#even when she feels better about her appearance it's still uncomfortable and exhausting

[shiawasekai]

Although the reference for her post-recovery self is drawn without her wings, Nela still uses them often. She has them out always whenever she is in official business of some sort (as a reminder of who she actually is), be it as Governor or as Countess.

On her personal life, it really depends. She manifests them and hide them throughout the day according to what's more comfortable at any given time. I imagine hiding them for too long makes them sore, so she can't go an entire day with them hidden without regretting it later.

On the other hand, people in Drezen are used to see her around, so they don't react much, but she hates the attention the wings and the feathers bring to her anywhere else. Around Mendev especially, where her physical description is better known, they make her immediately recognizable in a crowd. Not like the odd looks anywhere else are much better.

She could use her magic to build an illusion or, you know, use transmutation to change her looks to something more human, but that just ends up triggering her issues. Hard. She learns VERY fast to avoid it unless there is No Other Option.

Instead, if Nela wants to go mostly unnoticed she avoids manifesting her wings and wears clothes that better cover the feathers. Even if it makes her wings cramp like hell later.

[bluemantics]

If Keith and Lance were going to fall together at any moment, it would’ve been when Keith was the black paladin.

Keith had successfully kept his walls up until then; battles left him mostly unfazed, team bonding barely nicked his armor, and even Hunk’s cooking wasn’t able to pry him open. 

Then, Shiro vanished, and everything changed. Keith suddenly was tasked with leading the team intended to save the universe. 

All his previous failings and outbursts piled up in his mind at once, nausea rolling through his body constantly. How was he supposed to do this? He was a dropout with anger and authority issues, a wild warrior without aim. Keith wasn’t meant to be anything more than a tamed beast. Even worse, if he wasgoing to step up eventually, to become something greater, he was supposed to do it with Shiro. Instead, a gaping hole had been left behind at the helm. Keith was too young. Too inexperienced. And worst of all, he was entirely alone. 

For the first time in a long time, he was vulnerable, and his aching edges were exposed to anyone brave enough to look. 

The team noticed when he started to crack, exposing his pain and his fear. 

Hunk tried to help, in his own unique way. He noticed the pale hue of the black paladin’s skin and resolved to feed him, maybe help him talk over food. However, that hardly worked, since Keith stopped eating regularly with the team. 

Even Pidge tried to relate through their unique bond. She teased him about the old stories they used to muse over together, but anecdotes about their brothers were still raw for Keith, and he lashed out. That caused Pidge to retreat quickly, her concealed hurt only worsening Keith’s guilt.  

Allura spoke to him in soothing tones that only riled him up more. It was the worst with her, even though she tried her best. Somehow, her gentle tone only reminded him of the wild thing he was. When he would respond in anger, she wasn’t afraid to rise to meet him, and instances where the whole team witnessed them clash only embarrassed him. 

But then there was Lance. That was always how it had gone since their journey started. Lance, appearing to help carry Keith’s brother. Lance, badgering him into a fight. Lance, constantly standing just to his right, prepared to offer unwanted commentary. And now he was the red paladin. 

For the first few days after the lion switch, Lance merely observed how Keith interacted with everyone silently. It made him uncomfortable. He was restless under Lance’s piercing gaze, his eyes that tracked his every choice, his normally discerning tongue that for once chose to still. 

The moment that caused Keith to snap occurred during training. He’d been staying up late every night, working extra with the bots to get better with the new black bayard. Logically, it was just as perfectly balanced as his old sword. Keith just wasn’t able to shake the feeling that the weight of it wasn’t suited to his hand.

So, he trained with it. Again and again. 

Which meant that team training during the daytime… well, it suffered. He was exhausted. Coran, watching over them, admonished Keith for it, but he could barely hear the royal advisor over the sound of his blood rushing past his ears and the clanging of his teammates moving their bayards and the bright lights shining into his pupils and the bruises settling painfully under his ribs and the pressure of his new black armor against his sternum and, worst of all, Lance’s unrelenting stare. 

He snapped back into himself, realizing the team was awaiting his reaction. Their eyes looked round and worried. Keith narrowed in on one person who was standing just at his elbow. 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” he hissed.

There was a pause after his words. Lance’s expression remained careful, his hand coming up to rest on Keith’s shoulder, forcing a breath out of his lungs. The lights seemed to dim. 

“Let’s take a break,” Lance suggested to everyone. Marvelously, they nodded, Hunk exchanging murmurs with Allura as they both put down their weapons and began to walk toward the door. Pidge scampered up the stairs to Coran. Keith looked at Lance in bewilderment after noticing they were alone.

Lance just grinned, and it released something in Keith that had been knotted up.

“So, Samurai, I think we need to talk.” 

Lance quietly spoke to him about the team’s unease. That they all wanted to help him, but he’d regressed back to a place that was painful to see. Lance spoke of a small desert shack, a place that could be a shelter, but could also be confining in its limitations. A place to hide from the watchful stars. A place of anger, regret, and desperation.

Grief. 

Lance’s words carved out an image of a loner fulfilling his own self-destructive prophecy. It made Keith bristle. Then, however, he reminded him of other images, scenes from the recent past he’d rejected in his mourning. 

Helping Hunk perfect a recipe late at night, even if he didn’t know much about cooking besides canned beans and rice. 

Sorting Pidge’s small pieces of machinery as she ranted about a planet they’d visited. 

Allura laughing when he made a dry comment about a foreign diplomat, and then immediately failing to cover it up when said official turned around, making Keith smile as well. 

Lifting Lance off a bloody battlefield, the harsh sounds raging in the background as he carried him into Red and saved his life.

“You’re not alone.” Lance’s hands stretched out, beseeching. 

“Why did you wait so long to talk to me?” Keith breathed, as if he knew, deep down, that this talk was going to come the entire time. “Why were you so quiet?”

And Lance’s face fell. Keith regretted asking near instantly. 

“Well, you’re not the only one trying to fill in for a strong presence. I had to get used to some things, too, y’know? Convince myself that I can be right for this job.” He points between himself and the black paladin. 

It’s ridiculous. Keith wants to open his mouth, to assure Lance that he’s not just excelling, that he’s perf—

“You need to start showing up to team dinners. Stop working yourself to death at night— that was fine when you were number two, but now you gotta lead us in training,” Lance started to list off as he put a finger up for each point. “Talk to Pidge about Shiro, since she misses him too, not just you. Reassure Allura that you’re happy to lead alongside her. Just… chill the F out, dude.” Keith blinks, owlish in the face of a literal itemized list of things to fix. 

So, he tries to chill the F out. 

It isn’t easy. He still feels inadequate, out of place in every room he steps into, especially when his friends all look to him for answers. Keith often trembles with the weight of the universe. Thank god for Lance, always standing just to his right. Slowly, they open the door of that desert shack together, and he learns how to share his burden. He learns a lot of things. 

Like how Lance is deceptively smart when it comes to strategizing. Or that Lance’s empathy is a weapon, able to prevent a battle with a few well-placed words. He especially enjoys learning that Lance has curly hair, he thinks Keith is funny when no one else does, and he has a fondness for young kids due to his family. 

Lance is his right-hand man and co-leader in every sense of both terms. Their call-and-response has never been better. Oftentimes, before thinking about what Shiro might do, Keith begins to consider what Lance might do. 

And isn’t that frightening? 

They fell together after the lion switch in ways no one could have predicted. Keith feels a wild thing settle in his chest at the thought, his eyes turned toward the stars that watch him in return. 

He stays standing among the sand. He ignores the urge to retreat to shelter. Keith embraces the sky and its promise of warm, fresh rainfall. 

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Story request

Reader is a maid to Donna, she is very much good at her job that's why Donna let's her stay. Little did Donna know is that Reader has mind of a psychopath and she is clearly very obsessed with Donna, she always looks at her from afar without Donna knowing and whenever she cleans her clothes she sniffing it to try and smell Donna's scent. Donna doesn't know because reader acts innocent all the time. Reader loves how timid and shy Donna is and is thinking some nasty stuff she would do to her in bed. One time reader couldn't take it anymore so she put Donna in her bed. Donna is afraid in what's happening. Reader then does all the nasty stuff she is thinking. Donna is not supposed to love it bit she does. Reader is very dominant, she does everything to please her lady. Their love making lasted for an hour, Donna is clearly exhausted but satisfied. Reader seeing Donna satisfied is very proud of what she had done. Reader then confess her feelings to her. Donna told her to stay with her forever. Reader kisses her deeply and they slept.

Note: Can you make it very naughty(only if it's okay with you)? Also their love making lasted for probation 7 hours(if you're uncomfortable about this it's okay). Not gn Donna

Smut plsss

Yess!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Losing my mind

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem Maid! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Minors DNI, dark themes, dark reader, Reader's POV

Word count: 6,897

Summary: I don't know if I'm in love, or obsessed...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Okay, you can stay...”

Those words still resonate in my head when I'm alone, when I think about what I'm doing here, why I was granted the privilege of having you so close to me.

Well, like everything in life, it was a coincidence. I was never a model villager, one who followed the rules of the benevolent Black Gods. I was always one step ahead of that stuff. Mother Miranda, the Lords, the village... Everything was nothing but the universe that surrounded my disturbed mind.

Rebellious, irreverent and problematic, that's how my family defined me. That doesn't matter at all anymore. Despite saying that I had no talent, saying that I would end up being one of the many concubines of the lady of the castle, that never happened.

As a cold and calculating person, I managed to ensure that none of those fates people talked about for me were true. None of their predictions came true because I, always determined to be right, to get those ideas out of their heads, specialized in a job just as boring, but with other objectives.

I was always clear that I was not a piece of meat for someone to use as they pleased, if anyone had to use someone, it would be me, even if it seemed crazy in a place like that. My face is innocent, my mind is not.

Perhaps that physical superficiality granted me the privilege of having a much better job than the rest of those who called themselves my friends. Castle concubine? Never.

Maid? Maybe, that didn't sound so bad, but not just any maid.

I liked risks, always putting myself on the edge of the abyss, risking everything recklessly, and that's what I did when I entered the forest, walking towards an almost forbidden place, the Beneviento Estate.

Showing up like that, without warning, claiming my right to work for one of the bosses was crazy, but I don't regret it.

Donna Beneviento, the youngest of the Lords, the most disturbed, the strangest, the loneliest. No one had ever seen her face. No one had been close to her without feeling the slightest terror. Of course, I've already said it. I was never like the others.

The smile graced my face when her dark figure appeared in the doorway. I was surprised I wasn't afraid. I didn't tremble when she appeared. Again, I came, I watched, and I conquered.

Despite the reluctance the lady in black had with me, despite telling me over and over again she didn't want a maid, in the end, she accepted. Insistence? No, not at all. She could strike me down with just a wave of her hands. Loneliness? It could be. Curiosity? Then we would have something in common.

Sometimes I think that I had very high confidence in everything I did, or maybe I tried harder to maintain that curious job. At first it could well have been like that, at first.

Cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, making tea... A boring job in a not so boring place. I definitely liked that job. I felt exactly how I wanted, alone, or almost.

The appearances of the lady in black were few, her words nonexistent. She only spoke through that sinister doll, never with her own voice. Dry orders, absurd rules and infrequent thanks, that was all my communication with her, at least the first few weeks.

But just when I thought my life could become normal, the opposite happened. Suddenly I saw myself going up to my room slowly, with my gaze riveted on that portrait, a portrait of the lady in black, with her face uncovered, with her beauty exposed to me.

I was never made of stone. I never denied my attraction to women, especially dangerous women, but that beauty... That went much further than other times. It could be the mystery, that small feeling of intrigue of not knowing how that beauty had been spoiled, of not knowing what was behind that black veil.

Curiosity little by little became obsession, the worst of my sins, the worst of my flaws.

“Here is your tea, my lady,” I said kindly, while the lady in black was studying a book on her desk.

My words bounced off the walls, as if the mansion itself was longing to retain them, as if it had been longing to hear a human being speak for too many years.

She, as usual, shook her head in gratitude. It could have been just another day, another empty interaction, but my hands were already trembling in her presence and my mind had been imagining her for days, near me at night, very close to me.

“Do you need anything else, my lady?” I asked politely, trying to sound like always, like the innocent girl I pretended to be. She turned her head towards me, puzzled by this strange behavior. Maybe it was too obvious, maybe not.

“N-No...” She murmured hoarsely, almost silently, making me freeze on the wooden floor.

That mysterious, whispering, melodic voice, reached my ears to disturb me even more. It was the first time I had listened to it and I knew, to my dismay, I didn't want to stop doing it. But no, I couldn't let my obsession be seen, I couldn't stop being the innocent maid, her innocent maid.

“Okay, I'll leave then,” I said, lowering my head as a sign of respect, the respect she deserved. I turned around, ready to find a corner of the house to clean, a place where I could let myself be carried away by my thoughts, where I could think about that voice, her voice.

“Wait,” the soft, hoarse sound of that voice interrupted my walk and I had to take a deep breath to not get nervous, or rather, to not seem nervous. I composed myself in less than a second and turned around slowly, with that kind look that I knew how to fake that well.

“Do you want anything else from me, my lady?” I asked, slurring my words, feeling the blush creeping up my cheeks.

Maybe I hadn't chosen my words well but no one could blame me, not after hearing that beautiful voice. No, surely my disturbed mind caused me to misinterpret my own words.

“Come,” she ordered me, gesturing with her hand for me to come closer again. I nodded slowly and obeyed immediately, having complete control of my emotions, putting on that innocent maid face.

I got close enough for her perfume to enter my body again, like the few times I managed to get close enough for that to be possible.

Lavender, a beautiful flower, beautiful like her. I could get lost in a lavender field. I wanted to do it, just to live with her smell attached to my body, so my brain wouldn't forget it, so I could feel her close to me. I was rambling again, I had to stop it.

The lady sighed, as if she herself were confused, as if she didn't know what to say. I shouldn't be surprised. She had never spoken to me directly.

“Is the tea not to your liking, my lady?” I asked again, with a look of concern. I wish it had been like that, I wish I could have gotten so close again.

“The tea is fine, (Y/N),” she replied after clearing her throat and shaking her head. “I would like to ask you a question.”

A question. How curious. Since I arrived, Lady Beneviento, Donna, didn't want anything to do with me. She knew my name because I told her. She didn't show the slightest interest. That was something that tormented me, until that moment.

“Fine,” I said, smiling kindly, with my hands in front of my body, playing with each other in a subtle way, thus channeling my nerves, the sensations the lavender perfume sent to my body.

“You don't have to answer, but I would like you to,” Donna whispered, maintaining that mysterious tone, the look that her veil prevented me from seeing, but not intuiting.

“I will be delighted to answer, my lady,” I said, lowering my head again, showing her dominance over me, the superiority that she should have with a maid, with her maid.

She nodded slowly, playing with the tea spoon, pondering what to say, or what to ask. If she didn't know what she wanted to know, why talk to me?

“Why me?” She asked after a few moments of hesitation, making me take a breath and breathe deeply, in an effort to maintain the innocence on my face.

“Excuse me, my lady, but I don't understand you,” I said, curious and confused by that strange question, taking care of even the smallest detail of my voice.

“You are an excellent maid, (Y/N),” she responded, lowering her gaze, removing her invisible eyes from mine. “You cook well, the house is better than ever... Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted with you, you know, being here... But I can't stop thinking about the reasons a girl like you could have to work for me instead of going to the castle.”

Those compliments filtered into my ears, echoing in my mind again and again, almost ignoring the rest of her words. She was delighted with me, but she never showed it, maybe I should have learned to interpret her vague gestures and the Angie doll's words better.

“The castle?” I asked automatically, as if my own mind was giving me a hand so as not to spoil everything, so that my obsessive thoughts would not give me away. Donna nodded slowly again.

“All the girls in the village who want to be maids always go to the castle,” she murmured, pushing aside her veil a to take a sip from her cup of tea. Everything I saw only fueled my dark thoughts more.

Those lips, that pale skin, that woman in the portrait who came to life before my eyes, everything had to be reason enough for my breathing to become heavy. But I couldn't do it, I was her maid, her innocent maid, not the obsessive girl who thought about her every night.

“Well, I'm not like the most of people,” I said amused, with a smile that feigned shyness, that feigned embarrassment because my lady was talking to me. I was always good at pretending, but I didn't know how long I could keep doing it, how long my mask could stay on, having that lavender perfume so close.

“Aren’t you? Why?” Donna asked, curious, gesturing for me to sit in a nearby chair. “Explain yourself.”

I obeyed, sitting in that chair. I was so terribly close to her. Love and obsession are only separated by a very fine line and I didn't even know where that line was, for a long time.

“Well...” I murmured, not knowing exactly what to say, or what she expected me to say. “I never liked doing what others did.”

Donna nodded curiously, tilting her head, as if she were studying my gestures.

“That doesn't answer my question, (Y/N),” she said in a whisper, one that seemed dark, but was surely as innocent as my expression, as my expression was intended to be.

“Well, I...” I said, a bit insecure, trembling involuntarily, seeing myself cornered in my own trap.

“You're nervous,” she interrupted, bringing her body a little closer to mine, as if she had discovered the trembling of my hands, one that I tried to avoid, without success.

“A bit, my lady,” I admitted, much to my regret. It probably wasn't the nervousness she was thinking of, but it could serve as an excuse.

“You’re afraid of me,” the lady in black stated, resting her back on the chair, impatiently tapping her desk with her fingers.

“No, my lady,” I said immediately, removing that idea from her head.

Donna shook her head strangely as if she were thinking my words were a blatant lie. They were not.

“You will be,” she said in a hoarse voice, as if she were trembling, while she brought one of her hands to the black cloth of her face, moving it away so I could look at her.

My eyes widened as I contemplated her beauty, my mouth opened to say something as my memory fixed each of those features in my head. Beautiful, precious, dazzling, those were the words that came to my mind. No, that small defect on her face was not a reason to be scared, but the feelings that began to run through my nervous system were.

But I couldn't stay like that, I had to be innocent, I had to be good, her good maid.

“You're not running away,” she murmured strangely, removing the cloth completely and leaving it on the desk. “Have you been paralyzed?”

I shook my head, realizing this was nothing but a small trap, a test to continue being a maid, her maid. My cold and calculating mind had discovered it on its own and my breathing and trembling relaxed to demonstrate the truthfulness of the words I was going to say.

“Yes, because of her beauty, my lady,” I said with a sweet voice, revealing no other intentions than those of a kind and accommodating maid, although I didn't know if that was really what Donna was hoping to hear.

Her expression changed, as if she had heard something strange.

“Sei una bugiarda...” she whispered, with that darkness that accompanied her gaze. Fortunately, I was prepared for everything, I had been preparing for a conversation with her for too long. “Io sono orribile”

“Non è vero,” I said, bringing out my weapons, demonstrating how valuable I was as a maid.

“You know Italian,” she said, relaxing her expression upon hearing my clumsy and probably terribly mispronounced words.

“A little,” I answered proudly, under her attentive gaze, one that I could already see, one that I could already imagine, that I would no longer be that cold portrait on the stairs. “I learned for you, my lady.”

“For me?” She asked, blinking repeatedly, trying not to get lost in the confusion of your answers, or in your shy look, I didn't know exactly what she could be thinking.

I nodded, with that innocent smile on my face, sighing, indicating that my words were true.

“I like to do my job well, my lady,” I said proudly, to which she finally smiled. She let me see that beautiful smile, one that only appeared in my dreams.

“I've kept you enough, (Y/N), you should get back to your tasks,” Donna said, looking away from me suddenly, frowning, making my smile fade. Just thinking about not smelling that lavender made me sick, but I had to obey, I had to be good, good for her, her good maid.

“Fine, my lady,” I said politely, getting up from the chair and slowly walking away from the desk, repressing the temptation to turn around, to imagine her bright eye was still fixed on my body.

That night was horrible.

Now that I had seen her face, my obsession worsened. And not only had I been lucky enough to contemplate her beauty, but I had been able to have a conversation with her, a real one, a close, although strange, conversation.

As I tossed and turned in bed, I imagined what our future conversations would be like, if they would be about trivial topics, if they would simply be words of gratitude, if I would see that smile again.

My thoughts remained stable, thinking only of innocent acts, of quiet closeness, of simply staying close to that lavender perfume. I knew, I knew that it wouldn't stay that way, I knew what I was like, I knew how damaged my mind was, how that small attraction would lead to the most psychopathic obsession.

For a moment I thought about giving up, about running away from that house so as not to lose my mind anymore, but it seemed impossible. Just as my dreams had predicted, those conversations came, becoming a routine of seemingly empty words, but full of meaning for me.

Love or obsession, what a dichotomy. I didn't know where my limit was, what my real thoughts or feelings for Donna were, I just knew that they were there, that they had been hidden in my subconscious for too long. Love at first sight didn’t exist, but obsession did. So... Was I obsessed? Isn't love an obsession itself?

I should have learned that lesson in time. I should have stopped thinking about Donna at least for a moment and returned to the reality of my world. I was her maid, her good and innocent maid, who hid a demon inside her, a demon that would soon want to come out, and that I had to remain locked up.

But I was always weak to my own desires. My trust with Donna grew so much that I couldn't tell if I was truly serving her or worshiping her. Always keeping my subtle smile, always being the innocent girl she seemed interested in.

Love or loneliness? What was in the feelings of the lady in black? Was it possible that she thought of me in some way? No, it seemed unlikely, not at least in the way my mind strayed from the right path, stopping imagining what her kisses would be like, and starting to think about what her naked body would be like, about the marks that would be on her skin, in those places that my lips wanted to rest on.

The nights became a continuous nightmare, one that I didn't want to leave. My mind imagined places, scenarios in which I got what I wanted, in which our bodies hugged each other naked. I imagined what it would be like to feel her wetness, her arousal as she felt my touch worshiping her skin. I imagined her moans, surely soft and shy, like her. I wondered if she had ever felt that way, if some hateful person had been lucky enough to taste her honey.

Just the fact that this was possible made me burn with rage. No, Donna never had that luck, or that misfortune. She was shy. I was her only human contact, apart from her siblings.

Thinking, recreating in my mind those scenarios in which Donna begged for her release, in which my fingers curled around her body while the sweat covered my back, they were too powerful, so much so that I began to stop dreaming, to act.

Every night my hands traveled over my body, grabbing my clothes as if they were her delicate fingers, as if Donna were the one undressing me. Every night I murmured her name as I pleasured myself, with the image of her in my mind, with her beauty clouding my rational thinking, if there was any left.

Innocent on the outside, sinner on the inside. That was what my conscience was telling me after imagining those events, after imagining what it would be like to have that perfume on my body, what it would be like to scratch her skin while she writhed in pleasure under my gaze.

I was going completely crazy. So much so that I began to notice a lack of inspiration in my nightly binges. Even conversations like the ones we used to have weren't enough anymore. My head memorized each of her words, each of her gestures, but it was no longer enough.

Donna had become a drug for me, and that made my dependence on her grow to the point of spying on her, of looking at her through the crack in the door. Watching how she worked on her dolls, how she handled the porcelain between her fingers, wishing that material would be replaced by my skin.

Like a dangerous stalker, I became her shadow, one that traveled behind her wherever she went. Nothing could stop my obsession, nor my madness. Only her, only Donna could calm my fears, just seeing her act independently, oblivious to the fact that my eyes were watching her, could be a relief for me.

And then, it was time to do the laundry, another problem for me. The lavender perfume was always present in her clothes and I, desperate, obsessed, addicted to it, smelled it in a disturbing way, wishing to never forget that scent, to have it close to me. More nights of self-lust, more thoughts, more lavender, more stalking. That's what I became, sin itself, the complete opposite of what my smile represented.

“No, I couldn't drink any more,” Donna said amused, one night when the fire in the fireplace crackled as if nothing was happening. My innocent look was still on my face as I poured some more liquid into her wine glass.

“Come on, my lady, some more wine won't hurt you. They say it's good for the heart,” I said, kindly, blinking effusively and offering her glass, which she reluctantly took. That late-night talk, adulterated by wine, was the worst thing that could happen to my obsession.

“Is it? Who says that?” She asked, her voice intoxicated by alcohol.

“Me,” I said amused, pointing to myself, bringing my own glass to my lips, but not drinking. I wanted to stay awake, I wanted to see how Donna would behave if she lost a bit, just a bit of her usual shyness.

