#then again he plucked that flower out of her hair like as if trying to be romantic

[muddyorbsblr]

gestures & rain checks

See my full list of works here!

pre-story author's note: Yes I am very aware that it's been a solid month since Valentine's Day. Yes I am still posting this 🫡

Summary: It feels like your friends are getting plucked away from you one by one as their respective (or in Nat's case prospective) partners make grand gestures to ask them to be their Valentine.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warning/s: language (nope still not sorry, Rogers); mentions of alcohol; tooth-rotting fluff; gun use [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Morgan being a precious beb; himbo!Thor hours; lowkey sad Reader hours; chaotic group chat vibes in the end

You always had a distaste for this day. Valentine's Day. To you, it was the one day a year that you would do everything in your power not to step outside because it reeked of flowers and chocolate marked up to the heavens for merchants to take advantage of last minute gift shoppers hoping to make a gesture big enough that their crush would let them score at the end of the night. Or guys buying extravagant and ridiculously large arrangements to make amends for wronging their partner as if a 10-foot tall teddy bear was gonna magically press some Undo button of him going on Hinge or Tinder and talking up a dozen other girls on the side.

There was one year that you let slip around Nat and Wanda that this day "smelled like a cemetery" with all the bouquets that bombarded you the second you exited the perimeter of the Compound. Hell, the second you left the main section that housed you and the rest of the Avengers. And you stood by that opinion stubbornly, mostly because you'd only ever witnessed flowers being given when someone was desperately trying to glue back together the pieces of a severely damaged relationship.

And also because no one had ever given you flowers in your entire life. Or chocolates. Or a teddy bear. All your past relationships were with men who were still mentally and emotionally boys that believed emojis and gifs sufficed and were as good as the real thing. Nary a single soul had ever actually spent a lick of time or effort to give you something that told you they deserved your time and effort in turn.

And after so many years of being barely an afterthought, the day just felt like this entity that you resented to an irrational degree, where all you wanted was to lay in bed and wait it out until the clock struck 12 and it was February 15th. Then you could go on a hunt for all the overpriced chocolate that suddenly got their prices slashed by 50% or more.

That was the plan again for this year, had it not been for both Nat and Wanda barging in to your apartment and practically dressing you up like you were their own life-sized definitely seen some better days Barbie doll. "Come on, we can go and have a Galentine's Day 2. Maybe hit up a club and get some free drinks…" the assassin trailed off, zipping up your dress and playfully swatting your ass to nudge you forward. "March on, soldier."

The common area was nearly bare and eerily quiet when you all got there, which made perfect sense considering that most of your teammates who were happily committed to someone were off spending their day together, probably executing their own personal twists on those cliched gestures of adoration. Knowing Tony, that would probably consist of a two-storey tall stuffed bunny or a lavish new vacation house as a nice private little getaway spot for him and Pepper when they wanted to have a date night.

Only Morgan and Shaun were at the big dining table by the kitchen, the little girl working on bracelets with the martial artist nursing a cup of coffee while he handed her beads to add to her work. "Whaddup, Ten Rings…Baby Stark," you greeted them, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your goddaughter's head. "What're you two up to this fine completely ordinary day?"

"Oof, I take it you're gonna be spending the day watching a bunch of couples be all extra lovey dovey just like me?" You threw him a look, squinting your eyes at him that had him throwing his hands in the air in surrender. "No need to mentally squish my head, Y/N, we're on the same side, I swear," he chuckled, scooting over to the other seat so you could sit next to Morgan. "How about this, karaoke later tonight? Just us and anyone else that doesn't have a date with dinner and co--" You swatted his arm to get him to stop talking, not so subtly signaling in the little girl's direction. "I mean…adult balloons?"

"Wait how come you have special balloons?" Morgan asked, looking up from her activity book and earning barely stifled chortles from both Nat and Wanda. "Why can't I play with them? I like balloons."

You leaned back in your seat, making a motion with your hands as if you were wiping them clean of the whole conversation. "I'm not helping you out of this one, buddy."

He scratched the back of his head, obviously backed into the corner with his own words. "Eeeeeh…put a pin in that and ask me again when you can order a beer, Baby Stark."

The child pouted at both of you, slumping down in her place at the table and slipping back on her princess pink headphones before focusing all her attention on her activity book again, grumbling something about how grownups shouldn't have conversations around her if they didn't want her to ask questions. Valid enough point, but you still weren't going to be the one to give her her first lesson in Sex Ed class a good decade ahead of time.

"Anyways…" Shaun poked at your side, calling your attention back to him. "Karaoke, ladies? We can pick up Katy and Wong before we head over and sing some Disney duets and gorging ourselves on shots and nachos--"

"Hold up, Wong?" You all turned your attention to Stephen, who'd just walked in to the common area. "This I gotta see. You guys have room for one more?"

"Sure thing, as long as you use your sling ring to help us get into Tony's private stash," you quipped, taking a sip of your coffee. "There's no way I'm getting through this day stone-cold sober."

"Or we could go for the really hard stuff and break into Thor's stash of mead from Asgard before he depletes his supply." He showcased the ring in question with a wiggle of his fingers. "Just a portal away."

"I like the way you think, Strange."

"You can all cease your scheming to pilfer my liquor, my friends," Thor's voice boomed into the area, a bounce in his step as he made his way to the coffee pot. "I would happily supply you all with two barrels if that would be enough for your gathering?"

"That's perfect, Thunder. Thanks." You started to tuck into the breakfast plate served by the Compound kitchen staff, mumbling your next question to the blond god. "What've you got planned with Jane for today?"

"Ah." A wide grin stretched across his face at the mention of his girlfriend, the sight both warming your heart and pinching it at the same time. A bittersweet reminder that in the midst of romantic plans with sentimental or grand gestures, your plans involved getting shit-faced with your fellow single friends. Plus Wanda and probably Vision. "Well, I have employed the aid of Wilson to order an ornate bouquet of Jane's favorite flowers which should arrive this morning. Then for lunch I shall prepare her a meal."

"Lunch?" Wanda questioned, tilting her head to the side. "Forgive me if I overstep, my friend, but aren't the romantic plans usually made for dinner?"

"Well, yes…but Jane has graciously agreed to adjusting our schedule for this day so that I may spend the time after lunch aiding my brother in a gesture of his own." A lump formed in your throat at the words. "It seems he wishes to get into the spirit of the holiday, and I am simply ecstatic that he came to me asking for a helping hand."

"I asked nothing of you, you over-muscled oaf," you heard the raven-haired god call out from the main entrance, two large packages hovering a few inches above the ground blanketed with a glow of green from his magic. "You volunteered when you imposed yourself in my space and hovered over my phone."

"Pfft, semantics," Thor waved off, already making his way over to Loki so that he could do some more apparently unnecessary volunteer work. "Are the flowers in one of your parcels?"

"I like flowers!" Morgan chirped from her seat, bouncing in place with bright excited eyes. "Prince Loki, can I help? Please?"

He let out an exaggerated sigh, a trace of a fond, amused smile betraying his facade. "Very well, little Stark. Come along."

Your goddaughter squealed, skipping over to Thor and placing her tiny hand in his. "Uncle Barbie, tell me who his princess is?" He leaned down to whisper the answer in her ear, making her sprint in place with even more excitement. "I promise I won't say a word."

"Barbie? Like your doll, little Lady Stark?" You could practically see the wheels turning in Loki's head from learning about the nickname.

Morgan nodded her head vigorously. "Auntie Y/N came up with it. She calls him Macho Barbie." She proceeded to talk about how you came to give the blond Asgardian the nickname that bizarrely stuck to him more than "Point Break" ever did, said god looking like he already dreaded the coming days -- maybe even years -- now that his brother knew that little tidbit of information.

Once they'd all made their way up the stairs and you could no longer hear the little girl's chipper tone, realization sat heavy in your heart from her reaction to whatever Thor whispered to her just a few seconds ago. Whoever it was that Loki was going to make this grand gesture for, it was someone that Morgan knew enough to the point that she couldn't contain her excitement finding out who the woman was.

It was someone in SHIELD. Maybe even someone in the Compound.

"You good, Babes?" Nat's tone was cautious, approaching you like you were a wounded animal, teeth bared and ready to pounce if she so much as breathed wrong.

You answered with a terse nod of your head. "There is absolutely no fucking way I'm getting through today sober."

"Y/N, dude, I'm sor--"

Bang

"What the fuck?" All eyes grew wide at the sound, your body stiffening as another shot rang out, reverberating throughout the common area. "FRIDAY? Threat assessment," you called out, already readying yourself for combat once whoever was outside made their way to you in the compound.

"No threats have been detected," the AI answered simply. "There seems to be no living target for the gunman."

You could only manage to repeat your words. "What the fuck?" Shot after shot rang out, an interval of three to five seconds between them. Each deafening bang making you flinch, your head spinning with possible explanations on why FRIDAY didn't deem the supposed attacker as a threat. "Where's the target then?"

"Shots are being fired at the training area, by the track field, Agent Y/L/N." You all started to make your way to the area, everyone still on high alert despite FRIDAY's findings.

"Y/N?!" You shared a look with everyone else in the room at the sound of Loki's voice calling out for you, the god looking frantic as he appeared at the top of the main staircase, a sigh of relief escaping him once he saw you standing at the bottom. "You're alright," he exhaled, hurriedly making his way down. The quickening pace of the gunshots had him squaring his shoulders, stepping in front of you and marching toward the sound.

"We've handled way worse than gunfire, Laufeyson, you don't have to lead the defense," you told him with a touch more bite to your tone than you intended, irrational jealousy coursing through you knowing what he was preparing for before he started charging down the stairs. You sidestepped him and started walking toward the training area, brows furrowing together when you saw that from where you stood, the marks from the bullets digging into the ground where forming some sort of shape.

"It's a message…" Wanda mused, angling her head to and fro to see if she could get the whole picture from the ground. "I'm going up, I wanna see what's worth risking Pepper's wrath with all the lawn work she has to commission now." She held her hand out to you, wordlessly offering to take you up with her, an offer that you gladly took, clapping your hand over hers, both of you giggling as your feet lifted off the ground.

Once you two had risen high enough, it was clear what the message was. The shots had been positioned so that the markings would take on the shape of a heart, and the ongoing shots were creating initials. "N…" you read along, barely able to contain your excitement when you saw that the next letter was an R. "Natasha Romanoff!" you yelled out, the assassin's eyes lighting up with a mix of giddiness and curiosity as she tried to look at where the gunshots could've been coming from.

You did your best to turn your head, trying to see who was behind the gesture, kicking your feet in the air once you saw the gunman. "What? Who is it, Y/N?"

"It's Barnes," you squeaked, giving Rogers a reckless wave when you caught sight of him jogging toward all of you with a megaphone in hand.

"Natasha Romanoff," Bucky's voice boomed through the speaker system, making the usually cool and collected former Russian spy put a hand over her mouth to hide the way she was steadily turning pink from how flustered she was. "I know I have a long way to go to make up for how we first met, but I think you're swell and I'd like to try starting it off with maybe dinner tonight?" Both you and Wanda squealed and held each other tight mid-air watching her nod her answer, running over to her once your feet touched the ground again.

"You two won't be pissed if I take a rain check for tonight, will you?" she cautioned, still a wistful tone in her voice from processing what was happening.

"Absolutely not, you go enjoy your date. More drinks to go around and all that," you told her with the biggest smile. "But tomorrow night we're all staying at my place and you're giving us a full report."

"And remember to wear the red lacy underwear," Wanda teased with a comical wiggle of her eyebrows, earning her a poke to the ribs from both of you.

Nat pulled away from the two of you, walking back toward the indoor gym with Steve walking alongside her, starting to talk about how his best friend had been trying to work up the nerve to ask her out since he got sworn in to the team nearly a year ago. From the sound of the conversation, it seemed that Rogers was divulging some information that Barnes probably swore him to secrecy not so long ago.

"And then there were seven," Shaun spoke up, walking toward  you and the sorceress and clapping a hand on each of your shoulders. "Thor came through and left the barrels in the kitchen for us."

You were about to start talking about the food arrangements when the sight of Wanda's husband flying toward you all with a bouquet of camellias and hydrangeas in his hand. "Wanda, my love, I owe you my deepest apologies."

"Whatever for, Vis?" She broke away from you and Shaun to greet the synthezoid, placing her hands on his upper arms as he pulled her in for a chaste kiss.

"It did not occur to me that you might have wanted to make plans for today until Mr Stark had gone into detail of his own itinerary today for his wife," he explained, handing her the bouquet. "Unfortunately I cannot procure a reservation for us tonight, but I still wish to do something for you. Would you allow me the honor of making you a meal and perhaps watching a movie in the private theater?"

You and Shaun gripped each other's hands like you were high schoolers watching their best friend get asked out on their first big date, shaking and pushing each other over the sweetness of the gesture. "I don't need fancy restaurants or pretty flowers, Vis. Getting to spend time with you, especially after everything that's happened to us, is more than enough. I just need you."

The Sokovian turned back to face you and Shaun, a touch of guilt in her expression. "Rain check? I'll bring extra snacks tomorrow night to make up for it?"

"Don't worry about it, Babes," you reassured her, both you and the martial artist waving off her worries. "Enjoy your evening."

The couple have you a curt nod and a smile before happily flying away hand in hand back to their apartment.

"And then there were five," you and Shaun said in unison, walking back to the common area to load up those barrels that Thor left for tonight's 'festivities'. When you got to the kitchen area, Morgan was adorably sitting atop one of the barrels in question, feet happily swinging in the air with a big smile on her face.

"Off the goods, little Stark, we're not risking you getting drunk your dad's gonna kill us," Shaun said in a panic, already lifting the little girl up and off the barrel and making her squeal and giggle as she giddily exclaimed "I'm flying!".

"If you really think that she can get drunk from osmosis, we have a lot to talk about, sweet little summer child," you joked, walking up to one barrel and starting to push it toward the garage. "Think you can use that ancient mystical ring magic for makeshift wheels so we don't bust out our lungs lugging this all the way to your truck?"

"I can assist you, darling." Your skin bristled at the sound of Loki's voice, taking every ounce of strength you had to not stiffen or recoil at his use of the word. He was only saying it out of habit. Probably a remnant of his upbringing as a prince on Asgard.

He didn't mean it the way you wanted -- more than anything -- for him to mean it.

"No need, Laufeyson, I've got it from here," Strange butted in, conjuring an energy shield with his magic that he slid under the barrels, starting to wheel them toward the garage. "Carry on. Oh and friendly advice, man to god? Your future girlfriend, you know, the one you're making this big gesture for? She might not appreciate you calling other women 'darling', so I highly recommend kicking the habit while it's still early. Avoiding future battles and all."

The god sucked his teeth, the action causing his jaw to clench and sending your thoughts someplace they had no business being. You had no business thinking about another woman's man that way, no matter how hot he was.

"I will remember that. Thank you, Strange," he said softly, making his way back up the stairs.

"Thanks for the save," you muttered, opening the door to the garage for the sorcerer to guide the barrels through. "Don't think I could've gotten away with being on Bitch Mode with him a second time today. Not like I can help it, though. Some lucky Midgardian bitch is gonna be his by the end of the night."

"Pretty sure you're the only woman I know that considers being Laufeyson's girlfriend a good thing."

"Yeah, Y/N, like I know he's on our side and everything but most days he still has me on edge. Like passing him on a bad day's gonna get me a stab in the ribs, not a death glare like normal people," Shaun concurred, nudging your shoulder to hopefully stop your lamenting before you got in too deep. Again.

"I'm really down bad, huh," you sighed, letting out a little yip when a portal to the dark dimension appeared just a few feet in front of you. "The fuck--"

"Hey Strange," a reverberating ethereal voice called out from the portal, and then a tall woman with platinum hair with beauty that you could only describe as 'dark celestial' stepped out. Her eyes trained on the sorcerer next to you. "Heard that today's something of a holiday in this dimension. Figured it might be a good idea to stop by and maybe you could show me around your uh…" She turned to you and Shaun, both your jaws slack on the ground. "What's this place called again?"

"Avengers Compound?" Shaun said at the same time that you blurted out, "New York?"

"Compound York?" She raised an eyebrow at the two of you, amusement coloring her face as she gave you both a once over.

"Eherm…no," you answered her, chuckling nervously and shifting your weight between your feet. "This structure here is Avengers Compound, which is in Upstate New York. New York is a city, but also a region…and a state…?" you drifted off, already feeling a pinch in your head from trying to explain the best you could. You looked over to Shaun. "The more I try finding the words to explain, the more I realize how complicated it actually is. Save me."

Stephen stepped forward. "How about I just take you on a tour around New York, then?" His face stretched out into a wide grin, clearly unable to hide his giddiness over the knowledge that she crossed dimensions to be with him today.

"Is that…New York the city, the region, or the state?"

"The city. New York, New York. There's a whole song about it and everything I can play it for you in the car." He proceeded to drape his arm around the dark sorceress, leading her to his car further down the expansive garage.

"Your little human friend is right, things here are complicated. Downright confusing." She looked back at you and Shaun again as they walked away, hand in hand. "It was nice meeting you both! Stephen speaks highly of you all," she called out, her majestic voice echoing throughout the area.

"You're really pretty!" you blurted out in response, causing her voice to melt into a chuckle, telling her partner how she found you 'adorable'. You threw your head back and groaned toward the ceiling. "I'm a fucking dork."

"At least you're an adorable dork," Shaun shot back, nudging your shoulder and lightly touching the back of your head to get you facing forward again. His phone chimed with a text notification. "Katy. Her shift's over, she said she'll get us a room for eight. I'm texting her now to get a smaller one." He held up his hand, palm facing you. "And then there were four?"

You sighed, clapping your hand against his, your friend giving you a reassuring squeeze once you did. "And then there were four." You jerked your head toward the apartments. "I'll just go change into something that involves 'eating pants' and I'll meet you down here in ten."

The walk back up to your apartment wasn't that long, but it still felt like it with how quickly you slipped back into your lamenting over how your friends had such an eventful day today. Nat had her very public grand gesture. Wanda had her husband trying to cook human food in the name of spending time with her. Strange had his girlfriend literally rip a hole between dimensions to get here.

"And all I have waiting for me are two barrels of mead and karaoke microphones," you muttered, walking through your front door and begrudgingly unzipping your dress from the back. You were just about to half-stomp your way to your closet when something on your bed caught your eye.

Three shiny roses lined with gold, tied together with a gold ribbon at the foot of the bed. A large heart-shaped box of chocolates at the center. And a little teddy bear dressed as a bee with red antennas that had hearts at the end, at its fluffy little feet was an embroidered message. "Bee mine".

"What theeeee fu--"

"Y/N," an all too familiar voice called out from behind you. The air left your lungs at the sight of Loki in a form-fitting forest green button-down tucked into onyx black slacks, tucking his hair behind his ears before smoothing his hands over his shirt. "You're early--"

"What're you doing--Was this you?" you babbled, gesturing at the gifts on your bed. For a second, your heart beat erratically, the thought that maybe this was for you, before reality and logic sunk in. "Okay I think I know what's happening…"

"You do?"

"Yeah, you got the wrong apartment. Gimme a minute to change and I can help you move all this over to--"

The rest of your words died in a little squeak at the back of your throat, the god closing the distance between you two with a few long strides, framing your face in his hands and placing a tender fleeting kiss to your lips.

"Those tokens of my affection are exactly where they belong, little mortal," he murmured against you, tracing up the bridge of your nose with his lips until he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "As am I."

