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janeyseymour · 10 months

Note

Hii hope ur doing well x If ur still accepting requests for Mel x Reader could u do one where reader has some type of disability like chronic pain and they have a flare at school (cause they both work there) and Mel immediately runs to action and there's like Loooots of comfort etc hehe :3

I hope this is what you're looking for!

Too Late Now

WC:~4.3k

You usually have this under control. Since your fourth concussion, you’ve dealt with the headaches and the occasional migraines easily. Doctors have been helping you and make sure that you always have your emergency migraine medication at the ready.

On top of that, it’s been seven years that you’ve been living with this. You know the when a headache or a migraine is coming for the most part. You didn’t even bother writing down on your forms when you got hired that you should technically have accommodations due to your chronic migraines. You just know how to handle them at this point. It’s part of your everyday life.

Melissa, your girlfriend, doesn’t even know about your condition. She doesn’t need to know. You saw the way she sprung into action when you had the flu a few months ago- or when you had caught the stomach bug from the kids. After taking care of you with absolutely no complaints, she got sick both times herself. You took care of her too, much to her dismay. She was a caretaker, she did not like to be the one being taken care of.

When you wake up, you feel a little funny. But something is going around the school, as it always is around this time of year. So you chalk it up to that, and you take an Advil and an allergy pill.

When you’re leaving, you almost have half a mind to throw in your migraine medication just in case… but you get distracted by a text from Melissa asking if you wanted coffee this morning from Dunkin.

Of course I do, you reply back.

Your usual?

Please, and thank you.

Sounds good. I’ll see you at school gorgeous.

And because of that text exchange, you forget to throw your pills in your purse and leave the house.

As you’re driving, your headache worsens just slightly, and you groan. Allergy season was bad at this time of year, and your sinuses have been paying for it- post nasal drip is at an all time high, you’ve already had an ear infection this season, and you’ve been getting sinus headaches because of it. You don’t realize a migraine is coming on yet, so you just pop another Advil before you head into Abbott.

Your girlfriend is waiting for you in the teacher’s lounge like usual, and she almost immediately sees how unwell you’re feeling.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly as she kicks out the seat next to her.

“Hey,” you sigh, but you don’t take a seat. You just lean down and peck her lips before standing back up straight with a grimace.

She hands you your coffee with a frown. “You feelin’ okay, hon?”

“Allergies,” you say through a yawn. “I think I’m gonna go sit in my classroom this morning, but you enjoy your news.”

“Alright, hon. Do you want me to come with you?”

“I know how much you like your news,” you tell her. “I’ll be okay.” You head to your classroom, and she watches you in concern.

By the time the kids are supposed to come in, you know exactly what’s happening- a migraine is coming on. And you, like an absolute lovesick idiot, forgot your medication because you were too busy texting your sweet girlfriend. Your head is in your hands as you massage at your temples, the lights are off, the sound of the barely functioning air conditioning is making your eyes throb in pain.

Hypothetically, you could call out now. But there’s a shortage in substitutes, you don’t think you can even think properly to create sub plans, the thought of moving from your desk makes you want to cry, and you know it’s only a short amount of time until you’re unable to drive for the next… eleven hours. You probably wouldn’t even be able to make it the drive home.

You have no idea how you’re going to survive today without your medication.

When the kids start to make their way in, you nearly burst into tears. You silently thank God that you didn’t put any makeup on today. You throw your sunglasses on as they trickle in, and you stay seated at your desk.

You can’t teach today, and you know this. It’s going to be a day where the kids sit quietly and watch magic school bus, you take them out for extra recess, and then they can sit and work on their projects, or read and draw. You don’t care what happens today, as long as they aren’t loud.

Again, your kids think that they have a sub until they see you sitting at your desk in the dark.

“Ms. Y/N?” one of the girls comes in and runs up to your desk.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you say softly, and even the eight year old can see the pain etched in your face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Skylar,” you tell her quietly. “Ms. Y/N’s head just hurts, so today is mostly going to be an independent and quiet work day. Unpack and get ready for today, love bug.”

The little girl gives you a gentle hug before going to her desk and unpacking. You keep your eyes closed as the rest of them trickle in, and they’re oddly quiet. They are never this quiet. You almost always have to remind them to do their handwriting pages and do their lunch count.

When you do open your eyes to take attendance and explain to them what’s happening today, you see that Skylar had quietly taken it upon herself to write the morning routine on the board.

Morning! The note on the board reads. Ms. Y/N’s head hurts, so come in quietly. Unpack, lunch count, the next page in journal, then DEAR.

Your heart melts, and you realize how lucky you are that your students genuinely care about you the way that they do. Skylar is over by the lunch count board writing a tally for you, and she quietly comes and slips it over to you.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you whisper to her, and you have a small tear trail down your cheek. “Do you want me to take it to Ms. Schemmenti to put in, or should I take it down to the office?”

“I can put it in, honey,” you give her a gentle squeeze before opening your laptop. You wince immediately due to the light, but you can handle this. You can’t have her go down to Melissa’s- your girlfriend would flip her lid when she found out how under the weather you were feeling and you didn’t stay home or ask for her help.

All of your students watch you silently. They’ve never seen you this drained. Sure, they’ve seen you sick; you rarely call out. They’ve seen you tired after a night of volunteering or staying up late to finish grading papers and preparing for them. But they have never, ever seen you this down- to the point that your skin is pale and you can’t take off your sunglasses because your head hurts so bad.

“Miss Y/N?” one of the boys raises his hand quietly, and he’s usually known for giving you a hard time.

“Yes, Cameron?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You just barely nod and take a shaky breath. “Here’s what we’re going to do today,” you tell them. “We’re going to do our independent work for each of our subjects today- I know we have projects and papers in all of the subjects except math. For math, I’ll have… somebody… take you outside for extra recess, and if you’re good and quiet today, I’ll put on Magic School Bus at the end of the day for dismissal. Deal?”

All of your kids nod, and you give them half a smile. Then you get a shooting pain right behind your left temple, and you quietly cry out in pain. You grip the table for a few seconds and take a deep breath before you open your eyes again. They all look absolutely terrified.

“Nobody tells Ms. Schemmenti,” you tell them as you point at them all.

They all raise their hands in surrender.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, shakily. “Who is going to lead our morning meeting?” It’s Rayna.

When that’s over, the kids quietly pull out their social studies projects and start to work on them. When social studies is over, they quietly move on to their independent reading for fifteen minutes. And then they line themselves up silently for specials.

“Can I trust you all to walk yourselves down to the gym silently?” As you write a note to the gym teacher explaining that they are coming on their own and to just send them back down to your room when gym is over.

“I take my line leader duty very seriously, Ms. Y/N,” Jayden tells you seriously. “If we aren’t quiet, I’ll tell you.” You nod, hand him the note with the instruction to give it to the PE teacher, and they’re off.

You get approximately forty-five minutes of peace and absolute silence. You close the door, grab your coat and throw it over your head, and lay down on the back table. You’re small enough to fit if you curl up.

On your kids’ way back to the classroom, they just happen to see your girlfriend in the hallway on her way out of the teachers’ lounge.

“Where’s Ms. Y/N?” the redhead asks with a popped eyebrow. You always walk with your children everywhere.

All of the kids look at each other nervously, remembering the way you told them that they weren’t to tell the second grade teacher. But Melissa is staring them down.

“She called the gym teacher and told him to just let us walk down by ourselves because she had to use the bathroom,” Jayden tells a fib, and he hates doing it to his former teacher. But he promised you.

Melissa furrows her brows, but Jayden’s always been a good kid. “Okay… Well, tell Miss Y/N to put up another class compliment star because you’re all walking through the hallway very nicely.”

The line leader nods and takes off in the direction of your classroom, while Melissa heads towards the office to make copies.

You’ve just barely managed to get yourself back to your desk when the kids come back in, but your migraine is starting to make you nauseous, and you don’t even know what to do anymore. You won’t even be able to drive yourself home, so you just have to wait this out- at least you should get paid for it.

“We saw Ms. Schemmenti in the hall,” Omari tells you quietly while everyone else is getting out their snacks. “She said to give us a class compliment star because we were walking so nicely.”

“Nobody said anything, did they?” you ask.

“Jayden told her you were in the bathroom and told the gym teacher to just let us walk down,” your student says. “I don’t think he liked having to lie to her though… and Ms. Schemmenti didn’t really look like she believed him.”

As if on cue, the second grade teacher is knocking softly on your doorframe. She looks so concerned for you. “Ms. Y/N?”

You thank God you weren’t facing the door and have half a mind to rip off your sunglasses before standing and meeting her on the other side of the room. “Class, eat your snacks while I talk to Ms. Schemmenti in the hallway.”

“Amore,” Melissa whispers softly as she gets a look at you. “You look terrible. Why don’t you go home? I can split your class between the other third grade class and mine- not like I haven’t juggled two grades at one time before.”

“I- I can’t go home,” you mumble, and you wince at the florescent lights that aren’t out for once.

“And why’s that?”

You bite your lip. You have to admit to her just how terrible you’re feeling. She’s going to flip out and become insanely protective. She’s going to be upset you didn’t tell her about your condition before. “I get chronic migraines sometimes, and I… I have one right now.”

“Oh, hon,” Melissa whispers sympathetically.

“I usually have meds for it to lessen the pain, but I left it at my house this morning, and I think if I tried to drive home, I would throw up or black out,” you tell her honestly. “The kids have been really great this morning though, and they understand.”

“How can I help?”

“During my math period, can you take them outside? They deserve extra recess today,” you practically whimper as you close your eyes and brace yourself for the shooting pain you can feel getting ready to come on.

“Why don’t I just split the kids for the rest of the day while you lay down?” your girlfriend suggests.

“I’m here, they’re behaving and quiet, and I need to get paid,” you tell her. “They’re okay with me for everything except math.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” the redhead sighs. “But you just call if you need me, you hear?”

“I know,” you say softly. “I’ll be-” You cut yourself off with a whine and grab her arm as the pain comes. When it’s over, you relax and finish, “-fine.”

Your girlfriend shakes her head with a deep breath before stepping into your classroom. Jayden looks terrified.

“Ms. Schemmenti, I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he says quickly. “I didn’t want to, but I-”

“It’s okay, buddy,” she says softly before looking to the rest of the class. “You be on your best behavior for Ms. Y/N, and if anything happens, you come down to my room. I’ll be over during your math time for extra recess if you continue having a great day. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” your students reply, and you walk slowly into your room before putting your glasses back on and putting your head in your hands. Melissa gives you a gentle pat on the back before squeezing your shoulder three times.

Your kids finish their snack, and when that’s over they work on their research project for writing. They line themselves up silently for lunch and walk themselves down. You take up your position on your back table again, and close your eyes. You beg God to make the pain stop, and you finally give in, crying.

What you don’t know is that your sweet, sweet girlfriend is on her way to your apartment to grab your medicine. She also grabs a gatorade and your favorite hoodie (that is actually hers). She stops at Wawa and grabs you a Tasty Cake before returning to the school.

When she gets to your classroom, her heart breaks. She can see the way that you’re shaking from underneath your coat, and she has no doubt that you’re crying.

“Oh hon,” she mumbles as she makes her way over to you. She lays a delicate hand on your back and rubs up and down soothingly. “I brought your medicine, your favorite hoodie, and a Tasty Cake from Wawa. Can you take the medicine for me?”

Her kindness and gentleness just makes you cry even harder- and that only makes your head hurt worse.

Your alarm on your watch starts to go off, and you whine. “I don’t think I can do my recess duty today.”

“I’ll get the music teacher to cover it- she’ll do anything to get some of my meatballs,” your girlfriend tells you. “You just take your meds, and hopefully they kick in.”

You nod, just barely manage to sit up and take the medication and you take the hoodie and ball it up and put it under your head.

After she calls the music teacher and arranges your coverage, she asks, “Jeet today?”

“No,” you mumble.

“Can you try to eat the cupcakes I brought?” At your nod, she opens it for you and practically feeds it to you.

“Did you eat?” you ask your girlfriend.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” she dismisses your concern. “I’ll get my lunch in eventually- just might be while the kids are running around on the playground for math.”

Once you’ve had one of the cupcakes, you groan. “I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Okay, hon,” Melissa frowns. “You know your body.”

“My body wants to sleep.”

“Well, you have another thirty minutes of recess, and you know I’ll always take your kids for you,” your girlfriend reminds you.

You nod and close your eyes. “Set my alarm for the end of recess? And if you wouldn’t mind just sending my kids here from outside for me?”

She presses a delicate kiss to the side of your head, but she doesn’t set your alarm. She fully intends to let you sleep the rest of the school day, and she’ll take your kids for you- all twenty three of them. She can handle it.

It’s not like Ava is here to tell you you can’t get paid for today. And in reality, Ava wouldn’t care anyway.

Your perfect, wonderful girlfriend picks your kids up from recess, and she has no idea how she manages this, but every single child is able to grab their belongings without waking you up. They were even able to silently move their chairs.

When you wake back up, your head is still pounding. It’s starting to ease up though. You glance at your watch from underneath your coat.

4:12 is staring back at you. School has been over for an hour…

You take your coat off of your head to see a classroom without chairs and Melissa perched on the closest desk to you, glasses on the tip of her nose and reading something on her phone.

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” she says quietly as she puts her phone away. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mel, why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed rest. Your kids’ chairs are in my room, and I told them to just come get them tomorrow.”

“I slept at school for almost four hours.”

“And how are you feeling now?” she prompts again.

“The prescription is starting to kick in,” you mumble. “But because I didn’t take it during the onset, I mostly just have to ride it out.”

“How long do your migraines usually last?”

“Hopefully, I only have another three hours of this hell,” you tell her.

“And are you feeling okay to go home?”

“I’m shocked Mr. J hasn’t come in here to kick us out,” you grumble.

Melissa flashes you that devious Schemmenti smile. “He did. But I told him… in a non-threatening way… that we would be staying here until you woke up on your own, and I would lock up the school.” She twirls the keys around her finger. “Now, do you need to stay here to ride it out, or…?”

“I really don’t know if I can drive to my apartment yet,” you admit sheepishly. “I’m still kind of nauseous.”

“Can I take you back home, then?” your girlfriend asks you softly as she fixes your wild locks.

You nod with a groan as you sit up. You go to grab your bags, but Melissa already has them next to her and both of your things are slung over her shoulders in a second.

“You just worry about getting your pretty little self into the car, yeah?” She presses a gentle kiss to your temple, and you know it’s all in your head, but her kiss makes you feel even the slightest bit better.

She piles your things in her car as you slowly get in and close your eyes. She gets in not a few seconds later, closing the door as quietly as she can. As the two of you are pulling out of the parking lot, you feel her warm hand settle on your thigh, and she squeezes it gently. It shouldn’t affect you the way it does- especially given how you’re feeling right now.

When she pulls in, she tells you gently to head in and up to bed. She’ll handle all of your things, she’ll be right in to curl up with you and/or nurse you back to health.

“I just have to ride it out, honey,” you remind her.

“Well, we’ll curl up together then,” she tells you. “And when you’re feeling up to it, I’ll make us something for dinner.”

“I love you,” you sigh softly as you drag yourself out of the car. You get yourself into the house and are just laying down in bed as she comes in. She changes, lays down next to you, and pulls you into her arms gently.

“Hon, I can sleep on my own,” you mumble into her chest. “I know you have a shit ton to grade.”

“I can do that tomorrow during my prep,” she whispers. “Right now, my girlfriend needs some love and attention.”

Because of her warmth and the delicate fingers that are tracing patterns on your arms, you fall asleep easily. And when you wake up, she’s still laying with you, and she’s half asleep herself. You wake up to a mouthful of red hair, and you sigh in content. Your head is no longer pounding- you think your migraine is gone.

“How’re you feeling?” your girlfriend asks you softly, eyes still closed.

“So much better,” you tell her truthfully. “You didn’t have to stay. You could’ve had dinner or graded stuff while I slept.”

“And what kinda girlfriend would that make me, hon?” Melissa retorts. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better. You ready to eat a real meal?”

“Yeah,” you sigh softly. “After a few more minutes of cuddles?”

“I can’t say no to that.”

After a few more minutes, and a rather loud grumble of both of your stomachs, you head into the kitchen hand in hand. She starts making dinner while you go over to one of her bags and start grading the math tests she gave to her class yesterday.

“You don’t have to do that,” she tells you as she stirs the pot.

“I have to make it up to you somehow,” you say as you mark a few questions wrong.

“You can make it up to me by tellin’ me why I never knew you got migraines… and frequently enough to have the good shit prescribed to you,” the redhead says as she turns to look at you pointedly.

You frown and keep your eyes trained on the papers in front of you as you shrug.

“Y/N,” she says sternly. “C’mon.”

“Nobody really knows,” you mumble before you clear your throat. You suppose you have to be honest with your girlfriend. “After my fourth concussion seven years ago… it’s just something I got used to dealing with. I usually have them under control and can just push through them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, hon?” she asks softly. “Or at least told me this morning when we were in the staff room?”

“I thought I was fine,” you tell her honestly. “It didn’t hit me until after I had already walked into my room, and at that point… it was too late, and I didn’t want you fussing over me for something I could’ve prevented.”

“Hey,” Melissa turns the burner down to let her sauce simmer. “I always worry about you- whether you’re sick or not. But when I saw you this morning, I knew something was wrong. You shoulda told me. I would’ve driven to your place to get your medicine sooner.”

“I was just going to tough it out,” you sigh.

“You were going to pass the hell out in pain,” she tells you. “Your kids were really worried about you.”

