It was all so new and enticing to the Saxon woman whose recurring thoughts have been far from Holy. He was her enemy; her kidnapper. Sigefrid Thurgilson was a deviously charming Dane with an edge of mystery to his every whim. She believed if he had intended to do her harm, he would have done so already.

Her only dilemma was that she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him for Lunden… not now, anyways.

Sigefrid Thurgilson held the power to decide her fate; whether or not she lived or died — and how. He had chosen wisely thus far, and appeared to see Lady Blædswith in all her grandeur.

Erik Thurgilson spoke uncomfortably,, “I must be going-”

“No! Stay.” Lady Blædswith chirped. “I am ready to talk… But only to you, Erik. You have shown me a great kindness.” She directed at the blonde Thurgilson. “As for your brother… not so much. He is the reason I almost died at Hæsten’s hand.” She spat at him through the cage. “I will never forget that, Heathen.”

A loud stomp echoed throughout the hall as the floorboard beneath Sigefrid’s boot nearly cracked. “I am the reason you are still alive. Do not forget that.” Sigefrid leaned forward, pressing his elbow into his knees. He slowly unsheathed his hand-blade and sneered mockingly, “Christian.”

“Perhaps what my brother is trying to say is… we would greatly appreciate your... cooperation.” Erik grinned sheepishly as a low growl rumbled within his brother’s throat. “Where were you headed, Lady, with the king’s men? You said you were headed for Mercia when Sigefrid… found… you. Is this true?”

Lady Blædswith nodded with a troubled sigh. “Yes, it is true. I was headed North to visit my sister, Lady Æthelflæd. I traveled with my men; they were loyal to me, and to me only. And in return I led them to their deaths.” A light shudder rippled through her body as she fought the urge to dispel the meat they fed her earlier.

“To see the Queen of Mercia — yes. But why?” Sigefrid’s brows furrowed tightly together in uncertainty.

Lady Blædswith inhaled sharply. “I thought... we could be of use to each other. I sought her protection, and Mercia needs warriors with my skillset.” She feared she had already revealed too much, but there was no turning back now.

“You do not have King Alfred’s protection?” Erik frowned and rose to his feet, taking firm hold of a metal rod in each hand. He was unsure of what to make of her words.

Lady Blædswith chuckled and shook her head, wet strands of hair falling over her eyes, “No, no. Of course I do not. He is the one I sought protection from! For years I have drowned in my father’s politics but I have had enough!” She shouted angrily, causing both brothers to flinch ever so slightly. “I met suitor after suitor... they never stopped asking for my hand in marriage. Strange men; always foreign and often old enough to be my father…. or grandfather.” She could feel herself fighting back a sob brewing within her throat.

The Thurgilson brothers exchanged sour looks of disgust.

“I can not imagine what you have been through, Lady.” Erik soothed and leaned closer to her cage. “No father should force his daughter to wed, not even a King.”

Lady Blædswith smiled softly at Erik, though noticed the way Sigefrid had began glaring down at her. She felt almost obligated to explain herself, “I-I never loved any of my suitors — I couldn’t. I was always able to scare them away, and Alfred resented me for it. I humiliated him, time and time again, in front of numerous princes and lords… until one day he found a man most unafraid of my strong will…”

“What do you mean?” Sigefrid snapped resentfully. Erik could see a blazing pain of jealousy ignite within his brother. “Who is this man you speak of?”

“I am engaged to a Frenchman whose name I can hardly pronounce nor remember. He has…” She motioned to the top of her head, “...thinning, grey hair like a corpse! I have heard the servants’ whispers, and they say he is a cruel man. He hates women, especially women like me.” Lady Blædswith rose to her knees and crawled a few feet closer to the brothers, no longer apprehensive of their presence. “He remains in Wessex with my father but I doubt they will send scouts to find me. I may not be worth the trouble... But if they did, they will not succeed.”

“Your fiancé fears a woman so strong; so unafraid to will her own destiny.” Erik smiled and took a seat. “He sounds a cowardly prick. You deserve far better, Lady. A man who is your equal-”

“Silence your flattery, brother.” Sigefrid snapped with a harsh jab of his elbow into Erik’s arm. “Continue.”

She nodded and did as commanded,

“I told King Alfred of the rumors I heard but he did not believe me…. and God forbid I seek proof for myself - I knew better than that. The moment my own mother, Lady Aelswith, decided to support the marriage I knew there was no longer a life for me in Wessex. I no longer had allies; no loyal family left but in Mercia. One night, on a whim, I simply gathered my things and left with the few men I could gather…” She sighed heavily and allowed her shoulders to droop. “We later passed through Lunden and, well, you both know what happened next.”

The Mead Hall fell silent, only to be disturbed by the frantic pounding of fists upon the main doors and a voice asking for Lord Erik. “If you will excuse me,” He rose to his feet and slipped the key into his pocket instead of trusting it with Sigefrid; this did not go unnoticed by his brother nor the princess.

Although Lady Blædswith asked to be freed, and Sigefrid agreed to uphold her request, Erik knew she was safer behind bars where no Dane could harm her - not even Sigefrid or Hæsten.

Erik made his way through the doors and was virtually out of sight. Alone, in the wet darkness of the Mead hall sat a Saxon beauty and her beast.

“Why did you kill the man who shot me?” Lady Blædswith wasted no time in bluntly asking her most burning question. “You did not know who I was. I was but a Saxon woman, y-you’re enemy.” Crawling towards the gate, she rested the palms of her hands against a wooden plank.

“He acted on Hæsten’s orders, not mine nor Erik’s. It did not matter... whether or not I knew you were Alfred’s daughter.” Sigefrid looked up from his lap and appeared unusually calm; sympathetic, almost. “I have never seen a woman fight as you do, Lady Blædswith of Wessex. Not even a Danish shieldmaiden could compare. Sparing you... went against everything I stand for… everything!” He slammed his hand down on the bench beside him. “But you were worth saving.”

He then paused, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were truly alone. “And I would do it again... without hesitation.” Sigefrid sighed in defeat, not wanting to accept the fact of the matter but it was true.

She was taken aback by his confession, unsure of what to say or do. Ever so carefully she reached above her head and took hold of metal bars, helping herself to her feet. The cage was barely tall enough for her to stand upright but she managed. “You still believe me to be worth saving even though I am in ruins?” She asked in disbelief and Sigefrid nodded.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you for sparing my life, Lord. All day I have feared Beamfleot; you, Hæsten, Erik… and everyone else. But now I fear returning home, how foolish is that? Despite the unbearable conditions I have been kept in, here…. I would gladly choose it over the life my father has planned for me.”

With a grunt Sigefrid suddenly rose to his feet, turning away whilst repeatedly running a calloused hand over his face.

“You do not wish to sell me for ransom… do you?”

“I am… conflicted, Lady.” He turned around on the heels of his boots to face her, “As you are. I promised my men wealth and glory, but they do not see you are priceless.” Frustrated by the decision at hand, Sigefrid neared a long table set with platters of food and cups of ale, and with one big sweep of his arm sent dishes crashing to the floor with a loud yell. “Damnit!”

Now seething with sudden rage, Sigefrid abandoned the princess and strode towards the doors to find his brother, only to be stopped by her shouting, “Stop!”

As if compelled by the gods Sigefrid found himself immobilized a mere foot from the door. The princess sniffled beneath the pelt now draped over her head and wiped away tears from her cheeks. “Sigefrid you will not receive what you desire from King Alfred.” She confessed, knowingly signing her own death sentence.

She heard his loud boot steps approaching as he breathlessly snapped, “What? What do you mean, woman?”

“I mean you have the wrong daughter!” She sobbed, watching as the Dane before her grew increasingly hostile and agitated by her words. “I was never his favorite child, never! He cared for me once but my constant defiance has shamed him beyond repair. Why would a king pay a fortune for a disobedient princess whom he no longer loves? He does not value me as a skilled warrior like you do, I am simply a pawn. If and when he negotiates a price… you will not be satisfied with it.”

“Are you saying I should have killed you in the woods?”

“No! And I am grateful you did not. I thank… I thank the gods that you see some greater value in me than my own father, b-because at least I-I know I matter to someone.” The princess choked on her own tears and displayed her aching heart on her chest. “For better or for worse, I matter to you.”

“You speak often of my gods.” Sigefrid folded his arms over his chest and began walking in a circle around her cage. “Have you lost faith in your God?”

She squeezed her ocean eyes shut and nodded, fishing down the collar of her shirt for the wooden cross hung around her neck. She took it in her hand and yanked the necklace from her person. “He has ignored my prayers for longer than I can remember. He turned my own family against me… my own kingdom. I prayed to Him before I fought Hæsten… and I lost miserably.” She gently laid the broken necklace on the floor before spitting on it. “I could never bring myself to denounce Him, but I feel I may soon. Meeting you has been the ultimate test of my faith, Lord.”

Heaven lost an angel the day Princess Blædswith met Sigefrid Thurgilson.

When she opened her eyes she saw that Sigefrid had reclaimed his place on the bench, nursing his hand-blade, slowly working the buckles to relieve his discomfort.

“Who did that to you?”