You let out a shaky breath, fighting against the urge to melt in the god's embrace as he snaked his hands around your waist. "The gesture your brother mentioned this morning…this?" He proceeded to press kisses down the side of your face, his warm exhale as he whispered 'yes' into your skin making you light-headed. "This is for me?" you gasped out, whatever was remaining of your logical brain smacking the rest of you with how stupid a question that was.

"Who else would it be for, darling?" He pressed a kiss to your jaw, tightening his arms around you and pressing your body against his. "There is no other in this or any other Realm that could have captured my heart so completely." He kissed the corner of your jaw, making his way down the side of your neck, holding you tighter to keep you up when your knees finally buckled from the sensation. "I did this for you, because I wish to ask something of you. That you become mine as much as I am yours."

"M-Mine?" you stammered. "Y-You're mine?" Since when? How come you didn't get this particular memo? Could've saved you a lot of turmoil and nights spent alone staring up at the ceiling trying and failing to hypnotize yourself out of being into him.

He kissed the tip of your nose, resting his forehead against yours. "I have always been yours, darling."

Your hands traveled up the length of his arms, like you were grounding yourself and trying to tell yourself that this was real. He was really here and he was telling you the words you wanted more than anything to hear for who even knew how long at this point.

He's here, you thought to yourself. And he's mine.

There was only one word that you could muster up in that moment. "Yes." I've always been yours, too.

Karaoke Dreamin' on Such a Winter's Day group chat

myfirstnameisagent: Don't kill me but…rain check?

busboy10: Are you kidding me, Y/N?? You said you'd be down in 5 minutes tops and we're gonna meet up with Katy.

nromanoff: Sweet, now you're gonna have a story to tell tomorrow night, too.

myfirstnameisagent: Actually about that…rain check on tomorrow night, too? I'm kinda not there right now…

busboy10: There?? What do you mean "There"?? How'd you get out the Compound without me seeing you? Or whoever the hot date you're ditching me for is?

imjustwong: Where is everybody? We ordered nachos.

myfirstnameisagent: Yeah…I'm not in the Compound…or in New York…any of the "New York"s. Might not be for the next week. Maybe more. The three of you better not drink all the mead in one go.

busboy10: ??????

thevision: Agent Y/L/N, my wife is showing many signs of distress over her inability to contact you. Your phone seems to be going straight to voicemail.

thewanda: Y/N WHERE ARE YOU I HEARD A BANG FROM YOUR APARTMENT ARE YOU OKAY??

myfirstnameisagent: Babes, I'm fine. That was just the Bifrost.

thewanda: EXCUSE ME??

nromanoff: BABES WHAT--

pointbreakbarbie: My friends, I heard the Bifrost be summoned near Lady Y/N's abode. Is there an emergency? Must I make my way to Asgard to assist?

myfirstnameisagent: Thor your brother said if he finds you here I have permission to stab you, don't even fucking think about it.

thewanda: I REPEAT. EXCUSE ME???

busboy10: Y/N are you in Asgard?? With Loki??

myfirstnameisagent: Yes. And yes. See you in two weeks.

thewanda: He better use that healing magic on your legs so you don't walk funny.

A/N: It took me a whole month to write this because real life was trying TKO me in the work department and also I got sucked in to the worlds of Hello Kitty Island Adventure, Disney Dreamlight Valley, and Delicious World and I've been too weak to even attempt time management 🤣

I'm working on stuff tho I swear it 🫡 Horny bitches cuts are in progress, stories are in progress…lots of progress 😅😅

Also for reference, this was the lil stuffed bear that Loki gave Reader:

and the roses looked like this:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. your first day goes very poorly . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 5.1k

⟢ warnings: there is talk about the reader's previous hostile home environment, although it's not pictured. walburga black is implied to be mentally unstable. a theme here is the lasting impact growing up in that environment has on a person: reader fears becoming like her parents, longs for a more loving environment, doesn't handle her emotions very well, and picks fights. both anger and sadness are dealt with unhealthily by different characters. if there is anything i should add here, please please let me know.

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: well! yikes! angst! i'm not sure i like the vision but i’m trying to remind myself this is a hobby and doesn’t have to be perfect <3

“A walk?” You questioned with a raspy voice.

“Mhm,” James nodded, “Just around the yard. Think it’ll help you feel better.”

You let James lead you to the back door, hand and hand. When he opened it, you discovered that “yard” was a bit of an understatement. The Potters’ property was larger than you knew— enormous, really. Lush garden beds thrived nearest to the house, and the grassy green beyond was surely where James practiced quidditch over the summers. The large trees scattered around the outskirts of the property made you picture a younger James climbing them.

James led you into the grassy landscape, taking notice of your awestricken expression as your eyes fall on Euphemia’s garden.

“I knew you’d like it out here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you mused, stopping to admire a bed of flowers. James dipped down and plucked one from the ground.

He fit it behind your ear and winked, “Don’t tell my mum.”

You frowned, reaching up to remove the flower from your hair. You twirled it inbetween your fingers.

“Your mum must think so poorly of me now,” you muttered, staring down at the flower.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“The first thing Sirius and I did after we were invited to stay is have a screaming match in the dining room. We sure know how to make ourselves feel at home,” you laughed bitterly. “And now she knows we’re together. Didn’t even get to properly tell her. I can’t imagine what she thinks of me.”

“Hey, look at me.” James said in a stern but gentle voice. You wonder how all the Potters can sound so kind even when they’re working up to a lecture.

You peered up through your eyelashes. James sported a pretty smile, and that alone made you feel a little better.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said, “My mum’s not one to jump to any conclusions. She trusts me, alright? And don't worry about your fight with Sirius. No one's expecting this to be easy for you. For either of you."

James continued, “Besides, we all let our emotions get the best of us sometimes, yeah? We’re human. My parents will understand.”

James could tell you over and over again that it’s okay to be angry and it’s okay to slip up, but you didn’t think any amount of it would ever make it feel okay. You wondered how he could even believe it.

It surprised you, actually, how mature and level-headed James could be. We’re human so it’s just okay if our emotions get the best of us sometimes? Who actually thinks like that?

At your house, you had to be nothing short of perfect at all times. Now that you’ve seen Fleamont and Euphemia in parent mode, you can see where James learned it all. You never had anything like that, and it was difficult to wrap your mind around it.

Especially because it wasn’t too long ago that James was one of Hogwarts’ biggest trouble makers—his pranks were the epitome of immature. Evidently, he's grown up a lot recently.

Stupidly, you felt bitter about it. Which was completely absurd, you thought. Because surely you were not jealous of your boyfriend because he learned how to regulate his emotions better than you did. Because he was growing up, maturing? And you… well you don’t know what you’re doing. You felt stuck, like you’d always be a scared little kid who needs her older brothers’ no matter how old you got.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said, not really knowing what else to say. You were compelled to change the subject, “I’m worried about Regulus.”

“I know,” James began leading you around the garden again. You dropped the flower back where it came from, not wanting to be caught red handed with a freshly murdered flower from Effie’s garden.

“We have to get him out of there,” you sighed.

James looked at you through the corner of his eye. Apprehensively, he said, “From what Sirius told me, you guys barely got out of there.”

“Yeah, so we’ll need a really good plan so that we don’t get caught.”

James turned his head to look straight at you. He looked at you like you had two heads.

“What, you want to break him out or something? You want to go back there?”

“We have to. Regulus–“

“Regulus made his choice.” James interrupted warily.

You felt your heart sink into your stomach, “Please, not you too.”

“You heard what Sirius said. Regulus was given the option, and he chose to stay behind,” James tried to reason.

James knew how much your twin meant to you, it wasn't a surprise that you'd be worried about him. But to go back to that house? That was a step too far for his comfort. The moment that Sirius admitted exactly what his mother had done to him, James knew he'd never let either of you near her again. Something must've snapped in Walburga Black— she has been teetering on the edge for years, but she has unmistakably gone from being a cruel mother to an outright unstable woman.

The though of Regulus still being around her made him sick. Even though James didn't know him that well, he still found himself caring about him. It was likely an extension of your love for Regulus manifesting in James, who cared for you so deeply that your concerns became his. But that's just it— you're the one who he really cared for. Above all else, it's you he wanted to protect.

“He did not choose to stay behind,” you raised your voice, offended that James could ever think so.

“Love...”

James didn't mean to, but he looked at you with pity in his eyes, as if he thought you were in denial.

Anger flared up in your chest when you registered his expression, “No, don’t do that. Just because Sirius said so doesn’t mean it’s true. Regulus wouldn’t just choose them over us. Sirius– he doesn't have his facts straight.”

James didn’t say anything. What could he? It sounded like you were implying that Sirius was lying and James knew Sirius wouldn't do that.

For the record, you didn't think Sirius would lie either. But he was absolutely capable of missing something.

“You don’t believe me,” your mouth hung open after your words.

“It’s not that.” James rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, “I believe you, but I believe Sirius too. And Sirius said that Regulus refused to come. Whatever the reason, that's the choice he made. I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger for a– a lost cause.”

His words stopped you in your tracks.

“A lost cause?"

You had never been so affronted by James. He might not know Regulus nearly as well as he knows you or Sirius, but the fact that he could easily tag him as a lost cause was unbelievable.

"Don’t be an idiot, James. How could you say that?”

James had kept walking for a couple more paces, so he had to turn to face you. He tried to cover the way the venom in your voice made him flinch.

“You can’t force him to leave,” he said, sounding as understanding as he could muster, but he needed to get through to you.

Phantom alarm bells were ringing in his ears, his desperation for you to hear him growing. You were stubborn and you'd do anything for your brothers, James knows this all to well. But not this. He couldn't let you do this. He wouldn't let you go back there.

“Merlin, you’re siding with Sirius!” you accused, giving in to the anger burning in your chest.

James tried to remain calm as he spoke.

“I’m not siding with anyone.”

“Yes, you are! How could I be so stupid? Of course you’d choose Sirius over me!"

James features twist in anguish, "Love–"

"This is what I get for falling for my brother’s best friend. When there's a choice, it will always be him, won’t it?” You spat, glaring at James in a way that almost knocked him off his feet.

He was completely taken aback; you two had never fought like this. He tried to take some semblance of control over the situation, “Okay, you’re angry right now, and that’s okay–“

“Oh, would you stop that!” you shouted. A small part of you hoped the sound wouldn’t travel back to the house, but a bigger part of you was consumed with a growing rage. That part didn’t seem to care.

“Stop what?” James knitted his brows.

“Being some master of emotions all of a sudden! I’m accusing you of picking Sirius over me! I’m raising my voice at you! I’m calling you names! Why won’t you fight back? Yell at me, do something!”

James took a deep breath, “I’m not going to do that.”

He sounded completely calm and collected. Somehow, that pissed you off.

“Oh, you’re so perfect, aren’t you?”

“What?” James felt like he was going crazy, unable to decipher what he could possibly be doing wrong.

“Perfect James Potter, wouldn’t hurt a fly these days! You could never–! never lose your cool, could you?” you shouted.

James gaped at you. He couldn't be mad even if we wanted to; he was just confused. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? You yourself didn’t even seem to know what you were saying, your words tumbling out awkwardly as you said things even you knew weren’t true.

It’s not like James never lost the reign on his emotions. He throws his quidditch gear around when he loses a match, he can’t control his frustration when he doesn’t do well in class, he isolates himself when he’s sad instead facing it, he does a whole lot of things that he’s not proud of.

And you’ve seen it all before, but for some reason, you’ve chosen not to remember those moments. All you can think about is how you were so angry and scared, and he was so understanding and level-headed. And how you grew up with screaming matches and unfair punishments, and he probably got to grow up with calm discussions and soft spoken apologies. And it all felt so unfair.

“Are you–? Sorry, you're mad at me because I'm not getting mad at you? I’m sorry, I guess?”

“I don’t want you to be sorry I want you to yell at me! Be mad at me, fight with me!” You felt the familiar sensation of tears welling up in your eyes.

James looked shellshocked. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to deal with you like this, he’s never seen this before. Sure, sometimes you bicker— all couples do— but this was reaching an uncharted territory.

"I'm not going to yell at you for wanting to keep your brother safe–"

"Then yell at me because you think I'm naive for thinking I can get him out of there. Fight with me because I think you're an idiot for thinking Regulus is a lost cause!"

You were trying to rile him up, James knew this, and he so badly wanted to not let if affect him. Not because it was making him angry, no, it was making him sad.

But he couldn't fight it.

And James always does the same thing when he's sad.

“I think we need to take a step back from this conversation. Why don’t we go inside?” James offered.

He sounded like he stole that line from some therapist's book on navigating conflict. It made you want to scream.

“You go inside! I’m going to keep walking.” You pushed past him, deliberately letting your shoulder collide with his as you stormed away.

James let the blow knock him back a step, too thrown off to do anything else. He listened to your receding footsteps and he wanted to be the type of boyfriend who runs after you when you’re upset. Who holds you and listens to you until you can work out the problem. Instead—

“Just stay by the house, okay?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, whatever.”

A few hot angry tears slid down your face. You aggressively wiped them away and willed any more tears to dry up. You were tired of crying.

You stomped around the gardens and grass, thinking of Regulus and how he deserved better than siblings who left him behind to find refuge with a boy who wouldn't think twice about rescuing him too.

Leaving that house was something you'd always dreamed of. But you had imagined both of your brothers by your side. No one was ever supposed to be abandoned.

Sirius just didn’t understand how horrible being alone in that house was. You and Regulus had already experienced a taste of it when he went off to Hogwarts a year before you two. Not to mention, Sirius was always the strongest of you, so without him, navigating that house was a whole new terrain.

Maybe that’s what Sirius senses is different about your relationship with Regulus. Those nine months were probably the worst of your life, and Reg is who you went through them with.

And maybe that's why you were so adamant that Regulus can’t be left there alone while everyone else seems ready to abandon all hope. Your parents had never been more furious than when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago. You suspected that they would be worse, angrier than ever after the departure Sirius orchestrated for you and him. You couldn’t let Regulus face that alone.

Somewhere along the line, worry for Regulus took precedence over the anger that held your gentle love for James hostage. By the time you came to a large trees on the outskirts of the lawn, the anger from the previous argument had simmered.

As you plopped down in the dirt and sat against its trunk, you tried not to be annoyed that taking a step away from that conversation really worked.

You took in your surroundings to distract yourself. It was to no avail, as a nearby shed caught your eye. Through its open window, you could see James’ broom and other quidditch gear.

“You idiot,” you chastised yourself aloud. You let your head fall into your hands as a million nasty thoughts about yourself raced through your mind, the most prominent being you’re just like your mother.

It was just like her to pick fights. You couldn’t breathe in that house without her telling you that you were doing it wrong. She always found something to yell at you for.

How could I act like that, you winced as you recalled the fight you just walked away from.

Poor James, who you yelled at for not being mad at you. It really was just like her to get upset over something so irrational. You felt ill over the similarity, and you were overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom.

You couldn't let yourself be doomed to your parents' fate. You wanted to be kind, reasonable, rational. So, what wouldn't they do in this situation?

A safe assumption would be that they wouldn't feel bad, so you're already on the right track it seems.

They also wouldn't apologize.

Okay, yeah. Apologize. You could apologize.

You have to apologize.

Just go apologize.

But you just couldn’t get yourself to move. You were frozen in shame for your behavior, the only movement was the rise and fall of your chest from your labored breath.

James Potter did not like feeling sad. It was unsettling, uncomfortable, so utterly unlike him.

Whenever it happened, he tried to hide from it. He'd lock himself away somewhere before he'd dare face it head on— or admit that it's there at all.

The last time he was sad, he let himself fall asleep in the common room just so he wouldn't have to face his friends back at his dorm. And when his childhood pet died, he didn't mention it for months, only alerting his friends to his cat's passing when Peter asked how old his cat was again.

It's not that James thought there was anything wrong with being sad. He definitely didn't believe in any of that nonsense that real men don't cry. In fact, he was always the first to offer his shoulder if any of his friends were upset, back pats and let-it-all-outs at the ready.

But when it was him, when he was the one with the lump in his throat and a pit in his stomach, he couldn't handle sadness anymore. It made him feel vulnerable, and he wanted to be the strong one, the brave one. The one who lights up a room with the force of the sun and brings humor and fun into everyone's days.

So, when he couldn't be that, he'd rather be alone. He'd rather sit isolated in a dimly lit room where the darkness can't touch anyone but himself.

His bed creaked under his weight as he shifted in place, the only movement he has made in several minutes.

He was trying to be still and let his mind focus on nothing but his breathing. He was especially trying not to think of your argument.

He counted out his inhales and exhales, just as he had learned years ago in divination class.

James took divination for one year only. It wasn't for him, but one thing from that class did stick with him— the lesson on mindfulness. Something about mediation and a clear head opening your mind to frequencies you may not normally be able to comprehend.

James wasn't sure about all that, but he quite liked the calmness of the exercise they did in class that day, even if he felt a bit silly doing it.

He finds himself repeating the meditation from that class when he's down. He much prefers a clear head to one with racing thoughts that give him that choked up feeling in his throat.

He was broken out of his feeble attempt at a meditative state when there was a knock at his door.

Hope swelled in his stomach. Maybe you've come to talk. Maybe he could smooth things over with you. And then he could stop feeling like this.

He tried not to look disappointed when Sirius walked through the door.

Sirius gave James a once over as the door clicked shut behind him, "What's wrong with you?"

"Me?" James forced a chuckle, "Nothing's wrong with me."

"You're sitting at the foot of your bed, starin' at the floor, shoulders slumped," Sirius' hand swept towards James' hunched form, "I know what upset looks like, Prongs."

"I'm not upset," James insisted still, "I'm just thinking. Is being lost in thought a crime these days?"

Sirius shrugged, plopping down on the bed next to James. His legs hung over the edge as he let his back hit the sheets, his arms sprawled at his sides.

James listened as Sirius puffed out a long, exhausted breath.

"You alright?" James asked, not bothering to look back, letting his sad eyes remain fixed on the floor.

"Ah, I see. Worried about me, are you?" Sirius guessed.

James seized the opportunity to excuse his demeanor. Besides, he wanted to talk about what Sirius had said earlier anyway.

"You did have a pretty nasty spat with your sister. And then you nearly collapsed."

There's a lull in the conversation for a moment as Sirius thinks.

"Your parents fixed me right up again. Gave me some nasty potion to help with the dizziness. Tasted like sewage but 'm good as new. They're off now, by the way, picking up some herbs they want to steep and feed me for these spasms I keep having in my hands."

James winced. Spasms, a potential side effect of being under the Cruciatus Curse.

"Sirius... about what you said happened. Your mother–"

"I don't want to talk about that," Sirius spoke quietly, somberly.

After a moment, Sirius added, "I don't want to think about any of them ever again."

James felt a pang in his heart, knowing Regulus was included in 'them'. You wouldn't have stood for it if you'd heard Sirius say that.

James' mind wanders back to your earlier argument, his earlier attempts to avoid these thoughts futile now. You were so adamant that you needed to go back for Regulus, ready to dive into some sort of escape plan, and that still scared the hell out of James.

He considered telling Sirius about what you wanted to do. One on hand, he knew Sirius would be on board with keeping you the hell away from there— keeping you safe. On the other hand, it felt like tattling on you to your brother.

James thought about the betrayal written across your face earlier. How hurt you were when you suspected James was choosing to believe Sirius over you. Confiding in Sirius now would surely, surely make it worse. And James didn't want to hurt you.

