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waywardsummoner46 · 2 years

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Awake, Evader of the Endless

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x reader, extremely dark!Endless x reader

Summary: Dream glided towards you with as much grace as a King. He towered over you, looked down at you from his nose - you were beneath him in more ways than one, of that you knew. Didn’t mean you had to like it. Cruelly, he smirked and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I will enjoy this, little deceiver.”

...Hell erupted inside of you; you could feel your organs burning within your body, slowly, so agonisingly slowly, were they burning and melting and disintegrating. Blood formed inside of you and there was nowhere for it to go apart from up up up up out of your mouth, your nose, your eyes.

...Pools of blood formed around you and as you lay in the remains of your organs, all the while wondering distantly how you were still alive without a heart… you wished for Death.

Word Count: 4481

Warnings: EXTREMELY DARK, graphic descriptions of being skinned alive, organs burning inside of a body, hair falling out, nails being torn, vomit, threat, blood and gore, non-consensual touching, mind fuckery

A/N: This is, believe it or not, only the tip of the iceberg. I felt ill writing this so I warn you PLEASE ONLY READ IF YOU ARE NOT FAINTHEARTED. I genuinely can’t believe I wrote this. Thank you for your support and let me know what you think.

Weightless.

You felt weightless, as though there was nothing burdening your tired shoulders.

Silent.

Everything was silent, as though the world outside had stopped to give you peace at last.

Darkness.

You saw darkness, as though a warm blanket had shielded your eyes from their surroundings.

Void.

Only a void was left, as though you were the only one in a vast universe.

… Anxious. Afraid.

Something was wrong, as though the world outside had stopped; as though a cold, misleading blanket had restricted your eyes from their surroundings; as though you weren’t the only one left in a vast universe.

Air rushed back into your lungs quicker than you could comprehend and you sat up heaving for breath. A queasiness made its way through your body and before you could even try to suppress the rising vomit in your throat, you wretched all over the floor you were sitting on. The urge to vomit again arose once the smell wafted to your nose and you struggled to remember what the hell had happened before now.

After spitting the remaining bile from your mouth, you raised a trembling hand to rub your eyes; you remembered meeting up with Gabe in a pub and talking about a random theory you had, then you went up to the bar to get some drinks. After that, though, you couldn’t remember anything at all as to what happened in that pub for you to wake up like this.

Undoubtedly, the nausea that had calmed only slightly had been caused by something and the uneasy feeling in your gut told you it wasn’t because of the drinks.

With that thought, you focused on your growing dread and willed your unnaturally heavy eyes to open. Immediately, you regretted it.

A rather embarrassing scream tore itself from your throat when your eyes met another pair mere inches from your face. It was a girl, only slightly younger than yourself but definitely not an adult. Her eyes had followed you as you’d scrambled back and you noticed with clouded curiosity that they were different colours - one was a beautiful blue and the other was a deep green with specks of silver dotted around the iris. Much like her eyes, her clothes didn’t seem to follow a specific colour pattern. Ripped, striped socks of purple and blue lined each leg and she wore a torn dress of green and orange. Her hair was as fiery as her clothes with its gorgeous ginger colour and the mix and match of her entire appearance was strangely appealing to your eyes.

Clapping hands distracted you from your observations. “Oh, isn’t she cute? Like a little puppy, a little adorable puppy, and puppies need to be looked after! Yes, that’s what they need. What else do puppies need?” You ogled at her outburst. Her question hadn’t even processed in your mind, only the intensity and obscenity of her speech. As her gaze darkened, however, and her irises swapped sides inhumanely, only then did you truly pay attention to her words.

“Disobedient little puppies need to be puuuuuuuuniiiiiiiiisheddddddddd.”

“What?” The question left you in a horrified gasp. It was only the tip of the iceberg, questions were forming in your brain at a speed you were unfamiliar with and the inevitable headache hit you with viable intensity as you gazed deeper into her ever changing eyes.

In response to your question, she clapped her hands again with delight and giggled deliriously. Then, abruptly, her hands lowered slowly, and her expression turned blank. Her stare looked through your eyes to something beyond.

For a time, all she did was gaze into the void, and it was only when she finally blinked did her temperament change once again.

Small, uncalloused and surprisingly strong hands wrapped around your throat with an unforgiving squeeze. Eyes widening in shock and fear, your own hands desperately fought against her, trying with all of your might to lessen the pressure to your throat.

She glared into your eyes, the contrast between anger and fear poetic even now. “You deserve to be punished! You disobey us without correction and now you’re like a puppy! But, oh!” You could breathe again although you weren’t fully out of her grasp. She’d taken to wrapping around your quivering body and stroking your hair all whilst whispering deluded things into your ear.

“Puppies are innocent and so very, very, vulnerable. They must be protected, by who? By me! I’ll protect you like I protect… um… what do I protect again?”

“Delirium,” a deep voice spoke, your eyes widened minutely at the sound. “That is enough.”

Both of you looked up to the source of the sound and, while her face brightened and she instantly let go of you in favour of bouncing towards the voice, yours dropped once you beheld just who had commanded the crazy girl.

It was the man from the pub. The very man that had captured your entire attention the moment your eyes fell on him, who had magically reconstructed the glasses you’d dropped and who had… “You did something to me, with that sand. You did it to Gabe too. Why? Where is he? Where am I?”

His face darkened even further from its already cold exterior at your confrontation, his attention having been ripped from the girl by your rude tone. In your defence, rationality was hardly a priority for you at the moment.

“You dare address me so?” Fear unlike any other seized your heart. Despite not having considered your tone before speaking, within a moment of chilling clarity, you finally began to grasp the situation you were in and the danger that could easily turn fatal at any second.

Gulping audibly, you tried to form any semblance of an apology, however, no words left your mouth as you, at long last, beheld the five others standing by him. Just what had you gotten yourself into?

A woman, with dark skin and incredible curly hair, wearing a black vest and equally dark jeans spoke before the man could threaten you anymore. “Dream, give the poor girl a break. She’s just confused and that is no thanks to you, so rein it in.”

He, Dream as she’d called him, had enough self-discipline to at least appear apologetic even if he never stated so. Contrary to his sudden calmness, you still eyed him wearily (trying in vain to remain composed at his intense stare).

The way she spoke of you was oddly condescending. In spite of her words having been defending you, they were undoubtedly patronising - as though she felt the need to rub it in your face, your helplessness and hopelessness against seven other people. Heck, you didn’t even know why you were here, let alone why she’d intended her words to be like that!

Under the guise of fear you observed them all - you thought and planned how exactly you were to escape the room you were in. It wasn’t very big, the room, although it was lavish in a way that was homey. Where you sat on a dark, patterned carpet, you could see that most of the walls were an unnatural ebony that no doubt held secrets unfathomable for your brain. They beheld no insight to where you were or whether or not there was an escape in them.

Deciding not to dwell on what you didn’t understand (which seemed to be an ever growing list), the furniture and layout of the room held your attention now. To the right of where you sat, there was a fireplace and two seats of crimson leather were situated before it. In between them lay a table with a book - something was scrawled on the spine but in the lighting you couldn’t quite see what it was.

“Ohh, she is rather naughty, isn’t she?” Your head whirled around at the smooth, seductive voice. Their eyes narrowed at you in a way that made you tense in anticipation, of what kind, you knew not. “And clueless.” Similar to others, their expression darkened and suddenly their dark red lipstick signified more than just extravagance - each of the seven wore something akin to resentment on their face as they looked down on you. You must’ve done something catastrophically vile to garner such spiteful attention.

In the background, you noticed there were portraits. Very big, very grand and very detailed. And each individual one depicted one of the beings before you; admittedly, they wore different clothes but the resemblance was uncanny.

“How can you fault me for being clueless when none of you have made any effort to explain literally anything to me?” You spoke bravely. “I mean, the only time that I did ask questions it’s a wonder the death glare I got didn’t actually kill me!”

Some of them looked amused at your words, others looked downright pissed and then there was the poor girl who couldn’t seem to comprehend what you’d said, never mind settling on a singular emotion. You pitied her in an odd way.

Dream looked at you with nothing short of absolute hatred, yet the scariest thing was how his expression had never changed. He was able to convey such a powerful emotion all while making hardly any effort at all, subtlety was a weapon for him, you realised, and it would be extremely difficult to recognise when and even if he was planning to kill you. He raised a hand and your eyes squeezed shut in dread. What was it you were thinking about him killing you?

Sand flicked across your face once more and you braced yourself for whatever pain he’d force upon you. The sand cut and nicked your skin, warmth flowed down parts of your face as blood rose out of the split skin. Like a rabid dog, your movements became driven by pure instinct as you futilely shielded your face from the onslaught of the shard-like sand. The grains were too small, however, and weaved themselves through the tiny nooks and crannies of your violently shaking hands. More cuts appeared on your hands as your resistance persisted and soon red was all that could be seen.

Slowly the torment began to cease. Only when you were completely sure it had stopped did you lower your hands. Expecting to see rivers of blood, you questioned your mental stability when clear, unmarred skin was all that could be seen.

“Let that be a warning of what is to come, little deceiver,” Dream threatened from across the room. You gazed up with tears spilling down your face. No shed of remorse could be found on his face, if anything, you’d say he definitely enjoyed what he’d done to you.

Despair became a hole in your heart; was this what had happened to Gabe? Had they caused such agony upon him as they had to you? Worse? Was he… no, you couldn’t think like that. Not if you wanted any chance of surviving these masochistic scumbags.

One of the unfamiliar people started gasping, moaning, you noticed with horror. Her worn, lifeless clothes made the distinction from her mood that much more disturbing. As she brought a hand up to her face, you noticed a hook ring on her finger and before you could process what had happened she’d stabbed her own fat cheek and angled the ring so that it cut the entirety of the cheek.

Nobody else commented on it, only the one in red lipstick seemed to react positively to it by reaching over and hugging her from behind. Numbly, water continued to run down your face as you struggled to do literally anything in that moment.

Another ginger began to approach you, a man with a similar appearance to a lumberjack. Oddly, his demeanour was warm - an unfamiliar contrast to what you’d been familiarised with - and he asked you a genuine question with no ill will hidden between the syllables.

“Would you let me carry you? Please? You can’t be comfortable down there.” His voice was pleasant and deep and you found yourself contemplating what he’d said.

“She does not deserve such a choice, Destruction,” Dream said uninvitedly.

Hidden from his eyes, Destruction rolled his eyes and the illusion of a smile spread across your face. It was the way he resembled Gabe, even if only in behaviour, that made you nod your head. A sharp pang struck your heart at the reminder of him.

Instantly, another moan echoed in the room and as Destruction picked you up you curled against his muscular chest in an attempt to drown out the uncomfortable sounds.

“Despair, my twin, your time will come, have no fear. For now we must try and control ourselves,” the blonde with lipstick said.

“Sorry, Desire.”

A low, slow, cruel laugh left Desire’s lips. “Do not apologise, sister. It’s her that should be sorry.”

Destruction had begun walking by that point, right towards the rest of them, and as you passed in between them you saw how each and every one of them looked at you: Desire had a hungry look on their face, Despair could barely contain her pleasure, Death revealed nothing, Delirium had a mix of elation and fury on her face, the mystery man was hidden by his cloak and Dream… Dream’s face was positively murderous.

Somewhere there was an explanation for his malice towards you, it was up to you to exploit it and wield it for yourself. Avoiding his eyes, you looked down and noticed that in his arms was the book from by the fireplace. The close distance finally allowed you to see what it said on the spine.

A new form of dread filled you; the book, it read:

(Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Dream must’ve sensed where your attention was, for he stopped Destruction in his path and reached a hand to your chin. His grip in his fingers alone felt more powerful than both of Destruction’s arms together and at any second he could render you incapacitated or even dead.

“Know that any intentions of escape will be met with more severe punishment should myself or any of my siblings catch you in your misdeeds.” Oh fuck, he knew that you’d been looking for an escape, they all did. And did he say siblings? Their allegiance to one another must be unparalleled if they would cooperate with what Dream had done and said to you and not report it to any authorities.

So far he’d kidnapped you, assaulted you in one way or another, threatened you and now had an entire book dedicated to what was, without a doubt, your entire life story. How long had he, they, been keeping tabs on you?

The familiarity in which they spoke to you was unnerving to say the least, but the confidence in which they held themselves suggested that there was something beyond just cocky self-entitlement. Obviously, that played a substantial part in all of their personalities yet you still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something that you were missing.

Dream had been able to manipulate sand, to control it, and he’d used it to put you to sleep. That goes against every law of physics in existence and yet, he’d wielded it as an extension of himself. Then there was that god awful helmet, who knows where that could’ve gone but you noticed that in his painting he was wearing it. Did it have any significance? You didn’t know. You’d be damned if you didn’t find out though.

These… people… seemed to have funny names with funny outfits and funny personalities. They also seemed to have a power about them that you were helpless to fight against should they decide to use it on you, like Dream had recently. Did all of them have sand powers? Perhaps it was just Dream. Suddenly the song “Mr. Sandman” seemed to have taken on a new meaning.

Considering that, their names each contributed to whatever they were wearing in some way; Dream with his sand, Delirium with her vibrant colours, Desire with clothes that revealed a bit too much, Despair with that fucking ring and Death with an Ankh around her neck, an ancient Egyptian hieroglyph for Life.

But that was only six. There was another one who hadn’t been named, hadn’t spoken. His hooded cloak and massive book that had been chained to him revealed nought about him other than he was probably very knowledgeable. Maybe unwillingly so if the chain held any significance.

Alas, it wasn’t him who was of concern at the moment. It was the infamous Sandman (you hypothesised).

Addressing him with a clearer head than you’d had since waking up, you wriggled around in Destruction’s hold so that you could appear more in power than you actually were.

Amusement glittered in his surreal cerulean eyes.

“Duly noted.” Simple, though your comment was, it also grounded you further and allowed more thoughts to turn calculative rather than inoperative.

Destruction cut off your silent stare down as he continued in his path towards the floating portraits. The floating portraits. Floating. Okay, sure, that was normal.

Feeling as though your brain would literally combust if you continued to dwell on it, you silently chuckled at how if anything were to push you over the edge it would be gravity defying portraits. Not the fact that you’d been kidnapped or assaulted with practically sentient sand.

Vibrations could be felt from Destruction’s chest as he addressed his siblings curiously. “Alright, where are we going now?”

“Colours and patterns! Moving and making and forming and shaping! We can go to my realm, it’ll be funnnnnnn! Puppies love fun,” her puppy bullshit was really starting to grate your nerves.

Death smiled patiently at Delirium and you applauded her tolerance of the young girl. If anything were to convince you that they were siblings, it’d be that. “Delirium, you know that we agreed we’d go to the Dreaming. It’s been a while since we all visited as a family, hasn’t it?” She turned to you after restoring Delirium’s complacency, “It’d be the first for you, obviously. Thanks to your avoidance of us all there really is so much you’re missing.” Sighing rather dramatically, she turned to the cloaked man. “Is that still okay, Destiny?”

Destiny nodded once at her then turned to you all; “The path we tread is murky - our decisions must be wise, careful… lest we lead the universe to its destruction.” Poor, poor Destruction tensed his hold on you, causing you to bite your lip to prevent crying out.

“Big brother, Destiny meant no harm with his words,” Desire crooned from where they were perched behind Despair, blood dripping from multiple areas on the latter’s face.

“Do I not get a say in this?”

All seven heads jerked in your direction, Destruction’s beard dangerously close to getting in your eyes. Shoulders hunching, you diverted your eyes from everyone, remaining silent. The familiar feeling of dread crippled you once more.

“Destruction, could you place the human onto her feet, please?” Death’s eerily calm voice broke the suffocating silence. He did so, and you noticed his hesitancy to do so along with a final reassuring squeeze.

As he stood back, Dream glided towards you with as much grace as a King. He towered over you, looked down at you from his nose - you were beneath him in more ways than one, of that you knew. Didn’t mean you had to like it. Cruelly, he smirked and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I will enjoy this, little deceiver.”

Your eyes joined as he drew back slightly, still only inches from your face. Suspiciously, you never once felt the hints of breath on your face; did this guy not breathe either?

The two of you stood like that long enough for you to forget about Death momentarily. Feeling your eyes suddenly sag under an invisible pressure and your mouth to dry up like the Sahara desert, Death’s hidden threat began affecting you.

Dream took a step back, narrowly avoiding your collapsing form. The weight of the world felt like it was on your shoulders and you were physically incapable of moving a muscle.

The carpeted floor was the only reprieve you had before the full force of Death overtook you.