Sigefrid glared up at her for daring to ask when he assumed she knew. “Your Lord, Uhtred.” Sigefrid groaned, struggling to free his stump from the gnarly contraption.

“I am… sorry he did that to you. I hope it brings you peace knowing I no longer serve Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

“Oh?” He disregarded the buckles on his hand and allowed it to rest upon his knee. “Who do you serve, Lady?”

She scoffed with a smile and leaned her back against the bars, “I serve myself, as hard as it may be to believe. All men who have tried before have failed. For a short while I was sworn to Uhtred of Bebbanburg. I fought by his side and loved every moment of it.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Well, it was not up to me. King Alfred welcomed the idea of his daughters learning to protect themselves. Growing up, Æthelflæd and I trained with the captain of my family’s guards, a man named Steapa. Unlike my sister who was married off to a pig’s ass named Æthelred-”

“-A pig’s ass!” Sigefrid shouted with amusement. “How fitting.”

“He is but a shit stain upon my boot as I have come to know. I fear no man, but he… he is no man.”

“Will you tell me about him?”

“I shall, another time.” She grinned and continued her story, “I pursued my skills in fighting, and once I was good enough Uhtred gladly took me under his wing despite my father’s wishes. Uhtred taught me that not all Danes are cruel and merciless. I am hoping that to be true of yourself and Erik. He seems a kind man.”

Sigefrid nodded in response to her compliment. “He is a good man. I would be lost without his head.”

“I have no doubt.” She teased with a mournful grin. “I wish I could say the same for my father - that he is a good man. It was not easy for Uhtred to let me go but he was ordered by King Alfred to do so. He took away everything I had; my freedom, my happiness. I lost not only my own blood, but Uhtred and his men. I was suddenly… alone.” She glanced at Sigefrid through eyes blurred with tears. “My sister is all I have left. God forbid she turns on me, too. I am not sure what I would do.”

“What are you prepared to do?” Sigefrid cocked his head to the side and attempted to decipher her words. “Are you prepared to kill your own sister? A queen?”

“Is that what you would like me to do?” She scoffed. “Would you kill Erik? Your brother? Surely not.” Lady Blædswith challenged, not able to help herself from feeling defensive over Lady Æthelflæd’s life. The entire hall fell silent except for the sound of rain falling in sheets upon the roof. Sigefrid shifted uneasily in his seat and allowed for his head to hang below his shoulders.

“I… would be lost without Erik.” He repeated quietly, craning his neck to nod at her before returning his undivided attention to the screwy buckles on his hand-blade.

Fascinated by Sigefrid’s troubling efforts the princess blurted, “May I see it? Your hand?”

Sigefrid’s face hardened with shame and distrust. “No.” He hissed and turned away from her like a stubborn child refusing his vegetable dinner. “You may not.”

She took a calming breath and knelt before the gate. “I can take it off and help soothe your pain-”

“Why would you want to help me, woman?” He continued to fumble with the buckles though frustration clouded his focus.

“Well… I’m sure Uhtred had his reasons but no man deserves that. Not a Dane, not even my father.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe my father.”

Sigefrid paused with a grin, and looked up though his gaze refused to find the Saxon woman kneeling before him. “Not even a Dane holding you hostage?”

She gulped dryly and shook her head. “No, not even him.” Her eyes met his longing gaze and the world seemed to stop spinning; the heavy downpour even ceased to fall. “I will not hurt you, Sigefrid. I could not bring myself to.”

Sigefrid contemplated whether or not to expose to her his blessèd curse of an arm; his most loathsome insecurity that had only damned the eyes of his dearest brother. Would she see him as less of a man? Weak; vulnerable, even? The Lord of Chaos decided he was willing to let his guard down as she had done. Perhaps the gentle touch of a woman was all he needed. Though it may not ease his pain entirely, it would surely lift his spirits and remind him why he initially spared her life. He took great pleasure in her company, though not without dreading what was to come of her and his decisions left unmade. With a definitive nod he agreed,

“Very well.”

_______________________________________________

Author’s Note: This was more of a filler/informational chapter regarding *some* of Lady Blædswith’s background. I promise chapters 3+ will be more action packed. I hope this chapter was worth the wait! ;)

(FYI, reading all of Sigefrid’s lines in his voice makes it 10x better)

TAGS: @finantheagile​ @inforapound​ @cheapcakeripper​ @wildwren​ @metall-and-dust​ @onesaltyhunter​ @wessexcrown​ @destinysall​ @lauwrite1225​ @lumxnously​  Feel free to ask to be added to the tag list xx

[nightsongalchemy]

Wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve done any sort of health update. I actually started to write this post *months* ago, but honestly between all the ups and downs of life, I was either too busy, depressed, or chronically ill to be up for sharing. Roller coaster! Whoo!🎢

Catching Covid last year for three and half months really set me back health wise, as it has for a lot of our chronically ill friends. With severe allergies and a sinus/ear/throat infection immediately following; I developed damage in my throat. Talking and singing became VERY painful. After playing a couple of gigs last summer that ended in tears from the amount of pain I was enduring, I was forced to stop singing for awhile. 😔

After ANOTHER sinus/ear/throat infection that followed yet another bad allergy attack then in September - I broke. I couldn’t speak at all for about three weeks. Unfortunately, this second infection made the issues in my throat SO MUCH WORSE. Talking on a regular basis became unbearably painful without even bringing singing into the mix. The damage was now set up to be long term… 😞

After all of this, I sank into yet another dark depression. Singing was the only creative passion I had left after my disabilities wouldn’t allow me to do all the other things I love; playing the harp, tattooing, drawing, or painting on any kind of consistent bases. Many evenings and nights I wished I had a friend who could hold and cuddle me tenderly saying things like, “This is so fucked up, and this isn’t fair. You don’t deserve any of this you poor, sweet girl.” 😞

Shortly after, one of the many hands surgeons I’ve seen over the years ordered an MRI for my thumb after telling me surgery wasn’t going to be an option for my tendinitis. “I’m afraid it's going to make it worse.” He couldn’t offer any sort of answer or hope for the situation. “At least we can see if we’re missing anything with your thumb.” 🙁

The MRI was a nightmare... I came out of it with my arm practically twisted and ripped out of its socket while enduring multiple seizures due to the excruciating pain. (Pain that had nothing to do with my hand!?) It’s been eight months since that MRI, and I’m still suffering with pain under my right shoulder blade and socket. When its flared up I’ll get nerve pain that runs down my arm into my fingers. About a week ago I was diagnosed with bursitis due to the MRI injury. Sweet baby Jesus… 😩

Honestly, after that, there was only a dim flicker of a light left where the fire in my heart and soul used to be. Between the Mirena IUD causing a Pseudo Tumor Cerebri, Stage-4 Epstein Barr Virus (Fibromyalgia,) and a plethora of other un-healing injuries, traumas, symptoms, and conditions I finally broke. Not being completely consumed by the numbness and dark was nearly impossible, and I could only faintly remember a time when I was always positive, smiling, and filled with cheer and love. Beaten, chewed up, and spit out, I was traumatized over and over again. I felt like just as I would start to get better, something else would beat me down. I wanted to die. 😢

Now, I’m not going to lie, things are still hard. I still suffer daily with chronic pain, etc., but after a long plateau, there have finally been some good forward movements with my health.

I’ve been slowly regaining the ability to digitally draw and paint! :’) This was how I was able to create that beautiful little winter solstice night elf illustration back in December and the poster for the Faerie Garden Party. Now, after months of slowly working on it bit by bit, I’m happy to share this symbolic painting, “Loosing Hope.” I started this while I was in one of the deepest parts of my depression last year. Each break symbolic of the physical pain and various injuries, my inner light escapes through all the cracks.

Sadly, it takes me INCREDIBLY longer to create and finish a piece with the limitations of the chronic joint pain, tendinitis, and fibro, some days I can’t even draw at all since things get flared up so easily… but even though my abilities are very much more limited then they were before, my heart still cries for me to be an artist, so I will continue to fight to do what I love. I’ll keep following my dreams, and I’m incredibly grateful for what I can do… I sincerely just wish the pain would fully heal.

On another good health note, my seizures are slowly becoming even less frequent still and all my digestive issues have been getting better too!!! I saw the most improvement when I finally was able to go completely radical fat free on my #medicalmediumprotocols

Although my throat and voice are still on the mend, I was very grateful that it was just well enough that I could sing at the Faerie Garden Party in Berkeley Springs, WV this past weekend. I hope it continues to heal so I can sing all the time again on day. :’)

I feel so blessed that there have been laughs and good times along the way, such as when Robbie and I had our engagement photo shoot last October (I’m so excited to share the photos!) or when we traveled to #Moresca in New York together to pick out some garb for our future wedding reception. The “Bringing in the May” art show and the Faerie Garden Party in Berkeley Springs, WV were absolutely amazing memories as well! 🥰

I work as hard as I can every day to continue to run my business, follow all my Medical Medium protocols perfectly, keep my band moving forward, and take care of my home and family. I sing and work as much as I can before the pain makes me stop. Every day I’m doing the very best I can to keep my hope for healing and restoration alive. I still get depressed, but I’m still healing. I’m not at the finish line yet, so I still get really sad, but I’ll continue to fight. I still haven’t given up, even though I’ve been enduring for years. Thank you to all the precious friends who have supported me through all of this. I don’t know if I would still be here without you. Thank you for taking the time to check in and read my stories. I love all of you and miss you so much. Thank you.❤️

#whowantstocuddle #imissallofyou #learningcompassionthehardway #healthwarrior #healingchonicillness #fibromyalgia #medicalmedium

#drawnwithlove #paintedwithlove #art #pennsylvaniaillustrator #pennsylvaniaartist #fantasyillustration #fantasyart #nightelf #elf #mangaillustration #digitalpainting #animeelf #manga #mangasketch #mangaart #digitalart #artistofinstagram #anime #animeart #healingwithart #healthwarrior #waccom #clipstudiopaint #elvenspirit #fantaastart

[bruh-haikyuu]

A/N: Iwaizumi domestic AU!! I am here to quench your Iwaizumi Hajime father-of-three thirsts.