And yet—

"Thing is... I have to talk to you about something. About your sister... and about Regulus."

A flinch finally broke you out of your statue-like state when a sudden and distinct fluttering sounded above you. You expected to see any mundane bird when you looked up, but there was nothing there. You leaned around the tree to try to locate the source.

Instead of any random creature of flight, it was a familiar owl. And he was not in the tree, rather next to it, in a designated perch located on the other side of the thick trunk.

"Oh. Hello," you greeted the owl. He stared at you blankly, of course.

You've met this owl before. His name was Glory. You didn't know why, but James had named him, and you supposed that it was a name that James would have thought of.

You've received countless letters from James, all delivered by Glory. There were the long ones, which you mostly received during the times you were apart. Glory was good at discretely delivering them to your window. And if James also had mail for Sirius, he knew to deliver yours first.

James was always checking up on you over the holidays, making sure you were okay and telling you stories of his own time at home that would take your mind off of whatever horrible things were going on at Grimmauld Place.

When you were together, back at Hogwarts, James still sent you little notes whenever you weren't near. He knew how much you loved receiving notes from him, so he made it a habit. He would send notes about things he saw that reminded him of you, expressions of how much he missed you even if he'd seen you mere hours prior, declarations of love that he couldn't keep inside until the next time he'd be alone with you.

Oh, your sweet boy.

"I really messed up, didn't I?" You asked Glory. You chided yourself for continuing to try to talk to an owl. Not that owls weren’t smart. In fact, they were very intelligent, especially the magical sort. Glory could understand you, but it’s not like he had the ability to respond. 

You imagined that Glory would tell you that you messed up big time if he did, though.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, wiping dirt and twigs off your pants when you rose. As you walked back towards the house, you wondered if your mother ever felt sorry like this, if she ever wanted to apologize sometimes. Surely, at some point she did. James' words come back to you about how we're all human, and you want to believe that maybe there was a memory lost in your mind of her apologizing to you.

You'd have been a wide-eyed little kid at the time, snot-nosed and teary-eyed after she yelled at you for spilling milk or leaving a toy in the middle of the floor. She'd wrap her arms around you and apologize for raising her voice. Then she'd shush and coo soothingly until your tears dried up and you could show her all of your baby teeth in a wide grin.

It was unnatural, the image of her in your mind like that, but your heart burned for it to be real. As sick as it was, you still yearned for your mother's love, even if it was a thing of the past.

Maybe your house really was a poison. Because if she had ever been gentle, one way or another, Walburga Black got colder and harsher over the years. She spiraled so deep into darkness that she seemed to want to be cruel. After all, to cast the Cruciatus Curse, you do have to really want it.

Each step you took was invigorated with a new sense of determination. Apologizing to James now, owning up to your mistake, it was only the first step of doing everything in your power to never be anything like that woman.

It felt like no time passed at all by the time you arrived outside of James' door. You didn't feel ready to face him, but you raised your fist anyway. Just when knuckles were about to meet wood, you heard a muffled voice from inside.

"What do you think?" James' voice asked softly. Then, after a beat of silence, "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, James, I heard you," Sirius said. He had that far away kind of tone in his voice he gets when he's trying to distance himself from his emotions.

"And?"

"And I'm bloody tired of talking about him!" Sirius barked. Even from the safety of the other side of the door, you flinched.

"She doesn't get it. She'll never get it because it's him," your brother continued. "If she had known he wasn't coming she probably wouldn't be here either. If it's a choice, it'll be him over me in a heartbeat. He could've done the bloody spell on me himself and she'd still choose him. Merlin, she could've done the bloody spell if he asked her to."

If felt like the wind was knocked out of you. You bit your tongue until you drew blood, fighting the urge to cry out, as if Sirius' words physically wounded you.

Rationally, you knew that Sirius was just angry, that he didn't mean it. But the rational side of your brain hasn't been winning many battles today.

You vaguely heard James tell Sirius not to say things like that as you backed away from his door until you met the wall behind you with a thump.

There was silence from inside James' room for mere seconds before the door was ripped open. Sirius stood in the doorway, James behind him. You couldn't read your brother's expression, there barely was one. How typical of him to hide behind a blank stare.

You, however, were wide eyed with a hand clamped over your mouth, leaning against the wall behind you, sure you'd collapse without its support.

Sirius began to say your name and suddenly your hand was gone and the words were tumbling from your lips.

"How could you say that?" Your voice was strained, "I wouldn't ever do that– He wouldn't ever do that!"

Sirius' eyes bore into yours but he didn't say anything. You wished you could tell what he was thinking under that stupid mask of his.

"I shouldn't have to tell you over and over again that I love you both. You are both my brothers, you both mean the world to me. It's so irrational and– and foolish to worry about a choice that I'd never–"

You cut yourself off. The irony of being so hurt by Sirius' words were not lost on you. You had only just been accusing James of choosing Sirius over yourself.

"No, that's not true," Sirius bit back, "because that choice is upon you now. So, go ahead. Let's see if you can surprise me."

"What?"

"Choose me, stay here where it's safe. Choose Regulus, go right ahead and try to be his jailbreak. But when you can't convince him to leave, when he refuses, I won't be surprised when you choose to stay there too."

Your eyes flashed to James, who looks way too shameful for you to not put two and two together. You were conflicted; feelings of regret over accusing James of choosing Sirius over you were mixing with feelings of betrayal that James had ran right to Sirius with your words.

You'd let the guilt and betrayal sink in and shred you to pieces later. You had Sirius to deal with first.

"What is wrong with you?" you hissed. "How could you be so dim? Wanting our brother to be safe does not mean I'm choosing him over you."

"Color me unsurprised!" Sirius yelled, looking smug.

Your eyes began to burn, "Fuck you, Sirius!"

James tries to interrupt, "Er, hey, maybe we should–"

"Don't you dare tell me we need to take a step back from this conversation, James!"

James' mouth clamped shut.

"Don't yell at him!" Sirius squawks.

"You want to talk about choosing one person over another? Let's talk about it. Don't pretend you haven't given up on Regulus ever since you met his shiny new replacement!"

You'd feel real shitty about saying that in front of James later; the look on his face at your words was already burned into your memory.

"Don't turn this on me!" Sirius shouted.

"You're such a hypocrite. And an imbecile for thinking I care about you any less than Regulus. Of course I care about you both the same. And you may not believe it, but Regulus cares about you too!"

"That's–"

"I don't want to hear it," you interrupted, "I'm done. Say it James."

James looked like a deer in headlights, "What?"

"Say the thing!" you shouted.

"We need to take a step back from this conversation?"

Your arms flew up, gesturing towards James as you stared Sirius down with an exasperated look on your face. Your brother scoffed and stormed down the hall, disappearing to anywhere else in the Potters' home.

For a moment it was just you and James in the hall. Your eyes met and he looked anguished and far too apologetic. You knew that you were supposed to be the apologetic one, and you felt your heart begging you to let the sorrys loose.

It was too bad that the betrayal started settling in before the guilt.

"Sirius was right before. You are a snitch."

With that, you slipped back into your room and let the door slam shut behind you.

James remained in the hall for a moment longer, not knowing who to follow. He should follow one of you.

Instead, he decided to retreat back to his bedroom.

James wanted to be alone again.

[kosmosguk]

Lineage (M) | Special Chapter: How It Began

Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be. But many years before the events of Lineage's main story takes place, there was once only the love of a beloved goddess and a damned demon.

Warnings:  HEAVY yandere themes, death, gore and death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, mentions of smut, 18+, explicit language

A/N: Surprise, everyone! It's been, what, 4 years since I finished Lineage and 3 years since I stopped writing on this blog. I've been through a lot of ups and downs in the meantime (to underplay it), but I'm now in a pretty good spot. I've thought about writing this for years and there's probably at least 10 incomplete versions of this on my old laptop, but writer's slump was a huge barrier. It wasn't until a conversation with a roommate who had complained that a fic she liked was never fully fully complete that I thought about trying again, from scratch, to complete this part for Lineage. Lineage will always be my baby, and on a reread of it to prepare to write this chapter, the me of the past did do better than expected (probably better than the me of today). I don't know if any of my original readers are still here from the days when I was active on this blog, but even if it's just one, I hope I brought this story alive just a little longer. Will I write the epilogue though (which also has 10+ incomplete drafts)? We'll see :) Hopefully it won't take another 4 years!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Special Chapter |

A beautiful clearing stretched on underneath the heat of a sun that always remained warm. It was green and lush, but void of any budding blooms. There were bits of dried flowers that showed that there might have been flowers once, which had blossomed as quick back then as rain drops fell from the sky. This clearing was eternal, and it could only be changed by the touch of a being blessed by the divine or damned by the evil.

A man, cloaked in black, bent down into the clearing. There was only one more bloom now that still remained, a reminder of a time that seemed distant and far. It was hard to pick out from the shadows that spread from his feet, but he restrained the shadows until the yellow flower could tentatively peek out through the green.

It was time now. He could bring her back. She would fill this clearing with flowers again like she did before, and she would laugh as he clumsily wove together a crown from them.

He plucked the flower out of the grass and pressed it against his lips tenderly. It shriveled and dried up, leaving a colorless husk. He let it flutter out of his grasp and looked up at the sun for the first time in his existence.

"I will bring you back," he promised then. His voice sounded like he had not spoken in many years. He pulled out his sword and pierced it into the grass, watching the green shrivel into gray.

In the glint of his sword, there was a reflection of a young maiden, her fists kneading against a ball of dough. When she moved slightly, nudging the hair off of her shoulders, a hint of red was seen on her skin.

You were born in a field of flowers, blooming beautifully underneath a sky lit with gold. The daughter of the God of Life and the Goddess of Creation, you were beloved by all beings who relied on the earth to live. You, who had lived under the protection of all who was Good, were woefully ignorant of the true darkness of those who lived in the shadows of Evil.

But then on a peaceful day, not unlike the day you had been born, you realized then how easy it was for Evil to creep into the realm of the Good.

“Wake up, my goddess!”

You flinched, peeking your eyes open to the Fairy of Tulips pulling the hem of your tunic with her small fists. “I am sleeping, Little Tulip. Only official orders will wake me.”

The sun was warm against your skin, and the clarity of your mind was still soft from the blurry haze of sleep. Though deities had little need for sleep, your habit of naps was known far and wide through the Creators’ realm. You tried to close your eyes again, nestling back into the bed of grass, and brush her off your clothes, but she clung onto your palm, chomping on your thumb. You yelped, now wide awake.

She squinted down at you, fluttering up off your palm, and placed her hands on her hips, the sunrise tulip petals adorning her body swaying in her frenzy. “The flowers have been murmuring that there’s evil nearby! We have to leave. Now!”

You laughed. Evil? Evil had not existed in this realm for many eons, after the War ended with victory of the Good. But when the little fairy’s expression didn’t show a hint of amusement and the muttering of the flowers around you remained, you frowned and pushed yourself up to stand.

“If you are certain of evil, then I will bring myself to check it out. It would not do any of us good if I left the situation unchecked, as we are by the border of the realm.” You stepped forward, flowers blooming underfoot to soften your path. The little fairy tugged at your clothes, hoping to stop you, but you kept walking further away from the clearing you had been lazing in towards the forest by it. Instead of the welcoming lush green that usually greeted you, the forest was coated in darkness.  

When the muttering of the flowers pitched in volume, you knew you were getting close. You placed your hands out, ready to call for nature’s aid if the situation called for it. However, instead of some vile creature looming over you with venom oozing from its pores, a young man laid in the midst of the darkness. A closer look prompted a gasp to leave your lips. He was beautiful, more beautiful than any deity you had ever seen, and if you had not been entrenched in shadows, you could have been fooled to believe him holy. But the oozing black blood from the wound on his side and his eyes, which flickered open to glower at you, were a startling red.

He scooted back, his free hand falling to the blade by him.

“I will not hurt you!” you spoke before you could process the thought, mesmerized by the sight of his eyes. You showed him your hands. Your eyes dropped to the curve of his lips, which if it had not been pulled in a sneer would have been lush and have softened his features. “I am a healer and a grower, not a killer.”

His expression decreased in hostility. You hesitatingly asked: “Is it alright if I come close? You can keep your sword by you, and if I do anything unpleasant, I will understand if you slay me but...” You teetered for a moment. “But if you kill me, I cannot ensure your safety and that would be bad for you and me. Me because I would be dead and you because you would also be dead and...”

You were interrupted by a laugh. Your eyes flickered back to him. He looked startled at the sound he had made, and you smiled brightly in response. You took a step closer. When he did not tense, you dropped to your knees and raised your palm over his side. You lifted your gaze to meet his, and both of you sat in an entranced silence, staring at the other. His eyes dropped to your lips, though there was still a guarded look to him, and you held your breath.

“Do you want me to put my hand down?”

“What?” you sputtered. Oh. Heat burned at your cheeks as you noticed the playful tug of his lips. You nodded quickly. He must have thought you were amusing. You focused back on healing, and you would leave and tell Little Tulip to not say a word. You vowed that you would never see this brute, who enjoyed your embarrassment, again.

When he dropped his hand, you called your healing power, but the unpleasant quirk of your lips increased the time it took to fully heal his wound. When the flesh closed over the wound, you leapt back to your feet. You felt foolish, very unlike the noble and dignified deity you were supposed to be.

“I am going now. I will not tell a soul about you. You do not need to thank me, but I will tell you that you must not wander into this realm again. I guarantee that the next deity you meet will not be as forgiving as me and...”

Your lips pinched together when you felt his touch around your wrist. He pulled your hand down, and lifted his head to kiss the inside of your palm. You flinched at the press of his lips on your skin. He looked up at you, mistrust no longer in his eyes. “You are my savior. May I not be able to see you anymore?”

You dropped your gaze from his. If he heeded your words and you no longer saw him again, would the emptiness in you at the thought grow more and more?

“Only here,” your voice was but above a whisper. “If I see your shadows in the woods, I will come find you. But you must not come find me.”

He was silent for a second. “You are as cruel as you are kind, my goddess.”

He still had not let go of your hand and though his touch was cold, you felt fire licking up where his fingers made contact with your skin. You pulled your hand back like he had scalded you and spun on your heel, flowers having barely enough time to bloom underneath your bare feet with the quickness that you fled.

When you left the woods, your feet scratched up for the first time in your existence and your cheeks red, you could only force yourself to squeeze out a sentence at the quivering little fairy: “There was no evil.”

Your encounters with him continued, in secret and away from prying eyes. You talked about your visits to the human world: the songs you had heard and how you wished you could have danced and the loaves of bread you spotted cooling on the tables. You even talked about how your duties burdened you, though you were made to fulfill them, and how you felt like you were only able to handle them out of love for your humans. He talked about the books he had picked up in the human world, how he had found them meager and naïve at first and then interesting, and the little lake of lava he had grown up by and skipped rocks in. Though he spoke very little, when he did, you were captured by him.

And with the increase of encounters, your feelings of love, which you had reserved for only the creations that had been blessed by the hands of the Creators, grew. You let him hold you close to his chest, and when you laid your head on his flesh, you swore you could almost hear a heart beat quicker and quicker.

On your seventh encounter, when you had brought a basket of flowers into the woods to weave into crowns, you had placed one on his head. When he reached out into your basket and pulled out a handful of flowers, you watched him clumsily weave the flowers together and place the lopsided crown on your head. How could this man, as tender and clumsy as he was, be evil?

When he looked dejected at the sight of the crown limply hanging onto your head, you laughed and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. You had seen your lovely humans do this to express their adoration. And it was accurate to the moment: you adored him, to the point where you could ignore where his origins had laid root in.

Immediately, his hands reached up around your waist and pressed you close until you were on his lap. You gasped against his lips, and his tongue was in your mouth, delving into its depths. You burned underneath his exploration, your hands clenching onto his clothes into fists. Oh, you had never known pleasure like this, so unlike the simpleminded happiness you felt watching the trees hum in the wind and your humans create art. This pleasure was different: it blazed hotly, burning down trees and creating destruction in its path.

When the two of you were separated, your eyes blurred in a haze, he brushed his finger over the plumpness of your bottom lip, soaked in the mixture of saliva. His eyes were filled with anguish, but for what, you did not know. “My name is Yoongi.”

You let out a startled gasp at this. Oh. Oh no. You knew this name. You pushed away from him and onto your feet, flinging an arm out to point at him. “You are the Demon God. You...!”  

He was on his feet now, his hands reaching out to grab onto you. But you were inconsolable, banging your fists on his chest. Fire burned before your gaze, glimpses of your beloved humans hopelessly shielding their children from horrible monsters that would tear them apart and consume their remains. You knew those screams. You could hear them even now.

“You are the one to harm my beloved humans! I have seen your creations rise up, full of evil and malice. I have seen them destroy and terrorize and kill-!”

He held your hands to his chest, pressing your fists against where his heart would have been had he been human. The fight drained out of you, as you laid limply in his embrace, tears wetting the fabric of his clothes. His voice was ragged as he spoke. “I am full of evil, my goddess. I was full of evil. I admit, I who had been wandering in darkness did not know good. But you, who could have slain me, showed me good when you saved me. I can be good for you, as long as you do not leave me. You hold my pitiful existence in your hands.”

He reached up a hand to touch the flower crown. The crown disintegrated underneath his touch, leaving bits of ashes. “You see, whatever I touch, I destroy. But with you, I can control this damned ability of mine. I can see reason.” He swallowed heavily. “I can see you. And when I see you, I see all that is good. I can see the flowers that you love to smell and out of all of them, you love lilies the most. I can see that you love humans, though they pillage and lie and kill. I can see why all beings seek the warmth of the day and fear the coldness of night.”

You looked up at him. You could only see the redness of his eyes then. But beneath it, there was a being who you were certain loved you. And you loved him, as much as you loved your humans. He, who was evil, was nothing more than a creation led astray.

“I am sorry,” you finally whispered, a stray tear slipping down your cheek. “I...You will have to give me time.”

When you pushed yourself away from him, this time for good, you walked away.

When he saw that you had left without even a look back at him, he looked up as a large crow flew down. When it landed, it transformed into that of a handsome man with narrow eyes and bronzed skin and cheeks that would have revealed a dimple had he been a smiler.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi spoke, “Keep an eye on her for me. I will leave to deal with the issues of the Demon Realm.”

Namjoon nodded his head and hummed in agreement. “I will. A favor for a friend.”

Yoongi laughed. “Your associations with humans have made you more like them. A demon has no need for friends. In our existence, there are those who lead, and those who follow.”

Namjoon turned his head to look at where the little goddess had been. “And how would you describe her: a leader or a follower?”

Yoongi’s hands clenched briefly, like he could still feel her warmth, and his eyes were still pinned to where she had been. “She is holy. Holier than my damned existence. And yet I still want to monopolize her and make her look only at me.”

“So then?” Namjoon asked again. “How would you categorize her?”

Yoongi remained silent for a moment. Then, he vanished, leaving Namjoon alone in the forest. Namjoon thought to himself then: what about this little goddess captured the attention of a demon that had been damned from the beginning?

Namjoon kept a careful eye on the goddess. Though on the surface, it was due to orders from his liege, he could not help the insatiable curiosity about her. She was kind—though kindness was not much familiar to a demon like him. She certainly loved those humans, as foolish and terrible they were. And when she watched a wedding, there was a certain sadness lingering in her eyes that captured him.

And so, as Yoongi remained away from her side, Namjoon found himself fixated on this presence.

