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blogbridgekethy · 5 months

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A Look at Snow Totals in Voorhees, NJ and Deptford, NJ

For many of us living in snowy climes, the arrival of winter forecasts poses a powerful question mark over the next few months. Faced with the potential for inches, or even feet, of snow, how can we prepare, and what should we expect? This is particularly pertinent in locales with notably varied and sometimes extreme winter weather, such as Voorhees, NJ, and Deptford, NJ, where snowfall is not just a meteorological event, but a pivotal part of the community's annual narrative.

From the anticipated flurry of routines that change with snow days to the intricacies of snow removal engineering, understanding snowfall isn't just about looking back; it's crucial for looking forward, both in preparation and policy. Local residents turn an analytic eye to weather stats and reports, seeking patterns and predictions to guide their actions. In response, we’ve rounded up snowfall data, historical context, and community perspectives to paint a comprehensive picture of how snow totals deeply impact our local lives.

Understanding Snow Totals

Snowfall—measured in inches or centimeters—is more than the scenic draping of white over trees; it informs a cascade of reactions, from the pragmatic to the celebratory. But what causes these winter cascades? Snow is the product of precipitation in cold weather. Atmospheric elements must combine in just the right way to form those crystalline structures. The method by which we calculate snowfall is a combination of art, math, and science, fittingly called “snow water equivalent,” which translates the depth of fallen snow into the amount of water it would displace.

Yet, despite meticulous measurements, snowfall can be notoriously difficult to predict. Why? Mainly because its creation requires several layers of specific atmospheric conditions, all subject to subtle shifts. This means one city can be dusted with light snow while another is blanketed in a heavy sheet.

Within the microclimates of snow total Voorhees NJ and Deptford, variables such as distance from water bodies, elevation, and temperature inversion play roles that residents, businesses, and local governments respect. Precise forecasts matter; botch that anticipation, and you risk incidents from a surprise snowstorm.

Historical Snowfall Data

Over the last decade, snowfall has carved a varied portrait in these two cities. Voorhees, a suburb west of Boston, and Deptford, a modest drive south from New York City, have both seen their fair share of wintry weather. However, they exhibit a stark contrast in their annual snow averages, underscoring the distinct experiences of regional climate.

Voorhees, nestled close to the freezing waters of the Atlantic Ocean, has experienced an average annual snowfall of 57 inches, while Deptford, positioned further inland, tallies a more moderate 25 inches. These numbers reflect not just a geographical ‘snow shadow’ but a tale of local climates shaped by their position relative to major waterways and topographical features. Ironically for some, the less snowy backdrop of Deptford may be a conscious choice over its more northeasterly competitor.

Yet within these averages, the meticulous observer will spot anomalies and emerging patterns. In Voorhees, for instance, there's an unmistakable increase in heavy snowstorms over the years, likely tied to the warming of ocean waters, which fuels more turbulent atmospheric conditions. Meanwhile, Deptford's consistency is testimony to the inland control of its climate, a stable (relatively speaking) canvas for predictable snow patterns.

Impact on Daily Life

Looking out the window at a white landscape can elicit a mixture of emotions, but it also heralds concrete changes to daily life. The private and public spheres alike must adjust when snow sweeps into town. Schools close, public transport halts, and local businesses prepare for fluctuating demand. The battle cry for snowplows and shovels is sounded, as roads and sidewalks become battlegrounds against the isolating nature of deep snow.

The impact of snow isn't just felt in the hassle of the morning commute. Lurking beneath the snow banks are potential hazards that, if left unattended, can disrupt life for days. The headache of navigating roads around piles of snow morph into the dire scuffle against potential flooding as the snow melts, itself a would-be antagonist were it not for diligent preparations. In Voorhees, where higher snowfall is more common, the community orchestration of tackling these challenges is a well-rehearsed symphony, with local heroes stepping forward during each act.

Preparation and Response

In these communities, the narrative of snow is not just experienced passively—it's a dialogue, an improvisational drama. Meteorologists, public works departments, emergency responders, local officials, and residents are all part of the cast, and their roles are as rigorously rehearsed as they are subject to sudden changes. Preparing for snowfalls isn't simply a checklist; it's a cultural benchmark, an immutable event that binds neighbors and authorities in common cause.

In Voorhees, for example, routine winterizing includes not only stocking up on supplies but also checking in with neighbors, especially the elderly and infirm, to ensure their safety. Meanwhile, in Deptford, the focus lies in equipping and training emergency response teams for snow-related incidents, despite the lessened regularity of such occurrences. The key understands that while snow may fall and accumulate, the risks related to it are what communities must collectively reflect upon and mitigate before the first flake takes flight.

Community Engagement

What's an annual snowstorm if not an opportunity for shared experiences and enduring memories? Within these communities, the individual stories of snow days weave a tapestry of resilience, camaraderie, and the simple joy of a common obstacle overcome. Whether it's the impromptu sledding competitions in Voorhees or the snow-clearing volunteers in Deptford, the community's response to its weather is a testament to the very fabric that unites it.

Residents of Voorhees and snow total Deptford NJ have learned, through snowfall, to listen to their environment and each other, to adapt and to overcome. From business owners who must adjust their hours to families who transform snow into art and recreation, every snowflake is an opportunity for the community to flex its collective muscle, remind itself of its cohesion, and demonstrate its triumph over adversity.

Looking to the Future

Rising temperatures are reshaping the climate, yet the long arm of snowfall still reaches across our landscape with its fundamental impacts. How we measure and manage this snow, as well as how we brace ourselves for its unpredictable nature, will continue to be a barometer not just of meteorological conditions, but also of our community's resiliency.

The coming years aren't just about dealing with the snow we've already predicted. They're about preparing for the changes in the patterns we've come to expect. With a thoughtful eye towards historical data and a proactive stance on response and mitigation, Voorhees, Deptford, and other snow-burdened cities can continue not just to weather winter, but to thrive within it.

#snow total #Voorhees NJ #Deptford NJ

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alissatranquility · 5 months

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Today is a miserable day. I woke up already feeling like crap, with a sore throat, aching body, super sensitive and I'm cold. My head is spinning from the narrator in my head. So I made the decision to start writing down my thoughts in the hope it will ease my mind and I can manage my emotions better. On these days I wish even more you would be here. Would embrace me in your warm hug, to have the comfort of your smell and being able to hear your voice. But you are not here, so I get up and try to get through my day the best I can.

Everything reminds me of you, standing in the kitchen where we used to cook, dance, laugh and make out. Getting into the shower where we used to get intimate, kiss and clean away our sorrows. Seeing my bed where you used to lay in, times when I watched you sleeping, others where we used to lay in it together for hours till noon because we couldn't get enough of each other. Getting into the car, where we used to sit in and sing our favorite songs while going on our next adventure. Going to the grocery store, where my son taught you how to pronounce certain items in German and you taught him the English equivalent. And too many other places to list them all. Remembering how good we were together, how happy I was, and how much I appreciate you for the man you are. I'm sometimes not sure if I told you enough how much I appreciated the small things you did. Holding me close on rough days, anticipating my needs before I even spoke them, calming me when the outside noises got too loud, cheering me up when I was sad, playing with Ryan when I didn't had the capacity to do so, telling me to sit down and wrapping me up in a blanket, so I could get some rest and so many other occasions where you gave me the feeling of being deeply cared for and loved.

I had to fight back my tears today, walking through the aisle in the grocery store and thinking about all of that and how much I wish I could share my gratitude for you by just giving you a call. I got into my car and started to sob, not knowing how I could get through this.

On some days I'm good just living my life, having fun and holding up this facade of being a strong and independent woman. But most days this facade is crumbling and all I can think about is you, to a point where it's hard to breath and to pretend everything is good.

Every morning I'm hoping to wake up to a text from you. Funny that I saw a post today that said “and all of a sudden, I was stuck between, wanting to wait for you, and wanting to forget you. I didn't know which one was better, so somehow I was doing both at the same time”. This couldn't describe better how I feel right now. There's still hope in me that you will fight for us, come back, and we can make it work. But since I haven't heard from you since months I wonder if you moved on and there's no happy ending for us. My friends tell me to move on... But my intuition is screaming at me to be patient and to not give up hope.

The last thing you said to me is, that you can not be the man I need, even though you're more than everything I ever wanted. After over two months of no contact, I understand why you said this and all the other things. I understand you more than most people probably would and learned to accept that you had to go your own path to recovery. Deep down I know that it's necessary for you in order to be happy and healthy and I wish you to win this battle against this side of yours since I know how it feels to win without a war. Would've I wished to be there by your side to go down this path with you together, hold your hand and cheer you on... YES 100%! But here we are, 15.735 km apart...

I hope someday you will come back, will stand at my door, eagerly anticipating the moment I can melt into your embrace. I'd traverse galaxies with unwavering certainty, following you to the ends of the universe. But till then I will try to keep this hope alive and be patient. I Love You

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

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Can you write overprotective long hair harry imagine?? Like he always hovers the reader when she is doing something or even nothing. Or when she needs to run errands he always go with even though its not required. And when reader fell sick he is full on mommy daddy mode dom!h vibes

A/N: OOPS I GOT EXCITED AND WENT OVERBOARD WITH IT :D

Harry’s awfully sweet. He’s a literal sweetheart with those marble sepia eyes, hazelnut curls and that big golden kind heart of his's.

But, to people he’s intimidating. From the black loiter of tattoos, a silver of piercing to the corner of his plush bottom lip and those long curls of his's that frays his broad strong shoulders turns everyone too giddy to talk to him and he's okay with that – bunch of loosers anyways whom he doesn’t want to waste his time on chit-chatting.

Then Y/N came into his life and his world flipped upside down, in a beautiful way (where he felt like floating into the crashing waves of crystal sea). It felt like she made him see the world through pink heart-shaped glasses and everyone’s just bursting into rainbows, puffaw! Boom! Their heads blasting with colourful confetti and ribbons.

Even though his slight grouchiness towards people lessened he still doesn’t gives two fucks before punching the shit out of someone if they in any way hurts, be rude and try to take physical and emotional advantage of, Y/N.

His bunny.

He’s too protective of her. And why wouldn’t he? She’s his everything. His little miracle and his hype-person, his lovie.

He’s the softest peach for her. The guy who walks and everyone scrambles away to give him a way, is whipped for his girlfriend.

He’s always having his strong arm looped around her waist when they’re out and walking, going to hold her hands instead if she’s too wiggly, keeping her close to his chest while he holds their coffees and sweets.

Whenever they’re doing grocery he’s always wheeling the cart around how much Y/N insists and pouts, he likes it that way. Hearing her blabber and skim her eyes down the ingredients labelled on the products then tossing it anyway with a shrug – makes him want to smooch her wet in kisses.

If they’re partying out with friends. Which they rarely do, (Y/N sometimes makes fun of them saying they’re getting too domestic day by day) he’s always having her put in his lap, his screwed up expression lazing when the alcohol starts to kick in and he’s just a blubbering mess of nonsense, and a very horn dog with his cock bloating up in his tight skinny jeans.

Not that he doesn’t let her have a breather and enjoy herself. He indeed does, they’ve a healthy relationship where they keep trust and faith in eachother.

But, sometimes he gets super jealous when people steal his little girlfriend away from him and once home he’s cuddling and oodling her, kissing her face all over with loud smacks and not letting her be away from him another second even it’s too bring him water or to get rid of his smelly socks.

Other times. When he’s particularly very jealous. The serious ones where Y/N unintentionally spends a tad more time at some of her classmates to wind up their upcoming project, he’s driving himself to pick her up and knocking at the door harshly and then dragging her out of there not letting her carry her stuff and huffing and puffing while throwing her things in the backseat.

Because Jeremy’s a sore rascal who’s shit at hiding his crush for Y/N and he should know better to whom she belongs. His innocent baby is too naive towards the possible hints and evil intentions of people.

“Oi. What got into you today?” She brushes the loose curl that escaped from his bun and let her fingers slide down his tight set angry jaw staring him a bit concerned upon seeing him this furious and ruffled up from nowhere.

“You’re mine,” Is all he'd respond. Smashing his lips against hers in a an ardent kiss and glide his palm down her ass to squeeze it and bring her closer grinning when she squeals into his mouth giving him a chance to slip his tongue in and kiss her deeper and sloppier.

“You’re a silly geese.” She giggles whisper into the mess of pecks and lock her elbows around his neck to give him an eskimo kiss.

“Watch y’mouth.” He glares her intensely loving the way Y/N gulps timidly bobbing her head.

“You’ll get a spanking today,” He always likes to warn her before hand. He wants her comfortable with him in every case and it’s downgrade monstrous to treat the person you love like a mean bitch out of blue -- so whenever she deserves a punishment he already announces her of it, warming her to the idea and giving her time to back away if she doesn’t want it.

“What did I’do now!” She whines and he nibbles onto his knuckle glancing her way in disbelief other hand on steering wheel, “What did y'do?” He asks her sternly. Spreading his palm over her thigh and squeezing it grimly.

“Did y'even care to look at the time, Y/N?” Oh boy. She’s in real trouble. Her name on his tongue never fails to turn her insides gooey and pause her heartbeat horribly. A red light for her to being bratty before she falls into the deep black dig of trouble.

Reaching home. He’s throwing her on the bed and demanding her to lay still on her tummy while he puts a pillow under her and spanks her bum sore with his rings imprinting her skin pink, though he never forgets to take care of her afterwards – putting a cool cream to soothe the burn and letting her sleep on his chest so she wouldn’t come in contact with the sheets as he kneads her asscheeks with gentle hands.

He could never have his hands to himself when she’s cooking and baking for them. Always, poking and prodding around having her head tucked under his chin, her embraced in his arms from back swaying them along to Hozier while she reads the recipe she wrote on one of the tiles.

“Stop!” She giggles, squirming in his arms when he blows raspberries against the dip of her neck and then creates growly noises biting and lapping into her skin, “You’re gonna burn our lunch!” She pressed her hips against his crotch to push him away and that warmed him more, delving his fingers more into her hips with a throaty groan.