On another note: Haikyuu manga ends today :(( Guess who’s gonna fucking DIE. Anyways, this manga has left so much of an impact to me, I feel like it’s already imprinted in my heart. Thank you so much to Furudate for making such a wonderful story, and may their stories flourish! I’ll still make content though, I’m really waiting on that new light novel and the second cour of the anime pspsspsps 👁👁

ménage. | iwaizumi hajime episode 1 – haimish.

summary: in which your oldest son is about to begin elementary school, but your husband misplaces the documents while in a frenzy.

word count: 2215

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(adj.) homey; cozy and unpretentious

At seven and four, Kazuki and Isao were at the age where they couldn’t keep their messy doodles confined into the sketchbooks you’d bought for them.

The first victim to their mischief was the wall in the kitchen beside the door leading to your backyard. It was a small parade of animals, with streamers and party hats. Tiger-san with his jagged crown, the dainty family of rabbits, and the hefty Bear-san (“No, Mommy! That’s Cat-san!” your second oldest had huffed indignantly at the clutter of crayon circles) who was at the very front of the entire crew. Your boys were lucky enough that it had been you who’d walked into their little streak of artistry. An understanding glance had been enough, seeing that you probably weren’t so different back then. You’d clean it up with a secret trick your mother had taught you and everything in the Iwaizumi household was back in business. Easy-peasy.

But had it been Hajime who’d encountered their mess... let’s just say you wouldn’t hear the end of the boys’ shrill wails until the next week.

Unfortunately for you and your trusty washcloth, Kazuki and Isao’s artistic escapades didn’t stop at the kitchen wall. Next, it was the floors, the windows of the entrance and even on the door to your bedroom (with a side of elephant stickers that you’d admit were pretty cute). Thus, it didn’t take very long for your husband to finally be faced by their “little” temperament. And not very long for the boys to be faced by their father’s wrath.

But there was simply a stubborn rock settled somewhere in your sons’ heads—they get it from Hajime, you’d kept telling yourself—and for simply the reason of being boys in their early youths, they kept on drawing. Everywhere. Anywhere.

At least the both of you were thankful enough for Hina-chan. Still a tiny ball of warmth curled up cozily against in your arms, Hina was the youngest and the only daughter in your modest family of five. And the least likely source of your daily hurdles.

“By the time Hina learns to hold a pencil, should we just introduce our home as an art gallery or something?” Hajime had asked you rather comically after seeing the colorful family portrait Isao had drawn in one of his reference books.

Though Kazuki, your first child, was completely aware of his responsibilities as an older brother, it was concerning enough that he still hadn’t let go of his childishness. He was seven now, and in a few months, delving into April, he’d be in first grade. Maybe he was simply rowdy in nature... who knows? With a gruff husband like Iwaizumi Hajime, anything was possible.

Elementary school... you pondered, gazing softly at your family in the living room. Hajime cradling Hina in one arm while he and the boys cheered wildly at the service ace that was displayed on TV. How exciting.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

“Remember to ask for ‘Ichimura-sensei’, alright? She was the teacher I talked to when Kazuki and I checked the school. She’ll know the details I asked her about in the last meeting so you just have to give her the application form.”

Hajime suppressed a chuckle at your adamant ramble. “You’ve only been telling me this all week. I won’t forget, you know.”

“Sorry,” you sighed, bouncing your sleeping daughter in your arms. “I just want to make sure nothing goes wrong. This is our firstborn we’re talking about.”

“Trust me, Y/N,” he smiled. “It’ll be fine.”

You could only nod quietly. Was it the maternal instinct within you that was acting up? It all felt too soon, too quick. If you blinked, Kazuki would’ve already gotten married already... You weren’t ready for that.

But the least you could do was get used to the changes that were going to happen around the house. Starting with this.

“You’ve brought the form with you, right? You didn’t forget it?”

You felt bad that your husband was being held up at the entrance to your little home, but it couldn’t hurt to be just slightly careful. Unclasping his bag, he scrabbled through it, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, I’ve put it in a folder here last night, so there’s no way it would—Eh?”

More rummaging.

“Hajime, is everything alright?”

He was pulling things out of his bags now. 2000-yen bills, crumpled receipts, his packets of protein shakes, Hina’s diapers. But no application form. Nothing.

“I-It’s not there.”

“Huh?!”

“H-Hold on, I’ll check our bedroom,” his voice was in the least reassuring tone he could muster and you felt your heart drop a million feet into the ground.

Why would this happen now of all times? The document was already filled and sealed with your inkan*, payments documented, crucial information written on that single sheet of paper. Crucial information you couldn’t afford to fill in twice... and it was missing?

You really didn’t want to think about how today was the last day to submit applications—

“Kazuki!!” Hajime’s thunderous voice cut through the silence.

A tiny echo of pattering footsteps and Hina shifted against your chest but did not wake. You were thankful enough; anymore ruckus and your sanity would snap.

Yawning, your eldest scratched his dark bedhead and sauntered over to his father who fisted a sheet of paper in his hand. “Daddy, you’re too loud...”

Putting the paper onto full display, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head at what was on it.

Had the form always been so... colorful? You could barely see any writing on it, covered by the persistent doodles your son had scrawled over. Mixes of hiragana he’d been practicing, completed with small side drawings—Anpanman*, some horses and a purple paddy field. All in all: it was a mess. But it was clearly the form you’d filled in. And it was clearly Kazuki’s mess.

Hajime scowled, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling. “Did you do this?”

“...No.”

“Well it couldn’t be Isao or Hina, couldn’t it?” he seethed. “Don’t take me for an idiot. Isao’s been having playdates all week and Hina can’t draw yet. What did I tell you about drawing outside of the papers and books we gave you, huh?!”

“B-But I was just trying to help!” Kazuki exclaimed. “You and Mommy are always so busy taking care of papers. So I thought if I helped you write in it... you’d come and play with me again.”

Suddenly, a lump rose in your throat. You were always so busy taking care of Hina and Isao and their immeasurable demands, and your husband was either at work or out playing volleyball with the neighborhood team. You wondered how lonely it was for him the entire week you were taking care of the registrations.

How lonely it was, despite being surrounded by so much people.

Your husband, however, was completely unfazed. “Go to your room.”

“But Daddy, it’s not—!”

“Kazuki.” Each syllable he drew out sent a shiver down your spine. In a split second, the Iwaizumi household’s living room grew cold. “Go. To. Your. Room! Put your arms above your head and keep it that way until I come back!”

As if on cue, the waterworks emerged.

“I hate you, Daddy! I hate you! You never listen to me!” and that was the last thing you heard from the tear-streaked boy before he stumbled through the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

“...Mmn,” Hina roused, her tiny button nose flaring, and you instantly knew what was to come. Oh no...

Sighing in defeat, your husband crossed his arms and ambled back towards you and the bawling baby in your embrace. Pressing your lips together, you mumbled to him. “You could’ve been a bit nicer to Kazuki. Now look what happened.”

“He’ll never learn his lesson if I don’t get strict,” he said, the guilt crossing his eyes. Swimming. Settling. “I’m going to go ahead to the school before they close for the day. Ask if they’ve got anymore forms I can fill in there.”

You nodded, hands coming to rub gently against your daughter’s back as your husband kissed your forehead—a daunting ritual you did before whenever he left the house.

Then, he bent down to softly coo at the red-faced infant. “Hina-chan, how about a kiss for Daddy before I go?”

The result: Hina only cried louder. Repelled by the sudden change in volume, Hajime scratched the back of his neck remorsefully.

“I get it, I get it... I’m the bad guy today,” he rustled. “I guess I’ll be off now. I’ll leave the house in your care, Y/N.”

You smiled at him, your hard-working husband with a weak spot for your little family. “Be careful, Hajime-kun.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, you were left to your terror again. A crying seven-year old, a crying baby, and if all the noise were to wake up Isao from his afternoon nap... Geez, what a mess...

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Hajime really felt like he knew this guy somewhere... High school? A volleyball match? That refreshing aura wasn’t really difficult to tell apart, either...

“You’re number 2 from Karasuno High, ain’tcha?”

“Uwaah... Seijoh’s Iwaizumi Hajime...” Sugawara twinkled, the grey cowlick on his head standing up straight. “The atmosphere of an powerful ace really is hard to miss.”

