#you can’t see it but they chew on sewing needles

[buggyboyizhere]

Tee hee did I ever share my RA self insert Web I think they’re so so humble and cool and not at all so I can ooogle Patryck eddsworld

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

When Megumi gets injured on a mission, you realize you’re not capable of taking care of a child.

wc — 1.8k

tags — misunderstandings; self doubt; the pitfalls of teenage parenting when you’re all child soldiers; mild angst with a happy ending; happens post sometimes a family is you, teen dad Gojo, and the six year old child he accidentally orphaned, part I of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together. 

You shove Megumi into his arms, a bundle of bloody black fabric and dead weight. Gojo doesn’t stumble - he never does - but it’s a close call as he instinctively wraps his arms around whatever you’ve pushed onto him. 

“Teleport! Teleport!” You’re so frantic you’re incoherent. It takes a full minute, a minute you don’t have, before you realize that you can’t just say things. Gojo, as invincible as he is, can’t read your mind. You have to explain what’s going on, but how can you focus when Megumi is bleeding out? His little face is growing paler and paler by the second. 

His hands are so tiny. Why is that the only thing you can focus on? They’re grasping the front of Gojo’s jacket for dear life as he coughs weakly. 

“Teleport him back to HQ! Get Shoko!” 

You resist the urge to shake Gojo by his lapels, slap some sense into him. It would only hurt Megumi. Why won’t he move?

“I can’t!”

“What do you mean you can’t? Go! He’s losing so much blood, you have to go now!” 

You know you’re getting hysterical, but Megumi is dying right in front of you. 

“I can’t teleport! There are conditions-“ 

“He’s going to die!” 

“Stop- I need to think!” 

In the back of your head, you can hear Shoko telling you in that cool and detached tone of hers that you’re hyperventilating. 

Look, she says, you see that? You’re breathing too quickly. You feel lightheaded, right? 

Gojo spreads his jacket out on the ground of the forest. “Help me get him ready. I’m going to sew up the cut.” 

“Let me-“ 

“I’ll do it. I’ve done Getou’s before. You just focus on keeping him breathing.” 

You can do that. 

Hunched over Megumi’s body, Gojo gets to work. He looks so frail, spread on the grass with only Gojo’s jacket beneath him. His eyes are normally dark, but they’re blacker with pain, his pupils swallowing up his irises. 

The first puncture of the needle makes him wail before he slaps his hand over his mouth. You peel it back and make vaguely soothing noises, trying to be comforting. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you murmur, letting him rest his head in your lap.

“You can scream, Megumi. I know it hurts. Oh, honey, I know. I know.” He’s making this face that agonizes you. His nose is all scrunched up as he clenches his jaw. He’s the type of kid that would rather chew up his suffering and swallow it back down then let anyone see it. 

This happened on your watch. 

Sick self hatred rises in your throat. 

Gojo would’ve never let anything happen to Megumi. 

He whimpers quietly and you flinch. Without even thinking of it, you reach for his hand. You force yourself not to tremble. You’re an adult. It’s your responsibility not to scare him like that. 

His eyes are closed as Gojo grimly works the needle through, but there’s a jump in his frantic heartbeat, as tiny as a rabbit’s. You can detect it through the pulsing vein in his wrist, funneling blood to the injury only to waste it on air. 

He’s such a brave kid - your brave little boy. You smooth his sticky wet hair back from his face, damp with sweat. He moans in pain and twists away. Your heart crumples. 

It takes so much for him to be vocal about anything that hurts him. How much pain must he be in?

“Gojo,” you say. 

“I’m trying!” 

You know. Going any faster is likely to have dangerous consequences. This is the only way. How cruel. You have to hurt him to help him, and isn’t that just the story of your parenthood? 

You curl around him, protective as if your body can shield him from his own body working against itself. The more blood he loses, the harder his body fights to keep him alive. 

It’s an infinitely long minute before Gojo proclaims the grim deed finished. Megumi had passed out long beforehand, his death grip on your fingers slackening as the pain pushed him into nothingness. 

He wakes up on the long drive back to campus. Ijichi has never bent so many speeding limits in his life. Normally a careful driver, he shoots furtive looks at the kid staining his back seats red. You can feel his judgment of what kind of parent you are settling over you. 

Shoko must be thinking the same thing as she patches Megumi up in your kitchen. Her reverse cursed technique seals the cut up in seconds flat, though a scar remains, puckering the flesh of his forearm. 

“Just like Utahime,” Gojo tells him, pinching his cheek. “You didn’t cry either, so you’re better than her.” 

“Don’t talk about your seniors like that,” you say absentmindedly, though your mind could not be further from disciplining Gojo for his poor behavior. 

You can’t send Megumi to the Zenins. You know what they’d do to a sweet kid like him. They’d turn him into a monster like his father. You shudder, thinking of the creature from your nightmares who had stolen the life of a sixteen year old girl, and nearly taken Gojo with him. You could never let them do that to Megumi. They probably wouldn’t take care of Tsumiki either, unless to hold her over his head. But just because they aren’t fit caretakers doesn’t mean you are. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

Gojo’s been trying to get your attention for who knows how long. When he sees that he finally has it, he sends Megumi off to bed and jerks his thumb at the door. Wordlessly, you follow him to the porch. It’s dimly lit from a singular overhead bulb without a covering. The two of you stand in a circle of light, the night outside pressing in against the walls of your home. 

“What is it?” He says impatiently. “I fixed everything, didn’t I? Why are you still upset?” 

“It’s not you,” you say. It’s so cliche, but what else is there to say? “It’s my fault.” 

“Don’t,” he says softly. 

You pull your hand back when he tries to take it. There’s a perverse sense of satisfaction in denying both of you what you want. You don’t deserve this. 

He’s silent for a long time. You let the silence stew, determined to outlast him. Quickly, it becomes clear who has the upper hand. You shift from side to side, nervous and tense, while he just waits with his hands shoved in his pockets. When you finally look over, he’s wearing his sunglasses again. His hair glows under the porch light, attracting moths. “Finally felt like playing nice?” 

He’s attractive when he’s mean. You hate that about him, the way the cruel twist of his mouth ties knots into your stomach. It would all be easier if you could hate him, but everything he does only makes you love him more. 

What a twisted little family you’ve built for yourself. 

He sighs. “Stop that. Don’t-“ he waves his hand in your general direction in frustration. “You always do that. It’s not your fault.” 

“He needs a real parent, Gojo. I couldn’t protect him.” 

“I was there too,” he says. “You don’t see me agonizing over my mistakes. It happens.” 

What mistake, you think bitterly. Gojo’s only fault is trusting you with Megumi. He’s the strongest. If it was him, nothing would’ve happened. 

“It wasn’t your mistake. It was mine. If I hadn’t been there, everything would have been fine.” 

“Again?” Gojo says quietly. 

It’s a forceful reminder of how much you sound like Getou right now. He never recovered from what that monster - Megumi’s father - did to him. Even now, your class lives with the scars of that day. Gojo’s face is wistful for a brief moment, deluged by memories. Then it’s gone, wiped from his expression like it had never been there. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, wondering if it’s too late to take it back.  

Gojo never falters. He’s unreasonable and childish, but he’s as solid as stone. You’ve watched him shoulder every single burden he’s ever been asked to carry since he was a child, and now he’s taken on one more. You promised Gojo that you would watch his back, regardless of whether he needed you or not. The words you spoke in a fit of anger and self pity bring you regret now. Weakness isn’t just failing to shield Megumi from all the dangers of sorcery that you wish you and Gojo had been protected from. Weakness is running away when it gets hard. 

Megumi’s your baby. 

You’re not going to give him up. 

A step forward has you pressing into Gojo’s space. He doesn’t yield, watching you with those ancient eyes. 

“I know it’ll only get harder, but it has to be us, right? Who else will keep him safe from the Zenins? I won’t leave, Gojo. I promise.” 

His relieved expression contrasts with his smug words. There’s a crooked smile on his face when he says, “I knew you wouldn’t just abandon us. You think Megumi wants to stay with me? You’re the one keeping him here.” 

“I get it,” you smack his arm. “No need for flattery. I’m with you until the end.” 

“I’m not kidding,” he protests. “There’s no universe in which Megumi likes me more than you.” 

How can you stay upset when he looks so proud of himself for finally figuring out the right thing to say to get you to stay? 

“He doesn’t,” you insist. 

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. Here, I’ll prove it.” 

It’s not uncommon for Gojo to put Megumi to bed. In fact, it’s a chore he fights you for. It’s probably one of his favorite parts of having Megumi around. He likes telling stories, and surprisingly enough, he’s good at it. He gives each character its own voice. More often than not, he ends up as invested in the bedtime story as Megumi is. Tonight, when he closes the book, he doesn’t leave. The soft light of the lamp on the bedside table shines through a crack in the door as Gojo and Megumi talk in hushed whispers. 

“I want my mom,” he says quietly. 

You lean against the door, pressing your head to the wood to try to keep yourself from falling to the ground. You want to try. You want to be there for him. But Megumi needs his mother, not some teenager who can’t even take control of her own life, much less a child’s. You’re all he has, though, and you have to make it work. You wish Mrs. Fushiguro was still alive, even if that means you would’ve never gotten to meet him. 

“Then ask her to come in,” Gojo says. 

Megumi makes a startled noise. You can almost see him burrowing into his blankets. 

“Go on,” Gojo coaxes. “Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now. You really won’t? Fine.” 

He calls to you. “Come in, sweetheart. Don’t keep us waiting.” 

The first thing you see when you open the door is Megumi’s head buried beneath the covers. Gojo’s trying to peel the sheets back. 

“What are you hiding for? I brought you your mom! You should be thanking me!”

“I hate you!” 

“I told you,” Gojo says. “He loves you more than me.”

[helloalycia]

unrequited // alicia clark

summary: after reuniting with Alicia after presuming her dead, you can’t help but think back to the last thing you said to her: that you’re in love with her.

warning/s: mentions of injury, blood and obvs the usual that comes with writing anything ftwd. also sad gay angst.

author's note: a lil one shot set in s7 that i wrote a while ago and finally got 'round to editing! it's set about the time after Morgan finds Alicia after the nuclear explosion (is that what it was? i can't even remember lol). It's been so long since i watched it so i can't even remember who the predominant characters in this part are, so apologies if it's incorrect! hope you enjoy anyway haha.

also another shameless plug but i've almost finished fully publishing my original fiction book titled 'Evie' on Wattpad so do check that out if you're into gay mermaids, pining and angst 👀

masterlist / wattpad

"It's called being efficient," I said with a hint of pride at my handiwork, but Sarah disagreed.

"It's called wasting time."

"Well, next time you happen to tear your favourite shirt, don't go asking for my help," I said to her lightheartedly, continuing to sew up a hole in my socks.

"We'll see," she mumbled, before leaving me be at the kitchen counter.

I chewed on my lip as I finished threading the needle through the hole, pulling the fabric together and tying it off. It was arguably pointless to some, but with everything going on outside the submarine that we were all seeking refuge in, I couldn't exactly go and pick up some new socks when my current ones ripped. So, why not put an old skill to practice?

After pulling my newly-repaired socks and shoes on my feet, I was about to head to my room when I heard a knocking coming from down the hall. Pausing, I listened again and realised someone was at the entry hole at the top of the ladder.

"Someone open up! It's me, Morgan!" a voice called from above when I approached the ladder.

"Oh, shit," I mumbled to myself, before calling out to him, "I'm coming, Morgan, one sec!"

"Great, thank you!" he said gratefully.

"Guys, Morgan's back!" I shouted down the hall, whilst rushing to climb the ladder.

Morgan had gone out two days ago with Grace and the baby, Mo, to seek help from Strand at his tower because Mo was sick and nobody knew what to do. Luciana, Daniel, Charlie, Sarah and I were left behind to hold down the fort, but we hadn't heard anything from him since. Naturally, we worried, but couldn't risk leaving when we promised to stay put until he returned. That, and it wasn't safe to leave without enough gas masks for us all.

But he was finally back! And as I unlatched the door above me, I prayed that everybody was okay, especially Mo.

"Morgan," I called with relief when I saw his face looking down at me. "C'mon, you were gone for so long, we were worried!"

He smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes, and that's when I realised things couldn't have gone well.

Knowing I had a million questions but he needed to come inside first, I jumped off the ladder and waited at the bottom to help. The others had joined me in the hallway, the lot of us anticipating what Morgan had to share.