“We could have a takeout.” His breath shuddery against her ear as he tries to pry the spatula away from her and kiss her grumpy whines down when the pots actually got burned, “I’ll wash and scratch them.” He’d assure picking her up and wrapping her legs around his hips and slipping his fingers in her hair to tug them and bring her mouth down against his’s to taste her.

“Wants to fuck you so bad, baby. My cock’s been weepy fo’ hours without your touch.” He groans, taking her hand and sneaking it inside his joggers to make her feel how stiff and erect he’s for her.

“I just gave you a blowie in the morning!”

“Blowie isn’t equivalent to fucking!”

“What y'readin,?” He scoots closer to her end of sofa with a smirk and towers over her trying to take a peek of whatever she’s reading with such intensity and then rake his warm palms up her calves to lay them over his thighs while he snuggles her wrapping a chonky blanket around them.

“Shhh baby girl, just want you to be more comfy.” He mumbles into her hair scratching his short nails against her scalp in soothing motions and watch her melt against his touch, eyes fluttering as she lurks dangerously to the verge of sleep.

“You always do that. Whenever the hot part’s about to come, you make me all sleepy.” She mutters laying her head against his clavicles gazing him up with hazy eyes, sighing in feign disappointment when he grins down at her in quite victory and gives her a sloppy kiss.

“What do y'need erotica fo’ baby? When your man’s the living walking momentum of sex.” He pouts, grazing his teeth down her neck and leaving a fresh hickey at her throat.

“That’s infact not, true. You’re such a cutie!” She beams up at him never failing to give him dancing butterflies in his stomach and he doesn’t admits it but he likes getting treated soft and gentle by his girlfriend.

“Such a shame. My own little love doesn’t find me sexy.” He grumps dramatically making her scramble hesitantly and turn to him in their tight embrace, cradling his face in her cold palms, “No. No. I find you sexy. I just don’t like sexualising you.” If Harry didn’t turn into a puddle before he indeed did now as he melted into her touch and kissed the inside of her hands lovingly.

“You’re sucha sap!” He whispers at her in fake offence and plant his lips against hers, patting her bum to make her hug him more tightly.

On cleaning and laundry day’s. He’s always helping her. As they scrub and mop the floors together, might fuck on them bubbly floors too if Harry’s lusty gaze remains on her spilling tits for too long.

“Thinks your floral bra needs a wash too, moppet.” His gradual attempts to lure her with his fingers stroking her thighs seductively always turns into a win when she nods shyly into his neck and let him have an easy access to her panties.

They’re always having a warm, full of essence bath together cleaning and washing the dirt off eachother after that.

Then sharing a cuppa tea while folding their clothes together on the bed and he’s always trying to tackle her into mattress when she laughs at his terribly folded clothes compared to her neatly binded ones.

“Your sucha menace,” He jests with his nose skewered up while he smacks her ass.

“Talk for yourself, Styles.” She retorts, tangling her knee around his waist and pulling him down into him. Puffing out relaxed breaths upon feeling safe and protected under his weight and Harry always smiles into the crook of her neck when she tries to cuddle him as if she wants to be his skin.

He’s the most daddiest when she’s drunk, sick or stressed.

Never letting her go out of his sight when she’s dancing on the floor with her friends. If some man even tries to approach her and breaths in her direction he’s sprinting towards her and pawing at her hips to situate her closer to him whilst blowing those potential guys off with a monotone expression.

“Harry! Do a lil dancey dance with me!” She giggles, making him sway with her and looking up at him with glassy floaty eyes.

“Bunny. ‘s late, time to go home.” He tells her, pinching her chin to plant his lips against hers and she squirms giving him a timid smile, “Okie. But I’ve to pee.”

“Me too!” Her friends chimes from behind her and Harry rolls his eyes playfully, gesturing all of them to follow him.

“C’mon you spies, not lettin’ ya’ll go alone.”

He waits for them outside the washroom while they do their business and he has his arms always splayed open for when his lovie comes back and he’s welcoming her in his embrace warmly with a sweet smile.

Dying with fond injecting in his every vein when she slurs and blabbers, “Home.”

Walking her up the stairs of their flat’s building is the most hefty struggle while she’s a sleepy, clumsy and giggly muck of doe gleaming eyes and swollen pretty lips drooling over Harry testing his patience while he makes her take one step at a time.

“Darling, bunny, just some mo' steps lovin’.” He coos at her, putting a firm hand under her bum and heaving her up into him so she doesn’t falls.

“Mhmmm you’re so pretty, daddy.” Harry’s head snaps in surprise as he stares down at her in adoring amusement and push her head under his chin while she slings her arms around his waist lazily.

Sometimes, she gets him so flustered he doesn’t know how to respond.

She whines and cries in dishevelment when Harry makes her sit on the cold marble counter and wipes her makeup off.

“I just wan’ to sleep!” She toes at his torso trying to push him away but he grabs it and tuts, glowering at her strictly, “You’re g'na complain in the mornin’. Sleepin’ with makeup makes ye' breakout remember?” When she still huffs and slumps giving him a hard time to clean her he’s pinching her chin and giving her a gentle jerk.

“Bunny. Stop with ye' battiness.” He grunts not letting his facade slip when she mewls stroking her cheek up and down his lightly stubble covered cheek softly.

“Else what? Y'never punish a sleepy bunny.” She smirks at him foppishly and lazily knowing damn well that one of thing Harry doesn’t do’s tease or punish her when she’s tuckered out and on the edge of sleeping on him.

“You don’t test me bratty woman.” She squeals when he takes hold of her panties to pull them down her legs, slapping her mound once discarding it in the hamper and he sighs when she’s already snoring lightly, slobbering his throat with her mouth parted comically.

After pattering her face with loving kisses he’s tucking her under the layers of blankets and letting her use him as her stuffie.

“Aw poor baby.” He mumbles, kissing her forehead when he finds her burning up against him and he’s quickly rummaging for thermometer from the night stand and the tissues he had stashed for emergencies.

“I don’t feel good,” His heart breaks when Y/N croaks out weakly and tries to crawl up his chest to stuff her face in his musky neck but her frail limbs gives out making her cry out.

“It’s okay bunny, ‘s okay. How but I make you some soup. Then y'take your medicines like a good girl of mine, then if your condition gets worse we’ll go to doctor, yeah baby?” He talks to her gently and sweetly, stroking her hair and peppering kisses to her temples.

“Just last bite, moppet.” Harry hovers the spoon infront of her and sighs when she shakes her head pushing his wrist away, “I’ll puke.” She sniffs blowing her nose harshly in the tissue .

“The bin’s right here, bunny.” He smoothens his hand down her spine putting the tray aside carefully to snuggle and comfort her as she cries softly against his chest.

“’M so sorry baby, you’ll be alright in the morning.” He couldn’t see her in such condition. It pulls and tugs at his heart so painfully he feels himself hurting.

“Oi. Why you crying, hmm?” He cups her cheek and makes her look at him as she skims her eyes away from him jn embarrassment.

“I —- You’re so caring and loving, treats me so good and it makes me c.. cr–-,” She hiccups finding it hard to breath and Harry rubs her back, whispering affinities in her ear making her finally sob, “Cry....” He chuckles softly pelting kisses upon kisses on her puffy eyelids, soaky dried up cheeks, her frowned up forehead, her wobbly chin and her nipping love bites down her chest then blowing raspberries at his own slick covering her skin making her giggle through her hiccups.

“I love you.” She whispers droopily, head lulling to his chest when the effect of medicine finally starts to kick in.

“I love you too, I want my healthy and happy bunny back.” He mumbles, inhaling a huge puff of her scent and squishes her lovingly.

#harry styles imagines #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry smut #cute harry #harry styles #fluff #harry angst #hsh #dom harry

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honey-milk-depresso · 3 years

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The Wild and The Quiet (Floyd Leech x Kuudere Reader)

Part 1 : How You caught feelings in your fishing net.

“Koebi chan~~~!”

“...hi, Floyd..”

“Where are you going???”

“...back to Ramshackle..”

“Ehh??~ Can I come~?”

“...fine...”

It was quite funny to see the two of you interact. You and Floyd were complete polar opposites of each other, where Floyd is that wild, rambunctious and certainly loud student, you were the much calmer, shy (or seemingly emotionless-) and quiet student.

Well, you know what they say, opposites do attract.

How Floyd even got attached to you was a mystery even to yourself.

You had no idea how he even started clinging and conversing with you everyday at every hour. You didn’t try to bath in the limelight, well, accept you possessing no magic. But that certainly wouldn’t attract anybody, right? There’s nothing spectacular about that. In fact, that would have sounded lame and boring to anyone’s ears, so certainly Floyd wouldn’t be interested in something “boring”, right? Well....

Floyd at first, for the most part, scared you like any other student would be scared of Floyd. He was tall and intimidating, his attitude is very unexpected, at one point he’s smiling and another his face darkens and your met with his fist. You never know, and that’s what scared you sometimes.

But, you never showed that fear. Towards him. Towards anyone. Something in you had always made you tell yourself: “Don’t show them how vulnerable you are.”

Over time, you got used to the large, rambunctious mer-eel’s shenanigans. And over time, you secretly enjoyed his company. You just thought of it as him always treating his friends like this. Although, you would admit, you wanted your relationship with him to grow a little further.

Stepping into the Ramshackle dorm, you made way for Floyd to come in to which he sloppily went in before making himself comfortable on your couch.

You put down your bag and took out your notes and homework, before heading to the coffee table, where Floyd rested on the couch behind it to do your work. Floyd stared at you lazily as you scribbled away formulas and answers.

“...You don’t have work to do?”

“Eh~~ I can do it later.”

“...You should do it now.”

“Huh~~~? I don’t feel like it..”

You stopped writing and glance back at him, he closes his eyes as he wore a relaxed expression on his features. You hesitated a little, eyes averting away from him for a few seconds before turning away from him again.

“.......Want to do homework with me...?”

His eyes shot opened and widened. This was one of the rare moments where you offer him to do something with you. It’s usually him who forces offer you to do something with him, but it seems the tables have turned. He smiled a toothy grin before standing up and bending low where he rested his chin on your shoulders.

“Ehehehe~! Why didn’t you say so!”

Just went he placed his chin on your shoulders, you swore you shivered a little due to the skin sudden cold feeling of his skin. Of course, you showed no sign of being affected, and just shifted more to the left sub consciously.

Floyd came back with his own homework and writing materials, but rather than sitting opposite from you, he sat beside you on your right, which made both your elbows rub in contact of each other, making it even harder for you to focus on your work as your flustered emotions continued rising inside of you, harder to contain.

Floyd was simply oblivious and in his own bliss of being able to do something together with you and did his work.

A few moments of him being halfway distracted and started talking to you, to which you asked him to go back to his own paper continuously, you finished your second to last worksheet. All that’s left is the alchemy worksheet Professor Crewel has given you today, which was assigned tomorrow. Obviously do it now, who wants to be discipline by the strictest professor around.

You took it out of your file and.... it’s crumpled, almost life it was bleached, as the ink prints were faded and smudged. Words were written all over it: Loser, weirdo, bitch.. a bunch of nasty nicknames which you admitted kind of put you down.

You should’ve known. Those Savanaclaw delinquents and their constant bullying towards you. Jack had to always chase them away for you, but he doesn’t take the same Alchemy class as you did. Those Savanclaw students did on purpose so that you would be scolded by Professor Crewel for having a toilet paper of a worksheet. Great, now you have to ask Deuce or Ace. Grim certainly can’t help.

“Hmmmm~? Is koebi chan spacing out? I though you told me to focus, now it’s my turn~!”

He tried snatching the crumpled and vandalized worksheet out of your hand, but you immediately caught it before he could even view it to his face.

Truthfully, you didn’t want him to see it as you felt like you would look stupid in front of him. When it comes to being bullied, you rather hide it than tell anyone about it. That feeling of hiding it made you turn on your instincts and told you to take it back, hoping that Floyd would just let go.

Yeah, those chances of him letting go of something unknown to him were a chances of slim to nothing.

He held on and tried pulling it out of your grip, and he proved to be much stronger than you, easily getting the worksheet.

He faced away from you as you only crouched back, a little nervous of the outcome.

“....Who did this, y/n...?”

You gulped internally. You had never heard him in such a low, threatening tone. And it’s been quite a while since you heard him call you by your real name.

“Nothing.”

“Koebi. Tell me. Now.”

“I really don’t know.”

Floyd isn’t stupid, and you know. He knows when something’s up, and he would be very persistent in figuring out the situation. It’s his job together with Jade. So why bother denying to him?

“....”

“.....”

“Why do you care?”

Ouch. You didn’t mean to sound harsh towards him.

Without hesitation, he immediately replied.

“I care about you, obviously.”

======================================================

“What..”

You saw a familiar teal haired eel in his lab coat, sleeping soundly under the shade of a tree.

You were carrying blankets and pillowcases you collected from the Heartslabyul dorm. Trey and Riddle allowed you to used their clothes dryer to hang your blankets and stuff. Pretty neat.

You stared at the peaceful eel. He’s way more different than his wild usual self. You couldn’t help but think he looked cute. He really did. Then you took note of his lab coat. He had alchemy. And Floyd only sleeps at random places if he ever felt moody or sleepy. Maybe he had a rough day in Alchemy class?

Well I mean, who wouldn’t? Professor Crewel and his ridiculous amounts of homework with his seemingly impossible to meet deadlines.

You quietly knelt beside Floyd and gently draped the blanket around him. Seems like he really is deep in sleep. Sitting down beside him you looked up to the sky and took a deep breath.

Lazily, you felt your eyelids feeling heavy, unconsciously falling asleep on Floyd’s arm. You didn’t mean to, but you were so tired yourself.

Little did you two know, that Azul and Jade were trying to search for Floyd, and only find you and him sleeping.

And little did you know, that Floyd used his fingers to intertwined with yours.

===========================================================

“Oh..”

Cornered by the same Savanaclaw delinquents. Just great.

They’re probably here to extort your food and valuables again.

You know you said you hated looking vulnerable, but you also hated getting into trouble. So you just complied and gave them your bag.

They dumped out all your contents out of your bag, crushing and stepping on them.

In your head, you’re insulting them of how they are equivalent to an angry baby throwing a tantrum, but on the outside, you remain stoic.

Emotionless.

“Hey.”