“You...” She murmured, with a suspicious but childish look at the same time, leaning back on the sofa in an awkward manner, thus revealing her incipient state of intoxication. “You say many things…”

“What things, my lady?” I asked amused, also settling down and raising my eyebrows.

“Lies... You know... Things about me being beautiful, and good...” Donna drawled, finishing her fifth glass of wine in one gulp, making a face of displeasure.

“That’s not a lie, my lady,” I said, maintaining the composure that I was beginning to lack. My gaze became dangerous when I observed her erratic gestures and her nervous laughter, her cheeks flushed with wine.

“Yes, yes, yes... Whatever you say,” she said, nodding comically, looking for the bottle with her hands, something that you prevented, pretending to worry about her.

“I think you have already drunk enough, my lady,” I commented amusedly, moving the bottle out of her reach, making her protest with a moan that I found amusing and exciting... No, I couldn't get carried away. Her condition was my fault.

“My lady, my lady...” She mocked, putting a finger on my chest and pushing me against the sofa. I laughed, surprised, but I let her act on her own. “Why so many my lady?”

“Because you are my lady, and I’m your maid,” I explained in a calm voice, sitting up, studying her state calmly.

“Oh, really? I thought we were friends,” Donna said, with an accusatory tone, completely distorted by intoxication. I remained thoughtful, trying not to react to those words as my body asked me to.

“Well, yes, we are friends, but above all, you’re my lady,” I said, with a calm tone, observing her erratic movements, her shy laugh that shook my nerves again.

Donna looked at me, her eye shining with alcohol, but with a strange expression, approaching little by little, crawling along the sofa until she was very close to me, so close that the delicious aroma of lavender mixed with the wine clouded my senses, again.

“I like that we're friends,” she whispered, too close to my lips, too close to allow me to think with any clarity.

“Me too, my lady,” I said, trying not to look at her tender, half-open lips, trying not to get lost in her closeness, in her intoxicating perfume, adulterated by the wine.

“If you say my lady one more time, I'll fire you,” she said with an amused voice, pushing me again. I remained calm, raising my eyebrows, but not moving.

“What do you want me to call you?” I asked politely, letting her hand travel to mine. Donna had a lost, lowered gaze, looking at everything and seeing nothing. Her warm hand passed through mine, her fingers played with mine. I couldn't think it was a dream, it wasn't.

“Donna,” she whispered, looking at me sharply, with a confused expression, blinking, as if she were about to lose consciousness.

“Donna...” I repeated, letting my intentions reveal themselves. She wasn't going to notice. I doubted she even knew where she was.

She was too drunk, and I was too in love, or obsessed, or both. Her confused face gave a small smile and her lips came dangerously close to mine, tempting me, making her have to pray to the Gods not to make that mistake, that much-desired mistake.

“I like the way it sounds…” She whispered, just before placing her lips on mine, just before her temptation stopped being so. It hadn't been me, it had been her. She was kissing me. My torment, my relief, my drug and my salvation was kissing me and I couldn't react any other way.

The smell of lavender mixed with the taste of her lips, with that touch of wine that made me regret that she was really acting involuntarily. Her lips were soft, heavenly caresses that mingled with mine, with my experience making up for her lack of it. A first kiss to be ashamed of, endless sensations, food for the thoughts of my disturbed mind.

She grunted, after a few moments that I wanted to be eternal, after some messy and clumsy kisses, but that seemed sincere, they seemed. Donna collapsed onto my chest, being held by my arms. As if those kisses hadn't happened, her body shifted in mine. Donna was drunk. She kissed you because of the wine, not because of her feelings. That phrase my conscience repeated was like a sharp dagger to my heart.

“Do you feel sick?” I asked politely, not mentioning what had just happened. She shook her head with another grunt, getting more comfortable on your chest.

“I'm… Sleepy,” she murmured, yawning, making it clear that none of those kisses were really sincere.

For once in all the time you had been in the mansion, your good side, your side lacking psychopathy, prevailed over the demon. No, you weren't going to take advantage of that opportunity, you couldn't do it. At least you had some humanity left.

“Come, let's go to bed,” I said, helping the lady in black to get up, to which she protested with more childish grunts.

That night I cried.

I cried for those kisses, for that impulsive act that Donna did involuntarily. Those kisses, the taste of her lips, the lavender, everything was so perfect that it seemed unreal, and in part, it was.

My mind had saved my soul from committing an atrocity, but the demon inside me screamed louder than ever. Only I had two options left: run away, or give up.

Neither was acceptable, but a third way appeared again in my thoughts, one that had the same voice as the devil, one that screamed at me to take what I wanted, to stop pretending to be the good girl and take out the light my true personality.

It was afternoon, so the clocks said. Donna had a hard day and I decided to leave her alone for the moment. It was the first time I failed to fulfill my maid duties. My mind schemed, plotting the best way to carry out my desires. The sensations of her kisses, the images my mind had created, all of it broke the last thread of sanity I had left. You should never have kissed me, Donna.

I walked quickly, following my intuition, following the steps I knew I had to take to find her. I grabbed her wrist, fighting not to hear her questions, or her protests. I guided her towards the bedroom, furious, letting myself be carried away by the evil inside me. I couldn't hear Donna, I couldn't tell if she was protesting or quiet. Her body was weak compared to my pulls. It wasn't difficult for me to drag her to the bedroom.

Once there, I closed the door and pushed my lady against the wall, cornering her with my body. Her eyes were scared and her chest was rising and falling quickly. She had no escape, she couldn't escape me anymore.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” She asked with her voice broken by fear, by the change from my innocent look to an evil one, by the vision I had of the demon that had dominated my body.

“I'm sorry, but I can't take it anymore. You can kill me, fire me if you want, but you couldn't stop me from taking what I want...”  I whispered, getting closer to her lips, dragging the words, which came furiously from my mouth.

“What do you want?” She asked, trembling, cornered. I, (Y/N), a simple villager, had put a Lord on the ropes. Surely songs would be sung about me if I didn't survive.

“I want you,” I said quickly, wasting no time, throwing myself at her soft lips, enjoying them like the night before, knowing that the wine was no longer in them, knowing that both of us could feel everything that was going on.

It could be my imagination, but if you asked me, I could swear that she kissed me back, that her lips tasted mine the same way. It was a shame that my desire was stronger than those sensations.

Quickly, leaving no room for doubt, not allowing Donna to escape my clutches, I roughly lunged for the buttons on her dress, making them disappear under my experienced fingers. She just panted confusedly, not knowing what to do or what to say. She shouldn't want it, she shouldn't like it, but somehow, she did.

Her hands grabbed my face, bringing it closer to hers, pulling it until our lips collided again, more fiercely, without the feeling of not knowing if at some point she was going to get rid of me. She didn't seem to want to do it, but I didn't care, I kept working on her clothes, sinking into her neck, moving my body against hers, covering myself in lavender.

My leg landed between hers, causing her head to tilt back, giving me the room to push that dress of hers away from her skin, to reveal her pale, beautiful, naked torso to me.

I couldn't entertain myself, but still, I did, I stopped to contemplate her unmatched beauty, the softness of her skin as my hands brushed it. She trembled, but she no longer did it out of fear. Her eye was closed and her breathing was rapid, her body moving involuntarily against mine.

My madness was unleashed, but so was my desire, and so was hers. The kisses bounced off the walls, the hands wandered over her body, over my body. Feeling the softness of her touch on my skin made me want more, much more.

“(Y/N)...” Donna murmured, moving away from my wild actions, looking at me with an expression that I couldn't interpret.

Trying to silence the voices in my head, those orders that the demon was giving me, I gently grabbed her wrist, pulling her until she fell on the bed, crawling, as if she wanted to escape from me.

“You don't know how sorry I am...” I said, also climbing onto the bed, grabbing her wrists, putting them on either side of her head so she couldn't move. “But I have to do it…”

“Do it,” Donna said, with a firm, confident look, with her fists clenched and breathing hard.

I wasn't expecting that answer, I was confused, thinking more rationally, thinking that maybe I should stop following the delusions of my mind. But that look, her half-bare chest, her glowing skin, the lavender. Everything made me let her wrists go, just to caress her arms, to climb onto her hips while my lips devoured hers again.

Her hands, now free, traveled along my back, searching for the closure of my maid's dress, which soon gave way, with a growl from my lips, removing that fabric from me, the fabric that separated my body from hers.

Clothes flew across the room and I was about to thank the Gods that I was still alive to see what was in front of me. Her naked chest, her womanly forms that were not of this world and that were now at my mercy. My lips acted before my mind, traveling to her breasts hungrily, devouring, licking her flesh like a beast, like a predator that hunted her prey.

Like a chant I remembered from dreams, Donna moaned as my teeth made contact with her most sensitive spots. Her hands moved erratically over my body while mine had a clear goal.

The bottom of her dress gave way quickly, aided by a gentle movement of her hips.

Suddenly, my lady's shyness returned to her gaze, causing her hands to leave my naked body to cover her shame, that which was still hidden by her underwear. I blinked and took a breath, relaxing my dominant attitude for a moment and removing those hands from my target.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Donna, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” I whispered, very close to her ear while my hands moved hers, moving them to either side of her hips. She looked at me, as if in silent supplication. I didn't know exactly why she was pleading and I didn't want to know.

“(Y/N) I...” She began, interrupted by my hand on her mouth. No, I didn't want to talk. There would be time to talk, to die, to flee… Now was not the time, my body didn't want to stop, neither did hers, shaking her hips against mine, making me close my eyes from the contact.

“Shh, my Donna... I'll take care of you...” I said with a somewhat perverse whisper, but that made the lady nod, closing her eye while my fingers removed the black fabric that covered the last part of her naked body, that obvious humidity I imagined possessing in my dreams.

She didn't protest anymore, she simply moaned when one of my fingers had the courage, or the audacity, to run through the moisture lying between her legs, caressing her superficially while my gaze observed her gestures, the blush of her cheeks.

That made me smile, adding another finger to that lustful way, going deeper, savoring with my fingers the humidity of her folds, each and every one of the sensations she felt with it.

I tried to say something, something to accompany my gestures, something that would help Donna stop shaking, so she would stop fearing what was to come. I smiled again when I realized, when I knew that only I had come this far, that no one else had been able to enjoy that touch, that her body was mine, only mine.

I leaned down to kiss her slowly, while my fingers continued playing between her legs, gently making circles on her clit, causing my lips to vibrate with her moans.

“Wait, please,” Donna said hurriedly, pushing you away from her lips. I looked at her furiously, just when I believed that there were no longer any doubts, that I would be free to do as I pleased.

I didn't say anything, I just waited for her to speak, which she didn't do. She just looked at me with curiosity, with fear.

“I won't hurt you,” I said, thinking that maybe it would be her fear, that her fear of her first time was overshadowing the pleasure. “I promise.”

Donna shook her head, cupping my face in her hands, scratching my cheeks with her nails.

“Be gentle, I’m begging you,” she whispered to me, with her eye closed, with her nails damaging my skin, with the trembling of her body making mine move involuntarily, seeking the contact of my bare hips with her thigh.

“You are my lady, I couldn't be any other way,” I said with a cold, impatient voice, with a disturbed look that made her sigh in fear, letting my hand rest on her chest, pushing her roughly against the mattress. “Lie down and shut up. I promise you that you will enjoy it,” I ordered with the demon inside me guiding my dominant words. She nodded scared and that was more than enough for my hand to return to her wetness, for my fingers to continue gently stimulating her.

“But...” She murmured, squirming involuntarily with pleasure.

“Taci, Donna,” I said with a stern voice, pushing her body back onto the mattress. She looked at me with fear, with real fear, but her face relaxed, stopping looking at me, closing her eye to suppress her shame.

Before having to get more serious, before bringing to light all the desire I had to dominate her, I decided to take the step. I decided to gradually introduce the tips of my fingers into her, into her eager humidity, excited despite her doubts.

Donna grimaced strangely, surprised by the sensation, but not in pain, or so it seemed. Dark thoughts came to my mind again, deducing that just as I suspected, she was a human being with the needs of a human being. Yes, it was obvious that she had enjoyed her own body. It didn't matter if she denied it to me. I knew she did.

That made me moan, lunging at her neck, rubbing filthy on her leg as my fingers did their work at her entrance, sliding in and out of her, making her arms, erratic and trembling, embrace what they could of my body.

There were no more protests, no complaints, no fears. Only moans, only the wet sound of my fingers playing inside of her, running along her walls, enjoying that unique softness, the scratches of her nails on my back.

But, like lavender, that sensation had to be better, I had to feel it more, to taste it until my smell was confused with hers.

Devoting one last look to her expression, which betrayed the immense pleasure she was feeling, I moved down her torso, covering her pale, shiny skin with kisses, making her beauty mine.

The taste of her arousal was overwhelming, as was the movement of her hips when my tongue made contact with her skin. I wanted to drink her, eat her, devour her, possess her, make me her mine. My mouth moved furiously, eagerly, accompanied by her faithful moans, almost exhausted. My fingers didn’t stop moving, harmonizing with my kisses, with the caresses of my mouth on her folds, with those moans that I myself made when I felt all the essence of her covering my body.

Little by little, her body began to move in a different way. Her instincts had taken over, her release was close. Leaving aside my own desire, I focused on making her feel that way, on seeing that expression that I could only imagine, that I could only dream of.

An indiscreet moan, possibly audible throughout the mansion, let me know that the end had come, that her ecstasy was coursing through her body while a firm and curiously mischievous hand kept me in that place, as if she were the one who didn't want me to escape. She wanted me to continue with my kisses, with my caresses.

There was a moment of silence and I closed my eyes, catching my breath. The sight of her body, of her chest rising and falling quickly dispelled my evilness. It wasn't regret, but it was a wish to give her an explanation, for her to know why. I gave her one last kiss on her wetness and climbed up her body, settling next to hers, not daring to look at her face.

“(Y/N)...” The lady sighed, moving my face to meet hers.

“I love you,” I said, with a sad tone, with a regretful tone but at the same time satisfied, proud of having made her feel that pleasure. “I'm sorry, Donna, I'm in love with you.”

“Why are you sorry?” She asked, snuggling into my chest, tired, drowsy from her release.

“Because I made a mistake and you will never be able to forgive me,” I confessed, with eyes full of tears, knowing this was the beginning of my end, although really, my fears were not letting me see the reality of the situation.

“I won't forgive you if you abandon me, (Y/N)” she said, with a pleading eye, looking at me with a different face, one I had never seen before, one... In love?

“Do you mean...?” I asked a bit confused, also tired from passion. She nodded, intertwining our fingers.

“Yes, I love you, (Y/N), I love you and I don't want you to leave, I want you to do more things like this to me, I want you to live with me, not be my maid, I want you to stay with me, forever.”

My lips didn't wait to hear more. They kissed her deeply, showing how happy it made me not to have made that mistake, showing that with her, my sanity would return to my heart.

[purplespacekitty]

Ramblings on Tora Ziyal

I think it’s well beyond a shame that they killed off Ziyal because I really would have liked to see her Cardassian-Bajoran identity more fleshed out and have her navigate the world beyond her father’s influence. She was starting to do that a bit with Kira and Garak (though I strongly feel that Garak should have been more of a mentor figure than a love interest) and it would have been really cool to see her get to hang out with Jake and Nog and just be a kid for once. It feels way too weird the way they began her character as this traumatized little girl who knew nothing but the brief time of her life she spent with her mother on Bajor and the horrors of the Breen mines and then magically turned her into this saccharine sweet, mostly well-adjusted young woman who loves her tyrant father despite his crimes (and in many ways, is seemingly unaware of them???????). Where was the therapy? Where was the rehabilitation? Where was the jaded child we saw in “Indiscretion”? What if Ziyal had been allowed to channel her anger and pain into learning about Bajor and Cardassia, into healing herself? Her dad basically plucked her out of the Breen mines after years of giving less than a Cardassian vole's asshole about her and then it turns out he originally planned to kill her when he found her? After she prayed for years that he'd come and save her? I'd be pissed.

But also, I wish they'd explored more of why she didn't appear to be all that pissed. We have almost no other context for Ziyal's childhood, certainly not any of what it was like before Dukat sent her and Naprem away. Was it simply exhaustion and desperation that led her to the conclusion that she'd rather die than not be with him once he'd found her? Was there a guise Dukat put up to portray himself as a kind father and mask the tyrant underneath before he sent Naprem and Ziyal away? Or did she even get to see Dukat at all in her early childhood? Did she simply assume he would be a loving father? Is that the image Ziyal clung to for comfort for all those years? Did she cling so tightly she could do little else but believe it?

It feels icky to kind of reduce her existence to Dukat Drama™ the way the show ultimately did with her death. Why didn’t we get to see her experiencing disillusionment about Dukat, who never actually changed for the better when she was still alive and trying to get him to stop being so horrible? Why didn’t we get any Rugal-level anger from her, the hushed-up child of a Bajoran comfort woman and the genocidal former Prefect of Bajor? Because, obviously, Dukat never actually took his fatherhood to her seriously. She tried to imagine him as someone he was not and he predictably chose to inflate his own ego by encouraging her. She wasn't much more to him than a device to garner some twisted idea of sympathy for himself. Ziyal needed more of a chance to break away from relying on Dukat for unconditional love. Because his love, as we know, was not unconditional. In fact, I hesitate to even call it love at all, given how ready he was to manipulate Ziyal, how ready he was to get rid of her. She had unconditional love from Kira, who immediately went to bat for her before she’d even met her when she found out what Dukat planned to do to his own daughter. And I totally believe Garak’s love for Ziyal could have grown into something unconditional, but they ruined it with some weird, out-of-nowhere romance with an uncomfortable age gap and then had her killed off like some tragic, helpless maiden.

DS9 was sort of the only place Ziyal could experience any sort of semblance of real safety in her life, especially considering both Bajoran and Cardassian attitudes towards biracial children. It would have been interesting to explore an arc with her making DS9 her home as a place that is conducive to the cohabitation of many different species and cultures while also wrestling with isolation and ostracization from those who share in the two most pervasively impactful facets of her identity. Maybe the writers wanted to focus on portraying her girlhood and favored it over exploring the complexities of her Cardassian-Bajoran heritage. But honestly, they failed at both. She never got to have a girlhood and she ultimately became more of a plot device than a fully-fledged character. This franchise started off with its most interesting and beloved main character being both Vulcan and human. I know Ziyal is someone else entirely, but they totally could have done more with her than they did.

I would love, love, LOVE to see her engage with different aspects of both Bajoran and Cardassian culture. I wonder if she would develop any kind of spirituality regarding the Prophets. Since Bajorans are widely a spiritual people, it's possible Naprem shared some of her spiritual practices with her daughter. If she did, does Ziyal observe those practices to feel closer to her mother? Does she seek Kira's help in learning more about Bajoran spirituality? Do they connect over the struggles their faith has gotten them through? Would delving deeper into Bajoran spirituality open a gateway to acceptance from other Bajorans? Or would it make them turn their backs on her even more? How does her Cardassian-Bajoran heritage impact the way she interacts with her own spirituality and beliefs? As far as Cardassian culture goes, Garak certainly has an eye for art and I could see her connecting with Professor Natima Lang, Hogue and Rekelen and learning about Cardassia's resistance movements.

Also, multiple Bajoran and Cardassian drinks, confections and meals are shown throughout the series and especially with respect to its main character, DS9 frequently places food in an important cultural, community-building role. As someone whose strongest connection to their own heritage comes from food, I would have loved to see Ziyal engage with both Bajoran and Cardassian culture through food.

Obviously, we were robbed of heaps and heaps of space station shenanigans:

Nog sharing what he learns from Starfleet Academy with Ziyal, Ziyal trying tube grubs and actually liking them.

Ziyal illustrating Jake’s stories into comic books or murals and the two of them creating stuff together and maybe some nerdy pop culture history discussions on the side. I feel like Jake, Nog and Ziyal would totally have weekly movie nights.

Odo looking out for her, giving her advice about handling bullies, the two of them bonding over being generally considered the odd ones out and Ziyal making paintings to add to his quarters.

Kira giving her lots of hugs, teaching her to fight, protecting her from bigots and helping her embrace her Bajoran background, teaching her Bajoran culture. Ziyal stealing clothes from Kira's closet occasionally ("You hardly ever wear anything other than your uniform, anyway! And they fit, see?"). Ziyal sneakily tagging along on Kira and Dax's trips to the holosuites, eventually convincing them to just invite her to them regularly, anyway. She knows how to use her cuteness as a force for good, but more importantly, she knows how to use it as a force for capers and hijinks.

Garak making her clothes, teaching her the art of cunning deceit and helping her embrace her Cardassian background, teaching her Cardassian culture. More hangouts in the holosuites basking on steaming rocks. And the two of them giggling in tasteful mirth at Bashir because he finds Cardassian literature boring.

Gossiping with Bashir and Jadzia, learning to treat wounds and carry a bat’leth, never growing tired of Dax’s many tales of woe, romance and adventure.

Sisko teaching her how to cook and inviting her to play baseball with him and Jake.

Quark occasionally letting her have a drink on the house because she can be more devious than him if she wants to be (“Listen, kid, if you’ll get rid of all this root beer for me, you can have as many free glasses as you want”).

Leeta and Rom being the cool aunt and uncle who buy her all the jumja sticks she wants.

Babysitting Molly and Kirayoshi and learning about plants, science and Earth history from Keiko. I wish Keiko had gotten more screen time - in general, but also of her in her element, studying plants and playing music. It's criminal that we never see Keiko play her clarinet in DS9, so I definitely would love to see the two of them playing music together if Ziyal felt so inclined.

Leaving O’Brien in the dust at darts for reasons he simply cannot fathom.

Listening to Klingon opera with Worf over glasses of prune juice.

Becoming an accidental stowaway on Kasidy’s freighter one day and Kasidy taking her with on missions to Bajor. Kasidy, Keiko and Ziyal hanging out together is a trio dynamic that never happened and definitely should have.

Talking stuff out with Ezri, the two of them commiserating over their respective identity crises.

Dressing up for nights at Vic’s.

Learning about Klingon music from that Klingon chef (I believe his name is Kaga) on the Promenade.

Punching each successive version of Weyoun in the fucking face (maybe even Weyoun 6, accidentally or intentionally, doesn't matter, it would just be funny).

Rebel strategies with Damar (I think he’d come around if he didn’t have it out for her and got over Cardassian bureaucracy), Kira and Garak.

Helping around the house whenever she and Garak visit Mila, long talks with Mila about her Obsidian Order days.

Weekly dinners with everybody.

I want to see her making friends and being supported by all the loving, caring people around her who love her (collectively and individually) more than her actual-piece-of-shit dad. I want her to grapple with the fact that certain people hate the mere existence of her enough to want her dead but also decide to go “hell with it” and fucking live for herself. She deserves to be more than the tragedy that made Dukat finally snap and descend into pure insanity. She deserves to laugh and cry and stomp her feet and dance and shout and sing and love and play and paint to her heart’s content. She deserves to be angry. She deserves to have a childhood, an adolescence, an adulthood and an elderhood. She deserves to live. And maybe to be the perpetrator of a few political assassinations as a treat.

So………....................suffice to say, I have a LOT of thoughts about Ziyal. I love her and I wish the show runners had loved her more, too.

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Part 19

Part One Link to ao3 Part 18.

Part Twenty

As always thank you to @stevethehairington and @thefreakandthehair for generally keeping my head on my shoulders and betaing everything I always throw at you guys ily ily ily

Step Nineteen: Sing a Song

“Are you sure about this Steve?” Claudia asked for the millionth time as Steve opened her coat and held it out in front of him with a patient smile. 

“I’m sure. Honest, Mrs. Henderson.” Steve said. He had gone through this exact song and dance with every parent except for Joyce and Hop, and Claudia was the final hold out. Truthfully he had expected Karen Wheeler or the Sinclairs to be the most unsure about leaving their sons at his house overnight, but a few small platitudes had been enough to get them to let go and go home. 

Well, a few platitudes and a bottle of wine to hit the road with. 

“Steven,” She immediately replied, a faux warning tone coloring her voice as she wagged her finger at him with a grumpy look in her eye. 

“Claudia,” Steve amended, still feeling that little awkwardness that he always had when he addressed any adult by their first name. He could practically hear his mother’s voice in his ear telling him off for being impolite. “It’s not a problem, and besides, they’re just going to sleep. Super easy.”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure if that was true, but he had hope. All six of his brats had been letting out big yawns as he had ushered them up the stairs a little while ago, and he hadn’t heard any shouting coming from upstairs yet. There was no way of knowing if the excitement of a sleepover would give them a second wind of some form, but even that would be short lived. 