He had been following her in a crow form when he was caught by the pudgy hands of some kid who was little more than the neighborhood bully. The kid had thrown him onto the ground and menacingly reached down to start plucking at his feathers. He had thought about growing back into a fierce snake, who could rear up to bite the human that dared to grab him and leave him on the verge of death, when a voice cried out.

“Leave that bird alone!”

The child bully looked up, prepared to viciously attack the person who dared to interrupt his fun time, but swallowed his words at the sight of the glowering adult. The little goddess had taken on the form of a muscular man, with biceps that bulged like the size of a boulder, and the kid had been too flustered to come up with a retort. Instead, the kid dropped Namjoon’s bird form and sped off.

When the muscular man shifted back into the form of the little goddess, Namjoon watched as you ran up to him and lifted him up to inspect him. “Oh, I am so glad you were not harmed! I love those humans, but I do not particularly enjoy it when they decide to hurt other innocent beings.” You squinted down at him with analytical eyes. Namjoon gulped, fearing that you would have caught onto the true self that lingered underneath the disguise. “Do you think I was too mean by taking on that scary form, right?”

Namjoon shook his head, forgetting that birds should not have understood the human language. But you laughed like this was to be expected, and Namjoon felt silly: of course, animals like birds would understand the words of this goddess. “Good! Well, I will let you be now, little guy. Try to be more careful, so you will not get caught again. You are a handsome bird, with very beautiful feathers. There are many humans who would catch you just to capture your feathers.”

Namjoon puffed up in pleasure. Of course, he was beautiful. He was a high-ranking demon. This crow form was nothing for him. If anything, he was the most handsome crow out of all the crows that occupied the human realm. He squinted his eyes. What was he even thinking?

In his agitation, he fluttered his wings and flapped away, ignoring the tinkling sound of laughter that she made when he almost rammed into a tree branch.

When Yoongi returned and had asked Namjoon on how his goddess had fared without seeing him, Namjoon could not help the zip of pleasure that ran through him when he had answered that she had been more than fine, and Yoongi had glowered in response.

Namjoon then understood why Yoongi had been unable to answer him when he had asked which category the little goddess had occupied. She was neither a leader nor a follower. Her existence itself was a source of contentment, of happiness that destroyed the boundary between who was meant to control and who was meant to be controlled.

There were many creations that were beautiful. And there were few creations that were both beautiful and kind. But beautiful and kind creations never lived long.

You loved most the most beautiful and kind of the humans: a young girl who had lived as a daughter of a baron. You had chanced upon her on one of your visits, watching her help the poor though her family itself had little means, and when she had begged for help from a deity to help save her from her plight, you had been listening to her pleas that she not be sold to the vicious king that ruled over her kingdom.

You did something that you reserved for only your most favorite humans: you appeared in front of her. When you had offered her a way to avoid the favor of the king—a bell that would turn her into a bird that could fly out of the king’s grasp—she had laid on the ground and kissed your feet in joy.

But word of the goddess that appeared with the golden bell spread far and wide. And when you entered the human realm, wanting to see how that human girl was faring, you were soon captured by the king’s army. When you were lead to the throne room, your hands wrapped in chains, you were distraught at the sight of your most favorite human pointing at you.

“This is the goddess!” she declared. She turned to the king, who looked like a walking corpse with sallow skin and hollow cheeks underneath the gold and silk he wore. “Your majesty, I implore you to remember our deal. For her capture, you will let go of my parents and give us enough gold to revitalize our land and tend to our people.”

Oh, though she had betrayed you so, you felt a rush of pride. Betrayal for a good reason, you could tolerate, for you loved her so. But the king had merely raised his hand, and a knight rushed forward with a fell swoop of his sword. When her head, bloody, fell in front of you, you let out a ragged cry.

The king knelt down in front of you, a blade in his hand. You flinched as he wielded the knife...and sliced his palm open. He reached up to cup your cheek, smearing his blood on your flesh. “I heard tears from a goddess could cure all wounds.”

He lifted his palm back and watched with awe as the wound on his palm closed up. His eyes glowed with a sick greed. “Then it must be true. That the blood of a goddess can cure all ailment. You know, I had this knife brought to me for this very moment when I first heard the legends. It is made of a terrible evil capable of killing good. You should know that I was granted this knife from the Demon God himself after I sacrificed many peasants.”

He raised the knife and sliced your palm. You felt pain for the first time in your existence, but even more hurtful, you felt anguish bite at what might have been your heart. Gold ichor spilled out of your wound, and he hastily bent down to drink your blood. Color returned to his cheeks at once. You watched in disgust and horror as he laughed with glee. He sobered up, looking down at you. His eyes glittered with the remnants of the sickness that had imprisoned him so.

“Then it must be true. That the sacrifice of a goddess can fulfill any wish, a wish that would last for all of time. Your death can bring anyone back to life. For with your death, life will follow. I will be able to see my wife then.” He lifted the knife, and you were silent as he brought it down in a fell swoop. The blade pierced the flesh above your clavicle, but not a sound of pain left your lips. You pinched them together, even as your body collapsed on the cold floor.

You thought of Yoongi then. You wanted to let him know that you forgave him, for his deceit and for how he had tricked your beloved humans. But you were no longer capable of doing so. You were bleeding out on this floor, just like any other mortal that you had loved. You hoped that the Creators would not hurt the humans who had harmed you. There were many you had loved. And you knew that the Creators loved them even more so.

You saw a flash of red in front of your blurry gaze. A voice called your name, begging. You had never heard a voice that despaired like this voice did. You wondered, for a moment, why it sounded like Yoongi. Something wet splashed onto your skin, the sound of a crackle and a pop following. Ah, the tears of a demon, unlike the tears of a god, caused pain. But you did not feel any pain, not now. Ah, it was Yoongi.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him, that you saw good in him, that even when you were not around he could still be good. But your time, which had seemed to stretch on infinitely before, was now finite, limited by a few seconds left.

You whispered, gasping out short little breaths between the words. “I...forgive...all.”

“Wake...!” you heard.

And then you could speak no longer. And you could hear no longer.

The end of the realms was imminent. Underneath the grief of the ruler of the demon realm, fires roared and overtook earth. Soon, once earth was taken and destroyed, rage would spread and bring all that existed down to the burning afterworld.

The God of Life could not stand by and witness the end of all that he had created. When he had found himself in front of the Demon God, he had been prepared for the sword that the Demon God had pointed at his chest.

“You...! She is your daughter, and you wish me to spare the lives of the humans who...!” The Demon God had screamed in anguish. He laughed then, the sound ironic and cruel. "I know you beings are both cruel and kind. For if she had been less kind, she would have been less cruel, choosing her love of humans over...over our love."

The God of Life loved all he created very much. And he had loved his daughter, who had sprung forth from the love he had with his wife, very much as well. But as the Giver of Life, he was unable to upset the balance of the world he had created, not when the balance was so fragile. He could not bring his daughter back. Not without an equal trade. Not without a deal.

“More than you would ever know in your damned existence, I love her very much." Loved. "Yet, I too am unable to go against the tide of Fate." In that moment, for the first time in his existence that had always been steady and predictable, the God of Life relented.

"However, there is a chance for her to return.” He started. “But you must adhere to what I will tell you. So that you will not destroy the world, I will tell you of how you may be granted mercy from Fate. But there is little in this world that is certain."

The Demon God was silent now, his face stony and emotionless. But there was something dangerous taking root in his eyes. A sickness that could not be cured: Hope.

And Hope was the most dangerous thing, for as much as it could create, it could also destroy. Hope would be the reason why humanity would continue. And hope would be the reason why the king, who in his madness had killed a deity, did not die. And why many, many years later, a princess that once had been the most loved existence in all of the realms would be born into this kingdom in the absence of love.

For hope could destroy lineage, as much as it tried to preserve it.

A/N: As always, leave a comment! Though I'm not active like I used to be, I do check messages that come into my inbox and do see when y'all (if anyone is still here haha) comment. If anything, another motivator that had me come back to this blog just for this story was someone who messaged me two years ago. @theedungeonwitch, though I was in a not so great place then and wasn't able to respond to you, I'm leaving my flowers here for you now. No tag list, since I'm not sure who's still here and still willing to read this chapter :)

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Stable Girl!Joel and Sunshine

Joel trying to take care of her pregnancy cravings and needs. Massages, carrying her to see how the horses are doing, I googled how to make oatmilk ice cream and it could be doable, just need like butter or cashews to make it creamy ♥️♥️ I like the idea of Joel being taught how to do it by hand♥️ just for her!

Ah Strawberry ice cream?!

Love Language

pairing: The Stable Girl-Verse!joel miller x f!reader (Sunshine)

rating: F (talks of pregnancy/symptoms, joel is perfect)

a/n: AHHHHHHHHHH this SENT me anon 😭 the strawberrrriesssssss 😭

the stable girl masterlist | joel masterlist

“Again?” Joel’s voice sounded from behind you as you sat at the dining table in the middle of the night, scarfing down the chocolate cake Ellie baked as a “congratulations” for your newly announced pregnancy. You froze as he flicked the light on to get a better picture of the scene he was walking in on—you in your nightgown, your belly as round as a watermelon, chocolate frosting on your mouth.

“I had a craving,” you meekly justified your current state, bringing an amused grin to his face as he walked over, sleep tousling his hair and softening his eyes. Pressing his lips to your forehead, he pulled up a seat beside you and plucked your fork from your hand and shoveled a piece of cake into his mouth. “Who said I wanted to share, huh?”

“My apologies,” he smiled as he lifted a piece to your lips, his lazy grin growing wider as he watched your lips wrap around the fork, cleaning it off. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip to collect the chocolate frosting that rested there before sucking it off with a satisfied hum. “I love seein’ you like this.”

“Yeah?” You laughed and rolled your eyes at the compliment. “I’m sure I look like an absolute goddess right now.”

“You do to me,” he crooned, his hand reaching down to rub over your stomach through the cotton of your gown. “Carryin’ my baby. You couldn’t look more beautiful to me than right now.”

“You’re awfully sweet for being woken up in the middle of the night,” you cooed back with a smile, pinching his chin.

“One more bite and then you’re comin’ back upstairs with me,” he ordered, reaching for the fork to feed you a satisfying final bite before doing the same for himself.

Obeying his command, you let him take you back up to bed for the night, your sugary craving now satisfied and a new, sweeter craving dawned—a craving for Joel’s arms wrapped around you, lulling you to sleep.

“How’s baby Miller doin’?” Joel mumbled against your shoulder as he kept his lips pressed there, holding you from behind and rubbing your stomach.

“Starting to kick a lot,” you chuckled through your sleepiness. “And they apparently have quite the sweet tooth. I haven’t stopped craving sugar since the third trimester started.”

“Oh, I know,” he chuckled and hugged you closer. “Can’t wait to have her here with us.”

“Me neither.”

Joel stood in the kitchen, a piece of paper in front of him on the counter with a messily scribbled recipe he’d jotted down courtesy of Maria. With the cake long gone by now, you’d gone days without something sweet to fulfill your cravings. Though you didn’t make a fuss over it, Joel took it upon himself to remedy the situation with an attempt at homemade ice cream—strawberry, thanks to the community garden’s latest impressive harvest.

“Oof,” you came waddling inside the house from the backyard, your hands still wearing your gardening gloves as they supported your lower back. “I think I’m getting too pregnant to take care of my flowers,” you pouted as you found yourself a seat at the dining table to watch Joel as he shuffled around the kitchen. After a beat of no response, you huffed out, “Hello? Am I a ghost?”

“Huh?” He turned around with a frantic, flustered expression and seemed to just now realize you’d come inside. “Sorry. I’m just…why are recipes so damn hard to follow. What’s the damn difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon?”

“Well, one’s bigger,” you chuckled and found the strength and energy to stand up and waddle over to the sink, your gloves coming off so that you could wash up. Peering over his shoulder, you nosily studied what he was working on before catching a glimpse at the recipe sheet. Though his handwriting wasn’t the cleanest, you could clearly make out “Strawberry Ice Cream” as the title. “Are you making ice cream?”

Joel whipped his head over at the sound of your bright voice, your smile wide with delight.

“Yeah,” he sighed, disappointed that his surprise had been ruined. “Was tryin’ to keep it a surprise until after supper but—“

You tugged him into a hug so tight he worried for a moment that you’d crush him.

“Thank you,” you mumbled against his neck as your face buried there. Joel chuckled and peeled himself from you enough to look you in the eye, his smile soft as he studied the appreciation written all over your face.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he laughed, leaning in to peck your lips. “Might fuck it up.”

“I have full faith in you,” you assured with your thumb and index pinching his chin. “Especially when I call Ellie in here to help you because I need that ice cream, my love. More than I need anything.”

“Oh, anything, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest and turned playfully jealous in an instant. You laughed and stroked over his beard until his pour turned into a smile.

“Fine, almost more than anything.”

“Thank you,” he smiled into the kiss he planted upon your lips before tapping your ass lightly. “Now what were you sayin’ when you walked in?”

“Oh, I was just saying I don’t think I can look after my flowers anymore. My back is so sore these days—“

“Is it sore now?” He slid his hand up to rest on your lower back, his warm palm soothing over the aching muscle. When you let out a sigh of relief and rested your head on his chest, Joel felt a frenzy of affection swarm in his belly. “Baby,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let me take you upstairs and fix you a bath.”

“No,” you objected, lifting your head off his chest. “I really need to fix up the nursery. Baby girl is gonna be here in six weeks.”

“I’ll get someone else to do it—“

“No, you already got someone else to cover my shifts at the stable, and the garden, and now you’re trying to take away my nesting?” you playfully scolded him, a smirk on your face.

“I just hate seein’ you work too hard. You’re already workin’ a miracle by bringin’ my baby into the world,” he frowned a bit, something he’d only ever let you see. “I’ll leave you to your nestin’ but not until you sit in a hot bath. Your back’ll thank me later.”

“Fine, it’s a compromise,” you grinned and pulled him down for another short but satisfying peck. “Okay, I’ll go upstairs for my bath while you and Ellie finish the ice cream.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Later on that night after having spent at least an hour in the bathtub and twice as long fussing over the nursery, Joel forced you to relax at the dinner table, bringing you a plate of the most tender roast you’d ever seen.

“Oh my god,” you beamed as you looked from the plate to his eyes. “You did this?”

“I’ve been workin’ on my cookin’,” he shrugged bashfully. “It ain’t exactly fine dinin’, but I thought you deserved a fancier dinner than what I normally throw together.”

“You—“ You grabbed his chin and turned his face towards you, your smile still bright and beaming. “You are the love of my life, Joel Miller.”

Joel looked touched, his smile soft and sweet, just like him—or at least the side of him that you knew.

“And you are my life. Everything I do, everything I got—“ He placed his hand on your thigh and squeezed. “Everything. It’s yours.”

“Don’t make me cry on my food,” you chuckled and wiped the tears that filled in your waterline. “It looks too good to ruin.”

Joel laughed. “You started it.”

[oh-no-its-dragons]

Nothing's Perfect

Xaden wakes up slowly for the first time in years. At first he thinks the smaller body in his arms is Liam, when they were first placed in their foster home, or Bodhi before that, when they were younger and Bodhi would sometimes climb into his bed at night. It doesn't take long to wake up the rest of the way and realize just how wrong he is, though.

Those hips, for one thing, and that hair for another, and then the night before comes back with the force of a lightning strike. He smiles, but doesn't move. The light in the window is pale; it wouldn't have been enough to get in if the curtains hadn't burned. He throws a shadow up over the window to make sure she can sleep a little longer.

If he was more selfish, he'd wake her up. He doesn't think she'd complain, given how enthusiastic she was the night before, but it doesn't feel right, especially when he has to be up for one of Nyra's stupidly early leadership meetings but she can sleep longer.

He hates to leave her to wake up alone either, though. He should do… something. Something that feels personal. He thinks about writing her a note, but there's nothing he can bring himself to put to paper that feels real enough. Something else then.

The idea comes as he dozes contentedly, listening to her breath, smelling the floral scent of her hair and the almost-sweet earthy one that must be arnica salve. She does like her plants and flowers, doesn't she?

He could get up and look, but that would require leaving her before the last possible moment, so he closes his eyes and concentrates, grabbing the dawn shadows on the west side of the Rider's Quadrant and sending them out into the tall grass and wildflowers along the river. He can't see them but with nothing else to distract him, his control is good enough to feel the shape of every leaf and petal the shadows wash over.

Xaden's lost track of the minutes by the time he's gathered up a dozen or so flowers, carefully plucking them at the stems and carrying them all the way back inside cocooned in shadow. He can feel people in the walkways as the shadows jog past now, and smiles a little at the confusion he imagines on their faces.

Only once the darkness has succeeded in sliding the plants under her door does he resign himself to getting up. A quick crack of the shadow over the window says that yes, it's nearly time for him to be at that meeting. He lets the shadows under her body push her up ever so slightly so he can slide his arm out from under her without disturbing her sleep, and he dresses as quietly as he can.

The flowers are not quite perfect. He tucks a small white flower in his jacket pocket and sets the rest in a jar on her desk. Nothing's ever completely perfect, but she's starting to make him wonder if that's not untrue after all. Laying in a sliver of dawnlight that gives her curves to his shadows in ways that make him want to go right back to her, she certainly looks perfect. He takes another minute to watch her, feeling the way her chest rises and falls in the dark of the room.

When he turns to go, he lets the dawn back in and realizes again just how much of a mess they made. Smiling to himself, he lets the shadows of the mess clean themselves up, quickly sweeping all the shattered wood and charred fabric into the corner. She was going to need new furniture. He made a note to have Garrick take care of it later. All of his attempts to maintain distance from her- physical distance, emotional distance, anything- had failed. He might as well go the other direction and let his full claim on her be known.

Xaden slips out the door and checks the wards behind him, but his thoughts remain with her. Nobody else is allowed to destroy her. He'd given up hope that he could stay away from her, which means that the only option he has left is to try not to destroy her himself. She is certainly turning out to be worth the effort.

[tetheredfeathers]

A little something I wrote inspired by this line.

Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents, the way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods.

She always brought him something from the woods.

The first time she brought him a single dandelion.

It had been a long winter, and the sun had only begun to peek through the cold shadows. It had been a good hunt today, with 2 rabbits and a squirrel shot right through the eyes. Her short dark hair tickled her neck as she practically skipped back home.

That's when she saw it – the first spring flower, a lone dandelion lurking between the wet shadows. She scurried towards it and quickly plucked it, almost afraid it would run away if she wasn't fast enough.

"Peetaaa," her voice rang through the house as she peeled off her shoes and hung her father's hunting jacket on the hooks Peeta had installed for her.

"In here," Peeta called from the kitchen.

She found him all serious, wrinkle between his eyebrows as he kneaded some dough. She skirted towards him wanting kiss the lines between his eyes.

"Hi, bread boy," she whispered sweetly before kissing the frosting off his lips.

"Hi," he said in between kisses

"Mhm, vanilla." Katniss breathed licking his lips.

"Here, try this," he said, spreading a thick layer of icing on a cinnamon roll and handing it her.

"Mhmm, so good. Thank you baby," she said between huge mouthfuls.

"I got you something from town today," Peeta sang, reaching into his pockets.

"Show me, show me," Katniss almost begged.

"You know Thom's little sister, Darlene," she nodded. "Yeah, well, she was really happy with her birthday cake and wanted to give me something in return."

He pulled out a long strip of transparent lace.