“I know they were… They were so sweet today and made sure they were on their best behavior for me,” you say softly. “I wish I would’ve gotten a picture of the morning message Sky put up on the board for the rest of the class.”

“They were just as well behaved for me,” the second grade teacher tells you honestly. “Although that may be because I promised them all doughnuts if they were good.”

“So… we have to leave early to pick up doughnuts for the kids?” you laugh. At her nod, you shake your head playfully. “I’m buying.”

“With whose card?” she snorts out.

“Mine, thank you very much,” you tease back.

With your banter, Melissa knows you’re feeling much better and are on your way to feeling 100 percent again soon.

After dinner, the two of you go back to lay in bed.

“Put a few of your pills in a plastic baggie for me to keep in my car for you tomorrow,” Melissa tells you as she pulls you into her arms again.

“Babe, I usually have them on me,” you tell her. “This was a one time thing.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain though,” she mumbles against your head, kissing it gently. “And if I can help prevent you from crying out in pain at a small noise, I will.”

“Okay, honey.”

The next morning, the two of you show up to school with dozens of doughnuts for the kids, and yours and Melissa’s classes enjoy the treats together. They’re all thrilled to be rewarded with the sweet treat. They’re happy that they can talk in their own classroom again. They’re glad to see that you’re back to yourself.

“Ms. Y/N?” Skylar asks as she gives you a hug that morning.

“What is it, sweet girl?”

“Can you like, not get sick like that again? I’m happy we got doughnuts, but I don’t wanna have to play teacher again for you… It was hard.”

You chuckle as you muss her hair. “I’ll do my best kiddo.”

Melissa just nudges you with a smirk. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she assures your student.

#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti fanfic #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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nintendoteuthis · 2 years

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Ok idk if you’ve covered this yet but how in the hell do inkling/octoling eggs work? Have they transitioned to livebearing like some fish, or do they lay terrestrial eggs? They definitely have evolved to prioritize care over amount of offspring like large mammals do, but I’m weirdly curious how you think cephalopod egg laying transitioned to an intelligent society

So modern cephalopods lay a ton of eggs at a time, and will encase them in an egg mass of some sort. The shape of the egg mass is highly variable across different cephalopods. Flying squids (which Inklings are probably descended from) will make a big gelatinous orb and lay their eggs inside that.

And this orb will float in the ocean and terrify divers.

I think that, on land, the egg mass has turned into an egg sac, kinda like that of sharks ("mermaid's purses"). The egg sac proves a nice, insulated environment that protects the eggs from the elements and ensures that moisture isn't lost. The mother probably also injects ink into the egg sac. This practice probably evolved at first to help camouflage the egg sac (this is a thing that some cuttlefish species do today), but as ink evolved its current function in the cephaling lineage, it also functions to boost the embryos' immune systems. Some mothers think that this can influence the babies' ink color, but results are inconclusive.

As with large mammals, Inklings and Octolings prioritize parental care of few offspring. This is the complete opposite of how pretty much all modern cephalopods function. So each egg sac will probably just have one egg each most of the time (though twins are not uncommon!). This probably evolved in tandem with increased intelligence, longer lifespans, and sedentary civilization - all of which are basically transitioning from an individualistic live-fast-die-young way of life to a more community-based, ensure-you-live-long way of life.

I don't think that Inklings and Octolings evolved live birth, and there's one crucial reason why: transformation. If your entire body is reorganizing itself on a regular basis, that would make it very risky if an embryo is developing inside of you. Live birth also takes a lot of energy and puts strain on the mother, and given the high-metabolism lifestyles of the average Inkling or Octoling, that's a strain that the mother wouldn't need. It's safer for your eggs if you just leave them at home for the day. The egg sac would still need some degree of incubation and protection, though (especially given they're warm-blooded). Early cephalings may have done so either by covering them in nests of rotting vegetation (as alligators do) or simply by holding the egg sac close to the heat of the body. And the parents probably traded off egg care duties like many birds do.

In the modern day, there are two birthing events for Inklings/Octolings: the laying of the eggs and the hatching of the babies. So pregnancy only applies to the period before the eggs are laid. Producing the egg sac and laying the eggs inside is much less stressful than giving birth is for mammals, and probably easily happens at home. It takes several more months for the embryo to fully develop within the egg sac, over which time the parents are already babying it, thinking of names, etc. The parents still trade off carrying the egg sac around and keeping it warm - it's not rare to see expecting parents carrying the egg sac with them in a baby sling - or they just rent a home incubator from the local hospital. Friends of the family can come and say hi to the developing eggs in the "nest" (either a crib or an incubator). And the baby (or if you want to be technical, the paralarva) hatches looking like this:

Awwww.

#splatoon #splatoon biology musings #oc #my headcanons

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watchtowerindistress · 2 years

Text

we are not our demons (14/24) - bruce wayne x batmom

Gif source: edwardsmunsons

Author’s note: As you can probably tell from the middle part, this follows into Suicide Squad.

Damian's and Dick's appearance was pretty much impromptu here, but it actually fit in the story. What can I say? I love it when my muse just demands their presence. I'm a little sucker for Damian, sue me.

Beta-read by Heidi.

Words: 3.2k

Warning: language

Please reblog/leave a comment.

Series Masterlist | Want to be tagged? | Read on AO3

And you had a lot on your mind now

Your mind (your mind), it’s true

So, tell me the truth was it me than

Who needed you (you)

— You by Two Feet -

It turned out that working under Bruce Wayne had its perks. Either that was the reason for him letting Ellie leave at 3 pm—it was more of an order judging by the text message she received—or it had more to do with her functionality as technical support in a certain cave.

As soon as his name swiped over her screen in a notification, her heart jumped wildly beneath her rib cage. Damn him and his astounding ability to monopolize all of her sentiments. As much as Ellie tried to ‘get over’ what happened last night, it was hard to forget about that kiss.

All warm and soft. Making her all gooey inside while she forgot everything around her.

The cool wind stroking the side of her head was like a wake-up call to her surroundings after she exited through the transparent doors of Wayne Enterprises. Heavy raindrops pelted down her umbrella with every step outside.

Despite wearing thick-rimmed glasses covering her face, her eyes still constricted to prove to herself what she was seeing wasn’t a mirage. If her glasses weren’t fooling her, the man himself who had been clouding her mind before, was leaning like a devil-may-care billionaire against his sleek, black Aston Martin parked at the curb. His feet were crossed, and one hand was safely hidden in the pockets of his pants while the other held up his own umbrella from the severe weather conditions.

Before Ellie knew it, she was standing a few feet away from him and tilted her head in speculation. Her eyes whipped around, like she was scandalized at the thought of being seen with Bruce.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce shrugged his shoulders, as if there was nothing wrong. “Parking my car. Why? Is there something wrong with it?” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the biting wind.

Ellie inched the strap of her purse higher to ward off the autumn chill, despite the coat she was wearing. As far as she remembered, Bruce was a human heater, so she was a bit flabbergasted that he needed a warm, black overcoat over his suit—of course, everything in a classic black—that gave him a mysterious aura.

Ellie pursed her lips, playing along with him. “Nope. I just wondered what the following words meant—” She whipped out her phone to correctly quote the message Bruce had sent to her. “You can go home now. PS—not a request.” Ellie looked up again. “Short question: how close were you to using caps to get your message across?”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

So, that’s where Damian got it from. Or maybe his son was finally rubbing off on him.

“I don’t write in caps, ever. Just…” Bruce’s smile seemed strained when he nudged his head towards the car. “Just get in the car, Ellie.”

Ellie sighed lowly. “Your manners are getting worse, Bruce.”

He groaned at her words, turning his body sideways. “You sound like Alfred.”

“Ah, so it must be true then.” Without waiting for his gentleman ways to show up, Ellie turned to the passenger door, only to find it still locked. “Bruce, will you do the honors?” the young woman sighed.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows playfully. “If you say ‘please’.”

Ellie’s voice turned saccharine. “Please, for the love of God, open this frigging door, so I can finally purr inside the warmth of your car.”

With a smirk on his face, Bruce lifted the car keys in the air and flamboyantly pressed a button.

At his display of arrogance, Ellie rolled her eyes. “God, I forgot what a dick you could be sometimes,” she complained under her breath and released a sigh as soon as she was in the cozy, warm safety of the Aston. At once, Ellie was forced to take her glasses off to let their fogged-up state disappear over time.

Bruce was still chuckling mirthfully when he got inside as well, letting the inside of the car make a purring sound. He barely showed any reaction when Ellie asked, “And Alfred’s okay with me operating the system tonight?”

Bruce made a grunting sound. “You keep on asking that question, Ellie. But don’t worry about that. It’ll be a relief for Alfred to worry less about me, you know? Maybe you guys can find some sort of accord.”

“So, you only want me to worry about you tonight? Alright.” Ellie rubbed her hands together, slowly getting used to the toasty-warm feeling flowing through her fingers. “Have you talked to Babs recently?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and sent her a piercing glance—long enough to make her worry about their safety—as he was meandering through the thick traffic of Gotham. Bruce turned his gaze back through the windshield once he saw her facial expression.

Ellie’s eyes shifted anxiously to her twiddling thumbs before her hands spasmed in her lap. Instead, she chose to place her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just—I don’t know.” Ellie exhaled jadedly through her mouth. “I’m getting the feeling that Babs feels lonely. I feel guilty that I don’t talk to her more often.”

“I’m going to talk to Alfred about that. Maybe I’ll have a chat with her later on.”

“Okay, great.” Ellie breathed out a sigh of relief.

Bruce sent her a furtive glance out of the corner of his eye. “Feeling better now?”

She smiled shyly with a small nod. “Immensely, yes. Thank you.”

Bruce nodded, pleased with that. “Anytime.”

The rest of the car ride was spent in amicable conversation. Temporarily, it actually made her forget the obvious elephant riding along in the car, and it surprised her how Bruce could talk about anything else but that kiss. Ellie brushed a few hairs behind her ear and simultaneously peeked at him from under her eyelashes.

They were winding down the unpaved pathway which suggested they were about five minutes from their destination. Bruce didn’t even have to glance back at her to feel her inquiring look on him. “What?”

Ellie shook her head. “Nothing.” Maybe she should just follow his lead and ignore their kiss ever happened.

The pebble stones made a crunching sound under his wheels before Bruce steered the car into the garage. Silently, they stepped out of the vehicle. The temperature inside wasn’t as cool as it was outside, so Ellie unbuttoned her coat and walked alongside Bruce through the corridor.

“Why don’t you get inside the cave already? I need to get some things first. I’ll be right behind you. Wait, let me take your coat.”

“Alright. Thanks.” Ellie nodded her head in agreement and took the jacket off her shoulders into his waiting arms, surprised by Bruce’s hindsight and care, before their paths inevitably separated.

Barely a few minutes of rebooting the computer system passed when the dull thuds of Bruce’s footsteps entered the Batcave.

Something smelled delicious in the air. Her nostrils flared, sniffing the new scent spreading around the lair before a ‘Big Belly Burger’ paper bag was gently placed on the metallic bench next to the keyboard.

“Uh, …” Ellie felt far too speechless to let other words slip through her mouth. Her eyes met his with a silent question.

“It’s going to be a long night, Ellie,” Bruce said without contributing anything else. “There’s a burger inside, you know, and some fries to tide you over.”

“Thanks.” Ellie smiled appreciatively before opening the bag to take a long and ecstatic sniff of its contents. “Extra onion rings and sauce to practically drown in?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect,” Ellie sighed blissfully.

Bruce leaned with the insides of his palms against the edge of the table. “Can you get me access to the Iceberg Lounge? I need CCTV of the nightclub and the map for its street corner.”

Ellie asked the rhetorical question, “Did I hack the database of the FBI when I was 12?” After the rise of Bruce’s eyebrow, she elaborated with a careful speaking tempo, “I mean, not that I would actually do that.”

Bruce huffed at her statement before crossing his arms over his chest, choosing not to add anything else.

The cave was filled with her accelerated keystrokes until a street map expanded on the computer screen, revealing the zoomed-in location of the nightclub.

“Put the live feed of the Iceberg Lounge on the big screen.” Bruce already turned away and shifted his focus on the massive TV screen suspended close to the ceiling facing her.

“Alright, you got it.” While Ellie did her hacker magic—as she liked to call it—and her eyes focused on the code flowing down her screen, she spoke, “You know, I wonder if it should surprise me that Penguin doesn’t have more airtight security. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still a bit harder to breach than Arkham.”

Bruce could barely snort with derision before the computer display and the linked television revealed the club’s footage. “I’ll try to find you a more sophisticated security network next time.”

“Oh, please. I’d love that.” Ellie made a praying motion in thanks to Bruce’s insight to her craving more of a challenge.

Ellie turned in her chair to watch the staff’s movements on the big screen with Bruce, silently wondering if she was allowed to call it the Bat-TV.

Absent-mindedly, her fingers dug into her fast-food selection and scarfed down two fries at once. She stood up from her chair with a heavy sigh and stopped next to Bruce.

“Not a lot going on right now.” She licked the salt from the tips of her fingers. “I reckon it’s going to be more exciting at 6 PM when the club officially opens.” Ellie swiveled her head expectantly to her left until her brown eyes lingered on Bruce. “So, what’s the plan here?”

“Did you—?”

“Yep.” The brunette woman chewed rapturously on the potato fry, feeling grateful for Bruce getting her some French Fries since it had been some time since she had those. “Facial recognition is running through the system for Joker and Quinn. The moment they’ll enter this place we’ll know.”

“Good.” Bruce nodded, pleased with that development before his head turned towards her again in consideration. “Did Ivy mention the time of Joker’s deal taking place?”

With her lips pursed, Ellie tilted her head. “Not exactly. Only that it would occur at night.”

Bruce shrugged, becoming resolute in his determination. “I’m going to hit the streets then.” The intent in Bruce’s eyes became obvious. “Can I count on you to stay here?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, cocking her head at the absurd insinuation. “Expensive drinks and lousy atmosphere? No, thank you, Sir. I may like penguins, but I have no interest in meeting this one.”

Snorting chuckles left Bruce as he stalked away to suit up.

Ellie had the first bite of her gifted burger and was relishing in the special spicy ‘Big Belly’ sauce when it dribbled down the corner of her mouth.

“I smell food!” Dick’s voice called out in elation when he bounded down the stairs, seemingly exceptionally motivated by the delicious smell. His youngest brother Damian followed behind him, but with a slower pace and not as enthusiastic.

Ellie’s eyebrows lifted in the air at Dick’s nose smelling the finest scents in his environment. “No, you don’t!” she exclaimed in defense and turned her body away to shield her food from him, but it was already too late. “You’re like a bloodhound, Dick,” Ellie mumbled quietly.

He was within reach when his fingers delved into her white bag with the red, yellow and white emblem at the side. Before Ellie could even protest, Dick devoured a handful of fries.

“No one told me there was going to be food,” he replied through a mouthful of food.

Ellie’s narrowed eyes were aimed at Dick’s thieving hands. She was more disgruntled than truly annoyed. “Gee, I wonder why.”

With his mouth still chewing, he replied, “Wow, you’re as bad as Dami when it comes to sharing, huh?”

Damian’s only answer was to sigh.

Dick’s gaze met the computer display which had the facial recognition program running through the system. His features darkened once the two mugshots caught his eye. “Bonnie and Clyde, huh? I’m guessing our dear ol’ dad is playing cops and robbers without telling me,” Dick pondered under his breath.

“Uh…” The objection of the blue-eyed man sounded legit, but sometimes it was hard to understand Bruce’s plans when he refused to divulge them. “I’m sure Bruce has a strategy that he didn’t unfold yet.”

Dick only sighed before crossing his arms. “No need to sound like a diplomat, Ellie. Is that the Iceberg Lounge?”

Ellie hummed meekly in agreement before Dick mumbled, “We’re going to need more food.”

Damian was a silent companion at her left side while Dick did a quick snack run into the kitchen.

“You’re not supervising Dick’s every move?” Ellie sent Damian, who took a seat next to her, an inquiring glance that bordered on teasing. It surprised her that he harbored no issues in sitting so close to her.

As a reply, Damian shrugged, like he couldn’t care less what Dick did in his free time. “I will see what he brings.”

“Did someone call my name?”

Ellie rolled her eyes before she could stop that gesture.

“Here, I got you your yogurt, Damian.”

The younger boy’s grunt was the equivalent of a pleased affirmation. Those small grunts really came close to the sounds Bruce uttered sometimes. Ellie’s eyes caught the label on the lid of the yogurt cup.

“Soy yogurt with berries?” she asked with a curious nature.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Damian declared before his spoon popped into his mouth.

Ellie’s eyebrows rose in the air at that new development which came out of nowhere. “What? And no one cared to tell me? Why didn’t Alfred mention that months ago when I asked him about your guys’ allergies?”

Her eyes caught Damian’s softening, although Dick wrapping his arm around hers diverted her attention. “You’re adorable, Ellie.”

She only nudged the man’s side playfully, though the comfy feeling in her belly showed her how comfortable she felt in their company.

The beeping sound emanating from the Batcomputer brought her back to the present. Ellie slid her chair close to find the system had detected their fugitives. “Back to work,” Ellie mumbled and opened her line to reach Bruce’s communication link.

“Batman, come in.”

“I’m here. Any news?”

Ellie kept a close eye on the green-haired psychopath and his sidekick entered the stage while replying, “Affirmative. I’ve got eyes on Quinn and the Joker. They just got into the nightclub.”

“Copy. I see Joker’s Lamborghini,” Bruce commented distastefully—either from Joker’s choice of color, the model in general, or maybe that personalized license plate—before he got serious again. “I’ll let you know when there’s a new type of development. Out.”