Besides, Eddie had just left to drop off his friends with the promise of coming back soon, so the quicker he got the kids in bed, the better. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, dear, you know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for Dusty and the others,” Claudia said, finally allowing Steve to help her into her coat, “I just can’t believe you don't get tired of having them all here so often. I mean, doesn't it exhaust you? I can barely handle the occasional playdate they have at my house!” 

“It does exhaust me,” Steve joked with a soft laugh, “but it’s also nice? A bit hard to explain, I guess.” 

“You’re starting to sound like a father,” Claudia teased, buttoning up her extremely bright pink coat., “You’ll make some girl very happy someday.” 

Steve laughed along because that was what was appropriate, but he couldn’t deny the weird pit in his stomach that was beginning to grow. A month ago he would have thought it was because of his breakup with Nancy and the prospect that he might never find someone he loved like her ever again. 

That made sense. 

But Steve could say with almost one hundred percent certainty that Nancy was nothing but a friend now. Someone important to him, but wholly platonic. He could also say that he still very much wanted to be a father. It was one of the things he wanted most in life.

So why was Claudia’s joke making him so uncomfortable? 

It made zero sense. There wasn’t any reason. Something just felt… wrong. 

Luckily their conversation appeared to be over. There were still the normal polite farewells and long goodbyes in the doorway, but that was all perfunctory. Steve could go through those motions without much thought, and before he knew it the front door shut and he was finally alone in his house once more. 

Thump. 

Mostly alone. 

“You shitheads better have your pajamas on and teeth brushed by the time I reach the top of these steps!” Steve called up from the bottom, standing still and relishing in the sudden flurry of activity that was coming from his bedroom. 

The kids weren’t even a bit frightened of him, but they still listened to him when they felt like it, and especially if he was doing something big like letting them all stay overnight so they could spend more time with El. It was almost novel, knowing they were going to actually do what he said with only minimal complaining. 

Steve waited one second longer before starting to climb the stairs, purposefully making his steps just a touch louder so he knew the kids could hear him approaching. He even made a show of slowly opening the door to his bedroom, only to be greeted by a truly miraculous sight. 

All six of them tucked tight into his bed, quiet and calm. Max, Lucas, and Will were even pretending to be asleep, just to really sell the bit. Max and Lucas weren’t doing too good, but Steve might’ve actually believed Will’s act if he didn’t know that Will always slept on his left, and not his right. 

“Look at that, turns out you can do as you’re told,” He said, putting his hands on his hips and biting his lip to avoid directly laughing at how good they were pretending to be. The ‘sleepers’ opened their eyes, and the others all relaxed at the easy going tone their babysitter was using. 

“Fuck you, Steve,” Mike grumbled, ever the contrarian. 

“I can still call your mom and dad to pick you up, Wheeler,” Steve threatened lightly, both of them knowing he would do no such thing. 

Still, it was enough to get Mike to back down, grumbling as he snuggled in tighter between Dustin and El. 

“How’d the plan go?” Dustin asked eagerly, leaning over his grumpy friend and jamming his elbow’s into Mike’s ribs, causing the other boy to snarl and try to push him off without success. 

“Pretty much perfect,” Steve sighed walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling at one of Max’s braids idly just to rile her up a little bit. “El should have no problem going to school next year.”

The kids immediately began to cheer and whoop, already excitedly planning all the things they would get to do together next year.

All except one. 

“What’s wrong Supergirl?” Steve asked softly, furrowing his brow at El’s stormy expression. “I thought this would make you happy.” 

That was the whole reason he had come up with this insane plan- he had wanted to make El happy. And yet, here she was, practically miserable. 

El sucked in one cheek, chewing on it in a move that was so reminiscent of Hopper it almost made Steve laugh. She looked just like her dad when he was deep in thought. 

“I am happy about being allowed to go to school,” El finally began, her words slow as she thought through the exact words she wanted to use. Steve waited patiently, knowing she would come to the words when she had them, or would ask for one that might help explain better. 

“I am… uncomfortable with lying. Friends don’t lie.”

Friends don’t lie. 

Steve wasn’t exactly sure who had taught that to these kids, but if he ever found out, he would not be responsible for what he did. 

Don’t lie. What a stupid thing to teach kids. In Steve’s opinion- honesty was overrated. There was nothing wrong with a white lie, or a big fat one, as long as it was for a good reason. What was the point in telling his mother that his dad was out with his secretary again? What sense was there in being truthful when Carol asked if the other girls thought she was mean? Saying those things just hurt everyone, Steve included. 

It was better to be smart, to be strategic with the truth, and hope for the best. He would lie to everyone around him, as long as it was what would keep them happiest. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and actually, knowing would hurt more. 

Still, he couldn’t say that to them. Especially not to El of all people. The other kids barely understood; her black and white way of thinking wouldn’t be able to get it. Not yet. 

But then again, maybe it would be better if she never did.   

“Friends don’t lie, but friends do keep secrets,” Steve decided, hoping that would be enough. “We’re going to keep your secrets, so you can stay safe. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” El said almost immediately, knowing how important her safety was to Steve. She paused, and Steve could practically see the wheels turning in her brain as she let his words truly sink in. 

Once she did she took a deep breath and turned back to him, making sure Steve was looking at her as she spoke. 

“But I still don’t like it? Does that make sense?” El asked hesitantly. 

“I don’t like it either,” Mike said, and this time Steve could tell he wasn’t just agreeing because it was El. Mike’s little glower had turned into a full blown scowl, and his arms flew around as his voice began to raise, “El saved the world. Twice. She’s a hero, not a monster!” 

No, she wasn’t a monster, and Steve would never want her to think of herself as one, but the world wasn’t so kind. Before he could even begin to try explaining that, the kids kept going. 

“It does kind of suck that I can’t tell my mom anything,” Max admitted, uncharacteristically quiet as she kept her eyes firmly on the blanket covering her legs. “I don’t care about telling Billy or Neil or anything, but my mom asks me about my nightmares, and I can’t tell her why I have them. I’ve never been good at keeping secrets from her.”

“My mom’s still bummed about Mews,” Dustin muttered. 

“My mom knows and it’s still hard to talk to her,” Will added on, looking far too old for just being twelve. 

They all looked old. It was like Steve could almost see the adults they would be someday far down the line. Adults with secrets to bear, and lies to tell, and too many things they would never be able to explain to the world around him. Things that their mothers would never be able to help them with.

Was that what he was now?

Steve had never even considered talking to his mother about everything they had been through. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind once. And now that he was thinking about it, he still couldn’t imagine a world where he would ever talk to his mom about any of this. 

… It was hard to recall the last time he had talked to his mom about anything real. 

“I know it sucks, but it’s not safe guys,” He said, focusing on the thing he could worry about and ignoring the panging ache in his heart. This wasn’t a time to think about his mommy issues. This was about the kids. 

“Yeah, being put in cuffs once was enough for me,” Lucas said, unconsciously rubbing at his wrists. “Not fun.”

“I do not want to go back to the lab. Secret’s are necessary,” El agreed, reaching over and tangling her fingers in Lucas’s, “but they suck.”

“Secrets suck a big fat one,” Dustin declared. 

El leaned back, quirking her head to the side. 

“A big fat what?” She asked, the absolute picture of innocence she was. 

There was a beat of quiet as they all registered exactly what she had just said, and then as a group they all began to laugh. Steve tried in vain to stifle his giggles, not wanting El to feel like she was being laughed at, but she was smiling too, pleased as punch to get her friends feeling happy again instead of sad. 

“I’ll explain it some other time, Elliegirl,” Steve promised, tugging the covers more securely around the brats as he did. “And you guys can always talk to me, you know that right? I’m not the same as your parents, but I’m here.” 

Some sleepy nods and yawns answered him, and Steve figured the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. But, just as he reached over to grab the lights, a quiet little voice broke through the silence. 

“... Who do you talk to?” 

Steve paused, his fingers still curled around the knob on his bedside lamp as he turned to give Will a curious look. 

“What?” 

“You said we can talk to you, but who do you talk to?” Will explained, a little nervous like always, but not backing down. 

No one. 

“Plenty of people. I’ve got my friends, and Nancy and Jonathan,” Steve replied, a little too cheerfully, trying to ignore the immediate response that had come to mind. 

“But you can’t talk to Eddie or the others about the upside down stuff, and you barely talk to Nancy and Jon,” Max argued, joining Will in staring Steve down now that he had considered the question, “so, who do you get to talk to about this, Steve?”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Steve asked, expertly maneuvering around the situation. He ruffled Dustin’s curls, finally free of his hat, poking him in between the eyes to add an extra annoyance. “I’m the one that worries about you brats, not the other way around.” 

“We are friends, Steve. Aren’t friends supposed to watch over each other?” El insisted. 

Steve opened his mouth but quickly shut it before he said something stupid like they weren’t friends or it didn’t work that way. 

But wasn’t that the truth?

The kids were friends with each other, Nancy was Mike’s sister, Jonathan was Will’s brother, Hopper and Joyce were the parents. Where did Steve fit in that equation? ‘Babysitter’ had been an easy thing to use as a placeholder, but how much longer could he say that? What place was Steve supposed to be in for them as they got older? He wasn’t their brother, but he couldn’t see a world where he fit as one of their friends. 

“You’re wrong,” Dustin grumbled, pulling Steve out of his head and back into the moment. 

“Excuse me?” Steve said, more than a little shocked. As far as he knew, El was the only one who could read minds, and he hadn’t said a word. 

And yet, they were all glaring at him, unhappy with whatever they had seen on his face. 

“How many times do we have to say you’re in the party?” Mike muttered, a heavy red blush on his cheeks as he burrowed deeper into the pillows to avoid looking at anyone. 

“Dumbass,” Max added, just to even things back out. 

A hot heavy warmth spread through Steve’s chest and he bit down the stupid smile that was 

threatening to break onto his face. Whatever he was, it didn’t matter. They cared, and that was what mattered. 

“If I need to, I’ll talk with you guys,” Steve offered, knowing deep in his bones that he would never do such a thing. 

“Promise?” Lucas murmured.

“Promise,” Steve lied with a soft, honey sweet voice, shutting off the light and letting the hallway lamp and the glow of the pool illuminate the room in a gentle cool tone. “Now it’s really time for bed.”

“What about Story and Song?” El asked. 

Steve raised his brows in surprise, reminded with a jolt that despite looking just the same, El wasn’t like the other kids. 

Story and Song was a little tradition Steve had started for the nights that Hopper had to work late, an easy way to get her to go to bed in an unfamiliar house without the comforting presence of her dad. He would read one of the short stories from his big book of Disney stories, sing her a song, and she would sleep until Hopper came to pick her up. It was sweet, but none of the other kids would have ever dared to ask for such a childish thing. They would want to act more grown up, more mature, always in a rush to grow up. 

El had no such qualms. 

A familiar storybook was being floated into his lap, and none of them, not even the boys, were protesting. In the blink of an eye, they weren’t old anymore, just kids who wanted to hear a story they already knew to help them fall asleep. 

“Which one do you guys want?” Steve asked, ignoring the lump that was starting to grow in his throat, flipping through the Disney storybook and feeling the worn edges against his fingertips. 

“Lady and the Tramp?” Dustin offered, seeing that Steve was already thumbing through that page. He turned to the beginning and rolled his neck getting into the mood to read, using the light from the pool outside as his guide. 

“Lady was a happy little dog. She lived in a big house with Jim Dear and Darling.”

By the time Steve’s index finger glossed along the last sentences of the story, most of the kids had dropped off. Will had fallen asleep almost immediately, with Dustin and Lucas tripping after him before too long. El had made a valiant attempt to stay up, but she was gone by the time Lady met the other dogs at the pound. 

Steve had just two hold outs left.

“G’night guys,” He said quietly, slowly sliding off of the bed and putting the book on the floor next to his bed. Mike turned over and ignored him, but Max sat up with a little glare. 

“You said we would get a song too,” Max said sleepily, rubbing at her eyes with both palms. 

“That’s being cheap, Harrington.”

Cheap? Was she actually serious?  

“You two… want me… to sing you a lullaby?” Steve asked in complete disbelief. El, he understood. She had no frame of reference, no way of knowing that she might be a little bit too old for things like this, but Max? 

Mike? 

“We just don’t think you can actually sing,” Mike said, his words punctuated by a ridiculously big yawn. 

“You gotta close your eyes then, and just listen,” Steve sighed, unwilling to argue this late at night. 

“Deal,” Max said, snuggling down into the bed.

Steve let his eyes fall shut, taking a long deep breath as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, putting his back against the bed and conveniently facing away from the kids. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed to sing, it would just be easier not to have to see them while he did it. 

But what should he sing? 

It had to be something soft, something easy. Something anyone would want to hear. 

The memory hit him like a ton of bricks. 

“Who could hate this song?” 

Steve had the answer. 

“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me…”

Tag List: Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[opossum-rights]

The Way Things Happen

After being caught in a villain attack, your life is intertwined with those of the aspiring heroes that saved you.

<<Prologue|Last Part|Next Part>>

Word Count, 3.2k

Weeks after the incident, you’re finally discharged. Though it’s not the joyous occasion you thought it’d be. It’s about the time that work studies should be ending and the students set to return to the dorms, but everyone thought it would be better if you were to spend a couple of days at home first.

Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you by throwing you right back into the swing of things. You would have preferred it.

You’d even rather have one of your teachers pick you up and drop you off, despite how embarrassing that would have been.

“I bet you’re excited to finally be out,” a cheerful nurse exclaims as she assists you into a wheelchair. She’s well-intentioned, but it’s hard to keep the grimace off your face. You shuffle a bit, a hand pats you on the shoulder. The nurse seems to assume your sour mood is just you having a hard time adjusting to the wheelchair. She’s partially right; the seat is stiff after spending weeks sitting in a padded bed, and your leg is acting up from the new position.

She helps you down to the receptionist desk, where your guardian is signing the last of the paperwork. They turn to you, seeing you for the first time since you left for the agency on the morning of the robbery. They keep an impassive expression, with only a hint of judgment in their eyes as they look over your admittedly disheveled appearance.

Geez, you think, it’s not my fault I was stuck in bed with a broken leg.

“Looks like we’re all good to go!” Your nurse hands them the duffle bag your belongings were stuffed into. She starts pushing you towards the door, waiting for them to point out which car is theirs. With a bit of a struggle she helps you get set up in the passenger seat, placing your wheelchair and your bag into the back.

The nurse comes by your door to say her goodbyes, that she enjoyed meeting you but hopes she won’t see you again too soon. It makes you smile. She gives you a hug and waves as you pull out of the parking lot.

The only sounds you hear are the car and the ones that pass it. You and your guardian were never close-not that you particularly wanted to be, but it’d be nice living in a not-so-hostile environment. What silence is left is tense and uncomfortable.

“You’re going back to school in two days.” They state; no room for negotiation even if you wanted to. You only give a hum in response.

After an hour of packed roads and darkening sky your apartment building comes into view. You brace yourself for them having to help you into your chair. You barely talk, much less touch. They pull into the designated spot, shutting the car off and rounding the side. It’s definitely more of an ordeal than it was leaving the hospital-less gentle hands and more harsh movements. When you’re in they take your bag and drop it on your lap. You wince, feeling the edges of a book poking your thigh.

Somehow, the halls of your building are more drab than that of the hospital. You're moved into the entrance of your unit, then left to your own devices as they busy themselves in their room. The apartment isn’t anything special-just enough room for the two of you.

It takes some work; you’re not used to navigating yourself using the wheelchair. You tap the wall a bit going into your room and almost fall as you stretch to shut the door, but you make it in one piece.

You’re pretty exhausted, having moved more today than you had in weeks. Only having the energy to take your meds and shuffle into your bed, you throw your bag in the corner, not even bothering to change.

//

It’s around noon when you wake up; you’ve been spoiled by the lack of daily obligations you had in the hospital. For a while, you just lay and stare at the ceiling. Even with the sunlight phasing through the curtains, the room is still cold. All of the decor and items strewn about that made the place feel lived in were moved to your dorm. All that’s left is empty shelves and things you grew out of. Another thing you miss about the dorm is the noise. You can always hear your classmates moving about-never loud enough to bother you, just to comfort you that there’s life around you.

“Time to get up,” you mumble, sore joints making you groan as you move about. You get changed, taking a moment to look at your cast and the names on it. You find yourself missing the boys, only being able to meet up with Todoroki and Midoriya once more before being discharged. You haven’t heard anything from Bakugou yet, though you’re not entirely sure how to feel about him.

It isn’t worth the time to unpack, you think, you’re leaving again tomorrow. A bit of time is spent scrolling social media before a low rumble comes from your stomach. Even though you’re out of the hospital, you’re not really looking forward to lunch/dinner. Your guardian’s taste is just as bland as the food was back there.

Some leftovers would do, you grab a container from the fridge and warm it up in the microwave without bothering to see what’s in it. A bottle of water sits beside you as you eat in the living room, staring disinterestedly at the tv.

“One of your teachers is driving you back tomorrow.” A voice breaks you out of the clouds. They stand in the entryway, just getting back for the day.

“Oh, you’re not?”

“I have to work. Already took a day off this week because of you.” You wince at their accusatory glare, bringing your gaze down to your feet. Their eyes follow, pausing when they see the signatures-probably shocked you know people who would do that. You can tell when they read Bakugou’s, a light scoff sounding out. You don’t dare let your chuckle out until they leave the room.

//

The day had been spent doing absolutely nothing. You don’t have the motivation to do anything, you assume thanks to your dull environment. As it stands, you’ve been on your bed staring at your laptop for hours, trying to start on an essay. Sighing, you finally shut it, putting it to the side as you lean against the headboard.

You wish you were already back at the dorms. You wouldn’t call any of your classmates friends, but everyone was still casual with each other. They’d talk to you, offer a seat next to them at meal times, and generally make your school experience all the more pleasant. Hell, even the hospital would be better than here. The nurses were sweet whenever they came to check on you and you even had some nice conversations with other patients.

In general, you just wish you were anywhere else. You wish you didn’t have to feel like an unwanted guest in your own home, especially now that you have a broken leg and are treated like even more of a burden.

Getting caught up in your head, you almost fall right out of bed when your cell rings.

It’s Bakugou.

“H-hello?” You stutter out while bringing the phone to your ear.

“Where the hell were you?” an aggressive tone comes through the other side.

“What?”

“Weren’t you let out yesterday?”

“Of the hospital? Yeah, but they wanted me to spend some time at home first. I’ll be back tomorrow.” You’re confused about why he cares so much, and also surprised he hadn’t deleted your number yet.

…

There’s a stretch of silence for a few moments, so you decide to just ask what you’re thinking.

“How did you know I got discharged yesterday?”

“Deku and Icy-hot were bitching about how they couldn’t visit you yesterday,” it doesn’t feel like he’s telling the entire truth, but you’re still giddy at hearing that the other two were disappointed about not being able to see you.

“So you overheard them talking about me and got… worried when I didn’t show up today?” You try to think of a good word; immediately you can tell it was the wrong one.

“Why would I be worried about you? We’re in different courses, how the hell would I even know if you were at school or not!” You’re wondering about that yourself, but you think it’s better if you just leave it.

“Well, tell them I’ll be back on campus tomorrow, but my first day back at class isn’t until the next day.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m sure they’ll be on you like mutts the second you get back anyway,” he states. It makes you smile a bit, you can tell he was wondering when you’d be back too.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you during lunch and stop by your table.” You say knowing that’ll get a reaction out of him.

“What? Like I’d want to hang around some extra like you,” he lets out a tsk.

“But didn’t you come visit me in the hospital?”

“Just to give that letter!”

You try to push down your laughter but can’t. It’s the first time in a long while you got to banter like this with someone.

“What are you laughing at?!” Little do you know, on the other side of the phone Bakugou’s cheeks started to heat up.

“Nothing, nothing! I’m just having fun talking to you.” There’s something about him. Even when he says harsh things you can tell he doesn’t always mean exactly that. It’s also just fun to egg him on.

“Having fun being a dumbass more like.” He mutters out, “I’m hanging up on you now.”

“Bye, Bakugou. See you at school!”

“No you won’t!” You hear a bang then the call cuts off.

What a guy. You can see why he’s such a hot topic around school.

//

The next morning, despite not having to leave until after noon, you get up extra early to get ready. You’ve found yourself putting extra thought into your appearance; knowing you were in the hospital for a while not able to take proper care of yourself has made you a little insecure. People at school were bound to notice you now that you’re wheelchair-bound.

You also need a little extra time to make it down to the parking garage, having to push yourself to the elevator.

The teacher who was sent to get you wasn’t there yet. You busy yourself on your phone.

Footsteps echo on the cement. A man steps around a car. Your eyes widen, he’s not one of your teachers. Bloodshot eyes copy yours. He glances around, probably expecting someone to have accompanied you down. He quickly schools his features.

“You’re the kid I’m supposed to grab? I’m Eraserhead.” He nods his head slightly in greeting. You lightly bow and introduce yourself. Still in his hero uniform; he probably just finished a class. The school day isn’t over yet-you really hope you didn't make him waste his prep time.

Here, he must see that you’re still not used to the wheelchair. He takes your bag and slings it over his shoulder, moving behind you to push you.

“Is this alright?”

“Y-yeah, this is fine. Thank you,” you rush out. It’s just as embarrassing as you imagined, even more so since they sent a pro hero when you were just expecting one of your business course teachers. Erasure helps you around to his car, smaller and more humble than you would expect from a pro hero. When you need assistance getting into the seat, he doesn’t make you feel like a burden. He’s gentle; studying your face for any sign of pain. He doesn’t rush you; letting you do as much as possible while acting as a support in case you need it.

In a way, he reminds you of your guardian-both not very expressive, both professional in going about their lives. But where they are cold under that solemn manner, he’s warm.

Must be part of being a hero, you think, caring about those more vulnerable than you, even if just in the little ways.

The drive back is spent staring out the window, quiet music being played on the radio. You assume he put it on for your sake, he definitely doesn’t seem the type to listen to girl groups.

“You can wait another day, if you want.”

“Huh? I’m sorry, what was that?” You backtrack thinking how rude that might have sounded.

“Your homeroom teacher is giving you the option to stay in tomorrow and attend classes starting the next day. Having just gotten out of the hospital, no one would blame you. You weren’t even supposed to be back on campus yet, but I was told your guardian insisted.”

“I think I’m fine,” you reassure. Sounds like they were eager to get you out of their hair.

“Speaking of which, thank you for taking the time to come and get me. I’m sorry if I took you away from work.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s my prep hour anyway. Besides, I need some time away from those brats.” He stretches his neck and sighs.

“Oh, yeah? I guess the students in your class do seem pretty eccentric,” you chuckle out. Having to spend all day with Bakugou would wear on the nerves.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Still, I’d imagine the hero course draws in the interesting people. They’re a lively bunch compared to the business course, that’s for sure.” U.A.’s first and foremost a hero school, so every department has a different view of them. Jealousy and admiration from the general studies kids, a sense of comradery from support, and an analytical approach from business. They were definitely the stars of the show.

“That’s not always a good thing. Would’ve preferred it if some of them knew how to stay quiet.” The bags under his eyes stick out against his skin. You feel slightly sorry for him, but there’s an undertone to his words that expresses a sort of fondness. With all they’ve been through this year, it’s no wonder they’re such a close group.

Erasure parks the car in the staff parking lot, the first time you’ve seen it. You can confidently guess which of the other vehicles is Present Mic’s. He helps you back into your chair, not letting you carry your belongings when you offer.

The walk through campus to the dorms is pleasant; the sun warm on your skin. You take a moment to breathe in. It’s the first time you’ve really been outside in weeks. Even with U.A.’s towering buildings around you, you feel calm, happy to be back.

Your home for the next 2 and a half years comes into view, your class number in bold above the wide doors to differentiate it from dozens of identical buildings. The entrance is unlocked, and you’re pleased to see the common room no different. Various students’ things thrown about, not enough to be messy but enough to make the place feel lived in.

“Again, thank you so much.” You take the bag from Erasure, sitting it on your lap.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. If you do decide to take tomorrow off, be sure to contact your home-room teacher,” he says, scratching the backside of his neck. He starts to walk off, pausing at the door before looking over his shoulder.