Hell erupted inside of you; you could feel your organs burning within your body, slowly, so agonisingly slowly, were they burning and melting and disintegrating. Blood formed inside of you and there was nowhere for it to go apart from up up up up out of your mouth, your nose, your eyes.

A boiling feeling bursted over your entire body, a heat so intense that the carpet around you seared and crisped in its magnitude. Blisters, horrible, rotten blisters formed from the tips of your toes to your forehead and the pressure of the very air around you was almost too unbearable to withstand. Twistedly, the way they popped was comparable to bubble wrap.

Gory pus spewed from the broken skin. For the second time that day, you vomited everything that was in you. But your stomach couldn’t be emptied, so your stomach was what was emptied; the remaining flesh of your intestines, your stomach, your kidneys and your heart surged out of your mouth. Pools of blood formed around you and as you lay in the remains of your organs, all the while wondering distantly how you were still alive without a heart… you wished for Death.

She didn’t stop. In fact, it only got worse.

Nails were forcibly ripped from their beds. Screaming brokenly, you pleaded for mercy but it. Didn’t. Stop. Ripping filled the room, with a numb sense of horror you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was your skin that was being torn, flayed.

You were being skinned alive, by a force you could not see, a force you weren’t even sure existed outside of your violently tormented mind. Hair fell from your head in clumps.

Being nude in front of the seven siblings didn’t even occur to you, how could it when nude wasn’t even something you were capable of being anymore?

“Death, you must stop this! This has gone on too far!” Words entered your brain and immediately left it in an odd sense of delirium.

“Puppies like colours,” puppies did like colours… and the colours you saw were so very pretty-

You started to convulse on the floor. The onslaught of so many sensations nearly breaking your brain. Another scream ripped itself from your bloodied throat; salt burned along your flayed body and you pleaded for Death once more. You were wholly set on doing anything to escape this torture and surrendering to the colours because they were oh-so pretty-

Then they vanished. And only darkness remained. “Listen to my voice, deceiver. Follow the light.” Stars formed around you but one outshone the rest. Captivated, you listened to the deep voice and drew near like a moth to a flame (something deep down warned you that this was dangerous). “Very good, little one.” A rush of energy swirled inside of you and with unfamiliar strength, you enveloped the star in your palms.

Weightlessness overwhelmed you and you sagged into the waiting abyss, finally falling into the arms of what you desired most.

-------

Low, soothing voices registered in your brain, it was them that woke you from your slumber.

“I stated extremely explicitly, sister, that our decisions were catastrophically critical for the preservation of the universe and then you decide to do this?” The tone itself was chillingly calm and tremors spread across your body.

There was a moan and the voices quietened.

Arms wrapped around your drained body and a comforting hand raked itself through your hair, “Sh, my sweet, it’s over. You’re safe, you’re alive.”

Alive? You were alive? For a split second, you couldn’t remember what would encourage such words but then it all came rushing back. Despair gripped you in a chokehold, any coherent thought fled your brain as phantom sensations flared all over your body.

Colours formed, they did nothing to distract you.

Frantically, you ripped yourself from the cage you were in, the blood already too prominent and the scent, the rancid scent of the pus-

Grains of sand hit your face. Scrunching your nose in confusion, you blinked blearily at the golden grains floating before you. Deliriously, you raised a hand to touch them but a tanned one grabbed your own. And with it, clarity.

Death had sunk her claws into you and you’d come so very close to sinking into the depths of her sea, drowning in an endless current of burning and boiling until you wasted away into any other being a victim to her malice.

Except it was not Death who held your hand, it was Destruction. His eyebrows were knit in concern and he appeared to be troubled… he was pained on your behalf. That struck you as odd, surely someone with such a name should revel in your pain.

“How are you, (Y/N)?” He used your name, the first of any of them to do so.

Your quivering lips were the only answer he needed. Despondently, he nodded his head and averted his eyes as though ashamed of your inevitable answer. “I, we, would like you to know that nothing like that will happen of our will again. Death is older than most of us, has the biggest responsibility of us all and your challenge… pushed her over the edge.”

Facing Death, even acknowledging that she was in the room, was too much for you. At the moment, your will was as stable as a Jenga tower and any ill movement would make it crumble completely.

Destruction’s words made sense, especially if your growing theory that these were exactly what their names signified. Despite your absolute hatred towards her presently, a small understanding part of you sympathised with the intensity of her burden.

No words left your mouth in response to his, no words could. You didn’t know what to say or what to feel. Your inner whirlwind of emotions was wholly confusing and you just wanted them to stop so you could gather your wits.

Reluctantly, Destruction released your hand, again squeezing it in reassurance one last time. An unrestrained whimper left your throat at the reminder of what happened after he’d done that the last time.

Before you could descend into your own paranoia, more grains of sand tickled your face. More memories rushed through you then.

“You saved me,” you didn’t look up, nor did you raise your voice above a whisper. Dream never voiced his acknowledgement and you couldn’t be bothered to check if he knew it was him whom you were addressing.

Regardless of the hate filled relationship you two had, the two words left you with no disinclination:

“Thank you.”

Tag list~

@fangirlmary

@annievvv7

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #dark!morpheus #dark!morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #dark!dream x reader #the sandman x reader #desire of the endless x reader #despair of the endless #destruction of the endless x reader #destiny of the endless #death of the endless x reader #delirium of the endless x reader #the endless x reader

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mult1f1cs · 6 months

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Sick days part 2

Pairings: Aaron Hotchnerx Non!BAUFem reader Warnings: Fluff, mentions of throw up Word count: 3128

~The Day After Part 1~

(Aaron’s p.o.v)

I was sitting on the bed in my and Y/N’s room setting out some clothes for Evie while Y/N took a shower with her. We have about an hour until Evie’s appointment and she is being cranky because she hasn’t slept since she woke up at 4am and she’s feeling awful. Jack says he’s feeling pretty okay, just a little warm. As I was laying the clothes out Jack ran into the room, “Dada I can’t reach the shirt I want to wear to the doctor.” I nod and follow him back to his room. We’ve all decided to go to the doctor just in case Y/N and Jack need to be checked out too. When we get to his room I look at his closet “Which shirt do you want buddy?” He points to a Spider-Man shirt and I grab it for him, handing it to him. He smiles, “Thanks dada.” I smile and leave him to get dressed as I walk back to the room seeing Y/N standing wearing one of my old shirts as she tries to dry off a wiggly cranky Evie. I walk over and sit on the bed next to Evie and she looks at me stopping her wiggling just enough for Y/N to dry her off. Y/N hands her to me and I put a diaper on her as Y/N goes to get herself dressed. I hold up the two outfits I picked out for her. One long sleeved dress and one short sleeved dress, “Which one?” She points to the short sleeved blue one as she puts her hand in her mouth. I smiled and put it on her with some matching shorts underneath. When I’m done and putting her socks on she rubs her tummy, “Dada uuk.” I nod, “I know princess you feel yucky.” She shakes her head, “No no uuk.” I look at her as I get her shoes on, “I know princess you're sick you're gonna feel yucky.” She just shakes her head again and Y/N walks out of the closet looking at her, “Aaron she looks really green I think she’s gonna…” She trials off as Evie vomits all over herself, me and the bed. She starts to cry as soon as it happens and Y/N walks over carefully picking her up, “Yep that’s what I thought.” I look at Evie, “Oh uuk dada understands now princess. I will get this cleaned up, you get her cleaned up.” Y/N nods and carry’s Evie to the bathroom.

She comes out a few minutes late with Evie resting on her hip in just a diaper. She walks out of the room to Evie’s room. I stand up and take my clothes off, throwing them on the bed sheets then I go and change in the closet . I walk back out to the room and pull the sheets off the bed carrying them to the laundry room. I throw them in the washer and start it up.

(Your p.o.v)

When I get to Evie’s room I set her on the floor as I grab a pink version of the outfit she threw up on. I kneel down next to her after getting the clothes, “Are you feeling like you're gonna throw up again princess?” She shakes her head and I start to get her dressed. After I’m done she crawls herself into my lap curling herself against my chest. I slowly stand up keeping one hand on her to keep her steady to my chest as I start to pack up a diaper bag with lots of extra diapers and a few extra outfits. I put a few toys and pacifiers in the bag as well. As I’m putting a pacifier in the bag Evie makes a grabby hand towards it. I smile and place it in her mouth as I kiss the top of her head. I walk out of the room with the bag making sure everything’s in it as I notice Evie’s eyes drifting shut. I hear Jack running down the hall and I look at him signaling him to quiet down and he nods looking at Evie. I start to walk to the front door with him and he says, “Mama can I bring my IPad.” I nod at him and he runs to get it from where it charges in Aaron’s office. I turn when I hear Aaron’s footsteps and he smiles walking over to me kissing Evie’s forehead as she’s finally asleep after being awake for 7 hours. He smiles and whispers, “Where’s Jack?” I looked at him, “He went to grab his iPad.” He nods and Jack runs back out with his iPad and headphones and Aaron picks him up as we make our way out of the house to the car. We got the kids situated in their seats and then we got in the car with me in the driver’s seat. I start to drive and say to Aaron, “Do you think we have some time to stop for coffee because I don’t know how long I can last on empty?” I hear him chuckle as he says, “Yeah I think we’ll have some time. We should go to our favorite coffee place because they have those bagels Jack likes and we’ll be able to get Evie a milk for when she wakes up.” I nod and start to drive to the coffee shop. When we get there I park and Aaron says, “I will quickly run in and get all the stuff. Do you want anything other than your coffee?” I shake my head, “No, but get an extra bagel so that if Evie’s hungry when she wakes up we can give her little pieces of it.” He nods and kisses the side of my head before he gets out of the car. I turn back to look at Jack and he smiles at me as I say, “You doing okay buddy? Is Evie still asleep?” He nods and says, “I’m okay mama and yeah she’s still asleep.” I smile, “Okay buddy. Dada’s getting you a bagel.” He smiled and clapped. I smiled and turned back around seeing Aaron walking out of the shop holding a bag and a drink holder. He gets in the car and hands me my iced coffee and a bag. I look at him a little confused and hold up the bag, “What’s this?” He smiled and said, “Well I know you said you didn’t want anything other than the coffee, but they had those donuts you liked so I got it. You can save it for later if you want to.” I smile and lean over pecking his lips before I say, “Thank you baby. I will eat it later.” He smiled and turned around to Jack, handing him a bagel and an orange juice. When he turned back around I started to drive again. It takes about 15 minutes to get to the doctors office and when we get there Evie is wide awake and fussing a little.

After I park Aaron gets Evie out of her seat resting her on his hip. I grab mine and Aaron’s coffees and put the bagel for Evie in the diaper bag swinging the bag over my shoulder. Jack gets out of the car putting his iPad in the diaper bag as he holds his bagel and orange juice in his hands. I walk behind Jack as we walk through the parking lot. When we get inside the doctor's office Aaron checks Evie in while I take her and Jack over to the waiting area. Evie cuddled very close to my chest as I sat with her in one of the waiting room chairs which is a testament to how sick she is because she is never a cuddle bug like this. I look at Jack as he plays on his iPad and I move some hair out of his face, “How are you feeling buddy?” He smiles, “I feel good mama. I don’t feel sick anymore.” I smile, “That’s good buddy. I’m glad you're feeling better.” He smiles, “Me too I just wish sissy would feel better.” I look at Evie, “Me too buddy.” Evie looks up at me and slowly takes her pacifier out of her mouth, “Mama I drink.” I look at her and nod, “Okay princess I have milk or water which do you want?” She pouts her lip out for a second, “Water pwease.” I nod and grab the sippy cup of water I packed from home for her. I hold it up to her and she opens her mouth a little. I put it in her mouth and tilt it a little for her so she can drink. I pull it away after a few minutes and she starts coughing like crazy so I sit her up and tap her back a little as she coughs. She starts to cry loudly as soon as she’s done coughing and Aaron walks up and says, “Here let me hold her, maybe walking around will calm her.” I nod and hand her to him. He grabs her sippy cup and pacifier as he starts to slowly walk around with her. She continues to cry, not calming down. A few parents in the waiting room with their kids give us sympathetic looks as Evie’s crying gets louder.

(Aaron’s p.o.v)

I rub Evie’s back as she cries and I hum try and comfort her and normally it works immediately but it doesn’t seem to be working this time. She starts to heave a little and I pat her back a little looking at her, “Evie you need to calm down your gonna end up puking again if you keep heaving like this.” She looks at me crying and shaking her head, “Can’t dada.” I put my hand on her cheek, “Yes you can princess just breathe in and out.” She nods and takes a deep breath, but her voice is all groggy and her nose is so stuffed that she starts to cry again. I rub her back patting a little as I walk to Y/N, “Love, do you have any tissues I want to blow her nose?” She nods and reaches into the diaper bag pulling out a pack of tissues. I smile and grab the tissues and take one tissue out of the pack. I put the rest of the pack into my pocket then held the tissue up to Evie's nose, “Can you blow your nose baby?” She nods and blows her nose and immediately stops crying. I pinch the end of the tissues and pull it off her nose making sure to get all the snot. She smiles at me a little “Can you breathe a little better now?” She nods as she takes a deep breath through her nose.

I walk to a trash can and throw the tissue away. As I’m walking back to Jack and Y/N a nurse comes out and says, “Evelyn Hotchner?” Y/N and Jack stand up and we all walk over to me and Evie and we all walk to the nurse. The nurse leads us back to the examination room. I sit on the examination table with Evie on my lap as Y/N sits in the chair in the corner with Jack on her lap. The nurse takes Evie’s temperature then says, “The doctor will be in in a few minutes.” We nod and she leaves. Evie turns around in my lab and nuzzles her head into my chest. She has never liked the doctor and normally gets very shy and cries a lot. I rubbed her back gently to keep her a little calm. There was a knock on the door then it opened slowly and the doctor peaked her head in. When Jack saw the doctor he immediately stood up because he loves the doctor because he knows he’ll get a sticker after he sees her and because he likes to comfort Evie. He gets closer to me and He reached his hand up starting to rub Evie’s back just like I am. The doctor sits and looks at Jack saying, “Hey Jack how are you today?” He smiles and says, “I’m good, but Evie is sick.”

The doctor nods and smiles, “I know that’s why I’m here to check her out and see what's wrong. Would you like to help me?” Jack nods quickly and walks closer to her. The doctor hands him gloves so he can really pretend as she types something onto her computer. After a minute she rolls her chair closer to me and Evie with Jack in tow. She grabs a thermometer and says, “Jack want to help me with this. I think Evie will trust you more than she trusts me.” Jack nods quickly and I move Evie off of my lap so she’s sitting next to me on the table. The doctor helps Jack with the thermometer and Jack makes silly faces at Evie while he does it, making her smile a little. While they do that I look over at Y/N and see her rubbing her stomach and forehead with her eyes closed. I call her name quietly and she opens one of her eyes looking at me. I mouth to her, “Are you okay?” She nods smiling a little before she closes her eyes again. I assume she’s just tired so I turn back to Jack and Evie seeing Jack hold the flashlight while the doctor looks down Evie’s throat. The doctor looks at me and says, “It looks maybe like a cold turned into strep throat. I can prescribe some liquid antibiotics that will help to soothe her throat and she should feel better in a few days.” I smile at her, “Thank you doctor.” She smiles, “It’s no problem. Now who wants stickers.” Evie and Jack both start to cheer and I set Evie onto the ground so she can go pick a sticker with Jack. I get up and walk over to Y/N grabbing the diaper bag swinging it over my shoulder as I tap her gently. She opens her eyes and I hold my hand out to help her up. She smiles and takes a few steps forward before she wobbles a little so I quickly rush up behind her putting my hands on her hips to keep her steady, “You okay baby?” She nods slowly, “Yeah just…” She doesn’t finish her sentence as she falls back and goes completely limp in my arms. The doctor got up and pressed a button on the wall of the room when she noticed Y/N limp in my arms. I slowly pick Y/N up and lay her on the exam table looking over at Jack and Evie as they both start to cry looking at Y/N. I walk over to them and pull them both into me as the doctor rushes over to Y/N. A bunch of other doctors and nurses rush into the room and I quickly move Jack and Evie out of the room. Some nurses with a stretcher come to the room next and the doctor walks out of the room and looks at me, “Mr. Hotchner they are going to take her to take some tests to figure out why she passed out. If you wait in the living room someone will tell you when she can have visitors.” I nod and pick Jack and Evie up leaving the pediatrics ward heading to the waiting room for the emergency area. I decide to actually go to the pharmacy in the hospital to get Evie’s antibiotics then I call Penelope. She answers immediately and says, “Sir what can I do for you?” I set Evie and Jack in a waiting room chair as I step to the side of them and say, “I’m at the hospital Y/N is getting some tests done do you think you can come pick up the kids? Evie is sick so she will probably mostly sleep and I have some medicine she needs to take.” She gasps a little then says, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hangs up and I sit down with the kids. Evie cuddles close to me and Jack looks at me and says, “Dada is mama gonna be okay?” I nod at him kissing his forehead, “Yeah buddy she’ll be okay.”