He climbed down the ladder first and I began to help him, growing concerned when I noticed the dried blood and dirt in his clothes.

"Where's Grace? The baby?" Sarah pressed when she noticed the lack of the others. "Mo-Mo, what happened?"

"Strand took them," he said with regret, accepting my help off the ladder. His eyes followed up it, and I realised a stranger was following down after him – some girl.

"What?!" Sarah snapped, eyes widened, and everybody collectively gasped at the news.

"I managed to find an old friend, however," he continued, as I was about to lend a hand to the stranger.

Only, when she accepted my hand and jumped off the last few rungs of the ladder, my breath caught in my throat. It was Alicia, the girl who I'd presumed long gone, or even dead.

"Y/N," she exhaled, just as surprised as I was, before immediately pulling me in for a hug.

I hugged her loosely at first, oblivious to the excited comments from the others at the sight of their dear friend, and then I closed my eyes and tightened my hold, afraid to let go.

"You're here," she said with disbelief, before pulling away to meet my eyes. Hers were tired and dull, but momentarily bright as they met mine. "I mean, Morgan said you were but I didn't– I–"

When she didn't know what to say, I found my words. "I didn't know if you were alive. I was so worried, Alicia, I thought–" And then the shock faded, replaced by a nauseating guilt. "I wanted to look for you, but–"

"It wasn't safe," she finished for me, not the slightest bit offended. "I know, Y/N, I know."

I frowned, eyes flickering between hers, my heart thumping louder than ever at the mere sight of her. She was alive. She was back. She was okay.

After everybody became reacquainted with Alicia, and Morgan shared the news about Mo and Grace – Strand had taken them in, offering to 'help', but had tried to kill Morgan in the process – I went to the kitchen to get some food for them both. They'd also shared everything they'd been through after Strand stole Grace and Mo, including almost dying because of his men, getting caught up with some infected and declaring war on Strand, so it made sense as to why they both looked like they'd been through hell and back.

"Here," I said once I'd plated and warmed up some canned soup for them both, before adding for Alicia's sake, "this is all we have."

"It's perfect, thanks," she said with a nod, before digging in immediately.

Morgan nodded gratefully before doing the same. I cleaned up the mess I'd made as they were eating, before dismissing myself so I could sort out a sleeping space for Alicia. It didn't take long to find her an unoccupied bunk, and with Luciana's help, we put out some fresh sheets and found some clean clothes for Alicia. I could barely believe she was here still, having reluctantly accepted that I may never see her again, not so soon anyway.

Once I returned to the kitchen, Morgan was no longer there, but Alicia was still sat there finishing her soup.

"Hey, Luci and I have sorted out a space for you to get some sleep," I said, unsure why I suddenly felt awkward around her. "We've left some clean clothes on the bed for you, as well."

Alicia looked up, nodding, before taking the last slurp of her soup and wiping her mouth. She stood up from her stool, pausing and clutching the counter tightly for a moment.

"Hey," I started with concern, recognising she looked dizzy, and stepped forward to help, but she raised her hand to stop me.

"I'm fine," she said with a clipped tone, eyes closed as she took a deep breath.

"You don't look well," I commented, eyes scanning her face. Dark circles plagued her eyes and she was still clammy, something I thought was temporary because of the rush of the day, but clearly I was mistaken.

"Is it that obvious?" she snapped quietly, before exhaling sharply and opening her eyes, though avoiding mine.

"Sorry, I just–" I wasn't sure why she was suddenly moody, but I wanted to help somehow. "Do you need medicine? We don't have much, but I'm sure–"

"No, it won't work," she cut me off, before pushing her weight off the counter and onto her feet.

"What?"

Shaking her head, she sat back down on the stool for support. "It doesn't matter. Just give me a minute."

I nodded, though I couldn't help but worry. This wasn't the same girl I'd last seen before she was taken from us by Teddy, the homicidal maniac who believed he was a god. No, this Alicia was worn out, exhausted and sick. Something was wrong and I hated that I didn't know why. But not as much as I hated that she'd been left with him and his crazed cultist followers all alone.

"I can get you some water," I offered, wanting to do something, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine."

"Right... well, d'you wanna take your shoes off? I'm sure you've been on your feet all day, it might help."

"No, thanks."

The longer she had her head in her hand, clutching at her forehead with her eyes closed, the more I didn't know what to do.

"Can I take your gloves off you? Maybe get some air to your hands?" I asked, noticing she hadn't removed them when she was eating. "Anything, Alicia, I–"

"I said I'm fine," she repeated firmly, before wincing at the way it came out.

I pursed my lips, nodding awkwardly. A quiet followed soon after and I wasn't sure how to fill it. The last time we had spoke, before Teddy had taken her... it hadn't been ideal. I was certain I'd ruined everything between us when I told her the truth about how I felt – that I was in love with her – and accepted that I might have lost her forever when she never told me what she thought because of the Teddy incident that occurred afterwards. But now she was back and things were awkward and the giant elephant in the room wasn't helping.

"I'm really glad you're okay," she suddenly spoke, voice soft but weighted with gratitude. "That you got out with the others." 

"I'm sorry I couldn't get to you," I said, taking a seat on the stool beside her. "It all happened so quickly, with Teddy taking you. We were running out of time and we didn't know where to go and–"

"I'm glad you didn't go after me," she interrupted, looking up at me. "It wouldn't have been safe. They would have killed you if you tried anything, and if you didn't find me, the explosion would have. You were right to get out when you could."

Just because she said it didn't make me feel any better. Leaving Alicia behind was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do and I was certain I'd live with my regrets forever, even now that she was back with me.

"What happened, Alicia?" I asked. "Where were you?"

She exhaled tiredly, like the answer wasn't so easy. And when she began to tell me what, I realised it wasn't. She spoke of the moment Teddy took her, revealing his plans to blow everything up and keep his followers safe in a bunker that she was locked in with no escape. She told me about how she tried to escape, how they wouldn't let her, about Will, someone who tried to help her and was now dead because of Strand. And the the biggest surprise of all was when she revealed that she'd been bitten when she tried to escape, an infected leaving its mark on her arm, and how she had to saw off her own forearm to survive.

None of it seemed to phase her as she shared it, but I found myself tearing up at all of it. Naturally, my eyes fell to her arm when she told me, but they were both covered by forearm-length gloves.

"The fever won't leave," she explained, and it was beginning to make sense why she looked the way she did, pale and sweaty and exhausted. "The infection is killing me, Y/N."

"No," I muttered, refusing to believe it, because how was that fair? How could she have to go through all of that because some psychopath stole her away and tried to enforce his sick fantasies on her?

Alicia tugged off her glove, revealing a metal cast with a bone in it and a sharp knife at the end, all attached as a sleeve on her actual arm. I was speechless when I saw it, eyes unable to take in what I was seeing.

"Yeah, that's kind of how Morgan reacted, too," she said once she noticed my expression, sounding neither offended or annoyed.

"Alicia, I'm so sorry all of that happened to you," I said, finding my words as she replaced her glove.

The thought of her having to undergo all of that trauma by herself hurt, but she was the strongest person I knew. If she could do all of that, she could beat a little fever.

"Don't be sorry," she said. "It was better me than any of you."

I frowned, resisting the urge to hold her hand. "You don't know that that's what's making you sick. It could be something else."

"I do," she said patiently. "The infection was slowed down, but not gone entirely."

"But you could've got to it in time," I said hopefully.

"Y/N, I've tried everything," she lashed out, before swallowing hard and lowering her voice. "It won't go away. I'm dying."

I clenched my jaw, frustrated at the situation and refusing to give up just because she said so. "No. I don't think you are."

"Whatever."

She was bitter, avoiding my eyes and clearly peeved at my optimism. I stood up suddenly, earning her attention.

"You're not dying," I told her with certainty. "Not after everything. Not if I can help it."

"Uh-huh," she played along as if to avoid an argument, but I didn't let it bait me.

It was just a fever. We could break it. I truly believed we could.

The next day, a few of the others had gone out on a supply run, leaving Luciana, Daniel and I to stay back and keep an eye on Alicia, even if she didn't know it. Her fever wasn't letting up, even with the medication we gave her, and she was currently napping in her bunk per our instructions after she almost passed out at lunch.

It was my turn to watch her, so I was sat on a stool by the bottom bunk where she was currently fast asleep. A book was in my hand, an attempt to distract me and give her a little space, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't stealing glances at her every now and then. Eventually, her eyes began to flutter and her movement made me put my book down.

"Hey," I said gently, not wanting to startle her.

She blinked tiredly, eyes distant and confused. "Are the others back yet?"

"Not yet. How d'you sleep?"

She breathed out slowly, lifting both hands to rub her eyes, only to realise her mistake when one of them was missing. She'd removed her metal cast before going to sleep, along with her gloves. With a quiet sigh, she nodded to the opposite side of the room.

"Can you pass me my arm, please?" she asked, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bunk.

"You don't have to wear that in here if you don't want to," I reminded her, noticing she didn't answer my previous question. "It's just us."

"I do," she said dismissively, before nodding to her amputated arm. "It's ugly. The arm makes me feel normal. Like I once was."

As I got up to grab it, along with her gloves, I said, "You may think that, but I think it's just a part of you, and no part of you could ever be ugly, Alicia."

She froze at my words, jaw tensing slightly, and I realised I'd said too much. My intention was never to make her feel uncomfortable – quite the opposite actually – but judging from her reaction, I had.

"But my opinion doesn't mean anything," I added, hoping to ease the situation, "so here." I handed her the arm and gloves before deciding to leave, knowing it would be for the best.

As I was, she finally spoke up from behind me, stopping me in my tracks. "I can't give you what you want."

Turning around slowly, I met her unreadable gaze. "I didn't ask for anything."

She licked her lips, looking down at her hand. "What you said, the last time we saw each other... I can't..."

"I didn't ask for anything," I repeated, interrupting her. "And I already know. Your silence at the time said it all."

It wasn't easy to forget the look of disbelief she gave me once I'd said the words – I love you, Alicia – and the silence that followed after my declaration. She never told me what she thought or felt, but it was obvious enough.

I swallowed thickly, hoping my sadness wasn't showing. "You were my friend long before anything else, so I was only hoping to treat you as such. If that's too weird for you, then I'll step back."

When she didn't reply, nor look up at me, my insides shrivelled a little.

"For the record," I added defensively, "I didn't want anything from you. I've only ever been honest with you."

Again, she didn't answer, and I took that as an answer in itself and turned to leave. I knew she didn't feel the same as I – her silence spoke volumes – but it still made my heart crumble a little, hearing her finally admit it or imply it or whatever the hell that was just then.

Since Alicia and I's awkward encounter, I knew it was probably best to keep my distance and only converse when we needed to. Personally, I could live with only being her friend, but she didn't want that and I wasn't going to force myself on her. She was fair to want that, even if she'd gone about it in the wrong way. So, I stayed away.

Instead, I focused my energy on helping Luciana help Daniel, who was forgetting things slowly with time. He believed his daughter, Ofelia, was still alive and out there, so it was a struggle keeping him in the sub where it was safe. That, and creating a plan to get Grace and Mo back whilst simultaneously stopping Strand was keeping everyone busy.

It was a few days later when Alicia had left, following a lead on where this 'PADRE' person or place could be – according to Morgan, anyway. It wasn't like she'd said anything to me before she left. I didn't even know she'd gone until Morgan let everyone know afterwards.

She wasn't well, her fever only getting worse over the past few days, and the last thing she should have been doing was going outside all alone, chasing a lead that might not even exist. But it wasn't my business, I suppose, and she wouldn't have listened to my protests anyway.

As much as I pretended I didn't care, I did. And my concern only worsened when Alicia finally returned to us, though not by choice. It was Morgan who had brought her back after searching for her because she was gone too long. He'd found her unconscious and could barely carry her back to the submarine without needing extra hands. My heart had fallen into my gut when I saw her out of it, dark eyes closed and highly contrasting her pale skin.

Immediately jumping into action, I helped Morgan take her to her bunk, taking off her socks, shoes and jacket. She would have cursed me out or dropped some passive aggressive comment, but I also removed her gloves and arm, needing to get some fresh air to her skin. She was burning up, hair glued to her forehead, and my heart was shrinking the longer I watched her.

"You're gonna be okay," I whispered to her, even though she couldn't hear a thing. "You've got to be."