“Also, if there’s anything you need don’t hesitate to ask.” You figure he’s talking about you maybe needing help getting caught up. If that’s the case, you’d probably just go to your own teachers. He seems genuine though, so you smile and nod as you say your goodbyes.

//

You feel much more at home in your dorm room. Plenty of decor around showing off your current interests, being able to freely express yourself. It’s not a room in someone else’s house that you live in, it’s your own space.

You make quick work of unpacking, rearranging everything to how it was before you left. As you do, the sound of your classmates getting back bleed through the walls. The unintelligible conversations and footsteps down the hall were something you found yourself really missing while you were away.

Feeling truly comfortable for the first time in weeks, the afternoon is spent lounging around. A couple of your classmates stop by to welcome you back, even bring you dinner thinking you probably wouldn’t want to make the trip yourself. A knock hits your door, and sitting at your desk, just tell the person to come in. It isn’t anyone who’s in your class.

“Todoroki? What are you doing here?” You ask with a confused smile, waving him in. The boy looks a little lost, but softens up when he gets a good look at you.

“I stopped by the faculty office and asked your teacher for any papers that you missed getting.” He holds a small stack out to you, a grimace makes its way onto your face. Only two days and still so much.

“Are you okay? Does your leg hurt?” He sets the papers down on your desk, looking you over in concern. You shake your head and gesture to the stack.

“No, no! It’s just a bit much.”

“Oh,” he loosens up a bit, “if you have trouble catching up I could help.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I assume most of this is course related. Unless… you’d be willing to figure out agency financing for me?” You quirk an eyebrow.

“I could try. There’s definitely people at my father’s agency I could ask.” Todoroki furrows his eyebrows, nodding his head as he thinks to himself. You let out a little laugh, assuring him that you were just joking.

“By the way, how’d you know I was back today? I’ve been told that I was early.”

“Bakugou mentioned it this morning after Midoriya was wondering about it.” You imagine it was more like him yelling at Midoriya to make him shut up about you, but you knew he would end up telling them anyway.

“Well you’ll be seeing me around more starting tomorrow.” Though you never really saw him in school before your injury, so you’re not sure how much more.

You make a bit more small talk-mostly about what he and the others have been up to, how the rest of their work study was. The boy’s not much of a conventionalist, so you do most of the talking, but he doesn’t seem to get bored. You do notice he’s making more of an effort to pipe in now that it’s just the two of you.

Soon enough the room is bathed in an orange glow from the sunset.

“Thanks for stopping by, it’s been really nice seeing you again!” He gives you a nod, a small smile on his face making yours heat up.

“You’re welcome. I enjoyed our time together.” You can see why some of the girls around school call him a prince. He leaves, gently closing the door behind him.

You take a look through the papers he dropped off, wincing at what you read. An essay, math, an essay about math-maybe you could’ve used his help after all.

Just to add, all relationships between reader and the teachers/pro heroes are completely platonic. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

[queenvhagar]

One of the things that bothers me about how Rhaenyra is portrayed in the show is that it doesn’t really capture how deeply her daughter’s and Luke’s deaths affect her. Aside from the first episode, where she does look exhausted, the rest of the season makes it seem as though their deaths haven’t deeply affected her. If the writers wanted to keep the focus away from constantly mentioning her losses, they should have made sure the weight of those events hung over her in a more subtle way. But instead, Rhaenyra often seems too well put together. While Emma looks absolutely stunning this season, Rhaenyra doesn't come across as a grieving mother. Even when she’s poring over scrolls, searching for Targaryen connections in other royal families, or dealing with members of her council, she appears too well put together, even in moments of anger and stress (that slap feels like it came out of nowhere). After the traumatic birth of her daughter and the way Luke died, you’d expect her to look physically and emotionally worn out. I understand that the show wants to present her as a powerful figure, but it’s reached a point where she’s not relatable. Take the scene where she wakes up to talk to Alicent; Rhaenyra looks almost ethereal. Her braid is flawless, her face looks well-rested, and she’s far too put together for someone who’s been woken up so early. I’m not saying she shouldn’t take care of herself, but it would be more believable if we could see that she’s going through something really tough.

I still can't get over the fact that Rhaenyra goes through an absurdly traumatic stillbirth of her daughter... this trauma to her body and her recovery from this birth being a reason in the books for why she was physically unable to engage in battle early on... only for the show to have her, literally a day or two after pushing a baby out, decide to hop on her dragon, fly out to meet an enemy emissary, and then easily and quickly dismount. Like for a lack of a better term... ma'am your hoo ha? Imagine riding a horse after giving birth but the ride has way more rough movement and a landing on the ground to experience. Afterbirth recovery is painful and uncomfortable and it would be especially so for such an awful experience as the one Rhaenyra went through, yet it's completely disregarded for an unnecessary girlboss moment that just breaks immersion.

And it continues when they retcon her look of war at the end of season 1 and have her forget all about her stillbirth and the death of Lucerys after a couple of episodes. Her grief and bodily trauma should have been an easy way for the writers to explain Rhaenyra's inaction in this part of the story and the ways her council *could* have tried to take advantage of her in this state. But then they just... never used it... and instead she instantly recovers from birth and has completed the grieving process on speedrun and her inaction is solely due to her desire for *peace* in a war she is actively pursuing to win a throne because her father said it was hers...

It really makes such little sense.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Holy crap I’m loving your writing! Im especially obsessed with Ken and the ranch owner

I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do an fem human reader x Ken where the reader gets a bit sick, nothing too serious but Ken absolutely freaks out and thinks the reader is dying or sum (he learned about death from Stero Barbie. Also spiders. He’s terrified of both) and the reader thinks it’s a bit funny so she’s like “yeah I’m dying” but then he gives her the most terrified and sad kicked puppy look and she has to explain that it’s just a cold lol

Awh thank you!! Im glad that ppl still love my barbie movie stuff even though barbie summer has come and gone 💔

........

There were only two things that Ken feared after beginning his new life in the Real World:

One is the mortality of humans, as Barbie told him all about how fragile their lives were and the two paths they were given: either growing old and dying peacefully in their beds, or some terrible occurrence cutting it short long before their time on this earth was up.

The second was spiders.

He especially hated the spiders.

You only recently discovered he had that fear after finding one of those 8-legged critters in your house--or more specifically in his room, where he came barreling out from as though he accidentally set something on fire.

At first, you thought he really did start a fire until he dragged you back into there, begging you to get rid of the "strange beast".

You had no clue what he could possibly be referring to....and then he pointed to the corner, where a little cellar spider sat completely unbothered, weaving its web.

In that moment, you realized you may have turned him arachnophobic, considering you did show him one insect-themed horror movie this past Halloween. He kept freaking out over it potentially growing horse-sized or injecting venom into his bloodstream when he was asleep.

But despite you assuring him neither of those things could happen (and insisting that the spider was more afraid of him), Ken refused to go into the room until it was gone.

You find it hard to fathom that this same doll who led an entire revolt, came to terms with his own identity crisis, and bravely made the transition to humanity....was totally inconsolable in the presence of a tiny bug.

Then again, maybe showing him that movie--and allowing Barbie to explain why arachnophobia was among the top fears humans had--was a huge mistake.

Regardless, you made it your mission to get rid of the critter.

Oddly enough Ken insisted that you didn't actually kill it, but you found you it sweet that he valued its life despite it scaring the shit out of him. So you contained it in a cup, putting a napkin underneath it before releasing it outside.

After that, you mentioned how most people usually killed spiders and other pests that invaded their home.

He looked wildly uncomfortable at that fact, before he began talking about some rather... concerning things: like if the spider knew how short its lifespan was, how easily it could have been crushed, if it feared death or if it was even aware of it at all-

Before he could derail and start rambling about death itself too much, you stopped him, asking if he was feeling alright.

And he went quiet for a moment, before smiling and giving you a kiss, reassuring you he felt better.

Yet even as he left the room, he still appeared awful tense.

It was that day where you worried that it's more than just spiders he feared..

.......

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you sick??"

"...unfortunately, but it's nothing serious. Just a stupid cold I caught at work." Sighing tiredly, you sat up in bed, seeing Ken walk into the room.

He looked nothing short of horrified at how drained and exhausted you sounded this morning. "A-Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't want you to catch anything, so I'm sorry...but no kisses today."

"Then..what about tomorrow?"

You just rolled your eyes, drinking some tea you made for yourself. "Maybe, but we'll see if I wake up."

Although it was meant to be a little joke, your foggy brain forgot how seriously the blond often took jokes, and he rushed to your bedside, kneeling down.

His eyes were wide as he took your hand. "If you wake up??? Are you dying??"

Putting down your mug, you sighed once more, trying to figure out a way to remedy this situation before you upset him too much. "No....I mean I just feel like I'm dying, but.." You paused, noticing the tears coming to his eyes. "Ken?"

Now that he was a lot closer, you could see the utterly terrified look on his face--as though you kicked a puppy right in front of him.

Yep, it was already much too late. He was upset.

"I-I know tomorrow is not guaranteed for anyone, but you have to get through this, [y/n]! Please..I can't lose you, too...not when you've done so much to help me." He was extremely close to crying, his lips trembling.

Your heart sunk as you placed a hand ober his own. "Oh honey, I was only kidding around when I say-"

"Why do humans joke about death so much? Don't they know y-you...you can't come back? That they have such short lives?? O-Or sure, some believe you can be reincarnated but that doesn't make it any-"

At this point, he was just blubbering nonsense, so you took him into your arms. And for a moment he fell silent, before burying his face into your chest, trying to calm himself down. "I-I'm sorry.."

"No, no..I'm sorry. You're right..I shouldn't be joking about death around you." Frowning slightly, you stroked his hair. "I promise I'm not dying. Not today, or tomorrow..not for a long, long time. This cold will pass and I'll feel better soon enough."

".....a-are these the irrepressible thoughts of death Barbie had?"

'Oh.'

It finally hit you.

He was going through the same thing she once did.

"Ken.." You had him sit up so you could see his face. Aside from it being a little red and his eyes puffy and watery, there were tear marks trailing down to the stubble that had formed along his jaw and chin. "Why didn't you tell me you were having those thoughts?"

Sniffling, he just shrugged. "I don't know. And... I don't know why I'm thinking them. Barbie could blame it on somebody who was playing with her, but...I can't. Because I'm not a doll anymore, I'm human....a-and...those were my thoughts alone." He shuddered, terrified at that realization. "I guess I just..didn't wanna scare you, b-but obviously it's too late for that..."

A small chuckle came from him, although it dissolved into a small sob as he wiped his eyes. "S-Sorry, I....I want these thoughts to just pass already."

"And they will." You nodded, squeezing his free hand reassuringly. "It looks like you're just experiencing them for the first time, and that's okay. They won't be all you think about. And you don't have to apologize for how you're feeling, as long as you're honest with me."

"Th-Thank you.." He sniffled. "I should be taking care of you, not the other way around. Do you need you anything? More tea? Meds? Anything at all?"

You smiled fondly, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. "You're all I need right now, sweetheart."

That response seemed to bring Ken's giddy old self back, as he smiled bashfully in return. He melted back into your arms when you wrapped them around him, and he listened to your heartbeat: the only assurance he needed that you were still living.

Eventually...those thoughts of death did pass him by, and he felt okay again.

[soopsiesdaisies]

i mean, technically, (y)our marriage is saved - 4

Chapter summary:

Feyre learns things, learns of things, and is unsubtly kicked into thinking.

Read on AO3 + Tumblr Chapters overview

General warnings: Rhys, 6.9k

~*~

Rhys was curiously absent for the next three days, by which I meant that it actually wasn’t curious at all—as I swiftly concluded that, considering the devastated look on his face at my fear, he felt embarrassed, ashamed, and very guilty for losing his temper the way he did. 

I would’ve said ‘ good riddance’, had Mor not been present those three days, because she actually, for some unfathomable reason, seemed to like him. I assumed this was caused by the family loyalty that plagued most living creatures, for I couldn’t genuinely connect knowing Rhys and liking Rhys in a way that made sense to me. He was annoying and dangerous, all kinds of whiny—imagining myself knowing him for nearly all five centuries of his life was exhausting enough. How Mor continued to be cheery and perky was a mystery to me. 

The three days with Morrigan weren’t only Morrigan, of course. She still had a variety of duties to attend to, veritable mountains of paperwork to work through that she could not finish whenever I practised by myself during our lessons, and seemed like quite a busy fae female. But, for at least five hours every day, she was there to help me. 

My days were calm, almost comfortable. I’d wake up early from nightmares, though the architecture of the room meant I did not feel the way I did in my room back home, like the air itself was squeezing the life out of me. Neither did I expel my stomach contents after waking up panicking and sweat-soaked; the sheer radiance of the mountains and the sky, always visible, was enough to quell my nausea.

I’d then bathe, take breakfast in my room, and sit staring at my fingers that apparently had the power to scorch things and bend cutlery. Rhys mentioning that it was obvious I had magic — and how more obvious could it be, really, when I’d made my satin slipper turn into charcoal — bothered me beyond sensible anxiety, and I wished to have more proof. The accidental nature of my bursts of power implied that I was unable to control it and used my magic entirely on instinct. Even through my perpetual haze of exhaustion and general annoyance at being in the Night Court, I could at least acknowledge it was a problem. 

Mor tended to drop by my room at noon, when she’d usher me back to the hall where we’d had breakfast before Rhys vanished with his metaphorical tail between his legs, like a yelping puppydog. After lunch, during which my own hunger never failed to surprise me, we’d venture back down to the study-alcove with the big table. 

We’d chat on our way down, Mor and I. It was usually about everything and nothing, things like magic and folk tales and religious festivals and the weather. Mor would compliment my hair and I would compliment hers in return, and sometimes she’d promise to braid mine in an intricate pattern culturally significant to the Night Court. We spoke of tea and sandwiches, flowers and fae, and somehow I did not mind the shallowness of it all. It felt friendly and genuine, like I didn’t need to walk on eggshells when I was around her. Insecurity in my position, something that Ianthe often did prompt, never once appeared when Mor and I chatted.

I asked where Rhysand was on my second afternoon in the Court, after casually mentioning I hadn’t seen him in at all since he left and refraining from mentioning I hadn’t felt his presence either.  Mor, who appeared to enjoy being honest me, ended up putting down her pen and smiled at me, eyes slightly narrowed in apology.

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” It was better, I knew, to just be upfront with Mor. 

“Both,” she’d said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “I’ve been given orders, and I agree with them.” 

And that’d been that. 

Her body language told me she did, likely, wish to tell me where Rhys was, or perhaps why he wasn’t here as well. But she didn’t tell, and I, not wanting to take advantage of Mor’s guarded honesty — no matter how I could almost hear Ianthe’s, Tamlin’s, and Lucien’s insistence on digging deeper — left the matter alone. It was fine, really. More than fine: I did not wish to insert myself into Night Court business, given I was here as a guest and no more. Not knowing what was going on ensured that. 

Instead, I threw my entire being into the lessons with vigour. It was nice to not drown in my own head for once, instead filling it with letters and numbers and thick, strong walls I could lower and raise whenever I so wished. The labyrinth of my mind had become decorated with phrases I never once saw possible to imagine, my memories and thoughts filed away in order of importance. 

A library, though I’d never been to one. A library inside my brain. 

I made staggering progress. Mor was patient and enthusiastic, and her seemingly unwavering confidence in my ability to learn was incredibly encouraging: halfway through the first day of Rhys’ absence, she cited simple words and phrases I was to write down and I did so almost faultlessly. Day two went so swimmingly I felt urged to continue practising after she had to leave again, even picking up a children’s storybook to read in the bath; and on day three, she simply tasked me to write a variety of easy sentences all by myself. 

“You really are doing incredibly well, Feyre,” she said after I’d finished, her hand barely twitching to correct. She slid her finger over the dry ink and paper, scribbled a line through a word and wrote something down. “You’re a fast learner.” 

Though I didn’t really want to, I perked up at the praise. “You think so?” 

“Yes,” Mor said with a smile, pen scratching over the empty space below my text in an appreciative curl. “You’ve had four lessons, and you’re already writing on your own. Look,” she said, handing me the paper, “barely any mistakes.” 

I dragged my gaze over the text, noting the few corrections: some words where I should’ve used an f instead of a v, a d instead of a t, a couple of more difficult words where the sounds didn’t correlate with the actual spelling, and a note or two on where my handwriting was unclear. 

“I’m glad,” I said quietly. “My sister tried to teach me once, but we both got frustrated and then I had to go out to hunt. I thought I’d be a lost cause.” 

Mor hummed. “You have a sister?” 

“Two,” I replied, and I fell silent. 

A gentle breeze swept inside, ruffling the wisps of hair springing free from Mor’s braid. “They’re both human, aren’t they?” 

I looked back down at my practice sheet. 

“I don’t want to overstep,” Mor said. “I’m just—look, Feyre, I like you. I’d like to be your friend, and therefore I’d like to know things about you. You don’t have to tell me your deepest and darkest secrets, as I won’t tell you mine, not now… but I’d like to get to know you more.”

When I raised my head, Mor was still looking in my direction. Her face was kind, eyes patient yet curious; I withered.  

“Nesta and Elain,” I said, sighing. “I’m the youngest. Nesta is twenty-two; Elain twenty-one. My father was a merchant, my mother is dead, and we lost all of our money when I was nine. Nesta and Elain were twelve and eleven.” 

“That must’ve been hard,” Mor murmured. 

“It was,” I said wryly. “Debtors broke in not soon after and destroyed Father’s knee, barring him from being able to do any work. So I—” I pressed my lips together, flaring my nostrils. 

Mor waited. 

“We were going to starve,” I said. “We had no money and Nesta and Elain refused to do anything to prevent it—or maybe they did want to, and it just felt as though they didn’t, to me. But when I was eleven, I taught myself how to shoot a bow and arrow and lay traps, so I hunted. We ate the meat and I sold the pelts. Elain likes to garden, so she and Nesta would often prepare any vegetables she grew or any fruit we could pick in the forest for winter. Sometimes they’d chop wood, if I didn’t have time. Or,” I acquiesced, “Nesta would, and then wouldn’t for another three weeks because she wanted the splinters and blisters to heal.” 

“ So you were eleven,” Mor said calmly, “and you began to keep your family alive? For… eight years? And they didn’t do anything to help?” 

“They cooked when I didn’t have time,” I said. “They did the laundry, if we could do the laundry. They kept the fire going. Elain sold the flowers she grew throughout the warmer months and Nesta kept any curious onlookers at bay. They foraged when fruits started to ripen—” 

“You fed them,” Mor said, voice slowly rising in volume. 

I swallowed, mouth dry. “We equally divided—”

“ You didn’t,” Mor interrupted me. Her eyes blazed. “There was no equal division. They should’ve helped you more—you were the youngest, Feyre. It is your father’s fault you had to provide in the first place, but they should’ve stepped up just as much as you did when he failed to. More, considering they’re older—”

“ I wish they did,” I said harshly, “but they didn’t, or they couldn’t. They’re my sisters,” I continued, “and no matter how much I resent them for not helping me keep us afloat as much as they should have, instead of sitting on their arses because they didn’t want their nails to—”

I cut myself off, biting down on the inside of my cheeks until my mouth flooded with the taste of copper. My fingers felt incredibly hot, and when I looked down, I’d burnt my prints into the worn tabletop. 

With a frustrated grunt I ripped my hands away, squeezing them into fists and resting them in my lap. She had no right—none, to sit there and judge decisions made in an act of desperation. I hated Nesta and Elain sometimes, when the night was oppressively dark and my thoughts wandered to the human lands, but they were my sisters. 

My sisters. Only we could judge each other for what we did then. 

Mor sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. Her shoulders hunched a touch. 

“I told you I didn’t want to overstep and then I immediately did,” she muttered, grimacing. “I’m sorry, Feyre. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“But you did,” I replied sharply, watching Mor wince but take it. Then I sighed too, jutting my jaw outwards. “I don’t even know why I’m defending them. It’s not like I’ll see them again.” 

“You defend them because they’re your family and you love them, Feyre,” Mor said quietly. “I got—I took it personally. My family hasn’t always treated me well either and it hit a nerve. I should’ve held myself together.” She frowned, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Is it because you’re fae, that you won’t see them again?” 

“Yes,” I said, and I didn’t talk about the deal I’d made with Tamlin. A life for a life. It wasn’t relevant any longer, anyway. “Elain is—she has an iron engagement ring.” 

“Iron?” 

“Humans believe it defends them from the—from us,” I explained. Then I scoffed, a grating kind of chuckle without any humour. “It’s funny, really. How much humans hate our kind, and how any defence they have is just an old wives’ tale.” 

Mor’s gaze was soft. “Do your sisters hate the fae too?” 

“We all hated the fae,” I said. “And now I am one, and my sisters are not.” 

“So you cannot return.” An answer to a question she asked herself. “Because they will hate… what you are.” 

I stared at Mor for a moment, at her soft expression—the furrow between her brows, the downturned corners of her mouth. She still felt guilty, I noted, for assuming my family and hers were essentially the same. I didn’t know what her family did to her, I didn’t want to ask, but I was certain that only a few things were comparable. 

“They won’t miss me,” I stated. “They—everything I used to provide is now being provided by magic. Tamlin made it happen.”

Mor’s eyebrows rose. I could see what she was thinking already: the hypocrisy of hating the fae but languishing in the comforts brought by the fae. Perhaps the audacity of finding your sister replaceable with money. 

The pang of pure hurt was enough for me to clam up. Because maybe—maybe they didn’t replace me. Maybe they were just pretending they’d replaced me, like they’d rather be in that shack with me, the three of us sleeping in the same bed and complaining at length about our circumstances. Thinking otherwise… is what some vengeful part of me wanted, but I didn’t want to give space to.

To continue to talk would only foster it. 

As such, I promptly announced that I no longer wished to discuss it, and Mor blissfully acquiesced with no more than a curt nod and an understanding smile. 

We spent another hour working after that. Mor made quick work of the remainder of her paperwork, and I repetitively practised shielding and copied the alphabet and the sentences she sometimes slid my way after I had read them out loud. The sentences were random, though they often revolved around Rhys: Rhysand is the most infuriating High Lord, Rhysand has the wingspan of a fledgling, Rhysand should get over himself and stop being such a prick. It was funny, in that way one would enjoy antagonising an annoying sibling. And, I assumed, that was what Rhys was to Mor. 

My thoughts drifted during brief moments of reprieve, when Mor was too busy replying to requests to keep an eye on me and keep me working. Sometimes I played with shielding, cracking the wall of adamant just a smidgen to allow foul words to drift down the bridge; sometimes I kept it firmly shut, and thought of my sisters. 

I wondered if they were happy. If they were already wed, wrapped up in marital bliss, or quietly engaged and enjoying the season. I wondered if they knew what I’d become; I wondered if, despite our once shared hatred and fear of the fae, they would come to accept me as I was now—even if the chance of acceptance was about as likely as the chance I’d ever return to the mortal realm. I couldn’t imagine ever living there again, disregarding the fact I was no longer human: no matter our reacquired wealth suggesting I possibly wouldn’t even have to marry, I felt like it would freeze me to death. 

The human lands were no longer my home. And my home was wherever Tamlin was, now. It had to be. 

If he’d still have me. 

I winced imperceptibly, sneaking a glance at Mor to see if she noticed my change in demeanour. She was still bent over, the end of her braid brushing the table top and her hand shifting back and forth as she wrote. Still oblivious, or so she seemed. 

I gazed down at my practice sheet. My handwriting truly was abysmal: no more than a chicken scratch, wobbly and uncertain, though I could spot the similarities with Mor’s handwriting in the curve of our g ’ s and a ’ s, in the curl of our x’ s and the narrow point of our l ’ s. 

My hand ached. Tamlin wouldn’t force me to do this, if I gave up now; neither would Lucien. I had an inkling Ianthe would even encourage it, happy to write my correspondence for me—if only to serve her future Lady. 

The thought of being so helpless for the foreseeable future filled me with a nauseating, oppressive kind of feeling that I could only describe as an odd mix of dread and embarrassment. Being literate would help me hold onto at least a sliver of autonomy, in a world where everything would be decided for me except my love. 

Slowly and shakily, I started to write. 