~Time skip to an hour later~

(Your p.o.v)

I wake up to a pounding in my head, a steady beeping noise and a heaviness on my arm. I open my eyes then close them quickly before I start to blink to let my eyes adjust to the harsh light. I look around and see Aaron with his head on my arm. His shoulders rising steadily let me know he was asleep. I move my other hand to rub my eyes before I slowly start to sit up and Aaron starts to stir a little. He looked at me and smiled as he quickly sat up, “Hey baby how are you feeling?” I smile at him as he helps me sit up, “I’m feeling good. What happened though? Why am I in a hospital bed?” He rubs my knuckles with his thumb, “Well after Evie’s appointment you passed out. The doctors took you to run some tests and they found out you were severely dehydrated, fatigued and that you're pregnant.” I bite my lip as I look at him, “I already knew about that last one. I found out the day before you left for your last case. I was going to tell you that night before you left, but we took the kids out and I just couldn’t find the time.” He smiles and kisses my forehead, “I understand you wanted the best time to tell me.” He puts his hand on my stomach, rubbing a little, “I can’t believe we have another kid in there.” I smile, “Me either. Also speaking of kids, where are our kids?” He looks at me, “There with Penelope I called her after you had passed out she’s gonna keep them for the night.” I nod at him moving over in the bed, “Well then you can be my cuddle buddy.” He smiles and carefully climbs into bed with me careful of the Heart monitor cords attached to my chest. I rest my head on his chest and he plays with my hair. I slowly start to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of the hospital machines.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #dad girl aaraon hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchnerxyou

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agumonger · 19 days

Text

Yume Nikki but it's a trailer for a Hollywood live-action adaptation

[Shot of a door. Someone is knocking from the other side.] MADO: Hello? Is anyone there? I'm gonna open the door, okay?

[The door is open, and we see a girl in a pink vest, with pigtails. She seems surprised by us.] MADO: Whoa. Oh. My. God…

[Reverse, sweeping shot reveals the Nexus. Some faint ""nondescriptly-tribal-sounding"" drums can be heard. A faint, poignant, echoing note is played, and the screen cuts to black. It's the first note to the flute theme.]

IN A WORLD… [Shot of the Neon World NPCs making funny faces]

…WHERE YOUR MIND IS KING… [Shot of Madotsuki looking confused in the Wilderness, with a weirdly broad angle, making her face look strange up close] MADO: I don't know why I started dreaming.

YOUR WILDEST DREAMS… [Scene in Forest World where one of the NPCS starts drooling all over her] MADO: But one thing is for sure… I'm never leaving home!

…CAN BECOME NIGHTMARES [Flute theme ends with another echoing note, and a thud.]

[Cut to the Mall. Mado turns towards the Toriningen cashier.] TORI: annoying squawk that takes a bit too long for comfort Hi little girl! I'm Tori, but you can call me Tori. Do you need drinks, eggs, bicycles, eggs, scrambled eggs, a ticket to hell…? Why do we even have those? MADO: Um, actually, I just want to know why I'm here. TORI: Oh, of course, me too, girl! Especially with these [beep] [beep] managers! Y'ALL DON'T PAY ME SINCE LAST SUMMER, YA BUNCH OF DINGDONGS!

[Basic electronic remix of the Toriningen Party, with 8-bit-ish soundfont. A Minion is running from the Dark World Ghost] ILLUMINATION STUDIOS PRESENTS

[Mado explores the FC Caverns with a lantern, and a cheap pixelated effect on top] PONIKO: I don't think you quite understand how anything works here.

BASED ON THE CULT CLASSIC BY KIKIYAMA [Mado going up the stairs to the Garden. The lighting seems weirdly off] PONIKO: And I can excuse that…

TAYLOR SWIFT as PONYTAIL GIRL [POV shot of Poniko checking Madotsuki out inside her house] PONIKO: But what are thooose!? The knee socks. They're, like, so passayyyyy! MADO: What's that even mean?

JOSH GAD as UBOA [Shot of Uboa and Mado trying to walk through the white sludge next to Akumu] UBOA: Well, you can look at the bright side! At least we're not inside THAT guy! MADO: Wait, what? [Akumu roars and goes after them, vomiting green instead of red. They both scream]

[Record scratch, someone clearing their throat]

JACK BLACK as MASADA [Masada is doing piano improv in a white spaceship with LED mood lighting that looks like a gamer bedroom, while Mado just stares blankly] MASADA: Space… you're so cool… and- oh, never mind, someone already did that one. Darn it! MADO: Um, okay.

and JENNA ORTEGA as MADOTSUKI [Poignant cinematic rendition of the saving theme] [Sweeping match shots of Mado biking through several worlds] MADO: I'm not scared! You're scared!

[Shot of Mado handling the knife like it was a nuclear weapon, and breathing heavily] MADO: Plus…

[Shot of Big Red waking up inside the Sewers. He looks like Prismo from Adventure Time but with human teeth, and he's drooling on himself] MADO: Maybe I could get used to this.

[Music abruptly stops before the last note] [Mado approaches the Rave Box. The Aztec Rave Monkey, eyes bulging in different directions, pops out of it and screams at her until she falls on the floor.] MADO: Alright, I guess this is my life now.

[Last note plays triumphantly.] YUME NIKKI (MY DREAM DIARY): THE MOVIE

[Kyuu-kyuu-kun is rubbing the pole. Mado approaches him.] MADO: So what, are you like "stimming" or something? [Kyuu stretches himself over her with a derpy grin.] MADO: Okay, okay, I was just saying!

[Last note plays again, with a resounding thud] COMING TO DREAM THEATERS NEAR YOU JUNE 26, 2025 RATED PG

#yume nikki #if you took psychic damage then i did it right

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 4 months

Note

Ok for the request of Evan taking care of you while you are sick or on your period. I went with sick because I did do a period one a looong time ago. If I can go on the way back machine, I will resend it. Also, a weird tidbit about me is I have very vivid sexual dreams when I'm sick. I have no idea why 😂. Here you go my little horny she devils 😈

I'm sitting on the couch in my living room scrolling my recorded programs and trying to figure out what to watch. I decide on Dr. Pimple Popper. I hit play and there is Dr. Lee in all her adorableness. As I'm watching the background story of the first client, I suddenly get a wave of nausea. I brush it off as my phone chimes. I pick it up, having lost interest in the sob story of people that let things go for 25 years and then want to cry about it. Evan is texting me that he's almost to my house, but traffic is a bitch. I tell him to take his time and be safe. I'm just watching TV.

There is a lot of actual pimple popping going on in this episode and usually it's a very satisfying watch for me (I never claimed to not be weird). Usually, I can watch this shit with no problem. But, when a second, more intense wave of nausea comes over me, I know something isn't quite right. Once again, Evan is my distraction, as I hear him come through the front door.

"I'm finally fucking here.." he mumbles as he takes his jacket off and hangs it on the coatrack adjacent to my door.

"Hey babe" it comes out breathy because I'm trying not to barf all over myself. My tone makes him forget his grumpiness and look up at me.

"You look kinda green. No joke. Are you ok?"

I groan and sit on the edge of the couch, now taking breaths and letting them out slowly. My hand on my stomach. "I don't feel well.."

It's all I can manage before I'm up and running to the half bath off my living room. I skid in my socks as I try to stop and kneel in front of my toilet seat. Lifting the lid a split second before I release my lunch. Puke water pellets hitting my face from the impact.

I vaguely hear Evan come in the bathroom, but before I know it my stomach is lurching a second time, and I'm vomiting again. My hair is being held back from my face by one big gentle hand. The other hand is rubbing my upper back. Evan is kneeling next to me and whispering "It's ok, baby" in my ear. It's so soothing that I almost start sobbing. Having to spit several times into the toilet mutes my emotion enough for the moment to not lose my shit.

I slip away from the toilet bowl and sit on the floor. Evan getting up and taking action. He grabs a washcloth from the cabinet I keep in the bathroom. Sometimes, I take my makeup off downstairs when I'm lazy or don't want to miss a minute of whatever show I'm obsessed with watching. Evan soaks the washcloth in cold water and slings it around the back of my neck. He sits down next to me and takes my hand.

"Talk about a stomach bug" he says with concern in his voice.

"It's not really flu season. I probably just ate something bad." I answer with my eyes closed and my head resting against the wall. The wet washcloth feels fantastic.

"We both ate the same thing yesterday though"

I open my eyes to look at him and his face is thoughtful. "I'm ok, babe. Thanks for helping me"

He doesn't answer. He just stares at me.

"What?" I say

He gets a weird smirk on his face. "You aren't pregnant are you?" A little twinkle in his eye.

I practically roll my eyes into the back of my head and just give him a look.

He chuckles "What is that look for?"

"You sound hopeful. What is that about? Besides I'm about to start my period in a day or two. I'm sure I'm just sick or have food poisoning. It's par for the course I would get my period at the same time." Disdain in my voice.

I move to get up and Evan is quickly on his feet extending a hand to me, helping me to my feet. I look at the toilet and sigh. "I need to definitely clean that" I say.

"No, I will do it. Why don't you just go lay down in your bed." Evan to the rescue.

"Babe, thank you, but I would never ask you to clean up my barfy toilet..."

"That's total nonsense. Go upstairs and lay down. I'm here and I'm not leaving you tonight. I will clean up." When I give him a look he points out the door and says sternly "Go. Now."

"I'd kiss you but I have barf breath" I say to him as he ushers me out of the bathroom.

He chuckles "That's ok, I'll pass"

I laugh lazily as I make my way up the stairs to my bedroom. I don't even try to change my clothes. I pull the duvet down and climb in. It doesn't take me long to fall asleep. It always seems to be that way when I have tummy troubles.

I drift off and before I know it, I'm immersed in a very vivid dream about Evan. To say it isn't tame would be an understatement. I am completely naked on top of my bed. No covers. My hands are tied to the bedpost and I'm blindfolded. There's a ball gag in my mouth. Evan is on top of me, but in my dream I only see his bare naked ass and his muscular back. His hands are gripping my hips and his face is buried in my neck. He's slamming into me and the headboard keeps softly hitting the wall with each hard thrust. I'm screaming in pleasure, but the ball gag is muting the sound. Evan is whispering in my ear how good my pussy feels and then as his thrusts get sloppy and slow, he screams that he's coming and loud cries get muffled in the crook of my neck. His hips bucking along to the sound of his moans like he's dancing to his own sexy music.

In my dream, I start hearing Evan telling me to wake up. I feel a light shaking of my shoulder. I realize he's trying to wake me up, and with sadness, I let go of my beautiful dream and open my eyes. It's dark in my room except for the soft yellow glow of my bedside lamp. It lights up Evan's face just right. His brows are furrowed. He's holding a clear liquid in a glass. His other hand still on my shoulder.

"Babe are you in pain?" He asks me concerned

"No, why? I feel a bit better" I say as I realize that I actually do.

"You were moaning a lot and I was worried"

I look at his beautiful, sweet face and want to cry again because he's so adorable. He would shit his pants if I told him about my dream. Never in a million years would he stick a ball gag in my mouth. And his sweet thoughts were concern for me possibly being in pain.

I touch his face and tell him I love him.

"I love you too, but, how can you watch pimple Popper? No wonder you felt queasy" he kisses my forehead.

"Oh, sweetie, I watch that show all the time. It's not the show" I say between giggles.

"I brought you some sprite. I hope it settles your stomach. It was in your fridge.I didn't want to leave to get Vernors in case you needed me."

I smile up at him. "You're really such a sweetheart" I put my hand out and he takes it and gently kisses it.

"Bathroom is cleaned and I found some soup in your pantry if you feel hungry. But, for now just see if you can keep the sprite down. We'll go from there. You need water too."

"Baby, will you lay with me for a bit?" I ask him

He silently gets up and climbs over me and lays behind me, spooning me. He brushes my hair off my face and kisses my cheek. "You're fucking beautiful" he whispers in my ear.

"You better be careful with those words." I rock my butt into his crotch.

"You don't feel good, honey" he says it, but it's breathless.

"I wasn't in pain. I was dreaming about you fucking me" I blurt it out.

I don't need to rock into him again to feel the sudden hardness poking me.

"Mmm" Evan groans in my ear.

I take his hand and place it on my braless breast. My nipples poking into the palm of his hand. He squeezes gently. I push myself into the arch of his pelvis again. I look behind me and only one word needs to be said. Pleaded really. "Please?"

He wastes no time pulling down my leggings to my knees. He shimmies his pants down just far enough for his erection to spring free. One finger curls around the crotch of my lacy, stretchy panties, pulling them to the side. I move my top leg forward and he plunges into me. He cries out and I gasp.

Oh, fuck." He mutters. He starts pushing. Sliding his dick in and out of my soaking wet pussy. He pulls out completely and hovers behind me, purposely waiting for me to beg him.

"Baby, please.." I whine. He lets out a chuckle only the devil would be proud of and slams himself back into me. This time it's my turn to cuss and I let out a string of moans as his middle finger finds my clit and starts rubbing it. I feel like I won't last much longer. It might be my dream, but I feel over sensitive. It won't take me long. His free hand finds it's way under my head and he shoves his finger inside my mouth. I suck on it and wiggle my tongue against it.

"Oh shit! I'm not gonna last much longer baby..." Just like in my dream, his thrusts get sloppy. His finger is still pressed to my clit. I feel his body stiffen behind me. His thrusts are barely there. I start rocking my hips fast and hard. Going in circles, his massive dick rubbing against my walls and my clit circling around his finger. He helps as much as he can until we both lose control at the same time and start screaming in unison.

When we finish, he gets out of bed and grabs a towel out of my hamper. I watch my sexy man wipe my cum off his dick and then he comes over to me to help me clean up. We will worry about the rest of it later.

He shuts the light off and gets in bed with me again. This time just holding me and whispering sweet things into my ear as we drift off.

Over the course of the next few days, I oddly feel sick now and then. There's something nagging at the back of my mind, but I can't quite put a finger on it.

I find a weird show on TV about women that don't know they are pregnant until they are giving birth in their bathroom. I roll my eyes. Really?

One woman talks about having weird sexual dreams and being over sensitive and possibly feeling sick from day one.

I spring up from my laying position on my couch as I suddenly realize I haven't started my period yet.

(little twisty-twist at the end for ya folks, let me know if I should continue it)

--Writer Anon ❤️

writer anon blesses the tweam again

#fics

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weepingfromacedartree · 1 year

Text

Dancing Around the Truth: Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is now available! Hope you all enjoy 😉

Chapter 5: Friday

“Colin.”

He wakes with a startle.

The first thing his eyes settle on after adjusting to the light is, unsurprisingly, Penelope. She’s laying in bed with her body turned towards him. Her red hair is splayed out wildly on the white pillows behind her. Sleepy confusion is evident on her face.

The second thing he takes notice of is the light itself, shining brightly through the window behind him. It’s properly morning. No vomit-induced, crack of dawn wake up call today.

The last thing of note his own two feet. Having moved his chair right up against Penelope’s bed frame, he had slept with his feet inclined on her bed. His yellow socks lay on the white of her sheets. The second he realizes this fact, he throws both feet to the ground.

“Colin,” she says again, this time yawning out the two syllables.

“Hmm?”

“Did you fall asleep in my chair?” The fury and annoyance from the previous night are gone from her voice. She simply sounds confused. Which she has every right to be. Under any circumstances, it’s a rather strange sight to wake up to.

“Yes,” he answers. Although, he suspects it was a rhetorical question.

“Why did you sleep in my chair?” Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fallout from the opium-induced haze she had experienced only a few hours before, but there isn’t an ounce of accusation in her question. She is simply asking.

“I was, uh, worried about you and did not want to leave you unattended. But truthfully, I believe the falling asleep bit was an accident.”

Colin speaks plainly. After secrets spilled the night before, not of Penelope’s own volition, but as a side effect of the drug he had fed her, he feels an obligation to speak truthfully to her now.

“Hmm.” She continues staring at him. Her eyes squint, as if trying to read something at a distance. Then they look away from him completely. “Last night, did I say anything… strange?”

Colin glances over his shoulder. In the second that it takes for his eyes to land on the doorframe behind him, he silently prays that Anne will be standing there. The maid does, after all, appear to possess a magical ability to appear when Colin needs her most. But when his eyes catch the sage green hue… No such luck.