My fingers pushed her damp curls behind her ear, the sweat beading on her skin. She was too hot, but the cold cloth I was dabbing seemed to cool her down a little.

If things hadn't gotten so messed up between us – if I hadn't confessed my damn feelings to her – then maybe she would have trusted me enough to come with her to find whatever PADRE was. I couldn't have cared less about it, but at least I could have been there to make sure she was taking care of herself. We were so close at one point, as thick as thieves, and now she wanted nothing to do with me. I hated it.

But more importantly, I hated myself for being selfish for one moment, because it had cost me my friendship with her.

I stayed with her for a while, replacing the cold towel and dabbing her skin to bring down her temperature. My worry wouldn't let me leave her side, not whilst she was like this. But as soon as I saw her green eyes flicker open with confusion, I knew she'd want me gone.

"Morgan?" I called, standing up and putting the towel to the side. "She's awake!"

He was in the room in no time, just as concerned as I, and sighed with relief when he saw her fully waking up. I moved past him, giving him no chance to ask what was what, and left to go somewhere else.

I went to my bunk in another room, grateful nobody was there to see my disheartened self. At least she was okay. Morgan would make sure of it.

Busying myself with folding some washed clothes, trying to distract myself from the impending doom that seemed to be following us wherever we went, I almost didn't hear the knock on my open door.

"Yes?" I spun around, then paused, surprised to see Alicia standing there.

"Hey," she said quietly, voice hoarse.

"Hey," I murmured, still surprised that she was talking to me. "I'm glad you're up, but maybe you should rest."

She didn't look the best still, especially as she leaned against the door for support. But if she heard me say anything, she didn't let on. Her eyes were focused on the floor, distracted, and then she finally looked up, startled gaze meeting mine.

"You have to forgive me," she said suddenly, desperately. "For lying to you. For pushing you away. For making you feel worse."

My brows furrowed. "What?"

She began to frown, eyes watering. "I might be dying. And I know it's selfish, especially after everything, but I miss you, Y/N. And I've loved you this whole time, but you deserve better."

My eyes widened at her confession. This was the last thing I expected to hear, especially with the silent treatment and distance we'd shared these past few days.

"Say something, please," she pleaded.

I swallowed hard, looking around as if the answer would be right there. "I... I don't know what to say."

She tensed her jaw with uncertainty, waiting.

I took a moment, finding the right words to say. Calmly, I said, "If this is all true–"

"It is," she cut me off instantly, and I stared at her, unmoving.

"Why are you telling me now?" I asked. "What's changed?"

She sighed, ashamed. "The closer I get to dying, the worse I feel and the more scared I become."

"Alicia, you're not dying," I said sternly, sick of hearing it, but she only winced slightly in response and I knew she didn't believe me.

"I am," she said with finality, making me frown. "And I thought that pushing you away would be what was fair. It still is, for you." Inhaling sharply, she avoided my eyes. "I'll be gone and it's not fair to tell you how I feel when that'll happen, but I can't help it. If I'm only here for so long, I... I want it to be with you." Her eyes crept back to mine, glistening with unshed tears. "I don't want to go knowing that I didn't have to be alone in the end. That I pushed you away."

My heart was full as I watched her, her own heart on her sleeve, expression full of embarrassment, shame and guilt. It made sense what she was saying, but I only wished she hadn't thought like that.

"Firstly," I started, approaching her, "you're not dying, so quit saying that. Secondly, I'm gonna help you. This isn't it, okay?" I followed her eyes, refusing to let her break contact. "But no more stupid walkabouts without help. Thirdly, the fact that you thought pushing me away would be fair to me is insane. In case you didn't hear me the last time, I'm in love with you. Have been for a long. Why the hell would you think I'd just get over you like that? That I wouldn't forgive you?"

"But I was horrible," she reminded me. "I disregarded your feelings."

I looked down, holding out my hand. She placed hers in mine reluctantly, and I squeezed it gently to show her I meant what I was saying.

"You're not now," I told her. "And I would have had you in my life as a friend, an enemy, even a stranger, rather than not at all. You could literally tell me you hate me and I'd still be here. Guess that's what love does, right?"

When I looked up, her eyes were on mine, a tear having slipped out. Her lips were trembling and it broke my heart.

"Come here," I said, tugging her close, and she fell right into me, hugging me tight.

I fought back my own tears as I wrapped my arms around her, grateful to have her back. It was just my luck that she loved me, too.

After a moment, I tried to pull apart, but she stopped me, immediately pressing her lips to mine in a sloppy, desperate, teary kiss. I closed my eyes, kissing her back whilst letting her lean on me for support. When we pulled apart, I cupped her face and wiped her tears away with my thumbs, not wanting her to be so upset anymore. I leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to her lips, the butterflies in my stomach almost lifting me off the ground. Any other instance and I would have been too caught up in the fact that she liked me, too, but her well-being was my biggest concern right now.

"I'm sorry," she said, barely a whisper.

"You don't need to apologise," I told her, before letting go of her face and taking her hand. "You do need to rest though. C'mon."

I half expected her to protest, but she let me take her back to her bunk. I didn't leave her side as she lay back down, a relieved sigh escaping her lips. Stroking my fingers in her hair, I was glad to see her eyes closing contently, appreciating the momentary peace.

"I promise I'm gonna fix this," I said with conviction. "You're going to get better."

"But if I don't–"

"No buts," I stopped her. "You will."

She opened her eyes slowly, an almost childlike wonder in them, both desperate and hopeful. Those were the same eyes I'd fallen in love with over the years, the same eyes I'd once avoided because I was too scared to admit how I felt. Never did I believe I'd end up here.

She nodded at my words and I'd almost forgotten I'd spoken because of how distracted I got. I pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and continued to stroke her hair, watching her eyes close yet again.

I wasn't going to lose her, not now that I had her back.

[m1dn1ght-hag]

hello ^^ can i request a sebek x male reader?

oo maybe the reader can sew and he makes cute little plushies of him and sebek so they can still have each other even when the other is far away. the image of post nrc sebek being away for a mission and bringing his mini reader along makes me sob and kick my feet </3

preferably a fluff but if you want to turn it into an angst to fluff then i don’t mind 👀

☽ starring | Sebek x male reader

☽ pronouns used | he/him

☽ genre | mostly fluff <3, hint(?) of angst

☽ summary | Mc gifts Sebek a hand-made plushie, and his ordeals with said plushie

☽ CW | mentions of a sewing needle (but its very brief), Lilia being a little shit, cuss word (like… once?)

☽ note | the idea of sebek secretly carrying around a plushie of his boyfriend for times he can’t be around him is so goddamn sweet im goginf to WXPLODE 😭 got my brain absolutely PUMPING rn. soft sebek owns my heart

Sebek knew about Mc’s hobby during their time at NRC. He’d watch him work, when he wasn’t looking of course, marveling at his craft. At the time, if Mc were to catch him staring he’d deny it adamantly and avert his gaze, a red tint making it’s way along his cheeks and to the tips of his ears.

Sebek stared at Mc, deadpanned, as he held up a plushie in his image in front of him, waiting for him to grab it.

“…Mc, what is this?” He furrows his brows, unsure of what Mc wants him to do with it.

“I made me-“ Mc point to himself, “-for you,” he point to Sebek. Motioning for him to grab the plushie, he reach into his bag with his free hand, “and I made you, too!”

Holding the plushie up for Sebek to see as he gingerly pulls the one that looks like Mc out of his hand, flushing at the plushie in his likeness. Unsure of what to say he just stares at Mc, then the plushie in his hands, then the plushie in his, then back to Mc.

Sebek has seen Mc working on something earlier, either by hand or with machine, and wondered what he was making, but didn’t pry seeing as he needed his concentration to avoid hurting himself with the needle.

A simple “why?” was all he could manage out, confused at the gesture.

“Well… Now that we’ve graduated, you have a full-time job as Malleus’ knight and have to leave on ‘business trips’ often. So, I thought it’d be nice for us to have, y’know? So, when we get lonely, we have our mini uses.” Mc rambles out, gesturing to himself and Sebek as if to enunciate his point as he feels his face warm when explaining his thought process.

Sebek’s eyes fall back onto the plushie in his hands, studying all the love put into the small details and stitching. The pale green heart sewn onto the shirt made his own heart skip a beat, as a red tint made it’s way to his ears.

Mc watched his expression nervously, worrying that maybe he overstepped. He chewed on his lip nervously until he noticed the way Sebek’s face turned red the longer his eyes lingered on the doll, pupils dilating ever so slightly.

“…Thank you,” he muttered out eventually, eyes still trained on Mc’s gift.

“Do you like it?” Mc inquires and Sebek cleared his throat, finally broken free from his trance.

“It’s decent work, for a human,” he coughed out the last bit, however Mc knew his words held no real bite by the way he couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Well, I’m glad. I put all of my love into making this for us,” Mc sighs, reaching his free hand up to squeeze Sebek’s, smiling when he felt him squeeze back.

Sebek didn’t respond, eyes now trained on the doll in Mc’s hands and the heart— in his favorite color, he noted— sewn into it’s shirt as well. He was genuinely impressed by Mc’s talent, always has been since freshman year, and how well he managed to capture both his and Sebek’s likenesses in such.. Cutesy, and simple dolls.

“Can… I see yours?” He seemed to hesitate, the red returning to his cheeks at his idea.

“Oh, yeah!” Handing him the doll, Mc watched as he stares at them intensely for a good minute before he shakily moves them closer together, giving the illusion that they’re holding hands as his face bursts red and he quickly hands the one that looks like him back to Mc.

Mc barely had anytime to process the action before Sebek drops the doll back into his hands, clearly embarrassed by what he’d just done.

“I appreciate it, thank you very much!” He yelled quickly. Mc couldn’t help the way his heart swelled and hammered against his chest, only smiling at him, though his gaze was turned away from Mc.

And though he would never admit it aloud due to his pride, he definitely carries the plushie gifted to him around. The silly little plushie becomes a comfort item, especially when he has to be away from Mc for long periods of time due to his service to Malleus. On days he especially misses his boyfriend, and physically can’t hold him, he cuddles the plushie. He holds it close to him, trying to feel his warmth through it, and even presses small kisses to the top of its head.

Sebek let out an irate sigh as he opened his eyes, staring up at the roof. He’d been gone for roughly two weeks now, and each day he missed Mc more than the last. He’s found it hard to sleep without Mc next to him, ever since he snuck into his bed one night at NRC, and not being able to have him next to him was slowly tearing him apart.

Tiredly, he rolled onto his side, clutching the doll close to his chest. Sleeping on his back was just not gonna be an option tonight, it seemed.

He would get so embarrassed if Lilia, Silver, or Malleus were to find the plushie. Lilia and Silver would tease him lightheartedly, watching the red flush spread across his cheeks as he turns away and clamps his eyes shut, embarrassed that he was found carrying a plushie of his boyfriend for comfort.

It was week three of his departure and Lilia had found his bag. Being the little shit he is (affectionate), he decided to dig around in it.

“Awww, Sebek what is this?” Lilia coos, holding up the plushie he pulled from his bag as Sebek’s face immediately turned bright red.

“Master Lilia!” Sebek yelped, reaching for the plushie in the fae’s hands, as he snickered at Sebek’s desperation.

Silver turns his head at the commotion, eyes landing on the doll in Lilia’s hands.

“Sebek has a doll of his boyfriend, how cute!” Lilia giggles as Sebek hastily retrieves it from his grasp, hiding it from Malleus’ gaze as the prince also turned to them with a quirked brow.

Silver walked over, a slight smirk in his lips, “does he, now?”

“I do not!” Sebek insisted, having hid the doll underneath his arm, “I don’t need the comfort of a doll! I am Lord Malleus’ knight, and knights don’t need dolls!”

“Poor Sebek’s embarrassed,” Lilia sighed, obviously teasing Sebek, evident by his tone and the mischievous glint in his gaze.

“May I see?” Malleus inquired.

“There’s nothing to see!”

“GASP!” Lilia faked a shocked expression, cupping his hands over his mouth, “Sebek? Ignoring a request from Malleus? What a scandal!”

“URGH,” Sebek jerked, freezing as if he got shot.

“Father…” Silver shook his head upon watching Sebek’s inner conflict through his body movements.

“Ah, t’was simply a jest. Youngins these days,” Lilia relented with a sigh.

