#man. returning to it after a few years has been both joyful and painful

[botslayer9000]

sigh. maybe i don't like she-ra after all

[coffeeandmagicaltales]

The Auror & the Devil part 18

Aesop Sharp x adult MC

Disclaimer: ANGST

She stood at the top of the hill, from which the view of the Hogwarts Valley stretched out.

It was so beautiful here.

The evening mist slowly enveloped the surroundings bathed in the reddish-golden glow of the setting sun. The sea of dark hills—menacing, wintry, and wild—vanished somewhere in the distance, beyond the horizon, against which lazily drifted fluffy clouds filled with snow. Hmm... She hadn't thought that leaving the castle would be so painful, because Hogwarts was not just stones bound together with cement and a pinch of magic. It was made up of people, memories... Her friends, everything she had experienced here so far... Everything, both joyful and painful...

The first moments as Professor Fig's student, not knowing what fate awaited her... She drifted away in memories to the moment when she was summoned to his office, climbed the winding stairs eagerly anticipating what her professor had in store for her this time, what task she would have to fulfill... She expected to see his smiling face and that mischievous twinkle in his eye... Instead, the first thing she saw was a hunched, very tall man speaking in a rather harsh tone. She was somewhat frightened by him, not knowing who he was. When he heard her footsteps, he fell silent and changed the subject, then headed towards the exit, casting her an unpleasant glance. She vividly remembered those dark eyes staring at her sternly and intrigued.

The "Hmph" that escaped his lips as he passed her, as if he had immediately judged her and probably labeled her as "conceited" and "impudent" because she dared to return his gaze sharply, not knowing he was a teacher...

How did it happen that this completely unknown man became someone she couldn't stop thinking about?

"Morana?..." She trembled hearing his soft voice behind her. Aesop stood a few steps away, shyly lifting his gaze from the ground, glancing at her from time to time. He was wringing his hands as usual when he was nervous or embarrassed. She thought about just abandoning everything and flying to Durmstrang under the cover of night, but... She wanted to see him, even if just one more time.

"I thought you wouldn't come..." she confessed very softly, blushing with embarrassment.

"I'm mad at you, yes, for being a stubborn goose instead of a crow, but... it doesn't mean I would let you go without saying goodbye..." his voice broke slightly, he tried to cover it with a clearing of his throat and changed the subject. "Have you found someone to help the Dimms?"

Mora smiled faintly and nodded. "Sirona, she'll manage, such a brewery is her little dream, once she has hers, she'll have the experience."

Aesop seemed not to hear her response, feverishly thinking about what to say to buy a little more time in her presence, to be with her for a few more moments. Morana approached a few steps closer, looking at him tenderly, in a way that made him feel awkward... yet, he greedily wanted more of it, those looks, her touch...

"Write to me sometimes... I'll be curious about what's happening at Hogwarts..." she whispered with a trembling voice, standing just a step in front of Aesop, and the wind tousling her long hair made it occasionally brush against his clothes, carrying the scent of hops...

"I promise. I want to investigate what's been happening here lately on my own, I'll definitely write to you about it... You have my word."

Word? His promises?

Did they really mean anything when this woman stood on tiptoes, and he without hesitation leaned slightly to let their scarred cheeks touch for a moment? That tiny caress, just a brush, made his heart, after years of dormancy, start burning with a living flame, and his body was seized by a celestial ecstasy. He felt her so close, the warmth of her body, which, though still not touching his, was very, very close, just half a step away... That scent, the rhythmic sound of her breath, the rustle of her hair moved by the wind, brushing against him...

Well, he kept his word. He wasn't her friend.

He was hopelessly in love with her.

He desired her. He longed for her to allow him to touch her body and for her to lay her hands on him... He dreamed of her beautiful, shapely lips uttering words that would give him permission to tightly embrace her against his bare chest, showing her that his heart beats only for her... He would give his life to feel through his skin the rhythm of her heart, breasts moved by the breath that he eagerly would take with kisses...

It spun in his head, and pain pierced his chest. He spoke in his mind as if it mattered. As if he were worthy of her... He was just an old cripple with no future.

He stepped away, not knowing where to look so she wouldn't see tears in his eyes.

"It's so hard for me to bid farewell to such a talented student; Durmstrang will benefit you..." he forced out, cursing his fear, his disability, his age, the pathetic words he uttered, ashamed of his feelings for her. The whole embarrassing conversation, the artificial phrases, and the teacher-ish tone behind which he hid, like a shield, just to avoid hearing that... Morana doesn't reciprocate his feelings, and that he'll lose her forever.

That would be the end; he would take his own life knowing that he simply went mad for her.

Morana didn't look his way, gazing sadly at the horizon submerged in the pastel blanket of pink clouds, whose charm lost any meaning for her and equated to a muddy puddle. What good is beauty when it can't stop the tears streaming down her cheeks? Her heart fluttered, startled by words she didn't want to hear, she felt cold inside. They hurt her. She didn't expect to hear that from him, despite the thousands of scenarios she had played out in her head for weeks, planning this encounter... His words were utterly hollow, as if he had spoken them to any of her classmates... She felt terrible, disappointed, and somewhat offended.

"How could he!?" flashed through her mind, but... what did she really want to hear? What was she expecting? What did she want?

All she felt was a monstrous tearing apart. Ridiculous desire to possess him. Incredibly selfish, yet she couldn't describe differently what was happening inside her. That fear mixed with anger at herself, the excitement caused by the closeness of this man's body, with whom she wanted to merge and make love... Here and now, to be his only. She felt like she would tear apart anyone who dared to come near him, who dared to look at him... That was wrong.

Ridiculous. Pathetic. Childish.

Their sorrow-filled gazes met.

"Goodbye, Aesop," her words were carried away by the wind, she turned on her heel and hurried away. She ran towards the horizon, quickly catching her breath, while the icy wind stabbed tiny daggers into her lungs. She was running away from Hogwarts, from all the memories and feelings, not wanting them to hurt her. She threw herself into the abyss, turning into a raven so quickly that Aesop didn't even have time to react, stunned by her sudden departure. He stared blankly ahead at the majestic creature soaring high above the clouds, his mind in complete disarray...

"Mora..." he whispered, and when he realized she was truly far away, he began to run towards her, stumbling and limping, as if hoping he could still catch her. "MORANA!" he shouted with all his might, looking around to see if by any chance the crow hadn't left yet.

He stopped just at the edge of the cliff, desperately shouted her name a few more times, each one quieter than the last, barely moving his lips.

He was left alone.

His heart pounded wildly, and his mind was in turmoil. It was the end.

He felt such terrible, wrenching pain that he collapsed to the ground and wept, clutching his chest. His heart was bleeding, and no magic or medicine could cure it. Only the closeness of Morana's body could heal him; the touch of her hands, lips, voice, scent...

"What have I done?"

Time seemed to lose any meaning.

He didn't know when he reached the castle, didn't know who he greeted at the entrance passing by the prefects. His mind seemed to fall into some abyss, into a deep well, from the bottom of which he barely heard the words spoken to him.

From time to time, he took breaks leaning against the stone walls, wandering through the castle, as if he had lost his sense of direction. His thoughts wandered too. He didn't know whether he was dreaming or awake; everything seemed unreal, distant, abstract...

"Sharp!" he heard like an echo of the headmaster's voice and somewhat regained his composure. Black approached him, and his unsympathetic expression softened slightly. Aesop must have looked terrible if Phineas' eyes showed pity.

"I... ehm... Of course, if you're up to it... please do something with that portrait again... I need to get rid of it because the former headmistress won't let me live... She's asking something from you again... Until she stops bothering me, I'll be staying in Professor Fig's room..." Aesop nodded, Black glanced at him with concern and quickly walked away, probably fearing that Sharp might faint or something would happen to him, and it would be on his conscience.

Aesop appeared at the Floo Flame, just before the entrance to Keeper's Hall, and struggled to descend its stairs, limping towards its center.

"Professors, you wanted to see me," he muttered, not lifting his gaze.

"Allowing Morana to leave Hogwarts before she finishes her education wasn't the wisest move..." explained Professor Rookwood. Aesop remained silent.

"Well..." Rakham interjected, disappointment easily detectable in his voice. "We're only concerned about the safety of the power she possesses... We don't want it to fall into unauthorized hands, or be subjected to certain influences..."

"I don't quite understand," Sharp growled, increasingly irritated by this meeting.

"Durmstrang, really?" Parcival grimaced. "That's a nest of Dark Magic and people just waiting to manipulate a young woman for their own purposes!"

Sharp snorted with laughter.

"Oh, the irony... Four people who almost sent her to her death are saying this."

"Could you have at least tried to stop her!" Rookwood snapped. "Everything's gone to waste, everything we've worked so hard for... You don't care at all, Professor!"

"I don't care!" Aesop hissed. "She's the only one who matters to me. HER! What do you know about her!? Hm? She's not a vessel for some magic, but a woman who has the right to decide her own fate and go where she wants. You don't care about her, she means nothing to you, she's always been just a pawn in some game to save the world!"

"Please, control yourself, Professor..."

"I let her go because I love her," Aesop confessed in a sharp tone, the professors immediately exchanged glances.

"Your own student!? That's unacceptable," Professor Fitzgeralt scolded him, to which he only responded with a snort.

"Leave me alone, I don't want to hear that you want anything from me anymore." He turned on his heel, slowly limping towards the door, then threw over his shoulder in a dark tone. "Otherwise, I'll burn this place down."

End of part 18, thanks for reading.

[blisschi]

Hi, can i request a zhongli x male reader angst to fluff hanahaki au where male reader was a God a long time ago who died to hanahaki because of zhongli and guizhong, but male reader is resurrected as a mortal and zhongli sees them again

Hey! I'm not completely sure if that is what you meant nonnie, but this idea was stuck in my head for a while now and I just had to write it! It's certainly not one of my best pieces but.. I hope you like it.. 💕

🌸In another life🌸

Pairing: Zhongli x Hanahaki! M! Reader

Warnings: Major Character Death, Angst to Fluff..? I think.. It's really bittersweet.

Notes: u_u ... I can't english

Zhongli turned his head towards the storyteller, who clearly caught his attention with the words that just left his mouth. Although for most people it was unknown, forgotten, Zhongli never forgot a single event in the story he started.

"Once upon a time, there was a young god who loved every creature in Tayvat."

He lowered the cup that he was holding, focusing his attention on the words of the story.

They always started out the same.

"The god that loved every creature in Tayvat, the same god that would offer everything to everyone by his love, lost life."

They always ended the same way.

Zhongli closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering the moment he met the young man with a smile on his face.

The man told him that he was visiting Liyue out of sheer curiosity, and that he was coming back to it out of curiosity as well.

"Do you think I could be any kind of a threat to you?" You laughed softly, turning your head towards your friend. Although you were a weak god and you were far from strong, somehow the Geo Archon decided to devote a moment of his attention to you. The moment that sprouted into feeling.

Morax smiled slightly and walked closer to you, gazing out at the sea of ​​clouds.

"Things that are dangerous, not often have to look like a threat."

Just like love.

Love can be beautiful, but won't it turn into poison in the blink of an eye as soon as you lose control of it?

Like flowers, can delight with their amazing charm, when their roots must dig into the very center of the heart, almost breaking it.

"He taught him to understand."

"The young god introduced himself by the name [Y / N]. He befriended Rex Lapis, despite different views and observations." The storyteller continued.

Zhongli looked down at his cup, half full of tea. His mind was full of the thoughts he always chose to leave to himself. He thought that from the mortals, he probably would never hear this name again.

Morax sighed softly, smiling as you pulled his hand along the fields of flowers. He never really understood why you loved them so much, but he could accept that the time you spent with them made you feel relaxed.

"You have some really beautiful plants here, you know?" You laughed as you let go of his hand and ran to one of the trees, immediately sitting under it. The other male calmly approached you and watched as one of the butterflies sat on your finger.

Maybe it was your charm that all creatures loved so much? Until then, he was unable to answer this question. Why did he choose to protect you? Is it because he really thought you were a dear friend to him? Maybe it was because you seemed so vulnerable and weak, just making him feel pity.

You lifted your hand up, showing the creature to your friend. It's wings were golden that gleamed like the light of the setting sun.

"It's so small. but it was not afraid to sit on my finger.. just like I was not afraid to make contact with you, Morax." Glistening pupils looked at you now, taking their attention away from the butterfly. "If you wanted to, I would have been lying underground a long time ago. If you only thought that I was a threat.. ha.."

You laughed softly as you watched the butterfly fly away from your sight.

"You wouldn't hesitate to attack me, would you?"

"He taught him to look up to the future."

Sometimes being weak has its advantages. Not everyone sees you as their enemy, the stronger will usually ignore you, or offer help caused by feelings of pity. Pity over your existence and weakness.

Where do you see this land in a few hundred years, Morax? It was one of your first questions to him that he had to think seriously about. Of course, he cared about Liyue, but admittedly he never thought about what everything would look like in the future.

Will he still dominate these beautiful landscapes? Will he still be able to be called their Archon?

"He taught him to take care."

Zhongli smiled, closing his eyes. He would never have thought it would end this way. True, his life was not over, but the divine era certainly came to an end. People, although weak - will cope.

A soft laugh broke the silence in the room as you ran one hand through the god's hair. This was one of those days where you spent time together, without any worries. You gently braided Morax's hair, smiling to yourself.

"Maybe you should wear this hairstyle more often?" You asked, gently tangling some pieces of flowers into his hair. He just closed his eyes and relaxed in the feeling of your touch. Your hands always seemed extremely delicate. "No? The great god who rules over all Liyue doesn't have time to spend a few minutes making a hairstyle?"

"I didn't say anything." The man sighed and turned to face you. "Why should I worry about a trivial thing like my hair?"

You raised your eyebrows and tilted your head slightly, apparently surprised by his answer.

"Isn't it nicer to look at Liyue when everything is in its place?" You asked, getting up from the ground and placing both of your hands on his shoulders. "If you take care of every smallest element.. eventually these elements will fit together and create perfection.. No matter if it is the perfect weapon.. power.. or hairstyle.."

You were happy watching your friend become attached to more people. At first you enjoyed it, you thought you helped him open up to the world. On your journey together, you met a large number of amazing beings, but suddenly one goddess appeared that seemed to take the person dearest to you away.

"The young god taught him feelings that Rex Lapis did not understand before. He helped him open up to new things, to new people."

Zhongli gritted his teeth as he remembered the rest of the story. Even though you taught him so much, he still understood so little back then.

"[Y / N] had feelings for Morax stronger than to any other being. But it was not his will that made the love strong." The storyteller continued, drawing the attention of more people. "For one-sided love is the strongest. For one-sided love hurts the most."

Goddess of dust, beautiful and gentle, good-hearted and wise. She was a weak god, just like you, maybe that was why Morax had paid more attention to her back then? Maybe he forgot that in fact your strenght was nothing, but his presence near you. He spent every free moment with the goddess. You dreamt that he could give you more attention, but apparently it was not given to you.

You taught him so much and all he offered you was jealousy. Jealousy was eating you from the inside as you saw the goddess slowly pull Morax towards her. It hurt your heart when you had the opportunity to meet a man less and less. But you yourself didn't have the heart to stop it all, because you knew that this goddess meant well for him.

You understood that it was easy to fall in love with someone like him.

"The years passed, the gods drifted apart. The young god was helping Rex Lapis to understand the newer and newer feelings that the goddess had helped him to experience this time."

You understood that you are not the only one who deserves this feeling to be returned.

Zhongli shook his head and opened his eyes, staring at his reflection in the already cold tea. If he knew you thought so.. If he knew he was slowly breaking your heart while spending time with the goddess, it would have all ended differently.

Anyway, it never came out of his mouth that they were 'just friends', it never came out of his mouth that they were something more..

Zhongli clenched his fist, remembering your last moments with him. He remembered your tears, your painful, but smiling face.

"Over time, his feelings did not diminish, but bloomed like the flower buds that he admired so much on his first visit to Liyue. The feeling became unbearable, breaking his heart, hurting him, making him even weaker. The young god then wanted the feeling of love to become something alien to him. "

He remembered you asking him to tell you one of the old stories that he once told you at the beginning of your friendship.

"Why do you suddenly want to hear it? I must say, it's not one of the most interesting ones.."

You laughed quietly, but apart from the laughter, a choked cough escaped your mouth, which you tried to hide with all your might.

"It just.. this story really brings me good memories.. remember? You told it to me when we were sitting under the same tree.. years ago.."

Morax closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, staring up at the sky.

"Well then.."

Zhongli stared at his hands placed on the table in front of him. If he himself lost his life, would he be able to meet you again?

"It was their last meeting. The young god left after him nothing but flowers, which slowly choked him from the inside. Rex Lapis never lost the abilities he had received from his friend. Rex Lapis never forgot, he carried his feelings to the end. One can only hope that after the death of the God of Geo, the two met again."

"Master Zhongli, right?" A soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, making him look up at the person that called his name. "Can I sit here?"

A joyful smile on the face of a stranger, unusually similar to the smile of a young god who left this world many years ago. The same gaze, that looked at his face with love and affection.

Zhongli nodded slightly, not taking his eyes away from the face of the newly met person.

"I see you here a lot, so I figured I'd introduce myself!" The male laughed, painting a smile on Zhongli's face as he reached towards the consultant. "[Y/N]."

"Maybe in another life, they'll be happy together'."

[encomium-emmae]

Love your recent fics that were inspired by prompts, especially the tattoo one! 🌟 If you're still doing requests, my one word prompt is: tender

Excited to see what you do with it!

More of an M-rating for this one, so fair warning! ;)

Emma wakes a few hours after dawn. By the look of the light streaming in through the windows it must be closer to Terce, far later than when she normally rises, and for a moment she wonders why no one has come to wake her. 

As she turns and glances at the space beside her, the answer becomes clear.

The king is sprawled across the bed, unbound hair spilling like a dark mane against the bolster. He looks as if he has been sleeping for days and could easily sleep for a few more. Perhaps it is good that her ladies had chosen not to disturb them this morning: it seems that they were both in need of rest. 

It had been months since she had seen him, almost half a year since he had married her and left her within the space of a few hours. Yesterday he had returned, wreathed in victory against his enemies, and after the dockside greeting and celebratory feast she had happily welcomed him back to her bed. Much of the night had been spent in joyful reunion, searching for each other again and again, until the hour grew so late that their exhaustion outpaced their hunger. 

A part of her is tempted to remain in bed, to turn towards him and burrow in at his side. Perhaps in his sleep he might draw an arm around her and bring her closer into his warm embrace. There is an even chance she might wake him, but she suspects he would not completely mind, seeing it as an opportunity to pick up where they had left the night before. 

And yet Emma knows she cannot linger; the day has arrived and she must rise to meet it. 

She sits up and sets her feet on the stone floor, wincing with the movement of her legs. The muscles are sore from exertion, the inner reaches of her thighs tender where his hips had ground against them. It is not necessarily painful, only a sharp reminder of what they had done, combined with the sensation of feeling pleasantly well-used. 

On only slightly unsteady legs she retrieves her discarded shift from the night before and steps outside the chamber to call softly for her women. Within minutes a handful of them have set themselves quietly to work, building up the banked fire in the hearth, setting out a small trencher of bread and meat to break Emma’s fast, and filling the queen’s bath with bucket upon bucket of steaming water. Emma nibbles on some of the food as she waits for the tub to fill, and once it is ready she dismisses her servants and strips the shift from her body, stepping gingerly into the enveloping warmth. 

This time the pain is real, stinging between her legs as she lowers herself to sit. 

It is understandable: for such a sensitive place, it had been the object of much attention over the past few hours, a far cry from the relative neglect of the previous months. She washes there carefully, using a soft cloth along her tender skin, the discomfort ebbing as her body acclimates to the heat. 

She washes along her limbs, under her arms and her breasts, before finally leaning back to lower her head into the water. Emma sputters as she blinks it from her eyes, her gaze opening to the sight of a large and naked tattooed man standing a foot or so from the edge of the tub. 

“You did not think to wake me?” Canute asks. 

“No,” she says, as she combs her wet hair from off her face. “You looked as if you needed the rest.”

“Perhaps I did.” His lips curl into a wry smile. “You did your best to wear me out.”

Emma raises a brow. “The effort was mutual, was it not?”

“Very much so,” he says, voice warm with amusement. “And you have already begun your morning preparations without me as well. Unless you have not yet finished with your bath?”

She purses her lips, keeping her gaze on his. “I have not. Luckily for you, the water is still warm.”

He wastes little time stepping into the tub, shifting so that he can sit behind her, his body gently encircling hers. All pretense of washing is forgotten as she rests her head against his shoulder, while under the water his fingers trace lightly along her stomach. After all the exertions of the night, it feels wonderful to simply sit, listening to him breathe, tiny beads of sweat prickling at her temples. But even as she does, it is impossible not to be aware of him, the weight of his arm at her waist, his thighs pressed against the sides of her hips. Such closeness cannot help but bring to mind the intimacies of the night before, each kiss and sigh, each shudder and each stolen breath. Despite the warmth and calm of the water, Emma can feel her blood begin to quicken, her heart turning in a sharp, undeniable rhythm.  

Slowly she turns in his arms, at last coming face to face. 

She kisses him hungrily, without prelude—and while her hands reach to clutch along his shoulders and the back of his neck, his touch remains reverent, a tenderness that pierces her heart even as it spurs her onward. 

[send me a one-word Emma/Canute prompt]

[rexx-lapis]

Sensei // Gojo Satoru x Reader

-> Satoru and you haven’t seen each other since you graduated from the academy. But somehow he never really left your mind. What happens now that you are a strong and confident exorcist and that your sensei finally notice you ?

Tags: Takes place during the school tournament but is canon divergent, Smut, age gap but the reader is in their early 20s, gender neutral reader and use of the pronouns they/them, voyeurism, sex without protection, Use of the word slut, SENSEI KINK, mention of fight, murder and injuries, the reader wears an eyepatch cause it’s cool, Gojo POV, mutual pinning.

Satoru liked his life as it was. His job as a teacher was great, not too complicated and allowed him to stay close to the higher ups. In the end, it was not too demanding and in the exception of watching over Itadori just to make Sukuna wasn’t wilding out, it was pretty chill. He liked that. Since his graduation he had chose to live his life without worrying too much. There was not a lot of things that could hurt him, he knew how powerful he was, so all he had to worry about was literally insignificant. He was just being his real playful self, most people deemed him childish, and he kinda was. In the end everyone kept in their mind that he was the most powerful sorcerer out there. It wasn’t ego, he was just being self aware. Even in more trivial thing, nature had made it easy for him. Women were often falling into his arms without him doing anything. His easy going personality was just a bonus. He was just having fun, not wanting to engage in any type of serious relationship that was obviously not compatible with his lifestyle. He wasn’t an idiot, having a significant other meant exposing himself to pain and offering to his enemies a way of pressure. It was already difficult enough with his students, he was not sure he’ll be able to protect someone else at all time. And there was no way he would let go of his job. In the end even for his good looks, not a lot of people would be willing to risk their life. Or maybe it was just the fact that he had the reputation of being a player and that no one was willing to be used. This morning he woke up tired, the night before he has been forced to go on a special mission before the beginning of the tournament between Tokyo’s college and Kyoto’s one. The students were all here now, and ready to begin. Several teacher were sitting in front of the screens that would allow them to follow the different students. He recognized everyone, even the old Yoshinobu Gakuganji, that he preferred to see in the same room. He didn’t trust the old men and he already knew he was up to something. He settled down looking around him waiting for the beginning of the first trial.Until he saw you. You were entering the room, looking in front of you. Your face was familiar but he couldn’t really tell where he knew you from. You were wearing a black uniform characteristic of the jujutsu sorcerer. You stoped in front of Iori, greeting her. The woman seemed to know you as she simply smiled and offered you a sit next to her. You looked around, your eyes falling on him, and you simply nodded your head in his direction.

“Hello Gojo sensei”

This voice. Yeah he definitely knew you.

“ Well hello -

-Y/n Y/l/n”

Yeah he remembered you now. You went to Tokyo’s academy, but you were a few years younger than him. He had already graduated a few years before and was starting to be a teacher when you integrated the school. You were so young back then, sixteen maybe, now you looked so mature. Beautiful truly. Even with the eye patch hiding your left eye, he could see how beautiful you were. He simply smiled, nodding.

“Long time no see Y/n.

- Indeed”

You did not say anything else simply sitting down, Iori was looking angry, and started grumbling at you, probably asking where you knew him from. You simply looked at her, not having the time to say anything as the screens light up. Satoru did not realized right away, but turning around he saw the old Gakuganji looking at you, a dark look in his eyes. You did not even look in his direction. Something was up between you two for sure. The trials began and soon Satoru realized something was wrong. That old sneaky bastard had definitely ask his student to kill Itadori. He sighed, frustrated but not surprised. You on the other hand seemed way more bothered by the idea.

“ Why does it feel like a set up to me?”

Iori tensed next to you but no one answered. You didn’t say anything else. Satoru couldn’t help but wonder why you came here. Indeed the tournament was an interesting thing to watch but you were not a teacher, or at least not that he knew of. What were you doing here, sweet, innocent y/n. You couldn’t possibly be one of the guard dog of the higher ups.

“Megumi is for sure very impressive.

-You know him? asked Iori

-I worked with his dad once. They don’t seem to have much in common at first but...

-You know Toji Fushiguro ?”asked Gojo suddenly sitting up straight on his chair

“I met him once, I wish I did not tho

-He tends to do this to people”

Your conversation was cut off by a noise and a flash of smoke. The red parchment that were stuck on the wall had caught on fire.

“What’s happening?

-The trials are already over?

-No, something is wrong.

-Apparently, some curses came uninvited”

You stood up, visibly not phased by this. What were you hiding?

“ We should go, at least rescue the students. If the curses are too powerful they won’t stand a chance.”

They split in several groups, and they started to run, hopefully joining their students before it was too late. Sadly nothing happened like Satoru imagined. First, a sort of black veiled recovered the place of the tournament. The more frustrating was that everyone seemed to be able to cross it except for him. Satoru find himself stuck outside unable to do anything. Behind his smile, he was worried. Was he really going to send Iori and the old man in this situation alone. And you. What about you. You did not seemed phased one bit by the situation, but he couldn’t help but wonder if you were not going to be more of a burden. After all you still were young. But he couldn’t tell you to stay back, and if you were here it was because you were qualified to do your job. The three of you disappeared behind the veil. It wasn’t often he felt helpless but right now he definitely did. After several minutes later he saw Panda come from behind the veil, Megumi in one arm, and Maki in the other. They were both severely injured but their life was not threatened now that they were being taken care of. Soon after Nishimiya carrying Noriyoshi and Inumaki flied through the veil, almost crashing on the ground. Being the only one still conscious, Nishimiya told him how she saw Itadori and Todo fighting a grade s curse when she was flying away. The more Satoru was thinking about it the more it sounded fishy. But he didn’t even had the time to thing this through before the veil disappeared. The old man was standing there with what seemed to be the corpse of man.

“They ran to see if they could find the two other brats. Go and see how they are doing.”

Satoru didn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence and started running. He felt a burst of cursed energy and decided he should check it out. He arrived to see Itadori and Todo hurt, Iori trying to help them stand up.

“Where is the curse ?”

Iori gasped, face suddenly tensed. She looked scared. She simply pointed at the empty air. It has been dealt with apparently. But you weren’t here.

“Where is Y/n?

-They left. They ran in this direction.

-Everyone is already out” he threw his phone at her, “call the old man or one of your student so they can help you with those two.”