All four of you immediately looked to the left upon hearing a dreaded voice. Floyd stood, casting a dark shadow as his eyes gleamed danger. The Savanaclaw students stopped their harassing and cower at the sight of the tall eel.

“You three were lucky I didn’t chase you down two weeks ago, after you ruined Koebi Chan’s homework. This time, I’m not holding back.”

You closed your eyes shut as you could only hear screaming from the Savanaclaw students, you went behind the door of your empty classroom until you heard only silence.

Three Savanaclaw students all passed out on the ground. Floyd gave them one last menacing look before he met your eyes with his dramatically softened ones.

He cling onto you.

“Ne~~~ Koebi Chan! You should’ve told them to stay away from you~”

“I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“Huh~~~~? But you need to toughen up a bit~”

“What are you going to do with them?”

He glanced back to the pile of students he had created.

“Ehehehehe~~~ I’m sure they’ll wake up!”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

His sudden change of his easy going attitude to a serious one slightly caught you off guard.

And then very quickly, he grinned a toothy grin.

“Koebi Chan shouldn’t let others tell you what to do!”

He took your hand in his.

“I will protect you! But make sure to protect yourself, too! Ehehehehe~~!”

Something in you told you that the warm feeling blooming in your chest, would only grow bigger.

============================================================

Want me to do part 2????

How to procrastinate 24/7

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #twst floyd #twisted wonderland floyd #twst floyd x reader #kuudere reader #floyd leech x reader oneshot #octavinelle #octavinelle x reader #twisted wonderland floyd x reader

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write-out-hysteria · 4 years

Text

Care

Matsukawa x gn reader fluff

Author’s Note: This is sort of a prequel to my first fic? It’s a lot longer though and uh, tw disordered eating maybe

For as long as Issei had worked this job, he had been an early riser. He rose before the sun, sitting down on the edge of the bed while you lay fast asleep. He stretched and popped and cracked instinctively before getting up to brush his teeth. He’d walk, eyes still half closed, to his ‘home gym,’ or the space in the guest bedroom he had converted, knowing full well you wanted it in the garage. ‘It’s too spooky in there in the morning,’ he’d laugh, both of you knowing he just wanted to work out in the air conditioned room.

He’d finish off with yoga and meditation, centering his mind, body, and spirit, before hopping into the warm shower. He’d always leave the bathroom door open in case you woke up, ready to goofily tease you before you even remembered where you were.

“You like what you see, baby?” He’d wink, holding his Discobolus pose as you shook your head.

“Put some clothes on, Zeus,” you rolled back over but soon heard footsteps approaching.

“I’m offended that you’d compare me to the most promiscuous man on Mt. Olympus,” he kneeled next to the bed, grabbing your chin in his hand. “I’d prefer to be Perseus, and have my Andromeda ruling at my side.”

“It’s too early,” you dragged out the syllables as Issei rested his hand on your hip beneath the covers.

“What do you want for breakfast, sweetie? I can make pancakes,” he pressed a kiss to your hand resting on the pillow. You nodded, pulling the blanket back over your shoulders.

“I’m sure Perseus wore pants.” He rose, grabbing a pair of cobalt blue boxer briefs from the shared dresser.

“I’m sure Andromeda made the pancakes.”

Your arms found their way around Issei’s firm torso while he flipped each finished pancake on either of the two plates on the counter. He had a system, every other pancake was chocolate chip, “maybe you’ll be sweeter to me if I give you sugar,” he’d always say. The plain ones were for him, though he would spread peanut butter over them anyway. He’d learned that from you the first time he had made you pancakes, the first time you had spent the night in his arms.

“Do you want anything else, angel?” You shook your head against his back. He carefully turned around, handing you your plate. “I’m surprised you’re up so early,” he laughed.

“It was cold last night, had you brought out the winter blankets like I asked, I probably wouldn’t be.” You had made your way to the stool at the counter by now, cutting into your pancakes eagerly. It was his turn to hold you now, nuzzling his face into your neck after leaving a soft kiss on your jaw.

“Just say you missed me, baby. That’s okay, too.”

“Do you want to meet at that ramen place for lunch?” Issei was getting ready for his break, awaiting your text response. He was going to go anyway, he hadn’t packed any food. He just wouldn’t mind picking you up on his way.

“I can’t, I have a lunch meeting.” He frowned, those usually meant the worst for you.

“Do you want me to drop something off for you?”

“I’m not hungry,” he rolled his eyes before putting his phone back in his pocket, walking calmly down the street.

He had been battling your loss of appetite due to stress for the entirety of your relationship without much luck. He had never been one to push, but sometimes the only food he could assure you ate was breakfast. He had only gotten you to eat breakfast by making dinner early, leaving you starving by morning. It was only on bad days, it’s like your body would forget. Sometimes you noticed, but were afraid of getting sick if you ate something when you had already felt “full.”

He ate his ramen, debating bringing some back for dinner. There had been weeks where you ate the equivalent of one large meal a day. Every ‘not hungry’ made him fear a week like that, making food that you’d barely touch and praying you’d take it to work with you tomorrow so you wouldn’t wither away. His only solution up to this point was eating, and reminding you that normally this is when you’d eat too. Using your love for routine against you was his only hope, and it hadn’t been working as well as he wanted.

He could tell you felt bad about not eating, that you felt bad about worrying him. What else were you supposed to do if you simply weren’t hungry? Force feeding only made you feel inadequate, you felt full after half a sandwich or a few bites of pasta. The thought of eating a full protein made you sick. At your lowest points you’d start crying while watching tv with him, watching him snack on something you couldn’t bare the thought of consuming. ‘Issei, what’s wrong with me?’ He never knew what to say. When you got stressed your body simply refused fuel, and that worried him.

“How was work, angel?” His job had given him the ability to appear entirely composed regardless of the environment. You could never tell if he was stressed unless he dropped the facade and told you. When it was about you, he’d never tell you. When it was about you, though, you could tell. Issei was always caring. If he could tell you were in distress he’d pull out all the stops. He’d light lavender candles, he’d cook, he’d clean the counter. He wouldn’t complain if you wanted to watch something he didn’t, he wasn’t planning on taking his attention off of your subtle emotional responses.

“It was okay,” you lied. He already knew it wasn’t, but you didn’t want to talk about it. He always got home before you did, he didn’t have nearly as many responsibilities as you did. His work didn’t change, yours did. New projects meant new worries and new responsibilities.

“I’m almost done making dinner,” you had dropped your things by the door as soon as you stepped inside, making your way towards the man slaving over a pot of chicken soup. “I took the winter blankets out, I thought this might help warm you up.” You snaked your arms around his waist, hiding your face into his back as it warmed up, holding the tears welling up in your eyes. You could eat a little bit of soup, just a little bit, if it would make him feel better.

“Thank you,” you let out a deep sigh into his back. “I’m gonna shower.” He was already in his ‘pajamas.’ Issei ran too hot to sleep in anything but underwear, but enjoyed lounging around the house in your oversized Batman pants. You’d offered to buy him his own so you could match, but he said it wouldn’t be the same.

You both sunk onto the couch, searching for something comforting to watch. Maybe a disney movie, or something else you’d seen a million times. “You know how I played volleyball in high school?”

“Yeah, why?” You hadn’t forgotten. He even taught you how to play so your beach trips would be more fun.

“After practice Makki and I would compete to see who could make the better protein shake. I always won.” You laughed, probably way too much.

“You’re bragging to me about protein shakes you made 10 years ago?”

“What? They were good! Have some faith in me,” the movie kept playing, he tightened his grip around your waist. “I have no clue how I’d drink one everyday, though. If I had one now I’d probably puke. Oh, the joys of youth,” he laughed.

“Are you still hungry or something?” He wasn’t, his teenage athlete appetite had gone away as he aged.

“I was thinking about dessert.”

“I’ve had your protein shakes, I wouldn’t consider them a sweet treat.” He gasped, feigning offense.

“You know how much I hate protein powder, you think I was downing that everyday in high school?” You looked at him confused. His current protein shakes weren’t bad, for a protein shake at least. “It’s an acquired taste, and I still hold my nose and chug it.”You laughed at one of your favorite Matsukawa quirks.

“So why'd you stop making them taste good?”

“I was too broke in college to buy all that ice cream.”

“Ice cream? For protein shakes?” He rolled his eyes before pausing the movie.

“I’m gonna make you one, you’re underestimating my 17 year old metabolism.” He stood up, gesturing that you stay put. Issei was having another chaotic urge, apparently.

You turned on the couch, facing the kitchen instead of the tv. He began pulling every sugary food out of the pantry and fridge. Every flavor of ice cream, cookies, granola bars, peanut butter, anything and everything sweet. “You’re using all of that?” He nodded, haphazardly throwing everything in the blender followed by some milk, chocolate syrup, and two scoops of his protein powder. This really was a chaotic recipe, straight from the mind of a gross teenaged boy.

He came back to the couch with glasses for each of them, they looked like they had been filled with a child’s birthday cake puke. “Drink it, I promise it’s good! It’s so you can’t taste the protein powder.” It probably just tastes like chocolate and peanut butter, but you were still hesitant to drink it. “I promise, the team always liked mine better than Makki's.”

You held the glass up to your mouth, slowly drinking it, widening your eyes when you realized how good it actually was. You understood now. Your 26 year old bodies would cease to function if you had these everyday. You couldn’t pull the glass away until you were done.

“Yeah, I definitely didn’t think it’d be that good.” You laughed, wiping your upper lip.

“You couldn’t taste the protein powder right?” You nodded, watching him sip slowly on his, as his face suddenly scrunched up. “You know, I ate a lot at dinner. I probably shouldn’t drink the rest of this. You want it?” You shrugged, taking the glass out of his hand, drinking the rest like you hadn’t eaten anything all day. Oh wait, he thought. You haven’t for 14 hours. Oh wait, he thought, this is it. This was the solution to his biggest worry. A hidden reset button, your sweet tooth.

#hq #haikyuu!! x reader #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #mattsun #gn reader

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dastardlydandelion · 3 years

Note

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one.

ao3 link

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * *

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * *

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * *

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * *

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

#billy hargrove #susan hargrove #neil hargrove #my fic tag #anonymoose #can't get enough of these two as a murder duo

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pinkandgreenroom · 3 years

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There is this one band I really love and it's so nice listening to them cause their music is the equivalent of being wrapped in a warm blanket with a hot chocolat on a cold and rainy day for me as well as being embraced in a really nice hug....like the music just touches something deep inside me and just makes me content in a way that I haven't experienced it with any other band...a lot of music makes me happy but content is an emotion that I rarely experience in music

#it just feels wholesome to listen to them #personal shit

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levisnackajack · 4 years

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The Wrath of War

Chapter Nineteen

He didn’t visit her again.

A constant vortex of hurt spiraled within Eden. Her mind never left her at peace. Nausea became such a great part of her; the poor girl had forgotten what it felt like to be healthy.

She constantly stayed up, wondering where she had gone wrong; what she had done to offend him and whether their shared, heated moment was just a miscalculation caused by the depths of trauma inflicted upon them during the hours beyond the walls.

Her thoughts would pierce her brain with such intense magnitude; she would often fall asleep with tears still streaking down her face.

Eating was another burden. Mikasa, or Sasha, or even Jean would come to her and force her to eat. She just didn’t have it in her to continue pretending Levi didn’t excessively impact her.

That was one of the only things she’d look forward to in her life; getting back on her feet and her friends’ constant visits. Sasha and Connie would always try and make her laugh with their foolish bickering and mindless ideas. Historia would sit with her quietly; pulling her hair into small braids or just combing the tousles out. Mikasa would come and read to her, attentively ensuring her plate was licked clean. Eren and Armin would pop by as well and try to ease her mind from her injuries by reminiscing about their childhood. Armin would remain quiet most of the times, leaving the talking to the other boy.

And then there was Jean.

Sometimes, he would visit her very early in the morning; before training. He would talk to her about the upcoming missions and then bicker with her about their equivalently effective combat skills, always smirking when Eden would say she could still kick his ass, albeit all the fractures she’d grown accustomed to.

He would also come and visit her late at night when she yet again couldn’t close her eyes in peace and beckon sleep. They would talk about life beyond the walls, wondering just how different people would be...if there even were any people left.

But, Eden never uttered out a single word regarding her and the Captain to anyone. Her friends could see the dimness in her eyes- the fiery flame long extinguished by a reason unbeknownst to them. The charcoal-haired girl physically wouldn’t bring herself to let the words roll off the tip of her tongue; afraid it would bring a wave of emotions that would subsequently make her crumble.

Yet, her eyes would always flicker towards the door; hoping she’d see the man her heart yearned for walk in.

After nearly two weeks, she could finally start going on walks around the HQ. She’d stroll around before the brink of dawn or at some ungodly hour during the night; afraid she’d accidentally fall captive to a pair of soft, steel eyes.

Her ribs and head trauma had slowly healed and Eden began craving the taste of being out sparring with her friends again.

Then one day, she was laying in bed, reading one of Mikasa’s book when a timid knock sounded from the other side. She perked up quickly, snapping the book shut whilst meekly affirming to the other individual that it was okay for them to enter.

Her heart faltered in disappointment; eyes threatening to well up with tears yet again as Armin walked in shyly.

Eden sent him a sweet smile, thanking the fact that he was still not close enough to see how her bottom lip wobbled. He returned the grin as he walked towards her hastily.

“Eden,” her childhood best friend greeted, sitting beside her on the bed, handing her a blossoming chamomile flower.

Eden’s heart clenched at the flower.

“How are your ribs?” Armin inquired whilst placing his hands on his lap, fingers twitching as he pulled at his sleeves.

“I’m as healthy as a horse,” Eden replied cynically, running a hand over her face as she blinked back at him. She could tell there were something specific on his mind by the way his brows furrowed. His physiognomy was no secret to her; she could read him like an open book- just like she could read both Mikasa and Eren.

“I’m sorry about that day,” he suddenly blurts out; startling the girl.

There it was.

“What are you talking about?” She asked him softly, pulling her knees to her chest, listening to him snivel. He shook his head, lowering it as he spoke.