At the end of his transmission, Ellie shut off her comm link and leaned back in her chair, exhaling loudly. “Why does this feel like it’s going to be a long night?”

“Perhaps your intuition is trying to tell you something,” Damian surmised flatly. Two heads turned towards him with blank stares.

“What?” The young boy wondered, truly perplexed by their reaction. “I wasn’t insulting anybody.”

Dick’s boisterous munching of popcorn made a crunching sound in the silent cave. If she wasn’t as focused on the high-speed chase between Batman and the Joker—

it was more like the masked knight was lying on the hood of the car, trying to get the upper hand—

Ellie would have said some words about Dick’s manners, or lack thereof.

Ever since he ditched the Batmobile, and the dashboard camera footage wasn’t available, her only source was the CCTV live feed of the city.

“Are you feeling entertained, Dick?”

He shrugged, but still kept on stuffing his face. “What can I say? It’s been some time since I’ve seen a high-speed chase. I’ll take what I can get.”

The dwindling number of feeds was starting to worry her. “I won’t be able to be of much help. There aren’t a lot of CCTV cameras Downtown.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce grunted through their transmission link.

Ellie’s eyebrows creased when Joker’s route started to dawn on her, and after a second glance at the map, she announced through Bruce’s radio link, “Batman, Joker’s close to Gotham Harbor.”

There was radio silence on his end. Ellie pursed her lips in anxiety when he didn’t react to her notification. “Batman, do you copy?” She thrummed her fingers against the desk when the deafening buzz of their connection touched her ears. “Damn it, remote control,” Ellie muttered under her breath.

She was practically operating on autopilot when she synchronized with remote control the Batmobile to the transmitter in Bruce’s suit. Letting it navigate swiftly through Gotham’s traffic until it finally arrived at its destination. She was grateful to Bruce’s prescience in providing all the suits with a GPS locator and included health stats to observe their well-being during missions.

Ellie nibbled on her bottom lip while the location of Batman in the harbor didn’t soothe her concerns. His heartbeat was slightly elevated.

Dick crossed his arms over his chest. “Who knew that Bruce’s paranoia would one day pay off?”

“Paranoia doesn’t have to be a bad thing, you know?” Damian retorted from her left.

He sent his adoptive brother a thorough glimpse over her shoulder. “You guys really are related,” Dick grumbled lightly.

“Guys, hush.” Ellie didn’t expect to be the voice of reason in the end, but desperate times. She tilted her head in befuddled scrutiny of the screen revealing Bruce’s location being congruent with the tracker on the Lamborghini. “Did the Joker ditch his car?”

Ellie’s breathing returned to normal when Bruce’s bulking figure stepped into the view of the dashboard camera, with Harley Quinn hanging over his shoulder.

“Dude, he ditched his girlfriend,” Dick recapped in bafflement.

Harley Quinn’s dripping body was laid on the hood of the Batmobile before Bruce—after a serious length of hesitation—put his mouth on hers and attempted to return life into her lungs.

They had a pretty good view of the Bat blowing air between Harley’s lips—

Ellie was unable to comprehend what she was witnessing when all of a sudden, Harley’s pale hand reached for the back of his cowl and her mouth crashed vigorously into his.

Fervently kissing him.

Ellie’s heart stuttered in her chest at the unsettling display and even more that Bruce needed four excruciating seconds to sever their lips. There was a simmering ache settling low in her belly. Ellie cursed herself for feeling this way in the first place.

Dick’s slothful, almost slow-motion, nibbling aroused true irritation on her face when she turned her head. That and judging from his twinkling eyes gave her the sobering impression that he didn’t mind this type of entertainment this night had turned into.

Ellie’s focus was barely on Bruce’s radio transmission when he announced gruffly, “The Joker got away. I got Harley Quinn. Sending her to Arkham now.”

Dick’s feelings were clear as day when he groaned and threw his head back.

Her voice sounded terse when she relayed, “Copy and out.”

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @alwayshave-faith @ikranfuad @daydreaming-gemini @bluegalaxyprime @liadamerondjarin @steph21369 @andrewswifes-blog @yanna-banana

#steph writes #watchtowerindistress #we are not our demons #batfleck #batfleck x oc #bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne imagines #batman x oc #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman imagines #batman imagine #joker #harley quinn #dick grayson #damian wayne

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wrienne · 1 year

Text

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 34: Final Nail

By the time you returned home with two bags of some late-night takeout from a well-known fast food chain, it was close eleven o’clock. You were exhausted, even with what little respite your body might have enjoyed while you were dead asleep in the car during the journey back from Incheon. A hot shower and a bed had never been as enticing as it was to you that evening, even with the smell of fried food that drifted up to your nose and teased your growling stomach. After all, sleep was the only bodily state where you could forget all your real life problems.

Jung-Hyun's entrance into your worldview notwithstanding, your father had suffered a heart attack. Despite your mother’s reprimands, you couldn’t stop thinking - and thus worrying - about him. He could have died that very day. A chill ran down your spine at the very thought of it.

“Jungkook?” you called as you lifted the bags onto the kitchen counter island, a little surprised that he hadn’t come to meet you. “I brought dinner!”

You perked your ears and heard that the late night news was on. The reporters were discussing something about a nationwide rise of deaths involving heart diseases, and though it wouldn’t have particularly bothered you any ordinary day, it only lended insult to injury now. You pursed your lips and tried to ignore the voices, but you could feel a cold sweat creeping onto you.

Just in time for when you heard footsteps near you from behind.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Wait, is that food?”

Jungkook’s pleasantly soft voice, in combination with the brightness in his tone, warmed your chest in a way you knew wasn’t appropriate, seeing as he technically was your brother-in-law. Yet that warmth wasn’t enough to thaw the ice in your spine. It wasn’t enough to smoothen the edges of glass stuck inside your throat.

“Take whatever you’d like,” you said as you gestured toward the bags, still with your back toward him. “I bought too much, probably.”

“Leave it to me. I’m starving.”

You sensed his presence draw closer, and darted off to the sink before he could spot your face. The rustling of the plastic bags reassured you of his disinterest in you, and you allowed yourself the luxury of peering over your shoulder at him.

Jeon Jungkook was wearing one of his usual, plainly white, oversized tees, and a pair of dark sweatpants that were a little more structured than the other ones he had shown of thus far. His hair was still a bit damp from having showered after practice, and had grown long enough for the fringe to cling annoyingly to his eyelashes. The splint on his right arm was getting a bit of a raggedy look, and you made a mental note to call the hospital for further advice concerning that. Jungkook had functioned so well with merely his left arm, you hadn’t had much opportunities to worry about the fractured bone in his right.

Jungkook flicked his head reflexively to the side, causing his fringe to glide out of his field of vision for only a second before it fell down into his eyes again. He peered inside one of the two bags and procured some french fries. “You really did buy a lot, though,” he murmured through a few fries. “Leftovers, I guess. By the way, how did it go with…”

His voice trailed away as he glanced up at you. It wasn’t until his familiar brown eyes widened that you realized your mistake. You had stared too long, and you hadn’t even tried to get your fear and jumbled up thoughts together. He started toward you.

“Don’t come any closer,” you blurted, almost aggressively.

Jungkook looked down at his feet, as if he hadn’t even realized he had moved. Then, his eyes found yours again. “(Y/N),” he tried, a painful furrow to his brows.

You turned back around. “It’s dad,” you said stiffly, your hands balling into fists. “He’s… he had to go to the hospital this evening. Due to a heart attack.”

“Shit.” You heard him exhale out loud. “I don’t… I’m not even sure what to think. (Y/N), I’m so sorry. Fuck, I can’t even imagine how shitty you’re feeling.”

You didn’t reply. The passing of one of your parents during a work trips was among your worst fears, if not the worst. It had been pounded into your head ever since you were a child - the notion of permanently losing your mother or father when they already barely had enough time to see you. And in a foreign country, no less, where you couldn’t see them immediately, or even at all.

Something greasy you weren’t sure of what it was covered your fingers, most likely coming from the fast food bags. You began washing your hands, but even though the water and dish detergent eventually carried away whatever the foreign fluid was and you felt that your fingers were clean, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

“(Y/N).”

It was a delicate plea, a gentle reminder for you to stop acting what must appear insane. You shifted your focus away from your hands to the direction of Jungkook’s voice, and was suddenly staring up at his ever so handsome face.

Jungkook wore a concerned expression where he stood next to you by the sink, and didn’t break away from your gaze while he turned the water shut. He then leaned over toward the nearest island counter and grabbed a kitchen towel draped over its topmost handle. His eyes were filled with sympathy for none other than you as he patted your hands dry over the sink with his healthy hand, using the towel.

“Deep breaths,” he told you “Your hands are freezing,” he added quietly, as if it were an afterthought.

“I’m fine,” you protested weakly. You didn’t withdraw from his warm, resolute hand, however.

Jungkook raised a brow at you. “You don’t need to act so strong all the time, you know.”

“I’m not pretending,” you retorted. “I’m just… me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Jungkook released your hands, and you let them fall to your sides. “And believe me when I say that I have a pretty good idea of what kind of person you are.”

He was right. Close to twenty years together, he had every right in the world to say that he absolutely knew you. If you tried to deny that, you would be the idiot, not him.

“What I meant was that you can rely on me,” he went on, quietly. “If there’s something you need, or you just want someone to talk to about anything, I’m here. Let me help you, like you’ve helped me.”

Perhaps it was his eyes. Perhaps it was his voice. Perhaps it was merely his presence, just him. Because no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the chock and gravity of your father’s incident was undoubtedly settling in on you. It cracked your will, your determination, and all your self-imposed boundaries.

Standing there, in the kitchen - always the kitchen, it seemed - you were ready to stop resisting Jeon Jungkook. You were ready to give up all the promises you had made to yourself, cast aside any forethought, and simply be with him.

Shoot.

Though desire wanted nothing but, you somehow managed to tear your eyes away from Jungkook. You needed a space of clarity, a spark of brilliance, free from the influence of his heavy gaze or the evident pain in his features at seeing you struggle. Because there was a decision to be made.

But then, how much more difficult could things between you two really get?

“I don’t really like hugs,” you grunted finally as you failed to fight back the gradual reddening of your cheeks.

You didn’t look at him, but you felt how Jungkook paused, a bit confused. Then, he chuckled before carefully pulling you closer to him. Your heart skipped a beat as the wiry muscles of his arms flexed around you, embracing your torso. He pressed you closer to him than you had expected, and held you there, firmly.

“Neither do I,” murmured Jungkook into your hair, clearly amused.

The faint smell of soap, warmth and a fresh T-shirt filled you with a overwhelming sense of comfort. Together with the heat that he radiated, they started enveloping you, like an invisible robe of peace and safety. It fended off almost all of your anxiety and dread, and you inhaled deeply, greedily drinking in both his warmth and his scent.

It was almost as if he was your sanctuary, a safe haven in the storm that was your life at the moment.

“We’re friends,” you said in defense of your indirect invitation, while you mentally punched away the thought you had just had. “Friends can hug even though they hate it.”

“Why won’t you hug me back then?”

You bit your bottom lip, staying your tongue at his surely to be crooked smile. Instead, you tried not to overthink where you hesitantly placed your hands on Jungkook’s broad back, putting your arms simply where they seemed to want to be.

“Satisfied?” you asked him nonchalantly.

Jungkook snorted. He hadn’t even twitched at the touch of your cold fingers, which admittedly was a bit to your dismay.

But he wasn’t completely unmoved either.

Jungkook held you tightly enough for you to hear his heart rate accelerate, and the steady thudding suddenly appeared much louder, and harder, against your ear than when merely he had embraced you. It made your face even hotter, yet you couldn’t deny the satisfaction blossoming inside your chest.

But that meant Jungkook, too, had a traitorous heart. And while he wasn’t as horrible as you, who had a fiancé that also was his brother, he had a girlfriend to return to and he knew it. A girlfriend he had cheated on you with.

You were both tempted to squeeze him harder, as well as push him away. You were both hopelessly desperate not to lose him, as well as outraged over his infidelity. You were both glad he was getting closer to his childhood dream and back to his stardom, as well as sad over the fact that you weren’t going to be that important of a part of his life soon.

When had things turned out this way? Why?

“Have we ever hugged before?”

You shook your head as well as one could with one’s head pressed against another person’s chest. “Doubt it,” you replied curtly. And even though you were embarrassed, you found yourself reluctant to let go. Ever.

“Thought so,” he said in light mockery. “I think I know why.”

You rolled your eyes. “Really now?”

“Yeah. You stink.”

You blinked, unsure of what you had just heard. “What?”

Jungkook chuckled, and the reverberations coursed through his solid chest, a delightful hum against the side of your face. “Did you walk past eight clubs on your way home? Or are you practicing in secret, away from your parents and Jong-Yeol’s watchful eyes?”

“Oh,” you said as understanding kicked in. “No, I don’t smoke, I never have. It was Jung-Hyun-oppa.”

Jungkook stiffened instantly. Before you could add anything, he released you and went back toward the fast food bags. There was an unusual amount of ice in his smile as he beamed back at you, french fries back in hand. “I thought he stopped years ago. Even I remember that.”

“Apparently not,” you said a tad sharper than you had intended to. Frankly, you had hoped to hug Jungkook a little longer.

Because you had an eerie feeling in the pit of your stomach that you wouldn’t ever get to embrace him again after that night.

“Did you also smoke?”

“Of course not.” You frowned at him. “Why would you even ask that?”

Jungkook wrinkled his nose. “Because you smell horrible,” he said bluntly.

“Thank you,” you replied sarcastically. Anger was bubbling up inside your chest, a devastating amount of it. It took hold of you, fueled by your distress and the fact that it was a much easier state of mind. “I’ll be sure to stay a hundred meters away from him in the future.”

Jungkook sank down on one of the bar stools and brandished his phone. “Good luck with that,” he said just as sarcastically while he glanced at the screen. “I mean, it’ll be difficult as hell, considering you guys are getting married and all.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Speaking of which, what about you and Park Yi-Jae? Don’t you think it’s time for you to meet your girlfriend again? After all, you were practically on the verge of becoming husband and wife yourselves.”

You couldn’t bite back the poison in your voice. It was a mixture of bitterness, jealousy and just pure fury. But honestly, it felt good to let out a little of your frustration, and it had been a far too long and eventful day for you to muster enough strength to apologize.

“Actually,” began Jungkook to your surprise, the wariness in his tone making you regret your harsh words in the blink of an eye. “Namjoon-hyung told me yesterday that she’s been calling him on the regular ever since the accident to ask how I am doing. She’s sent stuff to their apartment as well, snacks and presents and what-have-you. All while she’s being doing that…” His gaze flickered to yours. You couldn’t have interpreted his expression even if you would have been granted a year to study it. “...I’ve been here, without even a single thought of her.”

With a heavy sigh, Jungkook closed his eyes. You didn’t know what to say, or if there even was something you could say, so you kept quiet. When he seemed to have gathered his thoughts, he looked back at you, and his familiar, brown eyes had soften significantly.

“I’m not being a very good friend, am I? Don’t answer that,” added Jungkook hastily with a lackluster chuckle. He lowered his head in obvious defeat and snorted. “I’m neither a good friend, nor a boyfriend, if at all.”

It hurt your heart, seeing him doubt himself like that. Though he hadn’t displayed any of his earlier, amnesic fear and hollowness in quite a while, you noticed a shadow of it in his voice. At the same time, Jungkook’s words extinguished the irritation and anger that had flared up within you.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t fully healed, yet. He still needed you.

You began approaching him, ready to reassure him in any - or well, almost any - way, but stopped when he shook his head, his eyes still downcast. You felt your back pocket vibrating, signifying a late-night message, but you chose to ignore it.

“I’m too scared to see her.” Jungkook’s voice was the breath of a whisper, a mere candle in a city of lights. His fingers tightened around the edges of his phone. “I just… I just don’t want to lose whatever it is that we have.”

“Jungkook,” you started, feeling a slow, burning tearing in your heart. You were well aware of the reason. Yet despite knowing, and having known for so very long now, you still didn’t want to say it out loud.

Because that would mean admitting it. That would mean it wasn’t just a thought.

That would mean it could have been, but it simply wasn't.

“Things won’t change between us,” you went on, your voice trembling with strain and emotion. “I swear it. I’ll always stay as your friend, no matter what trouble you get your stupid self into. And as your friend, I’m begging you - please, meet her.”

“But I don’t know how or even what I feel towards her,” he replied, frustration making his tone harden. “And this is coming from a guy who apparently wanted to marry her!”

“It doesn’t matter.” You gulped, and though the tearing sensation in your heart increased a thousandfold, you knew you needed to say it. “Yi-Jae loves you, and it wasn’t her fault that you forgot your love for her.”

Jungkook looked up, finally, and there was a naked terror in his brown eyes, of the likes you had never seen before.

“But how can I look her in the eyes knowing what I know - feeling what I feel?”

You didn’t have to ask him what he meant by that. It was evident in the expression he wore, the desperation colouring his body language, and the way your own heart ached in resonance. And even though every fiber of your being yearned to just cast aside sense, you just couldn’t.

Because not only was Jung-Hyun already deeply involved into the whole ordeal, but you hadn’t spent the last few weeks constantly convincing your parents, Jungkook parents, the members of BTS and yourself just for nothing. And despite what Yoongi had highlighted during the group’s reunion at your parents’ place last week, despite the fact that you and Jungkook had once been at the point of being engaged, nothing changed the course of actions that had lead up to the whole amnesia-situation in the first place. What had caused everything up until that point.