He had to find you. He took him a couple of minutes to catch up on you, you had not got that far. You seemed completely normal, not even a micro injury. The only thing was that your right sleeve had been torned exposing your arm. You turned around facing him. You did not say anything just walking toward him. There was no trace of another curse. He was going to ask you what happened when you lifted your arm silencing him. Your phone buzzed in you pocket.

“Hello sir.”

He could not hear what was being said on the other side. But he could easily guessed it was one of your superior.

“The curse has been eliminated. It was a grade s. The students are safe, and the ones that are injured will be okay. Very well.”

You marked a pause, your eyes darting on his face, wondering if you could keep talking even though he was still here. He had no intention of going anywhere though.

“ Yes, Mahito escaped...”

You expression hardened.

“ I know... next time...”

You simply hanged up, finally turning to face Satoru.

“We can go, there’s nothing left here. They’re gone.”

He simply nodded.

“ I knew it was weird. Why would you even bother to come all this way to witness the tournament. I mean, it can be quite enjoyable but, you seem rather occupied.”

You didn’t say anything. You changed so much, what happened to joyful, cute Y/n, he wondered.

“ You were using the tournament as a way to attract Mahito ?

-No. I just knew he was gonna be here eventually.

-Why are you looking for him.

-Who isn’t looking for him at this point.

-Hmm, no, I feel like it’s personal.”

You clenched your jaw.

“He killed my team mates. Three months ago.”

Oh, that explained the dark energy coming out of you.

“So it is personal.

-You could say that”

You didn’t say a word, the weight of what you saw like a failure heavy on your shoulders. Satoru knew that better than anyone. The tournament was canceled and rescheduled. And weirdly enough, you did not left the academy at the same time as the Kyoto staff. You said your farewell to Iori and the students, returning later to your now assigned room. Satoru knew that if you were still here, it was because you had been assigned a new mission.

“You are still tagging along?”

You turned around, stopping your writing almost instantly. You might have been distracted because you did not hear him come in.

“Entering a someone’s room without authorization, sensei, it’s not reasonable.”

He couldn’t tell if you were serious or not. He couldn’t help if your room was next to his. He was curious.

“You are still calling me sensei? I am not your sensei anymore though.

-Officially no, but I am still learning while being here. But I can call you by your name if you prefer”

He actually liked when you called him sensei. He didn’t answer but you caught up pretty quick.

“Let’s stick with sensei then.”

He looked at you over his glasses, scanning your body. You weren’t wearing your uniform but a simple casual outfit. You looked cute. Your face scrunched in an adorable expression as you were concentrating on what you were writing.

“ What are you writing? A love letter to your boyfriend?”

He could almost hear you sight. He smiled, getting comfortable on your bed.

“ I am writing a report.

-About what?

-What happened during the tournament.

-Mahito?

-You could say that.

-Y/n. Could you do something for me?

-Depends.

-If you could not mention in your report what happened between the Kyoto college and Itadori, it would really be nice.

-I don’t understand why you would not want the higher ups to not know that people of our organization are trying to kill a sixteen year old.

-It’s because you are still naive Y/n”

You turned around, visibly angry.

“I am not stupid. I know what they would do to Itadori if they could. I didn’t mentioned the incident in my report.”

He smiled, getting up, getting closer to you.

“ Good” he almost whispered in your ear. He could see your face heat up, but you stayed calm.

“Are you done? Or do you doubt me so much, you want to read my report too.

-I think about you a lot, but not once I’ve doubt you. I don’t know what you did to that curse in front of Itadori but he won’t even talk to me about it”

You smirked.

“Good.”

Satoru’s head was just full of you now. He just couldn’t help it. You were basically living together at this point. Even if he was busy training the first year and mostly Itadori, he was still seeing you from the corner of his eyes. You seemed interested in Itadori’s training, maybe secretly hoping for Sukuna to manifest. You did not seem to care though. You weren’t avoiding him, but you paid him no mind. He saw you multiple times laughing with Itadori, Nobara or Megumi. He even saw you leave with Nanami one evening. You came back late at night, drunk.

“Do you even have the required age to drink?”he asked a disapproving tone in his voice.

“Yes I do... How old do you think I am....

-You’re younger than Nanami, so what were you even doing outside with him”

You pouted, your arm crossing over your chest. Fuck, you were so cute. And you looked so pretty like this. Your hair were kinda messy, your visible eye gleaming. Your lips, fuck, it was kinda hard not to stare at them. Maybe he should be the one going outside, he seemed to need it.

“He just took me out to drink nothing else. And you shouldn’t even talk. That so hypocritical.

-What have I done ?

-You slept with at least three of my friend from graduation”

Ah.

“So I don’t want to here anything else from you”

You sounded kinda angry now. But he couldn’t take you seriously right now. Not when you looked like a angry little kitten.

“I’m going to sleep”

He watched you go, your steps uncertain.

“Y/n, love, your room is the other way.”

You stoped in your track, looking at him, lost.

“I know. I was just playing”

Yes, so cute. He chuckled, deciding to escort you to your room just to make sure.

“Is this because of your friends that you are avoiding me love.

-Yes.

-Why? I didn’t do anything wrong to them? Did I?

-No, but I don’t want to end up sleeping with you”

Ouch, okay.

“After, you’re gonna break my heart and ghost me. No way.”

You arrived in front of your room.

“I would never do that to you love, so, would you go out with me?

-No

-You’re just being a brat right now”

You laughed at him before opening your door.

“Good night Gojo Sensei”

This night signed the beginning of a real nightmare for him. You did not mentioned anything from this night to him after it happened. But fuck he wanted you so much. He felt bad about it, you being so young, he felt like he was going to corrupt you or something. He did not felt like this with any of your friend or his previous one night stands. So why with you? Maybe because he knew you since you were young. You weren’t especially close, you were often with people your age and he was on his side with the other teachers. But now you were an adult, and for what seemed a very strong sorcerer. Sometimes, he was wondering what was happening in his head, when he was taking decisions. Like when he chose to invite a girl over, while you where here, when all he could think about was you. He was doing this to provoke you, or maybe he was just dumb. Fucking her against the wall that was just next to yours was maybe a bit too much, but he still did it somehow. He was sick for this. You on the other side, you wanted to cry and throw yourself through the window. Fuck you could even hear him groan behind all the sound the girl was doing. How thin were those walls? You grabbed your earphones, trying to cancel the noises, but your mind was still full of Satoru. For years you had promise yourself that you won’t be like every other person that had met him. You would never fall in love with him, or want to sleep with him. So why was your heart aching because he was currently fucking someone else. And why you could feel arousal pooling in your belly, your thighs rubbing against one another. You would never do that. Touch yourself. Like this. No. You were better than that.

“Ah fuck...” you heard him moan from the other side.

In the end you were just a weak little human. And soon your hand find the way of your underwear, finally touching the most sensitive place of your body. You were just imagining him in top of you, he would fuck you so good, so full. You could almost feel his weight on your body, his skin against yours. You wished you could say it was the first time you had imagine something like this. But it really wasn’t. Satoru has been haunting your darkest fantasy for a while now, fed now by all the story you’ve heard from your friends.

“Ah fuck, love, do you hear me?”

You stopped breathing, your fingers stopping what they were doing.

“ Fuck love, you look so fucking pretty, spread yourself more for me”

You were so dumb for doing this but you still did, spreading your legs wider, giving yourself a better access.

“ I’m sure you taste so sweet, fuck, if only I could taste you.”

Your fingers were becoming more erratic, pleasure and tension building up between your legs.

“Are you gonna cum love?

-Yes” you cried, your face burning from embarrassment.

You prayed all the gods above that they couldn’t hear you.

“Yeah you’re gonna come for me. So fucking pretty, ah-”

You cried out, the coil in your stomach snapping, your juice flooding out.

“Gojo sensei” you moaned, maybe a bit too loud.

You hear him moan from the other side of the wall, probably reaching his end too. The only thing left of you was exhaustion, sadness and a bit of disgust. You just wanted to sleep. The next day Satoru woke up a bitter sweet taste in his mouth. What happened during the night, he could not explain it. But fuck, he heard you, and he knew you heard him. He hope you knew that every words he said were meant for you. That it was your face that flashed through his mind when he came that night. He find you in the common room, speaking to Itadori, the boy looking a bit down.

“Are you really leaving us soon?

-Yes I already overstepped my boundaries with staying that long. Obviously Mahito is not going to come back any time soon.

-We’ll miss you Y/n!”

You were leaving? It was logical after all. You could not stay here forever. Why did it make him a little bit sad then?

“Leaving already?”

You turned you head toward him, soon avoiding his gaze. He smiled.

“I have to go back to the headquarters as soon as I can. I am leaving for the south tomorrow.

-I see”

You next told everyone that you will go to Tokyo this afternoon because you wanted to buy some stuff before leaving. The first year almost jumped you, begging you to take them with you. Or at least Itadori and Nobara did.

“Kids, Y/n probably wants to spend time alone.

-No it’s fine they can come with me.

-It won’t bother you if I come too then”

Your head lowered, visibly embarrassed. But you didn’t say anything about it. You left to get ready, changing your uniform for some casual clothes, and Satoru thanked all the gods for this. You looked adorable. Your black eyepatch was replaced by a white simpler one, you were wearing a cute outfit, suddenly you were looking more your age.

“Let’s go then”

You stayed silent for most of the trip. Itadori and Nobara were so happy to go out you almost lost them twice in the crowd. Megumi was walking calmly behind them, looking after the two. You stoped a few times to look at some street food, and Satoru couldn’t help but think of this as a kind of date. If only he could hold your hand in his while you strolled through harajuku.

“They look good, don’t they?

Hm, they do, the one with strawberries look really tasty”

He got closer from, his tall form hovering your body. Your back was pressed against his torso and he could feel you tense a bit. He smirked, getting closer, pressing himself against your ass even more. You gasped.

“We’ll take two of the strawberry ones please!” He said smiling, your head shooting up to look at him.

“Sensei...

-Come on Y/n, let me spoil you a bit”

You didn’t say anything else, just pouting looking away from him.

“Their whip cream tastes so good.

-Yes this place is great. There is a mochi place not far away, it’s great too!

-Do you have a sweet tooth sensei?

-I always loved what was sweet”

You snickered a bit not saying anything. You all kept walking for a bit finally deciding to go back to the academy. You were laughing and the mood had obviously lighten up even if you were still distant.

“Did you have a good time ?

-Yes thank you. I’m happy I could have a little break before going back to mission.

-Where are they sending you?

-In China. Mahito is only the tip of the iceberg. Me and several other shaman are sent to hopefully learn some things about the curses there.

-Seems risky.

-It definitely is. I don’t want to be paranoid but I have a feeling they want to maybe silence some of us.

-Oh so you are aware of that.

-I’ve been working for them since I was seventeen. I am well aware of their methods. Mahito might have killed most of my team mates, but we were not supposed to face someone as powerful. At least not when I wasn’t here.

-They got you separated from the group for a while?

-Basically yeah, when I came back most of them were dead, the other quite the job.

-And you still are going to follow their orders?

-I don’t really have a choice. I don’t feel like becoming a target of their wrath” you turned around to face him, “I am not like you”

He took off his blindfold, his eyes falling on your soft face. You gasped a little, almost dropping your ice cream. He came closer, bending his neck a little to look into your eyes.

“Don’t die.

-I don’t plan to.

-Good”

If you ended up dying, maybe he would go and have a little discussion with the so called higher ups of the sorcerer society. He knew you were strong, stronger than most, the way you got rid of the s class curse was still a mystery to him, but he knew that those bastards had very efficient way to get rid of people they deemed too dangerous. If only you could stay here.

“ But you know, if I end up dying there, could you do something for me before.”

He quirked an eyebrow, suspicious.

“Sensei”

His breathing became a little bit more rigged.

“Sensei, could you help me with something?

-Yes, of course”

He didn’t even need to know what you were asking him. He would basically do anything for you at this point. Really everything. You grabbed his shirt, asking him to bend over, his face coming at your level.

“ Sensei, I didn’t even tell you what I wanted yet...

-And what do you want?

-I want you”

He almost chocked on air. He could definitely give this to you.

“You can have me whenever you want love, fuck, you don’t even have to ask.”

He almost ran through the wall while returning to your room. It was empty when he came in. You really were going to leave. He did not have time to think more about it before you jump in his arm, your legs wrapped around his waist.

“ I caught you baby”, he chuckled, “Now, what do you want me to do?”

Your mouth was so close from his, you breath hitting his lips.

“ Tell me sensei, do you like being teased?

-Not really baby

-Me either, but last time, a guy I liked thought it was a good idea to make me know he was fucking someone else.

-This guy is a meanie

-He really is. I was waiting in my room, if he wanted he could have take me. Because I was waiting for him you know

-Oh really?”

You little minx, you were playing with him.

“I had to touch myself all alone in my room you know”

Yeah he was definitely hard now. He dropped you a little lower, your ass pressing against his clothed cock.

“ Sensei, I said no teasing...

-You’re right, no more teasing.”

He let you fall into the bed, laughing a little at your surprised expression. If you didn’t like being teased he wasn’t gonna waste more time. He grabbed your chin firmly in his hand squeezing your cheeks. You looked at him, your hands hesitantly reaching for his blindfold .

“Do it”

You hooked your thumbs under the fabric, slowly taking it off. He saw you eyes widen a little, lips parting slightly. You had already seen him without his blindfold but it seemed so much more intimate now. His beautiful white hair fell on his forehead, azure eyes opening to stare directly into your own.

“My turn”

His hand slide along your cheek, taking of your eye patch. A little scar was crossing your eyelid.

“So pretty” he said smirking, his lips hovering over yours.

You obviously weren’t very patient. The moment he was getting closer, you bite his lower lip, sucking it gently. He could feel your teeth sink into his flesh. You were going to be the death of him. He grabbed your hair firmly, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. Your thighs were parted, his slander hips placed perfectly between them. You tasted so sweet, the taste of ice cream still lingering on your tongue. His favorite dessert truly. He could have kept kissing you forever if he didn’t felt you moving under him, your hips rolling against his crotch. He could feel how much you wanted this. He grabbed your wrist pinning your arms to the mattress. He had no doubt that you were a strong sorcerer but what could you even do against him.

“You want this so bad, you’re starting to behave like a slut.

-I can’t wait anymore. I’ve wait for this for so long.

-Did you?

-Yeah” you moaned shamelessly when he rocked his hips forward. You cried out his name, eyebrows furrowing. He had all the intentions in the world of driving you crazy, teasing you to no ends. But seeing you like this. His poor baby. He wasn’t going to be cruel. Not a lot that is. He let his hands caress your body, watching how you seem to squirm under his touch. You looked so sensitive.

“I’m gonna be nice with you love, but you have to be honest with me.

-W-what? I’d do anything....

-Of course you would.”

He bit your skin near your hip, leaving a mark there. Trailing his way down until he reaches your underwear. He was almost salivating at the view. If your mouth has tasted sweet, he couldn’t wait to taste you more. He spread your legs wider, holding your thighs firmly. His tongue darted out of his mouth, finally touching your flesh. You were so wet, your smell so much stronger there. He saw your hands clapping against your mouth, a little noise escaping you.

“Now you’re gonna have to tell me the truth baby. Do you want me?

-So much! I really want you sensei!

-Since when have you think of me like this?” You looked up to him, your eyes widened in shock and embarrassment.

“Since... We met maybe....

-So fucking naughty... Tell me more....

-Sensei... I wanted you so much back then but you weren’t even looking at me, fuck it feels so good...” He had started sucking at your flesh, toying with the most sensitive part of your body. You were squirming against his touch, but the little noises you were letting out were so sinful.

“I did so many things so you would notice me, haaa, but you didn’t... I know I had to become stronger.

-And now here you are baby, you’ve become so strong, and so good at pretending you don’t want me. I almost believed you in the beginning.”

Knowing that you had fantasied about this since you met him was having an effect on him he should be ashamed of. Your silly little crush on him, and all the thing you probably had thought about in your young mind full of hormones, it was really all he needed to lose all control. His fingers were now trusting deep and fast inside you. You were crying incoherent things, mixes of his name and pleads for more. He was addicted to you, he could stay like this, his mouth and fingers buried deep in your dripping hole, forever. Watching you cum for the second or third time as he laughed at you. He almost forgot how hard it had made him.

“Satoru...

-No more sensei?” he slapped you ass, “don’t be rude with your superior Y/n.

-Please just, more...

-Use your words baby”He was smirking, so cocky about the mess he had made of you.

“Your cock please....”

You didn’t even had to ask him twice. He probably would have made you beg for it if he wasn’t so drunk in you. He unzipped his pants, freeing his member. He was so hard, it was painful. He was so caught up in his thoughts he did not see your hand coming closer. He jolted, tensing, a little growl almost escaping his mouth, when you took his cock in your hand.

“Fuck, Y/n, don’t sneak on me like that...

-You’re so hard sensei...

-Yeah baby, it’s because of you, you made sensei like this...

-Can I taste you, I want you in my mouth”, you proceed to stick your tongue out, a bit of saliva dripping from it. You were gonna kill him. He wanted nothing more than to fuck your face. But right now all his thoughts were on your slutty little hole. Definitely later. He grabbed your legs, making you fell back into the mattress. He bent your legs, your upper thighs pressed against your chest. You were so exposed. He couldn’t wait any longer, his hips rocking forward, his cock entering you mercilessly. You gasped, air leaving your lungs. He felt so big inside you, so hard and heavy.

“You’re literally creaming around me already, are you gonna cum?”

He was smiling, but inside he was screaming . Why were you still so tight. So fucking warm, your slimy walls were sucking him in. He knew now, that he could stay buried balls deep inside you forever. He pressed his hips even more against you, his hips trusting hard against you. The noise of your juices and skin clapping against one another was obscene, but so addictive. He was hitting so deep, from this angle, rubbing against your walls. He grabbed your arms, letting your legs go. You were now sitting on his lap, chest pressed against his. The change of angle had made you moan even louder. It felt so much more intimate for some reason. His grip on your ass forcing you to impale yourself on his member. You were going to cum. You felt it, deep inside.

“Cum for me baby.”

You didn’t need anything else, as you press your forehead on his neck, moaning his name your body trembling against his. You felt him tense against you, his pace getting quicker and deeper. You were crying from overstimulation when he finally cum inside you, growling in you ear. You fell limb in his arms, empty of your energy. Satoru kissed you before laying you down on your bed. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to your mouth. You kissed his knuckles gently. His heart swell at that, not wanting to leave your side. That was how he find himself staying all night with you. You woke him up again a few hours later, you were looking all hot and bothered again. How could he say no to his baby. You spent the night like this, between cuddling and sleeping.

That’s why he was so surprised to see you weren’t there when he woke up. He had forgot you were supposed to leave early in the morning. He stood up, understanding how empty the room now felt. He walked toward the desk where his clothes had been folded. He took the little piece of paper, realizing you probably had left it here for him. He laughed, reading it. He knew you were strong. He just had to wait a little bit for you to come back. He knew you would.

[tuiccim]

Terrigenisis (Part 17)

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Bucky Barnes X Inhuman!Reader

Words: 1700

Summary: After undergoing terrigenisis unwillingly your life is turned upside down when you are deemed too dangerous to return to life as a civilian. You are put with the Avengers team to train and rebuild. As you hone your powers and skills, you must also decide if you can find home and love again. Or is your curse to be a lonely wanderer forever?

Warnings: a god of Mischief (He’s a warning, okay?)

Terrigenisis Series Masterlist       Divider by @firefly-graphics

You lounged on the lawn furniture in the back of the compound watching Dizzy run in joyful circles as Redtail made loops overhead. You had brought a tennis ball out and Dizzy was adorable as she ran around with it in her mouth. Occasionally, she’d drop it in your laugh and you’d throw it out into the expanse of lawn. You laughed as she leapt into action each time the ball was thrown. Redtail would swoop down every now and then to tease the dog. 

The rest of the team was out on missions or meetings. Sam, Steve, and Bucky had been sent on a mission yesterday afternoon and you were enjoying some down time. It felt like it had been some time since it had happened. You stretched lazily, basking in the feel of the sun on your skin and the feeling of contentment. 

You hear footsteps approaching and turn to see Loki walking towards you. He had been in a meeting with Thor, Tony, and Maria Hill when you had checked earlier. 

“Hi. How’d the meeting go?” You greet the god. 

“It went well. Nothing of grave importance,” Loki takes the chair next to you, “What are you up to?”

“Relaxing in this glorious weather,” you see his eyes take in your tank top, jean shorts, and sandals. “You know, I’ve never seen you in anything except the leather. Is there casual wear on Asgard?”

“Simple tunics and robes but, as prince and warrior, I do not wear them often.” Loki raises an eyebrow at you. 

“I see. What about for Tony’s party this weekend? Will you wear this?” you motion to his attire.

“I plan to wear a suit.” Loki chuckles. 

“I look forward to seeing that. Isn’t the leather hot though? It’s 80 today.” 

“I could strip for you if you’d like.” Loki smirks playfully. 

“That’s okay,” you hold your hands up in defeat. 

“Is this better?” Loki’s form shimmers for a moment before revealing him in bermuda shorts and hawaiin shirt. 

You grin, “I like it! You look ready for a beach vacation.” You stare at Loki for a moment, wondering about his personal life. He knew a lot about you but rarely revealed much about himself. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, darling. Anything.”

“Do you have… someone? Here or on Asgard or… somewhere?” you stammer through the question. 

“Your two lovers are not enough for you?” Loki chuckles. 

“They’re plenty for me. You don’t talk about yourself much, Lok. I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to but I’m curious about you. We’re friends and so I wonder, is there someone? Are you a player? Are you a monk? You know my story. You haven’t given me much of yours. Have you ever been in love?”

Loki studies you for a moment and then nods as if deciding something to himself, “I suppose I would be what you Midgardians refer to as a player.”

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em?” you giggle. 

“I suppose. There’s only ever been one person who…” Loki trails off. 

“Who what?” 

“Who I thought I could fall for.”

“What happened?” You question. 

“She belongs to another.” Loki says as he looks away. 

“She belongs only to herself.” You counter. 

“Of course. She’s engaged to another.” 

“I’m sorry.” You tell him. 

“Thank you.” Loki pauses to contemplate before asking, “Are you happy? You’ve been through a lot in your short life.”

You smile at the statement, “I’m not that young, Loki.”

“I’m over 1000 years old.” Loki deadpans. 

“True,” you laugh, amazed at the lifespan of Asgardians, “Yes. I am happy. This isn’t what I imagined my life to be. Terrigenisis tore my world apart but you make the best of what you have. I have a family in the team, lovers in Steve and Bucky, friends, a purpose. This is… home.”

“And I’m your friend?” Loki asks. 

“Of course you are.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll betray you at some point? I mean, I am notorious.” 

“I trust you, Loki. I think I know your heart, but understand that I live by the statement, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’ I may let someone make a fool of me once but I won’t let them a second time. Once you lose my trust, it’s gone and would take a great deal to earn it back,” you explain. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I have to trust you. I’m letting you play with my brain.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Giving me a chance. Trusting me. Seeing me as something other than the villain that I was.”

“You’re more than your past. Oh!” you exclaim when a slobber covered ball is dropped in your lap. “Hi Dizz.” you laugh and throw the ball for her. 

“She has you well trained.” Loki smirks. 

“That she does. Speaking of training, are you up for another session?” you ask. 

“Same time as always, darling. I’ll see you then.” Loki gets up. 

“See ya later, friend,” you watch as Loki walks back to the building, dropping the glamour to reveal his normal outfit as he walks. He sends you a brief wave before walking into the building. Your attention is pulled away when Dizzy drops the ball in your lap again. Time to play. 

--

You get to the training room early to do some climbing and ended up in the rafters as you were known to do. You were just about to climb down when Loki entered with Thor trailing behind him. 

“Drop it, brother,” Loki grouses at him. 

“Just tell me you aren’t playing at anything with her and I will,” Thor demands. 

“Mortals are your weakness,” Loki rolls his eyes at his brother. 

“Love is not weakness, Loki.”

“I do not feel that way about her. She is a friend. Much like Sif is to you.” Loki says pointedly.

“That’s all I wanted, brother,” Thor smiles. 

You clear your throat loudly, “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Loki looks up at you in amusement, “How long have you been there?”

“Well before you came in,” you wink at him. 

Thor looks at you sheepishly, “I’ll let you two get to your training.”

“Okay. See ya later,” you are holding in your giggle as you make your way to the climbing rope and jump to it. When you slide to the floor, you look into Loki’s mischievous eyes and you both burst into laughter. When it’s spent you say dramatically, “Loki! I can no longer control myself. I must swoon into your arms!” You pretend to faint against him and he catches you. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Loki narrows his eyes at you. 

“Yup! And you, my friend, are stuck with me!” You stand back up.

“You know that won’t be the last time someone will make the insinuation.” Loki says quietly.

“People have a hard time believing a man and woman can be just friends,” you shrug.

“That is true. Can I ask you something?” Loki asks. 

“Of course.”

“Hypothetically, would you have been able to fall in love with me if…” Loki trails off. 

“I don’t think I would let myself fall in love with any Asgardian,” you admit.

“Why?”

“How old are you, Loki?” 

“A little over a thousand years.”

“Exactly. Asgardians live for around 5,000 years, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why. Humans live maybe 80 years. That’s a blink in comparison. I’ve lost a lot of people who are important to me in my life. I don’t think I could purposely put someone through that. Falling for an Asgardian, letting them fall for you, would mean making them watch you die while they live on for millenia. I don’t think I could do that to someone, ever. It’s difficult enough being friends and knowing that. Being lovers, it would be unbearable.”

Loki nods, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

You smile at him, glad he understands. “How about we get to work?”

“Let’s go, darling.”

Over the past week, you had worked up to slipping into Loki’s mind without the unbearable pain. It still caused a headache but you were able to see through his eyes and communicate in a similar fashion to how you did with animals. Today, you were attempting to take control of Loki’s movement. It wasn’t easy. Just lifting his hand took a toll. You drop the warg after a moment. 

“What’s wrong?” Loki looks concerned. 

“It’s difficult. The pain is worse,” you explain.

“Why don’t you warg and I’ll do some magic? Just play around a bit.” 

“Okay. Sounds fun,” you warg back into Loki. He begins doing some simple tricks and you watch in delight. You try to concentrate on the motions he makes, the feel of the magic flowing through him, and his thought process as he works. A picture flashes in Loki’s mind and you catch a glimpse of a beautiful face before he forces it away. 

“Does she know?” You ask in his head.

“What?” Loki hedges. 

“Does she know?” you drop the warg.

“No.” Loki says. 

“Then she’s not.”

“Not what?”

“She’s not lost to you. How do you know she doesn’t feel the same way?” you push. 

“She… I… I don’t… She couldn’t-”

“Oh, I’m gonna stop you right there. She could. She really could, but if you never told her how you feel, what’s she supposed to do?”

“She’s engaged.” Loki insists.

“She’s not married, Loki. You should tell her. Wouldn’t it be better to know?”

“What?”

“At least then you’d know. Either she doesn’t and you have closure to move on. Or she does and you two can figure it out. ‘Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all’, right? Better to say it and know than to spend the next few millennia wondering,” you needle. 

“I…” Loki falters with a far away look in his eyes. 

“Just promise me you’ll think about it.” 

“I will.” Loki nods.

“Good,” you see Loki’s concentration is completely gone, “Why don’t we leave it for today?”

“Oh. Yes, good. I’ll see you later.” Loki walks away lost in thought. 

“Later, loverboy,” you whisper with a chuckle to yourself.

Part 18

Tuiccim’s Masterlist

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[lazypeachsoul]

alone together - edward the elder

Request: submission to Rosie's 250 followers challenge ( @for-bebbanburg ). Based of the prompt: "I said I liked being half-educated; you were so much more surprised at everything when you were ignorant." - Gerald Durrell

Warnings: Nothing, the situation is a bit sad but it's mostly fluff.