“I lost control of my emotions. Instead of jumping into action as soon as that titan grabbed you; my feet felt cemented to the ground. If Jean wasn’t there...-” Armin snapped his head away from the girl, tears swimming in his eyes, grazing down his cheeks rapidly.

“Armin,” she called out for him, her voice sickly sweet as her heart cracked at the sight of the boy crying. She took his hand in hers, gently urging him to look at her.

The rigidness in her eyes dissolved as she helped him calm down, the smile on her lips reassuring and warm. “Don’t ever blame yourself for what happened. Truth be told, I probably would have reacted the same way. Seeing you get picked up by a titan...or Eren...or Mikasa...I’d just be petrified. There’s absolutely no way for me to recover if I ever lost you,” Eden whispered to him, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

His arms wrapped around her tightly, body shaking with the tremors of the quiet sobs that spilt against Eden’s shirt. She held him there; her mind recollecting the way she’d hold Armin every time they’d catch him beaten under his bullies’ boots. Their other two friends would chase them away, but Eden would stay behind and calm Armin down. He was like her baby brother, and watching him feel guilty for freezing utterly broke her.

“Armin you’re so bright and such a genius. You can’t deny that fact when Commander Erwin bestowed the previous expedition’s strategic plans to not only Hange, but to you too. Shit happens, we’re at war. You froze, but you had a comrade that was there to help out. Don’t blame yourself for ‘what if’ situations,” she continued, pushing the sun ray strands of hair out of his eyes.

Nodding tightly, Armin wiped the tears away, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just, the thought makes me sick to my stomach, Eden.”

In turn, the girl hummed in agreement; handing him her untouched glass of water that sat upright on her nightstand.

After about an hour, Eden finally managed to steal Armin’s memories of that dreadful day away, even if it were just for a short period of time. She spoke to him about training and Eren and the horses in the stable- pretty much anything to keep his wrestling thoughts at bay.

That was until, Armin gazed at her through curious, sea-blue eyes, his words making her heart feel like it was squeezing her throat shut.

“So are you and Jean...like a thing now?”

She sat there blinking at him for a long moment; trying her best to keep the thick layer of emotions off his radar.

“We were...something,” she began, and for some reason, the glint in Armin’s eyes made her feel reassured. Like it was okay for her to finally reveal her inner thoughts. He always had a way of assuring the girl that she could share anything with him. It was just the kind of person he was.

“It was nothing official; but it was there. But, Jean decided it was best to end it. I guess I have no one else but myself to blame for that,” Eden sighed, her chest shaking as she closed her eyes- begging for the tears to not glisten across her pupils. But, it was too late.

“Why would it be your fault?” Armin urged her. He knew what type of person Eden was, too.

She was a sensitive girl that had troubles expressing her feelings. When they were growing up together, he would always be the one holding the paintbrush, urging her to paint out her feelings- convincing her that nothing harmful would come her way if she opened up about all that bubbled up within her soul; weighing her down.

Dropping her head, she let out a loud sob. It was now her turn to break down. Thinking back to Jean; guilt ebbed away at her conscience. “It just is. He’s such a sweetheart and being with him felt comfortable. He was someone I can wholeheartedly trust and rely on to stick by me through thick and thin. A-and I feel so lost, it’s like I’m drowning in my own thoughts,” she continued, her voice cracking, filling up with immense pain to the brim.

“Perhaps something happened that led him to reaching his ultimate decision?” Armin inquired, shifting closer to Eden as he rubbed a soothing hand over her back.

The broken girl cradled her head with her palms, shaking from side to side at the flickering images of Captain Levi washing through her mind. It was like torture, watching something that brought up so many sickly emotions within her over and over again.

Speaking about it was even worse.

“Everything is so unclear to me, Armin,” she cried, the feelings seeping out of her unstoppably, “He came here and told me he couldn’t be with me anymore because he didn’t want to feel like he was sharing me with someone. He wouldn’t dwell on it; but he reassured me that whatever happened, he’d be by my side. He also told me that when he pulled me out of the titan’s grasp, I had called for the Captain instead of him before passing out.” Eden ducked her head, wanting the blankets to swallow her whole.

She had never admitted anything regarding her and Captain to a single soul; afraid that she spoke it out into the world, it would solidify whatever emotions scorched her body to a different extent.

Armin patiently waited for Eden to recollect her messed up thoughts, her sobs low and heart wrenching- sending around the type of pain that makes ones organs shrivel up inside their body.

“I’ve always had such a hot and cold relationship with the Captain. Sometimes, he’s so good to me; and he looks at me as though I am an equal instead of a freshly-recruited Scout. Then, other times I feel like he’s the cruelest person in the world. He kissed me, you know?” Eden began rambling; finally ready to rid herself of all the baggage holding her heart. “He came in after Jean had left and we spoke. Then, he kissed me...”

There was a long pause as Armin processed her words carefully, trying his best to conceal the fact that his friend had just confessed to kissing the most intimidating man on base.

“I think it’s perfectly understandable for you to feel confused,” Armin began, his soft, comforting voice sounding like a beautiful melody to the heartbroken girl.

She stared at him through thick tears; speckles of green and brown swirling around her pupils when she blinked.

“I’ve noticed the way he looks at you during training, but naturally, I disregarded any additional thoughts just because I always assumed he was just highly impressed by your skills. But, now that you’re saying all this, it makes sense,” Armin mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled back at her.

“Nothing makes sense,” Eden spat the words out as though they were laced with poison, wrapping her arms around her knees tightly. “He kissed me and he’s not spoken to me in nearly two weeks. I feel like I can’t keep up with this game.”

“Eden, you’re one of the strongest people I know. I’m sure you’ll get through this without my opinions clouding over you. But, you should just listen to your heart. Your heart is the one thing that can dictate your feelings and truly make you realize what it is you want exactly. Open your eyes and look for the thing yearned by your heart.”

His words had struck a cord in her. Long after he had left, Eden thrashed in bed, thinking hard about what Armin had neatly laid before her.

She sighed to herself, pressing her palm against her chest, feeling the way her heart beat behind her ribcage.

“What the fuck do you want?” She muttered before concealing her body under the thick duvet and falling into the grips of a deep slumber; for the first time in a very long time; feeling somewhat at peace.

The following few days, Eden caught glimpses of the Captain here and there. But, he never advanced towards her; therefore she never approached him. Often, he’d catch her stare from afar and his eyes would shift away almost immediately. It made Eden’s chest burn with displeasure as she’d huff irritably and stalk off the other way.

But, what she’d never know was how Levi’s stormy grey eyes would always fixate on her retreating figure; drinking every single detail about her in before she’d disappear back into the castle

Spending the days watching her comrades train from afar; she felt too afraid to actually move closer to them. She’d watch the way Levi’s hair would be ruffled by the wind’s slender fingers. The way his features would contort into an irritated sneer if someone messed up during any part of the training sessions.

Then one day, she waited by the stone walls of the HQ, arms wrapped around herself; watching her friends gasp for air after finally finishing their seeming endless amount of laps. The sun was setting, a warm orange blanket tainting the earth.

Jean stalked towards her, chest heaving as his cheeks were painted a pretty soft shade of pink. Eden raised a brow at him, pushing herself off the wall as she met him halfway.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to pass out because he made you run a few laps...-”

He glared at her menacingly before letting out a snort. “Are you kidding me? We’ve been running for the past hour and a half, nonstop. Did you not see what he did to Connie when he bent over to ‘tie his shoelaces’?”

Eden laughed as the memory of Levi pulling Connie up by the ear flickered through her mind. “Poor boy. And to think he thought that he had come up with a sly excuse to rest.”

Jean offered to accompany her on her walk and they fell into a whirlwind of conversations about everything. She’d tease him about his stance and he’d bully her about her tousled her; immediately apologizing when she feigned offence.

“I thought you knew how to take a joke, Jeanie-boy,” she snickered at him, gently elbowing him when he glowered at her.

“I can take a joke darling. I just don’t know how far I can push it,” he muttered under his breath, draping his heavy jacket over her shoulders when a cool breeze settled around them.

“Oh you! Although always making fun of your fighting skills; you know that deep down, I sincerely admire your upper cut punches,” she retorted, eyes glinting up at him when his lips curled into a smirk.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Do keep going...-”

The sun was a long forgotten memory for the day as grasshoppers chirped into the darkness; the two soldiers' boots grinding against the pebbles as they made their way around the front area of the headquarters. Eden swore that she’d seen someone walk into the stables with her peripheral vision before brushing it off solemnly; knowing for a fact that if someone did go to tend to the horses; it most probably wouldn’t be the person she was craving to see.

Taking his jacket out of her extended grasp, Jean began making his way up the steps towards the grand entrance of the base when Eden spoke up softly.

“I want to stay out a little longer. I’m so sick of laying in bed all day. This is the only form of exercise I can add to my new routine. And as much as I’d love to take up your offer to spar in secret; my nurse would beat me back into bed if she did find out. Trust me when I tell you, she wasn’t exactly nice when she caught me doing sit ups in my room one morning,” she sighed tiredly, rubbing her eyes until stars peppered her vision.

“Oh right, no problem, I’ll leave you to it and pass by to hang out later on tonight. I need to eat now,” he rambled, stepping back down towards Eden, causing her to stiffen ever so slightly at the gentle touch of his fingertips brushing her hair behind her ear.

She looked up at him with widened eyes as he craned his neck, planting a faint kiss at the corner of her mouth.

“I miss you,” Jean muttered out grimly as he ran his fingers through her wavy hair. Her heart began galloping in her chest as Armin’s soft voice gently beckoned her to recall his words.

What does your heart want?

Eden reluctantly took a step back, tenderly catching his wrist with her fingers. “Jean, I...-”

“I know, I know. See you later, darling,” he replied quickly, kissing her knuckles before walking away; leaving Eden alone with her overwhelming thoughts.

She walked for a long time, kicking the rocks from under her boots; tucking at her hair as she thought deeply about her life.

It was strange to think about the little, frail girl she once was- constantly disregarded as a human being by her ignorant parents. She’d always seek comfort in her friends, until one day, she decided it would be best to bottle up her emotions and tuck them far away from everything in the universe.

Eden was so deep in thought as she glared down at the ground; she didn’t pick up on the heavy, impending footsteps stalking towards her from behind.

She yelped as someone caught her by the wrist; twisting her around, slamming her body against the wall. Dropping her head, Eden let out a cough as the heavy air collided with her lungs.

Her heart skipped a beat; butterflies rousing in her stomach once she looked up to see her Captain pressed against her firmly; his eyes holding traces of seething somberness. She felt like she could cry out of happiness; but that ecstasy blended with the pain and anger she grew to feel for him after falling asleep every day, cradling her fractured heart.

“Captain,” she sighed out, inclining her head to face his ever so slightly as she felt his hips pressed against her in place. It took all within her not to bite her bottom lip as heat spread through her body like an unrestrainable wildfire.

Levi’s pupils grew darker as he listened to her soft, pleading voice. He held her wrist beside her head; using the weight of his body to keep her unmoving. It seemed like his plan ricocheted back towards him when she began writhing against him, a slice of his stoic façade ebbing away

His iron grip grew stronger as he leaned in towards her, tilting his head to the side as he watched her wide, amber eyes gaze at him.

“You guys didn’t seem very much ‘broken up’ to me,” Levi snapped at her, noting the way her eyes flickered to every single inch of his face.

Eden wanted to free herself from him; but the more she squirmed; the harder it was for her to focus on his words. Albeit the anger that ran its course through her body; the ultimate amount of proximity between them made her heart beat so fervently. She barely heard his words over the sound of her blood rushing to her ears.

She looked at him through hardened features and Levi’s eyes widened at the flicker of her lashes and the bittersweet blush that freckled her cheeks.

Parting her lips as she held his heated stare, Eden slowly retaliated, “We are broken up, sir.” Her words flowed through her lips as though she had just uttered out a sinful confession.

Levi’s eyes flashed with what seemed like contemplation; as if he was thoroughly processing each word in his head. Their eye contact didn’t waver as Eden grew to completely forget about the coldness of the nighttime wind. She stood pinned against the wall by Levi in the most staggering of ways. Every little twitch her body couldn’t hold in; she’d feel his body against hers and it drove her insane.

Levi huffed under his breath, the forearm pressed against her throat gently moving away so he could grip her hair with his fist.

He tilted her head to the side. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Eden watched his eyes flicker to her lips and she curled them slyly. Capturing his stare once more, she raised a brow.

“Is that a challenge?”

A dark glint blazed in his eyes as silky strands of hair fell over them. He leaned his head towards hers slowly, halting in the last moment when their noses brushed; lips a breath away from touching.

Eden’s chest moved rapidly as she tipped her chin up to meet him halfway; but a cruel smirk ghosted over his lips.

“I guess it is, brat,” he retaliated after a long pause before pulling away altogether. He stalked off authoritatively, leaving Eden burning up against the coldness of the stone wall.

Tags: @idiot-juice-enthusiast , @hadassackerman

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE FOLLOWS, COMMENTS, REBLOGS, LIKES AND TO THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE LEFT ME ANONYMOUS MESSAGES. You literally make my heart smile.

As always, link to the story in AO3 can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

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hanneswrites · 4 years

Text

miles away

Pairings: Hakuba Saguru/Kuroba Kaito

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary/Tags: Kaito’s touring Europe and misses Saguru. Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling. (cw for anxiety)

My @dcmksecretsanta gift for @faenova!

[Read on Ao3]

---

Kaito woke to an empty hotel bed, sheets cold and crisp beside him, and sighed. He rolled over onto his side and pulled the blankets tight over him, trying to will himself back to sleep. The clock read 3:14am, green light piercing through the pitch-dark of the room and making his eyes ache for a brief moment before he snapped them shut. And he tried, he really did try to go back to sleep. But the bed was so cold without Saguru cuddled up next to him and entirely too large without him flopped over half of it. Hell, he even missed how he would always hog all of the blankets.

Kaito groaned and pulled the covers up over his head. It wasn’t like this was his first time going out of town by himself. He used to travel all the time - visiting his mom in LA, touring all over Europe, even doing an odd show or two over in the U.S. But this time, for some ungodly reason, it was different.