“Nothing of note,” he says, his compulsion to speak nothing but the truth quickly abandoned.

For the first time since she woke him, Penelope coughs.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after her breath settles. He welcomes the change in subject.

“Better.” Something in her eye tells Colin that her answer is truthful, not simply meant to stave off his worries.

“Wonderful. I’m glad the medicine was not a waste.”

Penelope glances at the two bags still sitting on the table beside her. “Yes, well…” Her eyes linger on the black pouch. “I think I will hold off on taking any more of the opium. For the time being, at least.”

Colin’s heart sinks. He knew he should have better prepared her for what to expect when she first consumed the elixir.

“Pen, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault for not —”

“Don’t.”

“No, really —”

“No.” She throws him a “this is the end of the conversation” look. He doesn’t take the hint.

“I should have warned you of the drug’s intensity. I cannot —”

“Stop.” Her voice is more pinched than the look persisting on her face. “Do not berate yourself so unfairly. For failing to do something that you did, in actuality, do. I knew what to expect when I —”

“I could have done more.”

He should have done more. He should have told her the specifics of Benedict’s reaction. He should have pinched less powder into her tea. He should have asked the doctor for a milder prescription. There are a million things he should have done differently.

That’s Colin, always falling short.

Penelope’s look of annoyance makes way for something infinitely worse. Guilt. It’s a look he knows well.

“Colin, you know I appreciate your presence here.” His heart quickens. He had not known that. He was under the impression that his relentlessness and her copy of Pride & Prejudice were the only reasons he has been allowed to remain by her side these past few days.

“But I need you to know that your care and attention can only do so much for my condition. You cannot expect to cure my illness through determination of will alone. Or through anything, really — that is the doctor’s job.” She sighs. “You’re not here because I need you to handle everything for me.”

He’s about to ask her why he is here, then. The words form on his lips, but before he can speak them aloud, he notices that Penelope’s eyes dart to the other side of the room. Naturally, he follows her gaze. Anne is standing in the doorway.

Colin sighs. It seems that the maid’s magical ability has a time delay this morning.

“Good morning Anne. Will you give us a moment, please?”

Anne nods before shutting the door behind her. Colin opens his mouth, those same words forming on his lips, but Penelope beats him to it.

“I think you should go home.”

Colin’s heartbeat gains speed. This is not where he had wanted this conversation to go.

“Pen —”

“Just for a few hours. I need some time alone. And I suspect you do, too.”

Ridiculous, he thinks. What he needs more than anything else is laying in bed across from him.

The disappointment and concern must be written on his face. With a small, forced smile suddenly appearing on her lips, Penelope continues.

“Nothing will happen to me within a few short hours. I am feeling better, honestly. I have barely coughed since I awoke.”

She has a point. Although evidently still ill, this is the most healthful she’s appeared since he walked into her bed chambers Tuesday morning.

Colin glances at the vanity on the other side of the room. His hair is sticking up straight, there’s a thin layer of brown fuzz on his jaw, and he realizes now that he had completely forgotten to adorn a cravat when dressing in haste yesterday morning. From Penelope’s vantage point, it likely does appear that he needs time to himself.

But he does not want to go. An image of —

No. He can’t think of that right now.

“Very well then.” Resisting his urge to stay planted, he stands from the mint green armchair. His back is stiff when he stands upright. “I will return at noon.”

Penelope bids him adieu with a familiar smile.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

As Colin walks the short distance between Featherington House and Bridgerton House, he thinks of Penelope. He thinks of her face. Her voice. Her words.

You shouldn’t be here.

You know I appreciate your presence here.

Words spoken minutes, hours, days, even months apart come at him out of order and increasingly loud. His footsteps slow the further he walks away from the Featheringtons’ door. He’s not in a hurry to arrive anywhere else.

You’re astonishing, Colin.

Goodbye, Mr. Bridgerton.

There was a time when he took everything she said at face value. But when Penelope’s words to him became few and far between, he found himself going back to them more and more. How could he take her words for granted when they so often contradicted each other?

I heard you, Colin. On the night of my family’s ball.

I don’t hate you. I never did.

What version of Penelope is he supposed to listen to? The one who speaks with a sweetness in her voice? The one who whispers with tears in her eyes? Or the one too out of her mind to consider her words before they leave her lips?

It would be like me saying that I would never dream of courting your brother Benedict.

“Good morning, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Colin’s footsteps stop short, along with his train of thought. He looks around. He’s standing in the Bridgerton foyer and a footman is looking at him expectantly.

“Ah — morning, John.”

Colin nods and proceeds towards the grand staircase, but the footman calls for him again.

“A letter came for you this morning, sir.”

Colin looks down at the light blue envelope in the footman’s hand. The first thing he notes is a stamp of urgency on the top right corner. The second thing of note is the return address written in the other corner.

Aubrey Hall. Gregory George Bridgerton.

“Thank you, John.”

As he walks upstairs, Colin shoves the envelope into his pocket and promptly forgets its existence. No letter of true urgency has ever been sent by one Gregory Bridgerton.

After dismissing his valet, Colin shuts the bathing room door behind him. He feels truly alone for the first time in days. And he thinks of Lady Whistledown.

He had known the truth before she spoke it aloud. Well, maybe “known” isn’t the right word — he didn’t have a confession or any piece of undeniable evidence to prove his theory. But still, he knew it in his heart… Or suspected it, at the very least.

He places one foot after the other into the tepid bath water. He sinks his entire body beneath the surface. Eventually, he comes up for air.

His suspicions had started during his embarkment to Greece. The extensive journey had given him much time to ponder the calamity that occurred at the culmination of the 1813 season.

When he had first left the English shores, he had thought of his failure of an engagement. His emotions had alternated with every rock of the boat.

Anger for Marina. For the deception she had wielded against him from the moment they met. Embarrassment. That he had thought her to be the love of his life, while she had thought him an easy mark. Guilt. For the cruel words he had thrown at her when their union came to an end.

Indignation for his siblings. For the words of warning they had spoken during his short-lived engagement. Shame. That he had been too stubborn and self-righteous to have listened.

Hatred for Lady Whistledown. For publishing something that could so easily ruin a young lady’s life. Relief. That someone had revealed the truth before he had the chance to ruin his own.

The revelation had brought new meaning to words and actions that he had originally witnessed without so much as a second thought. Not just Marina’s, but also Penelope’s. Her part in the whole ordeal wasn’t obvious at first, but the more he thought of it… It had been difficult to think of anything else.

Even before he learned the details of Marina’s deceit, Colin could tell that Penelope had been against the courtship. He saw the disapproval in her eye from the first moment he had expressed an interest in Marina. Penelope, ever pleasant and polite, may not have vocalized her disapproval at first, but that didn’t mean Colin could not sense it throughout his doomed courtship.

Every time the three of them were in a room together, it was like there was a cloud hanging over Penelope’s head. Colin had been surprised. Marina was her cousin and he, her friend. He had expected Penelope to be thrilled.

Then, after the news of Colin and Marina’s engagement had broken, Penelope had pulled him aside. To warn him. At the time, he had thought she was over-reacting, putting far too much stake in an affection that Marina had previously possessed. Only in hindsight did he realize that she was trying to warn him of a far greater threat to his future.

Her words haunted him. How different everything would have ended up, if only he had paid an ounce more credence to her warnings. Not two mornings after that conversation, Lady Whistledown’s column had been published.

The first suspicion had come as he laid in bed in his tiny boat cabin. Not that Penelope was Lady Whistledown herself, but that they were connected in some way. Had Penelope tipped her off? The anonymous author had to get her intel somewhere… Maybe there was some secret tip box that all the young ladies secretly knew of.

His suspicions were trifling at the time. The idea of Penelope, good and kind, being involved in Marina’s scheme or its consequences still confounded him, let alone her being connected to Whistledown. The hypothetical connection had washed away before he could reach the Grecian shore. For a while, at least.

Colin releases a bar of honey-scented soap from his hand. He watches as it plops into the murky bath water around him. He feels as though time is being wasted in that porcelain tub.

His body sinks even deeper into the water.

On the night following his arrival in Preveza, the first destination of many that year, Colin had written several letters. First to his siblings. Then to his mama. Then to Penelope.

He had received five envelopes in response to that first round of letters in September. By January, that number dwindled down to just one. With each message, he would provide a new address for her to send her return. Sometimes her response would reach his destination before he did.

Around January was when his suspicions had picked up again.

Penelope rarely wrote of her own goings-on in their correspondence. Her pages were usually filled with follow up questions to his most recent letter. But in the last week of December, feeling even farther from home than he usually did, Colin asked her about her own family — if they had done anything of note for the holiday.

Penelope replied with a story of a family dispute on Christmas Eve. Philipa and their mother had gotten into a screaming match over the dinner table. Later that night, Penelope had found her sister trying (and failing) to fetch a horse from their stable. She had planned to flee to the Finch’s estate.

Lady Featherington, Penelope reported, had not punished Philipa for it. After months of silence and much trepidation, Albion Finch had sent flowers on Christmas morning.

Philipa receives flowers from a suitor and suddenly mums the word. Mama was too overjoyed at the evidence of their budding romance to think of anything else.

The joke had instantly brought a smile to his lips. But only a moment later, Colin felt a strange sense that he had read it once before. After some recollection, he recalled a strikingly similar passage from a Whistledown column earlier that year. He had smiled when he had read it the first time.

Lady Hallwell was overheard making quite a fuss in Vauxhall Gardens over her daughter’s inability to catch a suitor’s eye. However, it seems that Miss Mary Anne did not go completely unnoticed at said ball, as flowers were delivered to her doorstep the very next morning. As for Lady Hallwell… Her lips remained joyfully shut while promenading across Grosvenor Square that morning. After all, mums the word when a budding romance is afoot.

Although noted, Colin had brushed off the similarity. Lots of people make plant puns. It did not mean anything. Necessarily.

During the rest of his travels, he got that sense of déjà vu a few more times while reading Penelope’s letters. Little words and phrases that seemed so particular, but so familiar were not easy to ignore. But they were easy to explain.

On countless occasions, Colin would get that same sense of déjà vu when reading back his own letters. Like his own writing was nothing more than a collection of words and phrases he had stolen from far greater writers than himself. Like his passages were nothing more than a pale reflection of something great. Perhaps Penelope did the same imitation act with Whistledown, whether she knew it or not.

Colin raises his hand from the water. He brings it close to his face. His fingers are already pruned. With a sigh, he climbs out of the tub, one foot after the other.

The final nail in the coffin came at the beginning of the 1815 season, shortly following a different revelation he had the night of the Queen’s ball. It was because of Eloise. Ironic, considering he had thought his sister to be a far more likely suspect in the past.

In those first few weeks of March, Eloise had made her sudden dislike of Lady Whistledown very vocal. She was a madwoman. A traitor to women everywhere. A hack who wasted her “talents” writing gossip and using her power to bully the undeserving.

Eloise’s dislike of Penelope was not so loud. Whatever happened between the two girls, his sister had the grace not to reveal the intimate details to their family. But still, Colin could not help but take notice of the similarities and timing between the two grudges.

Towel in hand, Colin flicks away the loose water from his hair. Once his mane is sufficiently damp, he ties the towel around his waist.

He had saved all of his letters. Every passage he received from his siblings or friend, he had saved in a box at the bottom of his trunk. He wanted to keep them as written reminders of his travels. In hindsight, it would have been more useful to keep his own letters that detailed his exploits abroad. But alas, that is the pitfall of letter-writing. Your words are not yours to keep.

Colin opens the door and peaks his head into the hall. It’s empty, not a servant in sight. Not wanting to adorn the fetid clothing currently sitting in a pile on the floor, he chances luck and bolts into the hallway with the towel still wrapped around his waist. As he rushes towards the door of his bed chamber, Colin silently notes that he should endeavor to find a travel journal. If he manages to leave England again.

His back against the safe side of his door, Colin looks around his bed chambers.

This room has been his since infancy; a crib once sat against the wall where his bed now lays. It’s strange, he thinks, how unfamiliar it feels to him in this very moment. It had felt like the most familiar, comforting place on the night he returned from Italy that spring. Then, he had been gone six months. How could sleeping by Penelope’s side two nights have such an effect on him?

Colin passes his desk as he makes his way towards the dresser. The box of letters once hidden in the depths of his trunk now presides in the top left drawer.

At the beginning of the season, when Penelope had refused to speak a single word to him, Colin had found himself going back to her letters constantly. He wasn’t sure of his own intentions when he read her words over and over again. But when he did so, a pattern emerged. At the time, he had half a mind to ask Eloise if she still possessed her collection of Whistledown papers. He hadn’t asked. But if he had, he suspects that the answer would have been an emphatic no.

By the end of this season, all of those fragmented suspicions fused into a single, resounding answer. His belief that Penelope was Lady Whistledown was all but confirmed, as was his belief that that was the missing piece to her and Eloise’s falling out. But even then, Colin could not bring himself to ask his sister for confirmation.

What if he was wrong? What if his pursuit for the truth only brought harm to Penelope? He would rather stay in the dark.

Colin pulls a pair of navy blue trousers from the dresser. He steps into them. Left foot, then right.

Like it so often does these days, his mind turns back to their conversation on the night of the Queen’s inaugural ball. Penelope had told him that their friendship was improper. And she had a point.

For so long, Penelope was the exception to the rules that Colin knew all too well. He knew, by the standards of the Ton, that an unmarried man and woman are not allowed be alone in a room together. To write letters to one another. To speak each other’s Christian names. Colin knew all these wrongs and rights, followed the rules like any gentleman would. But with her, the rules never seemed to apply.

She was not just some woman. She was Pen. She did not count.

Colin pulls a shirt from one of the hangers before him. It’s off-white. Maybe yellow, in another light.

He can’t think of the Queen’s inaugural ball without also thinking of the Featheringtons’ ball the previous season.

To Colin, calling Penelope his “friend” had always felt a bit imprecise. Especially in the last few years. That’s not to say that the term was incorrect — they had been friends since childhood, after all. His friendship with Penelope was just different than the ones he forged with his Eton peers, fellow London bachelors, or even his own siblings.

But even if “friend” was not the best word, it was an accurate one. So it was the one he adopted. At the time.

Due to his own failure to properly define his relationship with Penelope, he grew to loathe the idea of others trying to define it for him. That night, when Fife had approached him with a group of fellow bachelors in tow, Colin had wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible. He wanted her name off their lips. So he said the first thing that came to mind. The thing that would end that conversation the fastest. That was his only intention. He had not known…

Colin grabs the first waistcoat he sees. Blue. Not remotely the same shade as his trousers, but he hardly thinks that matters now. Fastening each button, he thinks of the question she had asked him, that night in March.

It would be like me saying that I would never dream of courting your brother Benedict. Do you think he would take offense to me making such an obvious declaration?

The way she phrased the question, the answer had seemed so bloody obvious.

No. Benedict would not take offense. Because Benedict was not in love with Penelope.

The realization had hit him like a ton of bricks. Penelope loved him. Well, she had loved him the night of Featheringtons Ball. God knows the look she shot him in the moment was not that of love.

Hatred. That was the look she threw to him on the Queen’s steps.

Colin regards his collection of cravats, before swiftly shutting the drawer closed. Such fashion seems superfluous in the confines of Penelope’s bed chambers.

There are some realizations that hit you all at once. An occurrence that brings forth a distinct before and after. That’s what Colin always imagined love would be. He blames his family for instilling the notion in him (the notion that once made him mistake infatuation for love).

Violet and Edmund fell in love at first sight. Daphne and Simon had a whirlwind romance. Anthony literally compared falling in love with Kate to being struck by lightning. On multiple occasions. Usually after a few glasses of whiskey.

The other, more critical realization that finally hit him that night…

It was like when you’re writing a letter and have a word on the tip of your tongue. You spend hours over a dictionary trying to unearth the damn thing. You cross-reference similar words. You feel like all hope is lost. And then — after what feels like a lifetime — you discover it. You slot the word into your sentence and everything falls into place. Once it’s all over, the answer seems so simple that you can’t believe it took you so long to figure out.

Colin was in love with Penelope. He had been in love with her for a long time. Nothing had changed that night on the Queen’s steps, except a single word.

Penelope is not lightning. She is ivy. Colin’s love for her had grown from almost nothing, until one day he was covered with her vines.

After slipping white wool socks and clean loafers onto each foot, Colin stands in front of his mirror fully dressed. He regards himself for a moment.

Who is he to Penelope now? A protector? A villain? A friend? Something more? He does not know. He had spent the season trying to prove he could be that something more, but even now he does not know what to think. There are certainly hints he could draw from. The words she says and those she does not dare speak aloud. The smile on her face when their eyes meet and the gritting of her teeth when she fakes it. The…

It doesn’t matter. Colin fears what he will find if he starts drawing conclusions.