Word count: 1,6k

A/N: I'm really sorry about how late I'm posting this but health has not been that good this past few days. Also, can you tell I have trouble writing fics with already established relationships? I found this gif on google so if it's yours tell me so i can give you credit! 🌼

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Looking inside the room filled with parchments and writing tools you could clearly distinguish your friend’s figure looking at one of the stories. The past few days had been difficult on the entire family and you could see the toll it had on Edward, especially since he had tried to stay strong for his mother and for what would be his kingdom.

Even when you walked inside the room he seemed to be too concentrated on the page to listen to your entrance. He was about to turn the page when your hand stopped him, forcing him to finally look at you. His face was paler than usual and the dark circles under his eyes were visible, even if his expression showed nothing but strength and a little bit of surprise at the gesture.

“How did you manage to enter? I ordered Steapa-” He turned in the direction of the door to probably reprimand the guard, but you interrupted him. “Steapa thought some company would do you good and he allowed me in.”

He took a deep breath trying to calm himself and looked at your still touching hands. It wasn’t a completely rare gesture, even if the priests and ladies of the court thought it was too bold, but that day it felt different. It felt like there was so much you wanted to say but couldn’t, like you wished you could take the pain away.

Life in Wessex had been complicated since you could remember. You were born in a time of fighting and chaos caused by the incursions of the danes, and that’s all you had known your entire life. Sometimes a sliver of calm seemed to settle on the land but everybody knew it only the calm before the storm.

Even amongst the continuous hardships you had been extremely lucky. You were the second born and only daughter to a Lord from a land close to Winchester, a lord who was a member of the witan and very close to King Alfred himself. Your privileges meant you were to be saved among the first if a raid were to occur and you would be transported to Wincester to stay with the rest of the ladies.

It was during one of those raids that you became close friends with the Aetheling Edward. Or at least as close as the scary Lady Aelswith would allow you to get to her darling boy. During the long months that it took the Wessex army to defeat the danes and return to your family the land, and during that time you seemed to find in Edward a nice companion for the scary times.

During the years you had visited Winchester several times and always felt the excitement of seeing an old friend again. The times the both of you spent together on those visits had slowly decreased, Edward being whisked away for his education as a future King and you trying to make yourself known around the city as a respectable lady in training.

But every visit included an arduous negotiation with Steapa and your lady in waiting to allow you a visit to the gardens away from the queen, the priests and every nosy person at the court where you could get up to speed with your friend. Even if the meeting took place while you were seated in different stone benches and your guardians were standing two feet away.

Somewhere along those multiple visits and secret meetings feelings arose but were quickly shut down by your father. He would love to see his daughter married to the King of Wessex but it was not a reasonable thought. Everybody knew you were not Lady Aelswith’s favourite person and she would never allow for those feelings to be acted upon, so it was better to concentrate your efforts in finding a husband whose mother didn’t dislike you that much.

And you tried, but it was easier said than done. After your third meeting with a possible suitor went wrong your father asked the Lord King to give you shelter in the court and an occupation that might help you find a suitable husband.

The Lord King, who you suspected knew all along of your feelings for his son but probably thought it would be entertaining to see how things developed. The man who had treated you with the utmost respect and who was now dead.

You felt Edwards hand enveloping your hand and gently squeezing it. If it was to get out of your reverie or just for support you didn’t care, but it felt good. Your thumb started softly caressing the back of his hand, the biggest show of affection you were allowed even if what you wanted was to wrap him in your arms.

“What are you thinking about?” You spoke looking directly at his frowned face.

“Everything, nothing.” With a deep breath he tightly shut his eyes and rubbed them with his free hand. “I spent all my life getting ready for this moment and now that it’s here I feel like I’m unprepared. The witan will be meeting soon and I know that they see me as nothing but a child who is not fit to rule Wessex. I don’t know what will be of my mother now that my father is dead. I don’t know what would be of me now that he’s not here to guide me.”

His confession made your stomach turn and a lump formed in your throat. He had probably been feeling lost since his father died but he was only now talking about it. And it made you feel useless because the most you could do was support him.

“You are the son of a king, the grandson of a king and will be the father of a king, Edward. This is what you were born to do, rule Wessex and fulfill your father’s dream of a united land.” You could feel him tense but tried to ignore it, prefering to get your thoughts out of the way first. “The witan wouldn’t dare to choose a different king when they know you are the best option. They will probably debate for days, because the Lord knows they enjoy just discussing the most trivial of topics, but the decision has been made since you commanded the troops at Beamfleot.”

He sighed deeply before unlacing your hands and letting himself fall on a chair. Running his hands through his dirty blonde curls muttering something. When asked about what he said he just smiled sadly.

"I said I liked being half-educated; you were so much more surprised at everything when you were ignorant."

You laughed, remembering the amount of times the priests had called both of you ignorant during your childhood years just for asking questions. And he was right, life seemed to become more complicated when the joyful feelings of childhood started to vanish.

“We were surprised because we were innocent, I don’t think you have ever been ignorant.” You tried to argue, memories flashing back of all the trouble he had gotten you out of just by being educated and charming. “Maybe we were just sheltered and now the roof has blown off and for once we’re on our own.”

Silence set around the room, the only noise present was your breathing and the shifting of your dress every time you moved. He seemed to be deep in thought again and this time you didn’t dare to break him out of his constant thinking. It wasn’t until he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees that you paid attention to him again.

“Maybe we were sheltered and a little bit ignorant. Maybe our parents tried to protect us from the disaster and pain surrounding us all the time. We never heard real stories about battle or war. We never learned what it really takes to thrive as a kingdom…” He pointed at the books filled with stories of his father’s life on the shelves. “But that doesn't mean we are alone.”

He got up quickly, maybe too quickly for you to fully understand what the words really meant. In a long stride he was back in front of you looking at your eyes with an intensity that you knew only meant trouble.

“You’ve been here since I can remember. I saw you when you were not taller than two feet and I see you now that you are a beautiful lady.” He continued his speech making your face flush. “You are the closest ally I have ever had and I would like it to stay that way no matter the circumstances”

You had thought of him as more than a friend often but now that you were on the receiving end of his words it almost didn’t feel real.

“Maybe we can be alone together.” He tried to explain, offering you a hand to take.

Your mind was going faster than you could keep up. In a small amount of time you thought about it, about what it might mean for you and him, your families...you even thought about what it might mean for the kingdom. And in all that thinking you couldn’t find a single reason to say no.

You placed your hand back in his, and if before it felt different now it felt otherworldly. With a smile he raised your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss to the back of it. You couldn’t avoid but softly hitting his cheek like you did when you were younger and you wanted him to stop being mean, because some part of you hadn’t felt this close to him since before rules were placed for your interactions.

“I would love to be alone together with you, Edward.”

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[unpopularwiththepopulace]

Michael Riedel vs Bernadette Peters – the Broadway Battle of 2003 and beyond

My previous piece gives a fairly comprehensive look at Bernadette and Gypsy through the ages; though there is at least one aspect of the 2003 revival that warrants further discussion:

Namely, Michael Riedel.

Today’s essay question then: “Riedel – gossip columnist extraordinaire, the “Butcher of Broadway”, spited male vindictive over not getting a lunch date with Bernadette Peters, or puppet-like mouthpiece of theatre’s shadowed elite? Discuss.”

It’s matter retrievable in print, or even kept alive in apocryphal memory throughout the theatre community to this day that Riedel was responsible for a campaign of unrelenting and caustic defamation against Bernadette as Rose in Gypsy around the 2003 season.

While “tabloids may [have been] sniping and the Internet chat rooms chirping”, when looking back at the minutiae, none were more vocal, prolific or influential in colouring early judgment than the “chief vulture [of] Mr. Riedel, who had written a string of vitriolic columns in which he said from the start that Ms. Peters was miscast”.

He continued to find other complaints and regularly attack her in print over an extended period of time.

Why? We’ll get there. There are a few theories to suggest. Firstly, how and what.

Primary to establish is that it perhaps would be foolish to expect anything else of Riedel.

Also an author and radio and TV show host, Riedel is best known as the “vituperative and compulsively readable” theatre columnist at The New York Post.

He’s a man who thrives on controversy, decrying: “Gossip is life!”

The man who says, “I’m a wimp when it comes to physical violence, but give me a keyboard and I’ll kill ya.”

“Inflicting pain, for him, is a jokey thing. ‘Michael has this cruel streak and a lack of empathy,’ says Susan Haskins, his close friend and co-host.”

And inflicting pain is what he did with Bernadette, in a saga that has become one of the most talked about and enduring moments of his career.

From the beginning, then.

Riedel started work at The Post in 1998.

His first words on Bernadette? “Oddly miscast in the Ethel Merman role,” in August of that year on Annie Get Your Gun. It was a sentiment he would carry across to his second mention six months later (“a seemingly odd choice to play the robust Annie Oakley”), and also across to the heart of his vitriolic coverage on her next Merman role in Gypsy.

 Negative coverage on Bernadette in Gypsy started in August 2002 when Riedel discussed the search for trying to find a new American producer for the show. It had initially been reported in late 2000 that a Gypsy revival with Bernadette was planned for London, before it was to transfer to Broadway. To begin with, Arthur Laurents was “eager to do Gypsy in London because it hadn't been seen in the West End since 1973”, and he “wanted to repeat [the] dreamlike triumph” he said Angela Lansbury’s production had been. But economic matters prevented this original plan, leaving the team looking for new producers in the US. Riedel suggested that Fran and Barry Wiessler step up as, “after all, they managed to sell the hell out of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Peters…was also woefully miscast.”

He also quipped: “Industry joke: "Bernadette Peters in 'Gypsy'? Isn't she a little old to be playing Baby June?”, calling her “cutesy Peters” and again a “kewpie doll”.

Bernadette here seen side by side with the actual Baby June of the 2003 production – Kate Reinders.

Other publications to this point had discussed her “unusual” casting. Which was fairly self-evident. In contrast to being a surprising revelation that Bernadette Peters was not, in fact, Ethel Merman, this had been the intention from the start. Librettist Arthur “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

It was Riedel who was the first to shift the focus from the obvious point that she was ‘differently cast’, to instead attach the negative prefix and intone that she was actually ‘MIS’ cast. According to him then, she was unsuitable, and would be unable to “carry the show, dramatically or vocally”. All before she had so much as sung a note or donned a stitch of her costume.

So no, it wasn’t then “the perception, widely held within the theater industry,” as he presented it, “that Peters is woefully miscast as Mama Rose”.

It was Riedel’s perception. And he took it, and ran with it, along with whatever else he could throw into the mix to drag both her and the show down for the next two years.

 As to another indication of how one single columnist can influence opinion and warp wider perception, just look to Riedel’s assessment of the show’s first preview. It is typically known as Riedel’s forte to “[break] with Broadway convention, [where] he attends the first night of previews, and reports on the problems…before the critics have their say”. This gives him “clout” by way of mining “terrain that goes relatively uncovered elsewhere”, and it means subsequent journals are frequently looking to him from whom to take their lead – and quotes.

At Gypsy’s opening preview then, he reported visions of “Arthur Laurents [charging] up the aisle…on fire”, loudly and vocally expressing his dissatisfaction with the show as he then “read Fox [a producer] the riot act”. Despite the fact that this was “not true, according to Laurents,” the damage was already done, with the sentiment of trouble and tension being subsequently reprinted and distributed out to the public across many a regional paper.

News travels fast, bad news travels faster.

 And news can be created at an ample rate, when in possession of one’s own regular periodical column. This recurring domain allowed plentiful opportunity for attack on Bernadette and Gypsy, and Riedel “began devoting nearly every column to the subject,” which amounted to weekly or even more frequent references.

As the show progressed beyond its first preview, Riedel brought in the next aspects of his smear-campaign – assailing Bernadette for missing performances through illness and accusing Ben Brantley, who reviewed the show positively in The New York Times, of unfair favouritism and “hyperbolic spin”.

The issue is not that Bernadette was not in fact ill or missing performances. She was. She had a diagnosis at first of “a cold and vocal strain”, that then progressed more seriously to a “respiratory infection” the following week, and was “told by her doctors that she needs to rest”. So rest she did.

The issue is the way in which Riedel depicted the situation and her absences via hyperbole and “insinuating she was shirking” responsibility. He went further than continual, repeated mentions and cruel article titles like “wilted Rose”, or “sick Rose losing bloom”, or “beloved but - ahem-cough-cough-ahem - vocally challenged and miscast star”. He went as far as the sensationalist and degrading action of putting “Peters' face on the side of a milk carton, the kind of advertisement typically used to recover lost children,” and asking readers to look out for “bee-stung lips, [a] high-pitched voice, [and a] kewpie doll figure”, who “may be clutching a box of tissues and a love letter from Ben Brantley”.

It was quantified in May of 2003 after the show had officially opened, that “out of the 39 performances "Gypsy" has played so far, [Bernadette] has missed six – an absence rate of 15 percent.”

As an interesting comparison, it was reported in The Times in February 2002 that “‘The Producers' stars Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick have performed together only eight times in last 43 performances due to scheduling problems and health concerns,” – an absence rate of 81%.

Did Riedel have anything nearly as ardent to say about the main male stars of the previous season’s hit missing such a rate of performances? Of course not.

 Riedel arguably has a disproportionate rate for criticising female divas.

One need only heed his recommendations that certain women check into his illuminatingly named “Rosie's Rest Home for Broadway Divas.” Divos need not apply.

Not that he was unaware of this.

In 2004, Riedel would jovially lay out that “Liz Smith and I have developed a nice tag-team act: I bash fragile Broadway leading ladies who miss performances, and she rides to their rescue.”

Donna Murphy was the recipient of what he that year dubbed his “BERNADETTE PETERS ATTENDANCE AWARD”, when she began missing performances in “Wonderful Town”, due to “severe back and neck injuries and a series of colds and sinus infections”.

This speaks to his remarkably cavalier and joyful attitude with which he tears down shows and performers. “The more Mr. Riedel's work upsets people, the more he enjoys it.”

He knows he yields influence – it was recognised he had “eclipsed Ben Brantley as the single most discussed element in marketing meetings for Broadway shows” – and he delights in his capacity to lead shows to premature demises through his poison-tipped quill yielding.

When it was reported Gypsy would be closing earlier than had been planned, he made mention of “hop[ping] around on [its] grave” and debonairly applauding himself, “I suppose I can take some credit for bringing it down”.

 His premonition from the previous year’s Tony’s ceremony was both ominous and prescient, when he predicted the show’s failure to win any awards “could spell trouble at the box office”. He was right. It did. The 8.5 million dollar revival closed months before anticipated and failed to return a profit.

Multiple factors can be attributed to Gypsy’s poor success at the Tony’s, but it’s clear to say Riedel’s continual bashing leading up to the fated night throughout the voting period certainly didn’t help matters.

His suggestions to do with Bernadette’s performances were not helpful either.

After alleging Laurents as the director of the 1991 revival “practically beat a performance out of” Tyne Daly when she was struggling with the role, he proffers that to improve Bernadette’s success, “it may be time for [Laurents] to take up the switch and thrash one out of Peters”.

Great.

It was irresponsible and unrelenting commentary that did not go unnoticed.

His “ruthless heckling of beloved Broadway star Ms. Peters” was deemed in print “his most egregious stunt so far”.

Vividly, in person, Riedel was accosted at a party one night by Floria Lasky, the venerable showbiz lawyer, who “grab[bed] Riedel’s tie and jerk[ed] it, nooselike, scolding, ‘It was unfair, what you did to Bernadette’”.

Moreover, the wide-reaching influential hold Riedel occupied over the environment surrounding Gypsy was tangible in the fact his words spread beyond just average readers, and even unusually “started seeping into the reviews of New York's top critics”. Riedel himself, as the “chief vulture”, was indeed what Ben Brantley was referring to in his own New York Times review by stating how the production was “shadowed by vultures predicting disaster”.

Even more substantially, the “whole Peters-Riedel-Brantley episode” became its own enduring cultural reference – being converted into its very own “satiric cabaret piece, ‘Bernadette and the Butcher of Broadway’”. All three parties were featured, with Riedel characterised as the butcher, and it played Off-Broadway later in 2003 “to positive notices”.

 But penitent for his sins and begging for absolution Riedel was not. “Riedel saw nothing but a great story and a great time,” and for many years after, he would continue to hark back to the matter in self-referential (almost reverential) and flippant ways.

In 2008 as Patti LuPone won her Tony for her turn as Rose in the subsequent revival, Riedel couldn’t help but jibe, “Not to rip open an old wound, but I'd love to know if Bernadette Peters was watching”. (He neglects also to mention that “Mendes’s Gypsy was seen by 100,000 more people than saw Laurents’s and grossed $6 million more”.)

More jibes are to be found in 2012 as he reported on the auction after Arthur Laurents’ funeral, or even as recently in 2019, as he asked, “Remember the outcry that greeted Sam Mendes’ Brechtian “Gypsy,” with Bernadette Peters, in 2003?”

As with in 2004 where he points to the “pack of jackals who have been snarling” about Bernadette’s failures, this brings up the canny knack Riedel has of offloading his views to bigger and detached third party sources – thus absolving himself of personal centrality, and thus culpability.

If there was an outcry, HE was its loudest contributor. If there were snarling jackals, HE was their leader.

Maybe Riedel’s third person detached approach to referencing matters was intended to be a humorous stylistic quirk for those in the know. Or maybe it was his way of expressing some inner turmoil over the event.

In some rare display of morality and emotional authenticity, Riedel would at one point admit “I find it kind of sad and pathetic that the high point of my life supposedly has been about beating up on Bernadette Peters”.

Fortunately for him then, a degree of absolution was eventually achieved in 2018, where Riedel visited Bernadette at her opening night in Hello Dolly in 2018, with the intention of ending their “15-year feud”. He “got down on one knee at Sardi’s and extended his hand,” with Bernadette reportedly yelling “Take a picture!” while he held his deferential and obsequious position on the floor.

So if eventually this “feud” has some kind of circular resolution and Riedel was glad it was over, why on earth did it begin in the first place?

One notion is that it was simply another day on the job. Riedel is a man who sees Broadway as “a game for rich people”. Positioned as an “an industry that brought in $720.9 million in the 2002-2003 season”, it is “not a fragile business”, he remarked. As such, he “[could not] fathom the point of donning kid gloves” in covering it, and reasoned the business as a whole was robust enough to weather a few hard knocks. “Thus, Riedel can coolly view Bernadette Peters as fair game, as opposed to, say, a national treasure”.

More to the point, he was a man in search of words. During the season in question, Riedel was “one of just three New York newspaper columnists covering the stage” – a “throwback to a bygone era when…Broadway gossipmeisters…such as Walter Winchell and Dorothy Kilgallen ruled”. Now at the time, as the “last of a great tabloid tradition”, Riedel presided over not just one but two columns a week at The Post. As a result, he was in need of content. “One of the reasons I've become more opinionated is I just have more space to fill,” he admitted. Robert Simonson hypothesises in his book ‘On Broadway Men, Still Wear Hats’ that Riedel may have consequently picked “the thrashing of Bernadette” as his main target simply because “it was a slow news cycle”. Options for ‘titillating’ and durable content were scarce elsewhere that season.

And after all, if Riedel would later cite Bernadette in an article concerning the Top 10 Powerhouses of Broadway in 2004, saying even despite a few knocks or bad shows, “she’ll bounce back” – surely there was no real damage done.

If her career wouldn’t be toppled by his continual public defamation and haranguing, what was the harm?

Feelings? Who cares about feelings or Bernadette’s extremely complex and personal history with the show stretching back to when she was a teenager.

It was just part of the territory, there was nothing personal in it.

 Or was there?

Maybe there was something personal in Riedel’s campaign after all.

He makes a curious comment while discussing ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ in 2004. The then incoming star of the show, rapper P. Diddy, had invited Riedel to dinner, and he makes judgement that this was “a smart p.r. move”. Then he ponders, “you do have to wonder: If Bernadette Peters had broken bread with me this time last year, would her chorus boys have to be out there now working the TKTS line to keep "Gypsy" afloat?”

Might he be going as far to suggest that if Bernadette had indulged him in a meal, her show might not have suffered so, by way of him being more inclined to cover it with greater lenience?

It may seem that way, at least in considering how Riedel reviewed P. Diddy’s performance thus after their dinner: “Riedel pronounced himself impressed. ‘He could have forgotten his lines or had to be carried offstage. He didn’t do anything terrible, he didn’t do anything astonishing.’”

Seemingly all the rapper had to do was remember some words and remain physically onstage, and he sails through scot-free. That’s a rather different outcome, one could say, to being absolutely eviscerated for what became a Tony nominated effort at one of the appreciably hardest and most demanding musical theatre roles in existence.

Though perhaps it’s hard to tell if that was really his insinuation from just one isolated comment pertaining to lunch.

This argument might be fine, if it WAS the only isolated comment pertaining to wanting Bernadette to have lunch with him. But it isn’t. Riedel continues to make a further two references over protracted periods of time to the fact Bernadette hasn’t dined with him.

One begins to get the sense of him feeling desiring of or somewhat entitled to such a private lunch with the lady he’s verbally decimated for years, and a sense of bitter rejection that he hasn’t been granted one.

“If Tonya Pinkins doesn't win the Tony Award this year, I'll buy Bernadette Peters lunch,” he simpered, and later, “I invite Bernadette to be my guest for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing. She can reach me at The Post anytime she's hungry”.

The embittered columnist in this light takes on now the marred tinge of a small boy in the playground who doesn’t get to hold the hand of the girl he wants in front of his friends, so spends the next three years pushing her over in the sandpit in revenge.

Moreover, the last statement makes undeniable comment on Bernadette’s troubled relationship with food, body image and public eating.

So now not only so far has he insulted and mocked her physical appearance and played into all the usual trite shots calling her a “kewpie doll”; suggested Arthur Laurents violently hit her in order to elicit a better performance; continually publicly harassed her regarding a show that strikes close to the nerve with deep personal and psychological resonances due to her mother and childhood; but now he’s going for the low-blows of ridiculing her over her eating habits.

Flawless behaviour.

 Maybe it’s far-fetched to suggest a man would have such a fragile ego to run a multi-year public defamation campaign after so little as not getting his hypothesised fantasy of a personal lunch date. But then again, this was the man who “left Johns Hopkins University after his first year because of a broken heart.” (“I was in love with her; she wasn't in love with me,” he said.)

And also the man described as “an insomniac who pops the occasional Ambien,” living in a “small one-bedroom” that is “single-guy sloppy”, who has “been living alone since a four-year romance ended in 1996”.

The man whose own best friend called “cruel” and with a “lack of empathy”.

The man whose own sister answered that “well, yes,” he’s always been mean; and after being picked on as a kid for “being the small guy and the intellectual”, he grew dependent on using “his verbal ability to beat someone” and put himself in positions of defensive impenetrability.

See, writing Riedel-esque, vindictive and provocative conjecture is no especially challenging or cerebral task.

Riedel may well see his approach to ‘journalism’ or reporting as “all fun and games”.

But I for one am not laughing.

 One final aspect to address when considering Riedel’s reasoning for the depth of his coverage on Bernadette demands attention of how he gets his information. His own personal opinions and motivations aside, crucially he depends on insider providers for insider details. Perhaps somewhat alarmingly then, “leading Broadway producers themselves are among his sources”.

“Half of Broadway hates him. The other half leaks to him”, John Heilpern titled his 2012 Vanity Fair profile on Riedel.

As such, in frequently taking his lead from “theater folk, usually with an ax to grind”, Riedel acts as the mouthpiece to bring secretive backstage reports out front. High-up, influential characters are thus able to funnel their agendas into public view, while keeping their identities hidden.

Notably, it was raised in the above article that Riedel’s “merciless running story” regarding Bernadette in Gypsy “was fed by none other than its renowned librettist, Arthur Laurents—or, more precisely, by Laurents's lover”.

Contrary to the smiley picture below between members of the show’s creative team and it’s beloved star, it was no secret that Laurents did not like Mendes’ 2003 revival. Laurents told Riedel that “Sam did a terrible disservice to Bernadette and the play, and I wanted a Gypsy seen in New York that was good… You have to have musical theater in your bones, and Sam doesn't”. In fact, Laurents admitted the only reason his 2009 book ‘Mainly on Directing’ came into existence was because of how much he had to criticise about the show – it grew out of the extensive set of notes he gave Mendes.

Additionally, it was no secret that Laurents’ lover, Tom Hatcher, demonstrated both a desire and capacity to influence Arthur’s productions. As well as being the driving force for the 2009 Spanish-speaking reworking of West Side Story, Hatcher had intense investment in Gypsy specifically. Patti LuPone writes in her memoir, “From his deathbed, Tom had told Arthur, ‘You have to do Gypsy, and you have to do it with Patti’. It was one of his dying wishes”. Laurents himself, in corroboration of this, explained Tom’s reasoning – “he didn't want the Sam Mendes production to be New York's last memory of Gypsy”.

The allegation in Heilpern’s profile might be hard to prove from an outsider perspective. But given that neither were happy with Mendes’ production and both actively took steps to ensuring it would be superseded in memory, it is not completely implausible.

 Overarchingly, as much as Riedel’s writing may benefit FROM insider sources, it is said he does not write in benefit OF them. For instance, although friends with Scott Rudin in 2004, an animated (nay threatening) warning from Mr Rudin asking Riedel to “back off” from “slamming” his show, Caroline or Change, seemingly “had no impact”.

That’s not to cite total impartiality or exemption from personal connections and higher up influences colouring his reports of shows. Theatre publicist John Barlow would describe that sometimes “if you ask Michael to kill [one of his pieces], he will, if it’s someone with whom he does business”.

But it would be remiss not to mention that his influences and sources stretch beyond just the big wigs. Amongst his other informants too are the more lowly, overlooked folk like “the stagehands, the ushers, chorus kids, house managers, and press agents… the guys who build sets in the Bronx”. Basically, for anyone who’ll talk, Riedel will listen.

“Michael Riedel doesn't work for the producers or the publicists; he works for the reader,” one publicist said. “Sometimes we're glad of that, sometimes we're not-but at the end of the day, that's the reality.”

Sometimes he’s nice, sometimes he’s not – but the world goes round.

Through all that’s been explored, it should be stated how painful and injurious it must be for individual performers or shows to fall upon the unmitigated, maiming force of being on the wrong side of Riedel’s favour. The way he approached coverage on Bernadette is deplorable from an emotional and personal standpoint. Some would argue that it was too far and crossed a line and was most definitely unfair. Others would say it was justified. It’s hard not to sound petulant as the former, or heartless as the latter.

While his actions may indeed be abrasively wounding in isolated (often plentiful) cases, it’s unreasonable to say Riedel’s intentions would be to cripple the Broadway industry as a whole. There are those who purport that Riedel in fact “keeps Broadway alive with his controversies”. His words may not always be ‘nice’ but it’s difficult to argue they're not engaging.

Many are quick to criticize or react impassionedly to him and his columns; but few are quick to stop reading them. And Riedel “knows that the most important thing is being well read”.

Hence it is understandable why Riedel is appraised as “the columnist Broadway loves to hate”. Through his enthralling and stimulating bag of linguistic and dramatic tricks, Riedel knows how to keep the readers coming back. “He’s lively, and he makes the theater seem like an interesting place,” one producer did reason.

“There are times when no one's going to care about Broadway if you don't have a gossip angle that focuses on the backstage drama,” opined George Rush, the Daily News gossip columnist who was once Riedel's boss.