Hajime blushed. When was the last time someone called him a ‘powerful ace’? He had you to call him that whenever you were feeling nostalgic, but otherwise, that label was a shard of the past.

“Sugawara-san, right?” he recalled. “You work here at this school?”

The man chuckled. “Yep! I’m a teacher now. How about you, Iwaizumi-san? What are you up to here?”

“Oh, I’m looking for Ichimura-sensei. I want to talk to her about the registration for my son.”

Sugawara shook his head for a moment before replying.

“Unfortunately, Ichimura-sensei is out with the flu. That’s why I’m covering the weekend shift for her. You can just give the forms to me, and we can look over the terms and conditions.”

What luck, Hajime thought. But at least having this guy around wasn’t going to be as bad of an experience.

“Ah... about that...” he started. “My kid drew all over the application form and I don’t remember making any copies. So, would it be a problem if I did it again right now? Me and my wife are in a bit of a tough spot at the moment.”

By the grace of God, Sugawara said, “I don’t think it’d be a issue. Let’s go to the office and discuss it together. Before that, can I ask for your ID, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Ah, yeah, sure, let me just get my wallet...” filing through his bag, Hajime rifled through the stacks of paper, looking... searching... And when he got to his wallet: “Huh?”

There it was. The application-payment form he’d filled in last week, in its pristine glory. And with absolutely zero drawings on it. There was his family seal and everything. Down to both of your signatures, in the blue ink you’d insisted on using (Hajime never really bothered to make out the different uses of different inks).

“The form...” he muttered. “It must’ve slipped from the folder or something. Then that means the one at home was probably a copy...”

Freezing, Hajime realized. Crap. What have I done?

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

By the time Hajime got home, the house was already quiet again. Isao and Hina were asleep in your bedroom—Hina in her crib and Isao laid spread-eagle on the limited expanse of your queen-size bed. Taking the opportunity of a silent home, you decided to use the time you had to eat some sweets you’d secretly stashed in the fridge away from your children’s eyes.

“What a ravenous wife,” he’d teased, only for you to smear a dollop of whipped cream across his face in retaliation.

It didn’t take him long to realize the muffled sobbing from Kazuki’s room had subsided too. Curiosity getting the best of him, your husband stepped inside the danger zone.

Hajime always thought that Kazuki was a peaceful sleeper. He could sleep anywhere and still look like he was having the time of his life. During times like this, where Hajime was drained empty at the end of the day, he couldn’t help but feel jealous of his son.

Gingerly picking him up from the carpeted floors, Hajime rested Kazuki’s head on the crook of his broad shoulder, his gentle breathing blowing faint breezes next to his nape. Looking down at the smattering of papers on the ground, he reached down to read one that Kazuki had presumably written right before he was knocked out cold.

I’m really sorree Sorry Daddy :( I promise to never draw on your things ever again. Kazuuki

Below the large lopsided text he’d written in crayon was a smudged drawing of (what seemed) to be him. Well, if Hajime was a stickman with prominent eyebrows that stuck out of his face.

“I’m sorry too, kid. Guess I was being unfair, huh?” he murmured. “I’ll make it up to you once you wake up. We’ll all play together. Me, you, Isao, Hina and your mom. We’ll use as much time as we have left.”

And Hajime never backed down on a promise.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Glossary:

inkan - personalized seals used in lieu of signatures in paperwork

anpanman - a Japanese children’s superhero cartoon character, looks like this

[trashscenariihxh]

Pariston x Reader x Wing part 5

Here’s more!

“Tell me, Darling, what is it you do all day?” Pariston hung up his coat.  

The question caught you off guard.  “What do you mean?”

Pariston sighed theatrically as he ran a hand through his golden locks.   “What I mean, Dearest, is that I work all day and when I come home, you’re back on the sofa, just where I left you.”

At his words, a flame of anger ignited within you. How dare he?  “What do you expect me to do all day?” you snapped, glaring at him.

Pariston seemed taken aback by your sudden display of anger; his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and his smile faltered briefly.  “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, his mask back in place.

You knew from the way his nostrils flared that you were entering dangerous territory, but you continued, inexplicably bold.  “You hire housekeepers to clean, you’re never home for dinner, and I have nowhere to go during the day.  So tell me, please, what would you have me do?”

Pariston was silent for a moment.  When he spoke again, it was with a deadly calmness.  “Do what you like.” His flashed you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes before striding out of the room and going upstairs.

Icy fingers of dread gripped your heart.  You’d only seen that look from Pariston a handful of times, but you knew that nothing good ever followed it.  You sat, frozen on the sofa for god knows how long, terrified of what was waiting for you upstairs.  After an indeterminate amount of time you rose and walked robotically upstairs, resigned to your fate.

Pariston was in bed, ostensibly asleep, so you quickly undressed, got washed up, painstakingly pampered your skin (whatever would Pariston say if he found out you’d skipped it), and crawled into bed beside him.  When he rolled onto his side and slung a tired arm over your waist, you flinched under the weight.

***

The next morning, you awoke to find that Pariston had frozen your bank account.  When you protested, questioning his decision, he waved an infuriatingly dismissive hand and laughed.

“Oh, Darling, wouldn’t it just be better if I take care of you?  Last night you made me see what a terrible husband I am.”  His grin broadened.  “So I think it would be better if I just handled everything.”

You stared at the floor, tears of humiliation threatening to spill.  “Pariston…”

“Yes?”  He stared at you with wide eyes, looking as innocent as ever.

“I don’t want this.”

“Now don’t be angry, Dearest.  I’ve got it all taken care of.”  He pulled out his wallet and handed you one of his credit cards.  “Just use this.”

“But-”

“It’s no issue, my dear.  Besides, you were just spending my money anyway.  Just using my card will be easier for us both.”

He had a point, but you resented this loss of autonomy, of privacy.  Now that you wouldn’t be using your own bank card, it meant that Pariston could keep track of everything you spent, and where you spent it. Pariston must have noticed your imminent tears, because he opened his arms and drew you into a soft embrace.  “Oh Darling, don’t be upset with me.  I only want your happiness, you know?  Now you can go out and do whatever you want.  Now,” he drew back and wiped a tear from the corner of your eye with his thumb, “you’re not going to cry, are you?”  He leaned forward and kissed your cheek before whispering in your ear,  “I don’t like the way you look when you cry.” You sniffled, doing your best to stifle your emotions, and forced a smile.“ All better?” You nodded, and Pariston beamed. “There’s a good girl.”  He kissed you chastely on the mouth before drawing away again.  “I’ll see you tonight.’  With a little wave he turned and left, leaving you to your shame.

***

“I can’t keep doing this,” you murmured softly, staring into your cup of tea.

“What do you mean?” Wing cocked his head confusedly. 

You continued to stare into your tea, unsure of how to broach the subject.  Despite Pariston’s actions, you’d continued to meet Wing for coffee regularly over the past couple months.  It was nice, having someone to talk to, but lately, Pariston had been taking notice of your frequent expenditures at a certain cafe.

“You’ve been going out a lot lately.  Is the coffee at home not good enough for you?”

“It’s my husband,” you sighed finally.  “He-he knows I keep coming here.”

“So? Does he have a problem with this?”

“Not exactly.” Not yet.  In an attempt to calm yourself, you took a sip of tea, cringing at how hot it was.  You set your mug down.  “He just… he doesn’t always like it when I go out too often.”

“Oh.”  Wing frowned.  “What do you mean?”

You flinched, knowing you’d said too much.  “He just…” Controlling.  Possessive.  you paused, wondering just how much you could say without Wing getting too concerned.  Cruel. “He just worries about me a lot, that’s all.”

Wing was silent for a moment.  “Surely coming out once a week for coffee isn’t a bad thing?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Pariston knew where you were going, what you were spending.  He probably knew who you were seeing.  Just by going out you had created the Damoclean situation of never knowing when Pariston would ruin everything for you, as he always did.  You trailed off, unable to finish.

“____, are you all right?” Concern swept over Wing’s face.

“I’m okay.  Really.”

Wing looked unconvinced.  “____, do you really want to stop meeting up?  Is this just a ploy to get out of it?”

“No!” you replied, a little too quickly.  “No, nothing like that.”

“ ____, I’ve really enjoyed connecting with you again.  But if you really can’t keep it up, then I understand.”  He smiled, but there was disappointment in his eyes.  “You know,” he continued, “I’d always wished I got to know you better back in college.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile broadened ever so slightly.  “I’m glad I finally got to know you better, even if it was only for a little while.” He stood to leave, and you stood with him. 

“I’m sorry, I--”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” He gave you a very forced look of cheerfulness.  “Don’t worry about--”

You hugged him before you could stop yourself.  Wing gasped in surprise and froze momentarily before awkwardly returning the hug.  He felt warm and soft; you realized that you haven't hugged anyone in so, so long.  With great difficulty you pulled back, biting your lip in embarrassment.  “I, uh…”  You stared at the floor.  “Thank you, for doing this with me.  I really enjoyed getting to see you again too.”  You looked up again to see that Wing’s cheeks were flushed and pink.  

Wing cleared his throat, breaking the silence.  “Well, I guess we should get going.”  He picked up the tray containing your now-empty mugs.  “If you change your mind though, I’m only a message away.” With a final smile, he turned and left.