The lines between suspicion, belief, and fact are blurred when it comes to Penelope. Sometimes those blurs are for the best, he thinks.

Turning his head to the side, Colin glances over to the clock across the room.

9:23. He left Penelope’s door 34 minutes ago. 157 minutes until he’s due back.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

Colin had left Penelope looking tired earlier that morning — understandable, given the fact that she ordered him out of her room only moments after awakening them both. So when he arrives back at her door, two minutes to noon, he expects to walk in and find her with the alertness that midday typically delivers to a person. But even now, she appears tired.

He would say that she looks exhausted, if it were not for the nervousness in her eye. Or in her twitching fingers, almost concealed beneath her white sheets.

Her appearance has changed in other ways, Colin notes as he walks closer. Her wild hair has been twisted into a braid down her side. And instead of donning nothing but a thin nightgown, Penelope now wears a light pink dressing gown on top. It’s untied, creating a white line down her middle where the nightgown’s fabric peaks through.

The last thing Colin takes note of before clearing his throat is the armchair. At some point since that morning, it had been pushed away from her bed by a few feet.

“Pen?” It’s not the most eloquent question, but it’s the only word he can manage to get out.

“It’s not too bad. And I just drank another cup of the antipyretic, so I’m…”

When her voice trails off, Colin raises his hand. He’s about to place it against Penelope’s forehead, but she gives her head the tiniest of shakes. He takes a step back and tentatively sinks his body into his seat.

There’s an uneasy silence between them. Colin is usually the one desperate to fill such an air with his voice, but Penelope is the first to open her mouth now. Her eyes are cast downwards.

“When I awoke this morning, last night felt like a haze. Like it was difficult to separate dream from reality. But all morning, I’ve been feeling as though…” She looks up. “As though I said something last night. Something I shouldn’t have.”

The look in her eye sends a shiver down his spine.

They both know. Her logic may have gotten away from her during yesterday’s opium-induced haze, but it’s clear to Colin that her memory is strong today. Too strong to ignore the truth between them.

There’s no point in dancing around it any longer.

“You didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.”

One by one, he watches as a range of emotions pass by Penelope’s pretty, blushing face.

Wide eyes. Downturned lips. The scrunch of her nose.

Shock. Heartbreak. Anger.

“Eloise told you.” It’s not phrased as a question. As if this, too, is a universal truth to which they are both aware.

“No. Eloise did not have to tell me — we have never even discussed it. I figured it out on my own.”

Raised eyebrows.

Surprise.

“Oh.” The word escapes her lips breathlessly. Then, with an ounce more forethought: “How?”

“How —”

“How did you figure it out?”

“How I…” His body sinks a few inches deeper into the armchair. It’s not a simple question to answer. Or maybe it is.

“I believe it started with a plant pun.”

Now, the expression on Penelope’s face is utterly blank. Once she realizes that Colin is not about to expand on his statement, she sinks a bit deeper into her bed.

“Are you angry with me?” Yet another complicated question.

In truth, Colin’s feelings about Penelope’s double life as Lady Whistledown became increasingly complicated and harder to ignore with time. The more he accepted it as truth, the more difficult it became to grapple with.

Yes, he is angry. Not just at the content of her columns — although there was certainly no short supply of material from which he could draw outrage from. No, the anger had more to do with the risk she puts herself in every time she publishes one of those damn papers. Whistledown is practically an enemy of the Queen, for God’s sake.

Of all his mixed emotions, the fear of her being discovered remains the most salient.

“Once you’re feeling better, I think we should discuss the dangers brought about by your pursuit.”

“You did not answer my question.”

“To be honest with you, it’s rather difficult for me to be angry with you about anything in your current condition.”

Her nose scrunches. Again.

“Oh, spare me.”

“Pardon?” he shoots back, genuinely perplexed by the quickness with which anger appears on her face once again. How could she be angry with him in the current situation?

“The fact that I have a few sniffles does not —”

“A few sniffles?”

“— negate what I have done or take back the things I have written. If you are angry with me, then just be angry with me. I can take it.”

Of course he’s angry with her, but that’s just one brush stroke in a very complicated painting.

Yes he is angry. But that anger is inextricably linked to the fear he feels every time he thinks of her being uncovered. His fear is at war with the pride he holds, knowing all that Penelope has accomplished in secret. His pride takes a hit from his ego — a jealousy that he would rather bury deep down inside himself than properly examine. He would much rather focus on the humor and unbelievable irony of the situation. That Penelope — usually so saccharine in speech — could be the lady behind London’s most scathing column. But he can’t focus on that point too long; that ever-sweet version of her had slipped away months ago. The girl sitting in front of him now…

If they had had this conversation at an earlier point that season, his anger surely would have overpowered anything else within him. His words would have been delivered in shouts — not this anxious, stumbling cadence.

Concern, that is what overpowers him now. That is the force that has driven him since she left him standing in Danbury’s garden all alone. Seven days ago.

“I can only speak for myself.” He reaches for the white and yellow kettle sitting on the table beside them, “But I don’t feel as though I am in the right mindset to have this conversation.” He hands her a full cup of tea. “I do not wish to say anything that I might regret later.”

Penelope lets out a huff. It’s a miniscule amount of air from her lungs, but it’s enough to bring forth another coughing fit. A mix of acceptance and annoyance now resides on her face. Her lungs have betrayed her.

“Fine. We shall discuss the matter later.” Instinctively, Colin begins to lean down towards the floor. “Don’t you dare pick up that book,” she says as his fingers brush the spine.

He doesn’t want to discuss Whistledown. She doesn’t want him to recite someone else’s words. What are they left to speak of?

“Do you wish for me to leave?” he asks, speaking more plainly than his gut would advise.

After a moment that feels like a lifetime, she answers: “No.”

“Very well.” He lets out a sigh of relief and feels the tightness in his chest start to loosen. “I shall stay.”

Penelope nods her head ever so slightly, then turns her gaze towards the nearest window. The sky is mostly painted white today, the blue sky barely perceptible between the cracks in the clouds. Colin gazes upon her lips, shut so tight, and wonders what she is thinking.

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence. For once, Colin does not feel the need to fill the quiet air around them. It is not so much a lull in a conversation, as it is a reprieve from the noise. The only sounds come from the wind outside and the gentle wheeze of Penelope’s breathing.

Colin could happily spend hours listening to her breaths fall in and out of time as she watches the clouds drift in and out of her view. Even if the sound does little to distract from the increasingly loud thoughts banging around in his mind.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Colin stirs peppermint tea with a silver spoon, swirling the water around until the powder has dissolved completely. He places the empty gray bag down on the table, then hands the teacup to Penelope.

There’s still light in the sky outside, but it’s fleeting, too dim to illuminate the room around them. Once the teacup is placed securely in Penelope’s hands, he takes a step towards her desk and reaches for the matchbox sitting atop a rather tall and precarious stack of novels.

“Is the tea, uh, warm enough?” He barely grazed her fingers when he handed her the cup, but he could not help but notice the warmth radiating from her skin as he did so.

“Hmm?” Penelope looks up at him like he just brought her out of a trance. “Oh, yes. Plenty warm.”

After lighting enough wicks to sufficiently brighten the room, Colin moves back to his seat beside Penelope. When he goes to sit down, he places his right palm against the bottom of the chair and pulls it an inch forward.

Over the course of the day, he had found every excuse imaginable to stand from that chair, just so he could push it forward ever so slightly when he sat back down. Penelope had eyed him suspiciously the first few times he did it. The ever-decreasing distance between them clearly did not escape her notice then. But now, she continues staring dazedly at the teacup in her hands as the wooden legs scrape the floor.

The silent company of the preceding hours also gave Colin ample time to think things over.

When Penelope had an especially rough coughing fit, he had stood to pour her a cup of tea. When he had grabbed the kettle, he could not help but notice how barren the rest of the tabletop was. Right palm flat against the bottom of the chair, Colin pictured the envelope he had placed there the night before. He had not given it a second thought at the time, as he was otherwise occupied worrying over Penelope’s fever. But it’s absence today suggested that someone else had. Silently, he wondered if the letter had come from Prudence or Philipa.

When Penelope’s skin glowed red with fever, Colin had stood to fetch her a damp cloth. During the short trip down the hallway and back, Colin could not help but think of the physical symptoms he had experienced himself over the course of the last few days. Blushing cheeks. Shortness of breath. Vomiting on the Featheringtons’ shrubs. It was not lost on him that love can oftentimes produce the same symptoms as a medical crisis.

When Penelope’s eyes had fluttered shut and Colin felt suddenly, alarming alone, he had not even bothered to stand before inching the chair forward a few inches. After he slumped even deeper into his seat, Colin had looked down to make his final, critical realization of the day. His shirt was, in fact, yellow.

Penelope’s unwitting nap was restless, brief, and ended with a sharp gasp pulled from her throat. Ever since she awoke, Colin’s thoughts have been plagued with nothing but worry.

He reaches for the gray bag still sitting on the table. Still empty.

He glances over to Penelope, still laying in bed. Still glowing red.

A delivery boy was sent to retrieve more of the antipyretic hours ago. The darker the world grows outside, the less faith he has that the medicine will come today. And with Penelope’s symptoms only growing more severe as the light fades from the sky…

“Perhaps you should take a small dose of opium.”

He knows her response before she has the chance to voice it aloud. Or to roll her eyes. He can’t blame her, he wouldn’t want to take it either. But he also can’t pretend as though her symptoms had not noticeably lessened after she took the opium the night prior.

“It could help you sleep.”

“No.” Her voice is quiet, but decisive.

“Are you —”

“Yes.”

Sitting beside Penelope these past few days… Colin does not know how he managed to control his words around her that whole season. He thought that, through practice, he had mastered the balance between push and pull when it came to speaking with her. Now he bites his tongue so often that he worries there will be permanent damage to his taste buds.

Even still, Colin feels as though he has said too much. Or not enough. Frankly, it’s hard to tell when in such peculiar circumstances. At least during the season, he had a set of rules that he could sometimes follow and sometimes bend.

The rules are not followed or bent now. They are not even broken. They are non-existent.

He should probably just keep his mouth shut. Stay close until Penelope is ready to speak with him again, but the silence is starting to drive him mad.

If they’re not talking, he’s just thinking. Worrying. Picturing things he shouldn’t. Like the newspaper sitting somewhere downstairs — the paper Colin specifically asked Anne not to bring upstairs this morning. Like the image of Penelope dancing with that decrepit old man. Or the image of Portia and Michaelson —

“Pen,” he mutters as he leans in closer. He rests his elbows against his knees. Palm against palm. “Did you ever get the chance to write to your mama? Or your sisters?”

Now, the only image plaguing his mind is that of a light blue envelope.

“No.” Her eyes look away from him. “I told you, my mama is unreachable at present.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “What about your sisters? Don’t you —”

“Colin!” She cuts him off as loudly as her lungs will allow. The look she throws him makes him wish she was still averting his gaze. “I do not wish to discuss this matter again. Why would I waste the ink? Or wax for an unbroken seal?”

His arms twist from his knees to across his chest. “I believe you should write to them.”

“They would not care —”

“You don’t know that.”

He sounds desperate. She looks desperate to get him out of her sight.

“And what do you know of my family, Colin? What could possibly give you the idea that you retain more insight on the topic than I?”

He knows, logically, that Penelope is correct. That his view of family is inextricably linked to his own upbringing, where any one of his siblings or parents would shutter at the thought of him sequestering himself in such a way while ill. But there is one piece of information that Colin possess and Penelope is not yet privy to. That knowledge, as well as the imbalance it has created, is eating him up inside. But instead of confessing it…

“I’m sorry. Anne handed me a letter yesterday to deliver to you. I hadn’t considered it at the time, but I thought it might have been from one of your sisters.”

And just like that, her eyes are on the floor again. He knows he shouldn’t ask but…

“Who wrote to you?”

Penelope coughs and, for the first time in four days, Colin wonders if she’s faking it. To buy herself some time.

Finally, she looks up. “Eloise.”

That was not the answer he was expecting. Or hoping for.

In an instant, Colin is reminded of how monumentally stupid his actions have been these past few days. He doesn’t regret staying by Penelope’s side one bit, but there were certainly precautions he could have taken to conceal his whereabouts from the rest of his family.

He could have written a letter to his mama telling her not to worry. He could have spent two extra minutes thinking of a reasonable excuse for him to remain in Mayfair that week. But no. He had just gone along with whatever plan Benedict had thought of in the moment. Colin can barely recall the details now, but one thing is clear. Eloise knows.

After a season of complete silence between the former best friends, there is no chance in hell that Eloise cracked and wrote to Penelope for no reason. But what was the exact reason?

Best case scenario: she’s writing well wishes because Benedict informed her of Penelope’s sudden illness.

Worst case scenario: she’s writing to warn (or celebrate) that Anthony is on his way back to Mayfair to kill Colin for risking a young lady’s honor.

He shouldn’t ask. He knows he should drop it. But the image of Anthony riding towards him with a gun raised pulls the words from his throat.

“What did she say?”

“I don’t know.” Penelope’s attention turns to the drawer of her nightstand, where he presumes the letter currently resides. Likely sitting next to his own unanswered letter. “I couldn’t read past ‘Dear Penelope.’”

His shoulders lower slightly. If Eloise was writing something disparaging, she would have found a more creative and hurtful salutation. Plus, he finally remembers that Anthony is a determined man; if he had set out to kill Colin, he surely would have arrived in Mayfair faster than his sister’s letter.

“Are you —”

“I do not wish to discuss this matter with you, either.”

Irritation suddenly prickling the back of his throat, Colin simply mutters: “Of course not.”

The quiet utterance seems to focus Penelope’s dazed expression. Her eyes narrow.

“Is something the matter?” There’s an edge to her voice and an absence of any genuine curiosity.

Yes, Colin thinks.

“I think it would be wise for you to write to your family. They deserve to know you are ill.” His voice breaks on the last word.

While he speaks, Penelope’s face indicates that she is about to interject — to remind him, once again, the differences between her family and his. But when his voice breaks, her face drops.

They sit across from each other for a few seconds, each red-faced and struggling to breathe for two very different reasons. Then Penelope simply asks: “Why?”

Colin does not look away when he finally unleashes the words he’s been desperately trying to forget for two days.

“Jeremy Michaelson died yesterday morning.”

They had not discussed Lord Michaelson since the night of Danbury’s ball when she had declared she would not marry him. Although they never discussed it aloud, it’s obvious that they both independently came to the same conclusion, that Penelope caught her illness from Michaelson. The look on her face mirrors how Colin felt when he learned the news from Dr. Scott. That Penelope caught her illness from a dead man.

Her next words come out much calmer than the look in her eyes.

“And when did you learn of this news?”

Colin gulps. “Yesterday morning.”

Penelope can do nothing but stare at him for a short while. When she eventually speaks, she sounds scared.

“Get out,” she says. Her words are direct, but they lack the conviction one would expect from such a demand.

“Pen,” he pleads. “Don’t cast me out.”

“I wish to be alone.”

“Pen —”

“No, Colin, will you simply listen to me? You say you are here ensure I am well, and then you disregard my wishes like you inherently know better than I.” With every word she gets out, the fear in her voice is overpowered by anger. “You act as if you are here because you care for me, but I do not believe that to be the case. You are here because you feel guilty.”

“That’s not true!” he sputters out. He’s flailing. He’s absolutely gutted.

“Oh, it is. And you know it.” She scoffs. “Everything you do, you do out of guilt.”

“I don’t —”

“For me, at least.”

Colin tries to interject again, but Penelope’s deliverance is steadfast. “Guilt has always controlled your actions, long before this season. Dancing with me when my dance card was always empty. Sticking up for me against the likes of Cressida Cowper. Conversing with me when I was always, always standing alone in the corner of a room.”

“Pen —”

“Do you think it escapes my notice how you and your family pity me?”

“We like you —”

“You feel sorry for me. You always have. My current illness has just given you an excuse to finally act upon it.”

“That’s not —”

“You feel sorry for my perennial wallflower status. For being born into the most unfashionable and unfavorable of families. For the innate shame of being Penelope Featherington.”

“Don’t say that!”

In a single move, Colin lurches forward to the edge of his seat and grabs for Penelope’s hands, currently gesticulating wildly inches from her chest. The movement stops when he takes hold.

“Did you ever consider the possibility that I did all of those things because you are my friend? That I sought you out in every ballroom, park, museum — wherever — simply because I craved the pleasure of your company? I have never once been ashamed of you, Penelope.”