Perhaps it is logically and principally then, if somewhat cynically, a matter of believing “it's just business” and knowing how to “play the game”.

As Riedel himself would rationalise, “It’s all an act. You gotta have a gimmick, as they say in Gypsy.”

It may not be pleasant, but in a world increasingly dependent on sensationalistic and clickbait-driven engagement, it’s probably not going to change any time soon.

 Well then, if he can live with the toll of the position of moral tumult his column puts him in, so be it.

That he described his mind as being “constantly on the next deadline”, saying “I always think about the column”, and likening writing it to “standing under a windmill”, where “you dodge one blade, but there's always another one coming right behind it”, may be some indication that he can't. At least not wholly easily.

I’ll leave that to him to figure out. Off the record.

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES // 4

Four - Casablanca

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

“ You dressed up! “

God damnit. He should’ve known. He really should’ve. Sam stands by his side, shit-eating grin splitting his face in two. He should’ve just worn a plain sweater and no one would’ve commented on it.

But then would she look at him with that joyful sparkle in her eyes and that gorgeous smile? Maybe the little dressing up that he did do, and all the teasing comments from Sam, are worth it if means she’ll look at him like that.

“I didn’t dress up.” Doesn’t mean he has to admit it. No now, not ever.

“ Uh, your jeans are cuffed. You’ve never done that!” (Y/N) points out to which Sam chimes in with a loud “that’s what I said!” words dripping with amusement.

“ It’s just my jeans, it’s not a big deal.”

“ And you quiffed your hair!”

Bucky glances towards Sam who stands beside him with the biggest smile any person has ever displayed in all the times humans have walked this earth. His joy at Bucky’s obvious discomfort knowing no boundaries and, if it weren’t at his own expense, Bucky would even find Sam’s amusement quite contagious.

“ You totally did! He totally did! I didn’t even notice. Hi,” he says and shakes (Y/N)’s hand “ I’m Sam.”

“ So nice to meet you, Sam. And you dressed up too! As a sexy Ghostbuster!”

Bucky can basically feel Sam’s ego inflate at those words and he knows, for a fact, he’ll never hear the end of it.

“ That’s right! I am a sexy Ghostbuster. Not a regular one. That’s exactly what I was going for, thank you. Man, I love her already.” Sam says, directed at both, (Y/N) but mostly at Bucky.

“ You look lovely too, by the way,” Sam points out and for the first time since they arrived, Bucky gives himself a moment to take her in entirely. Not just the little things, the twinkle in her eyes, the warm radiance of her smile. Her. All of her.

The blue and white checkered pinafore dress she’s wearing reaches down to her knees, her legs are covered by white knee-high socks and at her feet, a pair of ruby red heels sparkle as the light reflects against them.

She looks beautiful but what really makes Bucky’s heart skip just a tiny fraction of a beat is the fact that he knows who she’s supposed to be and, whether she did it purposefully or not doesn’t matter, he feels included for the first time in so long.

“ You’re Dorothy.” his lips produce words that his brain didn’t sign off on. They just slip out. They hold so much weight that even if he’d acted fast enough, he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to hold them back. They’re so seemingly insignificant but they hold a meaning that Bucky isn’t sure anyone will ever fully comprehend. Steve would’ve but Steve is — not here.

He hopes (Y/N) understands even a small fraction of what it means to him. And when she smiles, he thinks she might.

“ I am. Do you like it?”

“ You look beautiful. “ And she does. She really does.

Sam is grinning away like he’s just heard the best news and Bucky isn’t sure if he prefers this to his outright laughter at his discomfort or not. This smirk seems like some inside joke Bucky doesn’t get. Like Sam knows something he doesn’t.

“ Can I get you guys something to drink? Beers? “

“ That would be great “ Sam replies.

“ Grumpy? “

“ Sure.”

He can’t get drunk, that’s one of the little things the Serum changed about him. It’s not like he’s here to get drunk anyway but to feel the enthusiastic buzz that alcohol can wash through your system, would be nice. He hardly remembers what that felt like.

He’s gonna drink some beer either way though. It gives him the feeling of fitting in, of belonging with the crowd. Even if he knows that’s one big lie. Sometimes you have to lie to yourself to keep your heart from breaking.

Kim isn’t a friend. Not really. She’s a friend of a friend who somehow always tags along whenever (Y/N)’s friend group gets together. She’s never actually invited but she’s always there anyway. Tonight is no exception.

She’s dressed in some kind of last-minute DIY deer costume, one of those that have been popular a few years back on Youtube, and the way she smirks at (Y/N) as she enters the kitchen already makes the metaphorical alarm bells go off in (Y/N)’s head.

“ So, I didn’t know you know celebrities. “

“ What are you talking about, Kim? “

“ Oh, you know! “ Kim announces and slides up next to (Y/N), casually leaning against the kitchen counter. “ Do you think he can do some cool tricks with his metal arm? “

“ Who are you talking about? “

Obviously (Y/N) is well aware of who Kim is talking about. There’s only so many people with metal arms and only one of them finds himself at this very party. Still, she doesn’t give Kim the satisfaction of reacting to her ridiculous comment. Maybe, (Y/N) naively hopes, repeating her question will make Kim realize just how rude and offensive her words really are.

“The winter soldier! Who else. That’s him, isn’t it? “

“ No.”

“ You sure? I’m pretty certain that’s him.”

“ His name is Bucky!” (Y/N) clarifies, fixing Kim with a stare that conveys just how serious this is to her. “ And he is not some kind of circus freak or entertainer or something. He is my friend. “

Kim shrugs her shoulders so casually that it sends shivers of red hot rage through (Y/N)’s body. The audacity of this woman. “ Okay sure but he is the Winter Soldier, right? I don’t know why you’re acting so sensitive right now. Chill, girl.”

“ Fuck you, Kim. You are so disrespectful towards my friend. He’s so sweet and genuine and wonderful and he deserves to be seen for all that he is. He is not here for you to stare at like a caged animal and he sure as hell ain’t here to be reminded of his painful past. If you can’t treat him like a normal person, please leave. “

There’s a look on Kim’s face that (Y/N) hasn’t seen on her before. One of utter disbelief. One that lets her know that this was the last thing Kim was expecting. And for a little moment, a huge wave of triumphant enthusiasm crashes over her.

“ Whatever.” is all Kim replies once the shock has settled. With a pout on her lips, she shuffles out of the kitchen and back into the crowd. (Y/N) can’t tell for sure if she’s leaving but there’s no doubt in her mind that at least she won’t be harassing Bucky anytime soon.

A bitter taste settles on (Y/N) tongue, as she thinks about Kim’s words again. About the sick and twisted thoughts that reduce Bucky to little more than a human animatronic. It’s disgusting and so so sad and she just hopes Bucky hasn’t heard her say those things.

As she steps out of the kitchen and rounds the corner though, her hopes are squashed. There’s the usual pain on his face, the one that’s perpetually etched into his features as Bucky leans against the wall. But mixed in between, there’s something else. A confusing mess of emotions she can’t quite place. She knows though. He’s heard every last word.

“ Robin came over, started talking to Sam about some band I don’t know. Thought I’d come see if you need some help. “

“ Bucky, I — “

“ It’s fine.” He interrupts her. (Y/N) doesn’t think it’s really fine. Sometimes people just get so used to saying they feel fine, they actually start believing it. Only fine is not something you want to feel forever, is it? Fine shouldn’t be a permanent state. Fine should be temporary. A path to good. To great. To happy.

“ You sure? “

“ Yeah. I uh — I appreciate what you said.”

“ Oh sure. And I meant it. You’re my friend and you deserve all the good things life has to offer.”

He doesn’t know if he agrees with that sentiment. No, in fact, he’s sure that he doesn’t agree. While he is free of the pain that bound him to Hydra, he will never be entirely free of the guilt his past has put on him. One, he thinks, makes him undeserving of so many things. Like friends. Like happiness. Like love.

And yet it’s nice to know that other people see in him what he may never see in himself.

“ Now let’s go rescue Sam before Robin ropes him into some kind of wedding preparations.”

She says, hands Bucky a bottle, and then grabs his free hand to pull him towards the other side of the room where Robin, dressed as Jessica Rabbit, gestures around wildly as she talks to Sam.

At first, (Y/N) doesn’t even realize it but then she notices that the hand holding hers feels different. It’s not as soft to the touch as a hand usually is. The glove is warm and smooth under her skin but she wishes she could touch the metal. It’s not some kind of weird, misplaced fetishization or some sensationalism. It’s the fact that the arm is a part of Bucky as much as his eyes or his smile or his perpetual grumpiness. And she wants to know every part of him for they make him who he is, and who he is is wonderful.

3 hours.

It’s been 3 hours since they arrived at the party. 3 hours of music he doesn’t get from artists he doesn’t know. 3 hours of staying painfully sober while everyone around him gets exponentially more drunk. 3 hours of pretending not to notice the looks he’s getting.

3 hours and then it got too much. He’s well aware that this isn’t his time. By all means, he shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Stuck in a body that doesn’t match his actual age. Forever reminded of the fact that he’s not meant to be here. Usually, he tries to ignore that. Tries to learn about new things, tries to understand.

This party puts a mirror right in front of his face though. Makes it painfully obvious that this is not where he belongs.

What a party pooper he is. He’d hate himself. If his old self could see him now, standing alone on a balcony because he didn’t like the music inside. His old self would think of him as a coward. His old self is probably right.

“ Grumpy, what are you doing out here, all by yourself?”

For a second the music from the inside spills through the doors and into the serene night, only to be cut off a second later when (Y/N) steps onto the balcony and closes the door behind her.

“ Are you not having fun? “

“ It’s not that. It’s just —”

Just what? Bucky has no idea how to put it into words. It’s moments like this one where having Steve around would be so helpful. He’d understand and he’d know what to say. Steve always knew what to say. Steve just didn’t know when to shut up.

“ You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever.” (Y/N) says and bumps him with her shoulder as she leans against him looking out at the New York skyline.

“ I appreciate it.”

“ I was hoping you’d like my costume,” (Y/N) confesses after a moment. “ I feel like I tell you so much about all these movies you missed out on and I don’t know, maybe it’s silly, but I wanted you to feel in the know for once. Does that make sense? “

Bucky bites his lip for everything he wants to say is not something you tell someone you’ve only just befriended a few weeks ago. Never has he felt the need to spill his heart, with all his sorrows and fears and dreams, to anyone. Not until tonight. But it’s too much to burden her with. He can hardly carry the weight himself. To put it on her would be an awfully selfish thing to do.

So he just nods his head and smiles and he says “thank you” like it doesn’t mean anything when really it means the world.

“ Okay well, since I can’t bring you to the party — “ (Y/N) says and fumbles her phone from her dress pocket “ — I’ll just have to bring the party to you.”

For a moment she just types away on the screen before a familiar tune sounds from the speakers of her phone. A familiar tune, to Bucky. One he remembers dancing to when he was a whole other man.

Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Cocktail fills the air and Bucky’s lips unwillingly lift into a smile.

“ If I remember correctly,” (Y/N) says and reaches out her hand to him “ you owe me a dance.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head, but grabs a hold of her hand anyway “That’s not how it works. You can’t just say someone owes you something simply because you want it.”

She’s so close now. He can see the lights reflecting in her eyes, can feel her chest lift with every breath she takes.

Here’s the thing about loneliness. After a while, you get used to it. It becomes a part of your life, of yourself, like breathing and sleep. You don’t even realize that you’re missing something. Until one day you’re chest to chest with a beautiful girl who thinks you’re wonderful and worthy of her friendship. And it’s then that you realize how lonely you were and how much it hurts and how much you’ve been missing the touch of another.

“ I’ve always wanted to dance through the night. Ever since I’ve first seen Moulin Rouge in the cinema.” (Y/N) says and they start to slowly but surely sway to the music. It’s tentative steps at first, shy and unsure. Barely there moves but there after all.

Sometimes it’s enough for things to be small. The big moments, the important ones don’t need to be big at all. Some of the most important ones don’t demand a lot of space and yet they take up all the space in your heart.

“ Do you remember your first time seeing a movie at the cinema? “ she asks, looking up at him with her starlight eyes.

It’s not a memory he can recall. It’s one of those that have been lost in the shuffle. Like a sweater you love that’s been lost in the laundry or a picture frame gone missing during a move.

“ I don’t. I do remember my last trip to the cinema though.”

“Yeah? What was it?”

This memory is so vivid, it could’ve happened yesterday. He remembers the old dusty velvet seats. He remembers the propaganda spot shown before the movie, the one that put a feeling in his gut as if he’d just swallowed a sack of bricks, now knowing what was to happen but expecting it. He remembers Ruth Dillinger and her gorgeous blond hair and the way it smelled like soap and flowers. And he remembers the movie.

“ Casablanca. Saw it on a date with a girl.”

“ Aw, you took her on a movie date? Lucky girl. “

“ I don’t know if I’d go that far. I wasn’t half as respectable of a guy back then. Was more interested in sneaking a kiss in the dark than taking her to see a good movie. “

“ Did you do the whole, yawning-arm-around-the-shoulder thing?”

“ Obviously.”

“ Oh, you were just a regular casanova, Mr. Barnes? “

“ For sure. “

New York feels alive with the power of possibility. Of a night being more than a night. Of small moments being big and big moments being so tiny and intimate and small. New York feels alive with emotions. Ones Bucky doesn't understand and couldn’t understand. But either way, he feels happier in that tiny insignificant moment than he had in a long time.

“ I’ve never seen Casablanca.”

At that confession, Bucky pushes away from her a little so he can properly look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“ What? It’s a classic. I have good reasons for not having seen most of your movie recommendations, what’s your excuse? “

She smiles bashfully and shrugs her shoulders “ I really don’t know. I just never got around to it. I feel like it’s such an important movie, it asks for a special occasion. Like seeing it at some fancy cinema or in concert or something. You know? “

Bucky only chuckles before pulling her close for another soft sway around the balcony.

Only the serenity doesn’t last very long as the aggressive drumming of some EDM song penetrates the quiet and Sam steps out onto the balcony.

“ Hi guys, uh — am I interrupting something ?”

“ No, no. That’s alright” (Y/N) exclaims, sounding a little flustered as she pulls away from Bucky and presses pause on her phone, plunging them all in silence.

“ I’m gonna get going in a moment. Need to catch an early flight tomorrow morning. “

“ Aw, so soon? Well okay but it was so nice to meet you Sam. You’re welcome at any future party or just drop in at the diner whenever you’re around.” (Y/N) says and pulls him into a hug.

“ I will don’t worry. Told you, I like you already.”

They share another quick hug before (Y/N) excuses herself to get Sam’s jacket from another room, leaving Sam and Bucky alone on the balcony.

“ Do not say a word!” Bucky orders as he notices yet another grin forming on Sam’s face.

“ I didn’t say anything.”

“ But you want to. I can see it.”

“ What would I possibly say, Buck? That you’ve got it bad? You know that yourself. “

“ It’s not like that.”

“ Okay, if you say so. “ Sam complies and lets another silence fall over them.

That’s until he speaks up yet again “ You dance. Man, I can’t believe it. Hey, can you waltz?”

“ Shut up! “

The party is slowly but surely winding down. A lot of people have left by now.

Some are asleep on the couch. On the floor. Against the wall.

A few are still lingering around, talking in low voices. Slurred words, tired eyes, light hearts.

Bucky tries not to step on anyone as he maneuvers his way around the apartment, trying to find the room where (Y/N) put all the jackets. It’s time for him to go, no matter how much he wants to hold onto the moment. He’s tired and the party is as good as over. And anyway, he hasn’t seen (Y/N) in a while.

“ Psst, Grumpy“

(Y/N) peeks out from behind a door, beckoning him closer. As he steps into the room he’s embraced by a warm amber glow coming from a string of fairy lights that frame one wall.

On her bed, (Y/N) sits and leans against the headboard, balancing a laptop on her legs. The wall behind her is covered in photographs. Some of her, some of people he doesn’t know. There are pictures taken at concerts, theme parks, the beach. She’s smiling in most of them. Happy. Memories of a lifetime forever caught on film.

This, Bucky realizes then, is something he wants. Not right now but eventually. To make memories. Ones that last. Ones that don’t get taken away from him. And someone to make those memories with him.

“ Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” Bucky asks as she pats the blanket and he sits down on the bed next to her.

“ I’ve been looking for this movie and I finally found a decent copy we can watch.”

“ Now? “

“ Yes now. It’s supposed to be a really good one. I think you’ll like it. “

Bucky’s tired. He honestly just wants to go home and try to find at least a few hours of sleep. But she does it again, that thing where she smiles and his heart does the weird fluttery thing. And he can’t say no to that. Why would he ever want to say no to that?

So he scoots backward to rest against the headboard as well and his eyes take in the swirly white font on the screen spelling out Casablanca over the black and white image of a map of Africa.

His smile won’t be suppressed anymore. It takes over his face like it belongs right there.

"Thought you were waiting for a special occasion?"

“ I was and I found it. Now, what’s the romantic lesson I can learn from this one? “ (Y/N) asks as her head comes to rest on his right shoulder.

Bucky considers it for a moment, tries to recall exactly what happens. Some details are fuzzy, some lost altogether. But he remembers the core of it all. The love shared between two people.

“ It is about sacrificing the thing you want most in life to make sure the people you love are safe and happy. It’s about putting the one you love above yourself and breaking your own heart in order to keep theirs from breaking. Love is selfless, never selfish. And love is worth it. I think that’s what it’s about. “

“ That’s a lovely sentiment. But so sad too.”

Bucky only nods in agreement and as the title credits roll he wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to really figure out love. To fall for someone and love them so much he’d give up everything to see them happy. Even himself.

Though they call it the city that never sleeps, New York seems to grow tired. It grows calm and quiet and maybe for a second it falls into a slumber in the same way that both Bucky and (Y/N) fall asleep, cuddled up on her bed, while Ingrid Bergman flies away on a plane and Humphry Bogard walks into the black of night.

Bucky hasn’t slept in a bed in months in fear of nightmares and terrors lurking in the dark corner of his mind.

That night he doesn’t have nightmares. In fact that night he dreams. Of slow dancing on a balcony with only the stars bearing witness to the moment. He dreams of red slippers and fairy lights and black and white movies.

That night he doesn’t have nightmares. Only sweet dreams.

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //:

@zaynzierulez // @je-like-you // @dracoxxyoflam // @jackiehollanderr // @majo240820 // @kay-gilles // @booksb4looksstuff // @jckie94 // @charmed-asylum // @shawnie--jo // @yllwtaxi // @tailsoflightning //@giuliarogers

[shintorikhazumi]

“Daydream.”

A/N: I have NOT written in a while. Or posted rather. It’s been.... a month??? I’m sorry. It’s been.. hard. I also have summer classes which are slowly choking me. Yey.

Anyway, I hope... you all enjoy? I think I’m rusty. There are a lotta plotholes and some... hhrnnghh characterization that i feel iffy about. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

Anywhooooo. Thank you to my lovely platonic crushie @tanuki-pyon hihi for allowing me to use your drawing for inspiration ;-;. Thank youuu <3 Hope you like this.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

It is a bustling city, full of life and vivid color. The songs of the late afternoon played- their notes produced by that independent street musician, backed by the passing cars beneath the balcony, the rhythmic dripping of a loose faucet in the bath, and the rustle of leaves caused by a passing breeze that caresses her cheek.

 Life, color, music, and a touch.

 They all paint a particular picture- one of wine-red eyes, and a charming smile; brown locks that she had tucked behind a heated ear, adorned with exotic jewelry she had purchased for her.

 As she draws the cup away from her lips, she sighs in contentment, the distinctive taste of Boldo tea and the dimming rays of light blanketing the expanse of what she could see making her smile bittersweet.

 It's getting late.

 She knows she has to finish her packing. After all, this fleeting vacation is a dream she'd have to wake up from, come the morning rays of tomorrow. It was short-lived, but she'd like to think these few moments in the city or Buenos Aires are moments worth remembering forever.

 Even if there was a possibility that they were but a daydream.

 That she is her daydream.

 Her phone rings, and she sighs a different sigh. It's one of disappointment and reluctance as walks into the room, swiping the blinking gadget off the table. She taps the green icon, placing the device by her ear, eyes dulling as she listens to the speaker on the other end with poorly-veiled disinterest.

 ["-Are you listening?! Do you understand? The moment you step off that plane, your fiance will be there to greet you. Then he will drive you to work, and you will-"]

 Her face contorts in disgust at the statement. "He's not my fiance." She says, voice cold and adamant.

 ["Diana! How could you say that- about Andrew Hanbridge, no less! The man who has not once given up on you, unlike all the other low-life suitors out there. He's rich, intelligent, charming, and well-mannered."]

 Diana scoffs at the very first descriptor of the man she was to marry supposedly. 'Rich'. Of course he had to be.

 "Listen here, and listen well. You've been off on these silly trips, writing god knows what for well over ten years. It's time you grew up and got married, and inherited the corporation!"

 Diana grits her teeth, hands crumpling a few papers on the table. She immediately regrets that action as she realizes her manuscripts now have ugly creases in them, much like her own plans for life. Not that those were any easier to iron out.

 ["Then dinner at the Hanbridges will be at seven-thirty. Sharp. I have a dress prepared for you in your room. We will be discussing your wedding with And-"]

 And she hangs up.

 Turning her phone off, she throws it onto her mattress, the silken covers causing the device to slide right off and onto the floor with a thud.

 Diana curses as she rushes over, checking for any cracks or damage. She hasn't turned the lights on, and her open balcony does not give her much light, so she opts to run her fingers over the screen, praying she hadn't broken anything. As able as she was to afford a phone, that doesn't mean she wanted a change at any time.

 ...also, her number was saved here. Diana isn’t good enough with phones to know how to retrieve that.

 Diana sighs again. This time it is of relief. She leans back with a plop against the side of the bed, staring blankly at her wall.

 Tomorrow... she leaves.

 Tomorrow, she never sees her again.

 Tomorrow, she talks of marriage plans with two families who couldn't care less about what she actually desires in life.

 Tomorrow... she's gone. She may as well be dead if she wouldn't even be 'living' in the first place.

 Tomorrow...

 What would she be doing?

 Where would she be at?

 Would she still have the same smile on her face as she greeted the passersby who would freeze in place, stand in awe as time stilled for them as they become entranced in the magic that was her dance?

 Diana frowns.

 Would someone else fall in love with her?

 Like Diana has?

 ...Would she... fall in love with them back...?

 Diana feels a pang in her heart as she slumps to the floor, now lying against the hard wood. If she were back in the UK, she wouldn't be caught *dead* in this position. Her aunt would have her head.

 She blinks, staring at the ceiling.

 Oh? It's quite comfortable, she thinks, consciousness slipping into nothingness.

 //

 -It's a slap to her cheek that has her sitting up in haste, body moving in a trained way of self-defense as she arrests the perpetrator in a hold face-down onto the floors.

 "Diana! Diana! Fu- shit! Waitwaitwaitwait-owowowowow it huuurtsss, it hurtsssss!!!"

 And it’s a familiar voice that cuts through her panic, and makes her let go rather clumsily, resulting in more hurt for Diana’s victim.

 “Akko!” She exclaims, happiness and concern in her voice.

 “Well, you sure look happy. Are you into this sort of play?” The girl chuckles wryly, rubbing at her joints as she fixes herself into a seated position on the floor as Diana kneels in front of her, confused at the words.

 “Play?”

 “Yeah. BDSM, that kind of stuff.” 

 Diana flushes at the bold remark, floundering helplessly as her mind ceases to produce a coherent response.

 Akko watches her with open amusement, head resting against her one propped up knee. She hugs the limb, keeping her steady as she stares at Diana unabashedly.

 Diana stares back.

 “Wh-what.”

 “You’re beautiful.”

 “I-! Ah-uh, nnggh?!” Diana doesn’t know if she’s going into a seizure. Maybe she is. Maybe she should have gone to med school after all, to confirm-

 “Pff-” Akko begins giggling, then cackling, then just falling onto her back, hollering in laughter on the floor.

 “Wh-what! What… why are you laughing? I- Did i do something silly?”

 Akko wipes a tear from her eyes, laying on her stomach and propping her head up on both hands as she faces Diana. “You’re silly.” She teases, tongue poking out, eyes crinkled moons.

 Diana can’t help herself, biting onto the bait.

 It’s a deep kiss, and Diana didn’t know she knew how to do it.

 What do people call it? French kissing?

 They pull apart and Akko presses her sweaty forehead to Diana’s, chuckling breathlessly against her lips.

 “Many types of attacks today, Miss Cavendish. You are one powerful woman with a vast arsenal.” She jests, a hand reaching to cup Diana’s face and pull her back in for a chaster peck on the lips that turns into two, then three.

 “I like to have many options at my disposal.” Diana sighs into every brush of their lips, returning a few of her own, nipping at Akko’s bottom lip as she leads her into a submissive position, lying on her back with Diana hovering over her.

 “Boy, am I glad you do…” Akko whispers, eyes glued to Diana’s glistening mouth, the pair leaning closer and closer and- “OHMYGOSH-WAIT. THIS. This is not what I came here to do!” Akko yelps, pushing Diana’s face away and accidentally spraining her neck.

 Diana groans as she rubs at her nape, cursing quietly.

 “SHIT SORRY”

 Diana waves her concern away as she offers a crooked grin.

 “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m sorry, Diana. Sorry, I-”

 “Akko.” Diana giggles, carefully nearing the girl once again. She leans in slowly this time- just in case-, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “How and why did you come find me?” She asks, tone joyful, yet pained. 

 “Because I know you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

 Diana hears a record scratch, and the city’s music comes to a pause. It’s deathly silent, and her breath catches in her lungs, heart painful.

 Diana’s smile falls, as she places distance between them, sitting formally in front of Akko.

 “You…”

 “You told me in your sleep…” Akko murmurs, her words playing flashbacks in Diana’s mind- memories of a night that was not supposed to exist.

 “No- I… I… Akko…”

 Voices in her head play back all her duties, her realities that tell her that the woman in front of her is not a part of them. She’s a daydream, and she’s- as all daydreams are- a fleeting one.

 Diana has to wake up tomorrow morning. She has to go back tomorrow.

 She has to be ‘the real Diana Cavendish’ again. Not because she wants to be. But because she is.

 “Diana, I need to say that-”

 “Then- then…” Diana cuts Akko off before she can deal more damage to her mental state. “Then you must know… that being here… makes it harder for me not to leave.” Diana replied with a crack in her voice. “I can’t stay, Akko. I can’t. Even if I wanted to…” She whispered, unable to project her voice.

 “Diana, that’s not what this is abou-”

 “I can’t stay here, Akko! I’m supposed to go home and get married!”

 Her eyes widen, and so do Akko’s. Diana… doesn’t know what to say. Neither does Akko. They both remain frozen in time and in place.

 “I can’t… stay here… with you…” She feels a tear slip past her cheek… then another, and another, until they dribble down her chin and onto the back of her hands that are clenched on her lap. “You’re a daydream… and… and…”

 “A reality you won’t face?” Akko asks, voice surprisingly steady and clear. “I’m not a daydream, Diana Cavendish. I’m not a figment of your imagination.” She speaks, voice bolder as she gets up and walks up to Diana, making the girl crawl backwards as she hits her back against the foot of the bed.

 Diana gasps as Akko grips her collar, pulling her closer to her. She instinctively closes her eyes, awaiting a hit- a punch, a slap, whatever it was.

 And she gasps again as the soft caress, much like the gentle winds soothe her skin and her pounding heart.

 “I’m not your summer getaway, or your escape from real life. I’m not a fairytale to lull you to bedtime that you forget once the sun rises.” Akko explains with a crooked smile, tears staining her cheeks as she buries her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Her breaths tickle Diana there, and her tears pain Diana’s heart.