He keeps it with him all the time, and on the off-chance he misplaces it, he is absolutely DEVASTATED until he finds it again and cries tears of joy (not that he’d admit it to anyone.)

Week four, he’d misplaced the plushie.

When he realised he lost it, it tore him up inside. He was so upset about it. It was a gift from Mc, and it brought him comfort when he couldn’t be around him, and now it’s gone. He didn’t know what he’s do if he couldn’t locate the plushie again.

He began to rummage through every single one of his bags, drawers, baskets, sheets, anything to find where he lost the doll as he felt tears stinging in his eyes.

“Where…” He sniffled, swallowing thickly as he tore his room apart in the search, feeling his heart drop more each time he couldn’t find the plushie. He checked under the sheets, under the pillow, under the mattress. Yet, everything was turning of cold and he was getting more upset as time passed.

He slumped against the bed, shoulders hunched as he ran a hand down his face feeling defeated. He felt bad about having lost the heartfelt gift Mc gave him, and even more so since it brought comfort to him since the two of them were separated. He couldn’t dare to ask him to make him another, so he’d just have to find the one he lost.

“Hey, Sebek?” A knock on his door startled him, and he jolted up.

“Yes? What is it?” He steeled his voice, surprisingly good at hiding the wobble he was expecting to hear.

“You forgot your doll in Lilia’s quarters, he asked me to return it to you. Said something about how devastated you’d be without your boyfriend?” Sebek felt relief wash over him at Silver’s words and he promptly stood, casting a quick spell to hide the evidence of his despair.

Swiftly pulling the door open, and startling Silver, he nodded his head, grabbing the plushie from Silver’s hands, “Thank you!”

And the door was shut as quick as it was opened.

“Uh? You’re.. Welcome?”

When the two of them are together, the plushies are always side-by-side, holding hands.

“Welcome home, Sebek,” Mc embraced Sebek as he entered the door, feeling the way he melted in his grasp. He placed a kiss against Sebek’s cheek, before he buried his nose in his neck, breathing in his scent that he’d missed so much.

Sebek’s usual well-maintained hair was unkempt and falling in his face, much to his distaste, as he returned Mc’s embrace. He could feel Sebek’s exhaustion in the way he draped over him, holding him close and enveloping him in his warmth. The embrace lasted like that for a couple minutes, neither of them saying anything.

He eventually, begrudgingly, pulled away to reach into his bag and Mc watched as he pulled out the plushie he gifted him. He then walked into the bedroom, where Mc’s sat, and placed it next to it, red blossoming along his cheeks.

“I couldn’t keep them separated,” he turned away to hide his blush when he caught Mc gaze.

☽ final note | i hope this was enough, if you want me to go more in depth of sebek and his plushie i most certainly can 🫶

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 30

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 30: In that house on top of the rock

AO3 - Masterlist

Joyce chuckled at Daenera’s attempt to embroider blue daisies on a field of bronze, the contrasting colors creating a vivid yet slightly chaotic display. Daenera huffed and extended her arm to study the blossoms she had stitched very few inches. Her brows furrowed as she couldn’t help but notice the crooked lines and varying sizes of the flowers. 

“The baby won’t be able to tell the difference,” Daenera reasoned, bringing the embroidery back onto her lap. As long as it kept the baby warm, it could care less for whether the flowers were in a straight line or not.

“But the rest of us will,” Joyce replied with a playful smile. 

“I think I’ve improved,” Daenera defended herself, head tilting as she examined the flower she was currently working on. One petal was bigger than the others, and a few of the strands were loose. 

“You have not,” Joyce retorted without hesitation. 

Daenera looked at her servant with a mix of offense and exasperation on her face. “Rude. Can you at least see what flower they are?”

“Daisies,” Joyce replied, grabbing a pillow from the settee and fluffing it up before putting it back down again. 

“See, it’s not that bad,” Daenera said as she threaded the needle again. “Besides, I’ve come too far to stop now.”

“I suppose it is a good thing that babies can’t differentiate the embroidery, otherwise it might be sorely disappointed,” Joyce teased. 

In response, an apple slice flew through the air, landing on Joyce’s chest and tumbling into her bodice. She quickly withdrew it from her chest and gave Daenera an indignant look, but couldn’t help but smile as she chewed into the slice. 

“How gracious of you to share your refreshments with me,” Joyce remarked. 

Daenera grinned mischievously. “I am gracious. I share my meals with the servants and prick my fingers bloody to sew a blanket for my brother once he comes.”

“You’ve got the blood and the sweat, now the blanket only needs your tears,” Joyce joked. 

“I hope I needn’t shed any,” Daenera said with a hint of worry in her voice. 

A knock resonated at the door, and Joyce hurried over to open it, welcoming the visitors inside. Fenrick stepped in first, his weathered expression showing the gravity of how Daenera’s anger weighed on him. He wore his usual attire of leather and thick fabric. Daenera’s gaze lifted, and she glanced at him through her eyelashes, holding onto the feeling of betrayal. 

Following Fenrick was a much younger man, drawing Daenera’s full attention as she studied him. Her hands rested in her lap, her focus solely on the newcomer. Both men bowed respectfully and greeted her with ‘Princess.’ 

Daenera disregarded her sworn shield and kept her eyes on the young man. He was taller than Fenrick, with broad shoulders and a well-built physique that hinted at years of training. His handsome face featured serious brows and mischievous gray eyes that complemented his pale complexion. His wild hair cascaded over his shoulders, giving him a rugged appeal. 

They both looked at her expectantly, awaiting for her response. 

“This is–” 

“He can introduce himself,” Daenera cut Fenrick off with a snap, her tone cool and dismissive. Fenrick bit down the displeasure and sowed his mouth shut. 

“I am Finan Pyne,” he introduced with a deep, rich voice. “Princess, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine depending on why you are here, Ser Pyne,” Daenera said, head tilting with curiosity. She couldn’t resisted the opportunity to ruffle Fenrick’s feathers by adopting a flirtatious undertone. Finan seemed to pick up on her playful intent, and a smile graced his handsome face, his plump lips curving upward in response. 

“Where are you from, Ser Pyne?” Daenera asked curiously.

“He–” Fenrick attempted to reply, but he was swiftly interrupted by Daenera’s sharp retort. 

“I believe he can answer for himself, can he not?” She did not want to hear his voice, nor did she wish to pretend that she had forgiven him from his betrayal. His actions still stung, and she couldn’t simply forget it. 

“I am from the North, Princess. Winterfell to be exact,” Finan replied, resting his hands on his belt as he spoke. His playful smile remained, seemingly unfazed by Fenrick’s presence. 

“Winterfell? Do you know Lord Cregan Stark?” Daenera inquired, intrigued by this piece of information. She had heard of Lord Stark but never met him personally. 

“That I do. We grew up together and fought together,” Finan revealed, the smile still lingering on his lips. 

Daenera’s lips pursed in thought. “It begs me to wonder how the two of you came to know each other.”

Finan’s gaze briefly flickered to Fenrick before returning to Daenera. “He saved my life and that of my mother. We were traveling on the King’s Road when a group of men attacked us. Fenrick defended us. It’s not often a stranger would risk their life to save others, but he did. And then he bedded my mother once we arrived in Winterfell.”

Fenrick’s face turned a deep shade of red, clearly agitated by the bluntness of Finan’s words. Joyce couldn’t help but let out a stifled laugh at the situation, lightly patting Fenrick on the arm as she slipped beside him to dust off the table. 

Finan continued, “He stayed with us for some time before returning to King’s Landing. I owe him a great debt for what he did.”

A playful smirk curled on Daenera’s lips as she lifted a brow in amusement. “For fucking your mother?”

Fenrick bristled at her boldness, but Finan chuckled, the sound warm and hearty, like crackling fire. With a half-hearted shrug Finan replied, “I forgive him for that. I owe him for saving our lives after all.”

Daenera couldn’t deny that this revelation intrigued her even more. She observed Fenrick closely, trying to decipher his emotions, and wondered what he intended to do with this boy. 

“Mmh, yes,” Daenera hummed, a serious expression falling upon her features. “You’re indebted to him. But what use is that to me?”

With A humble demeanor, Fenrick stepped forward, determined to regain her favor. He was familiar with how vengeful she could be. She had always been like this, holding and nursing grudges, seeking appropriate retaliation for any perceived slights.

“If I may speak, Princess,” Fenrick requested.

Daenera’s lips pursed into a tight expression before she gave him a curt nod. “You may.”

“I summoned Finan because I know him well. I have complete faith in his ability to serve you,” Fenrick said, his thick brows lifting in sincerity. “Finan is a skilled fighter, I taught him myself, and he is clever if not a little too bold.” 

Fenrick’s gaze shifted towards Finan with a subtle reprimand, as if silently warning him to be cautious of his words and boldness in the company of the princess. Finan in turn just quirked his lips. 

“I have little use for someone who’s loyalty lies elsewhere,” Daenera said, pressing the issue. “And it seems to me that Ser Pyne’s loyalty lies with the man who saved his life, the man who raised him. I cannot use someone who is not loyal to me–someone who may question or disobey my command.”

“The debt he owes me, I bestow upon you,” Fenrick said. 

Daenera arched a brow. 

“My life is yours, Princess,” Finan cut in, the tension between the princess and her sworn shield palpable and suffocating. Her eyes fell on Finan again, searching his face and she measured his response. 

Daenera rose from the settee, her gaze assessing Finan as she walked towards him. He was taller than her as well, though not by much. Up close she noticed the pale scar underneath his eye and the curve in his nose. 

“Has he told you about the position?” She asked, glancing briefly at Fenrick, who looked somewhat exhausted as if he had spent countless nights twisting and turning in bed. 

“He has,” Finan confirmed, looking thoughtful and a bit curious. 

Daenera continued, “I require someone who can think for themselves. Someone who understands the danger of the task, not only to themselves but to me. I am not seeking just another guard, I have plenty of those. I need a spy.” 

She waited, studying Finan’s reaction closely. He remained composed, giving away nothing. “If you do not think yourself capable of that, then take your leave now, and I will give you ten golden dragons for your travels… and your silence.”

“I am far too intrigued to leave now, Princess,” Finan smirked, his eyes meeting hers with determination.

Daenera turned her gaze upon Fenrick, attempting to gauge his reaction. He appeared solid and composed, his shoulders squared and back straight. Despite his betrayal, she knew he wouldn’t have brought Finan here if he didn’t fully trust him. While he might have betrayed her to Daemon and her mother, he would never risk her safety by putting her life in the hands of someone he didn’t trust implicitly.

“You will travel to King’s Landing on horseback. When you arrive, you’ll find a position as a guard in the City Watch. Make friends, allies, and pretend we’ve never met. You will stay there as a spy until I have need of you. And if I don’t, then enjoy your life as a Gold Cloak,” Daenera instructed, her voice steady and composed, yet laced with authority.  

Finan raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t think you’ll have need of me, why position me so?”

“There are spies lurking in every corner of the Red Keep. If I were to pick up a rock and toss it, I’d properly hit three belonging to three separate people,” Daenera remarked. “I have my informants, and my enemies have theirs. They’re well-acquainted with the people close to me. Having someone they don’t know about, someone close to me that I can count on, could prove invaluable should anything happen.”

Daenera’s words hung in the air, underscoring the precariousness of her position at court, and how volatile the political climate may become once the King dies. She glanced at Fenrick and Finan, now both aware of her plans. 

“What is your price?” Daenera questioned. 

Finan’s brows furrowed. “My price?”

“Everyone has a price.” 

“Loyalty cannot be bought,” Finan answered. 

“It can,” Daenera insisted. 

“Then it is not true loyalty.” 

Daenera couldn’t help but smile. 

Fenrick continued, “I suppose you’ll have to trust in my honor. I do not wish for gold; I wish to repay what Fenrick gave me.”

Weighing his response, Daenera’s smile remained, even as she was unsure if she fully trusted his unyielding stance on loyalty. But she decided to trust Fenrick’s judgment of his character. 

“Nevertheless, I will pay you handsomely once my mother ascends the throne,” she assured him. 

“Or you could keep me by your side,” Finan replied with a flirtatious smirk. It was tempting. She supposed she could do worse than having a handsome man at her side, especially with her marriage to Boris Baratheon looming. 

“That may be arranged,” Daenera responded, her tone light and playful. “Depends on your performance.”

Finan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Does that mean you’ll hire me?” 