He missed waking up to his partner, missed seeing him heading back in from his morning run, missed sitting at their tiny kitchen table and sipping coffee before they had to head off to work. It was only the third day of his trip, and Kaito was miserable. The next three weeks of traveling was looking more daunting by the minute, and he could feel his chest tighten at the thought of not seeing him for another three weeks.

Kaito checked the clock again - 3:17am. 3:17am in London was equivalent to a little past noon in Beika. Saguru would probably be holed away in his office if he hadn’t been roped into a case yet.

Kaito sighed and took his phone off the nightstand, swiping away a variety of unimportant notifications before unlocking it. His background photo was a picture of them on the day they bought their condo, and Kaito smiled just a tiny bit before clicking on his contacts app and promptly dialing Saguru’s office number.

It rang once, then twice, and the answering machine picked up, giving an automated message about Saguru being out of the office. Maybe he’d finally gotten tired of Kaito calling him at all hours of night and day. Kaito sighed and locked his phone screen, rolling over to bury his face in the hotel pillows that were way too soft to be comfortable.

After what felt like an eternity, Kaito lifted his head to check the clock again. 3:20am. It had only been three minutes. He unlocked his phone again and checked his messages - the last one from Saguru had been received roughly 7 hours ago. Saguru had texted him to wish him a good night before Kaito went to bed, even though it was roughly 5am in Beika at the time. It did warm his heart just a little to know that Saguru had woken up early just to text him good night, particularly because Saguru would generally scoff at the idea of getting up any time before 11am.

With that thought at the forefront of his mind, Kaito buried his face back into the pillows and eventually fell back into a quiet, restless sleep.

Kaito woke the next morning to a very low phone battery because he’d forgotten to plug it back in when he went back to sleep the night before and a good morning text from Saguru. A good morning text that he’d received at the exact minute his alarm went off, which made Kaito smile despite himself. The image of Saguru also missing him and counting down the minutes until he knew he’d be awake warming his heart.

Kaito shot back a text, asking how his day was going, and set about getting ready for his day.

Eight hours and three shows later, Kaito was starting to get a bit worried that Saguru hadn’t texted him back yet. He’d called once in between his second and third show and now that the fourth show was almost starting, with no text or call or anything of the like from Saguru, Kaito’s nerves were on edge. And his phone was dying. And he’d forgotten to pack his phone charger.

The set manager called his name and Kaito begrudgingly sent one last text to Saguru before switching his phone off to conserve the last 5% of his phone’s battery, and started toward the closed curtains.

It had been 12 hours now. Kaito turned his phone over in his hands as he sat in the back of the taxi that was taking him back to his hotel and tried to remind himself that Saguru was an adult with a job that demanded a lot of his attention. Solving murders and burglaries and the like. But he usually at least kept him updated. Unbidden, thoughts of Saguru being hurt on a case or worse, sprung into his mind and Kaito twisted his fingers together, anxious to get back to his room and plug in his phone. He took in a deep breath as the taxi pulled in front of his hotel.

He paid the cab driver and made his way up to his room, his dead phone sitting like lead in his back pocket as he opened the door. Immediately, he became aware that there was someone else in the room and he flattened himself against the wall. Someone was in his hotel bed, but it was too dark to make out who they were. Kaito tried to run through who it could possibly be - a rival, a detective who’d figured out he was Kaitou Kid lying in wait, a random lost stranger?

The person occupying his bed propped themself up on their elbow to look at him and then promptly flopped back down.

“Are you going to come in?” A voice that sounded a lot like Saguru’s asked. Kaito shut the door and hurriedly shucked off his bag and shoes.

Saguru smiled when Kaito joined him under the covers and twined their fingers together between them. He said nothing else.

“What are you doing here? Are you alright?” Kaito’s anxiety still thrummed through him and Saguru chuckled, brushing his thumb lightly over Kaito’s knuckles to sooth him.

“Jet lag.” Saguru murmured.

“Why--”

“Missed you,” Saguru breathed and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around him, “Do you realize you called me 15 times on Tuesday? Thought you might have missed me too.”

Kaito wanted to say something else, but as he fell into the warmth of the bed and Saguru’s embrace, his eyes started to droop, the anxiety that had been coursing through him all day settling down and leaving him exhausted.

Kaito sighed, a fond smile crossing his face as he curled up into Saguru’s chest and closed his eyes. They would work this out in the morning.

#sagukai #hakukai #dcmksecretsanta2020 #dcmksecretsanta #dcmk fanfiction #1k #giftfics2020 #dcmk

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halfwayinlight · 4 years

Text

Title: Sunrise Rating: PG, maybe bordering into PG13 Fandom: Star Trek TNG Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi

also for an partly inspired by suggestion from @cleverdistraction

Will Riker can’t help but notice, for the thousandth time, that Deanna always smells good. It’s not only that she’s female. He has to give it to women because they do tend to smell better. And it’s something more than fragrances or lotions. More than the sandalwood oil he once gave her. It’s not even some fragrance from Betazed.

There’s something that’s intrinsically her going all the way back to when they first met on her home world. Something that has lingered into the years on Enterprise together. And whatever it is, it’s intoxicating. He could spend his whole life trying to figure out what it is.

She talks to the fish in the aquarium in her quarters. Deanna knows her fish and can distinguish each of them from the others. Will knows that she named them after various characters from stories. They aren’t stories from Betazed. Because most of their stories are told telepathically, and the names don’t always have a spoken equivalent. Most of them are named things like Calamity Jane, Butch Cassidy, Bonnie & Clyde, Annie Oakley, Paul Bunyan, and Old Blue.

He’s also caught her talking to Picard’s fish, Livingston, in the Ready Room. He’s not really sure if the captain named the fish, or if Deanna named it.

Some time ago he even woke one morning to hear her chatting softly to her plants, the orchids in particular, as she watered them. It had been an early morning after a late night when they were both too overly tired to sleep. They had shared a few drinks, synthenol for him and hot chocolate for her, and fallen asleep on her couch somewhere past zero two hundred. Her voice was soft and lilting as she murmured encouragement to the temperamental flowers and ran her finger lightly over their leaves. It was downright cheerful for someone running on five hours of sleep.

Something inside his gut had turned into mush at the sight and sound. And she had frozen for a long moment. Suddenly reminded he was there and acutely aware that he was awake. Even in the dim light, he could see her neck flush. And she moved about the rest of her watering rounds that morning in silence while Will felt disappointed that she had stopped and tried to fake that he was asleep again.

She’s gentle and tender, and he’s the biggest sucker for Deanna Troi with kids. When Alexander was on board, he couldn’t fault Worf for being so drawn to her. Or fault Alexander for not minding spending time with Deanna. The younger children on board adore her, and more than once he’s needed to consult with her about something and inquired only to find she was in the learning centers and indulged himself.

Somewhere around the incident with Clara Sutter he realized that children open up to her for the same reason why adults do—because of her compassion and her candor. They light up around her and vie for her attention. She is willing to crawl into their world and see things from their perspective. They clamor after her, and more than once she’s been late to lunch or dinner with him because several refused to let her leave. Her patience with them and for their stories seems fathomless. She gives each one her undivided attention in turn. And their trust in her is the purest thing in any galaxy.

It occurs to him, time and again, how great a mother she would be. Still might be. And that little spark of hope hits, all the times he’s half wondered if they might have had a family. What could have been between them. What still might be someday. The mom she might be. The mom she was. And, in a way, still is. He’ll never forget her radiant smile when Pulaski nestled Ian into her arms. Or the resonant grief Ian left behind merely a day or so later.

Their bond at that time wasn’t what it had been. But he’d felt the resonant ache a room away for days and weeks. He’d had to pull her from duty because she wanted nothing more than to bury herself in work. But she needed to grieve. And she couldn’t lie to him about it because he felt the hurt like phantom limb pain.

She is private in grief. He let her have her space for the first day, but he came by at night to urge her to eat something. She picked at things for days. Even chocolate was hard to get down. Will spent more than one night on her couch, and sharing a bed and holding her in hopes she would sleep. A few times he found her curled in a chair and lost in her own thoughts. Sometimes asleep in her bed or the sounds of a bath running. It took time to ease back into Starfleet routine again. She slept with the little blanket they’d sent her back to her quarters with Ian bundled into. Slept with it for weeks at least. She still keeps it in the bottom drawer in her restroom. He found it once by accident when she had been released from sickbay after one incident or another and he was searching for her robe to make her more comfortable.

Her empathy can be her undoing in moments… but it is a truly a gift. She embodies it well. He and Geordi might have had a chuckle at Barclay’s supposed Goddess of Empathy. But Will knows how much Barclay missed. It’s not about emotion for its own sake. It’s about her acceptance of all emotions. Her willingness to be present with the crew in all feelings. To examine them and sort through them in a meaningful way.

Deanna Troi has challenged him and pushed him. He’s a better person, a better first officer, and a better man because of his various relationships with her. And she is his Imzadi in the deepest sense. The first to see all that he is as a person and accept it. Accept all of him, strengths and faults. And sometimes he’s still not sure how to process that.

She’s said things to him that no one else except a superior officer could get away with saying—and even not always something an officer should say to him. But even the hardest words to hear have not been untrue. Another of her gifts is seeing people for who they are. And sometimes letting them know she sees who they are even when they try to delude themselves. He’s had those moments.

He’ll always be grateful she saw the alleged mighty Kyle Riker for who he was. And so neatly disarmed the figurehead that had always loomed in Will’s mind. Parents are complicated, and she understands that as fully as he does.

Deanna Troi a deeply passionate person. The most passionate person he has ever met. And that’s probably saying a lot. Will has spent more than his fair share of time on Risa. The Risians know a lot about pleasure. But it’s not the same thing. With Deanna it’s more than the physical. There’s something intoxicating about her that he could spend his whole trying to unravel.

And right now he doesn’t want to unravel anything. Because she smells good in the middle of the night, wrapped around him like a Markonian vine. Her limbs are tangled with his, and she sleeps against him, almost wedged under him at times. Will worries vaguely that he’ll smush her. And when he first admitted this one night as he tried to shift her out a bit, she’d given him a small grin and kissed him gently and worked her way right back to where she was.

Other nights, she’s content to be spooned against him or sprawled half across his torso. He’ll contort into uncomfortable positions simply to hear that damn murmur of contentment she makes before she falls into deep sleep. Eventually his discomfort wakes her, and she’ll mumble an apology and gods, why didn’t he just tell her his leg had pins and needles before they’re both asleep again.

Deanna Troi is a blanket hog, especially in his quarters. Because he’s an Alaskan through and through and likes the crisp cold. But her blood runs warmer, and his favorite Betazoid hybrid is forever seeking warmth and her creature comforts of warming oils and her favorite sheets from the fibers grown in the Loneel Valley. And Will Riker considers himself lucky as hell to fall asleep like this, and he’ll give up more than half of his blanket to keep her warm. Because that drowsy smile he wakes up to is his favorite sunrise.

#star trek tng #imzadi #otp: imzadi #will riker #deanna troi #my messed up space cinnamon nugget rolls #space queen #counselor troi #commander riker

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six-of-woes · 4 years

Text

The Clown and the Potato Sack (Aerin x MC) Chapter 2

Chapter 2/?: A Sudden Interest in Floriculture

Paring: Aerin Valleros x F!MC

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24533863

Previous Chapter: https://hi-im-a-salty-human-being.tumblr.com/post/619969185697710080/the-clown-and-the-potato-sack-aerin-valleros-x#notes

Summary: Now with the Dreadlord defeated and her friends out of Whitetower, Cassia Nightbloom, is bored. Extremely bored. She wants to do literally anything, but she doesn’t know what. Her solution? Try to get some answers from a certain corrupt prince. Unfortunately, that leads to a wacky yet angsty adventure involving a potato sack, a wooden spoon, and A LOT of clowning around. At least she’s doing something…right?

Author’s Note: Soooo...I wrote another chapter. It’s shorter...but that’s beacsue there’s gonna be more chapters...So you have that to look forward to. Idk how to know when people want to be tagged unless the specifically tell me because I have the social awareness of a turtle...so... if you wannt be tagged...let me know in the notes...