Diana moves to wrap her arms around Akko, but stops midway. She… doesn’t deserve to do that.

 “...hold me…”

 But Akko deserves to be listened to. 

 And so, Diana holds her. She holds her tight, and she doesn’t let go. Not until Akko wants her to.

 “I’m not asking you to stay.” Akko murmurs against Diana’s skin as the latter runs her fingers through smooth strands of hair.

 Diana admits that hearing that statement hurts as much as it relieves her.

 Her sense of duty tells her she has to go back to her home in England and run her company, and yet her heart told her that Akko was her home, and that not staying would mean losing something that she might never be able to earn back again.

 As much as it pained her to know more, she needs to. For both their sakes. “Then what must I do? What can I- we… what do you want me to do? What do you want us to do?”

 Akko pulls back slightly, grinning sheepishly as she presses her feelings into a kiss against Diana’s lips, before pulling her up with her to head towards the door.

 Upon opening it, Diana sees a few bags lined up against the wall, ready for a trip to god-knows-where.

Her mind wasn’t registering this at all-

“Bloody fuck.”

“Took you long enough to figure that one out, huh?” Akko laughs, bringing their joined hands to her lips, and kissing Diana’s palm. “Weren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

 “Well… I… holy shit…”

 “I had no idea you could curse like that.”

 “Mother of… my… arse…”

 “Mother of your arse? Really?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes, Diana.” Akko rolls her eyes, as she pats Diana’s cheek with her free hand. “You’re supposed to take me with you.”

 “Bloody hell…” Diana murmurs. “Just marry me.” 

 “...”

 “...”

 “EH?! Really?!”

 //

 Bonus :>

 “So why were you in my room that night in the first place?” Diana laughs, running her fingers along Akko’s cool arm, holding her close as they snuggled together in a hammock, reminiscing a daydream so long ago.

 “Ehh... are you really asking me this right now? Diana, it’s been years since that happened.”

“And yet, I know you remember it as well as I do.” Diana laughs, knowing that Akko was rolling her eyes as she scoffs against her neck. “I’m right, aren’t I.”

“Cheeky.” Diana chuckles as Akko pokes her cheek in annoyance, but explains anyway. “I was knocking on the door, but you weren’t answering. I rang, and spoke through the intercom too. Then room service came by and I said I just forgot my key and they let me in.”

Diana feels slightly concerned about the security of that hotel. But wait, there are better questions that need answering.

 “... then why did you slap me?”

“...”

“Akko?”

 “Because you were asleep.”

Diana guffaws, disbelieving. There was no way she was that hard to awaken. She pulls back slightly, looking Akko in the eyes.

 “You couldn’t have woken me up other ways?”

 Akko looks away momentarily, feet already swung off to the side, as if she is about to step out. Which she did. 

“...no?”

Diana watches her skeptically, now also sitting up.

“Akko?”

“Well, you know. It was nice chatting and all, but maybe I should get back to my practice for my road show and...”

 “Akko? Akko… Akko why are you walking away? Akko- hey! Come back here- AKKO!-”

And she was gone, bolting like the wind, leaving Diana stunned and comically livid.

 “ATSUKO KAGARI-CAVENDISH, YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT. THIS. INSTANT!”

[zestyemby]

Untitled Sam Wilson X Reader

So, this is my first attempt at writing and writing a fanfiction. Ony one other person has seen it and it is because of her that I have decided to post it. @writingtoforgetreality was super supportive when I sent it to her a few weeks ago and it took a lot of courage to post it. Hope you enjoy.

 _______

Sam made his way up the drive with Bucky, discussing the situation with Karli after working on the boat. He hadn’t seen the cop car pull up earlier so seeing it parked behind Sarah’s truck made him furrow his brow.

“What’s up,” Bucky asked, not noticing the car right away. When he did, his expression mimicked Sam’s. The two exchanged a look before running inside to see what had happened.

“Sarah,” Sam called as he walked through the door, “Why is there a cop car in the driveway?” He entered the kitchen to see Sarah was leaning against the counter, arms crossed while she talked with the cop. There was concern written on her features and he immediately started looking around for the boys.

“Ms. Wilson, this is where she asked to,” the cop explained. “She said this is the safest place she could think of.” The tall man let out a sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide whatever was going on in his head about the situation.

“I understand,” Sarah replied. She looked over to Sam when he walked in, frowning. “It isn’t the boys.”

“Then what is it,” Sam asked as he looked to the cop.

“I’ll,” the man cleared his throat, “I’ll bring her in and leave you to it.”

“Her?”

“Y/N was attacked,” Sarah stated as calmly as possible, “They said she is in pretty rough shape, but she doesn’t need to stay at the hospital.”

Sam’s brow creased at the information, trying to process exactly what was just said to him. Y/N had been a family friend since childhood. She helped Sarah out a lot after her husband died and even during the blip. To think that something bad happened to her, it tugged at his heart. “Attacked how?”

Sarah could see the gears turning in Sam’s head, and briefly glanced at Bucky to see if he was doing the same. The concern was written on Bucky’s face as the officer helped the petite woman into the kitchen. “Thank you,” she nodded to the man, receiving a nod in return before he said something about being in contact then leaving. When she looked at Y/N, she wanted to cry, seeing the state that she was in.

“Attacked how Sarah,” Sam asked again, a bit more forceful, not realizing that Y/N was standing nearby.

“Sam,” she began, trying to calm him.

“No Sarah,” he snapped, “I want to know what happened.”

“I wasn’t raped if that is what you are thinking,” the smaller woman behind him sighed. She saw how rigid both men got when she spoke and how uncomfortable Sarah became. “After closing the bar. They were there when I took out the trash. Kitchen staff found me by the dumpster two hours after the attack.” She was trying to stay calm as she spoke, her gaze practically boring a hole into the floorboards. “I’ve spent the past six hours at the hospital and I just,” her voice cracked, “I wanted to be brought somewhere safe.”

“So you came here,” Sam asked, not turning around. He didn’t want to see the damage that had been done. It was bad enough he could hear the pain in her voice having to explain what happened. There was no way he would be able to bear seeing that same pain in her emerald eyes.

“I can be gone tomorrow if,” she trailed off

“Sam,” Sarah sighed, seeing how Sam’s fist was clenched tightly, “It’s okay Y/N, stay as long as you need.” She walked by him to Y/N and gave a soft smile. “I’ll grab you a change of clothes if you want to go shower.” The two headed upstairs where Y/N locked herself in the bathroom while Sarah went searching for some clothes for her to wear.

 Bucky and Sam stayed in the kitchen, long after Sarah had left with Y/N. It was uncomfortably quiet and after about five minutes, Bucky had had enough. “Getting angry isn’t going to change what happened,” he pointed out.

“I should have been there,” Sam replied.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“But I could have stopped it.”

“Who is she?”

“Childhood friend. Been a big help around here with everything that’s happened. She helped Sarah raise the boys after the blip.”

“She’s cute,” Bucky chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t go there Buck,” Sam warned.

“What? I’m just saying,” he defended.

Sarah returned to the kitchen with a frown on her face. “Sam,” she sighed, “I had to give her one of your sweatshirts. She didn’t want anything that would show her arms and I didn’t have anything.”

“Its fine,” Sam replied, hands on the counter now.

“She feels safe here because of you,” she returned to the stove, to the forgotten food. When Sam left the room, there was a silence before she spoke. “They won’t admit it, but they love each other.”

“Is that why he blames himself,” Bucky asked.

“Probably. Growing up, her home life wasn’t good, but she never let that get to her. At least, that’s what we thought. She was over one night in high school and I could hear her crying in the bathroom. Turns out her daddy had started beating on her, but never anywhere anyone would see. I didn’t tell anyone; it would have made the situation worse. Sam found out though and he was furious. He didn’t tell her he knew, but he started showing her how to defend herself.”

Bucky had taken a seat on one of the stools by the counter as he listened. He could picture how Sam handled finding out what happened. “What happened to her dad?”

“Committed suicide after her mom died and she moved out. That was around the time Sam enlisted. He was the one who convinced her to move, he didn’t want her in that situation if he wasn’t there to help her.” She continued telling the story while Bucky helped set the table. “She’s had to live her life without him before, but he hasn’t had to live without her.”

“He did though,” Bucky pointed out, reminding her of when Sam was on the run after helping Steve help him escape.

“But he was out there alive somewhere. I’m talking about the blip.” The two finished setting up for dinner and bringing the dishes to the table. “Dinner,” she called. It wasn’t long before the boys were in their seats. When Sam and Y/N didn’t immediately show up, she frowned.

“Give it a minute,” Bucky said. He could hear the other two talking upstairs, in hushed tones. There wasn’t anger in Sam’s voice anymore, it was more concern this time.

“What?”

He didn’t respond as the two finally entered the room. Y/N was holding onto Sam’s torso as if it were a lifeline and Sam was supporting her. When the two sat down, he quirked a brow. “So, Y/N, right? I’m Bucky,” he gave a flirty smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N replied.

“I heard you and Sam are good friends.” The way he emphasized the words good friends cause Y/N to frown.

“Yeah.”

 Dinner was uneventful and quiet, instead of its usual joyful tone. No doubt due to the situation they had found themselves in. Afterwards they opted for a movie, something to try and lift the mood. Y/N, Sam, and Sarah sat on the couch, while Bucky and the boys sat on the floor. The couch had space for at least five people, but they didn’t want to crowd Y/N. About halfway through, Y/N had shifted and had her legs draped over Sam’s. No one said anything.

“How about another movie,” Cass suggested.

“You and your brother need to get to bed,” Sarah replied. They didn’t argue and headed to their rooms.

“Another movie sounds like a good idea,” Bucky pointed out.

This time everyone was on the couch, though Y/N and Sam remained in the same position. It didn’t take long before one of them shifted, causing Bucky to glance their way. Y/N was now curled on Sam’s lap, his arms around her, one of her hands over his.

“Are we going to address the elephant in the room or,” Bucky began, only to be jabbed in the ribs by Sarah. “What?”

“Help me do the dishes,” Sarah said calmly as she stood up, practically dragging the super soldier with her.

When Sarah and Bucky left the room, it was silent, save for the movie playing. Neither Y/N nor Sam said anything, but they wanted to. It wasn’t until the sound of running water, that one spoke. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Well, no but,” Y/N looked at him, “you’re here so I feel safe.” She felt his arms tighten around her slightly, causing her to rest her head on his shoulder again. “It isn’t your fault you know. I’m still here because of what you taught me. They didn’t expect me to fight back, and I think I did enough damage that they couldn’t do what they had planned.”

Sam tensed at those words. Just knowing that there was a possibility that they were going to do worse to her, it made him mad. He gently kissed her temple, lips grazing the stitches. “That’s my girl,” he muttered into her hair. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to say it louder.

“Hey Sam.”

“Hmm,” he kept looking at the television, though not really paying attention to the movie.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” It wasn’t the first time the two had shared a bed, but it had been well over fifteen years since then. “I mean, Bucky should probably get the couch and it doesn’t feel right sleeping in Sarah’s bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

 It was about two a.m. when Y/N woke up to the urge to use the bathroom. Next to her, Sam was sound asleep, at least, that’s what she thought. She was quiet as she got up, and even when she returned a few minutes later.

“You okay?”

The sound of his voice made her jump as she pulled the covers over her body. “Y-yeah, just had to use the bathroom.”

Just as she was shifting closer to him for warmth, he turned around. “Did I scare you?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Sorry.” He carefully pulled her to him, only to hear her let out a pained hiss. “Did I hurt you?”

“Just a little pressure on a bruise. I’m okay.” She could make out his features, barely, with the moonlight that streamed in. Giving a small smile she closed her eyes, ready to fall back asleep. It wasn’t long before she felt his fingers brushing over her hair, and his thumb rubbing over her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered before kissing her forehead.

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//nine years time. kuroo tetsurou//

Request: Hello can you write royal kuroo promising y/n when he comes back they will both marry. But it has been 9 years and y/n married someone else to finish their duty as a royal. Then a month later kuroo comes back.

Warnings: none???

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: hi yes i love you. please drink lots of water, okay?

“I won’t be long, I promise.  A year at the most and then,” he raised your hand up towards his lips, placing a lingering kiss against the skin of your knuckles before continuing, “we can finally get married, just like we’ve always wanted.”

The war had been waging for far too long, but with the kingdom’s final move on the horizons, it was only a matter of time before this would all be settled and an air of peace would once again fall over your home.  You should’ve been happy, ecstatic even, that everything would go back to how it used to be before this entire conflict started, but the young man in front of you, that you had been so captivated by from the first time that you met, was about to leave to stand with his military.  After all, some member of the royal family had to be present to negotiate the peace treaty and with his father becoming too old and frail to make the journey, it only made sense that the prince should take his place.

But, the goodbyes and the warm feeling of Tetsurou’s hand engulfing yours nearly brought tears to your eyes.  He was still going away to war and that title of “prince” just added a bigger target to his back.  And even if it was only going to be for a year, those days would seem like an eternity as you waited for his letters and counted the weeks to his return.  

“You’ll wait for me?” Tetsurou asked, raising his hand to lay it gently against your cheek.

“I’ll wait as long as I must to be with you, my prince.”

But, that first year had ended with a letter announcing that things had not gone to plan.  They would be staging a siege to cut off the supply lines of the enemy, but there was no telling how long they would be there, waiting for a surrender.  

Hopefully they will see that their efforts are futile and I will be able to return to you quickly.  I miss you more with every passing day and I want nothing more to have you in my arms once again.

Take care, my love, and I will see you soon.

K. Tetsurou

By the end of the second year, the letters had slowed.  Monthly letters now came at a snail’s pace of one every few months.  And by the third year, they had stopped all together.  No matter how many letters that you penned to your prince so far away, there was never anything in return.  It was only after the fourth year that you stopped trying to reach him, giving up and letting the worst possible outcome consume you.  

It was really the only logical outcome that your brain could come up with.  If he was still alive, he would’ve written to you.  He wouldn’t have just ignored all of your letters.  He would’ve gotten in touch with you somehow.  The loss of the kingdom’s prince, your first and only love, was the only explanation.  And it tore you to pieces.  He was meant to come back to you, officially make you his.  Tetsurou was supposed to meet you in town when he rode back in with the rest of the troops and give you the kiss that you had been waiting so long for.  But, there was none of that and there never would be any of that, because he was gone and he wasn’t coming back.  

The fifth year without him was the worst.  You found yourself struggling to carry out your day to day tasks, unable to see the purpose in carrying on if he wasn’t able to be there to give you tender kisses on your temple at the end of the day and hold you tightly within his arms.  There would be days when you would see something that was so distinctly Tetsurou that you would quickly turn around and hastily walk in the opposite direction so that no one could see the way your eyes glistened with tears that wished to fall.  You would lie awake and read his final letter to you over and over again, skimming your fingers across his name as if that would be enough to bring him back to you.  You would anxiously wait for the mail every single day in the off chance that maybe, just maybe, this would be the day in which a letter would come announcing his return.  But there was never anything apart from the occasional invitation to a ball or a letter from a friend that only brought sorrow to your heart when you realized that it wasn’t the letter that you were hoping for.  

But, it was year six when you met him.  The man with the bright smile and the shining eyes.  The man with the most cheery laugh that you had ever heard.  He had spun you around the ballroom for what seemed like hours, telling you stories about his travels, cracking jokes in an effort to see you smile all over again.  Yes, Bokuto Koutarou had made you feel something that had been void from your life since the letters stopped coming.  The way that he gripped onto your hands in excitement as he asked you for yet another dance had your heart fluttering as you nodded your head.  You were barely able to get a yes out before he was dragging you back out towards the center of the dance floor, giving you a low bow as the music began.  

In that sixth year, he had made you happier than you had been in a very long time.  There wasn’t a moment of sadness when he was there to brighten your day, his smile more contagious than the plague, and a heart that had the capability of producing such raw and honest emotions.  He was so intoxicating that you found yourself thinking of the prince that had originally stolen your heart far less than usual.  Whether you were awake or asleep, Bokuto consumed your thoughts, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain one bit.  

Because in the seventh year, when he was given your parents’ blessing and he asked for your hand in marriage, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying yes, thoughts of finally being able to marry a man that you loved so wholly bringing a smile so wide that it pained your cheeks.  But, it was also in that year that you found yourself sitting down at your desk in front of a piece of parchment, a quill sitting next to a bottle of ink.  In year seven, you drafted your final letter to Kuroo Tetsurou, a goodbye to set your mind at ease, to be able to guiltlessly move forward with your life.

Tetsurou,

I hope that this letter finds you well.  It has been much too long since I have last had the pleasure of hearing from you.  Perhaps the war has needed your full attention over these past few years and, if that is the case, then I cannot blame you for not taking the time to write to me.  But, there is something that I wish to tell you.  

Seven years ago, I made a promise to you.  Do you remember that?  I promised that I would wait as long as I must to be with you, to finally be able to marry you.  But, I am afraid that today I have broken that promise to you for I have accepted a marriage proposal from another man, one that makes me as happy as you did.  He brings me a feeling of happiness that I only ever felt with you. 

My prince, I waited as long as I could.  But, the silence had worn down on me to the point that it was unbearable.  I had waited in sorrow for a letter that never came and when I needed a light the most, he was there, shining brighter than any star in the galaxy.  I hope that you will forgive me and I wish you all of the best in your future.

Best,

Y/N

And you had folded up a letter with the name of a man who would never read it, but still, when the day broke the horizon the next morning, you met the postman at the door, a piece of folded parchment in your hand, a letter that would fall on deaf ears.  

It wasn’t until the eighth year after Tetsurou’s leave that you took a new last name.  You found happiness in Koutarou, a sense of peace that only he could offer.  His joyful laughter echoed through the walls of his manor as he lifted you from the ground, spinning the both of you around and around until he was sure that he would collapse as the room continued to spin even after he was sure that his feet had stopped.  But, he couldn’t have been happier.  Being here, in a home that had felt so lonely for a long time, now with someone that he loved more than anything in the world, Bokuto wasn’t sure that there was anything that could’ve made his life better.  

It was also in that eighth year that Bokuto realized that there was one thing that could make his world even brighter and it came in the form of a small bump that you carried with you everywhere you went.  His little bump.  A child that unified you better than any wedding band or string of vows ever could.  Everytime that he would look at you with your growing stomach, he could feel his heart swell, a new sense of pride filling his chest at the idea of becoming a father to his beautiful little baby.  

In year nine, the two of you became parents to a precious baby girl that had Koutarou wrapped around her finger from the very minute she was born.  With his wide golden eyes and silver locks, she was more beautiful than you ever could have imagined.  It was as if after all of your years of turmoil, the gods were blessing you with the perfect life that you had always envisioned, but a different man was by your side rather than the one that you had always pictured as the father of your children, your loving husband.  Yet, despite your life not turning out exactly how you had planned, there was nothing that you wanted to change.  You were finally happy and at peace with losing your first love.

But a letter had arrived in the mail.  One that announced that the war had finally drawn to a close and that the troops would be arriving home the following week.  

“It would be nice to go.  We could see the soldiers back and then we can go visit the shops downtown, stop for lunch, and do whatever else you’d like for the rest of the day,” Koutarou suggested, laying the letter down on the dining table.  “But, we obviously don’t have to go!  If it may upset you, then maybe we shouldn’t,” he added quickly.”

“Koutarou, please.  You have nothing to worry about.  I’ve come to terms with his death a long time ago.  I think a day in town would be perfect.”  You smiled warmly, laying your hand over his, letting him lace his fingers with yours.

There were very few things that you were expecting after nine years, but the look on Kuroo Tetsurou’s face when he laid eyes on you that day, the returning troops at his back, was unforgettable.  There had been an all too familiar sense of longing in his expression when he had initially recognized your form, but when his brain registered the man who had a protective arm wrapped around you and the small bundle of blankets in your arms, the adoration had fallen from his eyes only to be replaced by a sad look in his eyes, one unlike something you had ever seen cross his face.  The prince that you had fallen in love with all of those years ago, now looked like he had aged 20 years, whether it be from the stress of war or from the realization that his one love had continued moving forward in their life, even he wasn’t sure.

Yet, despite everything in his body telling him no, Tetsurou dismounted from his horse, long legs carrying him easily over the distance that kept you from him.  It was in that ninth year that Kuroo Tetsurou was careless and crashed his lips against your own, a desire to pull you closer to him and finally feel your body against his that had been stopped by a baby.  A baby that started crying when Tetsurou’s body bumped against it.  A cry that snapped him back to reality and had him pulling away from you.  Remembering that the child in your arms was not his.  Remembering that after nine long years, you were no longer his.  

[tailorvizsla]

A Proper Mandalorian Courtship - Chapter 4

Title: Fire (Or Some Mando Slice of Life) Pairing: Paz x OFC, OFC x OMC, Paz x Reader Word Count: ~6800 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Sort-of graphic description of an injury and its treatment.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 📚 My Master List 📚

Tag List: @hdlynn @princessbatears @ffiiggyy

If you want to be tagged, let me know! :) 

[flashback]

Paz returns to the karyai. Zephyr is with Norj in the nursery, safely shielded from the shit-show that is about to happen. Three minutes after his return, Armorer strides back into the room amidst pure silence. Mere seconds later, Zeli and Liam slink into the karyai, buckets firmly back in place. Neither even dares to look up as they come stand in front of the table where Armorer is standing. She stares at them for several moments. The silence drags on, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“You broke your Oath. Why?” Armorer asks, in a tone that some might regard as casual.

Paz knows better than that. Armorer is livid. She has probably gone from incandescent rage to calm and back several times. They take too long to respond, and she finally loses her temper.

“Why?” Armorer barks sharply at them.

“I have no explanation,” Zeli says, her voice wavering slightly.

“I have no explanation,” Liam says hoarsely.

Like a cold autumn breeze rasping leaves across the ground, whispers erupt through the crowd, and sends a wave of prickles down his flesh.

“The Tribe cannot come to a decision regarding your punishment,” Armorer says, her voice like ice. “Twelve votes for marriage, twelve votes for exile.”

The two of them exchange a look between themselves. He knows what they are thinking: there are twenty-eight adults in the Tribe; since the Alor usually abstains from these votes, the stalemate should have been broken.

“One individual abstained from the vote,” Armorer says, her tone calm and cold. “Thus, the decision falls to me.”

She withdraws her own dagger. Though beautifully ornate, it is honed to a lethal edge. It has taken many lives over the years. It is only fitting that it decides their final fate with the tribe. She does not hesitate to drive the blade under the tongs. Marriage. It shocks him to his core. Of all the people here, he thought she would vote for exile. She withdraws, her entire body tense. No one dares to argue, though he can hear angry mutterings.

“You will marry,” Armorer says flatly.

“What about – “ Zeli starts to say.

Zeli dares to look at him. Paz tightens his jaw, biting into the sides of his cheeks to avoid the caustic response. Here, right now, he feels no sorrow. Only anger. Pure unadulterated rage. While he simmers, Din growls. She quickly looks back down.

“What about Zephyr?” Liam finally asks.

How could a buir even hesitate to ask about their child’s wellbeing? Paz is beyond disgusted with Liam.

“What about Zephyr?” Armorer repeats, enunciating each word carefully. “Did you think to ask yourself that before you bared your face to Zeli?”

“Did Paz see our faces?” Liam asks.

“No,” he responds. “I did not look.”

“Then why take our helmets?” Zeli asks quietly. “I would have thought you would want us gone…”

Paz does not look at either of them.

“My Oath to this Tribe comes before anything else. If I had not acted – if I had walked away, pretending I had not seen what I saw, I would be complicit in this blatant disregard for the Oath we all swore,” Paz says, every word carefully modulated to remain as neutral as possible. “I did what I could to ensure the best possible outcome for Zephyr, which is more than I can say for either of you.”

More muttering, though it is a lot quieter than before. To drive the knife in deeper, he continues. He cannot help himself.

“Regardless of what has been done to me, I am no liar. I still have my honor and my integrity.”

This time, everyone remains silent.

“Do you wish to exchange vows?” Armorer asks, her voice silky soft.

“We…we will exchange them,” Liam says.

His voice is hoarse. Pained. Paz feels his lip curl in disgust. The two adulterers turn to one another. Quietly, they exchange their vows. With each word, Paz feels his stomach tighten to the point of pain. He wants to throw up, but he forces himself to witness their farce of a marriage.

This is not how it is meant to be. The riduurok – the marriage bond – is formed from love. To a Mandalorian, especially one as conservative as him, marriage is an oath of loyalty, fidelity, and unconditional support.

Marriage comes from a love that is formed from mutual admiration and acceptance; from whole-hearted, joyful surrender to ones’ other half. It comes from the type of respect that grows deep, strong roots. It culminates with two people joining their lives as one, from the moment the vows are spoken until the day they go marching far, far away.

Marriage is not the love that is formed from passion, lust, and deceit. When the heat leaves their hearts, and the nights grow cold, their roots will dry and weaken. They will not grow together and become one. There will only be rot stagnation until there is only distance and bitter resentment. He can only pray that Zephyr does not suffer further.

When they finish exchanging their vows, Armorer sighs and retrieves her dagger. One by one, the others follow suit. No one looks at them. Paz turns to exit. He will not be able to make them suffer the way he wants, but at least he can make them hurt a little. He can make them know how much he despises them for what they have done. Before he leaves, he pauses next to the newlyweds.

“My congratulations to the newlyweds. It is my greatest hope that the two of you will find peace and prosperity together,” he says calmly, coolly. “My gift to you.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the ceremonial blade he had hoped to give her one day. Then he flicks it down onto the table, embedding the tip into the table before Zeli. She lets out a choked sob. Liam exhales and looks away.

“Paz,” Zeli starts to say.

“Please, ner vod,” Liam tries to say. “I am so sorry – “

“Do not ever address me by name again, demagolka,” he hisses at them, finally unable to keep his temper under control. “You are dead to me.”

He turns around before either of them can speak to them. From there, Paz heads back to his room. He hesitates at the door for just a moment. Then he exhales. The sooner he gets this done, the easier it will be. Entering, he finds Din already in the process of cleaning out Zeli’s property, tossing everything carelessly into a crate. He pokes through whatever Din has already packed to make sure nothing of his accidentally ends up in there. Paz unfolds another crate and starts going through the main room, listening as Din occasionally mutters an expletive or insult.

He finds several things that had once been at home with his – her second pair of boots, a bright pink sock, and a book. All of it goes straight into the crate. Piece by piece, he removes her from his life, each article erasing part of their eight years together. Like all other wounds, this pain will eventually heal, but he will not be the same as he was before. He can only hope that his new course in life will allow him to become a better man.

From here, he watches Din strip the bedding off the mattress. He balls it up and dumps it in the bottom of another crate. Paz turns away as Din flips the mattress over. Paz has never been one to get emotional about objects, but he cannot sleep there. He will replace it eventually, but it will do for now. A firm knock at the door makes his shoulders tense. He hadn’t the foresight to tell them to stay away, that their belongings would be left at their door.

Din is at the door before he can respond.

“What?” he asks.

A gloved hand pushes a basket into his arms.

“Take care of alor’ad,” Neten says. “He’s the only one…who can kick our asses the right way, you know?”

“Thanks,” Din says gruffly. “I’ll let him know.”

He shuts the door. Before Din can put the basket down, there is another knock. This time, it is more insistent. Din opens the door again.

“Hey, Reva - what the fuck – “

“Damn it, Djarin,” comes Revala’s voice. “Grab the other end, would you?”

“Let me put this down,” Din says indignantly.

Paz watches as Revala and Terys push a mattress into the room, brand new and still wrapped. He blinks a few times in utter confusion.