The Spring Kourt Court kordee cordeya cordially infytes invyt invites you to the selle— 

The Spring Court cordially invites you to attent the marrej—

You are cordially invited to the se celabrash—

I wished I had a dictionary. I wished I wasn’t holding my pen so tightly, leaving it pressed hard against my bruised knuckle and sending a pulsing and dull ache through my entire hand. I wished I knew how to read and write already, I wished I’d never made the bargain, I wished that the Night Court felt less safe and that Mor wasn’t so nice and that Rhysand wasn’t fated to belong to me like a damn dog on a lead—

I wished for many things. Like how I wished that the answer to my wishes wasn’t a resounding no. 

Mor and I called it a day soon after the fact, leaving for dinner—though she had to go back to her own home and was forced to leave me to my own devices. She told me she’d try to see me again, before I left at the end of the week: when I asked if that meant she wouldn’t be available any longer, she winced apologetically and nodded. 

“Rhys wishes to take over, I’m afraid,” she said, drawing me into a hug that squeezed the breath out of me. “At least you can blow him out of the water with what you’ve learned. But I’ll be there before you take your leave,” she added intensely, “so I can say goodbye.” 

This goodbye was already difficult for me, which absolutely had to do with the prospect of facing Rhys again. I didn’t want her to go. Even if that was selfish. 

“Can’t you tell him to fuck off?” I whispered grumpily. 

Her laugh was more like a cackle. “Even if I did, he wouldn’t listen. Now go on, dinner’s waiting for you in your room—food is food for the brain, as I always say.” 

She walked me to my quarters, dawdling for another minute or so before disappearing a flurry of herby perfume and another tight hug. Though I wasn’t offended by her sudden departure, I did feel rather morose at the utter solitude that was sure to follow. Mor was an undeniably comforting distraction from my own warring thoughts. 

I ate easily — dinner was rice and chicken in some sort of spiced broth, smelling like heaven — and proceeded to settle down in bed with the children’s book I hadn’t yet finished. I still had to sound the words out, but it was getting easier every paragraph. Reading, it seemed, was indeed just like a puzzle: and the more I figured out how it worked, the better I became at it. The storyline helped too, something funny and simple that almost had me smiling. I wondered how many fae children claimed this book as their favourite.

Then, about an hour into my reading, someone hesitantly knocked on the door.  

My exhaustion from studying all day hadn’t left me incapable of sensing who the person could be—nor had his absence made me forget the cold and heavy atmosphere that always accompanied his presence. I closed the book with a snap, slid off the bed, and made my way to the door.

The face that greeted me upon opening spoke of pure guilt. 

“I really don’t have the energy for you.” 

Rhys shifted in place, shoulders hunched. “It won’t take long, I promise—I just… wanted to apologise.” 

“Apologise,” I repeated, slowly. His absence had grated on me more than I realised: now that he was here, in person, it was undeniably overwhelming to even be near him.

“Yes,” he said, and then he paused, frowning. “May I come in?” 

“No.” 

“Okay,” he said. He blew out a breath and smiled unsuccessfully, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Okay—it’s not necessary for me to come in, anyway, so that’s fine…” 

“Get on with it, Rhysand,” I interrupted. I was already losing my patience; despite how confusing and exhausting he was, his presence continued to bring me a strange mixture of calm and an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. It was upsetting. “I’m tired.” 

He swallowed. “Right.” 

Another pause. 

“If you’re just going to stand there,” I said, jaw clenching, “I’m going to close the door.” 

He leaned closer, trying to look around me at the room. “Are you sure I can’t come in?” 

“I’m sure.” When he didn’t reply, merely tightened his jaw and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, I raised both of my eyebrows. “Well?” 

Rhys took a deep breath. “I want to apologise for many things.”

My eyebrows remained raised. 

“But I mainly want to apologise for losing my temper during your first morning in my Court,” he said, grimacing slightly. “It was uncalled for and unnecessary, and I just didn’t… think. It is rather difficult to think clearly around you, especially when you’re very explicit about how you feel towards me. And that’s on me—I should be able to remain level headed regardless of the situation.” 

“Apology not accepted.” His sad eyes weren’t enough to sway me. “Anything else?” 

Rhys’ mouth twisted into a wry smile.

“Of course,” he muttered, and it was unclear whether he was referring to my blunt answer or my question. “I want to apologise for not being transparent with you in general as well.” 

Though his stance did not change, his eyes did become rather shifty when I narrowed my own. I found it easy to spot his inherent confidence below the act of misery; Rhysand was more than aware that he called the shots here. 

“I thought you refused to agree to telling me everything from now on,” I said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t ever divulge information, or that I shouldn’t have kept so many things from you in the first place.” He stepped closer and slowly extended his arm, holding out his hand with his palm facing up. “You’ll have to come with me so I can explain it properly. Is that okay?” 

I peered at his hand like it was something disgusting, though I couldn’t help but recall how wonderful it’d been when he cradled my face between his palms. Perhaps touch was important for mates. I didn’t know—I’d have to ask, even if I really didn’t want to ask him. 

Eventually, after a tense few seconds of utter silence, I ignored his hand soundly and pushed past him to step into the hall. 

“Lead the way,” I said, and Rhys took a breath, brushed his palm on his trousers, and nodded. 

He led me up a variety of steep, horrible, dreadfully lengthy staircases in the palace, a few steps ahead of me and never checking whether I was actually following. To be fair, he could probably hear me panting like an old horse after an extended sprint, so unused I was to climbing the endless steps: when we were halfway, though I’d hoped desperately at the time we were nearing the end, I’d become light-headed and was utterly convinced my lungs were spitting out blood with every deflation. 

The final staircase spiralled on and on, leading us into a circular chamber at the top of a tower. Its centre was occupied by a large, round table made of glittering black stone; and though nearly all the walls were windowed, the longest stretch of grey stone was covered by a massive map of Prythian, dotted with small marks, pins, and comically tiny flags. I couldn’t fathom why it would be marked—until Rhys stalked towards the table and waved me closer, gesturing at the second map of our world spread upon it, Hybern included. 

A closer look informed me that the map was incredibly detailed, the names of places — villages, cities, rivers, lakes, mountain ranges and its small passages — neatly marked. Figurines made of stone, like chess pieces, stood firm and lonely on specific places on the map. Yes, the detail was impressive—except the Night Court, which was utterly void of any kind of information. No names, just its border and rough outlines of its mountains. 

“This is a map,” he said quietly. 

I looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “I figured.” 

Rhys’ mouth pulled into a little smile. His eyes were positively gleaming. 

“Admirable deduction skills,” he purred. “Now, put it to work again—what do you see?” 

My eyebrows furrowed and jumped, but in a sudden bout of kindness, I indulged him. I stared at the map, at the place names that took me a few moments to decipher, the mountains and the rivers and every little figurine. The most obvious detail was glaring: the wall splitting our world in two, like gnarly and thickened scar tissue. 

“Again, a map that I’m assuming is accurate,” I said, pointing two fingers at the details. “The Night Court is here, then Day and Dawn… Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring. Hybern’s over there, and then on the opposite side, the human territory; it’s just Prythian like it is now, separated.” 

I glanced up, only to be met by Rhysand’s intensely violet gaze. His chin tilted just slightly, neck bending, and he asked: 

“Do you believe it should remain that way?” 

A cold, insistent feeling spread from my throat down into the rest of my body—circling my guts, settling in my extremities. 

Dread. 

“My—my family—”

“ Your human family,” Rhys finished quietly, “lives very close to the Wall, don’t they? They would be heavily impacted if it ever came down… with any luck, they’ll be prepared and will have fled across the ocean before that occurs.”

“You’re saying—” I swallowed, wet my lips. “You’re saying that as though it’s inevitable.” 

“Because it very well might be,” he replied. His face tightened; his eyes did not leave mine for even a second. “War is coming, Feyre. The King of Hybern has awoken. Amarantha—she was nothing more than a test.” 

Panic, after it’d come on and since faded, I would describe as a brief moment in which one’s body suddenly jumps into fight or flight mode, acting on instinct and a primal kind of fear that allows one to get away or stay hidden or battle one’s way out of danger, pain be damned. The innate human — and faerie; perhaps animal — conviction of and need for survival. Something that I often would have dismissed as nothing more than a simple response bred in through millennia of the fittest and smartest living to procreate. 

At this moment, it did nothing more than leave me scarcely able to breathe. 

“You mean—Tamlin hasn’t said—”

Rhys just looked at me, and I recalled the endless patrols in the Spring Court, the meetings I hadn’t been allowed to attend, the underlying anxiety and the explicit tension that permeated the air constantly. It had been rendering the manor house to feel as small as a closet, as if breathable air was making place for stifling emotion. 

He knew. He knew, and he hadn’t told me. I didn’t know why he hadn’t told me, even though I did, but I wanted to—I would have to ask, demand an explanation, because—

“The King of Hybern wishes to reclaim the continent,” Rhys said. “The human lands, the faerie territories—he’s been planning it for over a century. Amarantha’s reign was a forty-nine-year test, an experiment, just to see how easy it would be to force a land to fall to its knees. How easy, and how long, it can stay under the control of one of his commanders.” 

“Prythian is first,” I whispered, nauseated at the mere thought. 

“We’re in the way,” he replied simply. “We’d intercept his fleet before it’d even manage to cross the seas. That indeed means Prythian shall need to fall first.” 

My breath was rattling and laborious. I blinked through a sudden burning blurriness, rested my hands on the table for leverage, tried not to gag. 

“And the—the Wall, it…”

“It has holes,” Rhys said, “but they’re small. Sending his armies through them would be inconvenient and tedious work. He’ll seek to collapse it in its entirety and use the ensuing panic to take over, suppress resistance with ease, and create an additional stronghold to face the continent.”

“How long?” I breathed. “How long do we have?” 

The Wall had been a constant for five centuries. The holes allowed fae to slip through, to monstrously attack humans, but the size of Hybern’s armies had to be larger than I could properly fathom. If it fell—if it collapsed, allowing worse fae to march onto mortal territory, it would be—

“I don’t know,” Rhys admitted calmly. His hand reached out, hovered, before landing heavy and warm on my shoulder. “I brought you here because I need to know.” 

I decided against asking why on Earth I’d be a solution momentarily, deciding to focus on his hand on my shoulder. Though separated by cloth, the sheer warmth of his palm felt like a brand that forced me to breathe easier. 

Touch, I thought, it’s got to be important— but I waved it away. 

“There’s much I don’t know,” Rhys continued. “I don’t know where in Prythian he’ll attack first. I don’t know who his allies would be—people who’d rather kneel for him than fight him again,” he added, in response to my befuddled look. “I don’t doubt there would be fae who’d help him. Can’t fathom why, as the destruction was equally horrific on both sides, but—”

Rhys cut himself off, throat bobbing as he swallowed. He was getting worked up: shadows flickered, like he was losing the tight grip on his control. 

“Did you…” I began, hesitating when his expression turned briefly devastated, “did you fight in the War?” 

His chest expanded and deflated with several breaths, deep and rhythmic, and he nodded slowly. 

“Yes,” he said, “I did. I was… quite young, by our standards—just barely reached adulthood. But I wished to help. Convinced my father to let me lead a battalion of our soldiers. He acquiesced; I was stationed in the South, where the fighting was the thickest.” 

Rhys paused then, eyes distant and unfocused, and I resisted the urge to shush him—to let him clam up again, shove it back down, but I couldn’t manage to. I wished to know. 

“The violence at that time… I think it’s unparalleled by anything in written history. The slaughter was—let’s just say I have no interest in seeing such a full-scale slaughter ever again.” He blinked, visibly shook himself. “Either way, I don’t think Hybern will strike that way. Not at first, at least—or in Prythian. He wouldn’t waste his forces here, give the continent time to rally theirs as we attempt to push them back. No,” he said, “when he strikes, it’ll be through stealth and trickery. He’ll collapse the wall that way. We need to be weakened, and Amarantha was the first step to achieve that.”

“How weak are we now?” I asked quietly. 

“We have people who have realised that they are powerless,” Rhys started instantly, ticking off on his long fingers, “several untested High Lords, and a variety of broken Courts with High Priestesses angling for control like wolves around a carcass. It would take one cleverly placed push to topple most of the Courts—and then it’s no more than a game of picking off the weakest, slowly destroying defences before taking over entirely.”

Like a game of chess. I looked down at the map, taking in the figurines, the strategy that must have been implemented vaguely taking shape in my mind. 

“You wish for me to fight,” I said. “That’s why you’re telling me this.”

Rhys remained quiet, so I looked up at him to read his expression. He was smiling, just slightly, simultaneously humourless and amused. 

“I’ve told you this for two reasons,” he said. “First of all—you’re close to Tamlin. He has men, yes, but he also has close ties to Hybern—”

“ He wouldn’t.” My heart was pounding, all of a sudden. “Tamlin wouldn’t—”

“—And I want to know,” Rhys said, voice cold and firm, “whether he will fight with us, if he can use those connections to Prythian’s advantage. Considering Tamlin would love to see me rotting and I wish him the very same, you have the momentous honour of being our go-between.”

I worked my jaw, nostrils flaring. “He’d never inform me of such things.” 

“ Perhaps he should.” Rhys’ mouth twisted in a sharp, fanged, feline grin; his grip on my shoulder tightened briefly. “Perhaps it’s time you insisted.” 

He tapped the representation of the Wall. The human lands. My mouth went dry. 

“ You and yours, Feyre darling,” he purred, infuriatingly handsome and smug and, as my traitorous rationality insisted, right. “ Would you forgive him if he kept information from you that would’ve saved your family? I sure wouldn’t—I’d rip him apart, limb from limb.”

The possibility wasn’t something I wished to think about, and Rhys’ manipulation was blatant. But it worked, somehow: I could feel the familiar rage rise up inside of me, an emotion only Rhys managed to prod to the surface. 

“ What’s your other reason for involving me?” I asked harshly, nearly snapping my teeth and him when he tutted at my tone. “ Rhysand.” 

He laughed then, almost delighted and very much barking; daringly slid his hand from my shoulder to my upper back. His thumb rubbed at my spine. 

“You, my love, have a skill set I am in desperate need of.” He sidled closer, leaned in. When I glared at him I could nearly count the pattern in his irises, the number of eyelashes he had. “A little birdie told me you caught a Suriel.”

“It wasn’t very hard,” I snarked. 

“ For you, maybe,” he said. “I tried and failed, twice. Regardless, I saw you trick and trap the Middengard Wyrm like a precious little rabbit, and I need you to help me.”

“Must I?” 

“Only to retrieve what I need.” His sharp teeth were gleaming. “You’re the only hunter I trust. Even if you’re capable of betraying me,” he added swiftly, when I opened my mouth to say just that, “you simply wouldn’t. And, of course, there’s also the matter of your propensity for magic…”

I gritted my teeth. “So I burned some things… big deal—”

“ The acts of power you’re displaying are the very things that would urge a High Lord to choose his heir,” Rhys said sharply. “I’ve told you before—I heavily suspect all seven of us have given you more than we intended to, and it’s already showing. You’re downright leaking magic, and as you are my mate, you are evenly matched with me; the most powerful High Lord in recent history. The abilities you possess… with a handful of smackdowns, you’d be a High Lady before Beron would even be able to formulate a protest in that miniscule, smooth, misogynistic squirrel brain of his—”

“There are no High Ladies,” I protested, so quickly it was like a habit I didn’t have. 

“Well, not currently, no,” Rhys replied. “And sure as shit not with that attitude. Just imagine, Feyre darling: you, wielding snippets of power of all seven High Lords. You’d control the shadows, raze armies, freeze legions… do you have any idea what that could look like in the upcoming war?” 

My head was reeling. I reached up and futilely pushed at his chest, but Rhysand wouldn’t even budge. 

“ There’s no way to know,” I said, “whether I would even have the power to put any force behind the magic I might have inherited from all of you. And just— stop asking rhetorical questions you’re already imagining the answers to!”

“ But I need you to imagine the possibilities,” Rhys insisted, stepping even closer. “Feyre—you need to learn. I can teach you to control the gifts, if not for Prythian’s sake then for your own, to be aware of yourself and your endless horizons—”

“Tamlin wouldn’t allow it,” I snapped, breath quickening, frantic. “He’d go mad with worry—”

“Tamlin isn’t your damn keeper, Feyre.” 

“He’s my High Lord.” I shook my head, pushed at his chest again, but put an appalling lack of strength behind it. Rhysand loomed, growing visibly more irate. “I’m his subject, Rhys, I—”

“ You,” he said, eyes flashing and voice dark, shadows creeping up his neck, “are no-one’s subject.”

I stared up at him, directly into his eyes, and he stared back. His fangs were peeking through, resting against his bottom lip, creating little divots; his pupils were trembling, on the verge of slitting but not quite. 

“ As I told you before I got you here,” Rhys whispered, “he sees you as a toy. To him, you are an object, a prize, a cuddly little stuffy he received after a job well done. And sure,” he added meanly , bottom lip jutting out into a pout, “you can spend the rest of your immortal li ves pretending to be just that—pretending to be lesser than him, something he can put away and take out whenever you may or may not strike his fancy, dressed up in massive frilly dresses for him to tear off you like Cauldron-damned wrapping paper… all of that’s fine, as long as it’s your choice…” 

“Rhys,” I hissed, my gaze dropping, but his other hand lifted—fingers touching my chin, tilting it up, forcing me to meet his eyes again. 

“But I know you, and I know you’d be damned to let him do that to you for longer than, say, a year or two?” He scoffed. “A short blip in our immortal lifetime, Feyre, I assure you. That male sat on his arse for fifty years twiddling his thumbs, overcome by anxiety, all woe is Tamlin; he is a monster no-one shall love. And then you arrived, entirely by accident, and he somehow ensnared you and then sat on his arse once more as you were touched, abused, shredded to fucking pieces—”

“ Your point,” I snarled. “Get to your point—”

Rhys laughed again, cold and sharp, and leaned in so close his nose touched mine. “My point? My point is that you can refuse to act like the perfect princess Tamlin wishes for you to be and learn. You can be a vital part of winning this war, as long as you master the magic we gave you. The war will be coming, Feyre—and not one fae save for yourself will give one tiny, singular shit about your family across the Wall, which means you’ll need to save them yourself.” 

My eyes closed. 

“ You want to save the Mortal Realm, as it is your first home,” Rhysand said. “I can understand that. But in order to save it, you need to become someone Prythian will listen to— bow to, if necessary. One day,” he said , “and it may or may not come, you will be the last line of defence between the King of Hybern and your human family. And you’d better be prepared.”

He shifted then, and in the next breath pressed his mouth between my brows. My own breath caught, I felt his chest still, and then we simply stood there for a few moments—just his lingering kiss against my forehead, and my hands against his chest and his hands on my back and under my jaw.

I wished with some part of me — some pulsating part of me, somewhere in my chest, nestled behind my ribcage, high up in my throat and right there, where his lips touched my skin — to slip forwards and rest against his chest, dig my nose in the hollow of his throat. Absurd, mad, maddening: there couldn’t be anything sane about that damned mating bond, when its urges were so…

My heart felt torn. My rationality, idem ditto. I wanted to rip myself free and stay right where I was, or perhaps even closer. I wanted to have the entire length of the room between the both of us, yet wished desperately to mould myself to his body.

Rhys drew back. I swayed, caught myself, and his face dipped as though he went to kiss me—but it veered to the left, and only his cheek touched mine. 

“ It’s your choice,” he whispered roughly, like I would be capable of picking up where we left off after a moment like that. “ Think it over—these last couple of days here, and perhaps the month you’ll spend in Spring before coming back. But Feyre,” he said, and his head dipped further, and I wanted to dig my fingers into his hair and keep him but drag him away from me all the same, “only you can decide what you’ll do with your life. Not Tamlin, not Vanserra, not that simpering little High Priestess, and not me. Just you.” 

I kept my eyes closed. I kept my hands on his chest. I breathed him in, I felt the heat of his body, and for a moment I let myself imagine what it would be like to just have him like this. How he easily offered himself, exposing his neck, his jugular; like it was an simple, mindless choice and I only needed to reach out. 

It felt like I was betraying something precious to me. But his words—

Perhaps, I thought, and I wished to curse myself for thinking it, to be kept like something precious is worse. 

[sicknessbysalem]

inherited someone else’s oc (with their permission) so i wanted to write fic! (they asked for no tag)

tw for emeto, fever, sickness

warning: sickee is a single dad with a daughter, who appears in the story, proceed as you wish.

There were two things Novak Daskalov loved more than anything else in the world.

His daughter, Elya, was definitely the thing he loved the most. She surprisingly looked so much like him, like his family, nothing like her mother’s. At four years old, Novak was sure she was the only thing keeping him in shape during the off season with her endless energy and constant wanting to play, to follow him almost everywhere because she wanted to learn everything.

And then, football. Football was his first love. The first place he felt welcomed, valued. And sure, maybe having a kid wasn’t in the plan, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He knew that.

Besides, if football hadn’t worked out, Novak had a back up plan. A few. Anything to give his daughter the best life possible. He wanted her to have the life he didn’t in some ways.

But so far, football worked out. He was drafted right before he graduated. Signed to a phenomenal contract.

His mom especially was supportive. She would watch Elya at no expense if Novak couldn’t take her. She would brink Elya to home games and do everything she could to support her son and granddaughter, and Novak was thankful he ended up with her all those years ago.

Novak was beyond grateful for the life he had. Truly. He did what he loved, surrounded by people he loved. Naturally, there wouldn’t be a reason why he wouldn’t be.

So even when the practice the day before hosting conference rivals at home felt more grueling than ever, Novak still pushed through.

His mother was cooking dinner, Elya would be home from preschool dying to hell him about her day. He had something motivating him.

When practice was over, though, just thinking about those things seemed exhausting.

The thought of Elya being all over him, talking a hundred miles an hour about whatever it was she learned in school, oddly made Novak feel… well, not annoyed at all. But exhausted.

And Elya would want to play, to hear about his day, she always did. And even that seemed too much to bear.

Then there was his mom. To make Elya’s life easier he moved back in with her. So Elya could have a permanent room, with all her toys and minimal fear of forgetting one between houses. And truthfully, the city living expenses were crazy anyway.

His mom, despite Novak being nearly twenty-five, was still very much a mother. Not only were the thoughts of her cooking dinner, something he usually loved, making his stomach turn in a weird way, but even just going home and being with her, he felt as though he would put her out by her worry. She was still very much a mother.

But, Novak decided, ultimately going home would be better. He couldn’t just up and leave Elya like that. Without telling her. He wouldn’t do that to her.

So, Novak drove home. The ride was quiet, he didn’t bother putting on the radio, he just drove in silence, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Maybe he was nervous. Big games like this always made him nervous.

But those times only made his stomach uncomfortable at worst. None of the other things he was feeling right now showed up at those times.

Before he knew it, he was home. He didn’t even bother grabbing his stuff, he’d need it tomorrow. Less to carry.

He let himself in.

Elya heard him and it didn’t take long for Novak to hear her little feet running toward him.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Elya shrieked excitedly.

Novak wanted to rub his forehead, or cover his ears. Just this once. Usually, Elya’s excited greetings made him equally excited, but now they just reminded him of the headache he didn’t even know he had until twenty seconds ago.

He kneeled down, hugging her, “Hey princess, how was school?”

Elya hugged her father tightly, beaming with the infectious enthusiasm typical of a four-year-old. "School was great! I drew a picture of us playing soccer, and Miss Sarah said it's really good!"

Novak managed a weak smile, trying to mask his discomfort. "That sounds amazing, sweetheart! I can't wait to see your masterpiece. Did you have fun with your friends today?"

Elya nodded vigorously, her braided pigtails bouncing as she recounted her day in preschool. "Yes, Daddy! We played dress-up, and I was a superhero! I saved Teddy from the evil dragon!" She giggled, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Wow, you had such a big day, didn’t you?” Novak chuckled.

“I did!” Elya giggled, “And Miss Sarah said she was so excited to watch you!”

“Oh, she did?” Novak smiled. Despite the way his head felt almost dizzy, hearing Elya talk was definitely entertaining.

“And… and Billy thinks you are cool,” Elya said, “Everyone at school thinks you are. I told them you are! You are the best daddy in the world.”

Novak ruffled her hair, “Well, that’s easy when I have the best daughter in the world.”

Marina poked her head around the corner as she heard Elya’s excited retelling of her day.

Novak could feel her eyes on him. She knew something was wrong. Her mother’s intuition, she called it.

“Ellie,” Marina said, “Why don’t you go get your picture to show your daddy? Let Grammy and your daddy talk for a minute.”

Novak wanted to bolt out the door again.