Katniss' face broke into a huge smile. "A ribbon? What does she think you're 12 to go around wearing ribbons?" she teased.

"Be nice, Katniss, she's only five. I doubt she knows how to gift a grown man," Peeta said.

"You do know she has a crush on you, right?" Katniss said, grabbing another cinnamon roll, stuffing her mouth once again.

"Who doesn't?" Peeta sassed, swaying his hips.

"I don't," Katniss rolled her eyes.

"Oh really?" he eyed her mischievously before grabbing her arms, leaving all but an inch between their sugary lips. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

She shuddered involuntarily. Even after a year of being with him, just being near him made her weak in the knees. His warm hands slid down her arms before gently turning her around so that her back faced him. Slowly, he brought his hands up to her hair, bunching half her hair into a ponytail and tying the flimsy lace into a bow.

She turned around, beaming in his arms, peering into those blue eyes.

"Wow, birdie, look at yourself."

She blushed bright red before pulling out her dandelion from underneath the table.

"For you," she said shyly, holding it right under his face.

"Thank you, birdie," he said, delicately taking it from her hands as if it would slip from his grasp like water.

Her blush deepened. She loved it when he called her that. It reminded her of her father, that he was still a part of her, and just like him, she still sang wild and free. A bird that's what she was.

"You're my dandelion in the spring, you know that, right?" she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back, burying her mouth in long, warm kiss.

After that, she brought him something every day. Sometimes it would be tufts of dill or rye. Other times, she would bring him shiny stones that reminded her of the color of his eyes. Sometimes a feather or a leaf, but mostly she brought him flowers. She brought him wild onions because it reminded her of the day she broke her heart. She brought him daisies because they were as pure and white like his soul. She brought him sunflowers because he was her sun and followed him everywhere he went.

He kept a whole shelf dedicated to her gifts and pressed the flowers inside his notebook. It helped remind him that all was not lost on the more difficult days when she could not get out of bed or talk to him.

And on the night they conceived their first child, she whispered into his arms.

"I'm going to call her Dandelion."

[yandere-wishes]

✾Sweet Like Morning-Glory ✾

💚Summary: There's a melody humming within your bones. A tune Baizhu strums with his needles and drugs. The ballade sings of a love more deadly than any toxin. 

💚Author's note: Requested by my darling @fangirl-katwithclaws hope you enjoy it, Love!!~ 💜

💚Warnings: drugging, intoxicants, narcotics, reader is dazed.  

You wake up wrong. Half dead and half alive with none of the glory. 

You feel broken, cleaved as if someone dissembled you and then tried to re-assemble you in a hurry. Erroneously forging pieces that do not fit. There's a thumping in your head and in your right arm. A reminder of a memory long since forgotten. 

There's a squeaking noise, the door sliding heavily against the wooden floorboards. It's too loud. Actually, now that you think about it, everything feels too loud. The birds, the crickets, the mysterious tune that haunts the Liyue streets. Everything feels like lost notes ambushing your lagging encephalon.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, watch as the door opens ever so agonizingly slow. There's green and gold and a flash of white that enters the room. Him. The only thing that stands out in a sea of blurry colors too vivid to process. Him. The one who's always at the forefront of your brain no matter how sluggish you feel. 

Baizhu sits on the edge of your shared bed, his easy smile ever present on his pale face. He leaves the tray of food on your lap and raises both hands to cup your cheeks, pressing a soft kiss on your cracked lips. 

There's something wrong with the way Baizhu tastes. His kisses are bitter. All molten violetgrass and qingxin flowers. It's like the toxins from his soul are seeping into you, it takes unprecedented self-control you didn't know you possessed to remain still within his grasp. He mutters something against your lips, something lighthearted and sweet. Like the first fresh breeze of spring. Only it's fall now or is it winter? Everything is getting so hard to recall. 

To all of Liyue, you are known as Baizhu's sick bride. The one with limbs stiffer than her stepdaughter's and a foggy memory to boot. In actuality, you do not know how you gained such a title. Your memories tend to be nothing more than faint echos and ebony slates of confusion. You can't even properly recall how you met Baizhu, let alone how you married him. All you remember is a phrase, the first I love you Baizhu said. Albit with diffrent words and a much diffrent phrasing. 

"My what lovely veins you have."

If thoughts would be permitted to linger in your mind for longer than mere seconds, then maybe, just maybe that phrase would have seemed off to you. Something all so wrong about finding beauty under one's skin. But your thoughts are never consistent enough to draw such intricate conclusions. Instead, you nuzzle into Baizhu's touch, trying to ground yourself. Baizhu plucks something small of the breakfast tray and pops it into his mouth. He waits a heartbeat before kissing you again. Slipping something round into your mouth. 

You can almost feel your pulse fade. 

It's warm in Bubu pharmacy, too warm. You feel like your skin is melting off your bones. "it's too warm" you mumble, eyes unfocused staring at the front entrance of the pharmacy. Your mind is spinning, out of control like a crashing bird. 

You lean back against your husband, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Baizhu's hand finds its way to your head, entwining his fingers into your hair. You permit a heavy whine to escape your throat, a dry muffled noise that briefly catches the attention of some of the patrons. "Baizhu, please" you mutter, desperate to leave the lively room. 

Sometimes you vaguely recall a time when the presence of others hadn't been so suffocating. When you'd laughed with the people of the harbor and basked in their sweet company. Only when you had met Baizhu had socializing become so taxing. An exhausting affair your sweet lover helped you avoid. At times, in rare bouts of clarity, it almost felt as if Baizhu had planned this. As if he held the blame for your metamorphosis into a hermit. 

And if you were ever conscious enough to care it may have been a problem... 

Qiqi runs in, leaving her basket of fresh herbs on a chair. She runs over to you, lifting her arms. You wrap your arms around her waist and try to pull her up. She's getting heavier you note, albeit you're sure you are, in fact, the one getting weaker. 

"Qiqi, darling. Maybe it's best you take Mommy to her room. I'll join you shortly once Gui arrives." 

Qiqi nods and reaches to hold your hand. Walking idly by you, hand in hand, as you escape the suffocating room. 

You wonder if Qiqi appreciates your lethargy. Lolls in knowing there is another like her. Someone stiff and sick and with a mind too slow to process nothing more than idle commands. 

There's mold festering inside her. A rigor mortis she can not beat. Her body betrays her at every step. Yet ultimately she is the true traitor, the one who didn't honor her body's dying wish. You wonder if Qiqi even fully comprehends what being a zombie entails. You wonder if you wholly understand it yourself. 

Maybe you had died a long time ago too, maybe Baizhu had found a way to resurrect you. That would account for the constant stiffness and memory lapses. It made more sense than this malady he kept going on about. A haunting hollowness dances across the darker corners of your heart. It twirls and pirouettes to the tune of anticipation. Maybe this darkness has always been a wrathful death. Cheated from claiming you for the grave. 

Your room is quiet, a contrast to the morning. The shadows slither across the walls as you wait patiently for Baizhu. You'd sent Qiqi off to her room. Hoping she'd busy herself with doctor dolls she so fancied. Your eyes trained on the door. Mind empty except for rouge thoughts of him. The way his warm hands feel so good against your burning skin. How gentle he is with you as if you'd been made from glass. You love him. You're sure you do. 

Baizhu slips in quietly. Closing the door and shutting out the world. 

He sits next to you on the bed. Hands ghosting over your body. 

It feels like your skin doesn't fit correctly over your bones. 

"You're so beautiful like this". There's a needle between his fingers, held with all the percussion in the world. Beads of vivid green drip from the tip, a sacrifice to perfection. 

If Baizhu could he'd pluck the flesh off your limps just to catch a glimpse of your porcalin white bones. he'd open their shells and kiss the marrow resting within. You remember him detailing that in a loose breath once. How gorgeous you'd be unskinned. How he'd love to kiss every part of you hidden behind your delicate skin. It's something from the past, or something from the future, too hard to fully remember. He does tend to fanaticize out loud all too often.  

Baizhu pulls you closer, taking kisses from your shoulder to the depression of your elbow. There he sucks, prepping the vein. Another dose gentily spills into you and he kisses your lips passionately. 

Your eyes remain open. Taking him in, in his entirety. 

You blame the archons, the green they used for his hair is much too vibrant. The acid-like tone has surely bled into his soul. Filling it with venoms. Venoms he can't help, in turn, leaking into his lover.

You're mind grows dimmer as Baizhue's kisses grow hotter. His voice a fading star as he breathes out your name. 

"My sweet, sweet darling, out like a wilted rose I see."

[aishangotome]

Roger Barel: Chapter 6

Chapter 5

♡———♡

The courtyard of Crown Castle echoed with the lively voices of Kate and the others.

There, two shadows lurked unnoticed---.

Nika: Hmm, looks fun. The Crown is more friendly and "family-like" than I imagined.

Ring: .............

Nika: What is it, Ring? Do you perhaps want to be friends?

Nika: No way. You know we didn't come here to make friends.

Ring: I know. I will only obey Dari and you.

Nika: I don't intend to make you a puppet, but if that's what you want, do as you please.

His eyes, peeking through the gaps in his ash-blue hair, eventually focus on Roger.

Nika: Roger Barrel. It seems he's doing research related to the curse bearers.

Ring: Research on the curse bearers? What is he... trying to do?

Nika: Who knows? Maybe it's research that will hinder our ambitions.

Nika: It could even shake the very meaning of our existence.

Ring: ... Should we eliminate him?

Ring: I'll take care of him without anyone noticing.

Nika: What are you saying, Ring? We're here as goodwill ambassadors.

Nika: We need to be white and clean, for now.

Nika: Besides, he's a man who could be either poison or medicine for Vogel. It's best to let him swim for now.

Nika: But...

A ferocious smile suddenly appears on his lips.

Nika: The nail that sticks out gets hammered down, the beautiful flower gets plucked.

Nika: It would be nice if someone other than us noticed him and eliminated him.

---At the same time.

The "Her Majesty's Most Honorable Privy Council" in the palace was filled with irritation.

Privy Councilor: It's been several days since the "Vogel," a direct organization under the German Emperor, arrived as goodwill ambassadors.

Privy Councilor: How dare the Vogel Director and his subordinates show no interest in us.

Privy Councilor: They only show interest in "Crown"...

As one spat out with hatred, the other councilors also began to curse the Crown viciously.

Privy Councilor: Crown, with their strange power of curse bearers, doing as they please in Her Majesty's presence...

Privy Councilor: They should be erased, a stain on our country!

Privy Council Member: Her Majesty must be out of her mind to keep those cursed monsters.

Privy Councilor: Before the existence of the Crown is exposed to the public, we, the Privy Council, must protect Her Majesty.

Privy Council Member: To do that, we must force Crown to disband.

That is what the "Her Majesty's Most Honorable Privy Council" desires.

Privy Council Member: ... But, to speak out against an organization directly under Her Majesty, we need to find their weaknesses.

Privy Councilor: Let's immediately look for weaknesses. The best material to force Crown to disband.

Unaware that darkness is once again creeping up on the "Crown"...

-

Kate: Sigh... Finally, it's over.

Finally released from the self-defense class, I was climbing the stairs, feeling completely exhausted.

(I need to train my legs and core more...)

Exhausted, I rubbed my tired legs, barely able to climb the stairs.

On these legs - under my skirt, a garter belt is wrapped around, and there's a hidden gun.

The gun was a gift from Roger.

*earlier*

Roger: Kate, I'm giving this to you. I got a good one from Victor's armory.

Kate: A gun...?

Roger: Hand it over. I'll teach you how to shoot.

I returned the gun to Roger, and a few seconds after he took aim, he shot the distant target without a single miss.

(Amazing...)

Roger: The height of the muzzle is determined based on the opponent's feet. If it's close range, the muzzle should be pointed downwards, and if it's long range, it should be horizontal.

Roger: In spaces with obstacles like rooms or trains, you might point it upwards, but that requires considerable training to stabilize.

Roger: If the muzzle wavers, the chances of hitting your allies increase, so remember that the basics are to point it downwards.

Roger explained while actually demonstrating how to hold the gun.

Roger: That's about it. The rest is just practice.

Kate: I'll try...

The gun was returned to my hand, and I held it as instructed, with Roger moving behind me.

Roger: Grip it like this. Yeah, that's good.

Roger: Put your finger on the trigger... No, don't grip it deeply with your finger. Just lightly.

Kate: Yes.

Roger: Relax... Now pull it straight back.

Roger's hand slowly moved away, and I focused my strength only on the finger on the trigger.

--A dry sound echoed, and the bullet slightly hit the target.

Roger: A little more to the left. Shoot all the bullets.

Kate: ...

My arm position was corrected, and I pulled the trigger repeatedly.

Roger: 1 hit out of 6 shots, 2 bullets grazed the target. Not bad for your first time.

Roger: We'll incorporate this into your training, so make sure to do push-ups every day from now on.

Roger: And...

Roger: Kate, think of this as your last resort weapon, only for self-defense. Okay?

*back to present*

(Roger looked a bit scary back then... No, he had a serious expression.)

As I remembered and my breath trembled slightly, I heard the sound of a piano from somewhere...

(A beautiful melody. Who is it...?)

As if drawn by the melody, I followed the sound and opened the door.

William: ...........

There, I saw William playing the piano.

William glanced at me, then continued his dramatic playing, raising his fingertips high.

The piece gradually approached its end with a decrescendo, and as the faint afterglow of the final note dissolved into the air, I offered generous applause.

Kate: It was you playing the piano, William. It was a wonderful performance.

William: Thank you for your kind words, Kate.

William, who gracefully placed his hand on his chest in response to the applause, suddenly lowered his gaze.

William: Ah... you were given a gun. A robin carrying a gun, quite a picturesque image.

Kate: How did you know? It's hidden under my skirt.

William: Your gait. When conducting undercover investigations, be careful not to let your surroundings notice.

Kate: My gait... I haven't thought that far yet.

William: But it seems you're growing quite a bit. Was it the "Robin Growth Map"?

(Ugh... It's embarrassing to hear that directly.)

William's blood-colored eyes, smiling, held a gentle power that seemed to see through everything.

(William is a mysterious person.)

(I feel like he understands everything, but I don't find it unpleasant.)

William: Kate, do you know why Roger uses a shotgun?

Kate: No... Come to think of it, Roger is the only one who uses a shotgun.

(While most members use swords or pistols...)

The shotgun Roger carries is large and conspicuous, and as an amateur, I think it would be very difficult to handle and not very convenient to use.

Kate: I have the image that shotguns are originally weapons used by people with good eyesight.

Kate: So at first, I wondered why, but...

William: One reason is that he often went hunting with his father and was familiar with it. The other is because of his "abnormal hearing."

I opened my eyes wide, receiving an unexpected answer.

Kate: Ah, because Roger can figure out where the target is by listening to the sound!

William: Exactly. Rather than risk getting injured at close range, shooting from a distance allows him to avoid that.

William: It's very Roger-like, prioritizing efficiency.

William: But that's the official reason, and I think there's another reason.

Kate: Another reason...?

William: Do you know, Robin?

William spoke gently.

As if telling a gentle fairy tale.

William: It's said that 80% of those who are forced to hold a gun in war "deliberately" don't shoot the enemy.

Kate: ... I didn't know that.

That number was much higher than I imagined.

Kate: Even if they are enemies, I guess shooting a person takes that much of a toll...

William: What about in the case of a shotgun?

William: A shotgun is originally a tool for hunting animals, not for shooting people.

William: Using it to kill people, even for the sake of judgment, would be an undeniable evil for him, from the standpoint of a former doctor.

At that moment, I remembered Roger's serious face when he taught me how to use a gun.

William: I heard from Victor that Roger himself chose the shotgun when he joined the Crown.

Kate: You mean he deliberately chose the shotgun...?

William's smile indicated affirmation.

Roger, who deliberately chose a shotgun and kills people to judge evil despite having the skills to save lives.

Roger, who has more medical knowledge than anyone else, yet calls himself a former doctor and lives in this darkness.

(... The more I get to know Roger, the deeper my questions become.)

I wonder "why" Roger decided to live in Crown.

It's not just intellectual curiosity - that much is clear...

(I wonder if I'll ever be able to ask him the reason.)

(Still, William is...)

Kate: Um, why did you tell me about Roger?

William: Hmm?

Kate: You don't seem like the type to talk about people without a reason.

William: ... That's true.

William furrowed his brow thoughtfully.

William: Perhaps because people should meet others when they need to, and be given wisdom when they need it.

Like a precept written in the Bible, its meaning cannot be understood at once.

But I felt like I had found some kind of "guidance."

Kate: It's a little difficult to understand, but... thank you.

William: You're welcome.

Kate: Ah, that's right, William!

(There was something I wanted to ask.)

Kate: I heard that there are medical books in the palace library.

William: Medical books?

Kate: Well... since I'm by Roger's side, I thought I should have some knowledge in my head.

William: Then wouldn't it be faster to ask Roger?

Kate: That's not possible.

William: Why not?

--CHOICES--

I want to grow and make him happy

I want to make him eat his words

I want to keep it a secret and surprise him

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

Kate: I want to keep it a secret from Roger and surprise him later.

William: A special surprise, I see.

William chuckled upon hearing my plan.

William: In that case, I'll guide you. Of course, it'll be a secret from Roger.

-

That night, Roger and I were called to Victor's office in the palace.

Victor: Roger, and your personal Fairytale Keeper, Kate- Her Majesty has a mission for you.

(Another mission...)

Since Roger started teaching me various things, I've been feeling my daily growth.

Thinking that the time had come to test my abilities, my back naturally straightened.

Victor: There's a certain village in the rural farmland outside the city.

Victor: It's a small village, but it's a special place where they live by their own unique rules.

Roger: Hmm, you mean a village with traditional customs. So, what happened there?

Victor: A few days ago, skeletal remains were found in the mountains near that village. A large number of them.

It was a reminder that the previous infiltration mission to the "Death Party" was easier than usual.

I swallowed the fear rising in my chest and organized the mission details in my head.

Kate: But burial is common in this country, and if it's a unique funeral custom of that village...

Victor: I thought so too. So, as we investigated further, we found out...

Victor: The police officers who went to investigate haven't returned since they went to the village.

(Even the police...? That can only mean something happened in the village.)

Victor: And, there's one more thing we found out.

Victor: It seems there's a leader called the Spirit God in that village. They say this man can cure diseases.

(Spirit God...? What's that...?)

Roger: That's incredibly suspicious! | Kate: That's so incredibly suspicious!

We frowned and spoke out at the same time.

Roger: I see, if it's related to diseases, then I'm the right person for the job.

Roger: Besides, there's a possibility that this man is a new curse bearer...

Kate: A new curse bearer?

Roger: No, it's something else.

(What is it?)

As I tilted my head, Roger declared triumphantly.

Roger: Alright, Kate and I will infiltrate that village.

Roger: And we'll expose whatever evil is lurking in that miniature garden. Right, Kate?

(This time, I'll make sure to fulfill the mission without being a burden as a Fairytale Keeper!)

Kate: Yes, leave it to me.

Victor: Thank you. Liam, who can disappear, has already infiltrated and is gathering information.

Victor: Once you enter the village, contact him discreetly so as not to be noticed.

Victor turned to us and said,

Victor: Roger, Kate. Be careful not to get hurt. Now, be loyal to your own evil.

He sent us off with words befitting the "Crown."