You watched him through the window of the cafe, an inexplicable ache in your chest.  The prospect of going home alone, to the empty house with its large rooms devoid of warmth, filled you with despair.  Despite this, you walked home, and as soon as you were through the front door, you began to cry.

[amlovelies]

somewhere between hope and pride

written for @wayhavenmonthly​‘s Fall for Unit Bravo

Day 18: Harvest

Pairing: Mason/F!oc (Serena Willis)

rating: M- strong language, sexual conversations and mention of alcohol and cigarettes

words: 1.7k

read on ao3

A/N this is another piece of my canon divergent as of yet untitled AU. 

               It’s exactly the sort of event I would have done anything to avoid back home. The community center is decorated with pumpkins, gourds, and leaves in the warm tones of fall. The last event of the annual harvest festival, the silent auction, is apparently the height of Wayhaven’s autumnal social calendar. Mayor Friedman had specially requested Unit Bravo’s presence. I’d considered telling Agent Greene that since I was not technically an agent that I must not be included in that mandate in order to escape attending.

               However, after weeks of what amounted to house arrest, I was more than happy for an opportunity to get out an about. We still had been unable to locate the party behind the bounty on Dinah. Without any real reason to leave the premises, I’d spent most of my days in the library, watching movies with Farah, and avoiding Mason.

               It’s been a little over two weeks since I ended things. That sounds like there was something to end. It’s been two weeks since I stopped hooking up with him, and it’s sucked. As much as I may know that I was making the right choice to protect myself, I miss spending time with him both in and out of the bedroom. But that was the whole reason why I had to stop it. My dumbass had caught feelings. If it was just fun then I wouldn’t miss him. Mason doesn’t do feelings.

               For all my grumbling, the event hasn’t been terrible. Nate and Farah are off going through the silent auction offerings. Adam has been dragged off to speak with the mayor and Agent Greene leaving Dinah, myself and Mason alone at our table.

               I’m nursing another glass of red wine and even without super senses I can hear the pretty brunette at the table behind us trying to work up the nerve to approach the brooding vampire sitting a few seats to my right. I have to remind myself that he was never mine to lose before I get too bitter.

               I steal a glance to see if he’s noticed, to see if I need to really start drinking in earnest.  I’ve never seen him in a button up before. It’s black and I can still see the chord of his crystal necklace poking out from where the last few buttons are undone. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail with only a few strands falling out around his face. He looks sharp and devilishly handsome. As I look up, I find that his eyes are already on me. His brow is furrowed, but it smooths as he noticed me looking at him. I wonder how long he has been watching me, if he’s noticed how agitated I’ve become. I hope not.

               For once he looks away first. Without a word, he rises from the table and I notice him reaching for the pocket he always keeps his smokes in as he heads for the hallway. I surprised he is even bothering to leave; he usual lights up wherever he wants to, rules be damned. Maybe he needs a break from the overstimulation of the room. There are a lot of people here and it must be wreaking havoc on his nerves.

               “Well, that was interesting,” Dinah says off to my left.

               “Huh? What was interesting?” I ask as I turn to her.

               “I take it you still haven’t talked to him.”

               “There’s nothing to talk about.” I don’t want to have this argument again. She seems determined to try and make us out to be some great romance. Not everyone gets what she and Nate have.

               “How will you know if you don’t try?” she asks her voice soft as she places a soothing hand on my arm.

               I resist the urge to shake the hand off. I know she is trying to be helpful, and I don’t want to lash out at her. I’m just getting so tired of people encouraging me to do something I know will only hurt me. “Mason made it clear from the beginning that it was just fun. I don’t have a right to try and change the terms halfway through just because I’m stupid and caught feelings.”

               I already know how that conversation would go. At least this way my pride can stay intact.

               “Don’t look at me that way, Dinah. I’m fine.” I don’t want her pity. Not about this.

               She sighs and shakes her head, “and people say I’m stubborn.”

               “I’m not stubborn.” I say as I pour myself another glass of wine. “I’m just realistic.”

               We lapse into silence as I sip at the wine. After a minute or two, Nate slides into his seat next to Dinah. I’m thankful that they can keep each other company and just leave me to my wine.

               I hear a chair slide back from the table behind me, and watch as the brunette walks past me to the quieted cheers of her friends. Mason has reentered the hall, and apparently, she has finally found the nerve to make her move. She’s cute. Her low-cut dress much more flattering than the prim professional number I had borrowed from Dinah. I’m sure Mason will find her appealing enough. I knew he would find new people to take to bed; I just didn’t think I would be in the room when it happened.

               I see her reach out and place a hand on his arm. He hasn’t brushed her off and she hasn’t been scared off by his rudeness. I can’t do this. I want to leave, but they’re too close to the hallway. I glance around and see a smaller exit at the back.

               Adam will probably have my head, but I’d rather risk getting kidnapped than start crying in front of everyone here. In front of him.

               I think I hear Nate say my name as I go to leave, but I don’t turn around. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and I need to get out now.

               The door leads to a small set of stairs. I’m alone. I walk to the edge of the landing and grab the metal railing for support. It’s freezing. Drawing in a deep breath I focus on the cold. I have no one to blame, but myself. I hate that I can feel tears escaping down my cheeks. Stupid, stupid Serena.

               At the sound of the door opening, I turn. I do my best to wipe away any trace of the tears before who ever it is can see.              

               Fuck. Why did it have to be him?

               “Though you were supposed to stay inside?” Mason growls at me as the door closes behind him leaving us alone on the stairs.

               “Well we both know that I don’t always follow the rules.” I say trying to be my usual snarky self.

               “You don’t have to babysit me.” I continue.  “I’d hate to ruin your fun.” It comes out with more bitterness than I meant.

               He looks confused for a moment, “oh that” he shrugs.

               “Yeah, so like I said, you don’t have to babysit me. I’ll go back inside in a minute. Go get your dick wet or whatever.” I cross my arms across my chest and roll my eyes. I’m shooting for nonchalance and indifferent, but I don’t know if I managed it.

               He looks at the door for a moment before looking back at me. “I don’t think I will.”

               “What, why not? She’s cute and seems into you. Isn’t that all you need?”

               He leans back against the wall and with a smirk says, “only one I want to have fun with here is you, Sweetheart.”

               I feel like all the air has been pulled out of my lungs. He’s a tempting vision and my body responds to the familiar pattern of banter. If it was only that it would be one thing, but there’s a flicker in my chest of something that feels suspiciously like hope. A vain hope that he means more with those words. That he means I’m the only one he wants beyond tonight.  

               “Too bad, because I’m not interested.”

               “you’re lying” he accuses me with narrowed eyes.

               “Is your ego really that fragile that you can’t handle a rejection.” I say with a scoff.

               He rolls his eyes. “I know you and you’re lying.” He smirks, “remember, your body gives you away.”

               Stupid vampire super senses.

               “Why do you care, Mason? We both know you were going to get bored sooner or later.” I turn away so he can’t see my eyes anymore. I can’t do anything about my heartrate, but I can get rid of at least one source of information.

               “Would I? I’m not bored yet.” I can’t tell if he’s asking me or if he’s asking himself. I feel him move closer so that he’s standing directly behind me. His hand ghost over my arm, not actually touching it. “I thought we were both having fun. I don’t see why it needs to stop.”

               “God damn it don’t make me say it!” I yell. I had hoped he would just let it go.

               “Heaven forbid I make you do something you don’t want to do, Sweetheart.” He says in a biting tone.

               “It wasn’t just fun for me.” I admit as I turn around to face him. “It was beginning to mean something to me, and I wanted it to mean something to you, but it doesn’t work that way for you.”

               There it is. Fuck my pride, I guess.

               “What if it did mean something?” he asks.

               My chest tightens as the little spark of hope flares within it, “Does it?”

               He closes the inches between us and kisses me. I don’t know if it’s an answer or a test, but at that moment I don’t care. His hands move to my hips and pull us flush together. God, I’ve missed this. My whole body feels like it ignites at his touch. Would it really be so terrible to believe in this? To believe he cares for me?

               This kiss breaks and I whisper, “I think I love you.”

               His hands drop from my hips as if he’d been burned.

               I nod and swallow all the emotions I’ll have to deal with later, “that’s what I thought.”

               I don’t give him a chance to respond before I’m through the door and back to the event.

               Stupid, stupid Serena. You knew how this would end.

tagging: @lord-king-saint, @morgans-ass-freckles, @agentnatesewell, @lilyoffandoms, @softforf and @bellarxse (If you would like to be tagged/not tagged/only tagged for certain pairings please let me know 💜)

[one-boring-person]

Swear To It.

Paul (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: angst, mention of injury

Context: this is sort of a continuation of my last Paul fic (Behave Yourself). Basically, the reader is on duty and has to separate a fight, only to figure out that one of the people involved is their very own boyfriend.