Tags: @what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil @theclowneryqueen@findmeafterlife @0oi-io0 @thatgirlbuhle @mirabelle-choices@souhmhey @king-erzsebet @vlastomilsworm @diamonds-and-decorum @xsweetnspookyx @ernest-harrington @walkerswhiskeygirl @gela-mndz

~~~

“I have time.”

Aerin swallowed hard and took a seat across from Cassia. “Are you sure?”

Cassia continued to frown, but nodded. “Everyone else left town a few hours ago and this is the most dangerous things can get right now.”

“Are you really that bored?” He asked, starting to fiddle with his potato-sack-tunic.

“I’m bored and I want answers,” she spoke firmly, trying not to let her emotions out. Why was she doing that anyway? Aerin couldn’t do anything to her if he saw that she was weak, right? Other than get in my head. So yeah. Cassia wasn’t gonna look sad. Not that she was. Well...she was sad. But that was because her friends had just left town. Not because of Aerin. Duh...right?

Aerin shook his head. “Fine, but don’t act surprised when the answer is just corruption.”

“Just tell me what happened, Aerin,” Cassia said, biting her lower lip.

A few seconds of silence passed before anyone said anything. The longer Cassia stared into his dark, corrupt, eyes, the more the whole situation set in. This was the real Aerin. The prince she met in the Deadwood was just a facade.

Aerin sighed and shook his head. “Alright, fine, but I’m only doing this to get you out of here.”

“That’s fine. All I need are some answers,” Cassia said, crossing her legs. “It’s not like I want to be down here much more than you do.” She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“Okay,” he breathed. “It happened when I was really young, maybe two or three. I don’t remember the full details of what happened, but it ended with my chambers trashed, my storybooks torn to pieces, and my nose bloodied. I tried to tell my parents but…they refused to believe that their “perfect little future king” could cause such destruction.” Aerin let out a dry laugh and looked at the mossy brick wall. “They actually tried to accuse me of doing it myself for attention…Attention that neither of them ever gave me.”

About a minute of silence passed by again. Aerin continued to look at the wall, but Cassia could see the emptiness in his expression. There wasn’t any sadness, but there wasn’t any anger either. He just…stared.

“Soooo…How did you get corrupted?”

Aerin looked back at Cassia and sighed. “The details are fuzzy…but I remember running off to somewhere in the castle to be alone…that’s when Erthax found me. I don’t know or remember how, but he told me that if I helped him, there would be a day where I’d never have to be hurt by Baldur again.” He looked down. “I’m quite sure you can guess what happened next.”

He was three. Cassia thought. A child. A pawn.

“Can you leave me alone now?”

Cassia shook her head. “Not until the other two guards get here. You’re not supposed to be left alone.”

The grown that Aerin let out could probably be heard from Flotilla. Or the shadow realm. Or both. Probably both. Aerin was a bit of a drama queen.

“You think I want to be here? Because I don’t. “

“But—didn’t you—aren’t you—for a reason—what?”

Cassia crossed her arms and shook her head. “Just because I wanted answers doesn’t mean I want to spend an extended amount of time in this cold, damp, mossy dungeon. It’s freezing.

Aerin scoffed. “Oh, poor you. You’ve had to stay down here for what—thirty minutes? I can’t even fathom that. I’m only down here for, oh, I don’t know—the rest of my life!”

The pair spent the net few minutes glaring at each other. Anger and frustration began welling up in Cassia’s chest the longer she gazed into his eyes, the eyes that she couldn’t believe were Aerin’s, the eyes that weren’t the ones she saw at the lake. They couldn’t be. They didn’t have the same life in them. That Aerin was hopeful. This Aerin was a bitch.

Cassia sighed and laid down on her back. She ignored the puddle she was laying in, even as the water soaked through her clothes. Truly, what could she do now? She got what she could out of Aerin. That was the last interesting thing she could think of.

Fifteen minutes passed, and there was still no sign of the guards. Fifteen minutes passed, and Cassia’s eyelids grew heavy. Fifteen minutes passed, and Aerin stared blankly at his prison.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Cassia gazed at the ceiling, watching the droplets of water fall all around her. And on her. There was a reason that puddle she was laying in was where it was.

As much as she didn’t want them to, Cassia let her thoughts drift back to the lake again. The unicorn still bothered her, but, she knew that with Aerin in this bad a mood, she wasn’t going to get that answer any time soon. She thought about when it was just them, sitting on the edge of the lake. When they splashed each other, when they just talked. How pretty those flowers looked in the moonlight…

The lake…those flowers…

Cassia sprung to her feet. “THE MOONBLOOMS!”

“GAH!” Aerin screeched, falling back at Cassia’s sudden shout. He held a hand up to his head and glared at Cassia. “What the hells are you going on about?”

“Oh gods,” Cassia breathed, starting to bounce from foot to foot. “That’s the cure!”

“For what?” Aerin snapped. “Corruption?”

“No!” She yelped. “My boredom!” Cassia let a beat pass by. “…Okay, maybe to cure your corruption too.”

“Psh,” Aerin scoffed, turning his back to Cassia. “What makes you think I want to be cured, huh? I have a revenge plan to form. I don’t have time to not be corrupted.”

Cassia snorted. “Of course you don’t want to be not corrupted. You’re corrupted!” She made a mad dash to the exit. “I’ll be back! I have a plan!”

Aerin turned back around and grasped onto the bars of his cell. “No! Wait! I don’t consent to this plan!”

“Too late!”

~~~

“Soooo…You gonna tell me why you have an interest in magical floriculture all of a sudden?”

Cassia didn’t look up from her book. “I’m bored, Kade. I’m bored and I want to learn about flowers. Must you judge me for such an innocent hobby?”

The morning light bathed Cassia’s spot in the library in light, creating a warm blanket around her. Cassia’s book was one on magical flowers(unsurprisingly) and their properties. So far, there was nothing on moonblooms.

“You know the fact that you’re calling your hobby “innocent” makes me even more suspicious, right?” Kade picked a random book off one of the shelves and sat down on the floor in front of the chair Cassia was sitting in.

“Well, I never questioned your tiny chair collection,” she muttered, thumbing through the pages.

Kade shrugged and started reading his own book. “Alright, you got me there.”

Cassia smirked. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to update you when I get out of trouble.”

“What could you possibly be doing with flowers that could get you into trouble?” Kade scratched his head. “Wait…never mind. You can get into trouble for anything.”

“Damn right I can.”

As Cassia continued to skim her book, she smiled at all the memories she had of getting in trouble with Kade. It was a simpler time…when the most danger she could get in was by trying to steal a pie, not…you know…having to venture into the equivalent of hell to make sure her best friend wasn’t used as a vessel for an ancient beast to try and take over the world.

Eventually, Cassia came across the page she was looking for.

Moonblooms: Only Known Cure for Corruption

Cassia’s heartbeat quickened as she read the title. Alright, this is it. What do we gotta do to cure Aerin’s corruption our boredom?

Moonblooms used to be used by the Elven Empire to cure any forms of corruption. Unfortunately, just before the Shadow Court revolted, they made an effort to destroy as many moonblooms as possible. Within the last few thousand years, there haven’t been any reports of living moonblooms.

However, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you know of a place to get moonblooms, and have some corruption you’d like to cure, here’s what you would need to do:

Soak the petals in a bowl of water for around eight and a half minutes. By then, the water should be a deep plum color, and it should be steaming. Once your concoction is in this state, have your corrupted being drink it. Yes, it may be extremely hot, but it’ll do no lasting harm to the mouth. Once the cure has entered the system, results will be almost immediate, but be warned: all of the shadow being expelled at once will be incredibly painful for the one being cured. The records have people stating that it feels like throwing up knives, as well as stating an appearance of blood. Another side effect of this cure is feelings of extreme remorse, sadness, and joy, all at once.

“Hey, Kade?”

“Hm?”

“Do you wanna help me with something?”

Kade didn’t look up from his book. “Sure.”

“Even if it involves breaking Aerin out of his cell to get him to the Deadwood to cure him of his corruption?”

“Does this happen to have anything to do with you kissing him at some point?”

Cassia scoffed. “N-no! I’m just bored!” She started rolling from her heels to her feet. “I need more adventure! This is the closest I can get to the ordeal we just went through! I’m certainly NOT doing this because I have a history with him.”

Kade looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay—maybe it has something to do with it,” Cassia mumbled, crossing her arms. “But—that’s not…the only reason why…”