With that, she slips her hands out of his grasp and lets them fall to her lap.

“I admit that I am in no position to judge another’s veracity. But honestly, Colin, I find it difficult to determine which of your declarations to believe and which to overlook.”

Her words silence him. He has no idea what to do with them.

Penelope appears to take said silence as an answer to the question she had not dared ask.

“Get out,” she says, with slightly more conviction this time around.

“Penelope,” he manages to say. “If I leave and anything happens to you, then I would feel guilty. I would not be able to live with myself.”

“Go,” she nods her head in the direction of the sage green door. “You may sleep in Prudence’s old bed chambers. It is only one door over. I shall call out if I require your attention.”

One door over is too far away. The settee was too far away. Hell, the chair he sits in now — hands on her sheets, knees against her bed frame — is too far away.

But like it always manages to do, a little voice in his head breaks through. It reminds him that if he pushes Penelope too far, he may never get this close again.

He nods so slightly that one could mistake the movement as a meaningless twitch. But not Penelope.

“Goodnight, Colin.”

“Goodnight, Pen.”

Slow in step, he retreats across the room, closes the door shut behind him, then walks five paces to the next door over. It’s a putrid green. It reminds him of the Featheringtons’ shrub and the substance he left there yesterday morning. With a twist of the doorknob, he pushes it open.

Back into exile.

#fanfic #bridgerton #fanfiction #polin #dancing around the truth #weepingfromacedartree #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

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unprocione · 2 years

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LEON SCOTT KENNEDY — CHARACTER STATS.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟷 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

NAME : leon scott kennedy. EYE COLOUR : a vivid shade of blue. HAIR STYLE / COLOUR : naturally an auburn brown, but often dyed a champagne blond. coarse texture, cut short with a curtain bang, precariously styled with exteme-hold hairspray. * HEIGHT : 5′11”. * CLOTHING STYLE : ranging between a leather-grunge wardrobe and business-casual. favors all shades of blue, grey & off-white, creme beige & caramel tan. favors midnight black leather or saddle brown leather. fond of leather jackets, some with woolen trim. wears sock-garters. traditional ties instead of bowties. pinstripe patterns or plain cloth instead of alternative or gaudy patterns. shoulder-holster harnesses. compression shirts. mock turtlenecks, long-sleeved or sleeveless. leather wristwatch instead of metallic, no pocketwatches. simple metal jewelry, silver, never gold. leather caps or baseball caps. fingerless gloves. no heavy makeup - minimal concealer & black eyeliner on occasion. nails blunt & clean or chipped black paint. italian suit styling, single-breasted two-button suit jackets with notch-lapels, often in cobalt or charcoal, creme or off-white interior lining, tapered trousers, undershirts range through off-white, pigeon-grey or cobalt. oxford shoes (no brogue) for suits, usually in midnight black, sable brown, or ombre leather for special occasions. most boots are fitted tight to calves, midnight black or sable brown with pointed toe and slight heel, also favours moto zipper boots. occasionally wears steel toe. lapel pins for formal events are usually a simple silver sword or the dso emblem, occasionally a silver american flag. unlikely to wear green, red, orange, or yellow. ears are both pierced. often either clean-shaven or with five-o-clock shadow. * BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE : his moles. one above his lip to the left side of his cupid's bow, one below the left corner of his mouth below his chin and lips, one on his right cheekbone, one on the right side of his jaw.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟸 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

FEARS : abandonment; of being without support and guidance, loss of solid ground. leon is terrified of losing control of himself, of his body and his mind, not only after his experience with las plagas, but certainly exacerbated afterwards. leon is also a habitual 'clean freak' after multiple experiences of being in filth to the worst degrees, and has a serious distrust towards medical institutions.

GUILTY PLEASURE : leon is an alcoholic with argumentative tendencies who frequently indulges in one-night stands.

BIGGEST PET PEEVE : leon can’t stand dress code or uniform violations, improper cleanliness, or those with flippant demeanors showing a distinct lack of care, understanding, or concern for others in disadvantageous or unfortunate situations.

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE : to scrub the threat of bioterrorism from the face of the earth, personal legal emancipation from his contract with the us government, to live in a world without constant fear of the next upcoming threat.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟹 : 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒.

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP : bathroom. vomit. check firearm. brush teeth. aspirin. unlock bedroom door. coffee. treadmill. shower. dress. breakfast. it’s another day, survive, do it all over again tomorrow.

THEY THINK ABOUT MOST : what his life could have been, what other lives could have been, when does it end, will he be there to even see the end? what will it look like, will it be enough, will it satisfy him for all of this hell he’s endured to meet it, or will he always be looking for another threat, will he always be looking over his shoulder?

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED : do the ends justify the means? to who? / where does it end, when do we draw the line? / will i always be this angry, what do i do with all this anger? / i’m not too gone to come back from this, am i? / dead man walking. / always ready to run, always pretending i am not ready to run, even though there is nowhere to run to, no point to the running. / if you’re so lucky, why are you on your own tonight? / you survived. you weren’t meant to. live with that. / you lived where so many people died, and what have you done with your life to deserve it? / are you hurting the ones you love? so many glasses on the tabletop.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS : leon considers himself decently attractive with a good sense of humour (not so much) but he would say his best quality is his adaptability to a variety of circumstances, (which isn't bragging about himself; he actually gets this opinion straight from his interrogation & subsequent blackmailing by adam benford) usually in regards to capability with firearms, but also in regards to an ironclad will and not instantly going into shock and shutting down. this is half-true, leon is extremely capable on the field, and that's what he considers valuable, but in civilian situations, he’s not as in his element.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟺 : 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES : single! he doesn't mind group dates, but rarely introduces his partners to his friends, usually because he doesn't stay in relationships for very long.

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED : he would say respected if asked, but it would always be loved.

BEAUTY OR BRAINS : depends on his intentions. if he’s just going to bed with them, then beauty. something more? brains, although he wishes it could be just beauty, just so he wouldn’t have to explain why his life is such a downhill disaster and wouldn’t have to deal with the emotional turmoil from a partner capable of understanding his personal hell in detail and the effect of it on everyone around him.

DOGS OR CATS : cats. leon has a complicated view on dogs after being mauled in the raccoon city police department's parking garage, but he isn't as afraid of them as once was after freeing 'hewie' from the beartrap in valdelobos.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟻 : 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘…

LIE : absolutely, more than he realizes, especially by convenient omission and selectively telling details but not entire truth, but he isn’t oblivious. leon lies to protect the government’s interests in multiple cases, and he does this often knowingly, but leon is also extremely good at tricking himself into believing his own lies until he’s not sure exactly sure himself what’s true, even after living through it himself. leon justifies his actions to himself or others through lies, omission of the truth, or misrepresentation of the situation. leon can lie about everything from how many drinks he’s had that night to us official involvement in raccoon city, even while under oath, which is serious considering the important moral weight he puts on justice and retribution for acts of injustice.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES : conditioned and trained into reliance on his government handlers and into filling a demanding government role; he’s so uniquely specialized to thrive in his situation, that leon wouldn’t fit anywhere else in society now without reintegration therapy similar to what long-term prisoners and career military veterans go through. leon portrays himself very confidently, and believes that he is self-sufficient as an individual, but would crumble almost instantly in reality if thrown into the deep end without warning, and become quickly lost and overwhelmed without someone to give him orders or direction. the thought of striking out independently, while a goal of leon’s, is a terrifying consideration.

BELIEVE IN LOVE : it comes and goes by the hour.

WANT SOMEONE : to pull him out of the fight, to share with a glimpse of normalcy.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟼 : 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑…

BEEN ON STAGE : yes, as an ornament, as an orator, as a product, as a poster-boy.

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN : he would not recognize himself.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟽 : 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒.

FAVOURITE COLOUR : sapphire blue.

FAVOURITE ANIMAL : admires anything feline, favors lions & 'mountain lions'.

FAVOURITE BOOK : criminal mystery, likely with a noir setting. diagnosing him with sherlock holmes enjoyer.

FAVOURITE GAME : leon has a few favorites in recent times, but will not play anything with a zombie-apocalypse setting. metal gear, hitman, tom clancy's, and assassin's creed are a few of his favorite videogame series.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟾 : 𝐀𝐆𝐄.

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE : july 10th.

HOW OLD WILL THEY BE : 46 yrs.

✦ 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟶𝟿 : 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.

I LOVE : cheap brandy. the reliability of structure. playing part in the dispensation of justice, law, & order.

I FEEL : ensnared. exposed like a raw wound. restless & resolute.

I HIDE : behind the lies, for the sake of peace, for the sake of stability. the exhaustion.

I MISS : what could have been.

I WISH : for an end. for a world without fear.

tagged by : @sanctamater tagging: whoever would like to! :)

#» 🕊️ ﹕ the means only justify the ends. (study.) ❧

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shimmerbeasts · 8 months

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The Bear To Muzzle The Tiger

The storm outside of Stillwater's walls raged with such ferocity, that it was as if Janna herself was aiming to punch a hole through the thick, heavy rock. Heavy claps of thunder robbed even prisoners, whose cells were in the very rock of the island of their sleep. The flashes of lightning made the geometrical, narrow shapes on the walls light up like ominous masks, which were watching the inmates, even when the guards were not present.

Pink lay on her hard concrete slab of a mattress and counted the seconds between the lightning and the thunder as she stared up at the ceiling. Her hands rested on her uneasy stomach, whose hunger pangs came in long, drawn-out waves. Sometimes, it was so bad that the magenta-haired inmate curled in on herself and squeezed her eye shut. She hated having to go to bed without dinner (not that prison food was anything to write home about, but at least, it made your stomach stop talking to you about how much it longed for a big and juicy steak). At least, she wasn't in the Hole, so there was that.

Her offence hadn't warranted the Hole, plain and simple. Pink had gotten into a, for her circumstances, relatively minor fight with another inmate. There had been no broken bones or torn flesh this time. Instead, all Pink had delivered, was a punch to the face, which resulted in a bloodied nose and a black eye. Even so, the guards had jumped at the chance to punish her for her behaviour and locked her back up in her cell without the evening meal.

One of them had even remarked how somebody would pay Pink a visit later that evening. After all, just having her hunger punish her wasn't enough for those ruffians in blue. No, they had to have their own fun by beating Pink up. Even so, the cowards always had to chain her up whenever they wanted to beat her up because Pink fought back; and she knew exactly where to hit to make things hurt. That was even if she did not choose to also make use of her claws and teeth.

Pink growled at the two thick metal rings on the other side of the prison cell, which spawned the loud rattling chains, ending in cuffs for her wrists. The floor, surrounding the area, was streaked with splatters of red. Some old and already brownish in colour, others alarmingly fresh and still wet. The iron smell lay in her nose, and Pink hated how that scent alone made her mouth water. If it were possible and survivable, she would even eat parts of herself. Grunting, the inmate rolled on her side, not without giving the imprint of a person on the wall between the two rings the middle finger.

So what if they chose to send another guard her way to beat her to a pulp? Pink had done the same song and dance by now countless times. She could do it again, and she never changed her ways anyway. The space below her mattress was stuffed with trophies from fights with other inmates: From crude flip knives to shards from a plate, to a sock with nails. There had not been a weapon, which had not been wielded against Pink and which she had not been able to handle.

Heavy steps announced the arrival of whom Pink assumed was going to be the person, who would beat her up. The Stillwater inmate pushed herself upwards on her mattress and scooted backwards into the corner until her back touched the wall. If that rookie or even Chief assumed, she would just let herself be beat up, then they were wrong. They were going to have to drag her ass over to that cuff station. Her throat grew tight as Vi could already feel calloused hands grab her by the wrists and pull her to her feet. Hands against the back of her head, hands against her shoulder blades. Rough, calloused, leather wax, smelling so strongly in the air, it made her want to vomit.

Pink's green eyes rose to spot two figures standing in front of her cell door. One of them, she would always recognise: No matter how much Campion worked to keep his uniform clean and intact, his horrifically scarred face would always give the brown-haired Captain away. It was the figure next to him, which Vi had never seen before. They were huge and muscular in build, filling out their entire uniform to the point it threatened to tear at the seams. Snow-white, thick fur looked like pale grey or silver in the dim cell. Huge paws flexed to reveal short, yet sharp, black claws. His face resembled a flattened triangle with a broad snout and a big nose. His short, round ears were partially concealed by a cap.

Pink furrowed her brows in disdain and mocked: "How bloody desperate are you, Campion, that you send in a bear to fix your mess for you? What? You've lost a few too many bets because I roughened up your rookies too much?" Campion's eyes narrowed at her words. Pink always knew how to get under his skin. She smirked an ugly grin, showing off her fangs in dark pride.

Pink turned towards the massive bear and aggressively leaned forward, snarling now with all her teeth exposed: "Go on, fluff ball! Come in here and give it your best shot! I wonder how many of your fingers, I can take before you run home baahing for your Mama!"

Starter for @valhiir

#valhiir #rp: the bear to muzzle the tiger #im willing to fight for it: vi interaction #Timeskip Verse[Vi]#things changed since you left: queue

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thevoidspeakz · 2 years

Text

Ok listen, I'm 100% sure this has been done before but I just wanna throw some of my thoughts down here because I can't stop thinking about it.

When Mike wears yellow, it means he's hiding something/repressing himself.

Mike's main color is blue. He may have some yellow accents here and there, but mainly blue.

Now, some scenes where he changes into yellow are the Military make out scene at the start of season 3, the byler rain fight, the airport + rink-o-mania scene.

The Melbourne make out scene at the start of season 3:

In this scene, he's wearing a yellow shirt with a blue jean vest on top. The main color being yellow represents Mike repressing himself, and forcing himself to be in that situation.

(may I add: the yellow curtains in between them, in the green room.)

Here, they're mainly making out, El tries to put her hands on Mike's face but (and I can't stress this enough) he pulls them away.

The blue vest on top could mean a couple things, though it might be a stretch;

First, Mike does try to show a bit of his true self in this scene. After pulling El's hands away, he starts singing the song on the radio, and just being the silly and expressive Mike we know, but El doesn't like that, so he goes back to repressing.

Secondly, this outfit continues on to the movies. We know he can keep his actual personality around his friends because he's known them forever, but the yellow is still there. Because it always is, even if it's not showing.

The rain fight:

Oh yeah, this one's good. Mike's shirt here is fully yellow, he's going full repression here.

We all know about the damn rain fight scene.

Mike knows people think D&D is childish and stupid, and he thinks he can't like "childish things" anymore and he feels the pressure to grow up, to do "normal" things. He also directly relates liking girls to growing up, and also thinks that not liking girls makes him childish, and definitely not normal. He ends up projecting all of this onto Will.

Mike wants to keep playing D&D and Nintendo, and he doesn't want a girlfriend, but he feels like those are obligatory parts of growing up. In season 2, we see him being forced to throw away toys that hold a lot of memories and emotion. He was forced to grow up very early.

"It's not my fault you don't like girls!" and "We're not kids anymore. I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement and play games for the rest of our lives?" make all of this very clear.

Also, when he bikes to Will's house to apologise, his raincoat is green, covering up the yellow. Green being the mix of yellow and blue, his and Will's colors.

Even with all of the layers of hiding and repression, to Mike, Will is way more important. Mike's scared, confused and conflicted, but he loves Will, no matter what the nature of that love is.

The airport + rink-o-mania scene:

And this is where Mike once again goes full repression mode. All of those doubts from S3 and probably more piled back up, which is symbolized by the yellow shirt over the very blueish purple.

He's trying to focus all of his attention onto El, and he's overperforming as a good boyfriend, and yet, he was still paying attention to Will in the end.

At the airport, there was that half assed "hug" for whatever reason (there's a bunch to choose from, pick your favorite), and he was definitely jealous of whatever girl Will had supposedly painted something for. That "Oh. What's that?" and "Cool." were not subtle, Michael.

At rink-o-mania, he noticed Will "moping" and rolling his eyes, and he tried making the joke about the "vomit green" socks to cheer him up, and it was Will being annoyed that ruined his whole day, and not his girlfriend being publicly humiliated??? Ok. Go off king.

Now, here are some other scenes I felt were important to bring up;

(Note that we don't see Mike in a mainly yellow outfit anytime in seasons 1 or 2.)

When the Byers move out:

God. Fuck. He's wearing a beige shirt with touches of light blue here.

The beige, being very close to yellow, is there because his issues and doubts aren't gone yet.

"I'm sorry, that made me sound like a 7 year old." He's still scared of seeming childish to others. There's also the heavily uncomfortable kiss scene in this outfit, where his eyes are fully opened and he stands there doing nothing in front of an open closet. El forgave him, she said she loved him back, and yet he didn't look happy about that for even a second. He just looked confused. He probably realized how wrong it felt in that moment.