A/N: I feel like I've released a lot of Top Gun stuff recently, so I thought I'd get this out of my drafts, as is started this last week and haven't had time to finish it. I felt in the mood for some angst, so here we go 😂😅

Masterlist

The Boardwalk is unusually busy for a Tuesday night, the normally popular attractions and shops swarming with people, the rides crowded and unpleasant to go on, what with the sheer volume of people trying to get on at the same time, drunk and tipsy gaggles of teens causing insignificant havoc all over the place. A few older visitors have complained over the last hour, but, as always, we ignore them, knowing by now that most of then are exaggerating about the severity of the problems, trying to get the younger population to leave the Boardwalk to them. Thankfully we haven't had to break up many fights, though my chest still hurts from where some screaming girl elbowed me when I had to pull her away from her sobbing "friend", red welts lining my arm from where she managed to scratch at me, the otherwise unmarked skin stinging a little under my uniform shirt.

Having been told to continue my rounds, I pace slowly around the perimeter of the carousel, eyeing the throbbing crowd with a practised eye, taking in the rowdy surfers and punks gathered a little way away, their leaders apparently having an arguement; though I don't see it escalating any time soon, another security guard walking up to them to sort it out even as they start to break apart. Not much is audible over the tinny music and cacophony of voices, but I recognise the general gist of what is being said: we'll finish this later. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, instead focusing on a group of three teenagers surrounded by a cloud of blue smoke, the pungent odour clearly cannabis, joints pinched between shaking hands, their laughter lazy and drug-induced, one of them practically using the others as a crutch. Cracking my neck, I prepare to deal with them, intending to remind them that drug use is not quite legal in the presence of smaller children, hoping to advise them that there are better (more discreet) places to continue their fun. I go to walk over to them, only to be stopped by a sudden shout behind me, the sound oddly familiar.

Turning towards it, I notice a commotion starting near the ticket booth, where a group of curious onlookers has gathered around what I can only imagine is two unruly teens initiating a fight. I start to push my way through the crowds towards them, my pace hindered by the multitudes of people in my way, my urgency spiking as more shouts and curses follow the initial one, the audience starting to chant the word "fight" over and over again, as if they were still in high school, cheering and taunting accompanying the uproar as more of us security guards move in to break it up.

As I approach, I am greeted by a few elbows to the body, feet stamping on mine as I push through the hordes, the riled-up onlookers pushing together into a near impenetrable wall of bodies. Yelling at them all to move out of the way, I manage to force my way through, where I have to take a moment to realise who exactly it is causing chaos at this exact moment.

My eyes lock with David and Dwayne's across the newly formed circle briefly, at which point I take in that they're trying to force their brother off of the cursing rocker beneath him, Marko trying to hold back one of the victim's friends as he tries to escalate the situation. Ignoring the shouts and commands of his friends, Paul continues beating the hell out of the guy on the floor, obviously in a rage over something, fists flying in a relentless volley, despite the hands on his back holding him away. Shock and anger flood me at the sight, noticing that the rocker at his feet is covered in blood and bruises, one of his eyes already starting to swell up into an ugly purple colour, though he hasn't submitted yet, choosing instead to kick and scratch at any available body part he can reach, swearing profusely at the vampire.

Without another thought, I throw myself forwards, being the first guard on the scene, latching myself onto Paul's shoulder, hands propped against his chest as I force my way under his arm, knowing that the most leverage I'll get is if I'm underneath him pushing upwards and away from the other, who is currently punching at my back. I call out to them both, telling them to cut it out, knowing I can't really use Paul's name in case I give away our relationship, my muscles straining under the vampire's supernatural strength, struggling to push him away. After a minute or so, my words finally seem to sink in, the lanky blonde pulling away with a growl of frustration, a sick smirk of pride plastered over his face as he watches another security guard helping his victim to his feet, eyes flashing dangerously at the scent of fresh blood before they flick to me, realisation setting in as I give him a disgusted look. I turn to the others, ignoring my boyfriend completely.

"Get him out of here." I simply say to them, nodding appreciatively at them as they agree, the three of them moving to take Paul away from the Boardwalk, and away from me. Anger and frustration race through my veins as I stalk over to help the other guard with the battered rocker, my own body aching now from the blows it received, though I don't say anything as we carry the guy away from the crowd towards the small building we use as a place to store our stuff whilst at work.

An hour later, I'm dismissed, my feet dragging in exhaustion and dull anger as I trek home, my mind replaying the events of the shift in my head.

He knew I was working today. He knew and he started a fight anyway.

Frustrated sighs leave me every now and then as I walk, subconsciously finding my way back to my home, where a motorcycle is already waiting outside, the sight of which stirs up a feeling of dead and frustration. Ignoring it, I go to the door and unlock it, stepping inside and throwing my bag to the floor, taking my shoes and jacket off as I shuffle further into the hall, going straight to the stairs. Instead of going to my room, I enter the bathroom instead, quickly stripping and getting into the shower, knowing full well that the person I least want to see is somewhere in the house, and that he knows I'm annoyed at him. As the water runs down my body, I try to ignore the fact that I'm going to have to face him, focusing instead on the motions of cleaning myself, finding the actions soothing to do, working the knots out of muscles, wincing when my hands run over the newly formed bruises and welts on my skin.

I take around ten minutes, climbing out and drying off at a relatively slow pace, trying to relax myself in preparation for what is to come, finally wrapping the towel around myself before stepping out of the bathroom. Going to my room, I halt in my tracks when I catch sight of the lithe vampire sat on my bed, a deep frown etching itself onto my face.

"What do you want?" I grit out, turning my back as I go to my dresser, rooting around in my draws for some comfortable clothes, pulling out a shirt and trousers.

"I wanted to apologise for the fight. I didn't realise it was such a big deal for you, and I didn't mean to get into one tonight." Paul responds quietly, audibly standing and walking to stand behind me.

Bristling slightly, I clench my jaw at his words, a spark of anger flaring up in me.

"You know full well how I feel about people starting fights on the Boardwalk." I snap back at him, turning and pushing past him.

"Yeah, I know, but I never meant to get into a fight! I'm sorry!" He reasons, trying to follow me, only just realising that I'm not wearing any clothes.

"It's always the same, though. You didn't mean to start it, you didn't realise, blah blah blah. When is it ever going to change, Paul? I'm fed up with coming home beaten and bruised because I've had to separate people, and then to have to pry my own boyfriend away from someone? It's just not fair to me, and that's something that you don't seem to realise."

The vampire is silent for a moment, his blue eyes fixed on me, mind clearly working to form a response. I don't give him the time, striding forwards to push him out of the door, closing it in his face with some force. Turning, I sigh heavily, hating the hurt look that flashed across his face as I did so, swiftly changing into my more comfortable clothes and collapsing on the bed, my fists clenching in the duvet as I try to control myself, resisting the urge to open the door to him again.

For a little while, I remain there, sprawled on the bed with tears of exhaustion and frustration threatening to spill from my eyes, my anger fading a little until it's just a dull emotion clouding my mind. Internally, I consider quitting my job, considering the factors keeping me there: I'm good at my job, it pays well enough to afford basic needs and it's secure, though the factors pushing me away almost seem to have a greater affect on me - coming home bruised most nights, having to put up with rowdy Boardwalk goers, dealing with verbal and some physical abuse from some of the more raucous visitors. Sniffing, I curl myself up into a ball, barely registering as there is a knock on the window.

Looking over, I let out a sigh of frustration at the sight of Paul crouched on the ledge, his tall frame bent almost in two as he peers in at me, gesturing with one finger at the latch, expression almost desperate. I stare at him, thinking over the options in my head: I could leave him out there, or I can let him in to explain himself. It takes me a couple of minutes to decide, a frustrated growl leaving me as I stand up, my steps slow and calculated as I go to the window, watching as a small smile works it's way onto his handsome face. Approaching, I keep my expression neutral, reaching for the latch and flicking it open, turning instantly and walking back to my bed, where I sit with my eyes fixed on him.

Awkwardly, he forces himself through the window, relief evident in his expression as he finally stands up straight again and closes the makeshift door behind him, hands wringing together, as if fighting the urge to move forwards, body tense.

"Look, I'm really sorry, (Y/n). I wasn't aware that your job was so difficult, and I hate that I made it difficult for you tonight. I'm really sorry that you got hurt because of me, I feel really ashamed that it happened. I know I have to make it up to you somehow, so I hope you'll let me, because I really don't want to lose you! I'll do anything to keep you!" He finally says, voice pleading and laced with shame, teeth biting at his lip as he watches me for a reaction, welts appearing on his pale hands from where he's digging his fingers in.

Eyeing him, I think over what he's said, silently wondering whether or not to accept his apology, the anger within me spiking a little, though I swiftly suppress it again, sighing heavily as I stand up from the bed, having made a decision.

"I accept your apology, Paul, but I need you to understand that saying you're sorry is a different thing to showing me you're sorry. I know I got hurt tonight, but I'm not the only security guard that works there, and I'm sure they'd all rather they didn't come home with bruises every night. If you want to make it up to me, then you have to swear to me that you'll not get into another fight on the Boardwalk, and that you'll make sure the others understand that, too." I explain to him, referring to the rest of his coven, watching as his emotions seem to force themselves put over his face, a variety of odd expressions following my words. Finally, he seems to settle on relieved, eyes bright with happiness.

"Yes, of course I'll swear to that! I'll do anything, (Y/n), you mean too much to me to lose you!" Paul gushes, rushing forwards slightly, as if to bring me into a hug, only stopping as couple of inches away from me, hesitating.