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 7

If you��d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[drabblesandimagines]

Sulk

Clive Rosfield x female reader, commissioned piece

For the lovely @kianaflame23. Thank you for commissioning me again and letting me share it here with everyone too!❤️ -

“I swear I feel better today, Tarja.” You stress, desperate to be reprieved of bedrest at last. You’ve been in the infirmary three days now, watching enviously as others come and go after being treated for their ailments. “And I promise I won’t do anything considered even remotely taxing for days to come.”

There is more to your request than just boredom, though, not that you would dare admit it aloud. Clive is meant to be returning soon and you wanted to gather some flowers from the Backyard to leave in his chambers – plucking flowers could hardly count laborious – a tradition you’d started after admiring his wall of memories, wanting to contribute. It’s the least you can do after giving him an awful fright the night before his unexpected departure.

You thought it was just fatigue from the last few days of toiling in the Backyard - trying to get another batch of crops planted in as the numbers of the Hideaway continued to grow – was the reason why you felt out of breath as you climbed to the upper deck. You often retreated there in the evenings, finding it a peaceful place to count your blessings and collect your thoughts. It had turned out Clive was fond of the same thing and so finding him leaning over the railings that night, the breeze off the lake ruffling his hair had been quite the welcome sight.

He'd turned to face you when he heard your approaching footsteps and smiled softly as when your eyes met at the top of the stairs. “Ah, just the face I was hoping to see.”

You felt heat prickle across your cheeks at his comment and took a step forward.

Only to faint.

You’d hazily came to in his arms, somewhere in between asleep and awake, face pressed up against his chest as he hurried you to the infirmary, calling out Tarja’s name in fear.

“Put her down here and tell me exactly what happened.”

“I… I don’t know,” Clive’s voice rumbled against your cheek before he placed you down in the all too familiar infirmary bed. “We were on the upper deck – she barely took a step towards me when she collapsed.”

“Did she hit her head?”

“No. No, I… I used the Blessing of the Phoenix to quicken my movements so I caught her before she could do herself injury.”

“Good.” Tarja presses her hand against your forehead and curses, pulling it back as quickly as she had placed it there. “She’s burning up. I’ve told her time and time again she needs to be careful not to overexert herself. Keep an eye on her whilst I prepare a tonic.”

Tarja had rushed over to her desk as Clive crouched down besides you, taking your hand in his in a moment of weakness, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Please be all right, my darling one.” He’d whispered.

You desperately wanted to open your eyes, question his affectionate term, assure him that you were fine – no matter how much of a lie it may have been – but it was too difficult.

The rest of the night had passed in a feverish blur, a vague memory of a firm arm around your waist at some point pulling you upright, back pressed up against a chest that smelt of smoke and sandalwood, as Tarja forced a tonic in your mouth. You’d woken properly late morning, dismayed to find Clive had gone ashore on an urgent matter and had left word that he wished you a swift recovery.

“Hmm,” Tarja mulls, bringing you back to the present, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead for a few moments before making a decision. “No, not yet. You are still a little feverish for my liking. Besides, I know you’ll be straight back down to the Backyard as soon as I discharge you.” She knows you far too well.

You pout. “But I don’t even feel hot anymore.”

Tarja purses her lips together in thought, seemingly running through scenarios and treatments in her head. “No, I think best keep you here until the fever has definitely and completely cleared. I’ll prepare another tonic.”

You grimace at the idea of it – if it’s the one you’re thinking of it has a foul taste that lingers on your tongue for hours.

The door to the infirmary opens and over Tarja’s shoulder you see a familiar blonde being coaxed in by Jote, catching the tail-end of the conversation and wishing to take advantage. Your paths had crossed many times within the walls of the infirmary since Joshua had joined the Hideaway, resulting in the two of you becoming fast friends and making fine company for one another.

“Jote, it seems Lady Tarja is already quite preoccupied, mayhaps we should return later and-”

“I am quite capable of handling more than one patient at a time, Joshua.” Tarja’s tone is biting as she walks over to her desk, searching her notes to check on the last tonic you were given. “Do make yourself comfortable and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Joshua sighs as Jote leads him to the bed besides your own, watching him like a hawk as he sits down heavily upon it, accepting his fate. He gives you a warm smile as he settles back against the pillows.

“And how do you fare this morning, my lady?”

“Good! Though still feverish, apparently.” You smile, wearily. “How are you?” “Oh, I’m fine, really.” He shrugs, though you can tell Jote is biting her tongue. “I apologise I have not been to visit since before now - I’m afraid I got caught up in research.” “Your Grace, this is hardly a visit. His cough has worsened again over night.” Jote corrects.

Joshua rolls his eyes, causing you to giggle before your head swims with a dizzy spell and you squeeze your eyes closed, trying to dissuade the feeling.

“What is it?” Joshua’s voice is laced with concern and you feel his hand take yours, squeezing it.

“Dizzy.” You sigh. “It’ll pass.”

Joshua doesn’t believe so, calling out for the healer. “Lady Tarja-“

“Lie down, deep breaths.” You hear Tarja call, still at her desk. You shuffle down on the bed until you’re lying flat. “Don’t excite her, Joshua. You should know that by now.”

“My apologies.”

“No, it’s my fault.” You squeeze his hand back, turning your head to offer a weak smile. “I am glad to have your company though, Joshua, selfish as it might be.”

--

Clive hovers at the infirmary door, a bouquet of flower stems tight in his grip. He’d returned only moments ago – Obolus had set sail at dawn to pick him up from the abandoned docks at Audyll. As he’d waited for the skiff to appear on the horizon, he’d picked a selection of wildflowers from the cliffs as a gift, ones he hadn’t seen in the Backyard, and had set off to the infirmary immediately after hearing word that you were still there.

There and… holding Joshua’s hand?

Well, then.

Joshua had always been charming – blue-eyed, blonde hair, a boyish grin. He’s tried his best to not be jealous ever since the day the Phoenix had instead chosen the younger Rosfield. It wasn’t Joshua’s fault after all. He hadn’t had a say in the matter, just an unbelievably heavy burden thrust upon his shoulders. Instead of being envious, Clive had vowed to support him, to do everything he could to help his beloved brother carry the responsibility. But seeing the two of you together, especially so suddenly, has broken through the barriers. Clive’s feelings had grown steadily for you over the years since you’d came to the Hideaway. You were sweet, kind-natured to everyone around you, trying to do your best to help no matter the task. It was infectious the way even the slightest smile from you left him with one upon his face for days after, no matter what other trials he came up against.

He had been loathed to leave your side in the infirmary after you’d fainted, staying there the whole night. It had smarted even more so to leave the Hideaway altogether before you had woken. Unfortunately, he was the only man for the job and had left on Obolus’s skiff the next morning – promising himself he wouldn’t let the moment slip him by again, that he’d confess upon his return, bouquet of wildflowers in hand.

All for naught, as he sees the Phoenix brush your hair out of your face, a caress of your cheek.

His vision seethes with red, the smell of smoke fills the air, before he strides off towards his chambers with false purpose, letting his gift fall to the ground.

Jill frowns when she finds the wildflowers scattered on the wooden boards a few moments later, the stems singed black. She only has to look through the gap in the doorway to see Joshua at your bedside and put the pieces together.

“Oh, Clive…”

--

Two more days pass confined to the infirmary bed before you saw Clive, despite hearing that he’d returned. At least you had Joshua for company - his cough had grown more harsh and painful at first, despite his protests otherwise, and Tarja and Jote had him drinking a concoction of suppressants and tonics every few hours to try and soothe his ailments to some degree of success.

Not the same could be said for the poor Bearers who had been brought in by Cursebreakers on the skiff that morning. Two of them already suffering from the curse, stone-mottled limbs, groaning in their cots the other side of the curtain.

“Is there truly nothing to be done?” Clive asked Tarja in a hushed tone. He hadn’t said hello to you when he entered earlier, nor to Joshua. It had smarted a little, you’ll admit, but you’d brushed it off as him having much more urgent matters at hand.

“I’m all out of the main ingredient for the most effective pain relief, unfortunately. I’ve had the Cursebreakers keeping an eye out for it, but it might have become a victim to the blight.”

“What’s the main ingredient?”

“Begonias – red ones. There used to be an ample supply in the Royal Meadows, but they haven’t sprouted this year.”

“I can’t remember seeing them on my travels either.”

“I…” You speak up, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. “I think I know where some might still flourish.”

Tarja and Clive’s heads snap round look at you. “Really?” Tarja takes a step forward. “Could you mark it on a map?”

You shake your head. “It’s not on any sort of track you can follow, but that’s pretty much all of the Great Wood. You need to know exactly where to look. I fear I would not be able to describe it…” You bite your lip in hesitation before continuing. “But I am positive I could find them if I went myself.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Clive folds his arms, looking over to Tarja for her support. Surely with your fragile health she’d agree. “I forbid it.”

Tarja pinches the bridge of her nose before she speaks, weighing up the options in her head. “I would normally say the same, Clive, but if we were able to get hold of some of these blooms, not only could we provide some much sought after relief, perhaps then we’d also be able to grow some of our own in the Backyard for future use.”

“You cannot be serious. It’s not safe for her to go there alone.”

“She won’t be alone, I’ll ask Otto to spare some Cursebreakers.”

“No.” Clive’s tone is firm. “Anything could happen. Besides, you’ve had her on bedrest for near a tenday, she is not ready to go gallivanting about the Great Wood - the place will be rife with fiends!”

“Then why don’t you accompany her, brother?” Joshua speaks up with a grin.

“Me?” Clive turns to Joshua, eyes wide, as if he had forgotten his brother was here at all.

“Yes, you.” Tarja places her hands on her hips in agreement. “The First Shield to the Phoenix, are you not?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you will prove a most suitable escort.”

“Tarja, I really-”

Joshua grins. “The finest.”

“Joshua-“

Another heart-wrenching groan comes from the other side of the curtain.

“Please, Clive.” You grip the blanket between your fingers, tightly. “You have to let me try.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would be worth it.” Tarja adds in support.

Clive clenches his fists, mulling it over in his mind. He’d rather scour the entire Great Wood on his own than risk your wellbeing, but Founder knows how long that would take. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“And you will tell me the moment if you start to feel unwell?”

You can’t help but smile at his concern. “I promise.”

Clive sighs, still not exactly pleased with the arrangement, but admitting defeat. “Fine. We’ll leave in the morning. But be sure to rest until then, my lady. Please.”

“Of course she will,” Tarja interrupts before you can agree. “She’ll stay in the infirmary again tonight to be certain of it.”

--

The next morning, you make your way down to the dock, accompanied by Joshua who insisted he be allowed to at least stretch his legs after going the whole night without a cough.

“Now, then,” he murmurs as he walks alongside you. “The Great Wood will be as good a place as any, and if you do not tell him, then I will be forced to.”

“Joshua-”

“And I won’t hear otherwise.”

As you reach the end of the dock, Clive is stood waiting, arms crossed and looking entirely unamused.

“Be safe, you two.” Joshua takes your hand and kisses it, before throwing you a wink that makes you bite back a laugh.

Ahead of you, Clive storms onto the boat.

The idea of a trip to the mainland was exciting – it had been years now since you’d been. It was too risky to go with the Brand on your cheek when the Cursebreakers could move around freely.

You would’ve been excited if the boat ride across hadn’t been so awkward. Clive had sat the entire time with his arms crossed, legs spread, and looking in any direction possible but yours. He still wasn’t happy with you joining him and you felt awful - you’d never wanted to be a burden on anyone.

“Stay by my side at all times.” He commands as you finally enter the Great Wood. It’s a little more overgrown than you remembered, but you do recognize certain trees from your wanderings.

“Of course.” You nod. He can’t help but soften his tone as he sees the delight in your eyes at being back within the Great Wood – it must’ve been years. “Do you recall which way to go?” “Mm.” You point to south, through a thicket. “That way, I’m sure of it.”

The walk there is quiet, besides Clive hacking a path clear with his sword as you remember the way. It isn’t long before you finally emerge through another thicket and find a grove below filled with red begonias, nearly as far as the eye can see.

You smile at the sight, looking back over your shoulder. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Mm. Very.”   You fail to notice he wasn’t looking at the blooms.

You turn your attention back to the ground and the drop before you, not feeling confident at all with idea of jumping down. “There used to be an incline, but maybe it’s washed away with the rains. Maybe if we walk round we’ll find another route down?”

“I have an idea.” Clive hops down with ease, being sure to land in a patch that is clear of flowers. “I can lift you down, if you’d permit me.”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy. “How do I…?”

“Place your hands on my shoulders and I’ll…” He trails off as you follow his instructions, wrapping his arms around your hips to lift you down. He doesn’t know why he does it - there was certainly no need to - but he takes an unsteady step back, losing his footing and the two of you crash down to the ground with a thud.

“By the Founder…! Did I hurt you?” Clive asks, his brow furrowed in concern despite the fact you are still firmly wrapped in his arms, his body having cushioned the fall entirely.

“I’m fine, Clive,” you reply, tantalizingly close to his lips. You could just…

“Are you sure?”

And all the sudden you’re kissing him.

For a moment he kisses back – it’s soft, sweet and chaste, as Clive always is - before he pulls back and sits up in a hurry, looking as red as the blooms that surround you. “No, I’m sorry. We can’t, I can’t. Not to Joshua.”

“Joshua?” You look puzzled.

“I saw you two – the morning I came back. You were holding his hand in the infirmary.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head furiously at the accusation. “Holding his…? No, not like that. Of course I care for Joshua, but no more than I do a good friend.”

“But on the dock, he…”, Clive swallows, feeling childish. “He winked at you.”

“An inside joke.” You protest. “He… Well, he hoped that I might find the courage to confess to you, whilst we were away from the eyes of the Hideaway.”

“Confess?”

“My…” You try and shy away then, head down, but his arms are still wrapped firmly around your waist and keeping you in place, “..feelings for you.”

One arm loosens, a gloved hand cupping your chin to tilt your face back up to him.

“I cannot tell you how long I have hoped to hear those words from your lips, my darling.”

You feel dizzy as you press your lips back against his, but in an entirely good way.

--- Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Destiny

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Reader

Word count: 1.6 K

Summary: You had to give up on some things when you decided you wanted a life with Geralt, but life has a way of turning things around.

{The Witcher Masterlist}

The nights are starting to grow colder as fall starts to fade, ready to turn into winter. Your small garden in front of the house is still flourishing, even though only a few flowers are strong enough to give you their beauty. So, kneeling on the ground, you pluck some weeds and clean off the dead leaves. The place will be less colorful for some months, but if you keep taking care of them, they'll come back at full power next spring.

You hear horses coming, and a wain. Not many people come this way but some residents of the nearest town since they know this route. Taking the small basket with the weeds and dead leaves to dispose of, you get up. The two horses come into sight and the wain soon after. The couple on it are familiar to you. You buy their carrots, potatoes, and broccoli.

“Good morning.” The man says, not smiling, but with the same respectful expression he always gives you.

“Don't talk to her.” The woman says. She's too young to be his wife, you see it now. His daughter then, but you don't know which one. “She's the wife of that –”

“Hush.” The man says.

“Good morning.” You reply, waving. “Safe journey back home.” Then, you give them your back and head inside.

You throw the weed and leaves on the fire before heading to the kitchen and starting to cut some vegetables for soup, trying not to let the loneliness bother you too much. You knew this was how things would be, but even so, even though you'll have to deal with the cold nights by yourself, it's all worth it. You'd do it all over again.

Passing the sweet potatoes to the pan, you're about to reach for the carrots when you hear it. A low, faint sound of a step on the wooden floor right next to you. Your body moves almost by itself, the grip on the knife getting tighter, but even before you can turn around and give hell to whoever was bold enough to invade your house, a strong arm surrounds your waist at the same time a hand grabs your wrist.

“I was expecting a much warmer welcome, my love.” His voice is what makes your body relax, but your heart, which was already beating fast, starts pounding.

“Geralt?!” You breathe out, dropping the knife and turning around.

Seeing Geralt after two months makes your body almost melt. Immediately, you throw your arms around his neck, your lips chasing his. Only seven months into the marriage, you only had Geralt with you for three. But you don't mind. You love him, and you knew things would be like this. It's the price of marrying a Witcher. A price you're more than willing to pay.

Geralt kisses you tenderly, and you can feel all of his love in it, the warmth, the thirst from all this time away. So you just hold him tight, even when you're both out of breath and have to break the kiss.

“I thought you'd take longer to find that monster.” You whisper, your foreheads touching.

“Ouch.”

“It doesn't mean I'm not happy. I'm... Delighted. Euphoric.” You give a little jump, kissing him again, then placing kisses all over his face as you stand on your toes. “You just scared the living hell out of me.”

“Just wanted to make a surprise. And I hurried with the hunt because the nights are cold and I made a vow to keep you warm.”

“Hm... So let's start by drawing you a very warm bath.” Smirking, you start to walk away, but Geralt grabs your arm.

“Draw us a bath. And let me get the water.”

“I can do it.”

“I know. But I'm your man. Let me do the hard part.”

You don't really enjoy bringing the water inside, so you don't complain.

Minutes later, the bath is ready, and the tub is set in the bedroom as usual. First, you washed with hair and body, and after, Geralt insisted on changing the water so you could get in. And you didn't say anything after the short explanation about how exactly he killed the monster and how some of its guts got on him. So when the new, hot water is ready, you join him in the tub. The temperature is perfect, and you rest your back against his chest.

“I never thought I'd have a real home to spend the winter.”

“Oh, you're supposed to go to that place for the winter. Kar Mare? Kor More?”

He giggles. “Kaer Morhen.”

“Kaer Morhen, yes. I don't mind if you have to go there, I can take the journey.”

“We could make a short trip while the winter hasn't kicked in yet, just so they know I'm still alive but... I have a home now. A real one. And I rather spend my winter with you than with those ugly men.” His embrace grows tighter around your waist, and your smile. “But tell me about you. Anything exciting happened while I was away?”

“Yes! I delivered a baby all by myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Marlën was with another mother in difficult labor. So when Alyn started feeling the contractions, I had to go.”

“And how was it?” Geralt always asks about your things, even though they're nothing compared to the amazing adventures he lives.

“A bit of a mess, I was so nervous.” You chuckle, turning around to look at him. “The husband passed out. He was holding a bowl with water and then he just fell, got the floor all wet.”

“Hm.” He mutters, looking down.

“What is it, my love?”

“You love this. And you love babies and children, and you'd be an amazing mother but I–”

To cut him off, you place a kiss on his lips. “Geralt, I knew of this limitation when I married you. And yet, here I am. And I wouldn't change a thing. I love you.”

He takes a deep breath, a small, sad smile on his lips. “I love you too. But it breaks my heart that I can't give you children.”

“Just give me all your love. That's everything I want.” And with another kiss, you both leave the tub and head into bed.

•••

When you start to stir, you feel Geralt moving. He always wakes up first, and then, he just lies there, holding you, looking at you.

“It's so good to wake up next to you.” It's the first thing you say, moving to climb on top of him. “I missed this. I missed you.”

Geralt smiles, softly grabbing your hips. “I dreamed about you almost every night.”

“Well, I'm right here now.” With a smirk, you lower yourself on him, your lips already chasing his.

Loud, obnoxious knocks make you sit back up. “I'll see who's there. Dress up.” Geralt says as he gets up, searching around for his clothes.

You put on the first gown you find, a white one, that you use to sleep, before following Geralt.

“I'm sorry...” You hear a woman's voice, low and anxious. “...died... Has no one...”