Now let's go over some facts: He looks back at the Byers house after they leave, and the scene where he hugs his mom directly parallels when he thought Will was dead.

Yeah. They wanted us to see how upset he was about losing Will again.

He spent the whole summer pushing him away because of how afraid he was of his own feelings, and he focused so much on that the he didn't stop to think about how much it would hurt to lose him again, and that's exactly what they show us here, and that's what the blue is there to represent.

The season 3 "I love her" outburst:

Okay so this one fucks me up.

He's wearing all three colors here; green, blue and yellow. Now I'd appreciate a little help because I have no idea why that's the case.

He wears this in the "I love her" outburst scene and when he's trying to talk to her at the grocery store.

The yellow has significantly subsided. The main colors here are blue and green. Now, I fully believe that his "I love her" here was meant to be fully platonic, so that would mean he wasn't hiding his true feelings, they were just misunderstood.

The green I really can't say, though he also wore green during their first kiss back in s1, it was just a lot less, and there were also touches of brown/orange;

The "I love you" monologue (🙄):

He's wearing that same blue shirt he's been wearing the whole time, with Will in frame and the pocket over his heart pointing directly to Will.

He's wearing blue here because his monologue was directly based on what Will told him in the van. He thought El was the one who felt that for him, and he needed to hear that, and if she really loved him that way then maybe he could deal. Mike feels like he needs to be needed to be important, and he was convinced that El needed him.

Just wanted to throw my two scents into this whole analysis thing, you don't need to believe any of this!

If you have anything to add, feel free to! This is my first analysis and I have the memory of a two year old, so I probably missed some stuff.

@xhavibee sorry for the wait, it's out tho!

#i had to go through ao much melvin bullshit for this. god help me #anyway yeah #byler is canon #byler #byler analysis #byler theory

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 2 years

Note

vampy cleaning bb’s apartment organizing all of her shit meticulously

bestie i don’t think the link linked so here it is for the cleaning ask lol

vampy, reorganizing her closet so it’s color-coded: If I ever have to go through the torture of seeing purple next to green ever again, I’ll vomit all over your clothes. Do you understand?

bb: Is it really that deep? It’s just—

vampy, throwing a wad of socks at her head: DO YOU UNDERSTAND????

#ysijwa!ask

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

A Triwizard Baby Part 4 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Part 4 of my ‘Triwizard Baby’ mini-series, please read Parts 1, 2, and 3 if you haven’t already. Want to be tagged? Let me know!

Warnings: Swearing, Mention vomiting, and food/eating.

"Girls" you sighed, watching them finally stop jumping on their beds and dropping their pillows "There's something I need to tell you."

You and Angelina shared a glance, she knew and so did you - you were finally ready, to tell the truth. Hiding this - hiding the truth about you and Fred had caused you enough pain, and the longer you decided to hide this, the worse the pain would get.

"What is it?" Katie asked, already concerned, no longer giggly or excitable.

Staring and picking at your fingernails, you finally looked each of your friends in the eyes, your heart thumping in your chest with each breath.

"I'm ready to tell you" you sighed again "who the father is."

They all stayed silent except Matt's little sister, "who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Fred," you blurted out, unable to hide his name for much longer "Fred Weasley is the father."

"I've told you" Fred hissed "don't bloody speak to me!" he stormed in front of George, stamping his feet, furious his backstabbing brother would dare to even speak to him.

Fred was exhausted from sleeping in the room of requirement alone and no one to talk to, he was pissed off with his brother, frustrated that you weren't his and that everyone around him avoided him as if he had a curse. For the first time in his life, he left as if he had run out of luck.

George grabbed him by the arm "Freddie, please-"

"No!" Fred shoved George's grip off him "You're jealous, you always have been."

George opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't get a word in.

"You always have been, every girl I've been with, you've chased after when I'm done with them. You can't stand the fact I fucked her, and you've rubbed it in my face that you've knocked her up!" Fred's voice cracked "And I told you, I loved her!"

"Fred, I-"

"Do me a favour, Georgie, don't speak a word to me at the baby shower, unless you want a crib smashed against your stupid head!"

"Keep those eyes closed!" Angelina grinned, her hands covering your eyes as she walked you through the rented restaurant covered in banners, balloons, a buffet table and presents.

"I am!" you smirked, feeling slightly nervous, smelling the mouth-watering fruit juices and pies.

"Okay," Angelina smiled, removing her hands "open in three, two, one!"

Opening your eyes you looked across the huge room, your friends were all huddled together with party poppers, yelling "Surprise!" and pulling the string, confetti shooting across the room, Fred sat alone across the room, trying his hardest to show support and be happy for you, but his heartbreak was breaking through his persona better than he thought.

You were bombarded with presents for you and the baby: the new crib, clothes, socks, bottles, nappies, monitors, teddy bears, and blankets - you unwrapped everything which brought the biggest smile to your face and tears of happiness to your eyes.

Everyone made bets on whether you would have a girl or a boy, what time and day they would be born on, and how long the labour would be. Even you had to admit, you were having a good time and for the first time in a while, the smile on your face was genuine, not forced.

After hours of present opening, games, bets, and food, you and the girls cleaned up the confetti, empty plates and scrunched up wrapping paper. Fred slowly approached you and tapped you on the shoulder, turning around to look at him, your heart pained.

Tell him, everyone knows but him, just tell him!

"Freddie-"

"Y/N, can I have a moment?" he murmured.

The girls looked at the two of you standing in the middle of the room, they exchanged looks and nodded, leaving to give you both some privacy.

"I wanted to give this to you in private," Fred said softly, handing you a large faux dragon scale photo album "I ran out of time to wrap it, was up all night finishing it."

You stared down at the photo album and opened it, your heartbreaking with each turn of the page. Pictures of you and Fred throughout the years, followed by his little notes of when and where the picture was taken until you flicked to the empty pages, you stared up at him.

Tell him, now is a perfect time-

"Fred, please-"

"The blank pages are to fill with pictures of us and the baby," he said softly "that's if the father won't mind."

George entered the room again, not knowing his brother was still there.

"Y/N, I was thinking-" he stopped in his tracks, looking at his brother's face dropping.

"Congratulations, again." Fred walked away, pushing past his brother and out the door.

"They are Braxton Hicks, my dear." Madame Pomfrey waved her hand, helping you to your feet in the hospital wing.

Your hand rested on your bump "I'm sorry, what?"

After your little moment with Fred, your womb contracted and relaxed, disturbing your baby, causing it to lash out and kick against your tummy in discomfort from the contractions. You were frightened and sure you were going into labour and George rushed you to the hospital wing.

"Is she going to be okay?" George asked nervously.

"False labour pains" she replied "and if you go to the tournament tonight you'll be experiencing more of them!" she stressed.

"I can assure you I won't be doing backflips," you grumbled, "surely it will be safer for me if I sit down."

Madame Pomfrey held her nose up in the air, feeling slightly defeated "I can't stop you from going, but as long as you're sitting down and surrounded by a responsible group of friends, I don't see why you can't go."

"I'll take good care of her, I swear."

"Your brother couldn't!" Madame Pomfrey hissed "she's in this mess because of him, and I better not see you two back in here until that baby is ready!"

The loud band played along as everyone got seated high up in the stands, the girls on your left, and George on your right, you held onto his hand, still on edge from the sudden Braxton Hicks. You rested your head against his shoulder, Fred stared at the back of your head, his hands bunched into fists, regretting his decision to sit towards the back.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats, Fleur had failed, Krum evidently had too - now - it was between Cedric and Harry, the champion being a Hogwarts student was certain, but still, undecided whether that champion would belong to Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, like many others in the stands, your fingers and toes were crossed for Harry taking the win.

Out of nowhere, Cedric came stumbling out of the maze, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, his shirt sticking to him and his hair ruffled, scratches across his delicate face. He crouched down, clearly out of breath, but so startled and shaken up that he was shaking and green in the face.

The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering for Harry and Gryffindor, holding their red banners and waving their flags in the air whilst Syltherin scowled and hid their faces in their hands.

"We need to go and see if he's alright!" Angelina panicked hearing Cho shriek, the girls got on their feet and hurried down the stairs, running out to Cedric who was now on his hands and knees on the grass, throwing up.

"Well, are you coming!?" Angelina asked George, holding out her hand.

George looked at you, he didn't want to leave you on your own and you knew it.

"Go," you reassured him "I'll be okay."

You watched Cedric gain the courage to speak, you tried to lip read but he was too far away for you to even make out a single word, but whatever he had said panicked the cheering girls and proud lads because now they were muttering, whispering and all appeared to be frightened and anxious, no longer in the mood to celebrate Harry's win.

Katie who didn't leave you behind shot a scowl at Fred who continued to stare at you, she moved closer to you whilst Angelina and George hurried back, horror across their faces.

"What's happened?" you panicked.

"It's Harry" George frowned "The cup, it was a portkey and he's gone, Cedric said-"

Angelina nudged George with her elbow, glaring at him and shaking her head "not now, George."

"No, what is it?" you demanded.

Just as George announced the news that the dark lord had returned, you felt major discomfort and a dull ache in your back and lower abdomen, along with the pressure that increased in your pelvic, you gripped onto your bump and winced.

"George!" you panicked "It's happening!"

The father of your baby watched as you went into labour, Katie and Angelina helped you to your feet as George hurried over to Madame Pomfrey, everyone around you started to panic and gave you all the room you needed to evacuate safely back into the hospital wing - the one place you didn't want to end up twice in one day.

Leaving you behind, George stared up at Fred who was sat as still as a statute, if you weren't going to tell him, George had to, he wouldn't allow his brother to miss the birth of his child.

George stumbled over to his brother and shook him angrily "I don't want to bloody argue but listen to me!"

"George, I told you-"

"You're the dad, alright!" George yelled, "She's having your baby, you need to get to the hospital wing now!"

"What are you on about?" Fred argued, not believing the word "are you seriously-"

"Think back to the party when you played truth or dare! Think for Merlin's sake!"

Fred shut his mouth and suddenly, his world began to spin so fast his heart could've stopped.

“I want you.” you breathed, pulling away from the kiss “I want you to fuck me like you do everyone else.”

“I want you too” Fred replied, taking your hand and fleeing from the party.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Fred asked, pulling away from your breasts.

“Yes,” you breathed out, slurring slightly “I’m ready Freddie.”

The memories suddenly flashed before his eyes, the sight of your naked body beneath his, the two of you climaxing, Fred pulling out and falling into your arms, only to wake up the next morning in an empty bed that smelled of your hair and perfume. It reminded Fred that he had forgotten to put a condom on, George wasn't lying, he is the father of your child.

Fred's eye widened and he bolted from his brother, shoving everyone aside and sprinting for his life to the hospital wing, no one and nothing could stop him now.

The doors of the hospital wing swung open, laying in your bed, tears rolled down your face as the contractions worsened, Madame Pomfrey urging you to keep pushing. Fred pulls out a chair and sits beside you, holding your hand, comforting you, kissing your forehead and encouraging you.

You opened your mouth to speak: you wanted to say sorry, to tell him you loved him, you wanted to explain everything all at once, but you were unable to - the pain increasing, causing you to scream out, tears rolling down your face.

"Almost there Y/N, you're crowning!" Madame Pomfrey announced.

Fred planted another kiss on your sweaty forehead "keep pushing sweetheart," he said softly "you're doing so bloody well!"

Within a few moments, the sound of your babies cries rang out through the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey placed the baby in your arms, encouraging you to sit back and relax - but you couldn't you still had the urge to push.

"I need to push again, "you cried, gritting your teeth "I'm not done!"

Madame Pomfrey's mouth dropped, causing her to take the baby from your arms and handing the newborn to Fred.

"What's going on?" Fred panicked, gripping onto his child, already feeling the protectiveness kick in.

"There's another baby..."

"She's having twins?!"

Fred held the elder newborn in his arms whilst the younger and smaller newborn rested in yours, both of them just like their father; a full head of ginger hair.

"They're yours." you croaked, your. throat sore from all the screaming and crying.

Fred smiled, tears forming in his eyes as he rocked the baby in his arms "I know, they look just like me... their hairs..."

"I'm so sorry, Freddie, I didn't tell you because... because I didn't know what to do, you're my best friend and I've had feelings for you since the beginning and I felt as if you didn't feel the same, I thought that me forcing a child upon you would... would ruin what we had."

"Of course I feel the same," Fred replied "I just didn't know if you did."

The two of you went silent for a moment, the twins sleeping - they were exhausted from being brought into the world earlier than expected.

"Do you still feel the same?" you asked Fred, staring into his pride-filled brown eyes.

He nodded "Yeah, do you?"

Everything you had ever wanted finally arrived, the children you were carrying - so eager and excited to meet, and the man of your dreams, finally on the same page as you - who had been in love with you for all this time.

You looked down at the baby in your arms and then back up at Fred, "I do too."

"Shall we have a fresh start?" Fred smiled "As parents and that."

You broke out into a light laugh and smiled "I'd like that, Freddie. I'd like that a lot."

There was another silence, it felt as if the world was sleeping.

"So, when can we make another one?" Fred winked.

"When we graduate from Hogwarts!-"

"Next year?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't let me finish! We need to graduate, get stable jobs and have a house with enough room!"

"So next year then?" Fred smirked, still cradling the baby.

Your furrowed your brows, unsure whether or not he was bluffing.

"Okay then, since you're all confident, let's make a bet." You smirked back.

"If I win, we make another baby, if you win... we get married," Fred said softly as the baby opened his eyes and let out a cry.

"Alright," you agreed, taking your baby from Fred, trying to breastfeed "but what is your obsession with making another one?" you asked, "we've just had twins!"

Mr and Mrs Weasley were slowly approaching the hospital wing, George following not far behind.

"Yeah, which I've only just found out are mine!"

The hospital wing doors opened, Molly and Arthur standing in the doorway, staring at you, their son, and their grandchildren.

taglist: Taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl@reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @onlyfreds@pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx @manuosorioh@cosmiccomicloverqueen @the-romanian-is-bae @fhhsposts@cavalinhox @purple-vodka-99 @simpforweasleys2@dracoismybabey @statellitespidey @xuminghaosworld @michael-loves-chickens @simpforweasleys2 @freddie-weaselbee @itsnottlilly

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter One

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 1 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Trope: ‘Enemies to Lovers’; mainly angst, mutual pining, fluff, and eventual smut

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Word Count: 4000+

A/N: Ooo, let’s hope this does numbers! I love myself some ‘enemies to lovers’ tropes. It’s been a while since I’ve written Steve fanfics. :)

Wakanda, 2018, 4:04 pm.

The flash of bright white light temporarily blinded you, sending you back to the ground and cupping your face in self-defense. But as quickly as the initial crack, it was over. Eerily silent and loud at the same time. The birds whistled their same tune, some higher-pitched than others. The wind seemed to blow louder, rustling the leaves from the trees and landing all around you and your teammates.

“Thor?”

You lifted your head at the sound of Steve’s voice and checked if the coast was clear. All that remained of the evil was a new blood-stained hammer - a hammer that Thor was watching intensely, as if the answer lay hidden there. It was the only remnant left and your mind was already wondering how to use it to bring that evil back to finish a fair fight.

“Where’d he go?”

The birds stopped singing.

“Steve?”

You whipped your head around at the sound of Bucky’s confused voice, watching as one of your best friends dropped his gun and looked up at Steve as his hands began to disappear. In a matter of seconds, Bucky - or what became of him - fell to the dirt below. No one spoke, and you watched as Steve tried to control his breathing as he took a knee to place his shaking hand over his best friend’s ashes. A life and mind brought out of the darkness to finally amend those knots he had twisted, now ceasing to exist. In the distance you could hear Okoye shout in turmoil and Rocket begin begging.

“What’s happening?” you finally choked out, turning just in time to see Wanda lift her head to the sky, defeated and out of will, and succumb to the same fate. “No!”

You ran and fell beside Vision’s now gray and decaying body, reaching over and palming through Wanda’s ashes. You rubbed them between your fingers, inspecting them, and brought your hand to your chest. The pit of your stomach churned as you sat there, immobile and numb.

“Sam!”

So many names were being called but soon everyone who remained fell silent. The trees were still guiding the wind, leaves falling into the ashes of your friends, a sign of a new and unwanted chapter. You felt Steve drop beside you, turning Vision around to see the damage to his body. You winced when you saw the gaping hole in his forehead.

“What is this? What’s happening?”

Natasha ran to where you were seated, hand over her stomach as if she was ready to vomit. And once she took one look at Vision, that’s exactly what she did.