"Do it, then. Swear to it." I prompt him, looking up into his face.

"I swear to you, that I won't start, or get into another fight on the Boardwalk. I swear it on my life." He promises, completely serious for once, meaning it's totally genuine.

"Good." I smile up at him, finally giving in to the urge I've had since I first walked in, stepping forwards to rest my head against his chest, my arms linking around his abdomen.

Happily, he wraps his own arms around me, crushing me against his body as he buries his face in my hair, his familiar scent enveloping me as we stand there. Perfectly content, we remain in place for what feels like hours, neither of us saying a word, just happy to be in each other's company for the time being, my body trying it's best to relax.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling together, neither of us wanting to be away from the other, Paul only leaving when he notices that the sun is close to coming up, cutting it fine as he always does. As he leaves, he promises me that he'll be waiting for me on the Boardwalk the next night, ready to help me deal with troublesome Boardwalk goers.

[rubbishrobots]

I wrote a Doctor Who story for Christmas

It's been a funny old year. High highs and low lows. My brain processes everything in terms of Doctor Who, so I thought I'd write a little story about a crap Christmas.

Doctor Who - “The Best Of it”

The drop in air pressure was first detected on December 24th. About 3% approximately every 5 hours, which might not seem like that big of a drop, but when you’re in a big research base right down at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, any air pressure escaping is a bit of a big deal.

And so I found myself, on Christmas Eve, in a big clunky OxySuit, lumbering around upon the sea floor at the deepest point in the Earth’s Ocean. I moved around the outer walls of Cameron Base One with great difficulty, pushing my limbs forward through the high-pressure water, the headlamps on either side of my helmet providing minimal light.

Reaching the West Wing of the base, the first thing I saw were the cracks in the floor. It began right where the wall of the base touched the ground, and then snaked out and broke off until the ground in front of me looked like a shatter pattern. This was an alarming sight, to say the least. It meant that the ground which Cameron Base One sat on, that the crew walked across, was unstable. I would have turned around immediately and gone to raise the alarm. But I didn’t.

Because the second thing I noticed was the tall, blue phone box. With a lamp on top and two square windows that sent wavy shimmers of light wafting through the ocean. It was right at the furthest reaches of the cracks in the floor. I wondered how the hell it had got there.

Of course, then I was plummeting through one of the cracks that opened up at my feet, so there wasn’t much else I could do except fall.

I only remember bits of my plummet, so it’s hard to describe now. But it was like being on a pitch black water slide that you fully expected to die at the end of. Something had struck the lights on my helmet almost immediately so I couldn’t see a darn thing, but my stomach twisted and turned, which told me I was being tossed to and fro. Then I remember a tiny bit of light approaching fast, and an impact. Then nothing.

Nothing until I was blinking awake in a dimly lit cave, and there was a woman peering down at me.

“What size shoe do you take?” she asked.

I stared at the fractured image of her through the cracked glass of my helmet. She had short yellow hair, a long pale blue coat, and a t shirt with a rainbow stripe across it. She waited expectantly for me to answer.

“I’m Ellie Tyson, Chief Engineer at Cameron Base One,” I said, unsure what else but name and rank was appropriate in this conversation.

“I’m the Doctor,” the woman replied. “I just knock about space, really. You alright?”

She helped me to my feet and out of my OxySuit. I was bumped and bruised, and the jumpsuit I wore beneath the suit was a bit scuffed, but I was otherwise okay and able to survey my surroundings. The cave was not spacious. There were small tea light candles dotted about, and a steady drip of water coming from the breach in the ceiling that I must have fallen through.

“Right! Welcome, welcome,” said the Doctor. “Let me show you around. I’d say this is the living area over here.” She gestured to the left side of the cave, where a fireplace had been drawn on the uneven rock wall. “But to be honest, it’s a bit of a studio apartment situation.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked, eyeing the crudely illustrated roaring fire and wondering if this was the sign of stir craziness.

“About a week. Been surviving on rations.” She held up a box of dried raisins. “And a few bits I had in my coat pockets to keep me busy.” On the floor of the cave, there was the aforementioned candles, a pack of crayons, a pair of knitting needles and some wool, and a tourist pamphlet for the Blue Man Group. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any food in that big clunky diving suit?”

I shook my head no. The only thing in the utility belt section of the suit was some bandages, medical tape, and a flare. None of which struck me as particularly edible.

“No hope of escape?” I asked, fearing the answer.

“Well, not until now.” She started walking to the mouth of the cave. “Come on, then.”

I followed. There were no candles in the long, narrow passageway she crept down, but the Doctor had a metallic remote thingy that was giving off an orange glow, and she rooted around her pockets until she found a small torch she could toss to me.

“So full disclosure,” said the Doctor, “I got knocked silly on the way down. Consequently, I was half unconscious for like the first 3 days, but as soon as I was able to, I did a bit of exploring. Didn’t get very far. There’s a massive wall just up ahead that proved to be a big fat dead end for me.”

I frowned. “So why are we bothering?”

The Doctor waved a hand impatiently. “You’ll see in a min. Anyway, I knew someone else was bound to fall down the same hole I did, it being next to a massive human science-y base thing.”

The word ‘human’ got caught on some filters in my head, but I moved past it. “Nobody else knows. They sent me out to see why we were having air pressure problems.”

“Exactly, so I knew it was only a matter of time till I had a mate. That reminds me, what size shoe did you say you took?”

“I didn’t, and we have much bigger problems. If the ground up there is this unstable, the whole crew of Cameron Base One could be in real danger.”

The Doctor pulled a face. “I’m working on that! Give us a chance.”

“Except you’re not working on it – you’ve been down here a week and you’re no closer to escaping. Now I’m stuck down here too. The whole base could collapse any second and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You literally just told me the only passageway leads to a dead end!”

“No,” the Doctor corrected. “I said it was a dead end for me.” We came to the huge wall she’d spoken off. It was about twice our height, but it did not reach the roof of the cave passage. There was a sizeable space at the top of the wall, and beyond that some source of light could be seen blinking on and off from out of view. In the torchlight, the Doctor grinned with great satisfaction. “See? All I needed was someone to give me a boost. I’ll go first and pull you up after. Don’t worry, I’m dead nimble in this body.”

The brain filter picked up that last weird comment too, but I didn’t have time to question. I laced my fingers and let the Doctor put her dirty boots in the palm of my hands, whereupon I heaved her high enough for her to grab something to hold onto and pull herself, and then me after, up onto the raised ground.

Wiping the muck off of my knees, I stood up and looked at where we’d ascended to. The sight before me made no sense. For at the top of this ledge, in this cavern deep down in the Earth’s crust, were a large pair of steel doors with a blinking control panel next to it.

“Oh, brilliant!” said the Doctor. She rushed towards it, aimed her metallic torch thingy at it, and I was amazed to see the doors rumble and draw themselves open. There was a great cloud of dust as they parted.

“These doors must have been sat closed for a good amount of time, then,” I coughed, as I followed the Doctor through the doorway.

On the other side, the Doctor stood dead still. “A very long time,” she said.

If the sight of steel doors had shocked me, it was nothing compared to the room of cryogenically frozen lizard people I was looking at now.

In this laboratory the length of a football pitch, there were rows and rows of pods, half metallic, half rock formations, and each of them contained a bipedal, human-sized lizard. There was frost on the glass of the pods, and they were cold to my touch. The creatures inside had not stirred a bit during our entrance or my examining of their containers. Astonished, I turned to the Doctor, hoping to gain some comfort in a shared vibe of ‘not knowing what the hell was going on.’

So imagine my surprise when I found her gazing at the cyro-pods in delight. “This works out perfectly.”

Silurians, she called them. I dropped to a seated position, probably going into some form of shock, while she paced around the room and ranted about the civilisation that walked the Earth eons before humans evolved (“Eons,” she paused to grin at me. “Love that word. Eons!”). Apparently they saw an asteroid approaching, and evacuated deep underground, putting themselves in stasis until such time as the damage from any impact would have passed. She’d moved over to a raised console built into a slab of rock and had been tinkering with the controls for a good minute before she realise I still hadn’t spoken.

“Soz, that was probably a bit of an overload, wasn’t it? Which bit did I lose you on?”

“The lizards who ruled the earth before humans,” I said softly.

The Doctor’s nose scrunched up in confusion. “Really? That bit makes sense, if you think about it.”

“In what universe does a secret society of Lizards frozen beneath the Mariana Trench make sense?!”

“Well that’s where all those daft stories about the Illuminati come from. It’s just people stumbling across all the different Silurian hibernation chambers and letting their imagination run wild.”  

That did actually make a little bit of sense, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of saying so, so I just stayed silent.

“Anyway,” she said, turning back to the controls. “Cheer up, this means there’s probably a way out of here.” That got my attention. I leapt to my feet and came to her side, staring at the panel of strange, unlabelled controls. “The Silurians tunnelled all the way down here, and they were obviously planning to return at some point. So logic says there must be a way out. A lift, or a teleport, or something.” She gasped. “Could be a massive ladder!”

“I’m not climbing a ladder out of the Mariana Trench, Doctor.”