The first domino brick to fall was Jungkook’s decision to be with Park Yi-Jae.

It didn’t take many braincells to figure out that Jungkook had loved Yi-Jae enough to cheat on someone he had been engaged with and known ever since he had been a child. He had loved her enough to cause friction, at least for a while, in his hugely successful group, which could have possibly been incredibly detrimental to their whole career.

It wasn’t difficult to thereby understand the amount he had sacrificed for her. Jungkook had chosen Yi-Jae over both family obligations, a future that pretty much guaranteed a life without any kind of financial decrepitude but rather the absolute opposite, and his childhood dream of becoming an artist and singer.

She had simply been that important to him.

And no matter what you said or did, no matter what he said or did, nothing would change the fact that Jungkook would have remained as that person if not for the accident.

As all of these thoughts solidified in your mind, you had an almost overpowering urge to tell him everything. Yet you were well aware that you couldn’t let him know the two of you had been engaged once, and that the reason you broke the union was because he had cheated on you with Yi-Jae. It would destroy everything.

Mainly because you were at a point where you had absolutely no idea what you would do if Jungkook found out the whole truth. You weren’t going to be someone who allowed her partner to do whatever he or she wanted, but you didn’t trust yourself not to. Not with him. Which meant, that embracing your responsibilities as heiress of Phoenix Inc. and moving on from all the drama and stress were the right things to do.

Besides, the two of you could barely go a minute without taunting and provoking the other. Who knew what a year - or worse, a lifetime - could do to your sanity?

Right? Right.

“Look,” you began, and went to sit on the bar stool next to Jungkook, who had been silent, waiting, during your musing. “I’m not going to force you to be with her if you feel that you truly cannot. I’m not insane.”

You sank down on the stool. Before you could hesitate, you then placed your left hand over Jungkook’s, which was still clutching his phone. Your fingers were cold, much more so compared to his, yet it was he who seemed to relax underneath your touch.

“But Jungkook…”

You couldn’t look at him. You were afraid you would shatter if you did, and just cry instead of doing what you needed to do.

You had to let Jeon Jungkook go.

“It’s never going to be what you might want it to be,” you said softly. “I have my obligations and duties as heiress of Phoenix Inc., as you have yours as, you know, Jeon Jungkook - the golden maknae.”

You glanced at him, having tried to provoke a smile out of him, but Jungkook’s face remained stony. His eyes were void of emotions. You had to look away again. “I need to put my parents and the company first,” you went on, “while you need to put your group members and your image first. There’s nothing more important than that for you and me, respectively.

“Being forced to marry is nothing,” you told him truthfully. “It’s a drop in the ocean compared to what my parents have had to sacrifice and do and are still doing. It’s a star in the whole galaxy compared to how hard my grandpa struggled and fought during his lifetime to establish the company whatsoever. And though it is mostly a marriage of convenience at the moment, it’s not a bad deal, really. At least I kind of know Jung-Hyun-oppa - I could have been forced to marry someone whose face I saw first at the altar.”

You had to clear your throat, and there was an immense pressure building behind your eyes. When you opened your mouth to continue, however, you couldn’t find your voice.

It was obvious inside your head, in the whirling machinery that was your brain, that this was the best possible measure. And you knew you were getting repetitive even to yourself - you had told yourself countless of times that you could not give in to emotion and temptation and recklessness. No good would come out of it, neither for you nor Jungkook nor anyone else around.

Yet why, why did you always have to go through the whole process of reasoning and persuading yourself whenever the situation arose? Why couldn’t you be firmer in your belief of yourself?

Why was your heart so weak against Jungkook?

“I’ll be your friend, Jungkook,” you concluded, and hurriedly released his hand. “That, but only that, I can do. Please don’t demand more, or I… I won’t even be able to do that.”

It was quiet for a long while. When you mustered enough courage to look at Jungkook again, you caught his brown, familiar eyes for only a few seconds longer before he averted his gaze.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he said gently as he stared down at his broken arm, his expression still dull. “I promised you weeks ago I wouldn’t bother you with… it again, yet here I am.”

“You’re an idiot,” you couldn’t help but say, desperate for the atmosphere to lift.

Jungkook chuckled lifelessly, and pressed his healthy hand to his forehead. “Seems you proved me right on that.” His eyes flitted over to meet yours only briefly before he looked away again, and you caught a hint of nervousness in his voice as he spoke. “Can an idiot like me have another chance? I won’t ruin things again, I swear.”

You smiled, and pushed back the tears that threatened to pour out again. “Of course, friend.”

“Scratch what I just said.” Jungkook grimaced. “I just cringed as well as had goosebumps. Do you have to torment me so?”

“At least I didn’t hit you.”

A genuine smile crested his lips for the first time that evening. “At least you didn’t hit me.”

Relieved that your attempt to lighten the situation had succeeded, you let out a small breath. As both you and Jungkook’s stomachs growled, your eyes wandered to the digital clock on the microwave - and widened.

“Shoot,” you said, rising from the bar stool. “It’s almost twelve.”

Jungkook quirked a brow. “Won’t you eat?” he wondered dubiously.

“I was practically dying to sleep on my way here,” you answered as you ambled out of the kitchen, toward the nearest bathroom. “Be sure to wake me if I fall asleep in the shower.”

"I thought you were afraid of nudity. Or are you yourself the only exception?"

"Pervert, no. Pound the door or blast some obnoxious music. Also, an alarm clock has never failed to annoy me even through sleep."

He snorted. “Fine. Before you leave though, (Y/N)…”

You halted and peeked over your shoulder. “Yes?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck gingerly, evidently nervous. You were just about to tease him for his behavior when he spoke.

“We really are friends again, right?”

“No, we’re not friends 'again'.” You grinned at his stunned expression before you continued. “We simply are and so, remain.”

Jungkook’s features relaxed. “Good one,” he chuckled, though he still appeared a little pale. “I’m glad nothing’s changed, then.”

You sent him another smile and nodded in return. It was a smile that disintegrated as soon as you stepped out of his field of vision, locked inside the safe solitude of the bathroom.

Jungkook's final words couldn’t have been further from the truth. Because you had put the final nail in the coffin, as dark as that expression was considering the situation.

You had finally managed to convince Jungkook what you had tried convincing yourself for so long.

It would be a total lie if you said you wouldn’t be hurt for some time. Actually, no, who the heck were you kidding - merely “hurt” would be the gravest of understatements. Your heart and soul would bleed for who knows how long, and you would undoubtedly regret your decision for five, ten or even fifteen years. Longer, still, perhaps.

But there would come a day when you would be completely fine, with no heartache or desperation in sight. You were sure of that, because there simply had to be a time limit on how long a human heart could bleed. Before even destiny would have to take pity on you and your misery. All you would have to do was to endure until then.

Oh, how you would pray that such a time may arrive. Until a day came, when you could look at or think about or talk to or be with a person named Jeon Jungkook without a blissful hell of joy and agony.

Until a day came, when you could embrace him tightly again without feeling like you were the most selfish, immoral person that has ever set foot on this world - as well as the happiest woman in the entire universe.

#MCAF #Ao3 #Wrienne #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts jungkook

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greysfic · 2 years

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The Glorious Necrocommunist Union of Kaer

On the eastern coast of Imeria, on the inland bulk of the Kromsian Peninsula, is the military bureaucracy of Kaer.

For centuries, they have been at war with their neighbours to the north. While that war has now cooled due to international intervention, they remain committed and ready to annihilate the entire Kromsian people and their living god.

To follow the vagaries of their history and beliefs, it is first necessary to understand something of their modern context.

The Central Party Administrative Council

Kaer is ruled by this council, comprised of the duly elected heads of each Bureau, elected Senior Comrades, and Post-Senior Comrades - the preserved ghosts of dead Council members, forever bound to serve the People's State.

Everyone in Kaer has both the right and obligation to vote on positions of power, excepting the ranks of the military who are naturally appointed by veterancy and merit. But the dead will always outnumber the living. The legion of ghosts who manage the sprawling bureaucracy can be influenced by the Necromancers who keep the state working, and who coincidentally are always voted to the Central Party.

This must be subtle, of course. Despite the best efforts of the Committee for Morale, the living soldiers may yet rebel, and every Senior Comrade is constantly watching for chances to denounce other comrades before they are caught for their own corruption. Paranoia, hypocrisy, and clandestine decadence define the upper ranks of the Central Party.

The Commissariat

Necromancers form the bulk of the Central Party, being the most common Pattern born in Kaer, but the other prominent type of Magi are Conflagrants. Passionate manipulators of fire, the Commissariat are technically outside the Bureaus and election system, charged with ensuring ideological adherence. They bolster the courage of living soldiers, and incinerate Necromancers found to be engaged in counter-revolutionary sedition.

The Bureau of State

In time of peace, this is perhaps the most powerful bureau. They are responsible for international relations, day-to-day administration beneath the Council, internal communications, and intelligence gathering. They are also the most corrupt and fractious bureau; they interact most with the outside world, they hold the purse strings, they are most vulnerable to the lure of power. The Sub-Committee for Forensic Accounting is actually their internal intelligence outfit, a nest of spies and murderers seeking to protect key assets from discovery by the Commissars or other bureaus while also maintaining the state. The Sub-Commitee for Foreign Studies is the external intelligence wing, who spy on allies and neighbours, and control the spread of imported 'degenerate luxuries' like alcohol, narcotics, music, art... things reserved for the upper echelons of society, in secret. There is a constant shadow war of departments trying to scapegoat, unmask, or ally with each other both internally and their rivals in Information.

Despite their corruption, they are still vital to ensuring the function of all organs of state, and protecting Kaer from external pressure.

The Bureau of Information

The closest rival to the Bureau of State, this office is responsible for education and research. There are subcommittees for every field of science, and the Sub-Committee for Dialectics acts as an internal espionage wing, observing the other bureaus. The Sub-Committee for Field Research acts as both a genuine external research office and does some espionage outside the state on the side.

In addition to the predictable corruption of the upper ranks, many comrades in this bureau also compete for research resources. Secret labs and prisons abound where dangerous experiments are conducted. Sinister materials are imported secretely. A classified and remote research facility on a frozen northern island observes a throbbing tumour the size of a house, freed from ancient ice.

In addition to their influence as the education institution, they are able to influence most other committees as research teams may be attached with absolute authority over secondments and military units. 'Classified state secrets' has become a darkly humorous euphemism for 'ask another question and someone will get shot'.

Departments within the bureau are as vicious as the BoS, looking to steal research or resources from each other, to inform on each other for terrible experiments and breaches of protocol.

The Bureau of Warfare

Once the most prominent bureau, the BoW has fallen in prominence as the war has ground to a ceasefire. Every Kaeri is expected to serve a tour of duty in the naval, infantry, armour, or aerial divisions. Mostly this involves drilling, sitting on your arse, and assisting the BoP with logistics. Sometimes they have a chance to conduct battles in other lands, repel rare assaults on the west border, or venture into the Exclusion Zone between Kaer and Kroms. The no-man's land where blood-starved bioweapons from the last battles lie in fitful slumber or breed in the swamps. Kroms claims they cannot control these creatures now, nor find them - not least since hunting them would require them to violate the treaties keeping them out of the EZ.

Some soldiers stay for a career, some are sent other bureaus after a five-year tour. Various clandestine offices recruit from decorated units. Some, serving in foreign lands, fake their deaths or desert, become mercenaries or try to settle down in new places.

The Bureau of Production

This Bureau is considered a cushy appointment. Far, far from any battlefield even when the war was raging, this Bureau handles agriculture, mining, and manufacture. Machines of bone and metal run the farms, overseen by Necromancers. Bone machines automate factories; ghosts inhabit bonework automata to perform more precise crafts alongside living workers.

Almost every official here, especially the necromancers, is corrupt from boredom as much as anything else. They feed the state, and so they can forge alliances with other bureau to sneak contraband to their offices. They can likewise sneak contraband around as part of provisioning.

Contrarily, perhaps some of the least corrupt and fulfilled necromancers can be found here, too; working happily on the design and building of ever more advanced bonework machines.

In general, this Bureau is considered a reward for veterans, a plum retirement that allows them to continue contributing to the war effort.

Alleged History

The Kaeri version of history is this; hundreds of years ago, they were under the yoke of the Kromsian vampires, but overthrew them and drove them north along with those who remained loyal to the monsters. But even the eldest Post-Senior Comrade does not recall the origins of the war, only the party line that the Kromsians struck first after being forced out, and so the Kaeri were left with no choice but to exterminate them.

Around twenty years ago, the Kaeri had actually confined the Kromsians to their last citadel, The Iron Tower. There they conducted a massacre of civilians, an insult the Vampire priesthood would not tolerate. Vampires being very individualist creatures, two of their number took two different approaches.

One, now known as Bright Martyr Issanitaius, slipped behind Kaeri lines in broad daylight, found the officers who had ordered the massacres, and turned their muscles to cancers. As many as sixty more Kaeri were slain before the Vampire went down under sheer weight of bullets and was burned. It was, by all accounts, a young and hot-headed example of their kind.

The other, name unknown, beseeched Imperus, the Dragon-Emperor, to end the genocide. To quote Giacomo Isley's Brought To Light: A History of Kaeri-Kromsian Hostilities:

"Imperus charged House Lezek with forcing a truce.

The Lezekim approach was swift and decisive. Heralds arrived in advance of the main House, attempting to negotiate before hostilities began. Gabriallus hovered over the Temple of Eternal Night at Towerpeak, because the Lezekim could not resist the opportunity to insult the Kromsians, and the Kromsians tolerated this because they had no choice.

Predictably, negotiations failed. While there are dissenting accounts, in general the records are clear; the Lezekim provoked Kaer by attempting to force a duel to which Kaeri command would not consent.

The Kaeri cordon around the Iron Tower was decimated; the Lezekim were very precise. One in every ten soldiers killed in a single blow, and any attempting to intervene maimed for their trouble.

Just reparations, the Lezekim said, and then prosecuted their war in earnest. Sixty Lezekim, united in purpose, with their full panoplies, personal troops, lovers, and a cohort from Imperus’ Talon.

Two months later, a broken nation accepted the armistice. Even today, the dead outnumber the living in the corridors of Kaeri garrisons. Kroms remained confined to the peninsula, and with tightly limited airspace, but receive fresh converts every year."

Doctrine

While Kaer does not have the strongest navy at sea or in the sky, their ground forces are the standard by which modern militaries are judged. Their infantry employ combined arms; rifles, flamers, Necromantic drones piloted by ghosts. Undead form the forward ranks while the living soldiers rain hell on targets. These infantry are supported by heavy armour; soul-blasting artillery pieces, and the infamous Kaeri exoskeleton.

The exoskeleton is in part literal - a humanoid suit made of bone and plated with steel, containing a pilot sarcophagus for a living operator, bonded to a ghost, and subsystems controlled by the ghosts of animals linked to the pilot through their bonded soul for semi-automous function.

At war, the Kaeri establish a cordon of artillery pieces for initial bombardment. Then the exoskeleton brigades target strategic assets, accompanied by infantry units intended to screen the exoskeletons from lesser targets, sweep buildings, and in general maintain the ultimate flexibility of the Kaeri armed forces.

There are no records of exo-pilots surviving to retirement.

#writing #worldbuilding #dark fantasy #under darkening skies #tabletop roleplaying #ttrpg #necromancy #skelemechs

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bouwrites · 1 year

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Those Warm and Halcyon Days: Chapter 29

Dividing the World

Ao3.

First, Previous, Next.

Story under read-more.

“Your Crest gives you enhanced strength, Veery, does it not?”

Veery gives Professor Hanneman a flat look but doesn’t allow his gaze to linger. Watching Marianne is much more interesting. “I don’t know anything about Crests,” Veery says. “That’s your thing.”

Professor Hanneman chuckles good-naturedly. “True enough. Still, though you do not exhibit the kind of strength that one would see from someone with the Crest of Blaiddyd, nor do your attacks bear the force that might be granted by the Crest of Fraldarius, you are quite strong for someone of your size.”

Veery shrugs. “I mean… I guess? I’m stronger when I’m shifted, but I doubt a normal human could beat a regular lion my size in a match of strength, either. And like this I’m not that much stronger than anyone else.”

“Hm.” Professor Hanneman strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Then perhaps Maruice’s Crest achieves that strength through a similar means as your shifting.”

“Directly altering the muscles?” Veery asks. “Sort of a… partial shifting to give her more muscle? Maybe strengthening the bone, too?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be possible,” Professor Hanneman says. “We will, of course, need data. As we are this is purely speculation.”

Veery frowns. “I wouldn’t be sure it has anything to do with my Crest. All the other Crests seem to have effects for you humans that I’ve never seen in any agell. I don’t see why Marianne’s would work like mine does, even partially.”

Professor Hanneman nods. “Ordinarily, I would agree with you. But Marianne told me about the taguel, and your theory that she may be a descendant of one.”

“Technically, she’d be taguel herself,” Veery says, crossing his arms. “Though I guess it’s probably so far that if she wanted to call herself human then she can get away with it. It depends on if she can shift, really. No denying it after that, one way or another.”

“If she is indeed capable of shifting as you do, she would need Maurice’s Relic, Blutgang. The Crest Stone matching her Crest is likely a requirement. That said, given the rumors of Maruice’s Crest turning its bearers into beasts even without the Relic, it’s possible that the Crest Stone is less a requirement than a stabilizer, making the transformation safe and at will as yours is.” Professor Hanneman hums. “Either way, if the transformation is possible at all, it would imply that her Crest functions in a similar way as yours – by physically transforming the body.”