“Uhm…where did this come from?” Din asks, as he backs into the room, holding his end steady.

“Eh, Terys just had a spare one laying around,” Revala says briskly. “Thought the old man could use better support for his back.”

“Yeah, we got sick of hearing him bitch about it,” Terys says. “Every other fucking day. My back this, my back that.”

The other man drops a linen bag onto the couch.

“We’ll just help tidy up,” Terys says, going straight to the bedroom.

Paz watches in silence as the two of them swiftly push the old mattress toward the door.

“Don’t want to hear you bitching about your back, okay?” Revala asks, her voice choking up.

Suddenly, Paz realizes that Terys and Revala had been planning on moving in together. That they had bought the mattress for themselves. He did not even suspect they had been in a relationship, much less being at the point of moving in together. Sudden guilt wracks him.

“Yeah,” Paz says. “I won’t. How much – “

“If you even think about trying to pay me back, I will stab you in the kriffing balls,” Terys says flatly.

“You just want any excuse to touch his balls, don’t you?” Revala asks in a saucy tone.

“Oh, fuck off,” Terys snaps.

Paz holds both hands up in surrender. The two of them disappear, bickering between themselves. Paz helps Din set the bed up on the makeshift frame. It hangs over the edges a bit, but it will do until he can replace the frame. Din unpacks the sheets and snorts.

Paz stares at the monstrosity Din has lifted out of the bag. The sheets are a violent shade of pink with fluorescent green stripes. As if the eye-watering combination is not bad enough on its own, whoever had designed the pattern also included lines of tiny black taun-tauns running parallel to the stripes.

“Holy hell,” Din breathes. “That man has no taste.”

Paz hears the grin on Din’s face, and he can’t help himself. From losing two people he once loved all the way to his Tribe rallying behind him to support him through the clusterfuck his life has suddenly become…today has been a bizarre, surreal ride of emotions. He can only laugh. Hard. Din chortles a bit, though he is clearly worried about him.

“I’m keeping them,” Paz announces.

“You’re insane,” Din retorts.

“They’re great,” Paz shoots back as they get the bedding back in place. “They add…uh…character.”

Nothing in the bag matches. One pillowcase is fluorescent orange, while the other is black. The flat sheet looks like someone spilled a child’s watercolor palette onto a dirty tissue. It might have been bleached by accident at some point, but he cannot tell. At least the thick blanket is a relatively normal shade of brown, despite being made of cheap velour-like fabric.

“They certainly add something,” Din says, as they take a step back to survey the horror scene laid out in front of them, “But I’m not sure it can be called character.”

Paz nods, suddenly sober.

“Hey…thanks,” Paz says to Din.

Din responds by grabbing him by the chest plate and headbutting him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull.

“If you need anything, send me a message,” Din says.

Cheekily, he reaches into the basket Neten had brought by. He grabs a beer and a handful of the snacks. Then, with a jaunty salute, Din leaves. After locking the door, Paz goes to the basket and takes out the alcohol. He pops the cap and takes a big swallow. He grimaces. Far too bitter, no flavor. He drinks it anyway.

Turning to the bottle is an unhealthy coping mechanism that has claimed a number of his brethren, but he has no plans to make it a habit. Tonight, he just wants to be numb.

[end flashback]

-

-

-

“My fayshe feels funny,” Paz says to Din, who sighs.

“Doctor Shen, Paz is starting to slur his words,” he calls out through the door.

No one responds.

Paz tilts his head to the doorway as Doctor Shen and Armorer argue in the main room. Well, it really is not an argument. The two of them are just repeating themselves over and over in different ways, trying to tell the other what needs to happen. Armorer says the bucket does not come off due to the Oath. Doctor Shen says that the bucket comes off. The two of them have been going around in circles for a while now, long enough such that the pain medications were starting to lose their edge. It is not until Doctor Shen brings up the fact that traumatic brain injury can render him completely useless to the Tribe that Armorer relents.

“Then we blindfold you,” Armorer says.

“How the fuck do you expect me to treat him with a blindfold on?” Doctor Shen asks in exasperation.

“That is the only way,” Armorer says.

“Can I use the deep tissue scanner?” Doctor Shen asks bluntly. “I technically won’t be looking at his face – just the bones and tissue underneath the skin.”

Armorer falters.

“Can you assure us that you will not know his identity?”

“Yes,” Doctor Shen stresses.

“Very well, do what you must to ensure Paz’s health and preserve his identity,” Armorer says.

“We are going to discuss this oath with the rest of the Tribe, Armorer,” Doctor Shen says flatly. “There must be an exclusion for medical professionals.”

“Doctor Shen – “

“Armorer,” Doctor Shen hisses through her teeth.

“I will leave you to your work, Doctor.”

Paz snickers as Armorer gracefully concedes defeat. It has been such a long time since he has last witnessed Armorer backing down from a fight. Then again, there is an unspoken rule – the chief medical officer outranks even the Alor when it involves someone’s health.

Coming into the room, Doctor Shen wheels the bed over to the deep tissue scanner. She positions the arm of the machine over his head. Then Din takes over, draping a sheet over everything to keep him from being seen. Once it is set to the deep scan mode, he removes his bucket. He grimaces as the bright light stabs straight through his pupils and into the back of his head.

“First of all, how many times have you gotten your nose broken?”

“Lost count,” he remarks.

“Fuck’s sakes. Hunters,” Doctor Shen hisses. “Stay still. You’re going to feel a bit of a tickling sensation in your teeth. I’m trying to set the bone fragments without causing further damage.”

Searing pain jolts down the side of his face. Paz gasps.

“Only a sadist would call that a tickle,” he groans.

“Din, jab this into his neck, right into the jugular.”

“What is it?” Din asks.

“Painkillers,” Doctor Shen says. “Now go do it before I take it back.”

“Aye, Doctor,” Din says. “I’m gonna stab you, okay?”

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Paz asks.

“Stop moving,” Doctor Shen growls.

Din laughs as he jabs him in the neck. After a few seconds, Paz feels his head swim.

“N-now that…that’s the good shit,” he slurs out. “C-can’t f-feel my face.”

“That particular cocktail contains a bacta infusion as well as anti-inflammatory drugs that are targeted specifically to brain tissue. There’s also a mild muscle relaxer in there for your neck muscles. So, hopefully, that’ll keep you still.”

Paz relaxes, nearly falling asleep as Doctor Shen works to reposition the bone fragments in his face through the equipment. Once his nose is put back together, she gives him another injection to stimulate the bone cells and help support the bacta infusion. She reaches under the blanket, wearing latex gloves.

“Alright, I have to do this part by touch, since I can’t look at your face,” she says. “Stay. Still. I don’t want this falling into your mouth or your eyes.”

With one hand resting on his cheek, Doctor Shen’s other hand disappears. Then it returns with a strip of quick-set stabilizing bandage. She quickly maneuvers it into place. It heats up uncomfortably as it dries.

“That will keep the bridge of your nose in the right shape,” she says. “You can wear the bucket, but please be careful putting it on and taking it off for the next few days.”

“Sure thing, doc,” he says.

Din returns to his side and slides his bucket under the sheets.

“Hey, you cleaned it out,” Paz says. “Thanks, ner vod.”

“Your neck is fine, no damage to any of the nerves, muscles, or vessels,” she says. “But those muscles are going to hurt if you agitate them again before the bacta can do its job. I don’t want you doing anything stupid, Vizla.”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” he insists.

“You’re a hunter,” she retorts sharply.

“Point taken,” Paz says. “Nothing more vigorous than light sparring, then?”

“No sparring at all,” she says. “You can lift weights and jog for the next week. No sparring until I’ve had a chance to check your muscles again.”

“Can I go shooting?”

“Handheld blasters only, nothing heavier than a child,” she says.

“Fine,” he says. “Light shooting.”

“Alright, I’m happy with where you are right now health-wise,” Doctor Shen starts to say.

“Does…does this mean I can leave today?” Paz asks as he carefully puts his bucket back on.

Then he reaches out blindly, trying to remove the sheet from his face. Doctor Shen takes the sheets away, tossing them at Din. The unspoken command is clear to them both. Din goes and puts the sheets into the bin to be washed and sterilized.

“Absolutely not,” Doctor Shen says in an exasperated tone. “You have a concussion, Paz. We take brain injuries seriously around here. Your ass is staying in that bed overnight. In the morning, I’ll decide if you can leave.”

“Doctor Shen, please,” Paz says. “I have something very important that I need to do.”

“No. Your only job right now is to heal.”

“Please? It’s extremely important,” Paz insists.

“What is so important that you want to risk further brain damage?”

“Well…I have a date,” Paz says. “So, surely, you understand – “

Her head shoots up.

“Oh, no,” Doctor Shen says. “You are staying in bed and you are cancelling your plans.”

“But – “

She turns around slowly. Paz swallows as the inky black visor of her helmet tilts down toward him.

“Alright, I’m cancelling my plans,” he says. “No problem at all.”

“Good,” she says, pacing closer to his bed, looming over him. “I would hate to have to pull rank on you.”

Paz grimaces to himself under the bucket. The last thing he wants to do is piss off Doctor Shen. He knows she will make him stay another night if he mouths off. So, wisely, he stays where he is, hoping to be put out of his misery soon.

Din sends a message, informing him that he will be getting him some clean clothes. Paz sighs and closes his eyes. Doctor Shen allowed him to wipe some of the blood off with wipes, but everything from the chin down is saturated in blood. Once she can confirm the bacta is working and that the pain medications have not caused any adverse reactions, she will let him have a proper shower.

-

-

-

When you see Din come out of medical, you approach.

“How is he?” you ask, trying to keep the worry from your voice.

“Concussed,” Din sighs. “Idiot broke his nose, but he’ll be fine once the bacta kicks in.”

You nod. A broken nose and concussion aren’t too bad.

“Does he need anything?” you ask.

“Nah, he’ll be – “

Din suddenly stops talking as he tilts his head. Then slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You wait, hoping there’s something you can do.

“You know what, I think he might need a clean set of clothes,” Din says, in an odd tone. “But I need to take care of some stuff. Can you grab him something to change into?”

You jump at the chance to help Paz.

“Absolutely,” you say. “Did Doctor Shen specify visiting hours, or - ?”

“He’s going to have a checkup in two hours,” Din says. “Take stuff to him then. He’ll appreciate whatever you bring him.”

“Okay,” you say. “I can handle that.”

Din nods. A few minutes later, a message from Din pops up in your HUD, containing Paz’s door code. Immediately, you return to your room and grab one of your larger storage bags. Chewing on your lower lip, you consider what he might need for an overnight stay in medical. Pajamas, clean clothes for tomorrow, and toiletries. A small smile crosses your face – he will need his snacks, too. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as you stride down the hallway toward the officer’s quarters.

Paz always enjoys eating whatever you cook, even when it means he sneaks something off behind your back. You have long since started making extra so he can have some as well. He is also considerate and polite, a far cry from some of the coarser company available in the Tribe. You decide that you will be as considerate with him as he is with you.

Once at his door, you type in the code and let yourself in. His room is huge, you think enviously to yourself, as you look around. He also seems to have half the armory stacked on tables and in bins around his room. Along wall, he has a large table with neatly organized tools and a few partially assembled blasters.

Turning toward the bedroom, you hesitate. This is his bedroom, his personal space. You almost feel like you are trespassing here. Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, and move forward. Din gave you his code. If he didn’t trust you, he would not have given you access to Paz’s private space. You step in and head toward the shelves opposite the end of the bed. There, you find his clothes. Tonight, he will need pajamas, so you grab one of the soft-looking flannel sets. For tomorrow, you grab a suit, a set of padding, and a cowl in matching dark grey.

In one of the boxes on the lower shelves, you find compression shirts, shorts, and socks. Those are also added to the bag. Finally, you find his shower caddy and grab it as well. Once you are finished there, you leave the bedroom, and come into the living space. Stopping by the couch, you pick up the book on the table and add it to your bag. From there, you make your way through the karyai and into the kitchen.

He will need something edible to keep his strength up. You’ve had hospital rations before and they are unpleasant, to say the least. No flavor, no spice, and certainly no heat. Doctor Shen says that the rations are bland to ensure the patient can rest and heal, but you think she secretly enjoys the torture.

In the bottom of one of the bins, you find your cake supplies. You check the time. One hour and fifty-two minutes before you can see him and drop off supplies. Plenty of time to make him a small cake and get him some snacks. Exactly two hours and a minor burn later, you finish your gift to Paz. One small tray of uj’ayali cake, made with your dwindling stock of spices, syrup, and wine. You wrap the entire thing in parchment paper and include a fork.

Then you go to the stasis unit in the corner and steal some of the cheeses, crackers, and a small container of pickles. There, something to tide him over. In one of the bins, you find some apples. You take two for him so Doctor Shen cannot complain about him eating too much cake.

You would not do this for anyone else. You love your Tribe, but Paz is special to you. Nervously, you stop that train of thought before it can even depart the station. Paz is your friend first and foremost.

Glancing around, you take in your mess. It is extensive. Well, that all can wait until later. Paz needs you more than anything needs to be cleaned up. You turn the lights off and make your way to medical, hefting the bag onto your shoulder. You wait patiently inside the main room, listening as Doctor Shen scolds Paz for something or another. When Doctor Shen steps outside of the private room, she does a blatant double-take.

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

“I’d like to see Paz,” you say. “Is it okay if I go in?”

Doctor Shen pokes her head into the private room.

“You okay with seeing more visitors, buckethead?”

“Depends,” comes Paz’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Shu’shika,” Doctor Shen says.

“Sure,” Paz says. “Send her in.”

You step in, noting that Doctor Shen is watching you, her head cocked to one side. As soon as you come into the room, she follows you to the doorway, carrying a tray of equipment. Paz is resting on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankle, and his boots on the floor.

“Hey,” you say, echoing his words from earlier.

“Hey,” he repeats. “So, uh, what brings you here? What is all this, anyway?”

“Din said he has some really important stuff to work on, so I volunteered to get you some supplies,” you say to him. Digging into the bag, you grab his book and hand it to him. “Din sent the code for your door, by the way, I didn’t like break in or anything.”

Paz’s head jerks up at your words.

“Din…sent you the code?”

“Yes,” you say. “He was in such a rush to go finish his work. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says, in an odd sort of tone. “I am so glad I cleaned up last night.”

You laugh as you hang the bag onto one of the wall hooks.

“I also came to see if you’re okay,” you say quietly, “And to see if you’d like some company?”

He nods in response.

“You want to stay and keep this cranky idiot company?” Doctor Shen asks, as she goes to the deep tissue scanner in the corner.

Paz growls as you sit down next to him.

“Well, of course,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I come see Paz?”

“I don’t mind,” Paz says. His voice takes a mischievous tone. “You did say you didn’t want to speak to Lyras. So now you don’t have to talk to him.”

You laugh, relief filling you. Then you clear your throat a bit.

“I…I also wanted to give you this,” you say, holding the tray to him.

He takes the tray from you, still slightly warm from the oven. He unwraps it and stares down at your offering to him.

“Uhm…my buir always said to eat plenty of uj’ayali if I was injured,” you say.

Inexplicably, you feel yourself blushing cherry-red, the heat filling you all the way down to your bellybutton.

“Where the hell did you find uj’ayali?” Doctor Shen asks.

“I-I made it,” you stammer out.

Oh, gods above, why did I even come here?

“You made this for me?” Paz repeats, his tone so gentle that your breath catches in your throat.

You nod earnestly at Paz. Thankfully, he does not seem too weirded out by your forwardness. In fact, he might even sound a bit happy at it.

“You made… You made - ?” Doctor Shen asks.

You can feel her incredulous stare through her bucket.

“I have some of that wine that you like,” you admit softly. “I kept a few bottles…for a special occasion.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice sounding almost awed. “I really appreciate it, Shu’shika.”

“I’ll go finish something else,” Doctor Shen says, backing toward the door. “Uh…somewhere else.”

She shuts the door, leaving the two of you alone. As much as you appreciate the doctor, you are grateful that she has work to do. You have not had a lot of time with Paz in the past few weeks, so you would like to make the most of your visit with him today.

“Would you like to try some?” you ask. “I can wheel the privacy curtain over, if you’d like. We can…we can hang out. Since we can’t go shooting.”

Hopefully, he will not think that you are being clingy.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

You beam at him. You have no idea why Doctor Shen would say he is cranky.

-

-

-

Doctor Shen finishes putting her equipment into the autoclave just as Din carefully peers into the room, edging in as if expecting to be attacked. She looks up at him. He has to know about you and Paz. She goes to him.

“Did you know about Paz and Shu’shika?” she asks him in a low tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Are they - ?”

“Yeah,” Doctor Shen responds. “I’ll let her stay until I close down for the evening.”

Din nods just as they hear what seems to be a minor explosion down the hallway. Doctor Shen almost purses her lips as she hears Garan’s familiar bellowing. There is nothing new about this situation – some idiot hunter has rightfully earned their tongue-lashing from Garan. He takes nothing from anyone, especially not hunters.

“What’s all the noise down the hallway for?”

“I don’t know,” Din says. “Maybe someone left the water on again?”

They listen for a few moments, the occasional shout drifting back to them. She turns back to Din.

“Is Paz serious?” she asks.

Doctor Shen knows you well – after all, she has been caring for you for years now. Even as a child, you tagged along after her, pestering her endlessly with your questions and tendency to injure yourself. She was there when you put your bucket on at thirteen. She watched you grow up to become a skilled, competent, and hard-working member of the tribe. It is everything that she could have wanted for you.

“Dead serious,” Din responds. “He’s been thinking about this for a while. He went to Armorer two nights ago to talk to her about courtship.”

Doctor Shen feels relief fill her stomach. If there is a hunter she trusts, it is Paz. He is a good man and will not take advantage of you. Doctor Shen knows that you are an adult, but she still sometimes sees the little girl you used to be, complete with a busted lip and two scabby knees.

“Good,” Doctor Shen says to him. “Shu’shika might be a walking disaster, but she is our most precious disaster.”

Someone taking an interest in you was bound to happen eventually. She cannot help but to be overjoyed that it is a hunter of Paz’s caliber. Before Din can respond, they hear Garan shout your name.

“Where is she?” Garan roars. “If she’s not already dying, I’m going to kill her – “

Din grabs the surly mechanic by the chest plate and shoves him back out into the hallway.

“She’s busy,” Din says in his most menacing tone. “You will leave her alone.”

Undeterred, Garan shoves him back. This time, Din slams him up against the wall, pinning him in place with one arm against his chest plate and one finger pointed at his visor.

“I. Do. Not. Care,” Din hisses.

“This is the third time her carelessness has gotten something caught on fire,” Garan growls. “That little shit – “

“That little shit is busy,” Doctor Shen says from the doorway, her voice like ice. “Go back to the kitchen and take care of the mess. I’ll send her by later.”

Garan snarls but eventually concedes. Din grabs him by the shoulder and forcefully marches him away from medical. Doctor Shen goes to listen at the door. She hears only your combined laughter. Nodding to herself, she goes back to working on cleaning the equipment.

-

-

-

Din makes sure to keep Garan going forward to avoid letting him interfere. It is rare that you and Paz can spend more than a few minutes alone, so he wants to ensure that the two of you have as long as possible to talk and get to know each other a little better.

“Why the fuck are you even involved?” Garan asks moodily.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Din says. “Workshop, I assume?”

“Yes.”

He escorts Garan to the workshop, where they pick up the parts they will need to replace the melted circuitry and charred air vent. Din carries the bag without protest, even as Garan complains with every single step. In the karyai, they find Dezha and Armorer at the kitchen window, watching as Terys finishes putting the flames out. Jalyn is by the backmost kitchen vent, trying to waft the smell of burnt wine and sugar out with a tea cloth. Din knows better – Jalyn is just here to snoop like the shameless little gossipmonger he is. Regardless, Din shoves Garan into the kitchen and bodily blocks the doorway.

“What is the problem?” Armorer asks, looking between the two of them.

“Just making sure Garan fixes everything in time for dinner,” Din says.

“Apparently, poor wittle Shu’shika is so busy I can’t yell at her for her carelessness,” Garan snaps moodily in his direction as he starts unpacking the components onto the counter.

“Yes. She is busy,” Din confirms.

Terys puts the fire extinguisher into the cabinet. Then he looks across the counter. Din can see the wheels turning. A few seconds later, Terys looks up sharply, having come to the logical conclusion.

“Did she make her special uj with wine syrup?” Terys asks slowly.

“She didn’t clean up after herself,” Garan interrupts as he shoves a pile of dirty dishes over. “And she didn’t even leave any for us. Brat.”

“Yes,” Din confirms. “Just for him.”

Garan continues grumbling as Armorer and Dezha look at each other. They come to the same conclusion.

“I will help you tidy up,” Dezha cuts in smoothly. “We can overlook this minor mistake.”

“Again?” Garan asks, turning to Dezha. “This is the third time, Alor. This has got to stop. We can’t afford to keep replacing everything her kriffing hands touch.”

“I am aware of that,” Dezha says. “But we will overlook it this time. I’ll talk to her when she is finished.”

Din leads the cleanup effort by picking up the charred pot. He tosses it straight into the trash bin. He will have to buy a new pot before Hannah discovers one is missing. Din pauses. Then again…Hannah will overlook any mistake as long as she knows that Paz is trying to court you. Din wonders if he can enlist their cook’s help in ensuring the process is as smooth and painless as possible for the rest of the Tribe.

Armorer starts sweeping the powder from the fire extinguisher into a neat pile on the floor, while Dezha works on wiping the counters down. Jalyn just keeps fanning the acrid air toward the vent. Judging by the wide grin on his face, he seems to have caught on already, though Din cannot fathom why he is still here. At long last, Garan seems to realize that something isn’t quite right. In the middle of replacing the filter, he pauses, and looks around, slowly taking stock of his present company. Everyone is quickly working to put the kitchen back in order in time for dinner.

“Why are you all here?” Garan asks slowly.

“Good question,” Hannah says, as she puts her apron on. “Why the hell are you crowding into my kitchen, anyway? And why do I smell smoke?”

“It was a minor incident,” Armorer says, cutting Garan off. “We are rectifying the problem.”

“Minor?” Hannah asks, picking up the charred remains of her pot out of the trash. “Did Shu’shika set another pot on fire? Gods above, someone needs to have a serious talk with that girl.”

“That’s what I tried to do earlier,” Garan says, “But nooo, Din said she was too busy to get a proper tongue-lashing for her kriffing carelessness.”

Din looks at Hannah.

“Shu’shika is looking after Paz,” he says diplomatically.

Hannah blinks, turning to look at him.

“Shu’shika…and Paz?” she asks.

When Armorer nods, Garan drops his wrench onto the counter. It goes clattering onto the floor. Garan wordlessly stares at each of them in turn. The only sounds that can be heard are Jalyn’s snickers and the sound of the tea cloth he is flapping at the vent.

“You’re shitting me,” Garan says as he shakes his. “Oh, no. No, that is not happening. I absolutely forbid it.”

“And what authority would you have to interfere?” Armorer challenges immediately, coming forward a step, her hand falling to the hammer tucked into her belt.

Din cracks his knuckles threateningly, though he is certain that his muscle will not be needed here. Armorer is lethal with her hammer. Garan sinks down to a seated position on the counter and rests his face plate in his hands.

“We are not going to survive this,” Garan says in a defeated tone.

“That is an unfair over-exaggeration,” Armorer scolds. “They are good together, Garan.”

“Do we know when he intends to propose? He won’t make us – her wait too long, will he?” Hannah asks nonchalantly, as she starts sorting through the ingredients for dinner.

No one is fooled by her tone. Everyone knows where her mind is – the bonfire feast. Hell, Din has found himself thinking about what he will bring back to celebrate their marriage. He has already purchased a scope for Paz and set aside a small piece of bes’kar for you. Now, he needs to figure out what food he is bringing, but that can wait until later. He doesn’t expect the two of you to marry for at least six months, if not more.

“Paz managed to give himself a concussion before they could go on their first date,” Din says. “It isn’t happening for a few months at least.”

Hannah and Armorer both seem to sulk at his words.

“You know, it might not be so bad,” Terys says. “He’s a bit older, you know. He will look after her. Maybe get her trained up so she can actually start participating in hunts on the regular?”

“We can only hope,” Garan sighs dejectedly. “We can only hope.”

Jalyn puts the cloth down and picks up his cane. Carefully, he picks his way back to them. Din wonders what the little shit-stirrer is going to do next.

“Oooorr,” Jalyn says, somehow splitting a single-syllable word into three. “Imagine what it’s going to be like once he finally knocks her up. Can you imagine them having a few Vizla brats with his temperament and her propensity for accidental arson?”

Silence fills the kitchen. Garan lets out a low noise of distress. Armorer and Dezha exchange a look. Din thinks that any child that you and Paz name as your own will be perfect the way they are, even if they end up being prone to damaging their surroundings. Hell, under the right conditions, that could be a benefit in combat.

“Regardless of their unique personality traits,” Armorer says. “Anyone who interferes will be made to regret their actions most severely. Be sure to pass that along with your gossip, Jalyn.”

“Please, everyone here wants more children to look after,” Jalyn says dismissively. “If there was a way to get them married tonight, we would do it.”

Garan picks up the bottle of wine and checks it. There is a quarter of it left. Garan shrugs to himself and lifts the front of his bucket. He chugs the wine down straight from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and lets out a rude belch.

“May the gods take mercy on us,” he says.

-

-

-

demagolka - someone who commits atrocities. Paz chooses this word because they risked hurting a child just so they could carry on an affair.

[eleanorbloom]

When You’re Ready Ch. 08

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warning: Angst, cursing.

Summary: Bryce has decided to let go Eleanor because she’s in love with Ethan Ramsey. But a turn in her relationship with the attending might change Bryce’s plans.

A/N: To the people who still is reading this story, thank you! Things are going to get juicy from now on, so I hope you are all prepared! (And I hope things in the book get really juicy too. I’m still recovering from last week’s chapter omg. My heart will never be the same after what Ethan told to MC :( (And I don’t even want to think about Bryce. My babyyyyyyyyyyyyy is so precious!)

Well, well, well. Hope you enjoy today’s chapter!

Taglist @utterlyinevitable  @shanzay44 @choicesficwriterscreations @laiba-the-person @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute @lucy-268 @aylamreads @binny1985 @romewritingshop

Let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist!

________

Chapter 8: Me cuesta tanto olvidarte.

Y aunque fui yo quien decidió que ya no más (And even though it was me who decided we were through)

Y no me canse de jurarte que no habrá segunda parte (And I didn't tire of swearing to you that there wouldn't be a second chance)

Me cuesta tanto olvidarte (It's so hard for me to forget you)

 As much as he tried to avoid that moment, there he was, both feet on the grounds of Boston Logan International Airport.  After two months in the Amazon, he was back at the place he wanted so much to escape, only to return with empty hands, with his personal mission failed.  

His heart was feeling like there were never eight weeks since he left Boston, and was aching as much as the night they said goodbye. He had left for nothing. He wanted a reset, but he wasn't sure if that's what he got there.

Even if he tried every day to get her off his head, the most nonsensical things would remind him of her. 

The sparkling eyes of the children seemed attached to the memories of her giving him the shiniest smiles he had ever seen.

The carefree nature of a young woman would remind him of her youthful spirit, a trait he had grown to appreciate since the moment he knew her, but that he had failed to preserve in the last months, due to his erratic attitude towards her.

And if there was nothing that reminded him of her during the day, there would always be a sparkle at the end of the day, just about to sleep, that would explode in his mind like a firework. Whether it be the feeling of her hands touching his face, his hair, his bare chest; or the feeling of her soft lips giving him life after a searing kiss.