When you get to the door, you see Marlën, with a bundle of fabric in her arms. She passes the bundle to Geralt, who takes it as if it's the most fragile thing. You're about to reach the door when she turns around to leave, walking fast. She didn't even see you.

“Geralt, what's going on?” You ask, walking over to him, staring at Marlën's back. “She seemed so distressed...”

Then, a low, soft whimper gets your attention. Looking up at Geralt, you find his eyes locked on something in his arms. It's unbelievable how long it takes you, you, a midwife in training, to realize the sound came from a baby.

“Geralt, what...”

“She said the mother died... That he has nobody left... That a wet nurse will come twice a day with bottles of milk. I don't...” His voice fades when the baby opens his eyes, moving a tiny little hand up.

“Geralt, I think... I think she meant us to raise this baby.”

He looks at you, and you meet his eyes. Geralt's eyebrows are pinched together and... You've never seen him so emotional. Only when you confessed your love for him. “Raise him? As if–”

“As if he's our own.” Stepping closer, you take the baby's hand. “She knows I always wanted a child... And that I gave up that dream because of my love for you. So...”

“Do you think I can do it, (Y/N)? Do you think someone like me can be a father? A good one?”

Smiling, you take your free hand to caress his cheek. “Remember when you asked the same thing about being a husband? I told you you'd be a good husband.” Your smile grows wider. “And you proved me wrong by being an amazing husband.” The baby moans, and it sounds a little like a giggle. “If you agree to do this, my love... It'll mean a commitment for life.”

“A family.” He says, and then a smile breaks through his lips. “A family of our own.”

“Yeah... A family of our own.” Tiptoeing, you kiss him before caressing the baby's forehead. “Seems like destiny is on our side.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Geralt moves the baby up a little, so he can place a kiss on his forehead. And the scene brings tears to your eyes.

“You deserve it.” Moving to stand next to him, you exchange a look with him before focusing on the baby.

“Guess we'll have to leave Kaer Morhen for next year.”

“And next year, we'll introduce them to a tiny Geralt.” You add, as your heart is filled with bliss. Life has a way of turning things upside down for everyone. But this time, it just was putting things into their places. And you're excited to see where it leads you and this perfect little family you have.

[weministertomonsters]

Imagine This #6 - Scarecrows

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The repetitive sound wakes you up. You crawl out of bed and throw your window open wide. Outside is cool and the wind howls. Another small pebble narrowly misses your face.

"Stop it!" You hiss, squinting into the inky blackness of the night.

You can just barely make them out down there, standing in the planters and trampling the flowers. Moses and Maisy, that's what your mother named them. Names that sounded like they belonged to characters in a children's book, but then again, they were only supposed to be scarecrows. Nothing more, nothing less.

Maisy takes a turn at slinging a rock and it pings against the window, scraping it.

"You're going to wake the whole damn house!" You snap. "What is it?"

"Come play with us," Moses says, his straw hands shoved deep in the pockets of the overalls your mother had dressed him in. "You never play with us anymore."

You sigh. "We're too old to be playing."

Maisy laughs and her hair, which is a cotton candy pink wig, dances in the wind.

"You're never too old. Don't be a drag. Come down."

You know you're probably going to regret going out to see those rascals. But, a few years of living away from home had reminded you of how much you missed them. They'd been there for you when no one else was, and you had grown up together. You were glad when you came back from college to find them still alive, or animated, or whatever it was they were.

You perch on the window sill and dangle your legs, trying to eyeball the jump. Moses steps forward, his stitched smile wide.

"Go on," he says. "I'll catch you."

And he does, even though he crumples under your weight and you end up rolling down the small slope together.

"Ouch, my elbow," you complain and sit up. "Are you okay?"

His button eyes shine and he reaches out and brushes the dirt from your clothes.

"I can't get hurt. I'm fine."

Maisy helps you up to your feet and plucks leaves out of your hair.

"Let's play a game."

"What game?" You ask.

"Tag. You're it!" She taps your shoulder and bounds off into the darkness.

"Hey, wait!"

They've already disappeared into the dark, even though you can still hear their laughter. Shaking your head, you follow them, stumbling now and then on loose rocks. It's idiotic to be running around in the dark, but it brings back the sense of freedom from your childhood years. You don't notice that they are gradually leading you further and further away from the house...

[papuhater]

EXACTLY WHAT YOU RUN FROM YOU END UP CHASING

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚a/n i hate my writing. ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ cw: reader knows spanish, this is shitty ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ pairing: miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader

series masterlist

things became better, for miguel and for y/n.

sun seemed brighter, and it didn't hurt their eyes, the fragrance of flowers seemed to have a deeper smell, to have a story in between the petals.

"okay, okay, okay" she breathed out while laughing "so you" she signaled miguel, not her miguel "are telling me, that you once shaved your hair off?!" she chuckled, struggling to breathe

"it was a tradition, a ritual when you entered la universidad " he tried defending himself, really embarrassed about it

"but still, a tradition might be having a party, or inheriting something" she explained "not shaving your head!" she tried to hold in her laugh, miguel huffed and looked away.

"at least i burnt any evidence of it, so no one will believe you"

"what are you talking about boss? i have the picture right here!" lyla appeared and held up a phone, with a picture of a younger miguel, with a shaved head

"lyla!" he yelled, trying to catch the artificial inteligence y/n was hollering in laughter,, trying to compose herself

"lyla send me that picture."

"no!"

"done, miss ninety nine!"

"NO!" she laughed when he tried to reach for her phone

"calmate miggy" she made a reference to luis miguel with the name, which irked miguel as she ran and held her phone tighly "your secret is safe with me" he grunted and tried to grab her

"and the whole spider society"

"NO!" he roared, he ran, grabbed her, and webbed her like a cocoon

"hey!" he plucked the phone out of her grasp and deleted the picture. he felt weird when he saw the background picture, it was him and her, in their wedding, she looked beautiful and well, he looked diferent, he looked slimmer, and lean, less than bulky.

it was a weird and a churning feeling in his guts

as if he wondered what would've happened if he was the one who met y/n first, before miguel b.

"you done with deleting the picture?"

"yes" he let her go.

life for y/n was getting more complicated

well, more complicated than her double life as a spider 99.

miguel had invited been invited to a gala, which meant that she had to go dress shopping, and who was best to ask than the variant of her husband? she wanted to surprise her miguel with a dress he would like, and she hoped that maybe maybe,

her miguel would be her's again.

"which store should we go to first?" he grunted, he was wearing a leather jacket and a baseball cap, plain jeans and a scowl "i don't want to be confused with me of here."

“ay Miguel, have some patience will you?” she breathed out, while glaring at him

“i’m just saying, what’s so special about this gala?” he pushed his aviator glasses down his nose, and looked into her eyes, his brown reddish hue staring in a questioning manner.

“i just wanna go pretty ¿sabes?” she tried to excuse herself, but his pupils minimized, as if he was trying to catch any glint of dishonesty in her gaze, but after holding it for some seconds, he blinked and looked away.

“fine, let’s get you the stupid dress”

as they walked around the mall, they saw some alternatives, some better some worse, but none catched their eye.

miguel sat in one of the couches while people wait for their partners, friends or even relatives to come out of the dressing room, he was sitting in a comfortable position, his leg crossed ninety degrees against his other leg, where his foot rested, he was waiting for y/n to come out, she had chosen a variety of dresses, of colors and types of material, she came out in various, she looked good in everyone, the problem was that the dress wasn’t perfect.

miguel rested his chin in his fist, looking away while waiting for her to come out but one thing roamed his mind

why was y/n so worried about the dress?

was it that she was genuinely interested in looking good?

or was it for her husband?

at the thought of that, miguel pursed his lips

he definitely didn’t liked her husband

“miguel?”

he snapped out of his trance and entered another one,

you looked beautiful.

“is it good?”

“it’s perfect” he stood up and faced her, the normally confident and intimidating líder suddenly felt too big and tall to exist, so he quickly grabbed two flats and two high heels

“w-which one?” she smiled and choose the shoes she wanted

“thanks for accompanying me miguel, you’re a real one” she laughed, while miguel carried her dress and shoes in the bag, they walked across the mall while talking

“don’t worry about it.” he simply said, still awkward from the moment he saw her in the dress, it was the perfect one.

“how about we go to eat? my treat” she smiled he nodded while looking down, they walked a bit more while she talked about her interests and her work life, when they passed a shoe store, he saw something that made his mouth go

“no fucking way” she stopped talking and looked where his gaze rested “is that..”

“some jordans?”

“no no no” he corrected her, while looking flabbergasted “those are the prowler j’s! i loved them as a kid” he rambled “I always wanted to buy ones but when I finally got enough money to buy them they were canceled!” y/n could bet that he had stars in his eyes

after some moments in silence she said

“c‘mon, miggy, let’s get them” while grinning, she walked to the store’s door and miguel followed her, as they entered the store, they were greeted by millions of shoes that were canceled in miguel’s dimension.

“you don’t have my size?” he asked intimidatingly to the helper

“sadly no sir, but we have these other ones” he showed while slightly trembling

“it’s okay” he said while looking away, if you squinted enough at him you could see a pout. she smiled at the helper

“thank you”

“c’mon miguel I have the thing that’ll cheer you right up”

“no no wait, you’re telling me that miguel b, is me but, a snob?” he asked laughing at y/n while eating in a hamburger restaurant, each one was eating a hamburger (vegan if you want, and with no bacon cuz I like to be inclusive like that)

“sadly, it seems that in this dimension, your father took you in, and as a reaction-“

“my dna never got altered, but wait, how did you became a spider ninety nine?”

“alchemax never learns, they tried experimenting on spiders again, and surprise surprise! one got away and bit me while i was on tour with my college.”

“ah” he ate a fry “so, how did you and miguel meet?”

“we were like peter parker and harry osborn” she sipped her drink and moved her hand as a way of explaining “y’know what happened, friends blah blah rivals blah lovers, bam! married.”

"and how are you guys right now?"

"well" and the dishonesty was clear in his face

"thanks for accompanying me, miggs."

"no problem, just" he sighed "stay out of trouble, okay?"

they awkwardly waved and walked away.

taglist

@happishark @simeon-lovergirl @allysunny @autismsupermusicalassassin @thel0v3hashira143 @bittersw33t-lotus @www-interludeshadow-com @ash-tea @a19yearoldvirgin @minalovesyoubabes @vonev @ricekrisbris @marcswife21@bai-wuxiangs-mask @izuruamme @s-sabbas

[shirefantasies]

This is kind of dumb but I gotta ask could you write about the hobbits with a reader is quite a bit shorter than them? Like a bit below their shoulder kinda short? I know it’s and off request but I gotta ask. Thank you and I really love all your writing by the way. I start smiling and kicking my feet every time you post something lmao ❤️❤️❤️

Nah, it’s not dumb! I mean statistically it seems like female hobbits are shorter than guys just like in the other races so that makes sense! Reader is a beautiful hobbit lass :) posting again so soon because I woke up with some distressing stuff happening surgery wise & I need some fluff ok 😔

Little Things- The Hobbits x Shorter!F!Hobbit!Reader

Frodo

✧ When he invited you on one of Bilbo’s little out-of-town adventures, the first place he wanted to take you was the bookshop, and that was before he realized how adorable you looked standing on your tiptoes trying to reach the higher shelves, some of which Frodo could help you pluck from and others he needed a ladder for too.

✧ Never lets you lift a finger when your family hosts dinners, rising and insisting that you’ve done plenty in preparation, let him at least get down the dishes and serve you up. Besides, he remembers all your favorites and dishes you extra!

✧ The way his hands run through your hair upon every embrace.

✧ As winter draws near, he enlists members of his family to craft a pair of gloves perfectly in your size, presenting them to you before the first snow and gently aiding you in pulling the soft warmth on, eyes shining at your gratitude.

✧ Comfortingly rests his hand upon your shoulder, which he can't help but thinking is the perfect reach away, whenever he sees concern bloom across your beautiful features.

✧ Feels heat rush to your cheeks when your smaller hand rests upon his, not quite covering it but blanketing it in the greatest warmth nonetheless.

Sam

✧ Sam hasn’t a strong preference for height, so you won’t see so much of a difference in the way he’s attracted to you…

✧ …you will see it in how much he loves the way you make him feel needed! He gets the softest smile on his face when you ask him to help you reach things.

✧ One day he sees you carrying a sunflower that’s even taller than you and his heart bursts with the realization that you’re his sunshine, you’re all he wants.

✧ Jumps between you and danger any chance he can get- even things as small as an apple tumbling off a cart toward your head have him rushing forth to catch them, check if you are ok.

✧ Insists on helping you put your trellis up, a great arch marking the entrance to your beautiful little home, doing all the hardest parts for you and letting you focus on your flowers.

✧ Loves the way your hands reach up for his shoulders to take him up into hugs!

Merry

✧ Teases you just a bit, occasionally resting an arm gently stop your head just to enjoy your reaction.

✧ Always lends you a hand to help you climb up the farmers’ fences, making sure you’ve gone over before he does anything else.

✧ Pulls you a little extra close to his chest when he hugs you, a hand going around your waist and his head resting atop yours.

✧ One of his favorite memories is of the day you two passed a field a few days after a new lamb was born, her young shepherd letting you hold her in your arms. Your gentle smile and how big even such a small creature looks in your grasp just has him softer than anything. Merry can't help himself imagining the sight of an even smaller animal or maybe even a baby.

✧ Lifts you up with both hands around your middle after daring you to try and reach the highest-hanging delicacies of your favorite apple tree.

✧ Feeling bold, he'll take the opportunity to reach up beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Pippin

✧ “That’s quite a nice ring. Can I see if it fits me?” “I doubt it, but you can sure try.” Pippin finds it’s a bit too small for his ring finger. “Guess so. My hands aren’t so much bigger, are they? Let me see.” Holds up his hand palm-out just to feel the press of your slightly smaller one against him, smiling with the contact.

✧ Stops by randomly with treats in hand for you, especially things like tartlets from his cousins' house or little cupcakes because even if you don't realize it, those small sweet treats never fail to remind him of you!

✧ It flusters him that much more if he trips in your presence, bringing you, the smaller of your duo, to be the one catching him. At the feeling of your arms around him, though, he will never complain.

✧ He always stays by your side, even to the point of you two falling asleep next to each other. Your head droops to his shoulder, and his rests atop yours.

✧ Forgets himself in his typical habits, slinging an arm around your shoulders when he gets too focused on the topic at hand; when he comes to, he cannot help noticing what a perfect height you are for the pose!

✧ Lets his head fall down the little distance to connect your foreheads when you share an especially fond goodbye or comforting embrace.

Bilbo

✧ Becomes quite the guard dog around you! Will never tolerate a single slight to your character, which has shown to be the very highest thank him very much.

✧ Shyly walks by your hobbit hole when he knows you’ll be picking from your orange tree, hoping you’ll invite him to join you. Fetches the higher-up ones and only keeps them at your insistence. Marvels at the size difference of your hands as you hand him a jar of the marmalade you recently made.

✧ Loves playing up the heights of things in all his wild tales that much more, whether they are trolls or towering cliffs, because surely they are many times your size, right? He thinks with a grin as he spins his yarns.

✧ Gets pushed into a dance with you at some party or another; glancing down to meet your eyes, he cannot help darting a brief gaze to your lips, flushing at their proximity and the feeling of your hands in his.

✧ The first time you grab him into a hug, his hands freeze for a moment before he finally lets them settle at the small of your back, daring to rub a soothing circle there.

✧ "Here," he gets your attention quietly, reaching down, "let me get this for you." Gently his fingers brush your hair, removing the leaf that had gotten tangled in a curl.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @kilibaggins @ibabblealot @joonies-word @stormchaser819 | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

Rayllum Month 2024! (4/13)

white flowers and love letters, you say i’m yours forever

July 7th - Flowers

~

Rayla hated mornings. Callum couldn't get enough of them- she was convinced he must be on something, but it wasn't her place to say; hell knew she'd done weirder shit. And conversely, Callum hated late night while Rayla loved them. But at least she had a reason- she was a Moonshadow elf, after all. Moon's at night. The math wasn't difficult.

He slumped onto his bedroll when they made camp that night in a meadow, a clear view of the stars above. And if Rayla had chosen it specifically for that, in memory of their last time and hoping for a repeat, well… at least Callum had the good nature to not say anything if it bothered him. He was probably too exhausted to care.

She pushed his hair back. “Go get some rest, Sleepy Mage.”

He groaned, pushing himself up and rubbing at his eyes. “No, I'm fine. I'll help with dinner, and-”

Rayla rolled her eyes, lifting the bag off Luna and holding it out of Callum's reach. “Your eyebags could carry a gallon of milk. Go to bed- you're exhausted. I've got it.” She smiled, letting her hand fall within his reach. “Really.”

Callum took it, sending a rush of warmth through her perpetually cold body, the smile he gave her worth a billion gold coins. No- more. Priceless. “Thanks, Ray.”

She smiled back, squeezing and lingering. “It's not a problem.”

With Callum passed out instantly, Rayla ate a handful of beige bittersquash as she set out her own bedroll. Once she had it laid out as flat as she could get it on the uneven ground, she plucked Stella from her shoulder, the cuddlemonkey looking at her sleepily.

“Shh, I know, baby,” she soothed when she chittered, scratching her under the chin. “Will you do a very quick job for mama?”

Stella nodded eagerly, big purple eyes focusing.

Grinning, Rayla set her down near Callum with a pat on her head. “I'm going to go use the bathroom. Will you keep an eye on our things and Callum for me?”

The cuddlemonkey saluted her, adorably tapping Callum’s shoulder.

Rayla kissed her forehead. “Thanks, baby. I'll be right back. So fast you won't even notice I'm gone.”

She picked her way off through the woods until finding a dark, secluded enough spot to do her business. Stopping the fuss with the buckles of her pants on her walk back–honestly, she’d had them for over a year now, and the damn things never got any easier to clasp–she stopped short.

Nothing looked familiar. Sure, it was dark, but Rayla had always been good at memorizing environments and had keen night vision even for a Moonshadow elf. Shit, was she lost? Wonderful; that was just the icing on the cake.

Rayla flicked open a single blade, letting it hang at her side. She doubted there was anything nearby, but better safe than sorry.

She slowly spun around, getting her bearings and trying to figure out which way was east, the way she’d come from. Moss grew on the north side of trees, so if she could just find some freaking moss, she’d be set.

She squinted at a faint glow in the darkness, picking up the pace as she made her way over, curiosity getting the better of her. She was already lost; what was another detour?

A cluster of flowers bloomed at the base of a tree, glowing silver and shaped like lilies. A little like lunablooms, Rayla couldn’t help thinking, a shuddering wave of nostalgia washing over her.

Rayla inhaled the flowers’ scent, smiling at the smell of, oddly enough, fresh-baked cookies and Stella–unhygienic as the little monkey was, she thought with a snort–and- Callum. Why on earth did a flower smell like her ex-boyfriend? Why did it smell like home?

Greedily, she leaned back in to smell it again, but lurched back when instead of everything she’d longed for those two years away, it smelled of sulfur. Of evil. Rayla coughed, shaking her head. Where had that come from? Yet when she sniffed them again experimentally, certain she’d gone well and truly crazy, she was proven correct by how it had gone back to smelling like home.

She was clearly crazy, Rayla decided. She’d already been having auditory hallucinations, and with the added stress of her parents in her pocket, the fate of the world on her and Callum’s shoulders, everything that might happen once they reached the Starscraper, what he’d asked her to do… She really deserved more credit for keeping herself out of an insane asylum.