Veery purses his lips, watching as Marianne slashes once again at a training dummy with her sword. “I can’t argue with that. I don’t have the faintest idea what would happen if I tried shifting without my heart.” He sighs. “…I mean, I’d be dead without my heart, so that’s a moot point, but you get what I mean.”

“Indeed.”

As Veery and Professor Hanneman fall quiet, simply observing, Professor Byleth corrects Marianne’s form. Marianne blushes, and furrows her brow, but quickly makes the adjustments and tries again.

Veery naturally knows next to nothing about swordplay, but even so Leonie’s words to him way back when he first arrives in Garreg Mach still hold water. There are principles that carry over no matter how one fights, and though Veery can’t comment on Marianne’s grip or use of the blade, he can watch her balance, posture, and stance, among other things. (Not for the first time, he wonders how humans keep their balance without tails – though to those who grow up without them in the first place, perhaps adding a tail would throw them more off-balance.)

It shouldn’t be surprising that Marianne isn’t really that bad with a sword. Though primarily a healer, it’s not as if she doesn’t see combat fairly regularly, and she is still trained by Professor Byleth, so that her fundamentals are all solid is expected.

Of course, with her ability to heal from a distance, something Veery definitely lacks, and her affinity with animals, Professor Byleth is considering putting her on a horse, so though Veery doesn’t usually observe even the Golden Deer’s practice when he’s not participating himself (and thus doesn’t often see the shyer students like Marianne working on weapon skills) he imagines she has at least some experience with lances. Maybe even swords as well.

Actually, Veery has no idea how far Professor Byleth and Marianne are with that horse plan. That might already be in motion. Though, at this point in the year, Marianne likely won’t be on the level of the likes of Leonie or Lorenz before graduation.

“My, is that Hilda?” Professor Hanneman says suddenly, drawing Veery’s attention to the girl approaching Professor Byleth and Marianne. “Coming willingly to the training grounds? If we’ve not already had a divine intervention, I’d suspect a miracle.”

Veery snorts. “Isn’t that kind of rude to say about a student?”

“Oh perhaps,” Professor Hanneman chuckles. “But I do sincerely doubt Hilda herself would disagree.”

“…Yeah, probably.”

Veery’s ear twitches as he focuses on the conversation. Something about Fódlan’s Throat and the Almyrans beyond it. That already catches Veery’s attention. Are they going to Fódlan’s Throat? Can they see Almyra from there? Ordinarily, Veery will happily sit out of these little excursion missions – like when the class went out to Gloucester territory to do the duke’s job for him (though, that was when Veery was injured, so no one actually asked him to come anyway), but the opportunity to get a glimpse of Almyra is certainly tempting.

Then Cyril, who is cleaning some training weapons nearby, actually puts his work down to insert himself into the conversation. Veery still doesn’t know Cyril that well, but that’s more of a miracle than Hilda coming to the training ground in the first place in his mind.

“…I got captured in a battle at the Locket, and that's how I ended up here. So, I’m kind of worried that other kids who lose their folks might not be so lucky.”

Veery hears this and immediately starts making his way closer to the conversation. Eavesdropping is fine and all, but Cyril wants to go to the Throat to look out for orphaned children? Because House Goneril apparently takes them as servants and don’t treat them well?

This is the first Veery hears about such practices. Cyril uses the word servant, but Veery has a hard time believing that the children of the Goneril’s defeated enemies are anything but slaves. He doesn’t suspect it, because Hilda is overall a nice – if manipulative and occasionally frightening – girl who, for all her faults, definitely values everyone equally (there is a reason Claude likes her so much, and it’s not just for the banter), but even so…

There’s not much that Veery won’t accept humans to be capable of. Frankly, he thinks some agell are capable of forcing humans into slavery; it’s even easier to imagine the opposite.

“Can I come, too?” Veery asks, looking to Hilda.

Hilda actually raises her brow, looking at him with the same incredulity of someone looking at her offering to work. “You actually want to?” Hilda asks. “You always complain about being dragged into our missions.”

Veery shrugs. It’s the orphaned children being forced into slavery that really gives him the incentive, but Veery thinks it’s probably wise to keep that to himself directly in front of Hilda – at least until he actually sees the situation for himself. “Honestly, I’ve pretty much accepted that I’m a Deer at this point. And I want to see the Throat. Can you see Almyra from there?”

“It’s a mountain range,” Cyril says bluntly. “If you get on the other side of the mountain, then sure you can.”

“Neat.” Veery grins. “I want to see Almyra.” Despite his primary motivation, he isn’t lying. Going willingly into a battle isn’t his style, but this is a rare opportunity to see the Almyrans. Aside from Cyril and the occasional straggler in Abyss, Veery doesn’t know any Almyrans, and he knows next to nothing about them, so he’s naturally curious.

“Well that’s a relief!” Hilda coos. “The more strong allies that come with us, the safer we’ll all be.”

Fódlan’s Throat is… beautiful. Veery can’t contain his grin as he takes in the mountains.

It’s rocky – rockier than Garreg Mach, which is almost entirely lush except around Zanado – in that kind of craggy, precipitous drop kind of way, but there is still a lot of greenery growing on the spires and plateaus of rock. The terrain itself, rocky and precipitous, is like home to Veery, though he admittedly does tend to spend most of his time in Albinea on the shallower base of the mountains where the forest and food is, but the environment beyond that is like something out of a storybook.

It’s warmer this far east, though in the middle of winter it isn’t hot even for Veery, and the gnarled trees growing straight out of vertical rock are strange and alien to Veery. It’s magical how things seem to defy gravity here.

Fódlan’s Locket is almost as awesome as Garreg Mach, a proud, towering wall stretching across the mountains, and when Veery is led up to the top of the Locket, he can look out over the parapets directly into Almyra.

Which is… well, mostly brown. But no less impressive for it! Veery feels like he can see forever with how far the land stretches out before him. Mottled brown, tan, and patches of dull green make up the flatland on the other side of the mountains, the colors all blending together from the distance into a story that tells just a fraction of how vast Almyra is.

“Enjoying the view?”

Veery grins back at Claude, who approaches him on the wall. “Yes!” he exclaims eagerly. “Oh, how fun it would be to run out there…” He turns his gaze back to Almyra, enjoying the wind at his back and imagining simply sprinting through those Almyran plains.

No reason, no destination, just running off into the plains. Veery closes his eyes and feels a faint, hazy memory of flying, soaring endlessly simply because he can. It’s hard to remember, but he knows it’s the dream, the memory, that Sothis gives him after the Sealed Forest. Veery can’t fly and can’t pretend he particularly wants to (he’s used to unsteady terrain, being mountain-born, but he still likes the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet), but the feeling of freedom, of his own power bringing him wherever he pleases, is a hard one to forget, even if he knows it only from a dream.

It’s not so different, Veery suspects, with such a vast expanse of flat, welcoming land in front of him, to run those plains as it is to soar through the sky.

Claude chuckles. “Almyra is certainly different, isn’t it? And this is just a fraction of it. I wish you could see the cities.”

Veery shakes his head. “I’ll take the plains, thanks. You just really want to drag me into civilization, don’t you?”

“What can I say?” Claude says, smiling but doing his best to pout. “I’ll miss you if you’re all alone in the middle of nowhere.”

Veery giggles and nudges Claude affectionately. “I’ll miss you, too. That doesn’t mean I can put up with somewhere like Garreg Mach forever. Maybe you should just join me out in the wilds.”

Claude snorts. “Part of me wishes I could.” He sighs, shaking his head. “But I’ve got responsibilities, and a dream to fulfil.”

“Responsibilities.” Veery rolls his eyes. “All the more reason to live alone. I don’t have any of those.”

“Ha! You’re just a hermit version of Hilda, then?”

“At least we’re honest about being lazy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Claude gasps in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that I am utterly irresponsible.”

“Then run away with me into Almyra,” Veery teases.

Claude smiles, but it quickly turns strained. Veery frowns, wondering what’s wrong, but Claude just fixes his expression into a more relaxed smile – even now, if Veery doesn’t witness his expression change like that, he might mistake it for an honest smile. “Hey, I haven’t told you, yet, but…” Claude starts.

Veery’s ear twitches, picking up on another sound that quickly distracts him from whatever Claude is concerned about. “Sorry, wait,” Veery says quickly silencing Claude, who immediately falls into duty-mode to handle whatever this is as seriously as his position demands. Veery listens. There it is again. “Wyverns,” Veery says.

Claude curses. “The attack is expected to come today,” he mutters. “Let’s go find Hilda and Holst.”

Holst is sick, apparently. Veery doesn’t get the chance to see him, but if he’s bedridden, then no matter what ails him, curing it now won’t have him up and in fighting shape for the battle. Which is now. That means that Hilda, being the only Goneril remaining in any state to fight, is the de facto general.

Hilda.

She is, admittedly, good at telling people what to do, but Veery wouldn’t necessarily peg her as the general type all the same. That being said, she quickly convenes with Claude and Professor Byleth and comes up with a plan which makes Veery feel a little better about Hilda being in charge here.

Of course, Fódlan’s Locket is an impressive fortress, so their side has an advantage anyway. Still, Cyril, Veery, Claude, and Marianne take a hidden path through the mountains to flank the Almyrans as they approach the Locket just to be sure.

Part of Veery is very much not happy that he’s in the thick of the fighting again – though he has to admit that this time, he quite literally asks for it – but another part is actually relieved that he gets to just be a brawler.

Fighting as a healer, or a hybrid, as he typically does, is technically safer – at least now that he can cast while shifted, anyway – but it’ll never be his comfort zone. He’s a cat. Ripping and tearing with his claws is just the way he’s supposed to fight. Magic helps but standing around on a battlefield healing just makes him feel like a sitting duck.

Besides, Veery doesn’t think it’ll be this satisfying to take down a wyvern with just his claws and teeth. There are no wyverns in Albinea, and until now Veery doesn’t face them in battle. Which is a good thing, because wyverns are undoubtedly terrifying predators. All the same, that just means that when it comes down to it and Veery leaps up, digs his claws into a wyvern’s belly, catches its throat in his jaws and manages to get a kick off that shreds part of its wing, and then somehow manages to land with just a tumble and some scratches as he brings the beast down to the earth really scratches at Veery’s pride.

Who’s the top predator now, you overgrown chicken?

As stupid as it is to engage something so large and deadly, Veery is lying massively if he pretends that he doesn’t always get a kick out of surpassing the challenge. Like when he takes down a moose.

In hindsight, Veery is quite sure that he would not be able to take down a war wyvern on his own before Professor Byleth and Leonie and the others start dragging him into training all those months ago. He wouldn’t even consider pulling a stunt like he does here, because he would know that there is no world in which he succeeds, but he supposes that even he improves his martial skills in his time at Garreg Mach.

Marianne chides him for being reckless, which is frankly hilarious, and would baffle the Veery from six months ago, but he really does have the situation under control. Marianne knows him well enough by now to know that while he’s a lot of things, reckless is most certainly not one of those.

Although, with how efficiently Claude and Cyril ground wyverns, Veery does admit that he’s probably better off focusing on the enemies they find on solid ground. In his defense, that wyvern swoops at him, so it kind of deserves it.

Regardless, most of their fight is Claude and Cyril working scarily efficiently to fend off the vast majority of the Almyrans they come across, Veery sniffing out enemies and eliminating anyone who gets too close, and Marianne either healing or shooting fur-raising Thoron spells with the levin sword that Professor Byleth gives her.

It’s nothing any of them aren’t familiar with, frankly. Still, it’s only after the battle is over, when he rejoins everyone else at the Locket, and the chaos of the fight starts to settle that Veery realizes that this isn’t a very impressive invasion force.

Sure, there are quite a few wyverns and the Almyrans are definitely fierce fighters, but this is more of a skirmish than a border war. Veery doesn’t think there’s many more people than Miklan had in Conand Tower, and that was a single bandit gang. He’s not an expert on war or anything, but he’s pretty sure that taking a fortress like the Locket calls for a much more significant showing.

“They aren’t really trying to cross Fódlan’s Throat. I'm not saying they’re not serious, but fights like this one aren’t really invasions.” Cyril says to Professor Byleth.

That explains this battle, then. Cyril explains more, about how it’s just to show off how tough they are and have an excuse to feast, and Veery can’t help but agree that it’s a stupid reason to fight and get people killed.

Veery has his pride. He even has pride as a warrior. Or… hunter, at least. Even just in this battle, the satisfaction of taking down a wyvern with his own strength is something that’ll stick with him and stroke his ego for a while. Even so, pride is no reason to lead people to their deaths, nor to seek out one’s own.

That said, Albineans aren’t much better in that regard. They’re always fighting. They don’t necessarily kill each other, but Veery highly suspects that that’s mostly just because Albinea itself does enough killing. He does hear that Albineans further to the west don’t get along with the ones in the east, though, so maybe there’s even fighting there, but Veery himself usually is too far north to hear about human squabbles, so that’s just rumor.

The brawls he does see, though… It almost makes him want to laugh. Back then, he can only think about how violent these humans are but looking back now… he thinks it’s mostly just posturing and fun. Just like how Leonie and Felix love sparring so much, those Albineans love a good brawl.

So, he tries not to judge the Almyrans for liking to fight. He disapproves of throwing themselves at Fódlan’s Locket, killing Almyrans and Fódlanders alike just for the sake of their fighting culture, but he doesn’t judge them for liking to fight.

He hopes that wyvern will be okay. Veery tries his best not to kill, even though he isn’t under orders not to, and for the most part in the battle the Almyrans seem content to admit loss when they are clearly bested, so he doesn’t like the idea of that wyvern actually dying from this skirmish.

Wyverns are cool. It’d be a shame to die here for such a stupid reason.

“I’m going to drop by my family’s estate and complain to my brother a bit,” Hilda says. “It’s up to you if we spend the night here at the fortress or not, Professor, but I, for one, vote to have comfortable beds.”

Professor Byleth frowns. “Lady Rhea isn’t happy that Veery and I left the monastery at all. We should probably get back as soon as we can.”

“Or we can have baths and beds tonight,” Claude says, smiling teasingly.

Professor Byleth closes her eyes, nodding seriously. “Good point. We’ll stay the night. You’ve all earned the rest, and we’ll be back in time for the revelation either way.”

“That’s the spirit, Teach!”

Veery scoots a little closer to Hilda, who is already preparing to leave the Locket behind her. There are a couple things on his mind, and both lie at the Goneril estate, so it won’t do for him to sit here at the Locket while Hilda goes off alone. “Uh… hey.”

“Hm? Oh, Veery! How can I help you?” Hilda coos sweetly.

“Your brother isn’t here because he’s sick, right?” Veery asks, sticking to the safer of the two things he’s concerned about. “Should… I go see him?”

“Aw.” Hilda grins. “That’s a great idea! Thank you so much for thinking of him. I’d really appreciate it if you could take a look at him. I’m sure it’s nothing serious, but I really can’t risk losing my brother. Without him, guarding this fortress would be my job!”

“And that would be a travesty,” Veery chuckles, only half-joking. Hilda will step up to the plate if she has to, Veery knows, but… serious border general is no more Hilda’s cup of tea than it is Sylvain’s. Then again, if Hilda pulls a Sylvian and tries to negotiate peace with Almyra, then maybe this should be her job. “Well, just take me to him and I’ll do what I can. If he’s willing to let me, anyway.”

Hilda screws up her face. “Don’t worry about that. Holst isn’t… well, you won’t have any problems with him. Except, maybe you might have to fend off his offers to fight you…”

“I’ll just aim him at Professor Byleth,” Veery says. “She’ll fight him.”

“Hah! Oh, I’d love to see that. We might have to be careful that Holst doesn’t fall in love, though. A beautiful woman who can kick his ass? Geez, maybe I shouldn’t have offered to let you guys stay the night so close.”

Veery snickers. “Don’t worry. If he’s bedridden right now, then even if I can do something to help him, he’s not going to be fighting by tomorrow morning. Doctor’s orders.”

“I wish that would work.” Hilda sighs. “My brother is brilliant, but…”

“Yeah, I really don’t understand that thing you humans do where you don’t listen to the people trying to keep you alive.” Veery giggles. “But apparently it’s so common that Professor Manuela has to lead several seminars specifically on that alone.”

“I wish I could say otherwise, but… Holst is enough of an idiot that you might have to worry about that. I’m sorry in advance for any trouble he causes.”

Veery just shrugs. “Hey, it’s not my health.”

Hilda giggles. “Anyway, come on! I’ll take you to him right away.” She eagerly grabs Veery’s arm and starts dragging him along, calling back to the professor in the meanwhile, “I’m taking Veery with me! We’ll be back soon, maybe! Definitely in the morning!”

“By dinner!” Professor Byleth calls.

“Probably!”

“Hey!” Claude exclaims, hurrying to catch up to them as Hilda drags Veeery out of the room. “Veery’s mine! You can’t just kidnap him!”

“Veery’s going to take a look at Holst, dummy.” Hilda rolls her eyes. “I’m not taking your boyfriend.”

Even hurrying through the halls as they are, Claude does his absolute best to look like he’s pouting. “But I wanted to talk to him.”

“You can talk after dinner,” Hilda says, sticking her tongue out. “But you’re more than welcome to come along, if you want to deal with my sick brother…”

Claude makes a face, deliberates, and then stops following them. “Alright, you win. I’ll see you both at dinner!”

“Bye-bye, Claude!”

Veery just chuckles at the two and waves to Claude himself. The next thing he knows, Hilda and he are on their way to the nearby Goneril estate.