“Joyce will teach you our code and how to contact us with information,” Daenera said, nodding towards the older woman. “And Fenrick will prepare you for the journey… I need to make it clear that no one can know about this arrangement. Be careful with what you share. I trust that you decide what is and isn’t necessary to maintain your cover.”

Daenera watched Finan intently, her perceptive eyes gauging his reaction to her words. There was both determination and surety upon his face, though she couldn’t blame him for feeling a little apprehensive. The role of a spy was not to be taken lightly. 

She could see in him the potential for greatness, the wit and skill that Fenrick had spoken of, as well as natural charm. She hoped that he would prove a valuable asset. But she also understood the risks involved, both for him and for herself. 

“It is important that you understand your task,” Daenera continued. “And the risks involved.”

“I understand the risks, Princess. I won’t let you down.” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She admired his resolve. “Good.”

Daenera went back to the settee again, sitting down on the soft cushions before continuing, her voice filling with cold resignation. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I am to marry Boris Baratheon.” 

“I have, congratulations,” Finan replied, offering a polite smile in the face of her clear displeasure at the notion of marrying the Baratheon. 

“I want you to get close to his people, make friends with them if you have to,” she said, her eyes locking onto Finan’s with a sense of urgency.

Ever since she had reluctantly agreed to the marriage, Daenera had made it her mission to gather as much information as she could about Boris Baratheon. However, the details she managed to uncover were often muddled by politeness or mere hearsay. They painted a picture of a great warrior, renowned for his bravery and pride. Yet, whispers of his headstrong nature and quick temper also circulated. Most of the accounts she received on Dragonstone were second or third-hand, and she yearned for something more definitive. 

One was not always as one was presented. 

If she were to marry the brute, she’d make sure she knew exactly the kind of man he was. 

Finan nodded in acknowledgement, understanding the gravity of her request. Fenrick, standing nearby, looked visibly relieved, as if he could now rest a little easier at night knowing that someone he trusted was there to keep her safe. 

“I want to swear to me, upon your honor, upon your life,” Daenera continued, her voice ringing out with authority. “Swear to me upon the old gods and the new.”

Without hesitation, Finan dropped to one knee, placing a hand above his heart and bowing his head in reverence. “I swear to you upon the old gods and the new, that I will obey and protect you, that I will honor you and follow you until I draw my last breath or you release me of your service. I give you my life. All this I swear.”

The weight of his oath settled on Daenera’s shoulders like a mantle of power, filling her with a sense of empowerment. Her heart quickened its pace, and her posture straightened with a newfound confidence. She gestured for him to rise. 

“Thank you, Ser Finan Pyke.” 

Finan rose to his feet, his eyes unwavering as they met hers.

“You are dismissed, Ser Fenrick,” Daenera declared, her eyes narrowing slightly as they shifted to Fenrick. The taste of betrayal still lingered in her mouth. 

Fenrick hesitated for a moment, as if reluctant to leave her side. However, he ultimately straightened and gave a curt nod before departing, leaving Daenera alone with her new ally. 

Daenera gestured towards the opposite settee. “You may sit.”

“Princess,” Finan began cautiously after he settled into the seat in front of her. “If I may speak frankly.”

Daenera’s eyebrow arched slightly, showing  a mixture of curiosity and wariness. She picked up the flagon and poured two cups of wine. “That depends on what you have to say.”

Finan wetted his lips, though his demeanor remained untroubled, as if he were chatting with an old acquaintance, his eyes betrayed a flicker of caution. “Do not be too hard on Fenrick.”

With an arched brow, Daenera placed a cup of wine before him, as he continued without hesitation. “All he wishes is to protect you.”

Daenera’s gaze turned sharp and cold, her eyes locking onto Finan’s. “Has he told you what he did?”

“Not in detail, no.”

“Then do not assume to know anything about the situation,” she retorted curtly. “I do not take disobedience and betrayal lightly. Fenrick went against my direct orders, he dared to put my honor in question and made baseless accusations that resulted in me being betrothed to someone I do not care for.”

Joyce, observing the exchange from behind Finan, shared a silent understanding with Daenera. Despite knowing the truth of the matter, Joyce kept her silence, for she understood her place and remained steadfastly loyal to Daenera. While Fenrick’s accusations had a grain of truth, he had been explicitly instructed not to bring it up, yet he had done so nonetheless, bringing his speculations to her parents.

It was not a thing that could be so easily forgiven.  

“He made a mistake,” Finan agreed, seeking to elaborate, but Daenera interjected. 

“It was not a mistake.” Her voice was indignant, unforgiving. “A mistake is making the wrong step during dance. A mistake is dropping a cup and shattering it. What he did was a deliberate act of defiance. It was not a mistake, it was a misstep, one he must now face the consequences to.”

Fenrick’s decision to divulge the information to Daemon had been fueled by his desire to keep Daenera on Dragonstone–away from the dangers of King’s Landing, and more importantly, Aemond–or perhaps even to reprimand her and remind her of her duty.

However, he had underestimated the gravity of the consequences and how much it would cost her. What had he expected? That Daemon would slap her on the wrist? The thought of it, ignited the indignation within her. 

He had disregarded her explicit orders and in doing so, put her more at risk than anyone else. 

“Now, he must suffer my ire,” Daenera said, taking a sip of the wine, trying to wash the sourness on her tongue away. 

Finan nodded, recognizing the gravity of the situation. Nevertheless, he continued, “I will not question your judgment but I beg you to remember his intentions.”

Daenera’s gaze was cold as ice as she looked upon him. “It was never my intention to break Joffrey's toy but I did, and I suffered the consequences of an inconsolable toddler.”

The corner of his lip curled, but it soon fell into seriousness again. “Fenrick may have disobeyed you, Princess, but I am sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, that he only did it out of concern for you. He thinks of you as his own flesh and blood, he would never do anything to intentionally endanger you. I ask not for forgiveness, but perhaps a measure of mercy and understanding.”

Her eyes bore into him with cool measurement, and as she spoke her words came out sharp. “I understand his intention, but it does not negate the fact that he disobeyed me. He should have foreseen the result.”

“Perhaps,” Finan drawled. 

“What is the North like?” Daenera inquired, deftly changing the subject, not wishing to dwell further on the topic of Fenrick, especially with someone who did not understand her anger. 

Finan gracefully picked up on her cue and offered a warm smile. “Cold… but beautiful, especially when everything is blanketed in freshly fallen snow. The forests are so serene, you’d almost think you had gone deaf if it wasn’t for the soft creaking of snow beneath your boots.”

“And Winterfell, was is it like?” Daenera continued her line of questioning, trying to conjure up the image of the stone walls that would belong to the icy castle. “I’ve read about it, but I haven't seen it for myself.”

“Cregan Stark would be honored should you decide to visit,” Finan replied, a hint of slyness playing on his lips. “Winterfell is a true marvel. Tha castle walls offer warmth and comfort, a welcome respite from the chill outside. And the glass gardens are a sight to behold, filled with green.”

“Glass gardens?” Daenera’s curiosity was piqued. 

“Just as the name suggests, Princess,” Finan explained. “Glasshouses where they grow crops. The temperature inside the glass gardens is carefully controlled, allowing the growth of various fruits and vegetables, even during the coldest of winters.”

As the conversation continued, Daenera delved deeper, inquiring about Finan’s relationship with Cregan Stark. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of emotions as he responded, “We were as close as brothers as we grew up together. My mother served as a maid in the castle, and my father, before he died, was one of the castle guards.”

Daenera sensed there was more to Finan’s story, an undercurrent of melancholy or reverence for what he had left behind. Intrigued, she probed further, “If you were like brothers, what prompted you to leave home?”

His smile, tinged with sadness yet unwaveringly sincere, illuminated his face. 

“Fenrick sent for me,” Finan confessed, the fire’s flickering light dancing in the gray steel of his eyes. “He asked me to come to Dragonstone and help keep you safe. It was a chance to repay him for saving my life and a chance for an adventure. I couldn’t resist the allure of such an opportunity.”

“But will you not remain loyal to your brother in arms?” Daenera questioned, her gaze penetrating, searching for any hint of deception. 

“I am loyal,” Finan affirmed. “As a man of the North, I hold honor in high regard. My word is my bond, and now my loyalty lies with you. Lord Stark released me from my oath to him, understanding the debt I owe… And should the need arise, my connection to the North may prove valuable in service to you.”

Daenera took another sip of wine, savoring the taste as she contemplated his words. She didn’t fully trust him, not yet, but there was something straightforward and honorable about the men from the North. They spoke their minds. 

“What made Fenrick leave the North? It seems like he had found a home there,” she inquired, genuinely curious about his past. Despite his long service to her, she knew very little of his life beyond Dragonstone. 

The corners of Finan’s lips curved upward, an amused glint in his gray eyes. 

“The cold didn’t agree with him,” he chuckled. “You see, the Dornish blood in his veins made it a challenge for him to endure the harsh winters.”

Daenera couldn’t help but laugh at the image of Fenrick grappling with the freezing temperatures of the North. Even Joyce, who had seemingly been engrossed in tending to the plants, joined in with a soft chuckle.

“I think he would have stayed if not for a letter that came for him,” Finan continued, his expression turning serious. “He received a summons from Ser Harwin Strong, who implored him to return to be by your side.”

“He just left you?” Daenera asked, incredulous at the thought of Fenrick leaving everything behind for her sake. 

“ He left us for you , Princess.”

Daenera couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip, feeling the sting of grief pierce her heart as Ser Harwin’s name was mentioned. Fenrick had left behind Winterfell–Finan and his mother, forsaking the life he had built there for her sake. 

“He didn’t hesitate,” Finan continued. “He owed a similar debt to Ser Harwin Strong as I did to him. I understood his decision, though my mother had a harder time accepting it. He still provides for her, though.”

Swallowing thickly, Daenera managed to regain her composure. “And now you leave her…”

“My mother understands now,” Finan reassured her gently. “She is happily married, and Fenrick made sure she would be well cared for.”

Daenera managed a small smile, but her moment of levity was shattered by the urgent knocks on the door. Joyce swiftly answered and spoke quietly with the servant who had arrived, his cheeks flushed. 

“Your mother’s water has broken,” the servant announced. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Daenera shot up from the settee, almost stumbling in her haste to grab the unfishied blanket, accidentally pricking her finger on the needle. A single drop of blood soaked into the petal of a blue daisy. She quickly discarded the needle and threat, and hurriedly searched the room for the pouches of herbs she had prepared for her mother. Joyce anticipated her needs and placed the pouches in her arms. 

Before leaving the room, Daenera turned to Joyce with a serious expression. “The blue vial with yellow ribbon around the neck, labeled Valerian Root extract, give that to fenrick. Tell him to take two drops on the tongue before he lays to sleep. And please, do not mention me.”

A subtle smile settled on Joyce’s face and she nodded in understanding. 

With that, Daenera was out of the room and rushing down the hall, forgetting momentarily that Finan still sat on the settee, his spiced wine untouched.

Loud moans resonated down the hall, resonating along the walls and creeping into the stone. Her steps echoed as she briskly walked down the hall, anxiety and anticipation coiling in her stomach, her heart thumping in her chest. 

The doors to her mothers chambers had been left open and she slid into the room, quickly placing the blanket and herbs on a chair to the side. 

Rhaenyra was sitting in what could be considered a nest of blankets and pillows, leaning her arms against the seat of a chair, her pale Valyrian hair cascading down her back. Already, the silk gown was sticking to her skin, the only thing providing a modicum of cover. She looked up as Daenera sank to her knees on a pillow beside her, placing a calming hand on her back as she breathed loudly. 

“It is good that you are here, I don’t think I could do it without you,” Rhaenyra moaned, placing her forehead on her arm as her body seized with another contraction. 

Daenera took a wet cloth and padded her mothers shoulders, waiting for the contraction to pass before dabbing at the pearls of sweat at her temples. “Of course you could.”

“You bring comfort and luck, my love.”

“You give me too much credit.” Daenera looked toward Sheran, the oldest and fattest of the midwives, who had helped Rhaenyra through the birth of all her children. “How far along?”

“Three fingers, princess,” Sheran answered, placing some cloth along the border of the ‘nest’, ready to be used if needed. 

Rhaenyra chuckled through the pain of contractions. “You’d think they’d come quicker by now.”

“That is not always how it works,” Daenera said with a smile on her lips. She ran the palm of her hand in a circle on her mothers back, trying to bring some comfort. 