Whether it be her amber eyes illuminating the darkness of his mind and waking him up to a trance of vivid memories and feelings of happiness and joy. Vivid memories of something that were long gone and that couldn’t be back; or her laugh invading his ears and making him jolt as if it was the painful hallucination of a schizophrenic mind, and swear she was just laughing by her side when the truth was they were thousands of miles away.

Some nights he would toss and turn in bed, wondering what would she be doing; if he had broken her more than he was aware; if what he had done was right; if all this was really about her or about his fears and the ablaze belief that he would never be worthy of her because he could never give her everything she deserved. Wondering if all this was always about the fact that since he was a child, he never felt worthy of love.

He honestly couldn’t know.

He didn’t know how to face a truth that had been carrying his whole adult life, and he wasn’t sure it was now the time to explore those feelings. It didn’t make sense now. 

Some other nights he would lay remembering her, but the tiredness would be like morphine to his mind, sending him to sleep just as his head would touch the pillow. The memories of her wouldn’t haunt him like a ghost all night, the guilt wouldn’t eat him alive, there would only be a full night’s sleep, with physical recovery but with the same burden on his mind.

After three weeks, however, he had convinced himself that he had done the right thing. That she would eventually move on, that she would let him in the past and all this bad road would be over soon. But the hollowness somewhere inside him reminded him every time, that it wasn’t what he wanted, that he didn’t want it that way.

There was another way, but he was a coward.

Deep inside, he was hoping that the distance between them wouldn't make an effect like he intended to. He wanted it to fail. That her love was stronger than that. That that strongness was the proof he needed to push himself towards her, to fight for her, to hold her and never let her go again.

But then he would remember that all that he had been doing the last months, was for her, and only to protect her. That this self-sabotage would only damage her career. He couldn’t let that happen.

*

Ethan was having dinner at the ranch in the company of the owner, a Colombian elder woman who had spent her entire life receiving tourists that came to the rainforest from all places, and that had taught her the basics in various languages to communicate with them, English above all.

She had observed him for weeks. He noticed he was taciturn, thoughtful, that would never involve in small talk, so she had decided to respect his privacy and his love for silent meals. But he looked too troubled that night to ignore it.

“Are you in love, doctor?”—The woman asked, interrupting the dissection of his own thoughts.

“I beg your pardon?”—He replied, a bit startled for the intromission.

“I have lived long enough to know, by the look in your eyes, that you are in love. And that you would do anything to deny it, but it’s a stupid try, mi niño.”

He remained silent.

“I know you the yankees only care about work and money. You as a doctor are more human than others because you are here,”—She splayed her arms in the air, trying to sum up in a single gesture the greatness of the Amazon— “but for the same reason, you deprive yourself of the more important things in life as family and love.”

“Saving lives is the more important thing to me.”

“I know that. You have no family, no partner because your job goes first. But you are in love and I bet you are keeping the person you love away from you. Maybe that’s the reason why you are here, in the first place.”

“I didn’t know people in the Amazon were diviners.”

“We are not, but I have lived enough to see too many people coming here to forget, and that had failed.”

Ethan stared at her, thoughtful, not even sure if he would address her accusations.

“So, I am right?”

There was no point in denying. He would be gone in three weeks and then he wouldn’t see her again. He wasn’t risking anything.

“Yes, you are.”—He finally admitted.

“And Medicine has not taught you anything, doctor?”

“What do you mean?”

“You see life and death every day. You know the value of life and how easy it goes. Being a doctor is a tough job, but as someone who knows about the meaning of life and death more than any other person, you don’t seem to put into practice everything you have learned: To live and love ”

“It’s not that simple”

“It is simple. You have no idea how simple it is. I only hope you don’t learn it the hard way, when you lose your chance. I have seen it so many times, you wouldn’t believe me.”

The friendly silence joined the tabled again, leaving Ethan more pensive than before.

Maybe the elder woman was right, but Ethan was never a man of sentimentalism, of searching the meaning in things. He only wanted to seek the truth in life, how things were based only on facts. And the truth in this situation was that he had to stay away from Eleanor to protect her reputation and her career. There was no point in trying to find an alternative answer to that. The truth about them was absolute.

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking of her words.

*

Ethan force himself to come back to reality as entered in the baggage reclaim area of the airport. Once it was all collected, he took a cab to his apartment. 

Once he was there, he took a shower, unpacked his luggage, and drop off his clothes from the trip at the laundry service on his way to the hospital.

 The sun was already set when he met Naveen at his office.

“Ethan, my boy, I’m so happy you’re back safe”—He greeted giving him a hug that Ethan replied coyly.

“Good to see you, Naveen. How have you been?”

“Incredibly well, the weather has been so nice. And my position as Chief gives me more time to enjoy the sun, so I’m incredibly well with the amount of vitamin D I have absorbed these past weeks.”

“I can see it. You’re more joyful than usual.”

“Not just because of the sun, but because you’re back. I sincerely missed you, my friend”

Ethan nodded in a way that Naveen interpreted as he felt the same.

“How was Manaus, well, and the rainforest in general?”

Ethan updated him about his trip, describing the streets and highlights of the city in detail, and after that, he followed up with his labor with the WHO, and how things were when he left.

The origin of the epidemic had been found in a river that rises in Colombia and flows to the Amazon River, in the middle of Brazil. The Amazon River was the biggest in South America and its size was the reason it had caused nothing less than an outbreak just in a few weeks.

Just before Ethan left, the development of a vaccine had started, as a variant from the Malaria’s; therefore, in the next three months it was expected to be tested and by the end of the year, it was expected to be produced. He wasn’t sure if the WHO would call him for another Mission, but Naveen would be fully aware of that in case they would.

*

The hospital was quiet when both mentor and protégé left the office. They parted ways in the parking lot. Naveen, to go to his car, and Ethan, to walk down the street towards Donahue’s to say hi to Reggie.

He needed a drink to feel he was really back in Boston. At Edenbrook. But deep down, he wanted to go there because he hoped she would be at the bar. There was no way she wouldn’t be with her friends celebrating their last day as interns and welcoming the first day as second-year residents.

His pace was slower than usual for multiple reasons. First, because he wanted to enjoy the warm night Boston was welcoming him with; second, because he wasn’t going there to kill the tension of a day’s work, just to enjoy the night. And third, because some part of him was afraid of what he would find there. If she was there. If his face would betray him even if he had mastered the stoicism long before he met her.

“Don’t teaser her, Jackie! I still have nightmares about that Ethics Hearing!”—He heard just when he was about to turn to the entry. “If Eleanor had left Edenbrook, I don’t know what we’d done.”

He had no doubt that that sweet and soft voice belonged to Sienna Trihn.

“Stolen her spot in the diagnostics team?”

And that snarky retort was from Jackie Varma.

“Oh. My God”—The tiny resident said once her eyes caught him at the entry.—“He looks so different.”

She didn’t even lower her voice as she acknowledged him. And he didn’t care. As soon as he realized where Sienna and her friends were, his eyes couldn’t help but search for her eyes.

“What are you talkin-“—Eleanor turned and her mumbling stopped right away as their eyes met. Her confused amber eyes went stunned in an instant.

“Rookie”—Was all he could say to not let his feelings betray him. The sole sight of her was painful enough to try something else.

“It's good to have you back, Dr. Ramsey”—She murmured, her voice distant. Like she wasn’t even conscious of her words, like she wasn’t saying them, and an automat had taken hostage of her body.

Even though she knew he would be back tomorrow, it was clear she didn’t expect to see him tonight.

“Yeah… Good to be back”—He tried to remain serene, but for a second his eyes faltered on her with a torn expression.

He hesitated for a moment before keep walking towards the main bar.

 ***

She felt like someone was turning the volume up in her head. The chatting of her friends, the clinking glasses, the laugh of people, the cars passing by, the music on the jukebox inside. All was too fucking loud on her head. 

The bubble that had alienated her from the outside had popped just the moment she met eyes with Ethan. Every sound was irritating to her. Every laugh, every word, every passing car.  Her heart beating fast, her agitated breath. All the noises were multiplying.

Still, she didn’t even know how she found the strength to reply to him. It didn’t sound like her at all. It was like she was observing herself outside his body,  the obvious first-hand and only witness of her own autoscopy.

“Relax”—Bryce said in a jokingly tone when Ethan was out of sight—Ramsey might not be my type, but damn, I felt things too.”

All her friends burst out in laughs, trying to alleviate the tension.

“No one can deny that the man's his appeal, and with that makeover, oof. Total heartbreaker”—Conceded Jackie.

But she was barely conscious of what their friends were saying. Just as he entered the bar, she felt disoriented. Lost. The volume in her head started to turn down, silencing her from the noises around her. Like the earth had stopped rotating and she was caught in the middle of her own thoughts.

She didn’t expect that. She had come to terms with the fact that she would see him tomorrow, at Edenbrook, but she absolutely wasn’t prepared to see him tonight. At the bar. She should have known.

Then, she heard her name somewhere. Somewhere very, very far. And after that, a warm caress in her back shook her out of her stupor.

“Elle, are you okay?”

She looked up. All her friends were trying to catch her attention, and Sienna was staring at her with her brows furrowed in concern.

“Ellie…”

“Yeah, sorry, guys, I think the beer went to my head.”

Eleanor felt a warm caress against her back again.

“Babe, are you okay? D’you need a moment?”—He whispered, leaning carefully towards her.

“No, no, I’ll be fine.”

Bryce didn’t look so convinced.

She looked at him in the eyes, knowing that it would ease her mind. She smiled. It had worked. But she knew she couldn’t spend her life being wrapped to Bryce to feel calm, that she couldn’t run to his arms every time she felt something for Ethan. She had to face the pain, the fear, she needed to confront him to really be over Ethan. She had to do it alone with all the pain it was involved in.

“I’m okay, really”—She reassured, his lips quirking a bit to resemble a smile.

He nodded.

She wanted to be okay, because the last thing she had on her mind, was to make a scene, just as the last time she saw Ethan. No, she had to grow up. The days where she would drown in sadness and ‘what ifs’ were over. She had to handle the situation like the adult she was.

But it wasn’t that easy. Even though she rejoined the conversation with her friends, after an hour she really felt the need to have a moment.

“Sienna, care to join me?”

“Of course, Ellie”—She replied getting up from the bench.

The walked carelessly towards the bar, Eleanor trying to ignore completely the presence of Ethan sitting on his usual spot.

“Are you okay?”—She asked once she closed the door behind her.

“I… I’ve been better.”—She confessed, leaning against the wall.—It’s just… I wasn’t expecting to see him today, tonight, here. I made my mind I would see him tomorrow. But well, that’s how things went.”

“It was so shocking, for all of us. Mostly because of that makeover. I swear I thought I was confusing him with another person”

“Like a extremely hot twin brother of him?”

“Kinda, yeah”

They both laughed.

“That’s torture. How can he appear here like that and expect me to stay away?”

“Eleanor…”

“Sienna, I’m teasing”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“But I am. And I can’t even think about doing something with Bryce here.”

Eleanor shook her head.

“Ah, poor Bryce. He’s all in the comforting mood but I know it hurts him.”

“Maybe, but he’s actually worried about you.”

“Why he has to be so selfless? I don’t deserve it.”—She protested —He has been an angel with me this whole time. And this stupid asshole appears, and I fell to the ground like a whiny stupid.”

“Ellie, he knows what he’s dealing with. And I know he’ll be wise enough to leave when his time is over. I just hope that doesn’t happen, and that he gets his happy ending with you.”

“You don’t think I want the same? I want it. But it doesn’t matter what I want when the person I’m in love with it’s not him.”

There was silence. Sienna looked at Eleanor. She was pissed off, but not defeated like before. That was progress.

“Okay. Let’s focus.—Sienna exclaimed with renewed energy, trying to comfort her friend—"The things are this way: You’re still not over Ethan, but if you want to, you will. And you’ll do it by stop having hopes. You’ll focus on the good. On Bryce. On the beautiful moments you two have had. And as long as Ethan doesn’t say ‘Eleanor, I love you, let’s be together’, your situation with him is the same as it was when he left. It’s done. Terminated. Over. Okay?”

“Okay, yes. Yes. Crystal clear.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise”—She replied as her pinky locked Sienna’s.

A few moments later they returned to the table. Jackie had brought a new round of beers. Eleanor took her seat next to Bryce, and without a moment’s hesitation, she brought her lips to his cheek and kissed him softly.

He stared at her a bit confused. That day, at the beach, they agreed to be more discreet with their relationship now that Ramsey was back. Somehow, she wouldn’t feel comfortable that he could know about them when nothing was settled, and she didn’t want to provoke a response in him by jealousy or make him doubt her feelings for him. That way, they would return to their habitual friendly interaction in public spaces, but their relationship remained the same. Therefore, that show of affection in public was against their agreement.

“What was that for?”

“You just deserve a kiss for being so cute with me.”

He smiled.

“In that case, I deserve more than a kiss on my cheek, don’t you think?”

She shook her head and brushed her lips into his.

“Better?”

“Much better”

They continued their chatting through the night until Reggie announced he was about to close. Eleanor and her friends collected their used jars and went to the bar to give them to Reggie. Ethan was still by the bar and apparently, he had no intention to leave soon.

“What? Last call doesn't apply to you?”—She asked, her words coming out of her mouth incautiously. Like nothing had happened. Like the two months they didn’t see each other never existed.

“Reggie and I go way back. We have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?”—She snorted— “Is that what you call friendship?”

“I don’t have friends, but I wouldn’t mind you joining me if you were so inclined.”

“Say it. You want me to join you?”—She defied.

He stared at her seriously for a few seconds.

“I do.”

Eleanor turned to her friends

“I’ll stay for a while to check in about tomorrow with Dr. Ramsey.”

“Okay”—Sienna replied—"Just don’t stay out too late... Aurora's dropping off the rest of her stuff before work tomorrow.”

Eleanor nodded and her eyes directed to Bryce. He winked at her before turning to the door, but she could have sworn his smile fainted the very moment he turned.

“Well, we've got ourselves a brand new Ethan Ramsey.”—She stated, approaching him at the bar.—"You took the reset thing seriously.”

He gave him a painful look and scratched the back of his neck.

“Why don’t we move outside?”—He suggested, trying to diffuse his tension—"It'll be winter before we know it. Might as well enjoy the weather while we can.”

Ethan took a half-drunk bottle of nice scotch and head out to the empty beer garden, taking a seat beside a small fire pit.

“So… how have you been?”

“As good as it can be, given the circumstances there.”

“Yeah, I figure. I’m sure you went through a lot there.”

Ethan nodded.  Thinking that he indeed went through a lot there, but maybe not the kind she had in mind.

“What about you?”—He inquired after a brief reflection.

“I’m doing great. Excited that intern year has finished. And tomorrow is my first day on the big leagues”

“Yeah. You start with the DT. Time has passed so fast”

“Certainly.”

Then, the silence made its presence. They stayed still to study each other subtly. Ethan couldn't decipher what, but there was something different in her that had nothing to do with the passing of time. It wasn’t the hair, her summerly outfit, or something physical. It was something in the way she was looking at him, in the way she was speaking, and even in her gestures, that made him realize she wasn't the same he had left eight weeks ago. There was something familiar about her manners, but he wasn't sure what it was.

And after an eternity of silence and endless questions inside his head, she finally spoke.

“Why you didn’t reply or call back… or said anything?”

All Ethan could think was if she was interested in asking that, it meant there was something still there. That maybe she still cared for him.

“Eleanor…”

“I had to ask Banerji to know me if you were okay. Don’t you think it isn’t unfair?”

“I know, he told me.”

“It was a fucking message, Ethan. Just ‘I’m okay’, just that, I wasn’t expecting a report. Just a fucking reply.”

“I know. I’m so…”

She raised her hand, stopping him midsentence.

“Please, don’t. If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place. It was so simple.”

“I needed to walk away…”

“Yes, I know, but this has nothing to do with that. With your so-called self-control. Cause I don’t know how much self-control you can compromise by sending a couple of words. It’s not like you can lose it being thousands of miles away from me. But, of course, the fault is always mine for expecting some decency from you.”

“You were worried?”

“How can you ask something like that? Of course I was worried! Epidemics are unpredictable and much riskier to doctors.”

She shook her head.

“I really hoped our conversation would’ve made sense to you. But no. Nothing’s changed. You can’t even be a decent friend or colleague.”

He remained silent.

Eleanor took a sip of the scotch, and then breathed heavily with her eyes closed. After a few moments, she opened them with renewed energy.

“Well, no point in dwelling in the past. Let’s talk about tomorrow.”

Her words caught him by surprise. The way she just shook off of his mistake was new. He expected she would give him hell for at least fifteen minutes, but apparently she had more important things to discuss.

“Okay, what do you want to know”—He said, finally.

“What should I know?”

“Well, once the meeting with all the other residents is done, you have to go to the Diagnostics Team office, to join us for the daily meeting. We’ll be discussing a new case too. A few hours ago, the hospital informed me that we are receiving a patient from Manhattan Presbyterian, so that will be your first case as Fellow Member.”

“Excellent. Anything I need to know about the other members?”

“I leave it to you, so you don’t meet them biased from what I tell you”—There was some strange tint in his sight, something mischievous Eleanor couldn’t decipher.

“I think you’re being tricky with the answer.”

Ethan chuckled.

“I’m not. Tomorrow you’ll have your first impressions on the members. It’ll be fine.”

“I suppose”—She sounded tense.

“You’ll do it great, Rookie. You had an excellent performance in your first year, and you made a diagnosis neither your boss nor your boss’s boss couldn’t make, so, that’s quite impressive. You deserve the spot.”

“That’s because I learned from the best.”

And there it was again, the silent longing in their eyes. The intense looks, the pain, the restraint. The alternated gaze between lips and eyes. It seemed like the dynamics from past months were about repeat again. Eleanor succumbing to her feelings, asking for a chance, breaking their boundaries just to have one more kiss, and lose herself in the same old lie with the same old ending. And just like before, Ethan would fall too. As if eight weeks hadn’t passed. As if the time and distance hadn't done their part.

But things had changed. He had no idea how much things had changed.

Because after what it felt an eternity, she just smiled at him shyly and then looked away from him at slow-motion speed. Or that’s how Ethan saw things in his disappointed mind.

Then she took her glass, her hand almost imperceptibly shaky, and drank the remained scotch on it.

Ethan froze for a moment, completely surprised at her reaction, and then turned to the table, sipping his drink too. His mind still was wondering why it was being so easy for her to just look away and don’t dare to kiss him. He was back after two months out and she didn’t even want to kiss him. 

“Good thing you’re back just when summer is beginning, so you don’t end up freezing for changing temperatures.”

Ethan couldn’t repress the astonishment when he noticed Eleanor was using the small-talk card. They had never had small talks before. She always had something to comment, some insight to share, even something to recriminate him with. But now there was nothing of it.

Maybe it was her last resource to avoid something utterly stupid or senseless like kissing him. He couldn’t really blame her.

“Yes, glad I can catch some sun. Vitamin D has worked wonders in Naveen. But he’s too cheerful for my liking.”

“Ethan, Dr. Banerji has always been too cheerful for your liking.”

“Well, yeah, but he is annoyingly cheerful now, and summer is just beginning”

“May the Force be with you”—Eleanor joked,  getting up from the bench.—“Well, I’m going home now. Tomorrow’s my first day and I have to come up as fresh as a daisy.”

Ethan smiled faintly at her.

“Goodnight Rookie, I see you tomorrow”

“Night Ethan, see ya”

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong: Chapter 13 Grave Robber

Chapter 12

Read on AO3

The crisp October air filled Claire’s lungs as she worked at her garden. Her little garden faery had been much too invested in her doll to join her outside this morning, which was probably for the best, seeing as it was perhaps the coldest day of the month so far. Fergus had left about half an hour ago to check his traps. Jenny was working beside her in the vegetable garden, and they were quietly chatting about this or that. Claire was vaguely aware of the dull ache in her lower back that would occasionally escalate to a sharp pinch, but she didn’t think much of it. Her entire body had been throbbing lately with one month to go in her pregnancy.

“Everything will freeze over soon, don’t you think?” Claire asked.

“Oh, aye,” Jenny said. “This’ll likely be the last of the turnips fer the year.”

Claire exhaled sharply through a particularly searing pain in her back, clutching it hastily. Jenny opened her mouth to say something in concern, when suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats started coming toward them, loud and urgent. Claire looked up from her work to see Fergus, flying on his horse faster than she’d ever seen him go. She watched him get closer, bewildered, not even knowing he could go that fast on horseback.

“Maman!” he called as he crossed beneath the archway. He stopped the horse and jumped off, breathless. “Redcoats, coming up the road.”

Jenny and Claire exchanged a panicked look.

“Ye must be hidden,” Jenny said, snatching Claire by the arm and pulling her inside. “Fergus, take a blanket from Kitty’s old cot and wrap potatoes in it.”

“Whatever for?” Claire asked, bewildered, as Fergus flew past them to do as he was told.

“I told them last time they were here that I was wi’ child.”

“You’re going to hold a bundle of potatoes and pretend it’s a baby?” Claire sputtered in disbelief as Jenny opened the priest hole.

“Dinna have a choice,” Jenny said. “I canna tell them I lost the child. If they come back after the bairn is born they’ll be suspicious.”

Fergus appeared with the lumpy bundle, and Jenny struggled frantically to arrange it well enough.

“Does it look like a bairn?” she said. Fergus and Claire exchanged a look.

“Perhaps another blanket, Milady,” Fergus said.

“Hurry!” Jenny cried. “Get inside now, Claire. Dinna make a sound.”

Claire descended the ladder and Jenny sealed up the hole above her. It was dark and damp. She could not see more than half a foot in front of her. She sat herself in the middle of the floor (struggling greatly due to the enormity of her size). “This would be easier if you really were a sack of potatoes,” Claire whispered wryly to her baby.

Fergus came back with another, thicker blanket. Jenny pulled him into the parlor, sat them both down on the sofa, and she wrapped the bundle in the new blanket. “That’s better, no?”

“Oui, Milady,”

“What’s happening, Mistress?” Mrs. Crook appeared.

“Redcoats coming. Keep the children in the nursery.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Mrs. Crook said dutifully, her voice slightly tinged with panic.

“Dinna say a word about yer mam or about Jamie. D’ye understand?” Jenny said firmly to Fergus.

“Yes, of course.”

“This is my bairn. If they ask about his size, he came early.”

“He?” Fergus said. “What if Maman has a girl? And they come back later and it has changed?”

“Oh, Father help us.” Jenny threw a look up. There was no time to contemplate, however, as the door burst open.

The sound of boots echoed through the house. Jenny began bouncing the little bundle, and she nudged Fergus. He took the hint and started cupping the “head,” smiling at it as if it were a real baby.

“Ah! There you are.”

Jenny and Fergus looked up from the bundle, Jenny still bouncing it, Fergus still caressing it. The same officer stood in the entrance to the parlor, flanked by the very same men that had burned their tartans and their books.

“Good morning to ye, officer,” Jenny said.

“I understand congratulations are in order?” He took a few steps into the room.

“Yes.” Jenny stood to prevent him from peering down into the blankets. She pressed the potatoes into her chest. “Born just five days ago.”

“What a joyful occasion.” His smile made her stomach turn. “Early, was it not?”

“Oh, aye, just a bit.” Jenny bounced decoy and smiled down at it. “Gave us quite a scare, did ye no’, mo chridhe?” She chose her words very carefully, deliberately not revealing a gender, her heart pounding in her ears.

“I dare say, it is quite a great deal quieter than it was during our last visit.” The officer gave a sweeping glance around the room. “Where is the rest of the household?”

“In the fields,” Jenny said. “Harvest season, ye ken.”

“Ah yes. The humble potato.”

Jenny’s heart leapt into her throat. Was he suspecting?

“Such a…hardy crop, is it not?”

“Indeed, sir.” Jenny bounced her own potatoes nervously.

The officer turned to his men. “Retrieve the man of the house.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ll remain here with the bundle of joy.” He smiled again, slimy as ever.

Jenny’s breathing was becoming shallow. What did they want with Ian? How much longer would he believe that this still, lumpy bundle was anything more than a sack of potatoes? If he even believed it at all?”

“Care to have a seat?” Jenny said, gesturing with her head to one of the armchairs. “I could have the lad fetch ye a dram.”

The officer took the invitation to sit. “A drink would be fine.”

Fergus sprang up, but Jenny stopped him.

“Take the bairn to Mrs. Crook, will ye lad?” She carefully handed the bundle to Fergus. “Fetch the finest glass for our distinguished guest.” She turned to the officer with a smile. “And make sure Mrs. Crook holds the bairn close.” She gave Fergus a hard look, praying her meaning wasn’t lost on him: make sure Mrs. Crook holds the bairn close if they search the room so they willna see.

“Bairns need as much body heat as they can get when they come early,” she said, emphasizing as much as she could without raising the officer’s suspicions.

“Yes, Milady.” Fergus nodded deliberately.

He knows. Clever lad.

“Whatever is a French boy doing in your employ, Mistress Murray?” the officer said with a chuckle as Fergus went up the stairs.

“My husband employed him during a long stay in France and couldna bear to part wi’ him when it came time to leave. He’s like one of our own now. Very dear to us.”

“Charming.”

His dripping sarcasm was not lost on Jenny as she sat down on the sofa, smoothing her skirt uncomfortably.

“What can we help ye with today, Captain?”

“Where is the other woman?” he said suddenly, ignoring her question. “She was with you when you celebrated your being with child.” Jenny blanched for a moment. “Curly hair?”

“Oh, aye. She is my cousin,” Jenny said quickly. “She was visiting then, but she’s returned home since.”

“Cousin,” he said thoughtfully. “And would her home happen to be in England?”

“Beg pardon?” Jenny asked.

“Forgive me. Perhaps I was not clear.” He leaned forward in his seat. “This cousin of yours. Is she English?”

“Of course no’,” Jenny said, feigning confusion. “She’s my blood cousin, Scottish through and through.”

“I see.”

Fergus returned with the whisky and a glass. He poured it out and handed him the glass.

“Merci,” the officer said to him with deliberate condescension. Fergus’s eyes narrowed. He gave a mocking bow before joining Jenny on the sofa.

“You mean to tell me, Mistress Murray,” he continued after sipping the whisky. “That none in your family have ever…tainted your Scottish blood?”

Jenny could feel Fergus tense beside her, and it took everything in her not to tense up herself. “I’m afraid I dinna quite understand.”

“No one in your family married a sassenach, as you’d call it?” He took another sip of his whisky. “Your…brother, for example?”

Jenny swallowed thickly. “Oh, aye. A sassenach witch,” she said firmly. “Forgive me fer no’ saying it myself. He is a brother to me no longer. We dinna discuss traitors to the crown in this home.”

“A fine example, indeed.” He raised his glass to her before taking another sip. “I’m sure you know Red Jamie was killed in battle.” He raised an eyebrow from behind his glass.

Jenny’s heart stung, but she nodded curtly. “Makes no difference. He was dead to me the moment he joined that bloody cause.”

“Of course, of course,” he mused. “But his wife…this ‘sassenach witch’ as you say…do you know what’s become of her?”

“I always thought she was killed as well,” Jenny said dismissively, despite how saying it made her sick to her stomach. “Wished it, almost. Good riddance, ye ken.”

“Indeed,” he affirmed, nodding. “This uh…cousin of yours…no relation at all to the sassenach witch?”

“None at all,” Jenny said, feigning confusion once more. “She’s my blood cousin. No’ a drop of English blood.”

He opened his mouth to continue, but the back door opened and the stomping of boots started again, this time accompanied by the sound of wood dragging on the floor.