Veery doesn’t know exactly what he expects from the estate. Frankly, he’s never been in anything that can be called an “estate” in his life, so he doesn’t have any frame of reference for it, much less one in the far east edge of Fódlan.

It’s… basically a miniature Garreg Mach, really. There’s no obvious chapel, but beyond that, there are stables, a training ground, several buildings with one in the end being obviously grander, all walled off. Put it on top of a mountain – which it is – and the only major difference is the Goneril Crest and Leicester Flag emblazoned everywhere rather than Seiros’.

Actually, Veery thinks he likes the atmosphere here more than Garreg Mach. It’s smaller, but less crowded – most of the troops, he figures, are at the Locket rather than the estate. It’s humbler, but that just means he doesn’t need a month of living there to figure out where anything is. Plus, despite it being warmer, it’s so pretty here!

The warmer clime means that plants flourish. Though the forests around Garreg Mach are evergreen (which admittedly still astounds Veery – the trees in Albinea are “evergreen” too, but they’re usually so covered in snow at this time of year that there isn’t much green to see) and Goneril is notably more rocky and objectively less green overall, it plays to the land’s benefit. What grows here, in this rocky, dry mountain, stands out much more than what grows in Garreg Mach, and even now it’s warm enough that there are outdoor gardens full of colorful flowers.

Veery isn’t sure he’s ever seen some of those colors before.

Gods, it’s like his first day at Garreg Mach all over again, just gawking and marveling at every little thing, except he’s with a friend and not quite so scared. Hilda giggles good-naturedly and encourages him, though, telling him patiently about everything that catches his eye, so it’s not entirely his own fault.

And the people… he gets some questioning looks but being led by the arm by Hilda silences any concern. He overhears chatter, people talking about who that is with Lady Hilda. The words “cat saint” are thrown around a few times, which Veery tries very hard not to cringe at, but overall people just kind of accept that Hilda’s in charge of him and don’t pay him much mind.

Well, one person prays that Veery isn’t some suitor Hilda picks up in her time away, and frankly that’s a fair enough lament that Veery can’t find it in himself to feel insulted. He likes Hilda well enough, but even if the idea of marriage didn’t still confuse Veery massively… him and Hilda? Nothing would ever be done. Both of them are far too lazy, and he’ll openly admit that he would definitely enable her.

Veery is more than willing to do things if he’s asked (politely), but he’s sort of like Linhardt in that if it’s not something that interests him, he’s not going to just get up and do it. He just… doesn’t have that kind of sense of duty.

Not to mention that he is vastly underqualified to have any sort of power over anyone. That, and he doesn’t want power, because power means people relying on him and people relying on him means people, and he really just wants to live alone in the mountains without people constantly nagging him.

Anyway, he’s being led through the hallways of the main house – Hilda’s home, apparently – listening to her chatter and keeping an eye on any servants he can see when he realizes that he has absolutely no idea how to identify an Almyran.

So, the plan of looking into the Almyran slave thing subtly goes out the window if he doesn’t even know what an Almyran looks like. He knows what Cyril looks like, and he sees a few faces during the battle earlier, but… well, to Veery, they just look human. Cyril doesn’t look that much different from Claude, and aside from colors and tones, Claude doesn’t look that much different from Hilda.

Obviously each one looks unique, with their own features, like them, but Veery honestly has no idea what to look for that will set apart an Almyran from a Fódlander. How is he supposed to tell what an Almyran looks like when Fódlanders look like everything from Hilda to Raphael? He can’t even begin to guess at features that mark Fódlanders, and he’s been living here surrounded by them for months.

Well, that’s a lack of foresight. He’s at Holst’s door, though, so he figures it’s a concern to get back to when he no longer has a patient on his hands.

“Holst! I’m back!” Hilda cheers loudly, prompting a groan from within the room. “And I brought a friend!”

The responding voice is clearly weak, which makes Veery frown, but Holst still does everything he can to greet his sister enthusiastically.

Veery follows Hilda into the room, slipping in and closing the door behind him, carefully eyeing his prospective patient. Honestly, Flayn and Marianne are better healers than him, so yes, he offers, but he really thinks one of them should be here considering this is a noble, but he can only sigh and take the situation as it is.

Holst, though large and muscular (much like Raphael, or any Albinean), is pale and haggard. There’s a sheen over his brow, and some of his pink hair is damp and plastered to his skin. Clearly ailing, and in pain, Holst tries to sit up, eagerly grinning through whatever he’s feeling to welcome his beloved sister.

“Oh, lay down, Holst. You’re sick!” Hilda chides him. “My friend here is a healer, who generously offered to come take a look at you.”

Holst laughs good-naturedly, forcing himself into a sitting position regardless of Hilda’s words, and glancing over to Veery. “My Hilda writes about you all the time. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the famous cat saint.”

Veery doesn’t bother to stop himself from cringing this time. With only Hilda and Holst, and him not eavesdropping to hear the words, he doesn’t see the need to. “I’m a cat,” he sighs, “but I’m not a saint.”

Holst laughs, quickly wincing and clutching his stomach when he does so. “Well, it’s an honor all the same,” he says. With a stroke of his beard, he adds, “If the rumors are true, the goddess herself gave you her power.”

“Loaned,” Veery says. “Or, rather, allowed me to use. I’m no more powerful now than I was before she intervened.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, as great as it is to meet Hilda’s famous brother, you’re sick. Do you mind if I look you over? See what I can do for you?”

“Not at all! That’d be appreciated.” Holst chuckles, still smiling the day away despite clearly being in a lot of pain. “Though, we do have our own healers. But rumor is you can heal anything.”

Veery makes a face. “Far from it. Honestly, I’m the most inexperienced of the three in the Deer.” Hilda makes a squealing sound, prompting Veery to correct himself. “If you count me as a Deer, which I’m technically not.”

“You admitted it!” Hilda cheers.

“I admitted it before we left.”

“Yeah, grudgingly,” Hilda huffs. “It’s about time you just called yourself one of us.”

“Has my sister been giving you a hard time?” Holst asks, eyes dancing with humor.

Veery shrugs, moving to examine Holst with his magic. “Not any harder than she gives everyone. Do you know how you got sick? Something you ate? Or just a random illness?”

“Ah.” Holst blushes, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I… might have eaten a weird mushroom. I think that’s what caused it.”

“You what?” Hilda shrieks. Veery just closes his eyes. “You just found a weird mushroom and decided to eat it? Right before a battle?”

Holst visibly deflates, finally letting the illness make him look anything but chipper. “Hilda! I didn’t think it would-”

“Don’t eat weird plants you can’t identify is, like, the first thing Teach taught us in class!”

“Sounds like a smart lady.”

“Holst, you complete idiot!” Hilda groans.

Veery awkwardly clears his throat. “Um… what did the mushroom look like?”

Holst brightens again without Hilda criticizing him. “Oh, well, it was about… this big, and had a really pretty pink top. Pink! That’s why I picked it up.”

“Pink…” Veery mutters. “Sweating, stomach pain… muscle pain?” Holst nods. “Right.” Veery is pretty sure Claude poisons himself with that last month. “I should be able to get the toxin out of your system, but you’re still going to have to rest for a while as your body realizes there’s no more threat. Hold still.”

Veery purses his lips, tail swaying as he concentrates on using his Restore spell. Restore is… complicated. Veery only learns it because of the incident at Remire, and the resulting lessons on poisons and dark magic ailments, and then Veery’s subsequent discovery of how Claude likes to test his experimental poisons.

Honestly, thanks to Claude, this might be the one aspect of healing that Veery is actually better at than Marianne. Still, it requires focus and patience to fully clear someone of toxins. A quick-fix to ward off symptoms in the middle of combat, applied right after (or before) the poisoning, is easy enough, but that’s very different from meticulously purging toxins from someone’s whole body.

Holst whistles. “Woah, you really can just cure me, huh? I guess I shouldn’t have doubted. Seems like the rumors are more right about you than you give yourself credit for.”

“No,” Veery says patiently. “They’re really not.”

“They are, though!” Hilda says, traitorously. “You should have seen him on the battlefield, Holst. He took down a whole wyvern! Just jumped on it as it was diving at him and brought it to the ground.”

“Ha! That’s gutsy. I like it! You transform into a big cat to fight, right? We should spar sometime!”

Veery glares at Hilda. She makes no attempt to pretend she doesn’t do that on purpose. “I don’t like fighting,” Veery says. “And we’ll be gone by the time you’re in any shape to fight, anyway.”

“Aw.” Holst pouts. “Then you’ll just have to come back to visit sometime! And bring your professor next time, too. From Hilda’s letters, I can’t wait to spar with her.”

Veery glances to Hilda. “It sounds like she writes a lot about us.”

“Oh, yeah! She really likes you guys. I really wish I could have come out and fought along with you and thank you all personally for taking care of my sister.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Veery says, narrowing his eyes at Hilda, who quickly realizes what’s happening and subtly gestures for him to shut up. “You won’t be able to fight, but if you rest today and sleep it off, you should be able to come out to the Locket in the morning to see everyone off if you want. Professor Byleth especially is so proud of Hilda, I’m sure she’d love to talk to you about her progress this year.”

Hilda audibly gasps. “You didn’t…”

“That’s a great idea!” Holst exclaims. “I can’t wait to finally meet this fabled professor! But Hilda never mentions much about her own progress at the academy. Still, it’s no surprise that her professor sees just how wonderful and talented my brilliant little sister is.”

“Veery,” Hilda growls into his ear. “You’ll pay for this.”

Veery raises his brow at her. “Oh, definitely,” he says, pointedly, to Holst. “In fact, she told me just earlier how proud she was of Hilda for taking charge at the Locket today. She led your troops to victory in today’s attack, you know. Our professor’s role there was as just another soldier.”

“Should I blame Sylvain, Claude, or myself?” Hilda sighs. “Who taught you to do this?”

Holst practically jumps out of his seat, forcing Veery to chastise him and hold him still even as he rambles praises that has Veery grinning and Hilda blushing under her brother’s unrestrained affection. “It’s all three of you that taught me.” Veery mutters just for her. “But I’m glad to see you’re taking responsibility, at least.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Shut up!”

Veery has to admit, he’s kind of smug when he sits down to dinner with Hilda and Claude and the others. Every time Hilda gives him the stink-eye, Veery can’t help but grin back.

Claude watches this exchange through the evening, staying quiet but obviously amused, though Hilda quickly gives up on pouting in favor of enjoying the meal with her classmates. It’s only when Claude grabs Veery’s arm after dinner and drags him and Hilda into a quiet, isolated place that Veery remembers there is something Claude wants to tell him. Something he almost says up on the top of the Locket, just before the Almyrans arrived.

“What happened between you two?” Claude asks, breaking the quiet that falls between them.

“Cruel and unusual punishment,” Hilda says.

“Payback,” Veery answers.

Claude raises his brow.

“I blame you, Claude. Veery’s too good at manipulating people now.”

Veery snorts loudly. “No, your brother is just easy.”

Hilda groaned, sounding almost pained. “I wish I could argue with that…”

Claude shakes his head. “What happened, exactly?”

“I might’ve praised Veery in front of my brother,” Hilda says. “But only because he was being so darn modest! And then he decides to get back at me by praising me, knowing full well that my brother won’t shut up with the praises when I’m involved. Holst is even going to meet us tomorrow before we leave to…” She gags dramatically on her words. “Talk to Teach about my progress. He’s going to be insufferable for years after this!”

“You made him want to fight me!” Veery complains. “You knew what you were doing, too!”

“Graduation is so soon! You might not ever even come back to Goneril, but I’m going to have to live with him!”

“He’s your brother!”

Claude bursts out laughing, swiftly bringing Veery and Hilda’s complaining to an end. “Well, it’s good to see you two getting along. For a while there I was worried you weren’t friends.”

Hilda protests. “What? Of course, Veery is my friend!”

Veery, however, just makes a strained groaning sound. “It’s not that I don’t like her…” he says. “She’s just hard to keep up with most of the time.”

“Excuse me?”

“Claude slows down for me. You just go and go and I have trouble following, sometimes. Today wasn’t bad, but… sometimes I have no idea what you’re talking about. You talk fast and don’t leave time for me to think and process and I get left behind a bit.”

Hilda’s eyes go wide. “Oh! Oh, I should have realized. That was so stupid of me. I’m so sorry. I never meant to overwhelm you like that.”

Veery chuckles. “I know. I know you just get excited. But Claude thinking we weren’t friends might’ve come from me avoiding you from time to time. I’m still not great with people, and you’re… a little more to deal with than most people.”

Hilda makes a show of pouting, but still sighs. “I understand. Don’t be afraid of just telling me I’m being too much, alright? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Hah. Right. I’ll remember that. I might do that now, but before…” He shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Point being, we’re definitely friends now, right?”

“Of course!” Hilda coos. “Does this mean I get to pet you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Aw, boo.”

Claude chuckles. “I could watch you two all day, but I did want to talk to you about something.”

Oh. Right. It’s too easy to get carried away with Hilda, honestly, now that Veery is a little more capable of keeping up with her. On good days, anyway, when he’s feeling more sociable. Hilda and he both turn their attention obediently back to Claude. “What is it that we need to sneak off to talk about?” Hilda asks.

Claude bites his lip, a rare show of uncertainty. “Hilda… first, I wanted to ask you about what Cyril says about Almyran children being mistreated by the Gonerils.”

Oh. It looks like Veery doesn’t have to ask about that after all. Good. That makes things easier.

Hilda’s expression immediately darkens. “It’s true that we take in orphaned kids if we find them.” Hilda sighs heavily. “I know for a fact that my brother has never mistreated anyone, but… I can’t say for certain that it’s entirely stopped. To be honest, Claude, I’ve been writing to my brother about that for a while now. He’s doing what he can for them, but… prejudices are hard to overcome, and my brother is just one person. He doesn’t always know when cousins or heads of staff or anyone else like that decides to take out their frustrations on the Almyrans in the estate. And my father is… more traditional than my brother, too. Not beyond reasoning with, but… progress comes slower with him.”

Claude blinks. “You’ve… already been writing to your family about that?”

“Of course!” Hilda frowns. “Before I came to the academy, I admit I had some pretty terrible opinions of the Almyrans myself. I didn’t think twice about the mistreatment, or even the servitude in the first place, because that’s just how I was raised.” She looks over to Veery. “But then I met you, and Veery, and Cyril, Dedue, Petra, and I… well, it took a while, but I started thinking, and looking back at life here, and realized there are some things that need to be changed. I don’t like to work, but my brother listens to me, and I can at least talk with him about it through letters for a while.”

Hilda sighs again, looking affectionately at the both of them. “You two both want a world where there aren’t any walls like that between people, right? Where people are free to be different and still respected. Me, I just want to live freely, with nothing tying me down. I want to do things my way, and no one else’s, so… I really respect your dream, you know? I think I can live my way in the world you two create, so that’s enough reason for me to support you.”

Claude, openly dumbstruck, smiles. “Hilda…”

Hilda flashes a cheeky grin. “And my way of life doesn’t involve stupid prejudices. So, I’ll be relying on you to help me keep fixing my own, okay? And in return, I’ll do my part to help you make your dream a reality. Starting right here in Goneril with the Almyrans. I’ve even been talking to Sylvain recently about how he’s planning on making peace with Sreng. I’m hoping my brother can pull off something similar here, too, and I won’t have to worry about inheriting a guard post anymore.”

“Ha.” Claude shakes his head. “Wow. You really knew exactly what I was going to say, didn’t you?”

“That’s my job, silly!” Hilda giggles. “I’m your second-in-command, aren’t I? What kind of deputy would I be if I couldn’t even figure out my leader’s intentions?”

“You really are amazing, Hilda,” Claude says. “Thank you. Your support means a lot to me.”

“Don’t look so surprised, dummy. You’re my friend and house leader. Besides that, your dream is worth following.”

Claude grabs her and pulls her, yelping, into a tight hug. Veery smiles watching them. “No, seriously,” Claude mutters. “Thank you.” He releases her, the surprise finally wearing off to allow the insecurity return to his features. “I’m… not used to having support, honestly. I didn’t really trust that I’d get any allies from my time at Garreg Mach, but somehow I got you two.”

He looks down, away, and then sighs. “I want to trust you both. Hilda… I think you might have already figured it out, but I know Veery hasn’t. I… It’s hard to trust anyone like this…”

“I know,” Veery says gently. “Trust is… hard.” Whatever it is that Claude is hiding, Veery definitely knows the feeling he’s describing. Wanting to trust someone, hoping that your faith isn’t misplaced, stepping forward into doubt, even certain failure and betrayal, on the mere chance that his fears will prove unfounded and everything will be okay. It’s the story of Veery’s entire time in Fódlan.

Claude smiles. “I know you do. You… really, really do. Gods…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, my big secret… I’m Almyran. Half, obviously. The Crest comes from my mom.”

Claude is Almyran? Veery blinks. “…Okay?” He tilts his head, wondering just what exactly the big deal is.

Hilda sighs. “Yeah, I guessed as much. I’m sorry, Claude, I said some really stupid things around you. I’m surprised you trust me at all, considering that.”

“I didn’t, for a while,” Claude admits. “But I noticed your attitude change. You stopped talking about other groups of people thoughtlessly. I did what I could to encourage that change – honestly seeing it for myself is probably why I trust you as much as I do.”

Veery bites his lip. “I think something got lost here,” he says. “What’s the big deal about being Almyran?”

Claude raises his brow. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t care. It’s just the same old story. In Almyra, everyone hates me because I’m half Fódlander. In Fódlan, everyone hates me because I’m half Almyran. I’m surprised you didn’t notice. I call it my secret, but the truth is it’s kind of an open one. I mean, look at me.”