“It is still better than laying an egg I would imagine,” Rhaenyra teased and all the midwives chuckled, remembering the whole conversation that was had when Joffrey was born. They would never let her live it down.  

“I was a child. I know better now.”

Maellery and Elinda Massey entered the chambers, closing the door after them, bringing two basins of boiled water. They placed them outside of the circle of blankets and pillows. They were both midwives as well, and had been with Rhaenyra since the birth of Daenera. It was comforting to have the same people around her with each birth. And no Maesters. 

“Soon this shall be you, my sweet flower,” Rhaenyra spoke, gripping Daenera’s hand. 

“I must admit,” Daenera said, a pinched look on her face. “I would rather dorn a sword and serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

Rhaenyra laughed, then drew in a deep breath, humming from deep within her chest while another contraction washed over her. Her daughter patted the sweat off her brow and waited patiently for the contraction to pass. “I once said something similar.”

“And yet you are here, having your fifth child,” Daenera chided lovingly. 

“You are worth it, as I’ve told you before,” Rhaenyra reaffirmed, kissing her daughter's hand. “Mine own mother once told me that we have royal wombs and that the childbed is our battlefield.”

“It is a battlefield, I agree. There’s blood, sweat and tears, the only thing it really lacks is the mud.” 

Rhaenyra’s grip on her hand tightened a little. “We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Whenever a woman faces the birth of her child, she must also face death itself. It was always a risk. It loomed in the corners of the rooms, lurked in the shadows, and nibbed at a woman's heels once she felt her first contraction. The risk of life was always death. And some women faced it more than others. 

Daenera knew what had happened to Queen Aemma Arryn. Knew of the complications she had throughout all her pregnancies. Many of the children never got to draw their first breath, some died in the cradle, some lost even before they had fully formed. It was a horror women understood and prayed to never face. 

And then she had died in childbed, cut open in the hopes of saving the son she carried, killed on the consent of the King. Ultimately, the child never got to see its third day and it had all been for nothing. 

The Maesters had been so quick to suggest murdering the Queen. It was what had made Rhaenyra weary of them.

Daenera had inherited the same weariness. 

“I am not planning to have a child any time soon, mother.”

“You are to marry soon, Daenera. Children come after marriage.” 

“To some,” Daenera muttered. Squeezing out giant Baratheon children was a terrifying thought, almost as terrifying as what precedes it. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want children, she did. But she wanted to see her mother on the throne first. And to choose their father. 

One of the conditions had been taken from her. 

“You are too young to be a grandmother,” Daenera noted with a smile. 

Hours went by slowly, filled with moans and groans and huffing breaths, as the contractions washed over Rhaenyra. At times she was up and walking with a firm grip on Daenera’s hand, as they attempted to urge the child to come. Her daughter brought her great comfort. 

“Rhaenyra.” Daemon spoke her name with the warmth of the sun. He slipped into the room, his hair still a little windswept from his flight with Caraxes, eyes quickly finding his wife and stepdaughter, both of which were red cheeked and smiling. He walked over to her and kissed his wifes temple. 

“You smell of dragon,” Rhaenyra noted, taking his hand and letting him lead her back to the circle of blankets and pillows. 

“A scent our child will know rather quickly,” Daemon hummed. 

Daenera helped her mother down to her knees again, glancing at Sheran as the midwife peeked below Rhaenyra’s gown. She nodded to Daenera. 

“It is time to push,” Daenera told her mother, then cast her eyes to Daemon who sat down on a chair beside his wife, as Rhaenyra gripped the seat of the chair she was leaning on at the wrecking sensation of another contraction. “You made it just in time.”

Daemon nodded curtly, taking his wife's hand. At the birth of their first son, he had told her to put all the pain onto him and that he would remain by her side through the birth. He had been afraid then, he was less so now. 

Rhaenyra prepared to push, taking a big gulp of breath before bearing down, groaning loudly. Daenera moved further behind her to better observe the birth, though her hand remained as a comfort on her shoulder. 

“Breathe,” Daenera reminded her, rubbing her back. 

Daenera pretended not to understand when Daemon leaned down to whisper into Rhaenyra’s ear in high Valyrian, giving them some form of privacy. She had to commend Daemon, men so rarely stayed with their wives through birth, and even rarer still was it for them to be a comfort rather than a nuisance. 

Sheran waved Daenera towards her, taking the princesses hand and guiding it up under the gown of her mother. It was wet and bloody and she felt her way towards where the head was crowning. She smiled. “It won't be long now.”

“You can tell how far she is along by how many fingers width you can count,” Sheran told Daenera as if she hadn’t had the lessons before. “The babe is crowning.”

Rhaenyra took in a deep breath through her nose and bit down hard, pushing with all her might as sweat ran down her back, her face burning with pressure, her body feeling as if it were on fire. 

Blood and water squirted as the head of the baby slipped out into the hand of Sheran who guided the baby out on the next push. The child slid from its mother and out into the world, immediately removed from between Rhaenyra’s legs to be looked over and dried off. It cried with loud strong lungs. 

For a moment, Rhaenyra rested her head on her arm, exhaustion wrecking through her body like the tremble of an earthquake. Daemon kissed her head and helped her to turn around and lean against the propped up pillows. 

Daenera quickly picked up the blanket she had made for the child, passing it over to Sheran, who wrapped it loosely around the squealing baby. 

The midwife smiled at the mother. “You’ve a healthy boy, princess.” 

Rhaenyra let out a relieved chuckle, reaching for the child that was carefully placed into her arms. The baby cried a few times more, but by the thumping of its mothers heart, it calmed. “Hello.” 

Daenera watched her mother greet the child with utter joy, then look at Daemon who mirrored her excitement. He kissed her hand, then her temple, looking down at his second son. 

It took a few moments before Rhaenyra noticed the crooked flowers on the blanket and looked back up at her daughter. “You made this?”

“Do not fault me for my poor attempt at needlework, Mother, my skills lie elsewhere,” Daenera quipped. 

“It is fine,” Rhaenyra told her, a grateful and loving smile on her face. “I am sure he will cherish it.” 

“May I ask what you attempted to make?” Daemon asked teasingly. 

“Blue daisies. If you laugh at them, I challenge you to pick up a needle and thread yourself. You may be skilled with a sword, Daemon Targaryen, but I imagine you to be worse at needlework than I.”

Daenera tied off the umbilical cord and cut it, and when the placenta came she was the one to examine it before passing it over to the midwives. She dried off her hands in one of the pieces of cloth scattering the floor, though she might as well have dried them off in her skirts, as the dress was ruined. “Have you chosen a name?”

“Viserys,” Rhaenyra answered, glancing up at Daemon to study his reaction. Daemon only smiled and agreed that it was a fine name for a son. 

Daenera hoped that once it was her turn for the childbed, that her husband were as attentive as Daemon was, or that she in the very least would have comfort in her mothers presence.

I’ll keep the kingWhen you are gone awayInto the darkness and howling, I’ll keep him from drowningAs our boat is untethered from the dockI’ll keep the kingKeep him safe at bayI’ll keep him safe from the dark things that waitIn that house at the top of the rockIn that house at the top of the rock

Rocking the little boy in her arms, Daenera hummed a soft lullaby, her voice a gentle melody that filled the air. She swayed gracefully from side to side, her movements soothing and rhythmic. Aegon, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and love, responded with infectious giggles. His chubby hands clapped together in delight, the plump fingers intertwining before releasing and clapping once more. 

His cheeks, flushed with the rosy hues of youth, were as round and plump as ripe peaches. His eyes, a mirror of their mothers, held a spark of curiosity and wonder as he gazed up at Daenera.

“King,” Aegon cooed in his baby babble, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he blew a raspberry, his pure delight evident. His tiny hand reached out, fingers outstretched, to gently graze against Daenera’s cheek, his touch tender and innocent. 

A soft, affectionate smile curved Daenera’s lips as she looked down at her baby brother. She turned her head slightly and pressed a loving kiss to the palm of his hand, a silent gesture. 

I’ll keep the kingI’ll keep the kingI’ll keep him safe from the dark things that waitIn that house at the top of the rock

The sun had triumphantly returned to the sky after days of overcast, casting a brilliant canvas of blue across the expanse, with only a smattering of fluffy clouds. Despite the renewed radiance, the winds still held their playful dance, coaxing the waves into a spirited frenzy. The ocean surged and roared, the white foam at the crest of each crashing wave a stark contrast  against the stony embrace of the shoreline. Daenera stood by her window, the vantage point offering her a captivating view of the sea.

Her keen eyes followed the Seafarer as it laid for anchor, awaiting her. A longboat was carefully lowered into the water, gliding with grace as it touched the expanse of the sea. 

“King safe!” came a cheerful cry, drawing Daenera’s attention downward and her gaze softened as Aegon grinned up at her. 

“Can you say Daenera?” She prompted.

Aegon’s claps resonated and he excitedly bounced in her arms. His lips pursed as he tried to form her name. “Da-na-na… Dananara… Danara!”

“Dae-ne-ra,” Daenera coaxed, forming her name carefully. 

“Dae-nara!” Aegon enunciated with triumphant determination, his eyes alight with the thrill of his perceived achievement. Complex words still posed a challenge for the three-year-old, especially the full names of his older siblings. Jacaerys, with its intricate syllables, was a challenge on its own. Daenera couldn’t help but wonder about the boy’s growth and what he would achieve while she’d be away in King’s Landing. 

The tendrils of her thoughts briefly entwined with a touch of melancholy. Would Aegon have mastered her name by the time they would see each other again? Would he have begun reading or started training with a wooden sword? Would those bright eyes still hold the spark of recognition when they next met?

“Ship!” Aegon’s voice ran with pure elation, a tiny finger pointing animatedly towards the Seafarer. The longboat strained against the current, valiantly attempting to conquer the distance to the shore where she’d board the ship. 

“Yes,” Daenera crooned and she adjusted her hold on him, lifting him higher on her hip to ensure a secure embrace as he wiggled in her arms excitedly. “This ship will carry me back to King’s Landing.”

Aegon’s eyes widened, innocence sparking within their depths. His voice held a mix of curiosity and concern as he muttered. “You will go?”

Her lips curved into a smile, an expression that sought to ease the worry that flickered across his round face. “Yes, I will, but I will come back.”

Though her words were uttered with an air of certainty, Daenera knew there was more to it. She couldn’t share with him the intricacies of her impending marriage or the political machinations that demanded her presence in the capital, or that she was doing this to keep them all safe. Such matters were far beyond the grasp of a child’s understanding. She watched as his forehead creased into a delicate frown, a silent protest against her departure. 

“Don’t go,” Aegon ordered with a pout, his voice carrying the beginning of a whine. Seeking solace, he nuzzled into the safe harbor of her neck, his small form seeking comfort in her warmth. His hands grabbed onto her clothes tightly, with a vice made of iron.

Daenera gently cradled the back of his head as her fingers brushed through the silky strands of his pale curls. They tickled against the skin of her palm. 

A sigh, soft and wistful, escaped her lips as she held him close, her heart aching in tandem with his protest. “I know, but remember, I will be back soon.”

As her brother’s small fingers clung to the fabric of her gown, Daenera’s gaze drifted beyond the confines of their chambers, to the distant horizon where the ship awaited. The concept of time remained elusive to a child’s mind. Once she was gone from view, she would slowly fade into the distance of his mind. He wouldn’t notice how much time would pass before he’d see her again. 

But she would. She longed for her presence to linger in his memories, for her brothers to know that she loved them and she was doing what she could to protect them. 

“Finally found you!” Luke’s voice was a mix of exasperation and relief as he entered the room, his eyes swiftly scanning the space until they settled on his sister and his younger brother. “Maellery was worried sick that she had lost him.”

Daenera’s gaze shifted from the little face before her to her brother’s, a wry smile curving her lips. 

“Well, she had,” she replied, her tone carrying the note of amusement. “I found this little troublemaker rummaging through my chests.”

Luke let out a soft chuckle as he approached them, his arms outstretched to take Aegon from her. The boy’s laughter chimed in the air as the exchange was made. 

“You’ve caused quite a scare, little sneak,” Luke gently scolded, his tone more playful than stern. “You can’t just run off like that.”

Aegon squirmed in Luke’s grasp, his expressive eyes fixed on Daenera. With a small, determined pout, he reached his arms out, a silent plea to be returned to her arms. Without hesitation, Daenera reclaimed him, offering a reassuring smile as she did so. She knew well the unpredictability of young children’s emotions, and she wanted no tantrums to mar the already emotional day. 