She pulled up a flower, gently gripping it by the stem in her free hand, and continued on her way. No reason to kill all of them. Let a little beauty spread around, right? But, come to think of it, it was odd that none of the little blossoms were anywhere to be seen other than that one patch.

But what did Rayla know? She was no Earthblood elf, no botanist. And she had bigger things to worry about than flowers.

And yet, she couldn’t make herself let go of the blossom in her hand.

By the time Rayla found her way back to camp, tired and agitated from stumbling over tree roots and through thorn bushes, it’d been at least twenty minutes since she’d planned on returning. Stella had fallen asleep curled up with Callum, out like a light.

Rayla smiled softly at the monkey, brushing a kiss against her forehead. She glanced down at the flower in her hand, and before she could think better of it, tucked it behind Callum’s ear. Adorable.

Read more on AO3!

[hannahssimblr]

I spend three hours wandering around the estate looking for Goose. I've checked every front garden, every hedge and flower bed and under every car, looked inside bins and up trees by the time I'm forced to contend with the fact that I haven't confronted the railroad tracks yet. I don't. I never pluck up the courage.

I can’t fathom it, being the one to find him there, sweet Goose with his little kitten paws and soft pewter fur. This thought that I hadn’t even considered until Michelle spat it at me is tormenting me now as I forlornly wander the evening streets, calling out the name that I’m not even sure he knows to answer to yet. 

I stumble upon Jen in a little park we used to drink in when we were fourteen. She’s been out looking too, evidently, but has had enough and is sitting on the ground gazing out over the last russet streaks of sunset over Dublin Bay. 

“Have you given up?” I ask her. Her eyes are clouded with sadness 

“I have a feeling he’s gone, Jude,” she says. I feel a lump forming in my throat. “He mightn’t be. He might come back, you know, cats are known to show up after being away for days, weeks, months even,” this is the sort of bargaining a person who refuses to accept the obvious truth gets too involved with, and the kind I’ve been doing with myself the whole afternoon, thinking that maybe if I imagine Goose’s return with enough conviction I will magic him home again, but Jen, for once does not match my idealism.

“He probably doesn’t know where his home is yet, he’s too new.”

“Yeah,” I shift some loose gravel with the toe of my shoe. “Jen, I feel so awful.”

“I know,” she says, and holds her arms out to me to pull me to the ground and wrap them around me, “It isn’t your fault, it could have happened to any of us.”

“I ruined the entire day with my stupidity.”

“Shh, stop,” gently fingers stroke my hair at the nape of my neck, “you just made a mistake, it’s human.”

“Did I ruin your date?”

She pauses, “It’s okay, I don’t think she realised it was a date, and it's probably for the best.” 

The wind rustles through the trees around the park, and I feel chilled with the knowledge that change is coming. The school year is ending soon and now the future lies unavoidably ahead of me, a path completely untrodden. 

“You’ll find someone else to take to the debs,” I tell Jen, peering at the side of her face as her short crop of chestnut hair is backlit by the sunset. “You should have been the first person to get a date anyway.”

She gives me a half smile, unconvinced, “there are like, four lesbians in our year including me.”

“Out lesbians,” I point out, “You never know.”

“When I go to college it will be better,” she says firmly, “school is just destined to be shit, romantically, I mean.”

“In all ways, I think.”

She just laughs. 

“This stuff is bullshit anyway.”

“What is? Love?”

I rub my arms where goosebumps are rising with the cold. I should have worn a jumper. “Yeah, you’re not missing out on much.”

A silence follows, one that feels deliberate, but I venture into it anyway, “Michelle and I had a bad fight earlier.”

“I heard.”

“Us shouting?”

“Mm.”

“Sorry.” I wipe my nose which is running from the cold with the back of my arm. “It was terrible, we both said awful things.”

She just circles her hand on my knee in a vague gesture of comfort.  

“Sometimes it feels like she’s trying to hurt me, you know what I mean? It’s like she has all of this bad stuff stored up that she wants to, like, unleash. It’s so vicious. It seems like she really wants to dig her nails in and leave a mark on me, and then I get so defensive, like, because talking it out doesn’t work, I have to shout, and I have to be horrible too so that she’ll even react to me.”

“We all say things we regret when we’re upset.”

“Yeah, but it’s so destructive. I come away from it all feeling like shit. Like, this isn't who I am, I’m not a person who fights. At least I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be up there saying these things to her, but I can’t stand there and let her say them to me either.”

“Yeah.”

“And I worry a lot about what things are going to look like after this year is over, like, with college and stuff,” even mentioning it makes my stomach feel tight, “like, um, how she wants us to live together and all.”

“And you’re nervous about that?”

I sigh, “Well, I don’t know, it makes sense to do it, right? She thought we could get a little place near NCAD, and we’ve been looking at houses online, and… I don’t know. The idea of being around her all of the time, like, twenty-four-seven, sharing a bed, eating every meal together, walking to college, it makes me feel claustrophobic, and then I worry that if I feel that way now, how am I going to feel when I’m actually doing it? Surely it’s not supposed to feel so terrible, right?” I prompt her when she doesn’t respond, “Jen? What do you think?”

She pauses for a long moment, toying with the aglets on the end of her boot laces. “I think that you’re asking me for an opinion I’m not prepared to give you.”

“...right.”

“We agreed, I agreed with you both that I’d never talk to one about the other. It’s not fair on me and I don’t want to feel stuck in the middle of it.”

“But-”

“You’re both nice people and I love you both so much, but when you are together you are absolutely horrible. That’s all I want to say.”

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't, I just sit in bad feelings and wish for the millionth time that my brain was normal enough to make good choices on its own and not beg them from other people.

I sniff again, though this time I’m not sure if it’s just because of the cold. “So, um, the acceptance deadline for those other colleges is coming up.” 

“The foreign ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still going to turn them down?”

“I promised Michelle that I would.” 

Jen’s shoulders slump, all of her does, like someone has let the air out of her, but she just says, “Alright.”

I feel the teeth of my genuine desperation for her opinion, her approval gnawing at me. I just want the sage words of advice she’s withholding from me, “Is it a mistake? Like, if I reject their offers? Would that be the stupidest thing I ever did?”

“I don’t know.”

“I worked hard, you know? I really put everything I had into those applications, I gave them the best that I had and they loved it, they said really nice things about me in the letters, and sometimes, like, I think I’ll die, or something, if I don’t leave Dublin. But then there’s Michelle,” I fist the front of my hair in my hand, “and the things at home, and I don’t know what the right thing is, whether it’s hurting myself or hurting everyone else…”

“Jude,” Jen suddenly grabs hold of my face and forces me to look into her eyes, “you have to do what feels right, okay? I’m not going to tell you what to do. Like, just… you need to fucking search within or whatever.”

“Uh huh. What does that entail?” 

“I dunno!” She lets me go and stands up, brushing dirt from the back of her jeans, “C’mon, it’s cold, we should go home.”

“Uh, I was kind of hoping you’d be able to solve me, actually.”

“No, this time you can solve yourself. C’mon, up!” She presents her hand to me and I let her haul me onto my feet. 

“Ugh, Jen,” I say, feeling myself sinking back into a melancholy hole again, but she links my arms and brusquely walks me toward the playground gates with all the pep of a middle aged Sunday morning power walker. “You know what? I think we could both do with something nice to make us feel better.”

“What do you mean ‘something nice’?

“Like, I dunno, an ice cream or something.”

“What time is it? It must be after nine.”

“Yeah, so? I was thinking of that place with all the weird flavours, do you remember that?”

“Yeah, but it’s all the way in town. Effort.”

“You can drive, can’t you?”

“You want me to drive? Jen I hate driving.”

“I think you’ll do it for me.”

“Why’d you think that?”

She eyes me sideways, “After what you put me through today, hm?”

“That's manipulation.”

“No, it's payback.”

“Fine. I’ll go get the car.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Come on, before I change my mind.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[kittyball23]

The Tough Questions (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: While attempting to explain the arrival of a new sibling, Bruce’s daughter's line of questioning stirs up some old memories, and reminds him of what is yet to be revealed to his wife

A/N: Taking place before TBT :)

__________________________________________

Art was not Bruce’s strongest suit.

Well, at least art in the pen-and-paper sense (or in this case, a stick and the sand underfoot from the beach). The only art that he had been good at creating was the kind that came out of his throat in a stunning, musical tune. It wasn't quite the same in the illustration department, though. Nevertheless, he tried his best at formulating the figures he was trying to depict. It wasn't for his sake that this drawing was being made. It was for the tall, giggling child who stood just behind him, snickering with each stroke he added to the creation.

"Daddy," she said, a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, "is that supposed to be a dog?"

Bruce turned to look at her. Brenda was a cute little girl, resembling her mother much in appearance with her felt-like skin, striped body, and yarn-like hair. A little white flower adorned her hair just above the right ear, adding a little extra pizazz, though he had to crane his neck a little to actually see it well enough. Err… maybe NOT so little of a girl, he suddenly thought to himself, considering her actual size when next to him. Despite his daughter only being four years old, he was dwarfed greatly, though this was not unusual since she wasn't 100% Troll. Residents of Vacay Island were unique-looking creatures who were at least ten Trolls high and had thin arms and puppet-like features.

As a kid, Bruce had barely been able to depict a Troll in the silly doodles he’d made within the song-writing journal he had. So, trying to make an illustration of his Islander spouse and daughter’s special features was certainly not coming out the best, either.

"No, darling. That's supposed to be Mommy. See?" He pointed out the figure in the drawing who was supposed to be his wife, Brandy.

Brenda cocked her head, pondering, looking at it this way and that, and ultimately giggling again. "Oh, okay, Daddy," she said in a way that was meant to say "Suuuure, I'll believe that dog-looking blob is Mommy."

"Oh, yeah?" Bruce said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes playfully at her. "I'd like to see you try your hand at it."

His daughter immediately stopped laughing. He expected her to meekly step back and allow him to finish, knowing her child-like drawing would probably bear even less resemblance to her mother, but he was surprised when she stood straight up, plucked the stick from his hands and bent down over the sand with a chirpy "Okay, Daddy!" in response. Bruce watched with amusement as she started to draw, but soon that amusement shifted to awe the more she added. By the end of it, Brenda had drawn not only her mother, but Bruce and herself… and it looked photographic!

"Whoa…" he said, unable to help his jaw dropping a little. "Not bad, kid… not bad at all!" He stretched up to ruffle her hair, and she laughed sweetly. The purple-haired smiled at her and pointed at the drawing. "This is our family, right?"

Brenda beamed, proud of her work, and nodded. "Yep!" she chirped.

He grinned and bent down with the stick again. "Well, sweetie, pretty soon it's gonna look like this." He drew a little figurine next to her mother’s, smaller than Brenda’s but still bigger than his. 

"Huh?" the girl was confused. "Who's that?" she asked, but instantly turned around and answered her own question with "Oooohh, Daddy! Are we getting a puppy?"

"What? No!" Bruce was unable to believe that his artistic vision didn't seem to be coming across the way he wanted once more.

"Awww…" Brenda slumped.

"But," he spoke up, patting her hand, "you're getting something even better.”

She gasped. "Oh! Really? What?"

"A baby brother," he responded, "or a sister."

Brenda blinked her large eyes. "Oh," she said after a minute, not so enthused. "Um… well, okay…"

"It’s nothing to be moping about," Bruce said. "Actually, it's something really, really cool!" He spoke animatedly, and Brenda gained curiosity.

"Yeah?"

"The coolest," he assured. "Why, a brother - or a sister - is like a friend who's always gonna be with you. You guys can play and sing and dance - "

"And hug?" Brenda asked, tucking her hands under her chin.

"Yep, and hug!" he replied, tickling the girl at her sides and making her giggle. "And the best part is, you guys will make lots of great fun memories together that you'll keep with you forever."

"And ever?" she chirped.

"And ever.”

"And ever and ever and ever and ever and - !"

"Brenda," the Troll said with warning. She went on keeping that up, there'd be no more cookies before bedtime!

"Heehee, sorry, Daddy," the girl mumbled, shuffling her foot in the sand. In peering down at the drawing again, his daughter’s face lit up. "Wow," she murmured. "Where's he now?" she asked, and then added, "or she."

"In Mommy's belly," Bruce explained.

Brenda was surprised to hear this. "What?" She crossed her arms. "Doesn't Mommy know that we're not on the menu!" she demanded to know.

"Of course Mommy knows.”

"Huh," she said, "then how did the baby get in there?"

Bruce’s eyes bulged. "Uhh…" His face grew warm upon remembering exactly how, but that was not something to be discussed with the young girl. Luckily, Brenda decided she didn't care all that much to know, and piped up with another question in her curious mind.

“Hey, Daddy, everybody has a family, right?”

“Um, yes! Yes, they do,” he answered, grateful for the change in subject.

“So that means you have a Mommy and Daddy too, right?”

“You got that right, kid.”

Brenda nodded, and then shot right out with another question. “Daddy, do you have any brothers?”

She sure IS smart, Bruce thought, a feeling of pride washing over him. Maybe a little TOO smart, he then thought, apprehensively. This conversation was now going in the direction that he hoped it hadn’t. His mind blanked out a second as the recollection of four Trollings came into his thoughts and brought a pang of sadness with it. He didn’t want to answer no, but he didn’t exactly want to go on admitting that he did have brothers, for he knew his daughter would certainly flock him with questions that would require him to reveal much about his boyband past. So, instead, he stuttered an “I… I-I don’t know…”

“What?” Brenda was appalled by his answer. “Daddy, how could you not know if you have a brother?”

“Hey, you know what I do know?” Bruce said, making sure his tone remained as chill as he was hoping it was sounding. “That it is time for bedtime!”

The girl giggled. “Don’t be silly, Daddy, I’m not tired.” But her statement instantly became null and void when she opened her little mouth and let out a big yawn.

The Troll let out a sigh of relief. Whew, what a save! In reality, it was difficult to tell when exactly it was bedtime. The sun on Vacay Island never set. But, in time, he had gotten used to keeping track of the hours in the day. And for his daughter it really was time to hit the hay. “Come on,” he cooed, grabbing her hand and guiding her back indoors and back to her bedroom. Bruce helped in tucking her in, pulling the blanket over her and kissing her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, Bren,” he said.

Brenda yawned again, and sleepily smiled up at him. “G’night, Daddy…” It was only a minute later that she was snoring contently.

__________________________________________

Give it up, Bruce, a voice in the back of his head chimed. They’re already shiny enough.

It was true. There was no need to grab any more globs of the goopy wax and apply it to his collection of surfboards. They were already ready to go, to be grabbed at a moment’s notice and go sailing the waves like he loved to do in the evenings. But Bruce couldn’t help it. The motion of running his hands over the board, of being able to be occupied with something to do was soothing to his nerves. And he had to soothe himself for sure, after the memories of that awful night returned to him.

It’s your fault! the voice in his brain annoyingly shouted. You were the first to quit!

He grabbed more wax and rubbed harder on the board, trying to push away the guilt. No, it wasn’t my fault… not COMPLETELY. Perhaps he had set off the chain reaction. He had known he was a big influence on Clay, so it was no surprise that the yellow-haired Troll had immediately called it quits not too long after Bruce had ripped his purple vest in two. But then he thought about why he and Clay had been so allied.

It’s because of John Dory…

If JD hadn’t gotten on both their nerves, the breakup could have been avoided.

Yeah, that’s right… it’s HIS fault!

But then he sighed. No… it’s not completely. Even though he wanted to pin the blame, he couldn’t. They all could’ve worked things out. But the reality was, they hadn’t.

“Bruce?”

He perked, turning to the sound of the voice. It was that of his wife. His very tall wife. If Brenda was already making him look small, that was nothing compared to Brandy. But they made things work out. Somehow… but they did! Otherwise, Brenda and her sibling wouldn’t exist. 

Brandy peered down at Bruce, her gaze almost knowing.

“Bruce,” she repeated gently, a hand subconsciously reaching up and rubbing a hand against her swollen belly. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Bruce huffed, getting back to his work. “Nothing’s wrong. What makes you think something is wrong?"

“Because you’re waxing down the surfboards,” she stated, as though it were obvious.

Bruce paused mid-swipe. Once again, it was proven that she was his soulmate. She knew him the best out of any girl he’d been with in the past. She’d figure him out in one way or another. There were no secrets between them, as he sought it should be between a husband and wife. No secrets except one. But he would tell her in time.

But… is NOW the time?

“Brucie, tell me what’s the matter,” she insisted. She crouched down, tracing a finger down through his long, flowing purple hair.

“It’s nothing, really,” he said, trying to brush the subject off. But Brandy wasn’t having it.

“Is it about Brenda?” she guessed. She’d known that he had gone to talk to her about the new baby.

“Ehh… sort of…”

Suddenly Brandy narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t have ‘the talk’ with her yet, did you? I told you to save that for when she was older!”

Bruce put his hands up. “No, no! No talk, don’t worry, my love. All I did was tell her about the family. And yeah, she had some questions, that I answered the best I could…” All except that last question, he added silently.

Brandy eyed him a second, and then understanding seemed to flood her eyes. “Ohh, I get what this is about,” she said.

The purple-haired Troll held back a gasp. “Y-you do?” No, she couldn’t possibly know, could she? He was thrilled to know that nobody on Vacay Island had known about his true identity upon his first arrival, and he’d made sure to keep it that way for many years.

Brandy nodded. “Yeah.” Then she smiled. “You’re worried about being a Dad again, aren’t you?”

Bruce relaxed. “Ahhh, yes. You got me there, honey.” He tried to laugh, but it came out nervous-sounding and uncertain.

“Aw, Bruce,” she cooed, scooping him in closer to her. “I know it can be a little scary, but hey… you’ve been doing a great job with Brenda.”

“You mean we,” he said, winking at her, “don’t jip yourself the credit, baby.”

She grinned, leaning down to peck his cheek. “And I can assure you that there’s nothing to worry about this time around. Okay?”

He gave her one nod. Bruce was a little unnerved about adding another kiddo to their family, but he felt even more unnerved in hiding the full truth from her. His gaze drifted to her belly, enlarged with the few months’ pregnancy. “Hey, kid,” he whispered softly, reaching a hand out to caress the bump. “We’ll be meeting each other pretty soon. How’s it popping in there?”

To his delight, he felt a kick in response and had to chuckle. “Yeah, I’m excited about seeing you, too. You’re gonna love our home. And your Mommy,” he said looking up at Brandy fondly.  She was a wonderful mother, the best kind there was. And while they were both still fairly young parents, they found out that they were naturals.

"All right, it's about time we head in for the night. You coming? Or would you rather finish up here?" she asked amusedly.

He smirked. "Nah, I'm done. Thanks."

"Don't mention it, sweetie," Brandy replied, giving him one more kiss before grabbing him and heading for the bedroom. 

As the door closed behind them and she pulled the sheets back, he flopped onto the bed, lying flat. To him, their bed was as big as the ocean, given that he was so much smaller than she. For her, it was just right. Just like their daughter, she fell asleep quickly, understandably so with how the growing life in her belly was making her energy drain quicker throughout the day. Bruce had a bit harder of a time falling asleep though, still fretting over his inability to just admit it to her already.

I will tell her, he told himself. When the time is right. I promise, Brandy...

Bruce looked over at his wife, his heart full.

I promise.

__________________________________________

A/N: This follows the headcanon I have that all of Bruce's kids' names start with "Br"