She looked about to respond, but then a shrill, angry bleeping noise erupted from the console. The Doctor stuck her tongue out thoughtfully, the pressed some other buttons, only to be greeted with the same angry bleeping noise. She then tried pointing her metallic object at the controls, but the bleeping noise sounded again. The Doctor glared at the console panel. “Well, now you’re just being difficult.”

“Doctor,” I said, pointing to a small indent in the bottom corner of the console, that looked something like a fingerprint scanner. “It must need, I dunno, authorisation or something.”

I should have noticed the Doctor’s falling expression as she stared at what I’d pointed out. “Oh,” she said, and I should have noticed it was without her usual pep. “That’s a blow.”

Maybe I didn’t want to notice any of it. I was already looking around at which of the Silurians was closest. “So will we need to fully wake them up, or can we just sort of drag one over and then put it back?”

The Doctor turned to me. Her expression was grave. I turned my back on her and marched quickly over to one of the pods so I could pretend to be having a look. “And can it be any old one or does it need to be, like, a Boss or a President or a Mayor? I don’t know what the Silurian political hierarchy was like, was it like ours?”

“Ellie…” said the Doctor. “We can’t. The Silurians wouldn’t understand. They’d want to come back to the surface with us, and they can’t. The Earth isn’t ready for them yet.”

The trip back to the cave was awkward. I walked ahead, in silence. I heard the scuff of the Doctor’s boots behind me, and I felt her worried gaze on my back. And when we got back to the cave, I sat in the corner and didn’t look at her.

I was going to die down here. At Christmas. And everyone in that base above us had no idea they were walking and working on ground that could crumble awake at any second.

And worst of all, the only company I had, the person with which I was to perish, was a buffoon. At a certain point I had to break my sulk and look up at the Doctor, because I could sense her constantly moving and wondered how the hell she could be finding so much to do in a tiny little cave at the bottom of the planet.

Watching her, I still didn’t know. She was rummaging inside her coat pocket for a while, eventually fishing out old Quality Street sweet wrappers of red, green and gold. At one point, I heard her squeak with delight and drop down to examine something in the dirt and soil of the cave floor. When she began to draw more cave paintings and hum merrily to herself, I could take no more. I briefly considered digging the medical tape out of my suit and using it to seal her mouth shut.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked instead.

She glanced at me over her shoulder. “I’m making the best of it!” she said, and moved aside so that I could see. Next to her 2D fireplace, she had scrawled a Christmas Tree on the wall, with scribbled baubles and doodled tinsel. And now she was humming White Christmas. “We might be stuck down here with no hope of escape. But it’s still Christmas.”

I stared in disbelief. “Are you for real? It is not Christmas.”

She did that nose-scrunch thing again. “I mean, it sort of is.”

“It is Christmas on a technicality!” I yelled. “It is Christmas only in the sense that the date is December 24th. Our current predicament, that being our impending death, takes precedent. And, for that matter, negates all circumstantial Christmas-ness.” I realised that tirade had come off oddly formal, so I added: “So stop being a dope, you big blonde-haired nutter.”

The Doctor, annoyingly, did not look hurt. Or offended. She just shook her head, like I didn’t understand. “That’s not how it works. It doesn’t matter what’s happening. Could be right in the middle of wartime, could be disease and pestilence sweeping the globe, you could be separated from everyone you love. The Titanic could be falling out of the sky! But if any of those things are happening in December, you get to press pause on them for a little bit, and be happy. Because it’s Christmas, and Christmas is magic like that.”

Nice speech. It didn’t work. “You’re a child,” I said, turning back around.

We didn’t talk again for a while. I sat and sat and sat, and at some point I lay down, and at another point I fell asleep.

Hours later, I awoke to a veritable Winter Wonderland.

The Doctor had been busy through the night. She had gone all around the cave, drawing holly and garlands all over the walls. Three tiny knitted stockings were stuck to the hand drawn fireplace. She had carefully placed the different sweet wrappers around the candles, creating a fairylight-like effect of flickering red, green and gold all around. And as I sat up, she was in front of me, beaming.

“Happy Christmas!” she bellowed, and thrust a folded piece of kitchen roll in my face. I took it from her delicately, realising that it was only obscuring something folded within. “Sorry, no wrapping paper. Best I could do.”

I did my best attempt at a smile, given the still pretty awful circumstances, and opened the gift. I had expected to find some random object standing in as a gift. After all, there was hardly a Henrick’s or Magpie Electricals to pop to down here. So when I opened the paper and found two carefully knitted socks, I took me a second to put the pieces together. Finally though, I looked up at her in wonder.

“Is this why you kept asking for my shoe size?”

The Doctor grinned. “Got it in the end. Took a tape measure to your footprint.” She pointed at what I’d seen her messing with on the floor the previous night, an indentation in the mucky ground from my shoe.

That broke my Scrooge-ness. I could continue to be a misery no longer. I thanked the Doctor genuinely, pulled on my new socks, and allowed her to lead me around the cave and tell me in great detail how she had thrown together every single makeshift Christmas decoration. We played snap and charades, and then gathered around the illustrated roaring fireplace to tell ghost stories (the Doctor’s were better than mine).

“I wish I had a gift for you,” I lamented after our Christmas Dinner of raisins and half a Wham bar. The socks really were quite cosy.

The Doctor waved a hand and tried not to look bothered. “No worries. It’s not the getting at this time of year, it’s the giving. That’s what my Mam used to say.” She paused though, then added “But also, if you happened to pack a toothbrush in that suit, I’ll love you forever. It’s been a week.”

A thought struck me. I stood up and wandered over to my discarded OxySuit, and reached into the utility belt. “No toothbrush, sorry. But in the spirit of the season, I gift you the one thing in my possession and pray it brings you happiness and good fortune.” I produced the small roll of medical tape, and tossed it to her.

She did not catch it. She did not even make an attempt. The Doctor had gone dead still since the moment she saw me pull the tape out of the suit. The roll bounced off her tummy and then fell lamely to the floor. Here, she stared at it, eyes wide.

“Doctor?”

When she looked up, there was the biggest smile on her face. “Ellie Tyson, this might be the most important Christmas gift I’ve ever been given.” Then she rushed across the distance and flung her arms around me. “Do you even realise what you’ve done? You’ve saved our lives, you daft little human.”

I had no chance to question her further. The second she let me out of her death-clutch hug, she snatched up the roll of tape and went sprinting out of the cave. I followed her through the narrow passage as best I could, but she was faster than you’d think, and by the time I reached the wall at the end, she was bouncing up and down impatiently. “Come on, come on, come on,” she begged, and I quickly boosted her up onto the ledge and let her heave me up after her.

Back in the Silurian chamber, the Doctor rushed over to the nearest cryogenic pod and started messing with the controls.

“But you said we couldn’t wake them up!” I shouted.

“No time to explain,” she shouted back. “Try and find some sort of powder or talc, any type will do.”

As she pointed her metallic thingy at the pod, I searched all over until I found what was probably the lizard equivalent of baby powder in what was probably the lizard equivalent of a medicine cabinet. I came back to the Doctor to find one of the pod doors open. The Silurian was still completely unmoving, and the air coming from the pod was predictably ice cold.

“What are we doing?” I asked, handing her the bottle.

“Spy stuff,” was her reply. And then, teeth chattering from the cold, I watched her crouch down to be able to coat one of the Silurian’s finger tips in the powder. Then, taking my Christmas gift, she pressed the scale-covered finger into a piece of tape and applied pressure. “That should do it,” she said, and stood up straight again.

“Do what?” I said. Except, no. That wasn’t my voice who had said that. And it wasn’t the Doctor’s either.

It was the Silurian. He was blinking awake, groggy like he’d overslept. “What are we doing?” he asked, then squinted at what was surely a blurry sight of two strangers in front of him. “Who are you?”

“Nobody,” the Doctor squeaked, pressing a complicated sequence of buttons on the panel next to the pod. “We’re nobody. Go back to sleep. We’re just… ghosts. We’re the Ghosts of Christmas Yet To Come.”

The Silurian frowned. “…what’s Christmas?”

“Shush,” said the Doctor, and she quickly closed the door and zapped the controls with her metallic remote, and the Silurian was asleep again.

The Doctor pressed the borrowed fingerprint on the tape into the scanner on the console and it worked perfectly. We were directed to an area at the back of the chamber, where a steel compartment took us back to the surface with frightening speed. We emerged into sparkling daylight, finding ourselves on an island in the Philippines. Well, there are worse places to spend Christmas Day. The Doctor helped me find a phone, which I used to contact central command, who in turn got in touch with Cameron Base One and ordered a speedy evacuation. The Doctor made friends with an old man who had a submarine, and he said he would take her down to retrieve her Blue Box after he’d had his Christmas dinner.

While we waited for the old man to finish his afters, the Doctor and I sat on a beach overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I thought it to be the bluest blue I’d ever seen, but the Doctor said she’d seen blue-er.

“It’s going to be mental down there,” I said, thinking of Cameron Base One. “Everyone loading stuff into boxes, shutting down all the experiments. Must be chaos.”

The Doctor smiled, looking out at the point where, miles and miles below the water, there was a whole base of people packing up and heading home. “It won’t be that bad,” she said. “It will still be Christmas. They’ll make the best of it.”