“Sure, Cassia. Whatever you say.” Kade set his book on the floor and grinned. “So…what do you need me to do?”

~~~

“So remind me why we’re stealing sacks of potatoes from the kitchens again?”

Cassia slung another sack over her shoulder. “Because we need to make a convincing decoy.” She watched Kade drop one of the sacks. “Plus they’d probably help us knock out the guards.”

Kade heaved the dropped potato sack over his shoulder. “Right…how are you supposed to get him out of there? Isn’t there a magical shield or something?”

“You’re forgetting I’m a powerful magic-user. I’m sure I can figure out some way to break him out.”

“So what I’m hearing,” Kade said, pushing the kitchen doors open. “Is that you don’t have a plan at all.”

“You wound me, brother,” Cassia said, slinging the potatoes into the wheelbarrow sitting outside. “My plan is to make it up as I go.”

#blades of light and shadow #aerin valleros #prince aerin #aerin x mc #bolas #kade of riverbend #pixelberry #playchoices

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insomnia-productions · 5 years

Text

UAF Secret Santa

Merry Christmas unreasonably attractive fandom! This is my Secret Santa gift to @herenya-sedai. You asked for Post-AMOL Mat dealing with a daughter who can channel, and, wow, did that open up a can of worms in my brain. I hope you enjoy this fic! It’s also on AO3, if you have a preference for platform <3

Nora, Nora

The first few months are the hardest. He sees them in the gardens, in the halls, in unfamiliar Seanchan streets, grey dresses swishing around thin ankles, silver bands making red rings around gaunt necks. They walk with their eyes lowered, lips pale and thin, betraying no emotion, followed, always, by tall pale women with cold faces, silver bracelets glinting under the harsh sun. Some of them are dark, others pale, some willowy and tall, others short and homely, but he sees one face on all of them: dark eyes, lips quirked just so, mouth opening to berate him, most likely, with the words of a harried mother despite the fact that she was the youngest of them all, always in such a hurry to grow up, growing up too fast, burning too bright until she burned out—

He left all that behind when he came to Seanchan, but it clings to him, still. His days are wide open and empty; Tuon has crushed the rebellions against her, but Seanchan politics are a web rivalled only by the White Tower itself and she spends her days fixed firm on her throne, Min rarely released from her side. There are no more battles to be fought. Mat feels himself fading, drifting into the background, a small piece of the scenery. He spends long hours wandering the city, studying the winding streets, acquainting himself with the taverns, memories flitting in and out of sight. Sometimes he drifts into an alley, or an alcove, or a dusty bazaar, and stands there for hours, dreaming of lives lived and long passed in this strange empire.

In his wanderings, he learns where they are kept. It’s a dark room, deep underground, walls studded with pegs holding gleaming bracelets. The new ones huddle in quivering groups on the cold floor. The old ones lie alone, eyes blank and dull, breaths so shallow they could almost be dead. It takes him a week, even with his luck, to find a way in: a tunnel from a bygone Age, forgotten by everyone in this generation, perhaps, but not by the men in his memories. He doesn’t use a torch, the first time, half-afraid of being caught, and as he creeps slowly through the dark, he wonders what Tuon would say.

He can’t do much. There are so many of them. He brings them sweetbreads and kaf, and it’s not enough. He brings them balms for their wounds and wine for their souls, and it’s not enough. He brings them stories of the outside world, of hope, of home, and it’s not enough, never enough. Most days, as he slips back into the darkness, he thinks all he can bring them is more disappointment.

On the third day of the eighth month, he lets one go. It is a foolish idea and he is not, contrary to popular belief, a fool, but she’s so young and scared, still with a spark of defiance in her large, dark eyes as she sits, unattended, in the garden, waiting for her sul’dam to collect her, and he’s done it before, knows how, and when he unlocks the necklace she smiles—

They catch her before dusk. They do not put the silver band back around her neck. When they are done with her, she has no neck to put it on.

Tuon is silent in court. She lets the girl’s sul’dam make the decision, and gives only an imperial shake of the head when asked if further inquiry is needed. Her eyes remain fixed on the girl throughout, never straying.

In the night, she comes early to the room they share. She sits there in bed, thin blankets pulled around her waist, back straight as the mast of a ship despite how large her stomach has grown, almost half her own size, it seems. It’s the first time he’s seen her by moonlight in weeks.

“Never do that again,” she says softly. “Remember that I will soon have my heir. I can kill you now, if I wish.”

Mat looks at her. He almost can’t see her eyes in the darkness. “Egwene told you—”

“The Amyrlin Seat was mistaken.” An edge of frost coats her words. “I know how to protect my people.”

“That girl wasn’t dangerous. She was barely a woman. In the Two Rivers she might not yet be allowed braids.”

Tuon’s voice softens, but her eyes are hard and cold. “You have a kind heart, Toy. I will forgive you this time.” Hard and cold—the eyes of one who was born with a crown already fixed on her head. “But never again.” She holds out a hand for him.

“Never again,” Mat echoes, and goes to her.

He passes the tunnel, sometimes, and there is a catch in his step before he keeps walking.

It’s raining the day everything changes—but a pleasant rain, if there is such a thing. It’s the kind of rain that reminds him of summer afternoons spent splashing through the creek, tearing newly bloomed wildflowers from trees, sticking them haphazardly in Perrin’s hair because the stems slid so smoothly between his curls and stuck. He watches the rain drip off the tiled cover above the window, falling heavily on petals in pink, yellow, and white. He watches for so long that he forgets the bouquet is getting soaked, but it doesn’t matter, because, when he hears the first cries, he jumps so hard he drops it out the window anyway.

He turns around, and there is Min, eyes wide, arms wrapped gingerly around a bundle of white, while on the bed Tuon sobs and laughs, for once too drained to keep composure. Mat walks to Min, takes the bundle into his arms. He looks down at a round face, brown in hue, eyes clenched shut, but he knows they will be the darkest brown. His daughter. His daughter.

It’s so terrifying a thought that he nearly drops the baby. Min catches his eye, grins, takes the child back and hands her off to Tuon’s waiting arms. Tuon looks at their daughter, and then at him, and, for once, smiles.

“You look frightened.”

“I never saw myself as a father,” Mat says, honestly. “I’m— I’m just— the village idiot.”

Min snorts. Tuon’s smile deepens.

“You are the greatest general that has ever lived,” she says, and her voice is so warm. “This is nothing.”

Mat gives her his most impish grin, and turns away before she can see it strain. Not for the first time, he wonders who it is his wife really loves.

Years pass faster than comprehension. Mat steals hours with his daughter like the rarest diamonds, moments between long sessions under locked doors when Tuon and her Court teach Enoura how be an empress. Tuon complains every day that five minutes with Mat undo three days of her work at a time. Mat takes it as a the highest honor.

He teaches his daughter how to dance, how to gamble, how to look at a horse and know how fast and how true it will run. She has Tuon’s eyes, Tuon’s steel spine, Tuon’s imperious voice—but she has his smile, he thinks, and his laugh.

When Enoura is one year old, she says her first word: “Dada.” Mat gloats for hours, and his satisfaction is barely touched by the fact that Tuon does not speak to him for the two weeks it takes before Enoura learns to say “Mama.” Even then, a coat of ice frosts her eyes for several weeks longer. Their marriage is only mended a month later, when Min, having drunk slightly too much, reveals that Enoura’s first word was actually, in fact, “Min.”

When Enoura is four years old, she splashes through a mud puddle half as deep as she is tall, and ruins the dress given to her specially for her True Name Day. She trails back into the palace half an hour later, tugged along by her latest tutor (none of them seem to last longer than a few weeks), face sullen, thoroughly disgraced. Tuon arches a single eyebrow when she sees her, fingers drumming on her knees—which, for Tuon, is the equivalent of pitching a fit. Mat fails to bite back a laugh—Light, but how many times had his own mother given him that same expression?— and is sent out of the room.

When Enoura is six years old, she wanders out of the garden gate and disappears. The Seanchan Empire itself seems to grind to a halt. Servants and soldiers alike are sent out in droves, and Tuon locks herself in a dark room with Min, admitting one courtier at a time, until she is certain that none of them are to blame. Mat finds the hidden spaces no one else can; for once, he is grateful for the memories in his head. He finds her when the sun has almost set, crouched behind the thick creeper plant obscuring a shallow alcove where two abandoned buildings meet. She is crying, and she cries harder when she sees him, and as he presses her to him, feeling relief wash over his bones, he decides that she will never cry like this again.

When Enoura is nine years old, Mat feels his medallion go cold. His daughter is standing behind him when he turns, palms stretched in front of her, face scrunched with concentration. She drops the pose when she sees him looking, blowing a mound of brown curls away from her face, and sticks out her lip. “I’m trying to blow you over.” As if to illustrate, a faint gust of wind drifts past Mat. Enoura huffs. “It’s not working.”

The medallion is so cold—and then it isn’t. He feels a shiver run through his body—part of him thinks it can still feel the thin weaves of Air, saidar spinning nets around him. Spun by his daughter. Mat feels his feet move; he goes to her very slowly, kneels in front of her, takes her hands. His eyes flit around the room; the door is closed, the window is shut and barred, there are no servants present, Tuon is far away in the throne room. No one is here. No one has seen. No one but him. He looks at his daughter, at her bright eyes, large and dark. He thinks of a rainbow stole around too-small shoulders, a thin scar around a thin neck that never quite went away.

“Nora,” he says. “Never do that again.”

Saidar, it turns out, is not something that can be controlled so easily. He learns this as he stands in a room full of broken pots and spilled dirt and flowers that weren’t there five minutes ago, and he screams at his daughter for the first time.

Enoura starts to cry and Mat feels all the air leave his body. He drops to his knees in front of her, gathers her into his arms, smooths a hand over her frizzy hair, feels the little leaves and twigs still hidden amongst the curls from the floral rain she created moments earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, so quiet he can’t quite tell if he’s really said it out loud. “It’s going to be okay. I’m so sorry.”

Slowly, gulping big shallow breaths, Enoura starts to calm down. Mat releases her and draws a cloth from his pocket. Carefully, he wipes her tears away, so that her face is dry. He sits her down with her back to him and picks out the leaves, one by one, until her hair is fit for the royal court. Her eyes stay red-rimmed and fearful, though, and he tries not to look at them, feels them bore holes into him as he tugs her quickly through the halls.

Min jumps when he slams the door open, brows drawing sharply down. Then she sees Enoura and her eyes widen, flitting between them.

“The One Power,” she says slowly. Enoura’s lip begins to tremble. It takes all of Mat’s strength not to let himself have the same response. He nods. He and Min look at each other, and Mat can see his face reflected in her eyes, pale and afraid. Min hugs her arms. “Right,” she says. “Right.”

“Can you help her?” Mat’s voice is strained and hoarse; he has to force the words out. “You were in the Tower before— can you help her?”

Min bites her lip. She looks so sad. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can— we can try.”

“I’m sorry,” Enoura whimpers. Her hand is trembling in Mat’s. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I won’t do it again, I promise!”

Mat grips her hand tighter. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Nora. Don’t let anyone tell you you ever did anything wrong. We just— we need to be careful.”

“Careful,” Min echoes. She closes her eyes, shakes her head, takes a deep breath. “I heard... sometimes, when I got bored, I would talk to the Novices or sit in on their lessons. I might… I don’t remember much, but I might be able to… help her control it better. With luck.”

“Luck is all I have,” Mat says.

The sun begins to set. Enoura sits on the ground, legs crossed, mirroring Min’s posture, hands clutched in Min’s, eyes closed.

“Picture yourself as the bud of a rose,” Min murmurs. Mat sags against the wall as a faint ball of light hovers over their hands and Enoura smiles. “You are the bud and the bud is you…”

“I am the bud and the bud is me,” Enoura echoes.

Mat closes his eyes.

Years pass faster than comprehension. Enoura turns twelve. The palace is abuzz as sul’dam prepare to test their proxies—and their new damane . Mat sits locked away in his chambers, Enoura curled in his lap. She is getting too big for that, now, but even as he begins to lose feeling in his legs, he can’t fathom letting her go, not when he looks out of the window and sees the rows of girls her age all lined up, sul’dam circling them like sharks in the water.

Tuon will know what to do. He tells himself that, over and over, as the clock ticks. Tuon is the Empress, and she is Enoura’s mother, and she will not let their daughter be harmed, will not let her be collared, will not let her be used. Memories flit behind his eyes of a girl in a grey dress, only slightly older than Enoura, eyes wide and frightened as she is dragged into the Court, made to kneel before Tuon, made to face judgement for Mat’s mistake—

He shakes the memories away. Enoura will not be— protecting his child will not be a mistake. It can’t be.

Tuon will know what to do.

He grips Enoura’s hand as they hurry to the gardens. Tuon sits on an elevated throne, gaze unwavering, almost unblinking as girl after girl is brought forward and tested. Mat’s grip on Enoura’s hand becomes so tight that he can almost feel her bones shifting. He takes deep breaths, loosens his grasp, runs a hand through his hair, tries to look calm and presentable. He approaches his wife.

Tuon does not look away from the assembled girls when she says, “What is it?”

“I need to speak with you. Please,” he adds belatedly, as the sharp eyes of her guards swing reproachfully his way. “It’s about Nora.”

“Enoura,” Tuon corrects, as she always does. Her eyes flick to their daughter and grow warm. “It is almost time for you testing, daughter.”

Enoura shivers, pressing close to Mat. Mat looks down at her, and then at Tuon. “Can we speak privately?”

Tuon sighs, but she lifts a hand to the sul’dam and rises from her throne. Pulled Enoura gently away from Mat, she deposits her with the guards and follows Mat out of the garden. Her guards stare after her, eyes narrowed, as Mat leads her away from listening ears, into an alcove sheltered by creeping vines and blue roses. It was in a place not unlike this that Enoura was conceived.

“Tuon,” he says.

She looks at him, half expectant, half impatient. Even now, away from everyone, her back is straight, her hands folded primly over her stomach. As always, though she stands at half his height, she seems to be looking down at him with those cold, piercing eyes. She will know what to do. She will know how to keep their daughter safe. She has to.

“Tuon.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Toy.”

He has to tell her. He opens his mouth. He has to tell her. For Enoura’s sake. For Enoura…

“Tuon,” he says, “Min had a viewing.”

Tuon’s eyes glow as he talks. He is barely aware of his own words; they tumble out of his mouth like rocks making deep pits in his stomach. He tells a story. He has always been good at lying.

Tuon returns to the garden. She sits in her throne, overlooking the rows of trembling girls, some weeping because they are damane, some because they are not. Enoura is summoned. She stands beside her mother and watches with wide, frightened eyes as a silver band is strapped to her wrist.

“Enoura,” Tuon announces, the hints of a smile touching her lips. “My daughter, destined to be the most powerful sul’dam this land will ever see.”

A cheer goes up. Enoura’s head swings around; she stares at Mat.

Mat turns away.

“She will make a fine Empress,” Tuon hums, seated on her garden throne, silken white dress draped so that the cloth falls open to frame crossed legs. Her fingers drum silently against the stone armrest. Mat stands at her side and they watch Enoura instruct her damane together. “A fine Empress,” Tuon muses, “if only she would learn to be stricter with them.” Her eyes flit briefly to Mat, hints of warmth just breaking through. “She has too much of your kindness, Toy. I wish she would display more of that lion you keep so well hidden, too.”

I am not a lion, Mat wants to tell her. I am a fox with a loud bark and silver feet. I am a raven with clipped wings. I am a man trapped in the weaves of a Pattern I cannot comprehend. I am not the memories in my head.

Instead he nods silently, and watches his daughter struggle to keep the pain off her face as her damane again tries, again fails, to pour a pitcher of water. How long before that smooth, blank face ceases to be a struggle? How long before it comes naturally to her? How long before she stops feeling the damane’s pain at all? Enoura glances back at him, eyes large and dark and pained and lost, and he looks away.

It has been weeks since he was able to meet his daughter’s eyes.

Enoura is sixteen years old and sobbing. The full moon gleams in the tears that stream down her face, thin creeks of silver starlight making lines down her cheeks, splashing onto the cold stone of the terrace wall. Mat watches her and feels like weeping himself. In one hand she clutches the silver bracelet, and it trembles in her grasp. The other hand strays to her neck, lacquered fingernails pressing into it, hard enough to leave angry red marks.

“I should be wearing this here,” she sobs. “I should be one of them, I should—”

Mat pulls her close, pressing her face to his chest, muffling her words, eyes scanning the darkness for watching eyes, listening ears. With one hand he smooths her hair, over and over, as he did when she was little. Her curls are not as unruly as they used to be, cut short and flattened by a gleaming crown she used to complain hurt her ears. She doesn’t complain any more. She doesn’t laugh like she used to, or smile, or chatter. Mat wonders how there could ever have been days when he wished she would stop talking, if only for a moment. She is not talking now. Her muffled sobs pierce his ears with every other breath. He holds her tighter.

What can he do? What can he say to help her, to comfort her? There is no silver lining to Enoura’s struggle, only the simple fact that she is alive and uncollared. How much comfort is that, when the price of her freedom is the slavery of women who in any other life would be her sisters?

Tuon once told him that empresses do not love, but Mat doesn’t think that is true. He sees love in her when she smiles at their daughter. He sees it in her eyes when she travels into the city, when she looks out at her people, shining with pride for her empire. He sees love in her smile when they stay up together into the dawn and she calls him a lion, and he wonders if there is any part of him she loves more than the men in his head, and the battles they have won.

Empresses love, Mat is certain of that, but he is not certain how far that love can be tested. He is not certain how love measures up against the world’s most powerful empire, an empire built on slavery, an empire with servitude so deeply ingrained into its culture that the very notion of viewing damane as people is not worth consideration, because it is a notion that would tear the empire apart if given more than a moment’s thought.

Enoura’s sobs fade into shuddering breaths. Mat rests his head on hers and thinks of a girl, not ten years old, making little balls of light and laughing.

“Luck is all I have,” he had said, that night.

He wonders how far his luck can carry him. He wonders if he can trust it one last time. Choices spin through his head and he wishes, for the first time, that the dice would come back and spin, and spin, so that he could know which decision is the right one. He hopes he can trust his luck.