Luke’s gaze remained on her, observant and curious. “Are you ready to leave?”

Daenera turned her eyes towards the window, the sun-drenched beach outside and landing on the longboat as it finally reached shore. “I am.”

“Then let's find Maellery.”

As the trio moved through the castle, they eventually reached Aegon’s chambers were they found Maellery on her hands and knees looking under the bed. Maellery’s face propped up and relief flooded her expression as she rose to her feet, letting out a eased breath. 

Aegon was hesitant to part from his sister’s arms, his small fingers clutching her gown and having to be pried off. 

With a mixture of reassurance and gentle encouragement, Daenera eased Aegon into Maellery’s arms, their eyes locking for just a moment. She leaned down, her lips brushing against Aegon’s curls, and whispered softly, her voice a soothing balm. “Be brave now, little dragon. Be strong and listen to your brothers. And keep Viserys safe, won’t you? He will look up to you.”

Aegon nestled closer to Maellery, his teary eyes reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and determination. “Strong… brave… dragon.”

A loving smile tugged at Daenera’s lips as she straightened, offering a final kiss to Aegon’s forehead before leaving the room. As she and Luke walked through the corridors, she intertwined her arm with his. 

“Are you beginning to feel nervous?” Luke inquired, his eyes flicking towards her. “With the impending nuptials and all.”

“A bit, perhaps,” Daenera admitted and she offered a small smile, her shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. “But I believe it will all turn out well… It’s just… I wish you could all be there.”

Luke’s agreement was swift and fervent, his voice tinged with a touch of frustration. “So do I. It feels wrong not to be present on such an important day… We are your family, we should be there!”

A rueful expression crossed Daenera’s features as she contemplated the situation. “Mayhaps it’s a blessing in disguise. The last thing I need at my wedding is a brawl that’ll end in murder or the loss of an eye.”

Luke feigned a wounded look, dramatically clutching his chest as if struck by an invisible arrow. “Oh, that is cruel, even for you!” 

Daenera’s eyes rolled, but a soft chuckle escaped her lips. “You know as well as I that it would end in chaos should you attend.”

“Hmm…” Luke hummed sourly. “I can be civil.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Daenera answered. “It is the Hightowers I don’t trust.”

Luke made an expression that seemed to agree with what she said. 

They made their way down the grand stone steps, descending into the sprawling courtyard, where a contingent of horses stood poised. The sun cast its benevolent warmth upon the scene, offering a brief respite against the brisk winds that swept through, carrying with them the fluttering echoes of banners and flags that cracked like distant thunder. 

In this lively tableau, Daenera’s eyes sought out the familiar figures of her family. Rhaena and Jace stood in hushed conversation, their voices carried away by the wind. Nearby, Rhaenyra cradled little Viserys, swathed in the snug blanket that Daenera herself had made for him. 

Daemon’s approach brought a subtle shift in the atmosphere, as if the gravity of her impending departure had taken hold. A meaningful look directed at Luke conveyed the unspoken message that they needed a moment of privacy. Luke, understanding the silent communication, cast a fleeting glance at Daenera before joining forces with Jace and Rhaena. 

Amidst the backdrop of the bustling courtyard, Daemon’s voice reaches her, a question laden with a heavy undercurrent. “Have you prepared yourself?”

Daenera’s response was measured and spoken in a dry tone. “I am as ready as I can be.” 

A somber understanding lingered between them, an acknowledgement of the underlying tension that had settled since the announcement of her impending marriage to Boris baratheon. 

“I am well aware of your discontentment,” Daemon admitted, his words only hinting at regret. “You must understand the position you put yourself in.”

Biting her cheek and swallowing dryly, Daenera kept quiet, her eyes burning.

“The decision is not made lightly.”

Daenera held his gaze. “I understand the demands of duty.” 

The reality of her impending marriage to Boris Baratheon and the intricate web of alliances it weaved were not lost on her. She had positioned herself to inherit Dragonstone, if not Storm’s End. 

A wistful sigh escaped her lips as she gazed beyond the courtyard, her thoughts momentarily carried by the wind. “I only wish you could all be there.”

Regrettably, they were unable to attend the wedding. Her mother’s body still bore the echoes of childbirth’s toll, rendering her fragile and in need of respite. Nestled within her arms, Viserys, only a couple of weeks old, was still too young to endure the rigors of travel or potential solitude. And then there was the potential attendees –Daemon, Jace, and Luke– their presence, like sparks near tinder, had the potential to ignite unbridled tensions, even if they bore explicit instructions to be civil. Thus, came the conclusion that them being absent was the best course of action.  

Yet, despite the reasoned assessment, an undercurrent of longing persisted, threading its way through Daenera’s heart. 

Daemon’s expression softened, a fleeting sense of pity dancing in his eyes. 

“I have unwavering faith in your ability to make the best of this,” Daemon assured her, his hand tenderly resting atop her head in a loving pat. “Cleverness courses through your veins, as does the blood of the dragon. Remember this truth. Boris Baratheon, after all, is nothing but a stag.”

A resolute nod conveyed her understanding, the weight of his words settling upon her. 

A kiss upon her temple sealed his encouragement, a seemingly minor gesture that carried profound significance. He trusted her to do what was necessary for their family. 

She turned towards her brothers, enfolding them in embraces of unspoken emotion. Joffrey clung to her, his face buried in her skirts, a plea for her not to depart. It was Luke who gently intervened, coaxing Joffrey and comforting him. 

“The next time we lay eyes upon you, you shall be a married woman,” Jace remarked, his tone carrying a hint of both jest and sentiment.

Sarcasm draped over Daenera’s words like a velvet cloak. “Oh, really? That had somehow escaped my awareness.”

Jace responded with an eye-roll and was pushed aside as Rhaena encircled her in her arms. “I will attend your wedding.”

“Take Baela with you. I will undoubtedly require the presence of both of you,” Daenera said. 

Approaching her mother. In her arms, little Viserys emitted coos of infant delight, his chubby limbs moving in an adorable lack of coordination. One of his hands found its way into his mouth, swiftly becoming adorned with glistening droplets of saliva. Daenera leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his tiny forehead. 

Rhaenyra’s smile held a sad quality, and she lifted her hand to brush hair out of her daughter's face to get a proper look at her.  “You do not need to do this, my sweet girl.”

Daenera met her mother’s gaze, resolute but touched by a flicker of vulnerability.

“You know that I must, Mother.”

A nod of understanding from Rhaenyra, her eyes brimming with unspoken sentiments. “I wish I could stand beside you on your wedding day.”

“Fear not, Mother. Weddings are all the same,” Daenera reassured her. 

“They are not all the same,” Rhaenyra interjected, her brows inching up as she cupped Daenera’s cheek. “You are my daughter.”

Daenera gripped her mothers hand and placed a kiss on it. “We shall celebrate then, once I return to Dragonstone.”

Amidst their conversation, Viserys made a soft sound from the cozy folds of his blanket cocoon, his tiny fingers grasping at an ethereal prize as if he held a secret of the universe within his grasp. A thread from the blue daisy soon became the focus of his exploration, finding its way into his mouth. Daenera’s tender intervention salvaged the soggy thread, a loving smile exchanged between sister and mother. 

“We are ready, Princess,” Fenrick urged from atop his horse. 

The gravity of the impending separation lingered like a shadow. “Don’t let them forget me. Tell them that I love them very much, and that I will always keep them safe.”

Tears shined in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her voice quivering as she extended her arm, a silent invitation for her daughter to draw near. In the embrace that followed, Daenera found solace, her senses awash with the familiar scent of her mother – a delicate intermingling of lavender and the faintest traces of smokiness. Rhaenyra pressed a tender kiss to her daughter's forehead before releasing her.

** Blue Daisy; Long-term trust and loyalty

The song Daenera sings to Aegon is 'King' from The Amazing Devil. I thought it had great symbolism and that it might foreshadow what is to come/what im starting to plan for.

[voidsdamned]

Wicked Natures - The Ghoul/OC (Female Character) Chapter Six

Summary: Bounty hunters are frequent customers at Mulholland's Saloon, and Rue's taken quite a shine to one gunslinger in particular: a cantankerous, old Ghoul in a tattered duster. Witness her unabashedly lust after him in all his irradiated glory (as we are all currently doing), as well as navigate the precarious relationship she unfortunately has with local law enforcement.

Minors, do not interact.

Content Warnings: more plot driven. Blood. Swearing. Unwanted affection. Brief self-harm.

Enjoy.

Chapter Six: Little Bird

Rue can’t do anything fancy with a needle and thread –she knows just enough to make do– but she tries her damndest to make Artie’s clothes as close to perfect as she can get them. Especially after holding onto them long as she has. She meant to return them days ago, but she’s been a bit off her typical schedule given how busy Mulholland’s has been (and a late-night visitor that has her sleeping in).

She has tears stitched together and holes patched, but putting new buttons on is slowing her down. Rue can’t get them to line up like she wants them, and they keep shifting position once she starts looping thread through the tiny, button holes. She keeps having to start all over, and fuck, she can’t count how many times she’s stuck her fingers.

Rue, frustrated, has to put the sewing down for a moment –just a moment. Just to get in a few bites of breakfast and refocus. She spoons a bite of sweetened rice porridge into her mouth (a rare treat, only possible due to the bottle of milk Mrs. Ira Jean brought to her early in the morning and Rue had to find a way to use immediately), and then another. A few more. She sets down her spoon, pulls in a deep, determined breath, and-.

Three raps against the front door sound, patient and evenly spaced. Rue’s breath comes hissing out of her, and her mood plummets to the center of the earth. Not many people come to visit her in the light of day, and that painfully short list already has Mrs. Ira Jean marked off it. And with the rancher’s visit, the second since Deck’s departure, Rue knows exactly who’s behind the door.

She can’t keep him waiting, can’t wiggle out a window and hightail it into the horizon. She takes several breaths, pats her face, and pushes at the corners of her mouth until she’s smiling. As prepared as she can possibly be, and already wanting to chew glass, Rue goes to the door and opens it wide to find the monster of a man standing there.

Deck Craven must have stopped by home before popping in to see her, because there’s no way he just got back from travelling looking as pristine and polished as he does. Clothes spotless. Hair and beard tidy, smelling of the cactus soap sold over at Shade and Sundries. It’s like the Wasteland hasn’t so much as touched him.

Maybe if she didn’t hate him, she’d be flattered by the effort he puts in.

But she acts it, acts excited and bright as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “Deck! It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” She waves him in. “Ya just get in? Everything go okay?”

Though Deck always waits to be invited in, he breezes through the door like he owns the place (which he technically does), smiling and confident. An arm reaches out, drawing Rue in for a careful side hug. His touches are always so careful, barest and skimming. There and gone –which she should be thankful for. He could be one of those people who don’t know how to let go, but this is somehow worse. Like he thinks she’s made of glass and he has to be gentle. Like he cares.

“It’s so good to see you smilin’, little bird.” His mouth just barely touches her hair. He squeezes her shoulder softly before pulling away. “It’s like a bout of rain after days of cookin’ in the desert.” He sighs, smiling so fondly at her. “Got in around dawn, and it was a good trip. Just settlin’ some business. …You just gettin’ ‘round to breakfast?”

Rue bobs her head. “Ya know I keep some weird hours. …Can I fix ya a bowl? It’s nothin’ fancy. Just some rice porridge.”

“I’d love some.”

Deck makes himself at home, settling at the kitchen table; Rue fixes him a bowl, as well as a cup of coffee when he asks if she has any. He takes his black, which is good, because that’s the only way he was going to get it. She used up all the milk and sugar on herself.

Rue unwillingly sits down to breakfast, chattering away about nothing in particular –mostly about Mulholland’s and the little calf Mrs. Ira Jean had tailing her into town today. The Henderson's decided they wanted one to go in their backyard farm, and Rue’s quite jealous. She sometimes misses tending to brahmin. They have such pretty eyelashes, and bottle feeding the struggling calves was her favourite thing to do. She sometimes thinks about buying one off Mrs. Ira Jean just to have one to take care of again, but she couldn’t dare do that without a proper fence and with whatever creature lives under the house.

Deck pauses midbite. “It still there?”

Rue nods. “It left half a chicken for me to find. Thoughtful of it, I guess? Maybe it’s tryin’ to share.”