“That’s how I figured it out.” Hilda nods.

“Right,” Claude says. “I honestly thought you’d see me with Cyril and put the pieces together.”

Veery just fixes them both with a flat look. “Really? The agell from Albinea is definitely going to accurately guess that a human is lying about their ethnicity because the single Almyran he knows looks sort of vaguely like him?”

“Ha! Good point. Sorry, Veery. I really should have told you sooner.”

“Why?” Veery asks. “Does it matter at all?”

Claude snickers. “Well, not to you, probably. But Hilda… me being Almyran isn’t all there is to it.”

“Oh?” Hilda leans in, sensing gossip. “What else is there?”

Claude clears his throat, insecurity revealing itself once more, but he quickly pushes it back and says, “I’m Prince Khalid.”

“That… also means nothing to me,” Veery admits. So, Claude is a prince, too? Okay. All Veery takes from that is that Claude is important in both Fódlan and Almyra, which should help him, right? Oh, except people hate him because he’s not a true anything, so that is a difficult situation.

Hilda opens her mouth, shuts it, then repeats that process a few more times before finally settling on. “Oh. Well, that is complicated. You’re still my friend and leader, though, so don’t ever forget that.”

That’s Claude’s cue to let out the breath he’s holding and dive back into a hug, this time with both of them.

Veery can’t begin to guess at Claude’s experiences. The memories that make him who he is, the sneaky, scheming, poison-crafting, silver-tongued, future duke, are out of Veery’s reach. Veery doubts he’ll ever understand fully where Claude comes from, but it’s apparent enough that he’s hurt by prejudice, by the thing that their dream brings an end to, and that he’s trusting even though he doesn’t trust, doing even though he doesn’t believe, and Veery understands that more than anything.

Trust is hard, very hard, for Veery. Still, Claude doesn’t let him down yet. Veery has no intention of letting Claude down, either.

#write #fanfiction #FE Fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h

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rametarin · 1 year

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it’s a funny thing. Funny in airquotes.

Technically speaking, gun control by all rights should be considered political conservatism. Not conservatism as in the American movement associated with similar policies, but conservatism in spirit.

For what is the essence of conservatism but the penchant to restrict and deny access to a thing, because you worry for what its existence, whether benign or volatile, could do to the health and normalcy of a society?

Here we have a society with hundreds of millions of gun owners, that has existed this way even before the founding of the country as a country and countable generations closer to 20 than not, where firearms have been legitimately used to defend self, defend others, defend property and defend principle even without being fired in anger, hundreds of thousands of more times in a given frequency of time than they’ve been used to murder.

And despite this, conservative minded people still insist that guns are a problem, the existence of guns endangers us all, and that the only way to protect ourselves is to do away with the legal right to possess them. The man cannot own the streak because the baby cannot successfully chew it.

It is proven year after year that there are and were more pressing problems and sources of death and destruction that are not being addressed than even the legal ability to own machine guns, and yet that was sought after to remove. Who is this protecting? Objectively speaking, gun control laws have only gotten more stringent throughout the decades and century, not less, and it’s due to the making of gun free zones that we see gunmen entering those zones to shoot disarmed and vulnerable people.

Much the same way the religious fundamentalist wants an unchecked potential and risk of pregnancy for the “crime” of fucking without the context of a monogamous marriage, preferably under a religious denominational place of worship, preferably their own mainstream religion, the gun control advocate believes just eliminating the legal ability to acquire firearms would somehow, in any way, alleviate or prevent the illegitimate use of them. That’s being generous and assuming that they’re being honest and genuinely are just misguided and ill conceived, and not acting against guns and gun rights in bad faith.

Much the same way the conservative moralist believes simply banning drugs and using law enforcement to punish, deprive and detain lawbreakers whom will not behave, and fuck those that won’t bend the knee, losing life, wealth and property and prospects of success across generations, supposedly liberal gun control advocates are not afraid of using the federal government as weapons against their chosen ethnic targets and political groups of choice to eliminate or disrupt them.

Gun control is inherently a politically conservative mindset that permeates social leftism today, due to the value they see in using it to possibly defang and declaw the dangers they see. Pay no mind to how they see the teeming masses of landed gentry among white males in the same light that some 60 year old Ester (the Grand Karen) sees a group of black men (”the negroes”) and clutches her purse tighter. Its function is purely to use as a legal justification to find some reason to criminalize groups they find inconvenient or potentially dangerous- which are any that disagree with them, or whatever level of extreme in legislation and social change they’d like to impose, whether their voting constituents want it, or not.

This is why despite the fact that in the United States, handguns in gangland account for almost all of the country’s gun violence, as murder and damage, they continue to go after the rifleman. Because if they didn’t spend so much time and energy trying to make the iconic mad gunman some psychotic white man, or teenager, they’d have to make the face of gun violence into that of a black male, age 13-20, using a handgun. Hot handguns that weren’t legally and legitimately purchased through the proper channels. No matter how long the waiting period, the by default acceptable mental health test and the existence of a registry that by principle should not exist. They get them circumvented from foreign smugglers that either bring them in from elsewhere, steal them from homes and sell them, or have started illegally printing them domestically.

Law abiding people having their rights taken away and their possessions criminalized because those that won’t obey the laws are deliberately misusing them is the epitome of conservative thinking. It’s just so conservative and impractical that to do so would be self-destructive. Enough so even the American conservative cannot abide by the idea. Gun control is on the level of characterizing marijuana as “the devil’s tobacco” and propaganda about it being used to criminalize users as outsiders and dangers to society.

Simply put, the problems of guns lay not in the access to them or their numbers or the kinds of ammunition available, or how many may be owned, or how fast they may be collected and purchased, or how much ammunition may be bought per purchase or in total possession. The problems of guns lays purely in our inability (currently) to address mental health.

This would be like outlawing the use of any sort of external source of heat in order to prevent the setting of unlicensed and unregulated fires in fireplaces or stoves, to keep from setting large sections of the community on fire, and instead demanding people either A.) use thick blankets and not moving much at night to conserve warmth B.) living in warmer climates only. Absurd and unnecessary restriction out of fear of the lowest common denominator, the statistical anomaly, that misuses and abuses the right to a good or service. It is the antithesis of liberalism in principle and spirit and you should have this reality smashed into your face like a pie tin full of activated lyme every time you argue for gun control. Gun control is a conservative mindset that not even the American Conservatives value as good.

And if only this terrible way to see the world stopped at guns. The same group have taken this fear and insecurity driven view and applied it to personal ownership and use of automobiles and vehicles. Right before the dawning of the age of the pure electric, battery powered cars, planes and personally owned submarines!!! It’s painful. It really is. If they had their way, there’d be no roads, only easily blocked main arteries that could be cut off by protests, and no one could decide where the tracks go- it’d be out of their hands and over their heads. They could only decide when they board. Power and agency and decision making completely out of their hands and their mobility entirely on rails.

Growing popularity of this among leftists notwithstanding, nothing about this mindset should be liberal. You’ve simply taken the Jesus out of conservatism as the driving force and logic behind the conservatism and left in the free range secular non-denominational conservativism. That just means you can’t be readily accused of following a belief system with a core value attached, not that you aren’t guilty of joining a bandwagon of bad thoughts based on your own emotional or mental failings.

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kevintaylor84 · 2 years

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Popular Gruen Vintage Watches

Vintage watches made by Gruen are widely available. Many of the high-quality watches Gruen created during the previous century are still functioning today. These models are a fantastic place to start for those who are interested in collecting, investing, or just going for a traditional appearance.

Watch Gruen Techni-Quadron The Quadron and Techni-Quadron watches, both of which were introduced in 1928, shared a rectangular face. The top and bottom dials were both quite large, with the former displaying the hour/minute and the latter the second hand.

The Techni-Quadrons were sometimes called "doctors watches" because the large seconds dial made it simple to observe while taking a pulse. Engineers in particular, but also other technical people in general, admired the watch. Keep in mind that none of the dual-dial Gruen watches were medical timepieces. On a Techni-Quadron, the hour/minute hand is situated above the point where the crown enters the case, as opposed to the dial's center. Some of them additionally featured an expanding buckle that enabled them to glide up to the arm, freeing the hand and wrist in the process.

The Square Carr was a practical square-shaped pocket watch that was introduced in 1931. The Carr is French for square. It was shaped like a diamond thanks to the arrangement of the numbers 12, 3, 6, and 9. It was promoted as a portable table clock, a men's pocket watch, and a women's purse watch because it could be used by both genders. A few of the models have illuminated hands and numerals to make them visible at night. The Carr was discontinued in 1934 and cost about $55 (about $1400 in today's dollars).

The famous Curvex line, which debuted in 1935, was known for its men's Curvex Governor and its women's Curvex Queen (1936). Not only was it the most well-known watch in the Gruen vintage line, but also served as the collection's centerpiece until the late 1940s. After 1954, this watch's production came to an end.

The Curvex's exclusive and distinctive feature was that both the watch and the internal movement were curved. These watches used the patented mechanism (1,855,952), hence the gear layout was curved in arrangement. In the 1930s, several other curved watches were forced to use more delicate, smaller movements that weren't very accurate.

Real men's Curvex watches all had one of four Precision grade movements. In actuality, the movement is what distinguishes these watches as Curvex; without it, they wouldn't be Curvex. The four movements are the caliber 440 (1940), a short, square/oval movement, the caliber 370 (1948), a short and wide movement, and the caliber 311 (1953) - a long, thin and curved movement (Custom Curved) (Curvametric).

The Distinctive Ristside The Ristside watches, which are pronounced "wrist side," were introduced in 1937 and were styled and constructed to be worn on the side of the wrist and in line with the thumb. Collectors had a specific passion for these watches, but they were uncommon because Gruen did not sell many of them. Also possible is the attempt by some collectors to pass off any local watch with hinged lugs as a Ristside. All Ristsides, with the exception of Fraternity (see below) and one other comparable model, are rectangular in design and feature curved casings.

The Curvex-Ristside watches are regarded as belonging to both the Curvex and the Ristside families of Gruen vintage watches. The Curvex Coronet, Curvex Lord, and Curvex Admiral watches all utilised the 330 movement, which was characterized as a long, thin, and curved movement in the previous paragraphs. The Curvex-Ristside Fraternity utilized the 440 movement and hinged lugs.

#antique #vintage #watches #clocks

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milo-is-rambling · 2 years

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I woke up late for theater (why the fuck do they think I am going to wake up and function at any point before 9 on a Saturday) cause I was supposed to be there for 8:30 but it's a set day so whatever I've still gotta break apart the Christmas crack and get it into a tin and make sure the erasers I got yesterday find their way into my purse before I leave and I'll probably get there around 10 and that's like an hour and a half late but also it's Christmas Eve so I feel like I'm allowed to be late even if I'm only late bc I hung out with my brother too late last night in the hot tub being cool (technically bottom half of me warm top half of me fucking freezing cause I couldn't get my new piercings wet)

#holding back the urge to not go at all but I feel like I should cause I've confirmed it too many times that I'm actually going so I need to #just suck it up and do my shit and get to the theater already but like ughhhhh it's cold and I don't wanna

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brynnwrites · 2 years

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blood stains - spencer reid

spencer reid x afab!reader (or any reader who menstruates)

Nope.

This was not happening.

You were dreaming, the red stain on the crisp white sheets of your boyfriend's bed was a figment of your mind's horrific imagination.

You reached down and dabbed at the stain, red residue rubbing off onto the tips of your fingers. It was real alright.

You scrunched your face up, screaming internally while you tried to figure out what to do. First things first, you would have to run to the living room to get a pad out of your purse. Without waking Spencer up.

You had only been dating for about three months. Of course, Spencer knew you had a period, but this was territory you hoped to not have to cross until the six month mark at the earliest. Things were still new and the honeymoon phase was in full swing. It wasn't exactly "I'm ready for you to see all my bodily functions" time in the relationship yet.

You knew in the back of your mind that he would have to see it. It wasn't like you could rip the sheets off without him knowing, seeing as he was dead asleep right next to you. Whether you wanted to or not, you were going to have to face this conversation.

You slipped out of the covers, the bed mercifully not squeaking as you stood. You made it to your purse without a sound, mentally high-fiving yourself. You were in the clear, for now.

"Y/N? Y/N!" Spencer's panicked voice jerked your spine straight. "Y/N, oh my god. No, no, no-"

He slid into the room, literally slid with his socks on the hardwood, his face looking downright petrified until he saw you standing in the moonlit living room.

"Hey, Spence," you squeaked. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

He was breathing hard as he brought a large hand up to rub at his chest. "I-uh, I rolled over and you weren't there. I opened my eyes and saw blood and I—what happened? Are you hurt?"

Your eyes widened as he rushed towards you, hands on your hips as he checked you over for injuries. It hadn't occurred to you that the bed looked like a murder scene—much like the ones that you and your boyfriend encountered on a weekly basis.

"Shit, Spencer, I'm so sorry," you groaned. "I'm fine, I just got my...period."

You winced, and his face turned from one of complete alarm to one of sympathy.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you wake me?" He rubbed a hand over the small of your back soothingly, bringing the other one to smooth your hair.

"I was embarrassed," you whined. "This thing between us is new and fun and I didn't want to gross you out right out of the gate like this."

Spencer laughed and you frowned.

"No, I'm not laughing at you," he reassured you, his hands running up and down your arms. "I just think it's silly that you thought I would be grossed out by something normal and healthy when we see mutilated bodies on a near daily basis."

When you thought about it like that, you couldn't help but laugh too.

"Listen," he was suddenly serious, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I know things are technically new between us. But remember what I told you that night I finally confessed that I'm hopelessly in love with you?"

You grinned, biting your lip. You remembered a lot of things about that night. The way you and Spencer had spent two years pining after one another until it finally came to a head in a cozy inn in Alaska on the last night of a case. How you danced in the snow and made bold confessions before warming up in the sweetest way in your room, trying not to wake Emily up next door.

"Which part are you specifically referring to?" You asked with a smirk.

He flushed pink, dropping his head for a second before bringing his eyes back to yours. "When I said I'm all in? That you're it for me? I meant it. No menstrual cycle or anything else could ever scare me away."

"Is it possible for me to love you even more?" You smiled, lovesick eyes gazing up at him before reality set in once more. "But your bed, it's covered in blood and so are my shorts and-"

"Come with me," he smiled, taking your hand and leading you back towards the bedroom.

Confused, you followed, until he stopped in front of his chest of drawers. He opened the top one on the right side and your jaw dropped. "What is this?"

"It's your drawer," he said proudly, gesturing to the contents. "I was going to show you today, actually, but we got back so late that it slipped my mind. I went and got you a toothbrush, toothpaste, pads, tampons, underwear, and some extra pajama pants and shorts. I would've gotten you shirts too but you usually steal mine anyways—"

You couldn't help but cut him off with a kiss. "Spencer. You're perfect."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, I'm not. I just wanted to make you feel at home here."

Your heart tugged in your chest. Was he real?

He picked up a pair of plain black panties and some new blue sleep shorts with little white clouds on them. He placed a pad on top and then pushed the pile into your hands, ushering you to the bathroom.

"Hand me your stained shorts and underwear when you're done. I'm going to throw the sheets in the washer," he said, moving back to the bed.

You couldn't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Once you were situated with fresh clothes and a pad secured in place, you returned to the bedroom. He already had fresh sheets on the mattress and a small heating pad plugged in on your side with a glass of water and some painkillers.

You fought the tears welling up in your eyes. You had never felt so absolutely loved and cared for in your life.

"I'll take those," he appeared next to you, gently taking the blood soaked clothes from your hands.

You felt a little awkward giving him your period blood-stained clothes like that, but he didn't even flinch. You thanked him, taking a few sips of water with the pills. You found him at the utility sink in the laundry room, rinsing your clothes in cold water to get the blood stains out before washing them.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your head against the lean muscles of his back. "You're an angel, Spence."

He hummed contentedly. "Just doing my job, honey. Go lay down with the heating pad, I'll be there in a minute."

He turned to give you a sweet forehead kiss before wringing out your clothes in the sink. You reluctantly padded back to the bedroom as the cramps set in. You curled up in a ball on your side, the heating pad situated snugly against your pelvis.

Warm arms wrapped around you before you felt Spencer's entire body heat surround you, tugging the covers up over you snugly.

"Where did you learn to do all this?" You asked softly.

"I'm a doctor, remember?" He teased, tickling your side lightly.

You giggled and squirmed. "You're not a medical doctor, genius. Seriously, where did you learn all about periods?"

He exhaled slowly. "My mom's memory issues started pretty early when I was graduating high school. Whenever I would come home from college, there would be little things she'd forget. Sometimes she would forget when she had gotten her period, and I would help her clean up her bed and get her set up on the couch. Besides, it was just me and her growing up. I was a naturally curious child so she had to teach me about feminine menstruation pretty early when I found her pads in the trash can."

You snuggled deeper into his embrace. "You're such a good man, Spence. You're an amazing son, an amazing FBI agent, and an even more amazing boyfriend. I honestly don't know how I deserve you."

He kissed your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. He always said he loved the coconut scent on you. "I'm the lucky one. I kind always figured I would die alone."

You snorted. "You might wish you could die alone after a few years of me. I can be a mess sometimes."

He shook his head against you. "Everyone's a mess. But you're my mess."

You smiled, reaching back to scratch at his scalp like he loved so much. He hummed, leaning into your hand.

"Want me to massage your stomach?" He murmured against your ear.

"Please," you sighed.