Elya, though, didn’t seem to even suspect anything was wrong. She giggled and ran off.

Novak sighed, standing up. Marina was in front of him.

“Novak,” Marina sighed, “You look awful.”

“Thanks mom,” Novak said, rubbing his face, shaking his head, “Just a long practice.”

“A long practice not even a week after you had a sick kid?” Marina said, “Something tells me not to believe that one bit.”

“Mom, I’m fine,” Novak said, “Long practice. We’re hosting our conference rivals tomorrow afternoon, here. So Coach Johnson is working all of us past our limits. As much as he can without hurting us for tomorrow.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Marina said, “Dinner tonight is that soup I used to make when you were sick as a kid.”

“Perfect timing.”

The words come out of Novak’s mouth before he realizes it. Marina arches her eyebrow, that same look she gave him when she wanted him to confess to bad behavior she knew he did.

“I mean,” Novak said, “Elya was sick. So… now that she was able to go back to school she’s okay to enjoy it.”

“Right,” Marina hummed.

Novak sighed, “After she goes to sleep, okay?”

Marina gave a small smile, but didn’t say anything else.

-

By time Elya is in bed, tucked in and mostly asleep, Novak can’t help but wish he was about to go to bed too.

Dinner was hard. Faking feeling fine, trying to eat while trying not to cave to the ever increasing nausea and discomfort, anything to convince his daughter he was okay, took a lot out of him.

Novak still felt awfully sick to his stomach, too hot and too cold at the same time. But, he forced himself to take a cool shower.

That made him feel worse.

By time he changed, he couldn’t make himself brush his teeth, fearing doing so would simply would make him sick on the spot.

It was only 8:30. He couldn’t go to bed now. Plus he had said later.

He went to the living room, where his mom sat on the couch, watching her show. Whatever one it was tonight. Novak was too tired to figure it out.

Novak sat beside her. And just like when he was younger, he didn’t say anything really, just laid his head on Marina’s shoulder.

Marina doesn’t ask. She knows. She knows he used to do that when he was younger. If he was sick, hurting, scared, anything. He went to her. Especially after Nikolai passed away.

She knows by the way he wraps his arms around his stomach. She knows by the way he swallows thicker, each one giving way to a shaking breath or a tiny whine. She knows he’s not feeling good, and Novak knows that she does.

But, she does feel his forehead, his cheeks. Her hand is cold on his skin and that tells him enough.

“You’re burning up Novak…” Marina shook her head, “You should drink some water, take some medicine.”

“No,” Novak shook his head slowly, “That’s really not a good idea.”

“Did you drink at practice?” Marina asked, “I know that Coach is hard on you, but…”

“I did, when I could,” Novak said, “I didn’t even start feeling sick until I got home.”

“Are you going to play tomorrow?” Marina asked.

“I’m going to try,” Novak said, “I don’t want to let them down. Or Elya. Or you.”

Marina chuckled, “Novak, you are Elya’s whole world. Nothing you can do will make her feel different. Not right now, not ever knowing you. And you’re my son, maybe not on paper but as close as you can be, I’m always proud of you.”

“It’s just a lot,” Novak admitted, “But, I love every second of it. Usually.”

“I’d rest up Novak,” Marina said, “Go to bed. Early or not, you could use it.”

-

He felt like he was going to throw up. Right then, right there.

In the locker room before the game. Before the national anthem. Before everything. Before he even had the chance to make a play.

“Dude,” Jayden said, sitting next to Novak, who braced himself against his knee, staring at the ground, staying rigid, trying to appear strong and fine, “You look horrible.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Novak admitted, “I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re going to hurl dude,” Henry said, standing in front of Novak.

“Definitely not doing that,” Novak said, maybe telling himself would make it true. “Now shut up and let’s go kick those cats’s asses.”

“Hell yeah brother,” Jayden said, slapping Novak’s shoulder.

The team headed out in preparation.

Standing there, in the sun, was doing Novak no favors. But he had to hold out. It was only… two hours? Something like that. Novak could do it.

The first quarter commenced, and Novak pushed himself onto the field, determined to fulfill his role despite the growing discomfort gnawing at him.

The adrenaline initially masked his symptoms, but as the game progressed, the relentless nausea intensified.

With each play, Novak's resolve wavered, his focus now divided between the game's demands and the churning turmoil within his stomach.

He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the urge to double over.

During a timeout, Jayden shot Novak a concerned look. "Seriously, man, you're not looking good. Maybe you should sit this one out."

“Yeah, seriously,” Henry said, “You look like one wrong tackle could-“

“I’m fine, I’m playing,” Novak shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead. "I can't bail on the team now. I'll tough it out. My mother is here. My daughter is here. I can’t bail now."

Henry, noticing Novak's paleness, chimed in, "You're a trooper, Novak, but there's no shame in taking care of yourself."

Despite his teammates' concern, Novak soldiered on, forcing himself through the motions.

The first half ticked away, each minute feeling like an eternity as the relentless illness clawed at him.

It’s halftime that everything falls apart.

Novak’s body forced out a heave out of nowhere. It’s dry, for now, but Novak knows another one won’t be.

He undid the straps of the helmet. He was sweating, his shoulder length hair sticking to his face.

Jayden is grabbing his arm before he knows it, taking Novak to the team bathrooms, on the other side of the wall from the locker room.

In a daze, Novak stumbled towards the bathroom, his teammates guiding him as he fought to regain some semblance of composure. Each step was a struggle against the relentless waves of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.

Barely making it to the sink, Novak doubled over, retching uncontrollably as his body purged itself of whatever remained.

He gripped the edge of the basin, feeling weak and drained.

Jayden stood by, offering support and a bottle of water once the ordeal subsided.

“Novak, you don't have to go back out there, man. Seriously," Jayden said, concern etched in his voice.

Gasping for breath, Novak shook his head weakly. "I have to. Elya is watching. I can't let her down."

Determined to push through, Novak splashed water on his face, attempting to wash away the clammy feeling and the persistent ache in his gut.

Despite the way his body felt shaky from the inside, he rejoined the team in the locker room, refusing to let his illness take him out. He would finish this game. For Marina and Elya.

As the second half commenced, Novak forced himself back onto the field. Every step was an internal battle, but the thought of Elya’s hopeful eyes in the stands fueled his determination.

In a surprising turn of events, a play opened up, and Novak seized the opportunity. With sheer grit and determination, he dodged defenders, racing down the field.

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar as Novak crossed the goal line, scoring a crucial touchdown right at the last second.

For a moment, Novak felt a surge of pride, but it was short-lived. The surge of pride quickly turned to a feeling of a surge of sick coming up his throat. The exertion Of running that distance,coupled with his illness, hit him like a ton of bricks.

He took off his helmet again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Med tent,” Jayden said, “Let’s get you there. Henry… go get Marina.”

Jayden grabbed Novak’s arm, trying to keep his teammate steady as they made their way across the field

Every step was a battle that sent Novak’s stomach lurching, but he was going go do everything to not get sick. Not there.

As Jayden guided Novak towards the medical tent, every stride felt like an eternity. Novak's vision blurred, his body swaying with the effort to remain upright. The nauseating sensation clawed at him relentlessly.

Struggling to contain the roiling turmoil within, Novak clenched his jaw, determined not to succumb to the sickness in front of the entire stadium. But as they reached the tent, his efforts proved futile.

Barely making it past the entrance, Novak lurched towards a nearby trash can, heaving uncontrollably as his body rebelled against him. Jayden stood by, offering support and trying to ease Novak's discomfort.

Soon, Marina arrived, her worry etched on her face as she rushed to her son's side.

"Novak, dear, what happened?" she asked, concern and compassion evident in her voice. But she knew. She just asked to be polite.

Novak heaved, hard, again into the trash. And again. And again.

But despite the heaving, a strange mix of empty or abundant, or just simple saliva. He could hear Henry yelling.

“Elya, Elya, No!”

Wide-eyed and apprehensive, Elya saw her father's state, Novak felt her latch onto his leg. It was how she showed she wanted to help.

Novak threw up another time, before coughing against bitter saliva. But even that died down too, leaving him to just gasp for breath.

“Daddy, what happened?” Elya asked.

Novak leaned forward, bracing his arms on the rim of the trash can, dropping his head for a moment, toward the bin.

Once more, Jayden grabbed Novak’s arm, Marina pulled Elya back, leading him to sit on a bench in the medical tent. As soon as he was sat, head in his hands and elbows against his knees, Elya rank back to him, sitting next to him.

“Daddy? Daddy? What happened?”

Novak looked up, offering a small smile. "Remember how your tummy was upset a few days ago? And you couldn’t do anything, not even play with your friends? Well, daddy can get like that too.”

“But why did you get icky,” Elya asked.

Marina went to reach for Elya to bring her back, maybe scold her for the questions while Novak was still catching his breath.

But Novak held his hand up.

“Well, there’s these itty bitty things… you can’t see them, but sometimes, they make your tummy really upset,” Novak explained, “You had some itty bitty germs of your own, and they made your tummy feel bad, well now daddy got some of his own.”

Elya, undeterred by the situation, clutched her water bottle tightly.

"Here, Daddy. Drink some water. It'll make you feel better," she offered, her innocence and care shining through, “You told me it would make me feel better, and it did!”

Despite how horrible everything felt. The way his head was pounding, his vision was blurry, he jnew he was too hot and yet he felt cold. All the symptoms that could hit him, did. But, he found it in him to chuckle softly, gratefully accepting the water, taking a few sips.

Marina and Henry exchanged concerned glances, understanding the toll the game had taken on Novak.

“Come on champ,” Henry said, slapping Novak’s back, “you gotta get home before you infect the rest of us.”

Novak nodded, forcing himself to stand. Though he stumbled, his head swimming with the position change, he steadied himself. Enough to pick up Elya.

“You better change and get in bed as soon as you get in,” Marina said.

“We can make a fort!” Elya said, “And then daddy can sleep! Because I had to sleep. And I can read daddy a story! Like he did!”

“We’ll see, sweet pea,” Marina chuckled, before rubbing Novak’s shoulder, “Come. The sooner we get home the sooner we can get you feeling better.”

[heavensbeehall]

More about the other victors & chapter 16

They're a little strange, but I'm pretty sure neither of them is going to try to make me uncomfortable by stripping naked.

Again, Katniss is not a sexual being yet. She is most comfortable with Beetee, Wiress and Mags because she understands those type of relationships. Also the three of them are awsome.

I glance around the Training Center. Peeta is at the center of a ribald circle of knife throwers. The morphlings from District 6 are in the camouflage station, painting each other's faces with bright pink swirls. The male tribute from District 5 is vomiting wine on the swordfighting floor. Finnick and the old woman from his district are using the archery station. Johanna Mason is naked again and oiling her skin down for a wrestling lesson. I decide to stay put.

Peeta is much better with people, all kinds of people. Katniss doesn't know what to do with naked people. So she stays with the nerds.

I want to know what Finnick and Mags talk about at the archery station.

I feel bad, knowing that their district must have suffered much worse than ours. I feel I need to defend my people.

Here's a chicken or the egg question. Are the victors from 3 and 4 rebels because their districts are rebellious. Or are the districts rebellious because their victors are?

Plutarch Heavensbee in the magnificent purple robe with the fur-trimmed collar that designates him as Head Gamemaker. He's eating a turkey leg.

I don't know why I find it hilarious that he's eating a turkey leg, but I do. I am imagining one of those rlly big ones from fairs and stuff.

When we make our way into the dining area, I see some of Peeta's gang have other ideas. They're dragging all the smaller tables to form one large table so that we all have to eat together. Now I don't know what to do. Even at school I used to avoid eating at a crowded table. Frankly, I'd probably have sat alone if Madge hadn't made a habit of joining me.

I wonder whose idea this was. I suspect Chaff. But we can see some of the school versions of Katniss and Peeta. He was always with a group from the town kids. She prefers to be alone.

Chaff doesn't seem as bad at lunch. He's sober, and while he talks too loud and makes bad jokes a lot, most of them are at his own expense. I can see why he would be good for Haymitch, whose thoughts run so darkly. But I'm still not sure I'm ready to team up with him.

This description of Chaff reminds me of my dad. He's a people-person and feels the need to entertain everyone all the time. (It can be exhausting and I can see why someone as introverted and inhibited as Katniss would be put off.) But the fact that he makes an effort to seek out Haymitch--who pushes everyone away--makes me love him. You know Haymitch says mean stuff to him and he just laughs it off.

After lunch I do the edible-insect station with the District 8 tributes--Cecelia, who's got three kids at home, and Woof, a really old guy who's hard of hearing and doesn't seem to know what's going on since he keeps trying to stuff poisonous bugs in his mouth.

I think Woof knows exactly what he's doing when he puts poisonous bugs in his mouth.

Finnick appears again when I'm picking up fishing tips, but mostly just to introduce me to Mags, the elderly woman who's also from District 4. Between her district accent and her garbled speech--possibly she's had a stroke-- I can't make out more than one in four words. But I swear she can make a decent fishhook out of anything--a thorn, a wishbone, an earring. After a while I tune out the trainer and simply try to copy whatever Mags does. When I make a pretty good hook out of a bent nail and fasten it to some strands of my hair, she gives me a toothless smile and an unintelligible comment I think might be praise. Suddenly I remember how she volunteered to replace the young, hysterical woman in her district. It couldn't be because she thought she had any chance of winning. She did it to save the girl, just like I volunteered last year to save Prim. And I decide I want her on my team.

Do we thinks Mags did have a stroke? I have a headcanon that she's had a speech impediment her whole life but that's just in the imaginary Mags story I write in my head.

In fact, I feel as if I've somehow been initiated into the victors' circle. During the next two days, I spend time with almost everybody headed for the arena. Even the morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers.

Yellow flowers again.

Mags, who I can understand a little better now, decides she's just going to take a nap.

Queen shit. I love Mags.

[violetsaffron5]

Beautiful Disaster (3)

← Chapter 2 • series masterlist • Chapter 4 →

↳ 3 | Red Flag

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

settling into life at Tokyo Tech and learning more about Gojo

words: 3.6k

an: Gojo's out here thinkin' he's on The Bachelor

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Life goes on like normal after that. As normal as it seemingly can be being a transfer student and learning your way around campus and to classes.

Your mother tried calling a few times, and you still haven’t answered any of them, opting to just reply via text simply stating “I’m alive.” There’s nothing in the world that would bring you to willingly answer her calls or call her for any reason, life or death.

Not after what she did.

But you don’t let yourself dwell on it. The only time you’ll really need to deal with her is when you go home for school breaks, and once you graduate and are on your own, you really won’t have to ever deal with her hot and cold personality ever again.

And it’ll feel so good having that weight lifted off your shoulders.

Aside from that, the week has been a little boring. You’ve yet to have any classes with your new found friends, not even seeing them after classes, which has been fine.

You’ve been so busy during the days and ensuring you’re getting your homework done that you’ve been exhausted in the evenings, doing little else but laying on your bed listening to whatever music your roommate put on to do her work.

Nitta Akari has been assigned as your roommate. She hasn’t spoken to you much over the last few days but she’s sweet and from what you’ve gathered she’s friends with Utahime and the silver haired woman Gojo was talking to on the night of the party.

Mei, you found out her name is and all three of them are part of the school choir group.

So far, you’ve had two classes with Gojo, both of which he completely ignored your presence in. Not totally surprising considering you don’t know each other.

You’re a little embarrassed actually, that you took the first opportunity that presented itself to jump into bed with someone you don’t know.

But maybe that’s a good thing. You do need to move on, your ex having left the worst fucking taste in your mouth - the other reason you chose to jump ship from Kyoto to Tokyo.

And besides, the night with Gojo was fun - more than fun actually. Sloppy, drunk, thrilling and you’re not sure you’ve ever had sex like that before; animalistic, almost passionate in a way. Not in an intimate sense, but truly able to let loose and let yourself enjoy the pleasure.

Plus it was good. Way better than you could have hoped from a drunken one-night stand.

Walking into your next class, World History, you notice Gojo sitting a few rows from the back. It’s impossible not to notice him really, with his long legs spread in front of him.

He’s in dark jeans and a hoodie, hair tucked into a gray beanie - the darkened ensemble making his porcelain skin appear more pale than you remember it being from the other classes you’ve had with him earlier in the week.

Gojo doesn’t bother to look up from his phone as you take a seat, two rows from the front next to a guy with black hair tied into two space buns and what appears to be a black tattooed line running across his nose.

His eyes flicker from you to the front of the room uncomfortably several times as you study his face - you really don’t mean to be rude and stare but you can’t help but wonder how many other people around campus have face tattoos.

So far, this guy and Sukuna are the only ones you’ve come across, but two in one place is far more than you’ve ever met in your life.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear your name being called. “Didn’t think I’d get so lucky, having a class with you.” Suguru says as he takes a seat in the row behind you, “I see you’ve met my man, Choso.”

Choso turns and grins at Suguru as they clap their hands together quickly before really introducing himself to you. You apologize for staring and make small talk for a few minutes before asking what his major is.

“Fine Arts with a minor in Art History.” He says, eyes flicking between yours with a sheepish smile.

It’s not really that surprising, as you take the time to look him over now that he’s facing you.

He’s attractive with tired dark eyes, two circular rings in both nostrils of his pointed nose. Choso’s hair looks soft and silky, bangs framing his face nicely and you’d venture to guess he’d look just as good, if not better with his hair down.

“So, do you think you’ll be around this weekend?” Suguru asks, leaning forward on his elbows waiting for your reply. His golden, feline eyes are bright today, unlike the last time you saw them - dark, tired and seemingly annoyed as you made your way down the steps of his place with Gojo in tow.

“I mean, as far as I know, yeah.” You reply, chewing on the side of your lip.

“Great.” He answers, cocky grin growing wider, “we’re having another party at our place, you should come. We’ll hang out this time.”

There’s something about Suguru that just seems so familiar, but in the rush and excitement of visiting a new school, going to parties and starting classes you didn’t really take the time to evaluate what it is.

But seeing him sitting here, leaned over looking at you with bright eyes and a never ending smirk, you realize he looks very similar to your ex - and the thought makes you want to turn away and never look at the man in the face ever again.

There are differences; Suguru’s eyes are golden compared to honey brown, the slope of his nose is slightly sharper, and his hair is much longer. He also emits a calming aura that just makes you want to be around him.

So different from Kenji, at least in the end.

You came to this school for a fresh start, to be who you want to be and not weighed down by events of the past. Suguru is a different person than your ex, and even though there are physical similarities, that’s seemingly where it ends. 

It’s not as if you couldn’t see anything happening with him in the future, it’s really just that looking at him reminds you of your ex and you’re not really ready for that.

Ultimately you decide to go to the party and resolve to find a way to keep a friendship between the two of you, and not let it go beyond that.

Smiling, you shift and look away from his gaze and you’re really unable to help the way your eyes land on Gojo, just behind Suguru’s shoulder. He’s not paying any attention to you still, but he’s also ignoring the girls that are sitting around him obviously trying to garner his attention to no avail.

You take the opportunity to note the cut on his eyebrow and lip that seem to be healing nicely - the little red starburst you left on his adams apple is still clear as day.

Clearly he isn’t worried about it, not having taken the time to hide it like you did your own.

You nod towards Gojo before looking back at Suguru, “thought you’d want to sit next to him.”

Suguru turns around, sees Gojo and gives a low chuckle, “nah, looks like he has plenty of company. You on the other hand- have lunch plans today?”

“I actually do. I’m meeting Shoko and Utahime after class to catch up before the next.”

Your gaze is lingering on Gojo as you speak and just before you turn around his crystalline eyes flicker up to meet yours. They seem to brighten a little, catching you staring at him, before he gives a salacious grin, all teeth.

There’s a brunette sitting next to him whose gaze follows his and scoffs when she sees your cheeks flush. Looking away quickly you shake your head and bite your lip, turning around just as the mountainous man from the party walks in.

You recognize him immediately as Fushiguro Toji, your professor for this class. Broad shoulders, bright emerald eyes you missed with the dingy light of the basement you first saw him in. His ebony hair hangs down to his ears, a scar on the right side of his lip extending down to his chin.

Even though he has to be at least twenty years older than you, he’s attractive in his button down shirt and black slacks.

“Alright, everyone, I’m Toji Fushiguro,” he announces, deep voice reverberating through the room.

There’s a girl at the front of the class with a light lemon colored top on; a soft brunette with blonde highlights who gives him a small wave, and you can see the way the corner of his lip tugs up and gaze lingers momentarily before grabbing a few things from his desk, starting the lecture.

“Who can tell me-” you zone out, slumping onto the table in front of you with a notepad prepared to take notes, readying yours for the most boring hour and a half of your life.

Making your way across campus, coffee in hand, you notice Shoko and Utahime sitting at a bench in the courtyard.

The spot they’ve chosen is beautiful, semi-isolated due to being near several cherry blossom trees that will look beautiful in the Spring. The courtyard is large and open with students sitting on the ground talking, some walking to their next class while others sit at the other seats available to them.

“I have been dying to ask you about this all week,” Shoko starts before you’ve even had a chance to set your bag down and take a seat. She doesn’t even properly greet you, “tell us everything.”

“Please don’t,” Utahime interjects with a groan.

You don’t have to ask what she’s referring to, to know Utahime told her she saw Gojo taking you upstairs over the weekend.

Opting to spare the dirty details, you just tell them the quick events of what happened - you had sex, fell asleep and then fucked again in the morning. When he said he’d call you before you left, you knew he was lying because he doesn’t have your number and that was the end of it.

“I’m actually kind of surprised he didn’t ask for your number,” Shoko shrugs, “that’s kind of his thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He dates a lot. Pretty sure he’s dated pretty much everyone on campus at this point.” Utahime shares. You can tell she’s bored of this conversation by the way she’s picking at her coffee cup absentmindedly.

That… stings a little. New girl and the campus ladies man clearly has no interest in you after one night. It really shouldn’t be such a bother, and it probably wouldn’t be if you didn’t have a good time, didn’t enjoy the little bit of conversation you had with him, even if there wasn’t any real substance to it.

“Including the two of you?” You ask curiously and they both stare at you like you’ve grown an additional head, or three.

“Fuck no,” Utahime’s voice is filled with disgust while Shoko slaps her shoulder gently, “we’ve known him our whole lives. That would just be weird.”

While nodding your head and humming, you notice Mei making her way towards the table you, Shoko and Utahime occupy, hips swaying dramatically with each step she takes, hair gleaming in the sunlight until she steps in the shade.

She glares at you from the corner of her sharp eye, nose turned up before addressing the other two, “you’re coming to our fundraiser this weekend, right?” she asks before a smug grin spreads across her face, moving a few strands of hair away from her face with long slender fingers, “make sure to bring lots of money with you.”

“Oh, what’s it for?” You ask curiously.

Mei stares at you for a moment, eyes flickering across your features, “choir.”

She doesn’t bother saying anything else, and her voice was filled with venom when replying to you, so you opt to not try and interact anymore. She talks with Shoko and Utahime for a few minutes before finally sauntering off, stopping at a few other groups along the way to likely say the same things to them.

Shoko rolls her eyes before pulling a cigarette out and lighting it, “I’m not convinced she isn’t hoarding the money for herself. It’s gotta be why she likes Gojo so much.”

Your brows furrow at the same time your ears perk at his name, “so she’s-”

“His girlfriend.” Utahime interrupts and you immediately feel like you want to vomit.

“No,” Shoko clarifies, glaring at Utahime, “well, kind of?” This is not helping the churning in your stomach and your face must show it because she’s quick to add, “she’s probably the most consistent out of everyone he’s dated but he’s just kind of casually dating some people right now.”

Shoko quickly excuses herself after that remark, saying she’s going to the vending machine, asking if you want anything while Utahime packs her things to run off to her next class. 

You busy yourself with gathering your things, waiting on Shoko to come back - she’s been gone several minutes and you can only assume she's taking a few moments to smoke again before being in her next class, one you realized on the way to the courtyard the two of you have together.

“Finally,” you sigh, placing your belongings in your bag as someone sits next to you, only to look up and be met with a lanky white haired man with little round sunglasses on.

Gojo sits, resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, “sorry to keep you waiting, baby,” he purrs.

There’s no denying Gojo looked great over the weekend when the two of you hooked up, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look great in class with his hoodies and joggers, even sexy with his busted lip and eyebrow.