Mat pushes Enoura gently away. Cupping her face in his hands, he wipes away her tears, and tries to smile.

“It’s going to be okay, Nora,” he whispers. “Here is what we’re going to do.”

el’Nynaeve ti al’Meara Mandragoran turns from the window as a liveried servant slips through the door. She has to bring a hand up to steady the crown that threatens to slip at her quick movement; it has been so many years, and yet the Crown of Malkier still feels foreign against her forehead. Not that she would trade it, nor what it signifies, for all the world.

“Yes?”

“Queen Nynaeve, two travellers seek audience with you.”

Nynaeve blinks. “With me? Not with Lan— I mean, not with the King?”

“Yes, Queen Nynaeve.”

“And without any notice…” Nynaeve’s hands stray to her braid. “See them in.”

The servant bows and slips back out of the room, and Nynaeve sighs, her frown half of impatience and half of concern. Who would ask to see her, and only her, so suddenly, without notice?

The door opens. Two cloaked figures enter the room, one half the height of the other. Nynaeve’s frown deepens.

“Who are you?”

The smaller figure shrinks back, pulling down the hood to reveal unruly brown curls—some motherly instinct in Nynaeve screams the need to brush this child’s hair—and dark, strangely familiar eyes. But it is the second, taller figure that draws a gasp from the Queen of Malkier, as the hood is pulled back to reveal gleaming brown eyes and a wide, impish grin. Nynaeve’s fingers tighten around her braid. She can already feel a headache approaching.

“Hello, Wisdom,” Mat Cauthon says, insolent as ever. “Could I trouble you for a place to stay?”

#uaf secret santa #wheel of time #wot #wot fic #mat cauthon #can you tell i have Strong Emotions about mat cauthon #the wheel of time #tuon paendrag #nynaeve al'meara #min farshaw #seanchan #saidar #wot spoilers #wot spoiler #amol spoilers #wot a memory of light

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spooky-raccoon · 4 years

Text

Road Trip (Part 13)

Part 13 of Road Trip

Rufo X Female Reader

Bold is Rufo’s perspective

Tag List: @chii2blog @the-clown-crypt @booklover2929

I don’t even know when I fell asleep that night, but I woke up to a knock on the door before Albert let himself in with two cups of coffee. One for himself and I assumed one for me. He was already dressed for the day and looked put together as usual. I suppose I was too, but I could deal with a shower and a change though that could be later. I got up carefully from the bed, giving a slight nod to Albert as I took the extra cup of coffee from him. He nodded his head to the side, and I followed with him into the hallway.

“Sleep well?” Albert sipped at his coffee, one hand slipping into his pocket.

“Could be better.” All I could do was shrug as I shut the door behind us. A little harder than I meant to. I knew the sound wouldn’t bother her, but it was still rude.

“I want you to get out and get some fresh air. Being cooped up and stressed the way you are isn’t going to do you or her any good. I have a list of supplies you can get for me in town that should be helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Truth be told, he was probably right. Getting out and some fresh air would be good. I just didn’t want to leave her there in bed all alone. I knew Albert would be there, but it didn’t feel the same. “Let me get her showered and something in her and I’ll go for you, Albert.”

“Good, good. I already made breakfast for the two of you. You know where to find it when you’re done cleaning up.” He had a soft smile, a sympathetic one. It’s one I never saw often. Only one other time when my great nieces body had to be brought to him. But that’s a different story.

“Thanks, Albert. I appreciate it and I’m sure she does too.” I gave him a smile back. A weak one, but a smile, nonetheless.

When my cup of coffee was done I slipped (Y/N) out of bed and carried her into the bathroom. Albert already had a set of clothes out for the both of us on the counter. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I got her undressed while the shower warmed up. He was always a pretty good host when he wanted to be. It was pretty easy getting her in and washing her up never took long. The only thing I took my time for was holding her close. My arms were around her waist and I leaned her head down on my shoulder. The last shower we had together she held me back and right now, that’s all I wanted. I help her tighter as I let myself let loose a few tears. I’m not usually a man who cries. I tend to get more angry than anything and wreck things in my way as I try to calm down. Or take my anger out on something a bit more fleshy. But sometimes you just need to cry now and then.

When she was dried and dressed I carried her to the kitchen so I could get some food in her belly. Albert had made a large breakfast of pancakes, bacon, biscuits and of course some more coffee. She took the food like a champ like always. When we were both done I got her settled back into bed. Truth be told, I didn’t want to leave her side. I didn’t want anything to happen while I was gone and not be there for her. She was in good hands with Albert around though. That didn’t stop me from taking my time though. Yet when I could feel his stare as I was tucking her back in I knew I had to wrap it up. With a soft peck to her cheek, I left the room and Albert handed me a list of what to get him. With that I was off.

The town was small, but I still insisted on taking the car. I gave the excuse of being able to listen to some tunes in my time that I drove around to the various shops, fetching and checking off each item on the list. I had everything on the list within twenty minutes. With some spare time I popped into one of the few antique stores, looking for something for (Y/N). Among some jewelry, I found a locket. The little label said silver and it had filigree detail surrounding a pale aquamarine stone. Almost reminded me of my eyes. I decided to get it for her as a little ‘Welcome Back' gift. As I was leaving that’s when I ran into Crowley.

“Ah, there you are. I was about to stop at Albert’s to check in on the patient.” Crowley didn’t have much of a smile going but I could see hints of it at the corners of his mouth.

“She’s resting. About in the same boat when you last saw her. Albert has an idea though.”

“Good, good. At least she seems to be steady. I’ll leave you to it than, Rufo. Next time, tell me any updates you have.” Crowley gave me a slight nod and went to turn to walk away. Something had been irking me though ever since I last saw him.

“Crowley.” He stopped and turned his head to look at me. “Why did you help me as much as you did? You could have taken me right out there, but you didn’t.”

“You know my rules Rufo. I help those who ask for it.”

“I didn’t ask for it though.”

“No, but she did.”

With that, Crowley continued on his stroll, leaving me standing in confusion. Had she said please when she was screaming? I could barely remember anything, just the string of emotions that fogged me at the time. I was yelling out my own pleas and woes at the time so I may have missed it. Either way, now she was in good hands and things would be taken care of then I could get her back on her way to her life.

There were some light gray clouds up in the sky and it was starting to drizzle outside once I made it back to Albert’s. He greeted me at the door and took the bags from me except the small paper bag with the small box from the antique shop. Albert went his own way into his office, and I slipped into the guest room. She was still laying there and when I got closer I saw that her eyes were closed. I assumed she was resting or the equivalent of it as I set the box containing the necklace on the nightstand. Sitting on the edge of the bed I gently ran my fingers on the side of her face, just to brush some hair to the side and get it tucked behind her ear. Her skin was still cold and clammy despite the blankets that I placed over her. A solemn smile lifted at the corner of my lips as I watched her for just a moment. For a moment it seemed like she was just taking a nap and not like a lifeless doll. Just a moment though.

Her eyes suddenly opened up, but they weren’t their usual color. No, they were pure white. The blanket flung off her without even her touching it and she was starting to flail on the bed. For a brief moment there was probably a look of panic on my face as I dove to get her pinned down to the bed. My next thought was to yell out to Albert to get his happy ass in the damn room. I had to wrap my limbs around hers to trap her from hurting herself and getting tangled up in anything.

“Doll! If you can hear me you gotta calm down!” She was thrashing harder than I expected and I didn’t want to grab her too tight; worried I may end up breaking a bone or two. But maybe that’d be better at this point. Her mouth started to open, and I could see something faintly glow. “Albert get your damn ass in here right now! She wants to put on a fucking light show for us!”

I grabbed the bottom of her jaw with one hand and with the top of my head with the other, I forced her mouth closed. As I did, Albert burst into the room with a bottle of whatever the fuck strange concoctions he has on hand. Albert got to work, popping open the bottle and dipping his finger into the liquid then wiped it across her forehead. All the while, mumbling weird words that I couldn’t understand and probably didn’t want to. Her thrashing got more wild for just a moment before she suddenly stopped; her body going limp in my hold. After making sure she fully stopped I carefully took my hands away. I tilted her head back ever so slightly so her mouth would open to get a peek inside. No strange light. I checked her pulse and her breathing which was all back to what it had been before.

“That was a close call, Cecil. She’s been more affected than I realized.” Albert said with a sigh as he sat down on the edge of the bed after the bottle he had was plugged up. “Good news is at least I have almost everything ready. Give me ‘til tomorrow and we can get her back to normal.”

“Good, because I don’t think she can do that again.” I gingerly ran my fingers through her hair, tucking some behind her ears once more as she laid there. She looked more tired than usual somehow and I couldn’t blame her.

“No, she can’t. Spirits are fighting for her body it seems. She’s strong though which is impressive. Most don’t last this long.” Albert was staring down at her and then looked at me. “I know I don’t have to tell you this but keep an eye on her. I’ll be bringing dinner in a few hours.” With that I watched Albert get up and leave the room.

When he left I just stayed in the same place, cradling, and holding (Y/N) close as I could. I laid my head down on her chest and just focused on the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Dinner came and went in a blur. Even watching the Cops reruns I enjoyed just couldn’t help the numb feeling in my gut. Sure, she was strong, but I didn’t like the position she was in. There was a battle going on inside her and there was nothing I could do about it. I hated it. I spent hours hating it and that numb feeling only getting worse with each passing minute. I had a chance to help someone close to me unlike every other time and yet I felt like I wasn’t much help. The other times I at least got some scores settled. Here, I couldn’t do anything. Any time when she would move in her sleep it made me tense. How could I sleep like this? I decided I couldn’t and the only time I left her was to make myself a thermos of coffee. I would stay awake to make sure she would be alright. All I had to do was wait for Albert to wake up.

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A/N: We’re at 70! I thank every single one of you whether you follow or not. It’s been brightening my days getting notifications of people following, liking, and/or sharing. I never thought I’d see 70 on this page. THANK YOU! This is a story involving post-death Kyle Spencer. WARNING: Mentions of death and abuse! Thank you so much, again. I hope you enjoy this ✌

Post Date: 12/15/2019

He seemed dangerous.

“Kyle, no! I can’t get him to stop! Help me, (Y/n)!” Zoe screamed to me, her face a ghostly pale and her eyes reddened with fear.

The kind of person you’d better steer clear of.

He couldn't speak - only grunt, groan, and yell.

He flung his arms around, knocking things over.

Kyle threw everything in his path at the wall. Pushing over dressers, throwing lamps, throwing books, ripping pillows apart, tearing blankets, etc. Anything that could be destroyed in any way was. The way he flung his arms around showed that he lacked motor skills, he couldn’t really control his arms as they flung around him lifelessly only causing him to scream, yell, and destroy some more.

He seemed inhuman, animalistic if you will.

He lacked self control.

He lacked control, period.

“I am so happy he’s calm now. I was getting so scared!” Madison fanned herself with her hand. Zoe stood there watching Kyle, shaking violently. “What the hell did you two do?” I hissed at the two who exchanged looks with one another. “Hello?! I need to know what happened! Why is Frankenstein’s son in the coven?”

Apparently, he wasn’t always this way.

From what Zoe told me, she met Kyle at a party. He was kind and sweet before Madison flipped the bus that he was in over, killing him in the crossfire.

They managed to resurrect him after treating his body like Mr. Potato Head, playing Build-A-Boyfriend.

“He’s not the same, Kyle. I don’t think I can do this,” Zoe sobbed. “Well, I’m not.” Madison scoffed. Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes “You two owe me big time.” Madison and Zoe celebrated amongst themselves as I got up to walk to Kyle. His big, dark eyes looked up at me and I couldn’t help, but to smile at him.

He didn’t come back the same sweet frat boy he once was.

That scared Zoe and Madison off.

Leaving me to deal with what they created.

At first, I minded. Now, not so much.

I can see it in his eyes that he means well.

After a day or two, I could not handle his outbursts any longer. Every day was a constant losing battle. I was up every hour on the hour consoling him back to sleep and calming his rage fits down. I was beyond exhausted. With little thought, Zoe, Madison, and I decided taking Kyle home to his mom was our best bet. When we got there, his mom was ecstatic. Him not so much. As the door closed between us, he stared at me with cold, sad eyes. A tension crept down my spine. "Okay, we learned our lesson with that. Never again!" Madison huffed. "Yeah, never again" Zoe agreed. As we walked away, I couldn't help but keep looking back. Something inside of me was screaming to turn back. Something was wrong. Something was going to be wrong.

A few days passed and I could not shake Kyle from my mind. Throwing on clothes, I rushed downstairs to go pay him a visit. Knocking did nothing. Nobody was answering which was all too odd. I felt a coldness in the air. A coldness that meant no good. I welcomed myself into the home, creeping around the house as I breathed in the still of the air. Then I saw it. I saw what I feared most. Kyle's mom dea, lying in a pool of her own blood. I covered my mouth as I backed out of the room. My heart thudding hard against my chest. My hands creating a pool of sweat. I backed up until I was stopped by a stiff body behind me, turning around shakily there he was. Kyle, bloodied. His eyes were red-rimmed and crazy. His lip quivering. "Kyle, what did you do?" Kyle stood there, just watching me. Something happened. He wasn't a monster. Something happened.

"Are you hungry? You must be hungry." I gave Kyle's cheek a gentle pat before navigating my way to the kitchen to prepare him something. He stayed put, frozen in his spot. I slowly put together a sandwich for him, gathering my thoughts. I carefully picked up the plate and brought it to Kyle "I want you to go eat, okay?" I sat the plate down on the nearby table. Kyle obediently went to the plate, giving me time to do what I needed to do. I walked back into the room and knelt down beside Kyle's mom's body. With a shaky hand, I pressed my hand gently against her back. I saw it all.

I saw how she hurt him. Touched him in ways she shouldn't have. Violated him. Forced herself onto him. Out of fear, he protected himself. My heart broke in ways it bever did before. I quickly raced to Kyle, tears falling down my face as he looked up to me. He grunted, pointing to himself, to me, and then to the door. "You want to come home with me, baby?" My voice squeaked out. The pain he endured because I chose an extra two hours of rest over his peace hurt me. It shook me to my core that this all could have been prevented if I had only kept him with me. Where I knew he was safe. Where he knew he was safe. He smiled, nodding to me. "Let's go home, Kyle."

----

It was hard. The tantrums. The teaching. I felt tired!

"Kyle put it down now!" I screamed at the enraged man. Little things set him off. He was a ticking time bomb, but he never put his hands on me. Kyle threw the lamp against the wall, grunting loudly. "Kyle, you need to calm down right now!"

I felt lost.

Kyle screamed, tears flowing out of his dark eyes and down his rosy cheeks. He pushed over my bookcase along with my dresser. "I can't do this!" I yelled, putting my face in my hands, sobbing. I didn't know I was about to cry, but the emotions of this were too much for me. The yelling, the destruction, the tantrums were day in and day out. My body shook violently as I loudly sobbed into my hands. Soon, I heard whimpering coming from Kyle. Looking up, he was right there in front of me. "Sorry..I..sorry," Kyle slowly spoke, wiping away my tears "Kyle..sorry. (Y/n), no leave." My heart broke at the fact that he thought he was disposable to me, that I could throw him away at any given moment. Like I had before. “I will never leave you again. I promise.”

--------

“No, no, no, no!” Kyle screamed repeatedly, banging his fists against the bedroom wall. “Kyle, it’s okay! You’re okay. You need to get into the bath,” I walked towards Kyle as he punched holes into the bedroom room. “Kyle, enough!” I yelled loud enough to get his attention “Come with me, baby,” I held my hand out for Kyle as his shoulders slumped and his arms fell loosely to his sides. Kyle stared at my hand as his eyes began to turn red, tears falling down his face. He whimpered "Mad?" Kyle didn't speak much, but he was learning! “No, I'm not mad. You’re okay, honey. Let’s get in the bath.”Kyle walked over to me and fell to his knees in sobs, holding onto my legs. I gently ran my fingers through his soft dirty blonde hair “It’s okay, Kyle. You’re alright.” I managed to get Kyle to stand up and follow me into the bathroom where I already had a bath drawn.

Kyle pointed at the bubbles and smiled, oohing at the sight. “You like bubbles, huh?” I laughed, helping Kyle get undressed. His motor skills were equivalent to a toddler’s. He needed assistance in daily living: dressing, bathing, feeding, etc. I had to watch my words and my temper with him. Some days were way better than others, but I kept my promise. I eased Kyle into the bath slowly and then sat down on the closed toilet once he was in, thrashing and splashing around excitedly. He was full of wonder and amazement with life. I felt complete with him. "Bath?" Kyle smiled, pointing at me. I shook my head, giggling "No, no bath for me!" Kyle poked his bottom lip out as his eyes widened, guilting me with that puppy dog face. I playfully rolled my eyes at him, shaking my head "You're gonna stop that! It won't always work," I warned, undressing.

Getting in the bath, we played together. Splashing, singing, blowing bubbles, etc. With him, life was brightly new. Yes, it was complicated but it was damn worth it.

-------

"I love you," Kyle straightened his tie before heading downstairs to play butler. "I love you too, Kyle!" I smiled, kissing him on the cheek. He grabbed me, getting really close to my face "No, I love you." Words wouldn't come out of my mouth. I knew that things had changed for good when Fiona managed to "fix" him. He didn't rely on me as much, He could dress himself, bathe himself, feed himself, and could express himself. After awhile of it, our time together began to take a different turn, a turn lacking innocence.

"Kyle I-" "I want you. Be mine?" Kyle interrupted, smiling at me with those big, dark irresistible eyes. "I’m yours!" I laughed out, gently kissing him. “Oh my, you two?” Misty gasped, clapping her hands over her smiling mouth. Grinning, I nodded my head “Yes!” “Finally! Stevie and I told you she’d say yes, Kyle. This is wonderful!” Misty wrapped Kyle and I into a tight, warm bear hug.

It was a turn of events I never thought would happen, but through it all, I knew we were a match made forever.

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