He wasted no time in moving his large, warm hands to your lower stomach, right above where your uterus was currently throwing a tantrum. He massaged light circles and tested different patterns, asking you every few minutes if the pressure and motion was okay.

Soothing relief gradually took over and you felt yourself on the brink of blissful sleep. "I love you, Spencer," you whispered in the dark.

"I love you too, Y/N. Get some rest." Spencer kissed the side of your head, never stopping his soothing movements against your stomach until you were fast asleep.

You woke the next morning to the loss of Spencer's body warmth and frowned until you smelled pancakes. He was soon in the doorway, carrying two plates of chocolate chip pancakes, cups of orange juice gripped precariously in the crooks of his elbows.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" He asked, placing the plate of hot pancakes down on your lap. He set the orange juice glass down on the nightstand before circling to the other side to climb in next to you.

"Much better. What's all this?" You asked, a grin spreading over your lips.

"I read that chocolate, in small doses, can actually help ease period cramps," he said with a bashful smile, gesturing to the pancakes. "Many medical professionals believe that's why most women, even ones who don't particularly like chocolate, crave it on their period."

You took a big bite, moaning at the warm sweetness. "It's delicious. Thank you. And it's really sweet that you did all that research."

"There's no need to thank me, honey," he said, smoothing your hair. "I like to think I'm good at taking care of people."

"You are," you agree. "I hope I can take care of you the same way."

"Well," Spencer chuckled, "I don't get periods, but you take care of me all the time, even when you don't think about it. Like when you bring me food when you know I haven't eaten on cases. Or when you give me scalp massages when you can tell I've had a stressful week. Or when you take my dry cleaning with yours because you know I'll forget. You do so much for me and I don't tell you thank you often enough."

You shrugged. "That's no big deal."

"It is," he insisted. "You do it not because you have to but because you want to. That's what makes it meaningful."

"You're the first man I've ever really felt that kind of thing for. The want to care for them. You mean the world to me and I want to help make you happy," you smiled.

He took your hand, kissing your palm with chocolate pancake lips before clutching it to his chest. "You do make me happy. Always."

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #imagines #fluff imagines #x reader imagines #x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #fluff

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thekatebridgerton · 2 years

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I read evil!bridgertons trying to backstab each other and kill each other, imagine their spouses manipulating them so they can escape them. Like, they all team up subtly due to being prohibited to talking to each other and let the Bridgerton’s deal with their politics or matters. Every fail attempt of their siblings trying to kill them, the bridgertons grow paranoid and the closer the spouses get to their freedom because sooner or later… the siblings will kill each other.

note that the post anon is talking about is this one

I'm going to be honest here. The Evil Yandere Bridgerton au has two ways of ending.

The Bridgertons either kill each other because their spouses manipulated them into turning on each other. Which I don't see happening, with the state of Gareth and Phillip's brainwashing, and Penelope, and Lucy's level of enjoyment in the game the Bridgertons play

or the original ending, which was supposed to be the theorized full circle on how Violet became the Bridgerton Matriach.

Which is Kate finally snapping after too many years of Anthony's loving mind games and taking a shotgun to Anthony's legs to cripple her beloved husband for life. And either installing herself as the new leader of the family or systematically hunting down the other 7 Bridgertons with the help of the 3 kids of hers who could hold a pistol.

Benedict and Daphne are the easiest because Kate doesn't need to do much convincing for Simon to open Clyvedon and for Sophie to stand by and let her go full 'aim to cripple not kill' on their significant others. Kate leaves Daphne somewhat physically impaired but still functional enough to show a nice smile to her children. While the work in My Cottage consists in simply handing Sophie a shotgun of her own and doing a practical demonstration on her guards. Sophie keeps telling Benedict how romantic it is, now that all she has to do now is nurse him back to health...every day... for the rest of his life...

Eloise is definately a difficult one and the most likely to seek revenge, so Kate had to maybe silence her voice and writing skills the way Benedict silenced his servants, and leave her to Phillip to deal with. He's dealt with one bedridden wife before, he knows his plant based painkillers and hallucinogens, what's another indisposed wife to add to the collection?

Colin and Penelope were nice enough to give up a right to combat before Kate and little Edmund raised their pistols. Actually, it was a friendly conquest because Colin and Penelope are too obsessed with each other to care who holds the Bridgerton purse strings and Kate didn't want to fight them anyway. Same with Francesca and Michael, also too obsessed with each other to care about liberating Kate, much less if she took a gun to Anthony's legs and took over for the Viscount. As long as all the siblings were technically alive, Francesca and Michael live by the no interference rule.

Hyacinth did try to make Kate into an obituary, with Gareth to help. But at that point of the carnage even little Edmund and Miles were okay with taking care of things for their mother. So Hyacinth had to join Daphne in Clyvedon for some much needed...recuperation, under a lot of heavy kindly drugs supplied to Gareth and Simon by Phillip's greenhouse.

Finally, Gregory and Lucy. Actually I'm sure it was Lucy who thought it would be fun to leave Anthony's gun cabinet unlocked and in plain sight of Kate the night everything started. Lucy likes Kate. Nothing wrong with helping a sister out right?. So Gregory? he came out on top of the whole ordeal. Kate practically finished raising him after all. He loves Anthony but who would he be if he didn't support Kate's bid to follow Violet's footsteps and kill the Viscount.

So sad really, Gregory and Lucy were aiming to see Anthony brought down permanently. But oh well, one cannot have too much fun these days.

So yeah, my evil Bridgerton au? that's how it ends. With a uno reverse card. But it's okay...nobody dies. what would be the fun in that?

#yandere bridgerton au #evil bridgerton au #kate kills everybody #that's it #and good for her #kanthony #benophie #philoise #polin

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stanknotstark · 3 years

Text

5 Times Loki Held Your Hand and One Time You Held His

Only realizing it when they have to let go

You and Loki had become close friends when he came down with Thor. You were friends with Jane and through her knowing Thor scored a job at Stark Enterprise in R&D. This is where you basically just played with Tony’s new toys to make sure they work correctly and efficiently. Tony had invited you to live at Stark tower so you didn’t have to make an hour commute every day. Thus when Thor came down with Loki you ran into him randomly in the tower.

You two first met one night when you couldn’t sleep and decided to wander the tower. Your final destination was one of the common areas that held a bar and an open view of the entire city with floor to ceiling windows.

You had entered the common area and spotted a dark figure sitting in front of the windows. Clearing your throat the figure looks at you and you realize it’s Loki.

“Mind if I join? I can totally leave if you’d prefer.” You say nervously from in front of the elevator.

Loki looks you up and down with his eyes then shrugs. You take that as a cue to do whatever you please. So, you make your way over to him and sit far enough you don’t touch but close enough that you share companionship.

It’s silent for awhile but you can tell Loki is thinking so you stay quiet and just look across the lights lighting up the never sleeping city.

“Are you not scared?” Loki finally breaks the silence and asks.

You look at him confused. “Of what?”

Loki looks at you, now confused too. “Of me.”

You really look at Loki. He has bags under his eyes, almost too hidden to see and you can see his face holds line of stress. His features are taught as if trying to hold himself back from something.

“No.” You say, taking your eyes off him and looking at the city again.

“Why? I could kill you.” Loki nearly demands but his voice doesn’t raise from the almost whisper you had both adopted.

“And? Anyone could. Natasha could, a random stranger on the street could, hell I’m sure a really dedicated cat could kill me. I can kill myself. Why are you so special?” You say, your left hand coming up to rest in between your knees where you lay your chin. Your right hand stays on the floor to support yourself. You don’t look at Loki.

However, you do hear him scoff. After a few seconds when you’re sure he’s not looking at you anymore he chuckles. “I would ask if you’re alright but I don’t particularly care.”

At this you laugh lightly, “I didn’t ask for you to care.” You look at Loki who turns to look at you, squinting.

“You’re weird.” He says and you shrug with a smile still on your face. “I like it.”

You both go silent and look out at the city. Loki breaks the silence again by asking what certain buildings are and their functions. Through your explanations both of you fail to realize Loki let his left hand drift and cover your right hand still on the floor. It’s natural and you both like it subconsciously.

When you yawn you go to raise both your arms and Loki realizes he had been holding your hand and pulls away like he’s burnt. You don’t say anything about it, you’re not even bothered by it, you simply stretch and stand.

“I’m tired. Good night.” You say, Loki nods, and you make your way to the elevator and to your wonderful bed that sits waiting for you.

Not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd

The next time you hold hands isn’t for another month.

Your relationship has developed a lot since that night in the tower. You’re practically inseparable and spend hours together daily. Loki appreciates your humor and non judgmental attitude about him. You enjoy his sarcasm, wit, and love for knowledge. Of course there is more you both love about each other but you keep it simple.

Today, Loki has agreed to attend Stark’s Expo with you. He is curious as to what Earth has to offer with science and technology. He relishes in the fact that you turn and look at him and accept his offered hand to drag him from table to table, without losing each other in the crowd. You explain what everything is and how it works. You were obviously passionate about technology and science and what new things these students had to offer. Loki found he really enjoyed whatever it was that made you so passionate and animated about the new tech.

You keep a tight hold on his hand as you both make your way around the convention room and if he squeezes your hand back with just as much vigor he knows you won’t say anything.

You both finally make it to the center stage where Tony is supposed to appear for a grandiose speech on the winners of the Stark Fund scholarship. When you both sit down in seats not far from the stage you keep holding Loki’s hand.

Loki vaguely hears what you’re saying but more so is focused on how well both your hands fit. While his is cold, yours is warm, where his is calloused and rough, yours is delicate and soft, while his is big yours is small. He thinks that there could be no better fit. He could hold your hand forever. Unfortunately you let go of his hand when you make it to the car, after the expo is over, but he vows that you will hold his hand again.

Grabbing hand to show them something

This time, when Loki grabs your hand, you’re both on the roof of the tower waiting for a meteor shower. He grabs it in between your conversation when he spots the first meteor and points at the sky.

“Look.” He says watching you watch the meteors flash across the sky like shooting stars, as you had called them.

He lovingly watches as your mouth opens a little, your face filled with mirth and excitement. From his spot he sees your eyes practically twinkling.

“It’s beautiful.” He hears you whisper.

“It truly is.” He says, still staring at you adoringly.

You turn and look at him with a smile. “Thanks.” You say in reference to him bringing you out to experience this.

Loki gives a small smile, closed lip, and a short nod in understanding. “Any time.”

You both look back at the sky and watch as one more lonely meteor passes and then it’s over all too soon. You sigh, look at the ground in an attempt to look at Loki’s hand holding yours, then look up at the god.

“I’m sure I’ll never see them up close but this is just as magical.” You say.

Loki purses his lips in thought. “If that is your wish, I shall make it happen, some day.” He says with determination.

You smile again, something you can’t stop doing around the god, “I’ve no doubt you’ll achieve this, somehow.” You laugh a little.

Loki smiles down at you, lifts your hand to his lips, and kisses it.

“Shall we go back inside and try some of the Moon berries Thor brought back?”

You nod excitedly and rush to the door with Loki behind, never releasing each others hands.

Possessive hand-holding

You’re attending Stark’s gala for some charity you’ve never heard of. Tony had told you to attend so you could make some connections and further your research with funding. Loki had agreed to be your plus one when you asked him a few days before. That’s how you found yourself in a dark, emerald halter dress that flowed to your feet in elegance. Loki wore a three piece suit, the outer suit jacket and pants black, the inner vest the same dark, emerald as your dress, and a white button up underneath.

What you don’t expect is for all the men to flock to you when Loki excuses himself to grab you both a drink. You’re surrounded by three men asking you questions about your work but you can read the flirt in between their words. You act nice but don’t play into their flirtations. When they start to lean closer to you you start to get a bit uncomfortable.

Luckily you spot Loki not too far away coming to you with a soft glare on his features. You know he’s downplaying the glare so he doesn’t outright scare everyone in his path. You knew all too well Loki could very likely kill someone with his infamous glare.

When Loki makes it back you subconsciously hover into his side and take your drink from his hand with a small thanks. When his hand is free Loki’s hand finds its way down your arm and takes your hand into his. He smiles at the three men sharply and you introduce Loki as your date. The three men back off but don’t leave quite yet.

Once they’ve asked all their questions they leave you with their business cards and stalk off to their next victim.

You wait till they’re far enough and deflate a little with a small sigh. Looking up at Loki, who looks down at you concerned, you smile reassuringly and take a sip of the champagne in your hand.

“I need to give Stark more credit and I now understand why he hates these things.” You say after your sip of the dry alcohol, shaking your head, “Everyone in here is like a shark waiting to feed on you if you show an ounce of weakness.”

Loki chuckles. “They’ll have to get through me before they even look at you.” Loki empathetically says, squeezing your hand.

You look away from Loki, “So, technically, are we dating? Is this what’s going on? Because I’m honestly a little confused.” You say shyly. Squeezing his hand in yours.

Loki doesn’t say anything so you look at him a little anxious that you might have crossed some unseen boundary. When you look into his eyes he finally answers. “Is that what you want?”

“I mean,” You bring your drink to your lips, let the drink coat your mouth, swallowing, and cherish that Loki is leaning into you with anticipation, “Yes. Quite frankly I’ve been wanting this for months now.” You finally say with an opened mouth smirk.

Loki smirks too. “Then yes, we’re dating, exclusively.” He adds the last part in case that wasn’t explicitly clear.

You watch as Loki takes a drink of the champagne and his Adams apple bobs, his neck is bared to you and you want to lick a stripe up it. The moment is over too soon and you look at Loki with a glare.

“What’s a girl got to do to get a kiss around here?”

Loki smirks, places his drink on the counter you stand next to and looks at you with a raised brow. You smile. Loki then uses his free hand to cup your face, stare at you with amazement that this is actually happening, then close the short distance between you two and finally kiss you.

Only linking the pinkies together, not ready to let go completely

It’s a few weeks after the gala and officially dating Loki that you hold hands again. This time it’s in public. You’re both walking central park, mostly so you could get some fresh air. After the gala you had made a lot of connections and were getting unbelievable funding for your personal projects which in turn had you cooped up inside working constantly. Loki took it upon himself to get you out and about.

You had both been totally besotted in each other and talking about random exciting things while walking and holding hands, when you make it to Bethesda Fountain. At the sight of it you ramble on about having change to throw and pull Loki towards it with glee. As you near it you both pull your hands away but only enough to still hang on my the pinky. You turn and look at Loki with a loving look, bring the god’s face to down to kiss you, then let go of his hand completely to cup his jaw with both hands. After you pull back Loki opens his eyes to fall in love with the way you look at him.

“We both make a wish when we throw in our pennies, ok?” You ask, completely pulling from Loki’s hold and searching in your purse for two pennies. Loki watches you with a frown but accepts the penny you give him.

When you both stand at the edge of the fountain you count down from three and as the pennies hit the water you both silently make your wishes. Loki wishes for marriage with you and he’s honestly not quite sure what you wish for. He questions if he’s moving too fast but disregards that thought. Both of you had been very romantic leading up to dating and knew each other inside and out from constantly spending time together. Just because it’s only been official a few weeks means nothing. Loki knows he wants you forever.

You turn to look at Loki and wag a finger, “Don’t tell me what you wished for or it won’t come true!”

Loki smiles and grabs your hand again, “Then I shall keep my lips shut, darling.”

+1 comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together

It’s you who initiates the hand holding this time. It’s a couple of months into dating when you do it. Loki will never forget it because you had initiated it this time.

You’re both casually spending time in the common area with Nat, Clint, and Thor when it happens. You’re sitting across from Loki, both of you with crossed legs, playing a game of cards with him on the big couch Stark has. Nat and Clint are making bets as to who is going to win each round and Thor is fascinated as you explain everything going on in the game.

Loki goes to flip his card when you stop talking to Thor and grab his hand. Loki looks up at you confused but watches with fascination as you flatten his hand out then put yours up to it and compare sizes. His hand looks like it could engulf yours. You hum thoughtfully and intertwine your fingers with his and return to the game as if nothing just happened, setting your hands to the side of the game on the couch.

Loki himself feels a little breathless but takes is a small gasp when Thor claps his shoulder.

“Brother you’re at 19 are you truly sure you want to get hit again?” Thor asks.

Loki glances back at Thor but disregards him and looks at you instead. You look innocent enough but the spark in your eyes says you know what you’ve just done to Loki.

Loki clears his throat. “Hit me, the risk is well worth it.”

He watches as you give him a faced down card next to his jack and nine cards.

You look up at him with a smirk, “Try your luck, Mischief.” You say.

Loki raises a brow then turns the card you gave him.

It’s an ace.

Loki smirks at you when you gasp and look at his cards with wide eyes. Natasha groans and pays Clint, Thor laughs roaringly.

Both of your hands are still linked on the couch. Loki uses his thumb to caress your thumb and says, “What’s even more satisfying is that I didn’t even have to cheat.”

You look at Loki with a mix of awe and satisfaction. “And here I thought I was the lucky one in this relationship.”

Loki chuckles, “You’re severely mistaken.” He says, obviously not talking about the game anymore when he gives you a look full of tenderness and love.

#5 times loki held your hand and one time you held his #whoa it took me freaking 4 hours to write this completely out in one sittingXDD #loki x reader #loki #reader insert #my writing #one shot #5 times #ill write more 5 times one shots but only occasionally #because they take a few hours to write and research what i want to do lol #all my 5 times shots will be tagged under '5 times'#and ill put them on the master list too #i hope you guys enjoy idk if im gonna beta read this cuz my neck and back hurt from not sitting properly to write lol #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #ok i beta read it and i can't promise i caught everything but damn there were some big mistakes in there XD #enjoy!

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