But outside with the rays of the sun shining down on him as if he’s some holy, honored being worthy of being worshiped - he looks ethereal. He’s got a cigarette burning between his fingers, little round sunglasses on now that he’s outside, so dark they match the rest of his ensemble.

“Oh- uh, hey, Gojo,” you look around confused wondering why he’s choosing to pay attention to you now, “what are you doing here?”

“Satoru,” he easily corrects, “and you didn’t give me your number the other day and Suguru won’t give it to me, so I had to resort to stalking you.”

Your eyes widen at his comment before changing the subject, “Why are your glasses so dark?”

“Light eyes, sensitive to the light, and all that.” He replies easily, waving his hand in front of his face. You can’t see his eyes but you can feel his gaze on you.

“Hm. Is that genetic?”

“Haven’t even gone out on a date,” he muses, “and you’re already asking about genetics.”

Your cheeks flush immediately at his comment knowing he’s teasing just to get a reaction, and hating that it’s working so easily.

“Speaking of which,” Satoru continues before you have a chance to reply, holding his phone out to you, “give me your number.”

Given what you just heard about him several minutes prior, you’re a bit taken aback by the fact that he’s asking for your number now, rather than at literally any other point during the week. 

“From what I hear, you’ve probably got plenty of other numbers to keep you entertained. So why mine, now?”

It’s likely because he was just described as a serial dater, looking for another person to go out with for his own amusement or ego. He might like you a little, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a slight connection with him, though that could easily be explained as physical attraction.

He chuckles, “love that you’ve been asking around about me already.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to ask- they were quick to tell me how much of a whore you are, not even thirty seconds ago.”

“Ouch- that really hurts coming from you.” He feigns heartbreak by putting his hand to his chest, pouting dramatically.

His facade breaks, chuckling as you tease, “Oh, I’m sure you’re absolutely devastated.”

“Do you think I’m a whore?”

You sigh, grabbing the phone he’s still holding out for you. You don’t even have to do anything to see all the messages littering his phone - they’re just right there.

Several new ones come in, as you hold it, from unknown numbers asking when they can go out again. It’s likely his interest in you will pass soon anyway. You’re aware that you’re new, and that adds a little something extra to the table when compared to girls he’s seen time and time again.

“Well, I don’t really know you, but I’m gonna say probably, judging by the amount of DM’s you have.” You answer honestly, “I still don’t see why you want my number.”

Despite being a chronic dater, he doesn’t appear to have many contacts in his phone. Just his roommates, parents and Shoko- and you feel a little special about that because all the messages he seems to have are DM’s through apps, not personal texts.

“So we can go out, obviously,” he says and you can just hear that he rolled his eyes by the tone of his voice. “I had a good time with you. Just thought maybe we could have a good time in other ways too.”

He says it so nonchalantly that it’s hard to get a real reading on his interest level, but when you enter your contact and hand his phone back he looks at it for a second before smiling and slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Your other girlfriends aren’t a good enough time?” You ask curiously, trying and failing to see his interest in you.

“Really want me to answer that?”

Taking a deep breath and chewing the side of your cheek, you debate on how to answer. You might as well keep up the feeling of being special while it lasts - you’ll have to ask Shoko if he tends to give his number out like that with the sole intent of bringing on those feelings of specialty to him right away, or if this is new territory.

“No,” you sigh before responding, “not unless you tell me how boring they were.”

He chuckles, it’s low, amused, “mm, jealous already. Love it.”

“I am not jealous, Satoru,” you clarify with a laugh, grinning back. You can’t even help it- his smile is infectious.

“Sure, babe.” He’s grinning, loving the way his name sounds rolling off your tongue so easily, “so, date?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth contemplating his question. Giving your number to someone is one thing, but actually going out with them is a whole other ball game. Sure, he seems insistent, like it’s something he really wants to do. And sure, you’ve already slept with the man.

But dating isn’t something you’re all that focused on. You need to make sure you keep your grades up so you can graduate as early as possible.

Plus, last time you dated someone it ended so disastrously bad you actually decided you’d rather live as a hermit and never go out again.

But now that a new opportunity is sitting in front of you, it’s hard to make a decision.

On one hand, he knows nothing of you or your past- it’s a fresh start and that’s the whole reason you transferred to begin with.

On the other, thoughts of your time with Kenji flash through your mind. The happiness, but mostly the heartbreak and how much it hurt, the anger and resentment after. Were the good times even worth it in the end?

You know you’re thinking about this too much. It’s one date. It’s not as if that’s going to end with you laying in bed crying to yourself about how you thought you’d end up getting married and starting a family.

It doesn’t have to be more than it is - two people going out for an evening getting to know one another.

You’re smiling when your eyes meet his again, and his smirk only widens to a grin, knowing your answer before you’ve said it, “yeah, okay. We can go out.”

“Satoru,” a sing-songy voice calls out, “are you ready to go, baby?” The brunette from class doesn’t look in your direction and you don’t turn to face her either, it doesn’t stop you from seeing her cross her arms in your peripherals though.

“Yeah, just a sec,” he replies, not turning to meet her gaze when she clicks her tongue and places her hand on his shoulder suggestively. He pulls out his phone, opens the calendar app and looks through the next several days, “I can squeeze you in next Thursday.”

“Uh- okay…?” You scoff before he winks and the two of them walk away, her arm hooked into Satoru’s.

“You okay?” Shoko asks gently, walking back over where you’re sitting. You’re more shocked than anything, that that just happened immediately- like the universe was really trying to shove it in your face that even though you felt special talking to him, in the grand scheme of things, you’re really not.

“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s just head to class.”

@petalsrdead @sugurunicorn @niki-sun @lilith412426 @sofiaconlaz @lxvephxbic @kash2 @violetsapplejuice @iam-mia9 @laylasbunbunny @creolequeen11210 @xiaosie @lem-hhn @s-witch-bitch @yogurttea @slut-jr @watyousayin

[thatcanadianfangirl]

JJ Maybank// Healing Takes Time Pt.2

JJ Maybank X Jade (Booker) Routledge

Plot: When Jade is all alone at the chateau falling asleep on the hottest night of the year she hears a loud noise that makes her skin crawl. She discovers JJ on the sofa after what seems like a run-in with the kooks again. With some reluctance he allows his best friend's Twin to patch him up. Falling apart in her clutch that night she discovers that the clash he experienced earlier was something deeper than just some lousy rich boy. He returns to her every time it occurs, he never talks and always leaves before Jade stirs away. That is until one day he does.

Word Count: 4.7k+

Disclaimer: Brother's bestfriend, slow burn, talks of domestic abuse, and mentions of underage drinking. minor writing errors even though this is edited.

{Part One}

----

The excruciating heat from the summer sun had made sleep too uncomfortable to keep. Sweat began to latch onto every inch of my body like a second skin. I felt drowsy as my mind began pulling to the front again.

The empty space beside me still radiated warmth from the boy who occupied it last night. A strange feeling of lost overwhelmed me at the knowledge of JJ escaping while I was unconscious. But there also was a foreign and very pleasant emotion starting to plant its-self.

What the fuck is happening to me?

With a cat nap stretch I grasps the most ancient iPhone I've laid eyes on, but it was $500 dollars cheaper than a brand new one, I shouldn't be complaining. Three hours before my shift at the Pelican Yacht Club and another hour ahead of my alarm. Unfortunately there's no chance of me passing out again with the temperatures so high today.

With a heavy heart I scoured the house just incase JJ decided to relocate himself. Every room was completely vacant and there was no sign of life anywhere. John B still appeared to on hiatus and the concern began fluttering. That kid better have the decency to send me a text soon.

After a hot shower I still felt mentally exhausted from the night I had with JJ. It shattered my heart to see him that vulnerable, that broken. I want that prick to drown himself six-hundred feet under the sea. Jay wasn't anything close to perfect but he definitely didn't deserve to be beaten by the one person who was suppose to protect him.

I hoped that blonde boy didn't escape back home to that sorry excuse of a man he was forced to call dad. My throat tightened and it was hard to contain the burning tears.

I took my time preparing myself. I wasn't a fan of your every day kook but with the pay my promotion brought just about made up for it.

Capturing my Jeep keys, I made my way out of the Chateau and through the porch. The yard was Pogue-less and the Twinkie was not in her original spot. Where the hell was my brother? Although my day would go a lot more seamless if I knew where he was. I'm still passive-aggressive towards him for leaving me in that damned place alone.

With the spare time and extra cash I had I was able to grab a bite to eat and hit up the gas station. I really needed to get mobile minutes and fill up the Jeep for the rest of the week.

----

I was relived to be sitting at the reception desk in the cool air conditioned building. Watching a few others from the cut maintaining and fuel up various boats out on the docks. A job I had last year and frankly didn't miss for a single second. Taking this job serious was the best decision I've made in my entire life.

Through the glass door I could see a familiar SUV pulling up front. I spotted Kiara, another friend of my twin brother. She rounded the rear and started for the front doors. I consider Kie a friend of mine as well, she often pulled me along with them. Always mentioning how nice it was to have another girl around to balance out that intoxication masculine energy.

"Good evening, Miss Carrera. Is there anything I help you with today?" I announced in my service voice once she walked through the doors. She flashed me a mischievous grin and I swore I could giggle at the sight.

Kiara wore a vibrant and suitable outfit for the hot weather. She always had such a fun style making me yearn for a body I didn't have. I loved my curves but the hope for Kiara donating to my empty closet was almost comparable. It was hard to find cute discounted or thrifted clothing in my size.

"Yes, Miss Routledge I need the Carrera's Princess y72 fueled and prepped for an evening trip to the mainland." She held an elegant tone and straighten her posture as she addressed me.

I forced a laugh down and continued to play along with our ruse. "Not a problem, It'll be ready for 3:00pm. How does that sound?"

"That simply will not do." She shook her head and both of her front braids followed. "Did you not hear me? I said evening trip." I almost chocked sensing how much she struggled to keep the kook behavior.

"My apologies Miss Carrera. How does 5:00pm sound instead." I offered,

"Yes, why couldn't you just get it right the first time?" she pawed the air in displeasure.

It took two seconds before we fell into a fit of laughter so hard it began to hurt. Her dark skin starting to turn pink as she gasped for air and it only made me laugh harder.

The clearing of ones voice had me swallowing down the ounce of happiness I had today. Fear washed over me as I spotted my boss Pike, standing a few feet away. Arms crossed over his lean chest as he analyzed the scene before him.

"Sorry, sir." I croaked.

He approached the reception desk and leaned his body weight against it. With firm green eyes he stared me down. At the tense anticipation I prepared myself for a scolding. A small one, but a scolding nonetheless.

Glancing at Kiara I could have sworn her eyes almost rolled out of their sockets. I opened my mouth to investigate my punishment but nothing came out.

"Loosen up kid." He breaks into humorous smile. "You dedicated so much to this company and as long as you're doing your job I don't care who comes to visit you during your shift." He shrugs nonchalantly.

The sword above my head vanished into thin air and my lungs began filling back up with oxygen again. "You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that. I was worried you were fed up with me." I say with a smile of appreciation.

"I could never be, just keep up the good work." He replies with a wink and a too friendly smile as he began retreating.

"As always." I speak over my shoulder watching his tall frame disappear behind the pristine blue wall. My presentable mannerism fleeting my being once my attention clung onto Kiara again.

"Now what were you going to ask me before you almost got me fired." I sassed and gave her a lighthearted glare.

She scoffs dramatically and says "If anything I pushed you closer to the manager position. Pike really seems to be impressed with your work ethic." Kiara's face softened and I couldn't help the proud smile spreading onto my lips at the adoration swirling in her brown eyes.

"Maybe," I shrug. "But it's a tinsey bit fetched considering I'm part-time for ten months out of the year." I say knowing this might be it for me.

"You'll get there, I promise." She says it like she too understood the hardships of living on the cut. As if she had to take bread from the clearance shelf and store it in the freezer. Or fill five dollar condition half way when it was a quarter way empty.

I could taste the bitterness trying to over take this tender moment I was sharing with Kie. I despised myself for every comparing my life against hers. Sure it was unfortunate I born into poverty, but it wasn't her fault she had all these advantages in life.

"I'll hold you to it." I tease lassoing back that buoyant atmosphere we held minutes ago.

"Good." She nods. Her heart is too big for this world.

"Now when do you get off work?" She asks innocently twirling one of her braids with her finger, "I think Seven, why? What do you have planned for tonight?" I asked cautiously. Last time she asked me this I got alcohol poisoning from a 'little' kegger as she put it. Those few days I've spent in the hospital wasn't exactly my idea of a good time.

"Don't worry it's nothing too crazy. We're going surfing tonight and I wanted you to come. I know you cant resist a good wave or two. Plus you can show us some of those tricks we can never get down."

My eyes caught movement through the glass doors again. Leaning against Kie's vehicle was none other than JJ himself. My breathe caught in my throat at seeing him for the first time since last night. He was wearing John's clothes telling me he hasn't gone home yet. His blonde hair was no longer matted in sweat and was now looking perfect again.

His eye looked swollen and I cursed that boy for not fetching something from the ice box. His sewn eyebrow was starting to purple. Despite his face, I found the guy so unbelievably attractive.

Kiara noticed my glance was lingering a little too long past her shoulder and trailed my gaze.

Shit!

She's about to discover that her best friend is the only one in a mile radius and blow the entire thing out of the water.

"Was that sew up job yours?"

"No, I haven't seen JJ since last week." I lied and instantly regretted it, Kiara knew I say him two days ago in my backyard. Circling the fire, roasting marshmallows and having a few light drinks.

A knowing glint sparkled in her eyes and she nodded her head. "Right." She finally says dragging the word on for decades. I shook my head in agreement but feeling guilty that I knew she knew I was lying through my damn teeth.

I had no clue why I was trying to keep the patch up job I did on JJ's face under wraps. I've done it a million times and none of them thought it was scandalous before, I've never shoved it under a rock before either. I didn't plan on hiding it, but I wanted to keep that vulnerable moment to myself. I'm not confident on who was aware of his fathers abuse and I wasn't going to crumble the sliver of trust he has with me.

"So whose all going to be there?" I asked reminding myself to wash my sins away later.

"The usually, John B, Pope, Sarah, me and...Jayj." She left Jay's name for last and I fucking knew it was trap, but I still looked past her and at the golden boy again. This will be at the top of the stupidest shit I've done and it's a long list. It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand he was avoiding eye contact with me. Understandable and yet it still pinched.

'I'll be ready by 7:30." I said not really having the energy for it, but I needed to get rid of her before she had the chance to question my odd behavior towards him.

Kie was quiet for a minute reading into my soul. "Okay. Not a minute later." Kiara finally declares starting to walk backwards, towards the automatic doors. The knowing glint that I was holding something back was still evident in her eyes.

I smile in agreement trying desperately to lock down the wariness that wanted to combust.

"I'll see you tonight, Surf Queen."

----

I'm completely wiped as I pull my green 1995 jeep Cherokee right beside the Twinkie. Cutting the engine I guided the stick shift into first gear and yanked the hand brake all the way up securing its parking spot.

Jumping out I winched as my feet hit the ground and the aching in my bones rattled up. The sight of my brother finally home had me forgetting all about the rage I was holding for him. He was surrounded by his friends, sharing the cheapest case of liquor Maybank could get his hands on and having the best time. My heart glowed at his found family. I

I stayed there awhile watching them before I announced my arrival. I admired the way they all could get lost in one another's company and not hear the loud engine of my jeep approaching.

I'm so drained from my shift, But I already promised Kie I'd tag along. I wasn't prepared to struck a crack into another friendship. The more time I spent with Kie the more I seen her as a real friend. And as much as I hated it, it was time to slip that mask on again.

"Holy shit Is that my twin brother as I live and breathe." I spoke loudly capturing everyone's attention. Almost all of them cheered for my appearance and it nearly felt like I was one of them.

If I wasn't the glorious JB's twin sister I wouldn't try so hard to distance myself. I'm my own person and I wanted to make it clear I was separate from my brother. I'm nothing like him or our father dropping everything to search for long forgotten treasure. It's extremely hard being a twin but it was absolutely brutal being a Routledge twin. Especially for one who didn't have her own circle of friend and trying to hijack one of his. Maybe I needed an animal companion or a boyfriend, probably both.

"Jade! I was wondering when you'd get your little butt down here." Pope hollers over with a giant welcoming grin. "I missed you too, Pope." I chuckled at his enthusiasm and returned a warm smile that didn't take up too much energy.

Pope is definitely someone you could hangout with after a long day of work and talk about the mysteries of the universe. He was loyal like the rest of them were and is always the one to knock sense into anyone who needed it.

Forcing my body onto the porch I engulfed John into a bone crushing embrace. He returned it and I clung on tighter to him. Being in his grasp felt like a warm bed and a home cooked meal. Coos and awes could be heard from the Pogues behind us murmuring something about sibling love.

"Please don't ever leave me in this house alone ever again. If you do I will sink a knife in all four tires on the Twinkie." I croaked into his chest.

Letting go me he grabbed each of my shoulders, "Did something happen last night?" He bursts out frantically, concern etched into his facial features.

on instinct my eyes drifted from his and focused on the blonde boy. It was only for a split second but JB caught it and looked back. I could skin myself alive if that were ever possible. Jay still refused to look at me and shrugged at what I assumed is an accusatory glare. His posture was lose as if he wasn't sporting my stitches on his eyebrow.

"I left the front door open." I started distracting him from his locked gaze, "A deer must've wandered in. It spooked me pretty bad." I said the first tale that floated into my brain.

"were you harmed?" John follows even the doubt swam in his eyes.

"No I-I managed to scare it out of the house." I stuttered,

"Well that explains why my floorboard was popped and the bat left in the hallway." JB notes humorously and that's when it dawned on me that I forgot about the damned bat.

How could I forgot? Oh right! There was a certain broken blonde boy crying in my arms last night.

"Yeah." I say guilty and nod my head weakly.

"I'm just glad you're okay." He says, petting my hair comfortably and I fought the urge to ask him why he cared, he's never here and I needed him in the long moments I thought someone broke in. But this wasn't the time to bring up how he's been a shitty brother lately. I wanted to savour this memory with him where he finally bothered care about me and I believed him.

"Let me get this straight." Pope says breaking the heartfelt aura. "Last night. You almost bashed a deer's brains in?" He finishes with a serious tone. It was so absurd that I struggled to keep a composed face.

"That's such a Routledge thing to do." Sarah comments, It almost caused me to shut down and call it day. I never confided in her about the twin conversation so I shouldn't be reacting to her comment the way I was.

"It's a very Jade thing to do in a dire situation." Kiara makes an effort to over shine her comment. She understood just how much I battled to accept that me and John were so much a like in too many ways to deny.

I gave her a grateful smile, thankful for her words. She tipped her head in acknowledgment "I'll be out in ten. I still need to grab my board from the shed." I mumbled heading into the house.

"Of course, take your time." Kiara replies gently,

"Me and JJ, are going to pack your board onto the Jeep for you." JB calls before I hear him barrel off the steps and almost trip and fumble to the ground. John is a good brother don't get me wrong but I missed him being around all the time.

I understood his determination to pick up dad's treasure map where he left off, it has been weeks since his disappearance. I miss the old guy like I lost every too, but I didn't ignore our situation to chase after a ghost ship. I'm the only one keeping us above water and I needed him to realize how much I craved for him to be my brother again. He's the only family I have left.

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

Three vehicles and six boards later we arrived at the beach. Kiara and JJ in her SUV, me and Pope in my Jeep, the Greenie, and lastly Sarah and John in the Twinkie.

Strangely enough the beach was so scare we could all park together near the sand. It's hitting the golden hour an absolute stunning even to catch a few wave, so gorgeous that it wounded my soul to see it deserted

I knew pope was giving me an odd look as the others started uphauling their boards while I stayed in my seat. I admired the view I was able to experience in this point in time, absolutely breath taking. Ever since the day I rode my very first wave with the help of a certain golden retriever boy. I could hear the ocean wailing for me like a lost soulmate in the wind.

It has been a long time my first love.

"There everyone goes, leaving us behind..." Pope trails longingly,

I roll my eyes and shake my head at his dramatics. "All of you are always go go go, or too wrapped up in each other to just stop, and really enjoy the scenery around you that this earth has given us."

Being here with them gave me a knew found sense of home, like I wasn't just here living this life alone. I think it's time I let these pogues wiggle their way into being there for me. It'll take some time for me to allow them and get more comfortable with being in their presence more. But I'm willing to try for myself, for John, for the Pogues.

Pope is quiet weighing in my spoken thoughts, "You're right I really need to appreciate it a lot more, but right now isn't the time. It seems we're holding everyone up."

I whipped my head fast enough for it to strain and begin to throb in pain. A few feet away I spotted Kie with her board tucked under her one arm and resting against her hip. An expecting look displayed onto her soft features, behind her Sarah and John were beckoning me forward.

JJ was already at the shore line, the high tides crashing into his ankles. He stuck his gaze to the front of the Greenie. Wearing John's bright red shirt that had a white lobster on the chest confirming my suspicion of further injury. Jay was comfortable with his muscular build and it was unusual to find him sporting a shirt while surfing. He must be hiding from the others as well knowing they'd raise havoc at the new found information.

was I bad person for wanting him to really see me? look at me and acknowledge the night we shared? I knew the pain he faced and the time he needed to numb his trauma over. Maybe when he looked at me he was reliving it all again in a rush of conflicted emotion.

One look was all I craved. Just a tiny glance into those storming blue eyes.

"Are you ready?" Pope asks, gentle hopefulness danced in his dark brown eyes. It dawned on me then like a bucket of ice. They had thought I was going to leave like I've done a few times before. This time was different because I truly wanted to be here with them.

"Yeah, I'm ready, Pope." I say grateful for his patience,

Unclasping our boards, Pope jogged alongside me catching up with the rest of them. Soon he fell into step with John B, both of them rush towards their blonde counter part. Kiara and Sarah flanked me and it almost felt like they knew everything that happened last night. Waiting for me to spill but there was not a single thing to share. Nothing happened and I seemed to be reading into it too much.

"Are you okay? You seemed to be hesitating?" Kie asks as we reached the ocean kneeling onto our boards and paddling out. Entering the water gave me this soft security and had woken my sleeping muscles.

"Yeah." I said contently, "I was admiring how beautiful the ocean appeared in the golden hour."

"I love how you can just get lost in the nature around you. Finding the beauty in smallest of things," Sarah notes,

I shrug, " I was taught to appreciate what I was given." It wasn't a jab at their pedigree. It was more of we're different and that's not a terrible thing. They both hum understanding my words weren't malicious.

I felt complete in this moment, smiling at the both of them I could feel my mask breaking into pieces letting my true thoughts be known. It was a radiating feeling.

Looking behind me, the shore in the distance. I could sense we were at the perfect location to catch a few good waves. The others did too and halted their paddling and sat up onto their boards.

All six us stared at the wall of waves building and crashing just a few yards away. Rocking our boards once it rode out and reached past us.

"I love your bikini." Kie says, I look down at the old fading teal bikini. I got it at a thrift store two years ago and a few sizes too small. "You say that every time and you know damn well this is the only one I got." I say playfully and Kiara smiles giving me a wink.

Sarah shrugs, "Kie's right its so cute, but we should all go shopping for new ones. Like a girls day, god know we need it." She says poking her glance past us and we follow her gaze to see the boys barking at each other in deep tones and hyping themselves up.

We burst out laughing at how ridiculous they were being. Snapping their heads towards our laughter they glare teasingly, "What?!" They shout in unison, "What are you guys doing?" Kiara askes, "It looks very intimate." Sarah calls after.

It warmed my heart to JJ enjoying himself considering what he's been through in the last twenty-four hours. It nicked to know he could never be like that with me ever again.

"Our masculine chant." JB states,

"We need to level out the feminine vibe." Jay retorts aiming his words at me. I was stunned to say the least. It bent my heart and I swore that was the last time I ever helped him. it must've been written on my face because John reaches over and smacks him upside the head.

I coughed to over my laugh, but I couldn't help but feel like a fucking out cast again. Maybe letting them in wasn't the best idea.

"I didn't know your masculinity was so fragile, Jay." I spat,

"It's not!" He shot back desperately

"I'm catching the first wave." I blankly said, paddling for the wave. Behind me I could hear John giving JJ shit for treating me like some Kook whose fucking with his feelings.

My body took control catching the wave like I've done many times before. Everything with JJ and John forgotten like none of it happened and I was completely content with that. The adrenaline raced into my blood as I rode the wave with such perfect ease.