Ian’s leg.

Jenny’s throat went dry.

The officer put down the glass and stood. Jenny and Fergus stood as well. The three soldiers appeared, two of them each holding one of Ian’s arms, dragging him along.

“Ian Murray, sir,” one of the soldiers boomed. “Man of the house.”

“Ah, yes!” The officer beamed. “If it isn't the infamous Pegleg Grave Robber of Culloden Moor!”

——

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

Claire’s heart leapt into her throat. She’d been listening as intently as possible, unable to hear very clearly until now.

How on Earth did they track Ian here? And why on Earth did it take them so long to decide to reprimand him for something that happened months ago?

“I’m sure I don’t know what yer talking about — ”

Ian’s voice was cut off by the sound of a blow, to the stomach most likely, based on the noise he made. Claire heard Jenny gasp.

“We want nothing to do with that bloody moor! Nor any Jacobites that were on it!” she heard Jenny cry out.

“Not even your darling brother? Was it not his body you were looking for?”

“I dinna have a brother any longer! Please, we are loyal subjects to the crown.”

“I have the word of a fellow soldier that he shot a man with a pegleg on the moor about three months ago.”

“Surely there are others — ”

“Others specifically having lost the right leg?”

A blinding pain suddenly surged through Claire, causing her to cry out softly, involuntarily. She immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. The shouting above her hadn’t stopped, thank God; they hadn’t heard her.

She began breathing heavily in panic.

It’s too soon…it’s too soon…

Another wave of pain came, and she clamped down on her hand, her teeth digging painfully into her flesh.

It’s too soon! It’s too soon!

“If he is indeed innocent, surely you wouldn’t mind if we took him in for questioning.”

“But the harvest!” A new voice. A young boy.

Fergus, don't you say another damn word.

“Milord is needed in the fields to finish the harvest!”

“Do they teach you to talk back to your superiors in France, then?”

The crisp sound of a hand on soft flesh sounded.

Claire bit down on her hand again, this time to stop herself from crying out to her son. Then another wave came. She clamped her other hand over her mouth as well, this time moans were audible, even through her hands. She pinched her nose in attempt to stop this as well.

God, please…not again…it’s too soon…

“The graveyard,” Ian’s voice panted. “There’s a grave wi’ his name, but it’s empty.”

No.

“We did it to honor him wi’out his body. If ye must, ye may unearth the grave. Why would we bury an empty casket if I’d taken his body from the moor?”

“To my recollection, you were shot before you could retrieve a body. This empty grave proves nothing.”

“Ask the mason in the village, and the carpenter. The date the stone and the casket was made will pre-date the night this other pegleg was on the moor. I swear it.”

Claire was trying to breathe evenly and yet quietly as possible, but she was interrupted by another contraction.

No. It can’t be that. It’s too soon.

She bit down on her hand, drawing blood now.

But what else could it be?

“Very well. We will question the mason and the carpenter of Broch Mordha. Until then, you’ll be taken into custody.”

The sound of Ian’s wooden leg dragging on the floor started again, along with the clomping of boots. Claire was seeing stars now, and whatever vision she had in the dark hole was becoming hazy.

“Oh…and we’ll be back to inspect this empty grave.” Even through the floor and walls, Claire could hear the slime in his voice. “We must be sure everything…lines up.”

“Connard!”

“Fergus, don’t!” Jenny cried. Claire prayed she was holding him back. “Hold yer whisht, lad. It’ll be alright.”

“You are the grave robbers!” Fergus spat. “You will go to hell!”

“Silence that frog at once!” the Captain barked. “Or I will drag him away as well, child or not.”

Claire could picture him, yanking against Jenny’s strong grip like a bull ready to charge. And then blinding white pain surged through her again, and she squeezed her hand over her mouth, her nose. Air was blocked from any entrance into her body, her throat burned with the need to cry out, her chest begged for air.

She felt consciousness slipping away from her.

Perhaps that would be for the best…

——

Jenny watched from the porch as Ian disappeared in the cart, tears blurring her vision. She fiercely bit her lip as he vanished from her sight.

“I will kill them,” Fergus said bitterly.

“That’s enough,” Jenny said firmly. “If ye mouth off like that to them again ye may get Ian killed. No’ to mention yerself.”

Fergus sighed in frustration. “They will see Milord’s tartan when they return.”

“Aye. They will.”

“We must move it!”

“No, Fergus. They’ll know we’ve unearthed it ourselves and then they’ll know we’re hiding something.” Jenny sighed. “Best to let them find it and tell them we buried it before they came to take them away.”

“It is not fair!” Fergus exploded. “They take everything away!”

“I ken, lad…I ken.” Jenny wiped her eyes. “Best go check on yer mam.”

She put an arm around his shoulders and ushered him to the priest hole.

“Claire,” she called, opening it up. “D’ye need anything, sister?”

She didn’t answer.

“It is alright, Maman. They are gone for now.”

Still no answer.

“Claire?” Jenny descended the ladder, and her heart dropped. Even in the faint light she could see her limp form. “Claire!”

“What is wrong?”

“She’s fainted,” Jenny called up to him. “Claire?” Jenny gathered her into her arms. “Claire what’s happened?”

“What can I do?”

“A cold rag, she’s dripping wi’ sweat.”

Without another word, Fergus was off.

Claire uttered a pained groan, her eyes fluttering open.

“I’m here, sister.” Jenny clasped her hand. “Talk to me. Is it the bairn?”

“I’m…having contractions…” she panted, her eyes widening. “It’s too soon, Jenny…”

“I ken it is, but ye’ll be alright…” she assured her, despite the panic that was making itself known in the pit of her stomach.

“Here, Milady.” Fergus tossed the rag down the hole into Jenny’s hands.

“Fergus…?” Claire whimpered. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine.” Jenny patted down Claire’s sweaty face. “Despite his being a damned fool, he’s just fine.”

Claire let out a short, breathy laugh. “How is…the potato baby?”

Jenny laughed at that. “Oh, he’s braw. Redcoats never knew any better.”

Claire smiled, breathing heavily.

“Is yer hand bleeding?” Jenny asked, bewildered.

“I bit down on it,” Claire said. “So I wouldn't scream.”

“Ye poor thing.” Jenny tutted in sympathy. “It’ll be alright now. When was the last one?”

“Before I fainted.”

Jenny nodded. “Let me take a look.”

She peered beneath Claire’s skirts, and Claire opened her legs to allow inspection.

“It doesna seem like anything has changed.”

“No bleeding?” Claire said desperately.

“None at all.”

“Thank God,” she breathed in relief.

“No more pains?” Jenny asked, looking up at Claire.

“No…not since you woke me.”

Jenny smiled with a relieved sigh. “False labor.”

Claire, too, gave an enormous sigh of relief. “Of course. Braxton Hicks contractions.”

Jenny cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you fancy healers call it, then?”

Claire gave a soft chuckle. “I suppose you could say that.”

Jenny returned Claire’s skirts to their proper place.

“So…they took Ian?”

“Aye,” Jenny said distantly. “And they’ll be back to desecrate Jamie’s grave.”

Rage bubbled in Claire’s chest, tears of white hot anger gathered in her eyes.

“What more can they possibly take away from me?” Claire spat.

Jenny put a hand on her shoulder. “I ken, sister. It’ll turn my stomach to see them do it. Be grateful at least ye willna have to see it.”

“They’ll take his tartan,” Claire said flatly.

“Aye, they will.”

An angry sob left her lips and she pounded her fists into the stone floor. “Damn them! Bloody fucking bastards!”

“Aye, that they are,” Jenny said, tears spilling out of her own eyes. “It’s alright mo ghràidh…” She wrapped her arms around Claire’s shuddering frame. “They canna take him away from yer heart, ye ken?”

“I know…it’s just…”

“I ken, sister. I ken.”

“Maman, Milady! They are coming back!”

They pulled apart. “Will ye be alright?”

“Yes…I’m fine.” Claire sniffled and wiped her eyes. “As long as my little potato doesn’t cause any more trouble.” She caressed her stomach.

Jenny chuckled in spite of her anguish. “Alright. I’ll come back fer ye when they’ve gone again.”

Jenny climbed the ladder and sealed the priest hole up again. The Redcoats didn’t bother coming into the house this time, so Fergus and Jenny made their way to the graveyard. They watched from a distance as a small handful of Redcoats dug up the long undisturbed earth. Jenny kept her hands firmly on Fergus’s shoulders even as he struggled to break free, though she wondered if she’d be able to stop herself once they removed the casket itself.

Remove it they did, and they simply tossed the lid off and threw it aside. She could hear them laughing as they dumped the tartan out of the casket. Jenny’s blood boiled. Fergus jerked in her grip again, but she clamped down harder.

Even from the distance, Jenny could see the officer shake his head and light another match.

“No!” Fergus cried.

“It willna help, lad!” Jenny said firmly, wrapping her arms around him from behind now. “It willna help.”

The bastard deliberately looked at them, as far away as they were, as he dropped the match into the casket.

Jenny bit her lip as the casket and the tartan went up in flames. Claire’s words echoed over and over in her head:

“What more can they possibly take away from me?”

Fergus finally stopped fighting her, and he burst into tears in her arms. Jenny laid her cheek atop his curly head and wept silently into his hair.

Forgive me, a bhràthair…I tried to honor ye properly…I’m sorry…I tried…

[cristinablackthornkingson]

Shadowhunters Short Story #68.

It is a warm July day in 1911 when Alastair Carstairs begins to notice his sister Cordelia, acting very strange. It starts out with Cordelia being unable to join him or their friends on patrol or to go visit their mother, father and little sister, as often due to her being under the whether frequently. According to James, it is nothing to worry about but Brother Zachariah encouraged Cordelia to rest as much as possible.

Then once Cordelia was not so sick all the time, Alastair noticed she began to wear dresses that were just a bit too big for her. After that, he noticed that Cordelia was always holding something in front of her, when she sat down it was often a cushion, when she was standing up and walking around she would often hold a book in front of her stomach, and the few times she was not holding something in front of her, she would have her hands on her stomach.

It took him a while, but now Alastair is starting to put the pieces together and is almost certain he has figured out why Cordelia is being so secretive. She and James have been married for 2 years now, they have both spoken about wanting children and he has often caught James resting his hand on Cordelia’s stomach too, Alastair is certain that his sister is expecting, and he is going to get her to tell him one way or the other. 

Currently the siblings are sitting in the living room of The London Institute, waiting for the others to get back from patrol, while Tessa and Will have gone to Wales for the day, to commemorate the anniversary of the death of Will’s parents.  Cordelia is sitting on the sofa, once again holding a cushion in front of her stomach, as she reads a book. 

“Layla?” Aalstair asks, setting his own book down and looking at his sister.

“Yes?” Cordelia answers, turning the page of her book. 

“Why are you holding that cushion in front of you like that?” Cordelia blushes and tries to continue on with her book. 

“Oh, um, no reason, I just like to hold something while I read.” She attempts to divert her brother’s suspicions. 

“Oh yes? Well why a cushion, is it not rather bulky and in the way? Why not hold a pen or something of the like?” Alastair asks. 

“The cushion is comfortable, it gives me something to rest the book on.” Cordelia tells him in an unconvincing tone. 

“Alright I will give you that but it does not explain why you are always holding a book in front of you when you stand and walk, or hide behind James or Thomas, or why I have seen you holding your stomach, or indeed why you were so sick a few weeks ago and have not gone out with Anna or on patrol at all for about 3 months now.” Alastair lists off all the suspicious things Cordelia has done the last few months. Right away, Cordelia knows her cover is blown. 

“I... I.....” Cordelia falters. Alastair grins knowingly. 

“You’re expecting, aren’t you?” Cordelia smiles lightly and nods, pushing the cushion away from her stomach and resting her hand on her stomach. 

“We found out almost right away, but we did not want to tell anyone until later in the pregnancy, in case I lost the baby, we did not want to have to tell everyone that horrible news. We were going to wait a few more weeks, but I do not think it will be possible, I am only three months and already showing.” Cordelia softly says. 

“You are happy, aren’t you?” Alastair warily asks, fully prepared to kill James Herondale if he has made Cordelia upset or unhappy in anyway. 

“Oh yes, I am absolutely thrilled! Jamie is too, we have been so eager to tell you all.” Cordelia says in a joyful tone, her face lighting up with joy and excitement, making Alastair relax.

“I am very happy for you Layla, you are going to be a wonderful mother and I cannot wait to be a Uncle, I will be the baby’s favorite, of course, you know how babies love me, I think Evie loves me more than she loves mama and papa.” Alastair jokes, his smile widening as he thinks of his beloved baby sister, little 7 year old Evangelina Esta Carstairs, who is Cordelia’s double, except for her dark hair, which is just like Alastair’s. 

“You will have to fight Matthew for the position of favorite Uncle, he will have the little one in the best clothes the world has to offer and keep him in good supply of poetry and plays.” Cordelia says in an amused tone. She knows Matthew is likely going to be the most excited out of all of their friends, now he has been clean and sober for 5 years, and is the most wonderful big brother to his little twin sisters, Jane and Matilda, he will certainly enjoy being an Uncle to Cordelia and James’ baby. 

“Oh I will find a way to beat him, don’t fret. Do you know if it is a boy or a girl? Have you told anyone else?” Alastair asks. 

“It’s a boy, the only other person who knows is Jem, he was the one he told me I am expecting, though as I said, I doubt I will be able to hide my bump for much longer so we will likely have to tell everyone else soon.” Cordelia says, caressing her stomach softly. Already she feels incredibly bonded with her baby, she never knew he could love someone as much as she loves this baby inside of her, and he is not even a fully grown person yet. 

“Mama is going to be thrilled, and so is James’ father, a child that is half Carstairs half Herondale, he will be over the moon.” Alastair grins, imagining Will Herondale’s reaction when he finds out he is going to be a grandfather.  Cordelia laughs and nods her agreement. 

“Yes he will, I think I am most looking forward to his reaction. What about you and Thomas, do you want to have children?” Cordelia asks. Alastair and Thomas have been together for 5 years now, they are very happy together and all their friends and family are supportive and loving, well except for Elias, he does not accept or acknowledge that his son is with another man, and only ever refers to Thomas as Alastair’s friend. It is very painful and upsetting for Alastair, and Cordelia and Sona are forever trying to get him to open his mind, they are both just so very happy that Alastair is now happy and in a healthy relationship with someone who truly loves him, they do not understand how Elias can be so close-minded. 

“Perhaps, we would not be opposed to it, but obviously it is not as simple for us to have a child as it is for a man and a woman, but we know adoption is an option and we are open to the idea of having children at some point.” Alastair tells her. 

“Well if you ever do, I know you will be a wonderful father.” Cordelia softly says, reaching out to squeeze her brother’s hand. No doubt Alastair has fears and worries that he will be a terrible father just like Elias, or that he will end up favoring a daughter over a son, like how Elias clearly favors Cordelia and always has. 

Alastair smiles weakly and squeezes his sister’s hand in return.

“Thank you Layla, that means a lot to me.”

A few weeks later, Cordelia really starts to show and she realizes her bump is going to be impossible to hide from now on, so they decide to tell their friends and family. When they walk into the room above The Devil’s Tavern that James, Christopher, Thomas and Matthew still rent, with Cordelia no longer trying to conceal her stomach, they plan to sit their friends down and tell them the good news, however they never get the chance. 

The moment they step through the door, Matthew looks to them and his eyes immediately travel to Cordelia’s swollen stomach. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and a few seconds later, at the top of his lungs, Matthew yells

“Cordelia is expecting!” This of course, immediately draws everyone else’s’ attention. 

“Thank you Math, now all of London knows, likely all of England.” James grumbles with a roll of his eyes. 

“I am sorry Jamie but I... I am just so happy for you!” Matthew exclaims. 

“Are you really? Expecting, that is?” Thomas asks, avoiding being rude and staring at Cordelia’s stomach, unlike Christopher who is gawping at her like he has never seen a pregnant woman before. 

“Yes I am, a little boy, in January.” Cordelia gleefully says, her hand resting underneath her stomach. 

“Oh that is absolutely wonderful! Congratulations!” Thomas says, getting up to embrace both Cordelia and Jamie. “How are you feeling Cordelia? Do you need to sit? You can have my seat.” Thomas kindly offers. For all intents and purposes, Cordelia is his sister-in-law, as well as a very close and dear friend. He knows from talking to his mother, that pregnancy can be very difficult and harsh on a person’s body. Sophie herself had suffered greatly while carrying Thomas, and Eugenia had suffered terribly when she was expecting her first child last year.

Before Cordelia can reply, she feels a prodding sensation around her lower stomach and looks down in confusion, only to see Christopher with his brow furrowed, studying her stomach, clearly having just poked her. 

“Christopher.” Cordelia weary says. “Did you just poke my stomach?” Christopher blinks up at her from behind his glasses, his eyes wide and full of concentration and intrigue. 

“Hm? Oh! Yes, did I hurt you?” He asks, completely oblivious to James trying to conceal his anger and not lunge at his cousin.

“Bloody hell Kit.” Thomas grumbles, covering his face in embarrassment, while Matthew laughs himself silly.

“Um, no it did not hurt but I would rather you did not touch my stomach at all.” Cordelia tries her best to keep her tone calm and civil, she knows Christopher is not being rude intentionally, he means no harm and is simply curious, but nevertheless Cordelia does not like being touched out of nowhere, and she most certainly does not like Christopher poking her stomach while she is 5 months pregnant. 

“Why not?” Christopher innocently asks. 

“It could hurt the baby, for one thing.” Cordelia says, pushing Christopher’s hand away when he tries to touch her stomach again. 

“Kit, you know how you very much dislike when your mama fusses over you, kissing your cheek and ruffling your hair and such?” Thomas calmly asks. Christopher nods. He adores his mother but is not too fond of the fact that she loves to kiss his cheek and leave a lipstick stain there, and call him all sorts of pet names, her favorite being ‘My genius little boy’, especially in public, around others. No one in The Clave takes him seriously for a number of reasons, no doubt his mother’s constant fussing is one of them. 

“Well Cordelia does not like you touching her the same way you do not like your mama fussing over you.” Thomas explains. 

“Oh I see, I am sorry Cordelia, I was just curious about the baby, I did not meant to be rude or upset you.” Christopher apologies, earning a warm smile from Cordelia. It is hard to stay mad at Christopher, he is such a sweetheart.

“That’s quite alright Kit, just refrain from doing it again.” 

“Well now that that is sorted, I have a question. I am going to be the little chap’s Godfather, right?” Matthew hopefully asks from his position stretched out on one of the couches. 

“No, I should be Godfather, I am the most sensible out of us three and will not encourage the little fellow to do reckless things, unlike you Matthew.” Thomas argues, surprising everyone, seeing as Thomas is very much not the argumentative sort.

“I think I should be Godfather, Matthew you are already the twins’ Godfather,and Tom you are Benjamin’s Godfather, I am nobody’s, so therefore I should be Godfather to Cordelia and James’ baby.” Christopher points out. 

“Sorry boys, but I am afraid that non of you are going to be this little one’s Godfather, we are going to ask Alastair.” Cordelia softly says. She has no doubt that Alastair will be a wonderful guide and inspiration to his nephew, and she knows that if anything were to happen to her or Jamie, Alastair would raise his nephew with just as much love and care as Cordelia and James would, and would bring him up to be a wonderful and amazing person.

“I am very insulted and utterly heartbroken! I hope you are proud of yourselves James and Cordelia Herondale, you have absolutely shattered my heart and all my hopes and dreams, I shall never recover!” Matthew cries dramatically, throwing his head back and throwing his arm over his face, all the while fake sobbing.  

“Shadowhunting is wasted on you Math, you would be an excellent actor.” James says, shaking his head at Matthew’s antics. 

“Oh I know, it is absolutely dreadful! I belong on the stage, not in battle!” Matthew exclaims, peeking at James through the gap between his arm and face. 

Cordelia and James spend a few more hours with The Merry Thieves, before they decide to pay Will and Tessa a visit at The Institute and tell them about the baby. 

As predicted, both Tessa and Will are utterly thrilled, especially Will who is delighted that his first grandchild will be half Carstairs and half Herondale, and Tessa is very happy that the baby is due around the time of her birthday, these last few years birthdays have been bittersweet for Tessa, though there is only a year between she and Will, Will is starting to show his age, while Tessa looks exactly as she did at 21. 

Of course it is not that Will is going gray and getting wrinkles that upsets Tessa, she will always love him no matter what, but every sign of aging that Will shows and she does not, reminds her that one day in the not too far future, she will loose Will and she will never be able to have the comfort of knowing that one day they will meet again. However, knowing that this year she will have a sweet and beautiful grandchild to love, makes the idea of her birthday a lot less frightening and painful. 

The months fly by, with Cordelia receiving check ups from Jem every few weeks. James wanted to decorate the nursery by himself, insisting that Cordelia should rest and let him do all the hard work, however one steely look from his wife and James relented, and together the two of them decorated the nursery, often ending the day with Cordelia sat in the rocking chair under the window of the nursery, with James kneeling by her side, his head bent to her stomach as he talks to the baby and reads to him. 

Just two days before her due date, Cordelia feels the first contraction, when walking through Hyde Park with Lucie, discussing Lucie’s first novel that was published just weeks before. When Cordelia felt the first pain, it sends Lucie into a right panic, one would think she is giving birth, not Cordelia. Lucie quickly helps her parabatia back to the carriage, where Cyril Tanner’s son Edward Tanner, is waiting. Edward was born just a few months before Lucie, and like his father he now serves the Shadowhunters at The London Institute, his main duty being chauffeur, like his father.

Just 2 hours after feeling the first pain, Cordelia gave birth to her son, a beautiful and perfect little boy who is the very image of his father, with thick black hair just like James, brown skin like Cordelia and somehow, big grey eyes, just like Tessa.

While Tessa and Lucie stayed with Cordelia while she labored, James, Matthew, Christopher, Thomas, Anna, Alastair and Ariadne waited outside, in the small area that they use as a waiting room for the infirmary. The boys had come to support James and meet their nephew as soon as possible, while Anna had shown up to keep the peace, knowing James would likely be very on edge and snap at someone, causing a row, and Ariadne had come to help her wife keep the peace, and to be another person to help Cordelia (who she is close friends with) if she so wanted. Before they came to The Institute, Anna and Ariadne had dropped Benjamin off with Cecily and Gabriel, who were thrilled to spend time with their grandson.

Undoubtedly, the two most nervous people in the room are James and Alastair, James worried about his wife and son, while Alastair is concerned for his little sister and his nephew. James has been pacing up and down the length of the room practically the whole time, wincing every time he hears Cordelia scream in pain, from the infirmary. 

Alastair meanwhile, has sat quietly the whole time, worrying at his lip, also wincing every time there is a yell of pain. 

Now, as he sits thinking of his sister and wanting to do anything and everything he can to relieve her pain, Alastair feels a warm hand land on his shoulder, and he turns to see Ariadne sitting beside him and looking at him with concern.

 Years ago, when Charles broke off his engagement with Ariadne and Alastair broke off his relationship with Charles, Ariadne and Alastair became fast friends, both knowing the pain of feeling like you are not good enough in your parents’ eyes, as well as the pain of being attracted to the same sex, when so many people view it as wrong, evil and sinful. They also both knew how horrible Charles can be.

Ariadne shared how though she was glad not to be marrying Charles any longer, she was upset at how he treated her, brushed her aside, almost ruining her reputation while she was unconscious after being attacked by a demon. 

Alastair in turn told her how hurt and angry he was that Charles simply seemed to use him, how he claimed he did love him but would never even consider telling anyone else, not even his parents, who he knew were very open and accepting, due to Matthew never hiding the fact that he is attracted to both men and women. It was obvious that Charles loved nothing and no one more than his job. 

Over the years they grew closer and closer, and have been very good friends for a long time now, Alastair is always first on call for babysitting little Benjamin and is undoubtedly one of his favorite uncles, and one day if Alastair and Thomas have a child, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Ariadne will be godmother and the little one’s favorite Aunt.

“Are you alright?” Ariadne quietly asks. Alastair smiles weakly and nods. 

“Yes, thank you, just worried for Cordelia and her baby.” Alastair replies. Ariadne slips her hand into his and squeezes it reassuringly. 

“Of course you are, she is your sister and she is going through something right now that you cannot help her with, I cannot fully understand as I do not have siblings, but you know I love Kit and Alex as my own brothers, I cannot imagine hearing them in such awful pain and being able to do nothing to help them.”  Ariadne softly says, trying her best to sooth and re-assure her friend. 

“It is possibly one of the most awful things I have ever endured, I have always felt it my place to protect Cordelia, that is why I kept my father’s drinking problem a secret, even though it killed me inside I could not let it affect our Layla. Now I wish I could go in there and take all her pain, I would do anything to help her.” Alastair quietly says in a strained tone. 

“Oh Alastair, I understand this must be absolutely terrifying for you, but childbirth is completely natural and Cordelia has the best medical support one could wish for, Brother Zachariah delivered practically everyone in this room, apart from you and I, and he cares about Cordelia just as much as you do, he is your family after all and he will do anything and everything to ensure that Cordelia and her baby are well and healthy.” Ariadne gently explains. Before Alastair can reply, they hear a loud cry coming from the infirmary, causing James to immediately stop pacing.

Just a few minutes later, Tessa appears in the doorway, smiling brightly at them all. 

“Mama, are they alright? Cordelia and the baby?” James asks in a concerned tone, rushing to his mother’s side.

“Yes my love, they are both perfectly well. You have a very healthy little boy, Jamie.” Tessa softly assures him. 

“Can I see him? and Daisy?” James hopefully asks. 

“Of course, Cordelia has been asking for you. Come on.” Tessa gently guides her son into the infirmary, to meet his son for the first time.

About twenty minutes later, Alastair is called in to meet his nephew, and in no time at all he finds himself sitting in a chair by Cordelia’s bed, cradling his tiny little nephew in his arms, utterly relived that both he and Cordelia are alright. 

“Well I have to admit it Layla, you made one very handsome and adorable little boy.” Alastair says in an amused tone, softly stroking the baby’s cheek. Cordelia laughs lightly, leaning back into the pillows behind her. 

“Thank you, I think so too.” 

“Have you chosen a name for him, or shall he forever be ‘Little fellow’ and ‘Little Chap’?” Alastair asks. Cordelia’s smile broadens at this, excitement lighting up her face.

“His name is Owen Alastair Herondale.” Cordelia proudly announces, rendering her brother absolutely speechless. 

“I.... Oh Layla I.... I honestly do not what to say.” Alastair stammers. He had not been expecting this at all, but he simply could not be more thrilled. 

“Well I do have one other thing to tell you that I very much hope you will have a response to. You already know that we have asked Lucie to be his Godmother, and Alastair, James and I would love it if you would agree to be Owen’s Godfather.” Cordelia softly says. Alastair quickly feels tears fill his eyes, and his throat tighten. Not too long ago he was certain that no one would ever care for him, after the nasty rumors he spread about Matthew Fairchild, as well as Charlotte Fairchild and Gideon Lightwood. Yet here he is now, holding his nephew who was named after him, being asked to be the little fellow’s Godfather, while his friends and boyfriend wait outside just a few feet away. 

“You seem rather instant on making me cry today Layla.” Alastair laughs, wiping at his tears. “But I shall forgive you, and of course I will be Owen’s Godfather, it would be my absolute pleasure and honor.” Cordelia grins and leans forward to peck her brother on the cheek. 

“Thank you, I love you Alastair.” Alastair makes a face and dramatically wipes at the spot where Cordelia had kissed him on the cheek, before smiling softly at her and leaning forward to kiss her forehead. 

“I love you too Layla.”