You removed your hands from your chest to look at them, the ashes still there and practically mocking you into finally believing this as reality. “Did we just lose?”

Steve was moments away from a full-blown panic attack. He simply looked up at the trees, watching the way the sunlight still burst through with no disruption. “Oh god.”

You caught Steve as he tipped his upper body toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding onto something real. He had to believe you were real. Anyone. And you were the closest person to him. You shut your eyes and held him, running your hands through his hair, wincing when you realized Wanda’s ashes were now on him.

You held him tight, praying to any God you chose to believe in at that moment, that Steve wouldn’t disappear too.

Unknown Location, 2025, 1:07 pm.

The air was incredibly musty, as if each person who struggled for breath in this room at one point or another left a piece of their soul floating in search of last minute penance for their sins. And the man in front of you was no different, choking on the purple blood that dripped down his neck and onto his now unbuttoned, white dress shirt. His chest was rising and falling, his breathing becoming less labored with each blink of the eye. His hands were tied behind his back and to the chair he sat on, a flickering light in the corner of the dark, concrete room somehow mocking this man’s last remaining seconds of life.

“I’m not an evil person,” you started, kicking one of the legs of the chair to startle the poor man. But your guilt was minimal - it’s not like you wanted to do this - but knowing this man did exactly what everyone said he did, hands red and dripping with young blood, you selfishly took pleasure knowing this man would look at you when he died. “It’s just my job as third in command.”

You gave the man a small smile as you bent down to his level, head hanging in shame, slow breaths now pausing in between each intake. You looked to the other party in the room, handing them the gun in your holster, and walked out the room as the sound of two gunshots rang out.

Left twist. Sting. Breathe.

You washed away any smell from that godforsaken room, giving extra attention to the roots of your hair and under your fingertips.

Scrub. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

The crack of your neck frightened even you, and you stood under the burning shower for a few more minutes before deciding the sting was enough. You changed into the most comfortable sweats you owned, surprisingly calm for such a gruesome morning you had, and took your time with your skin care routine.

Circle. Wash. Dry.

Soft music played in the overhead speakers, the classical sounds vibrating from one wall to another and surrounding you with something tranquil - something still. There was nothing to expect from such a sound, only the next repeated chorus, no words or drops - just tranquility. You could barely hear yourself breathe but you were at peace - or mostly - and ready to sooth your growing headache behind the eyeballs with more than just music. You slipped on a pair of comfy, forest green socks and bent them at the ankle to achieve an even fluffier look. You applied your favorite perfume, lotioned up your hands, and donned your tacky friendship bracelet.

One for you. One for Bucky. One for Peter. And one for Wanda.

You hummed the whole way to the common room, waving at the morning staff as they fixed lightbulbs, covered holes in the walls, and swept the floors. One muffin and a cup of coffee later, you were resting with your head in Wanda’s lap as she filled your thoughts with your chosen sceneries.

“I can make you see anything you have already seen, so yes.”

“A miniature golf course, Peter’s high school graduation, a field of all kinds of flowers, and Natasha.”

Wanda stilled her floating hand, smile faltering for a moment before she nodded. “Okay… okay, I can do that.”

They were images well-drawn out, slow and steady to make the atmosphere similar to when you were actually there. They seemed to float across your vision, comfortable in their positions and radiating the same warmth you had felt the first time around. A moving picture. Wanda really had excellent control of this.

“I won!” Sam leapt into the air, pointing at a disgruntled Bucky, who stepped off to the side to not throw Sam over his own head. “I won!”

“How is it possible for you to get a hole-in-one each fucking turn?” Bucky groaned, moping in Wanda’s shoulder as she held him and struggled to keep herself standing from her own intense laughs.

“I think we got a cheater on the loose,” Steve grinned, pointing at the ring Sam was trying to discreetly tuck back into his pocket. A friendly gift from T’Challa, no doubt.

“Nuh-uh, give me the fucking proof, Wilson!” Bucky roared, wrapping his arm around Sam’s neck and tugging him forward. “I will not admit defeat if there was foul play involved!”

Sam escaped the hold, climbing onto the rock located to the side of the flag and a sign that read ‘do not climb on rocks’.

“It just helped me calculate all things geometry, Barnes. We’re good.”

Bucky looked as if he was going to leap on him again, but before he could even finish that thought, Sam slipped on the wet surface and plummeted into the rushing little river.

Laughter erupted and did not cease until you were escorted out of the fairgrounds by four security guards.

A flick of Wanda’s wrist and a new memory began forming, colors blending like an oil painting, dried and covered with a glossy varnish, ready to hang.

“Don’t trip on your way up, kid.”

Peter swatted Steve in the side as the super soldier left the room, leaving Peter alone in front of the full-length mirror. He adjusted his tie and tried to lay that pesky dangling strand of hair over the top of his head.

You got up from the couch and made your way over, wrapping your arms around Peter and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’ll do great. We’re all so proud.”

“It’s just high school…”

You frowned and turned him to face you. “No, you should already be in your second year of college. This is seven years in the making. We are all so proud.”

Peter could feel the slight burn at the corner of his eyes but he swallowed it down, giving you a small smile and a hug.

“And can you trip? Don’t you stick to all surfaces?”

Peter scoffed and pushed you away, his tiny smile never faltering.

You could feel Wanda shift her legs underneath you, searching for the most comfortable position as she continued her work. You sighed, already feeling the therapeutic effects.

“They’re all so pretty!” you yelled cheerfully, running through the field with your arms extended to the sky. Bucky and Steve followed close behind, leaning down every so often to pluck the flower of their choosing and adding to the bouquet in their hand.

“Which did Tony prefer?” Steve asked, snapping you from your pollen-filled, ecstatic state.

“Aesthetic beauty, Rogers! Natasha was a sucker for anything pink and sunflowers.”

Bucky nodded, seeming to take that information into consideration as he plucked the yellow and pink flowers only. Steve chose the most healthy looking flowers, his hand struggling to hold them together as he reached the two dozen mark.

“I think we’re good. These are good.”

You smiled at both super soldiers and admired their bouquets, leaning over to sniff their masterpieces. “Awesome.”

Wanda sighed as she neared your last vision, debating on showing you your chosen moment instead of another one. This moment always hurt Wanda as she wasn’t there to witness it, but it was special to you. There were so many others to choose from, but you insisted this was the one you always wanted to see. And Wanda was always hesitant at first - but when she lifted her hand slowly and dropped the memory back into the front of your brain, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Are we ready?”

Everyone was practically bouncing on their heels, both excited and terrified. Time travel was new to humanity and you were to be one of the first to experience such a thrill. You were going to get everyone back.

You squeezed Natasha’s hand once more before you walked back over to Thor and Rocket. You all nodded to each other, saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘good luck’ with your childlike expressions.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha grinned, her cheeks reddening with a friendly blush as she looked over at Steve. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a braid you had helped her make, and she was carrying an extra pair of socks in case of a long hike.

Then a blast of color surrounded your body and the smell of peaches as you landed on Asgard filled your overstimulated senses.

You opened your eyes and smiled up at Wanda. You didn’t want to see old memories with your friend, but the most recent. It was like you were grasping onto that last memory of her, not wanting to change anything about her last smile, her last laugh, her last shred of existence. It was oddly calming, and so you hoped Wanda would understand.

You thanked her again and proceeded to the kitchen. It was bigger than the one before, the soft forest green color of the walls a nice contrast from the blue ones before. You laughed to yourself and your conscience as you silently thanked the explosion that obliterated the horrid blue walls, quickly backtracking at your dumb thoughts. Still, you chose to joke about everything that happened before to avoid falling deeper into yourself. The kettle started howling, smoke circling around the tip. You poured your tea, dropped two cubes of sugar in, and added a little milk.

It was quite bizarre how quickly you could bounce back from the morning you had. A very bloody, order-filled morning. When one order was given, you had to come up with a plan on how to not disregard the other. You had to listen to Fury and your father, gaining a few feet on each side without toppling the other. Still, it took a physical toll on you. But with Wanda’s help in easing your mind and the very sweet tea you nursed, your emotional baggage was pretty minimal. It sometimes scared you how easy it all was.

Your morning carried on quietly as you sat on the concrete curb, happily sipping your tea in your sweatpants. You could hear Sam and Scott arguing about something a few feet away from you and Bucky taking his afternoon jog around the track. Quite distracted, the sudden ‘thwip’ and superhero landing of a certain teenager scared you enough to spill a little of your tea.

“Goddamn, dude!” you whined, looking up at Peter as he tried to control his laughter.

“I’m sorry, I thought you saw me!”

“Excuse me for being distracted by the hot super soldier just over there,” you joked, pointing over at Bucky.

Peter rolled his eyes and sat next to you, immediately reaching over to take the tea from you and take a sip himself. You let him, as you had no other choice, rolling your eyes anyway.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had classes today?”

Peter handed back your cup, “Nah, I’ve only got classes every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Ugh, that sounds great. I remember I scheduled my classes for every day of the week just to have more units,” you sighed, taking another sip of tea.

“Stupid.”

You pushed Peter’s shoulder playfully, both your laughter catching the attention of Sam and Scott. But as quickly as you had distracted them, they ignored you and went back to bickering.

“I’m just here to see my friends, sue me!”

“Nope, you’re always welcome,” you smiled, holding out your wrist and bumping your bracelet with his. “How was your week otherwise?”

“Eh, nothing major. Just trying to navigate the world now that they know who's behind the mask.”

You gave Peter a look of sympathy, still mad at the sudden manipulation of the kid after such traumatic events. You had promised him you would protect him by any means possible, as did the rest of the team, but he seemed to be navigating the situation just fine. Staying away from reporters, scheduling his classes during the most isolated gaps of the day, and signing dozens of forms that promised to protect him, give him royalties, etc. After you had brought everyone back, it seemed the least the new management/orders could provide for you all.

“We all have our days,” you muttered, handing your tea back to Peter. You two sat there for a while longer, enjoying the slight breeze and taste of sugar.

An agent rounded the corner and spotted you, jogging up and handing you a yellow folder that was sealed in plastic. “For you, from Fury, from whoever before that.”

“Um, thank you?” you said as the agent walked away. You inspected the folder, turning it over in your hands and playing with the thin plastic.

You lifted it up to Peter’s face, “Here, smell it and tell me if there’s poison.”

Peter scoffed, “I can’t do that!”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

Peter muttered to himself as he took the folder from you, sniffing it awkwardly. “Smells like paper, dude.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You ripped the plastic off and unhooked the folder, dropping the single item onto your lap. Peter just sipped your tea and watched you open it.

It was another envelope, but this one was white with custom-printed indents that swirled across the front and a big, red blob of wax smushed- with your initials- sealing it. You ripped it open and pulled the invitation from inside. You must have read it a thousand times, eyes rapidly scanning the small page with secret meanings.

“You got invited to a wedding?” Peter asked, taking it from you and reading it himself.

“Yeah, but this is so much more than that,” you said, snatching it back and standing up from the curb. You quickly went back into the compound, searching for the one person who needed to read it also.

You seemed to find everyone before you found the super soldier who wasn’t out for a jog, a line of somewhat concerned superheroes following behind you from room to room. Eager minds and yet, inflexible rib cages full of anxiety and worry, all ready (and quite not) to tackle the new evils of this new world. And whether they followed you blindly or with functioning minds, they were prepared.

With the rest of the team behind you, you burst through the second floor with the invitation held over your head. Steve stopped mid-bite, milk dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at everyone in confusion. “Um…”

“It’s time-” you started, pulling the stool from next to him and sitting down.

“Time for what?” Steve interrupted, his mouth still full of cereal.

“Time for this,” you motioned to the envelope you were handing him. “-to finally end.”

Steve read the invitation word for word, the wrinkles in his forehead becoming deeper as his mind worked. You couldn’t quite discern the feeling in the pit of your stomach, twisting and spinning into a tight coil, seeming to spread to the others as it grew in pressure within you.

“All three?”

“All three,” you confirmed.

Peter pushed through Bruce and Rhodey, “What’s happening? What’s gonna end?”

You looked over at Steve, his bowl of cereal now forgotten and soggy.

His eyes were distant and rather cold, hands extended on his knees as if he was drying the accumulating sweat, shoulders building tension.

“Steve, we can finally end this. We have to tell everyone. It won’t be enough if it’s just you and me.”

He wanted to explode, in both anger and anguish, to stumble over his intact persona and leave it behind - someone he hasn’t known for a long time. It ate away at him each day since Fury notified him of your selfish choice, burrowing into his now tarnished soul in the most sadistic way. But the prospect of finishing this chapter - a chapter that was unexpectedly halted when half the world disappeared - was considerably euphoric. A chance to move on.

“Okay.”

Rhodey already had knowledge of your background, recruitment, and family but Steve’s initial involvement - the start of it - was still a mystery. You sat everyone down in the living room, making room for the others who arrived later, and clapped your hands together. “Story time!”

Steve groaned, face already pressed against a throw pillow. “Just tell them.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“You know whose spawn I’m from,” you began, snickers from your amused friends encouraging you. “To better transport their product, they sent me over to the states to attend college like the good little girl they think I am.”

Sam cracked open a beer and lifted his legs up onto the couch, sitting back with a massive smile on his face as he got comfortable for your story. He handed another beer to Scott.

“Wait, product?” Scott asked, taking a sip from his drink.

You smirked at him and tapped your nose twice, amused by his ‘O’ reaction. “Anyway, by then I already knew that I wanted out of the game. I didn’t like that life, I didn’t like the violence, I didn’t like my family.”

Steve knew that was an understatement, a cruel and restrained statement from your part, and he wanted to tell everyone just how justified you were in your words, how real you were being, and how much help you would certainly need for this. But like always, he remained silent.

“But Fury got to me before I could leave. So, we made a deal. I would train as a field agent and he would promote me every other year to lessen suspicion on this whole ordeal. The deal being I would play both teams.”

By now, your whole team was intrigued.

“I would do what I could for my father and still have my family’s trust, while feeding the information to SHIELD and our lovely star-spangled man over here,” you pointed over at Steve. He gave you a tiny but forced smile.

“But after the collapse of SHIELD, my father only became more violent, more hard-headed, more suspicious. He- uh-” you stuttered, flashbacks suddenly filling your head. Wanda watched your eyes dart rapidly, sensing the rush of blood to your legs and tips of your fingers.

“He was power hungry,” Wanda said, immediately feeling your heart rate lower. Although you never actually said it, she could tell you were grateful for her intrusion.

“Yeah, exactly,” you cleared your throat. “But Steve’s involvement all started when Fury asked me who would be the best front - the most reliable front.”

“So, with only Fury and the bad guys knowing - Y/N named me as her partner in crime,” Steve explained, head hanging low as if it was such a disgrace to do what you openly did. You knew his troubles with coming to terms with such an offensive role were multiplying daily, but you were now this close to stopping every bad force involved.

“So, Captain America is the ultimate drug smuggler,” Scott spoke, somehow trying to comprehend the information all at once. You and Steve both nodded in confirmation and avoided the wide and questioning eyes looking back at you.

“Yeah, he’s essentially the top boss.”

“Y/N-,” Steve interjected, but you beat him to it.

“And here we are! Him and I both invited to the wedding.”

Wanda stretched out her words, “The wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding - where three of the most famous and powerful drug lords south of the border will be attending and ready for our taking - including my father.”

Steve stood from his seat, posture straightening as he spoke to the group. “The invitation reads like a threat. No cameras, no plus-ones besides those listed specifically on the card, no speaking to reporters before or after. The trust Y/N has gained would unknowingly make us the contraband of the party.”

After going through more specifics about the whole situation, Bucky finally raised the question eating away at his mind this whole time. “Whose wedding is it, anyway?”

You grinned that stupid little grin Steve always prepared himself for. It was the grin you would display whenever you were going to make a serious matter a joke, or brush something serious off your shoulder as if it didn’t bother you. The sarcastic grin he always wanted to wipe off your face as you defied orders.

“My lovely little sister’s.”

Rhodey stepped forward to take the invitation for personal inspection, “When is it?”

“A week from tomorrow,” you beamed. “Which means I got to get shopping for a wonderful little, red number!”

“Please, be more excited about this,” Steve groaned, sarcasm dripping off each syllable.

You flicked your right hand up and in position to flash your charming little middle finger at him, a river of fluffed ego and delight flowing to your cheeks as he huffed and left the room in a stumbled march.

“So…” Scott’s voice ripped through the awkward silence. “We’ve been secret drug smugglers this whole time?”

Please let me know what you think! I listened “The Archer” by Taylor Swift and I was like... yes, I see this, lmao. Tell me if you would like to be tagged in later updates! xxMoni

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