After padding back to my spot beside Kiara and Sarah, JJ went next. It was easy to detect that our surfing styles were similar. I would've loved that I replicated his style to the tee a year ago, but now it made me sick to my stomach.

"I've never noticed how you and JJ have the same style." Sarah comments and Kiara's attention snapped to me, I shrugged "JJ Taught me how to surf."

Sarah gave an amused look, "Really? I would've thought John B did." Kie laughs and I shook my head, "Nope." I popped the 'p' "The jackass was too busy laughing at me while I drowned."

"I was not!" John B yelled over catching our conversation,

"Keep telling yourself that buddy." Kie calls returning her attention back to our triangle. Pope snickers and John B squints his eyes at him," I would've taught her but Jayj was the better teacher."

"beside if John did teach me, I wouldn't be able to land a few of my tricks." I shrug,

"What happened between the two of you?' Sarah asks the one question I was dreading, But her eyes were hopeful and I truly wanted to be close friends with her.

"I'm wondering the same thing. We use to be good friends when we were younger, then one day he pulled away. Stopped hanging out with me and never shared anything with me. It was very cold turkey and so fucking strange."

"I'm sorry, that must've been confusing." She replies and I brush it off.

"Nothing I can do now." I say flatly. Noticing Kiara has been quiet I trailed my glace to her, a weak smile spread across her face and I could've sworn I saw guilt swirling in her brown eyes. She must know something that I didn't and I had the urge to dig deeper.

We stayed there for two more hours, surfing and showing off our technique. The sun was ready to disappear over the horizon and god was it gorgeous but it was time to bring it in.

Dragging our bodies near the shore I walked between the girls again. after a successful day session on the waves I felt emotionally and mentally full and healthy. It was as if the ocean had the ability to revive me.

"Are both of you still down to go bikini shopping?" Sarah askes,

"Yeah absolutely, Jade what about you?" Kie replies looking at me expectantly.

"Operation feminine energy is a go!" I shout to the rising moon. Both of them celebrate like they won a marathon, I join them and somehow feel like I'm apart of something outside of being a Routledge twin.

Ahead of us the boys give us weird looks and I couldn't careless, but the lingering glance from JJ had me conflicted. In his storm blue eyes I saw a flicker of regret and I found it hard to breathe.

I held a façade for Kiara and Sarah, but I felt utterly lost when it came to that boy. Carrying our boards back to the vehicles I tried to focus on our new found girl squad.

--

Pat two took so long because I changed quite a bit from the original piece and added over 1k words. I definitely restrained myself from writing more JJ it's just not time for them yet.

Part two took so long because I wanted to write more JJ, but it's not for it yet.

This is very slow burn and I truly wanted to write about what living on the cut was really like.

Thank you so much for reading It means the worlds you decided to read something I wrote. I love you.

[enid-rhees]

i never forgot you | Enid Rhee x Fem!Reader

summary: Enid was your girlfriend when the apocalypse started. when you tried to go to her place to make sure she was still safe, she was already gone. you’ve now spent 6 years thinking about her, not knowing if she’s made it this far, that is until you arrive in Alexandria

genre: ex (??) lovers to lovers . but not really ?

warnings: mentions of past deaths

A/N: hope you all enjoy! requests are open! if you’d like to request, just read pinned! 🫶🏻 this is a bit similar to my Tara fic but this time you guys were still dating when the apocalypse broke out.

and tbh …. i might make multiple parts to this but that’s just a small thought rn bc i just have a lot of ideas for this story that i couldn’t add into just one huge fic.

you felt exhausted after the day you had. everything was a blur. yesterday, a random guy appears at the broken down shack you guys were staying in, offering everything you thought was impossible nowadays. and now today, you had arrived in what might be your new home.

there were rules you had to follow. upon arrival, you all had to give your guns to a lady named Olivia. none of you were happy about it, but had to follow along if you wanted to be staying there.

later that day, the leader of Alexandria, Deanna, had pulled you into her house for a one on one interview which she recorded with a camcorder. it made you uncomfortable, but you never said anything.

after the interview it was decided you’d be living with Rick, Carl, Michonne and Judith. you didn’t mind of course, you practically considered Carl as your brother.

you spent a good part of the day setting up your own bedroom. and you couldn’t believe that was even a thing anymore. you had your own bedroom, clean water, electricity. it all felt too good to be true.

and you can’t even explain how long you stood in that shower for. there was really no better feeling than finally having a shower after literal years. it had felt like several weights were lifted off your entire body.

you could tell everyone was in complete paradise at this new world you were all adapting to. it had finally felt like you made it.

“so, what do you think?” Carl asked you. you were sitting on the front steps of your new home. he sat down next to you, taking his hat off and placing it between you two. “i think that this is fucking incredible. i could’ve never imagined something like this.” you answered him.

he nodded, “yeah, it’s pretty insane.” he agreed. “those beds are comfy as hell too.” he said, making you chuckle. “i know right? i feel so lucky.”

“did you know they have a whole room that’s filled with food? they’re fucking stocked.” he told you. “seriously? god, imagine actually having multiple meals a day.”

“we really did get lucky.” he said.

you laid your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a brief moment. when you opened your eyes again, you saw Rick and Michonne coming towards you. the two of you stood up, meeting them in the street.

“Deanna wants to have a sort of welcoming party for us later tonight at her house. you two should come, maybe meet the other teens here.” Rick informed you both.

you were never sure if you would ever see another person your age besides Carl again. for a while, it had felt like you were the only two left. and for you, it was a deeply painful and upsetting feeling for multiple reasons.

you and Carl shared a glance, silently communicating with each other. it had become a thing between the two of you over the years.

when he nodded, you did too. “yeah. that sounds good. we’ll be there.” Carl told him. Rick smiled, “good. you guys need this.”

they started to walk away, and you and Carl turned around to go back to the house.

“Y/N?” you heard someone ask. the four of you stopped in your place and turned around. your eyes shifted in various places to figure out where the voice came from, and then you looked to your right.

in that moment, you felt everything freeze. you weren’t sure if any of this was real anymore. you felt like your eyes were deceiving you, like the first time this happened.

20 feet in front of you stood your girlfriend. the one you lost six years ago due to this virus. you tried to convince yourself for so long that she was still alive and one day you’d find her, but the older you got, the more you lost hope.

your body shifted to autopilot and you ran. the two of you met in a bone crushing hug. she sobbed into your neck, and you couldn’t help the sobs that left your lips either. you both held onto each other with grips that couldn’t be pulled apart.

without another second, your lips connected in a desperate kiss. you felt complete bliss for the first time in years. your body was no longer exhausted, and it felt like pumps of adrenaline kept pulsing through your veins.

she pulled away first, “i can’t believe you’re alive. i- i spent so long looking for you, Y/N. i thought you were dead.” she cried out. your held her face, “i looked for you too. you’re all i thought about. i never forgot you, Enid.”

Enid pulled you into another kiss, holding you tight against her by your waist. when you both pulled away, you turned your heads toward the other 3.

their eyes were practically popped out of the sockets as they stared at the two of you.

their reaction was no surprise to you. you never told them you were looking for Enid, you never even told them you liked girls or was in a relationship with one. every time your group started the conversation of relationships and boys, you stayed silent.

“u-um,” Rick choked out, still figuring out how to process everything that had just happened in front of him. “Y/N?” he asked. “would you like to uh… introduce… us?”

you took Enid’s hand in yours and brought her closer to them. you cleared your throat, “this is my… girlfriend, Enid. we were dating when the apocalypse happened, and i couldn’t find her. up until now.” you explained to them. you looked over at Enid with disbelief, still not being able to get it through your head that she’s alive and back in your life.

“Enid, this is Carl Grimes, his father Rick Grimes and Michonne. they’re practically my family.” you told her, smiling over at them. Rick reached his hand out for her to shake, and she took it.

when Enid turned back to you, her eyes dropped down to your neck. she lifted her hand up, tracing over the necklace around your neck. “you still have it?” she choked out.

the necklace around you was the last one she had given you. it was the day of your anniversary, and she had gifted you a beautiful necklace you knew was more expensive than she would ever admit.

“of course. i could never let it go.” you told her. she reached into her shirt, uncovering a necklace as well. although it wasn’t a normal necklace, it was the promise ring you had given her hanging off a chain. tears filled your eyes again, both of you had truly never wanted to stop thinking of each other.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched Rick silently motion towards Carl and Michonne to follow him, leaving you guys alone.

Enid pulled you into another hug, holding onto you for dear life. “everyday i thought about you. i tried so hard to find you.” she cried in your neck. you pressed a kiss to her hair, lingering your lips there. “i still can’t- believe this is even real.” she added.

“it’s real.” you whispered. “you have me again. forever this time.” Enid connected your lips again. “forever,” she repeated against your lips.

“come back with me to my house. we need to catch up on a lot.” Enid laughed lightly. “lets go.” you told her.

she took your hand and started to lead you the way to her house. you looked around her bedroom, it didn’t differ from yours much. it had almost the same things; a dresser, a bedside table, a TV and a bed. although she had a few ripped out pages from comic books stuck to her wall. it made you smile, knowing that she’s loved comics her whole life.

“how long have you been here?” you asked her. “i wanna say a little over a year? it’s hard to keep track.”

“have you been on the road the entire time? with your group?” you shook your head, “it’s uh, it’s complicated. we went through… a lot. alone and together.” you answered, not really knowing how to put it.

“we don’t have to tell each other everything right away,” Enid said. “i just want to take advantage of what we have right now.”

“and actually, i need to show you something.” she told you. Enid leaned down, pulling out a box from under her bed. she lifted it and placed it on top of her bed. you walked closer to the box, peeking in to see what was inside.

you reached your hand in, pulling out a photo album. when you opened it, you tried your hardest not to start crying again. “you kept it.” you managed to get out, sharply inhaling. “i took everything i had of us when we had to leave my home. i couldn’t leave any of it behind.”

when you turned the book over, you noticed messy handwriting in dirt on the back of it. “j…s…s.” you mumbled. “what does that mean?”

Enid took a deep breath, “after my parents got… eaten… i was alone. it meant ‘just survive somehow’ because that’s all i could tell myself. i wrote it on the back because… it reminded me that you could still be alive. and i needed to be as well so i could find you.”

“your- your parents?” you asked, voice starting to crack. tears filled Enid’s eyes. Enid and her parents were basically your second family, you were at their house nearly everyday. they loved you. “oh my god.” you whispered.

Enid fell in your arms again. you held her tightly when she started to cry in your shoulder. “i’m so sorry.” you whispered again.

“i’ve started to get over it.” she mumbled, her voice muffled by your shoulder. “just… sometimes it still hurts to think about.”

you swallowed a knot in your throat, gently running your hand through her hair. “same thing happened to mine,” you admitted to her. “it happened towards the beginning. so… i’ve grown to not really think about it anymore.”

you felt her shake her head, “it’s so fucked up.” she whispered. you pressed your lips to her head, leaning your head on hers after you pulled away.

“i love you.” Enid said suddenly. “o-okay? i need you to know that. now.”

“i love you too, Enid. i always will.”

[speciosuspoematis]

@draikoeques asked: was not hard for him to reacquire the cat despite her time with them being brief - he made the request and she was nearly thrown at him with how quickly they fetched her. He paid, of course, an ample helping of gil to make up for the abrupt changing of mind. Now he stood, the cat bundled up in the front of his hood to stave off the cold of the Ishgardian weather. Sheepishly does he pet the fluffy thing betwixt the ears with a finger, his shoulders slumping and a small sigh dripping from lips. It was... difficult. It was ridiculous. Elvie was cute, at least... He musters up the courage to step forward and pull open the door. He kicks the remnants of snow from his boots against the doorway, closing the door behind and walking with intention in search of Cyvel. When he finds him, the poet is bent over his desk, writing. A letter? Paperwork? Poetry perhaps? He knew not. Still. He halted in the doorway, dropping gaze to the floor ere he quietly cleared his throat. Before he could speak, Elvie uttered a loud meow in her familiar little voice and wriggled against the fabric of his hood. Rothalion reached up to sweep the small cat into his arms, kneeling to allow the cat freedom. "Cyvel I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I have caused you so much distress, rendering you alone so long and gawking at any ilm of attempt you made at finding company during such time. Even should it render me uncomfortable for a time... 'tis passed time I make a sacrifice for us. I love you, Cyvel. I love you so much. My fears are ridiculous and steeped in regular abandonment, I struggle with the concept of anyone loving me above all else because, until I met you, nobody did. I have only been hurt or abandoned, a primal part of me fears it to happen again. This... cat. I know you have grown attached, and I know to have to let go of her hurt you deeply. I am willing to try to adjust. I want to grow. I don't want you to fear talking to me about what it is you desire for mine own sake..." His gaze rose to finally look at Cyvel, eyes shining with tears that threatened to fall. "I have always said I would do anything for you. I would raze the entire star if you commanded it of me, if you requested. 'Tis not my feelings of inadequacy that will get in the way of my desire to see you truly happy. This is my fault, it is my issue and... I need to grow passed it. Even if the feelings are hard to kick I am going to try my utmost to adjust." He even considered that he may aid in caring for the cat. Once again did he cmear his throat, retrieving from his pack a collar that would fit Elvie perfectly. It was a soft pastel blue matching the tone of Cy's eyes, a little heart tag with Elvie's name etched into the front dangling in the center. "Please forgive me... And please, do not let go of Elvie for my sake. I promise I can handle it, I just... I just require reassurance and love, security. I will be alright."

He's exhausted. Paperwork stacked towards the ceiling 'pon his desk overwhelming, day after day it only appeared to get bigger as opposed to smaller - - perhaps he had taken on too much, what with the clinic in the Brume, the balance of businesses delicate, various other endeavours resting 'pon shoulders. He knows his work will be for the betterment of many, but it drains him immensely - - stresses building constantly.

Cyvel did his best, always would do his best, but at what cost?

In the midst of writing a letter seeking further sponsorship from other noble houses within Ishgard for the refurbishment of other buildings within the Brume, his love returns homeward. He offered a small smile, though focused still upon the sentence he was finishing ere looking upward.

Lips parted, but the sights of a certain feline paused any words 'pon his tongue and watching her wriggle free and scamper with her short little legs across the floor bought a wave of emotion to his person. He kneels, gladly reaches out to fuss her head and scoop her into his arms where she had often rested while Rothalion had been away, fighting for their star.

He listens, gaze fixated upon the floor. He'd done what he had thought was right, he had attempted to adjust everything to Ro so that he felt the most comfortable, especially all that had happened and all that he had done... but perhaps that was the wrong balance. Perhaps they did need to adjust things, have a better balance of one another's needs and learn to alter.

"...I have always loved you and will always love you, Ro--- nothing will ever come between that. Elvie... it doesn't mean she's taking love away from you, it means that there is more love to go around." Cyvel stands, feline still comfortably within his arms, and quietly did he approach his dearest to nest close, kiss to his cheek, free arm wrapping around his middle.

"The both of us ought adjust... but between us, I'm sure we can get through it, as we always have." Purring interrupted him, a smile directed downward to the small feline who was betwixt them, large eyes surveying the pair; "Besides... I think Elvie may already be rather fond of you. You're an extra lap to cover in fur."

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With the Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 30 - Lies

I was a little nervous about going to work on Monday, but I didn’t get any calls from Cuddy which told me House had kept his word and not told her anything. I felt as normal as I always did on a Monday morning. I was a little tired, but it was an easy day as long as the emergencies were kept to a minimum, it’d be fine.

I went straight up to my office and got on with work, Sophia was giving me off looks, but I quickly brushed it off and checked on the patients I needed to see.

‘Dr Harding?’

I knew that voice and rolled my eyes, taking a deep breath, before turning around to greet Cuddy.

‘Dr Cuddy, how can I help you this morning?’ I said politely, tucking my pen behind my ear as I led her in back to the nurses station.

‘Dr House told me you had food poisoning Friday evening,’ she started. ‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Yes, I am.’ I said, looking down at the collection of files, Sophia had just dumped in front of me. ‘Is that all?’

‘No, actually,’ I began flicking through the files to check everything was in order. ‘I wanted to ask a favour.’ Cuddy seemed as if she was waiting for a rejection off the bat, but I wasn’t that petty. ‘My mother has been admitted downstairs and I was wondering if you could take a look at her.’

I stopped everything and took a moment to think. I cleared my throat. ‘I can… I would have thought you’d ask Dr House to do that, no point in providing second best care to a loved one unless she’s not so loved.’

‘Anna, please.’ Cuddy begged. ‘She’s fired House from her case and I need someone good to look after her. You know I wouldn’t ask unless I had to.’

I really didn’t want to, but I would have done it for anyone else. I agreed and went down as soon as I had a chance to flick through her file.

‘So, you’re the ex?’ She said. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to get a rise out of me or just make me uncomfortable, neither option was really working. ‘Is it awkward? Working together.’

‘We don’t really work that closely.’ I gave a tight smile and continued to read.

‘Even for a Brit, you’re polite.’ She coughed, briefly. ‘Isn’t it exhausting?’

‘What? Being polite?’ I clarified. ‘Not really. Second nature as an Englishwoman.’

‘You don’t like being called British?’

‘British is an umbrella term for all those who live on the British isles, it constitutes more than a single country, it’s like calling a Canadian American, whilst not strictly false, it can be interpreted as lazy geography. Excuse me.’ I gathered the file and left before I lost my polite way and went straight to House’s office where he and Cuddy were arguing, his team were next door and I really didn’t want to disturb them, but I wanted to get this over and done with.

I entered and cleared my throat.

‘Anna.’ House seemed to sigh in relief.

‘All symptoms lead to heavy metal poisoning, cobalt to be specific-‘

‘Cobalt? What the hell are you talking about?’ Cuddy was clearly stressed, but I wasn’t in the mood.

I sighed and opened her mother’s file. ‘Over the last ten years, if you add all the symptoms together equate to heavy metal poisoning, ten years ago, she had a hip replacement. She stabilised when you treated her for it, declined when you took her off.’ I tossed the file down. ‘The hip is wearing away, it’ll need to be replaced again.’

Cuddy looked down at the file and sighed in relief, but I really didn’t have time to hang around. I left House’s office and went back up to my own to finish my work for the day.

House was somewhat glad that Cuddy’s mom was okay, it was a good catch by Anna, but it was a hard week in cardiology and House had a bad feeling about Anna’s state of mind.

‘You finished for the night?’ He said wandering into her office.

Anna was reading through what looked to be a medical journal. ‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m still working.’

House nodded, she hadn’t looked up since he appeared. ‘Okay.’ House sat down opposite her, to no reaction. ‘Plans for the weekend?’

Anna tossed the journal down a little more aggressively than even she anticipated and her glasses followed.

‘Okay, why don’t we just get straight to it?’ She said leaning forward. ‘You’ve come to say something so let’s stop messing around shall we?’

House decided to cut his losses. ‘Are you going to get high tonight?’

‘No.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘No.’

House inhaled deeply. ‘Okay, I believe you.’

‘Good, we done?’

‘Until next week.’ House nodded, hoping he was making himself clear.

Anna was oddly honest every week he checked up on her, she didn’t get high at all until one Friday where her parents came to say goodbye, they’d been doing a tour of America and ended up back in New Jersey to get a plane home from New York.

‘Greg, my man, how are you?’

‘David.’ House nodded, shaking his hand, but being completely confused as to why he was being so nice. ‘I’m good. You here to see Anna I presume?’

‘She said she was with a patient.’ Caroline answered, smiling at him.

‘Right, yeah, she’s all about patient care before anything.’ House nodded.

‘Mum, dad.’ Anna came down the stairs and greeted her parents, hugging her mum first. ‘When you said you were on your way, I didn’t think you were as close as that.’ Her dad kissed her cheek the same way he always did. ‘How much time have you got til you need to leave?’

‘Trying to kick us out already.’ Caroline said, snidely.

‘No, I’m trying to ask if it’s worth us going somewhere for dinner.’

‘We’ve only got an hour sweetheart.’ David cut in to stop the sniping. ‘We can stay here, spend a bit more time together. Greg, you joining us?’

‘He’s got patients, dad.’ Anna said, before House could say anything. ‘Come on, I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again and you’ve not told me about Lindsay yet.’

That seemed to be the golden subject to distract her mom.

House decided not to interfere and waited until Anna’s parents left for the airport.

I was at least glad that House kept quiet when my parents were around, but my dad knew something was up. Mum got talking to one of the staff and dad asked me about House.

‘Yeah, we’re not really a thing anymore.’ I confessed quietly. ‘Please don’t tell mum.’

‘I won’t.’ My dad smiled.

‘I just don’t want her to tell me to come home again.’ I knew I was being whiny, but I didn’t care. ‘I’m happy living here. It’s nice.’

My dad just nodded. ‘I’m sure you think that, sweetheart. But have you ever thought that maybe you’re here and not at home because of something else?’

‘Like what?’

Before my dad could answer, mum came over to say they needed to go. I walked them out to the lobby, I could see Wilson, House and Cuddy all talking to each other beside the lifts, but I tried not to draw attention.

My mum gave me a hug and went to get a taxi. My dad took a little longer before letting go.

‘I worry about you, sweetheart.’ He whispered. ‘All these lies, they pile up you know?’ I held him a little tighter. ‘I’ll always be on the other end of the phone if you need me, but you should consider taking better care of yourself, start by getting your weight back up, you look gaunt.’

I gave it another moment before letting go of my dad. He was smiling but it was breaking my heart, it was a sad smile and I hated it. I watched my dad leave and never felt more alone in my life.

As soon as he was out of sight, I let a shaky breath go and covered the fact that I was trying not to cry. I turned to head back up to my office, I felt the cracking in my hands and folded my arms to give my hands something to do. The lift was taking ages. I cleared my throat and paced a little, when I turned back it was to see House pushing the button.

‘Helps when you actually call the elevator.’ He said, surprisingly calmly.

I didn’t say anything, if I opened my mouth, I would definitely let something harsh and painful escape. We stepped into the lift and rode it silently. I was using everything I had to focus on not crying or doing anything to draw attention. I hadn’t even noticed that House exited the lift on my floor instead of his.

I should have noticed him following me into my office, especially considering the fact that I immediately opened my bottom drawer to find something to ease the pain. I listened to my door close and took out a file instead, pretending to look up and just notice him.

House smirked and shook his head. ‘You want to pretend some more, or do you want to tell me why your parents were so nice to me earlier?’

‘Given the choice, I’d rather pretend.’ I shot back, aware that my voice was shaking.

‘What’s in your bottom drawer?’ He asked.

I cleared my throat. ‘Files.’

‘Oh you’re good, you’ve always been damn good, but a lie is only a good one when it’s a partial truth. What else is in that drawer?’

I sighed, no longer interested in the file in front of me.

‘Prescription pads.’

House smirked again. ‘You gonna make me look or you wanna try this again?’

I sat back, I wasn’t giving in.

‘Okay.’ He nodded and came around my desk to look in my drawer. He even pulled it out and emptied the entire thing, finding nothing. ‘You wouldn’t have come straight to your office if there was nothing here.’

‘Maybe I just wanted to be alone.’ I said, rolling my eyes.

House nodded, getting up without bothering to put my stuff back. ‘Why do your parents think we’re still together?’ He said, sitting opposite me.

‘Because they don’t visit often enough for anything like that to matter and my dad knows.’

‘You’re dad knows but your mom doesn’t.’

‘You met her, so don’t try and tell me you don’t get it.’ I felt my patience starting to be tested.

‘Point taken, but she’s your mom, she should know these things.’

‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘No, you gave up the right to tell me your opinion when you left me for someone else. You also gave up the right to care about me and engrain yourself in my life like a friend. How do you not get this yet? We worked because we didn’t get involved, we worked because it was just sex and fun and that’s it.’

House just looked at me. ‘If that’s all it was, then why doesn’t it hurt every time I look at you?’

I knew the tears were falling, but I didn’t care. I quickly wiped them away and focused on cleaning up the mess on my floor, subtly shoving the clear packet of pills that was attached to the bottom of the drawer above, into my trouser pocket and when I was done, he was still sitting there.

‘I can’t do this.’ I said, more to myself than him. I took my white coat off and put my jacket on, grabbing my bag to leave.

House didn’t do anything, I had a good feeling that he was waiting for me to go so he could search my office again, I only had a small head start to get home and get high.

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