Deck seems a little frustrated as he finishes the bite, mouth twitching at the corner. Brows furrowing. “Thought for sure it was that coyote we bagged last month…. I’ll have Lucky set a few traps under the house while your off to work, alright?”

“Sweet of you.” She slaps a grateful smile to her lips and sets her empty bowl aside, reclaiming her sewing. “And him. I know it ain’t fun crawlin’ under there. I always get cobwebs in my hair.”

The sheriff sighs, a note of exasperation to his gently chiding tone. “I told ya not to go crawlin’ under there yourself, little bird.”

“I only do it sometimes….” Rue hisses, accidentally stabbing her finger with the needle. She sticks it in her mouth.

“Whatcha workin’ on there?” Exasperation has been replaced by curiosity. “Don’t look like nothin’ of yours.”

“They’re not –it’s Artie’s. It was… last week? I found him beat up and torn up in a dumpster by Shade and Sundries.” Rue shakes her head, still mad at what happened to him. “They broke his nose, Deck. He doesn’t bother no one, and someone goes and breaks his nose.”

She doesn’t look up from her sewing, but she can hear the frown to his voice when Deck asks, “He know who?”

Another shake of the head. “He didn’t recognize ‘em, so I’m bettin’ on caravaners or some other out-of-towner.”

“I hate to hear that,” and there is a genuine note of upset to Deck’s voice, but Rue doesn’t know that it’s for Artie’s sake or just that someone disrupted the peace in his town. He tells her which when he says, “Everyone’s supposed to be nice and safe here. Made that my mission when I came to town.”

“Think ya done a good job of that,” Rue placates, some earnestness to what she says. Since Deck came to town, things have been better for everyone overall (even for her, but that was before she learned he ruined her life). She can count the number of serious accidents having occurred over the past seven years on one hand when it used to be that something stupid happened every day. “Actually pretty impressive considerin’ the way of things. Got a lot of people who come through Mulholland’s tellin’ me we got it good here.”

The smile he wears tints his voice. “That’s kind of you to say, Rue.”

She flashes him a brighter one of her own, but then her attention refixes on the button she works with. She nearly has it. It’s perfect, lining up just how she wants it. She just has to pull the thread a bit tighter, and… done! The button is secure. Straight. Magnificent. A flash of warm pride goes through her, and a soft, “Yes!” passes through her lips.

The sheriff chuckles. “Really is sweet of you to be workin’ on those for him.”

Rue simply says, “When a friend needs help, ya help ‘em.”

“You end up takin’ him to Doc Nguyen?”

A shake of the head. “It was so late, I just fixed him up as best I could before sendin’ him on his way.”  

A moment of silence passes. The strangeness of it doesn’t strike Rue until she hears the sheriff click his tongue and his boots solidly tap against the floor. The sound draws Rue’s gaze up. Deck’s face is tight. Unhappy. “You brought him here?”

Too late, Rue realizes she’s made a terrible mistake. Everything within her shrivels. Stops working. But she can’t let that show. Everything has to be lovely and fine, and she has to be simple and smiling. She tries to minimize the damage done with a small lie, “Yeah, I doctored him on the front porch,” because surely that’s not as bad as, “I brought him into the house and let him sleep in my bed.” 

Deck sighs, a tired sound. The tightness to his jaw loosens into something soft and pitying –like he’s looking at a naïve child who doesn’t know any better. And shit, she knows that’s better than his jaw feathering with rage, but it makes her want to rage.

“You’re too sweet, Rue.” He leans forward in his chair, reaching across the table to make her set down her sewing as he captures her hands, and then he talks down to her, slow and even, “I know Artie seems harmless, but he’s a man same as any. I don’t want ya gettin’ taken advantage of or worse. You shoulda woke Doc Nguyen up or gotten Lucky.”

Rue wants to bite the hands that touch her, punch him square in the nose for what he implies about Artie, but she keeps herself in check. She can’t get worked up. She can’t show him how much she cares. “I’m sorry, Deck. I didn’t think ‘bout nothin’ like that. Only gettin’ him fixed up. It was so sad seein’ him like that.”  

Another drawn, tired sigh. The sheriff rubs small circles into Rue’s hands. “I know ya don’t, little bird.” He sighs again, shaking his head. “Night Yuri died, I promised myself and him that I’d take care of you –‘cause Lord knows ya need someone keepin’ eyes on ya. This is exactly why.”

It’s as if ice-water has been dumped on Rue, chilling her down to her very marrow. Wickedness and rage claw at her, bubbling and broiling until she can taste the acid of them at the back of her throat. He doesn’t deserve to speak her Pa’s name, act like he’s trying to do right by her and him. He fucking killed him.

Rue buries everything, crushing her feelings and self in her fist like paper. She goes timid and apologetic, dying inside. “I’m sorry, Deck,” her voice wavers. “I didn’t mean to upset ya.”

“You didn’t upset me, little bird,” he hurries to assure, squeezing her hands. “I just worry is all. A lil’ gal like you in a world like this….” He exhales slowly. His hands mercifully release hers. “Just gotta keep better eyes on things, so ya don’t end up in such situations…. You ‘bout done with Artie’s clothes? I can drop ‘em off for ya. I’m gonna follow up with him, see if we can’t figure out who hurt him.”

God-fucking-damnit.

They won’t talk just about the attack. Deck will press Artie about the after, and the sweet man doesn’t know he needs to lie his ass off. He doesn’t know everything’s gone wrong, and that whatever he says might just get him killed and make her look like a liar. And she can be a liar. That’s fine. Whatever Deck does to her, she can handle (and she has a good idea as to what that might be, and that it’s going to really, fucking suck). She’s not scared of him –not for herself. It’s for everyone else.

Rue doesn’t know what to do other than fix a small, timid smile to her lips. “Not quite. Got a few more buttons to go, and with the way I’m goin’… maybe tomorrow I will be?”

“That’s just fine, little bird. No rush on it.” Deck grins, sweet and fond, and goes back to his breakfast. “Anything else interestin’ happen while I was out?”

“Oh, yeah. All the things.” Rue seizes the change in topic, ready to pull all manners of nonsense out of her ass to distract the man. To make him forget.

But ultimately, she knows he won’t.

The night is brutal. Not only because Mulholland’s is still experiencing a hectic flow of custom, but also because Rue’s brain is on fire. She can think of nothing other than Artie and Deck and what could be happening between the two –what already might have taken place. Artie could be dead. Artie could be dying. Artie could be terrified and not understanding why what’s happening to him is happening.

And it will all be Rue’s fault.

By the time she gets to leave the saloon, Rue is a pent-up ball of stress that stands shaking in the middle of the street, eyes on the stars. She wants to run to Artie’s to check on him. To warn him if she can –if it’s not too late. Another part of her says she’d be further dooming him if she went to see him now, and that same part of her brain doesn’t want to see the aftermath if doom has already come for the poor soul.

He deserves a warning if he’s still alive to give a warning to.

Rue takes several, quick breaths, eyes picking all around her. She doesn’t spy another soul in the streets. Everything is quiet and dark. She can be quick.

She darts down a sidestreet, keeping low and to shadows as she makes her way to Artie’s schoolhouse. A massive weight falls off her shoulders when she rounds a corner to find it still standing. No flames erupt from the windows. The door isn’t kicked in. But she can’t tell if anything might be going on, on the inside. All the holes and windows are patched with wooden boards or tarps to keep the Wastes and wildlife out.

Rue knows better than to approach from the front. She moves through dark and gloom, coming around to the back of the schoolhouse where a wide segment of blown-out wall is patched by a tarp. Rue tugs and tugs at it, ripping it loose until there’s a hole just big enough for her to squirm through.

Whatever room she enters is pitch black. She crawls around blindly on her hands and knees, eyes squinting through the blackness and eventually catching on a sliver of yellowish glow cutting across the floor. She heads towards it, finding a closed door. She presses her ear to the weathered wood, listening hard.

At first, she thinks she hears voices –two people having a conversation. Her heart stops, then starts up again when a faint melody tickles at her ears. She’s hearing music. Singing voices. Summer Wine.

Rue looses the breath she holds and ever-so carefully opens the door, finding herself at the tail end of a long hallway of closed doors. The glow that guided her comes from ahead, and she crawls towards it, eventually coming to a wide space filled with all manners of knick-knacks, in-progress art pieces, and what looks to be a sleeping Artie, conked out on a thin mattress at the far side of the room.

Rue crawls to him, eyes scanning him for injury, and all the knots in her come undone when she sees he looks whole and unharmed –or mostly. He still has a bit of bruising left over from the attack he suffered, but otherwise, he’s fine. Breathing slow and deep, and just fine.

Rue’s grinning like an idiot as she comes to crouch beside Artie. She clamps a hand over his mouth to keep in a scream in case he has one in him, and then she starts shaking him and saying his name.

He doesn’t come awake with a scream, thankfully, but sleepily and slowly. Blinking and blinking until he’s staring at her in hooded-eyed, tired confusion. Her hand slips off his mouth, and he mumbles out a groggy, “Rue?”

“Got a minute for me, Artie?”

He nods and rubs at his eyes, stifling a yawn with his palm. “It Dust Devils?”

She shakes her head. “Not quite. It’s… it’s 'bout Deck. Has he come to see you yet?”

Artie nods in the affirmative. “Right after he dropped ya off at Mulholland’s, I reckon.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me ‘bout the other night.” The sleepy man pushes himself upright and rubs at his neck and shoulders. “Told him I couldn’t ‘member much at all….” A frown suddenly takes his mouth. “Can I tell ya a secret, Rue?”

“Of course, Artie.”

“I don’t much like Deck. He’s weird ‘bout you. Gets this… this off look ‘bout him whenever ya come up.” His nose crinkles. “Started askin’ ‘bout ya helpin’ me. I got a bad feelin’ in my stomach and told him I couldn’t 'member much aside from you leanin’ me against the door and dabbin’ blood off my face. I went home soon as I felt I could stand.”

Rue breathes an enormous sigh of relief, a short, slightly-unhinged laugh bubbling out of her throat. “Thank fuck. …Ya did good, Artie.”

Artie grins smally. “You don’t like him either, do ya?” 

Rue shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“I know everyone else in town likes him,” Artie grumbles, a yawn half-muffling his words. “Always talkin’ ‘bout how trouble don’t much find us no more, but….” He shakes his head. “I dunno. I feel like trouble started when he came on in.”

“I think you’re right ‘bout that.” Rue smiles softly, sadly. She sits back on her heels. “And the… the trouble with this ain’t over. You’re right ‘bout him bein’ weird ‘bout me. Artie, he….” She doesn’t want to tell him he’s likely got a target on his back, but he does. He needs to know. He needs to leave. Rue won’t feel better until he’s out of Dust. “Artie, he just might try to kill ya. We need to getcha outta town.”

The old man goes stock-still, eyes gone wide. “I can’t do that.”

“Ya need to. I need ya to. I know it’s probably the hardest thing to do to leave. Fuck, I feel terrible –like I’ve chased ya from your home, but I-.”  

Artie thaws, his head shakes furiously. “Places are real temporary,” he tells her. “I never like bein’ in ‘em too long ‘cause ya never know when they’re gonna stop bein’ what they are. Only reason I stayed in Dust so long is on account of Yuri. So leavin’s fine –actually been wantin’ to leave. Too many Dust Devils. …But I don’t think Yuri would want me leavin’ ya here alone.”

Rue blinks, beyond surprised to hear that. She knows he and her Pa served together, but she didn’t know they were close enough for loyalty such as that. Or that she was important enough to keep sticking around for even with Yuri gone.

She blinks again, a bittersweet realization blooming in her chest. He’s here for her. He’s been looking out for her. She thought she was looking out for him, but this entire time, he’s been here for her. Rue didn’t think she had that anymore. She thought all those kinds of relationships –real, genuine, caring ones– had burned up when Pa and Bram did. Sure, most people are kindly towards her, but it's always felt as it it was from a distance. Superficial. They'll check in with her, chat a bit, but they never invite her to do things. Never try to spend time with her. Which is a blessing considering how Deck is, but....

It fucking guts her. It really does. She’s doomed something real, something she didn’t realize she had around her. Something she knows she can't have around her.

Rue wants to scream.

But she smiles. She smiles her most assuring smile, squeezes Artie’s weathered hand, and tells him, “Artie, Pa would want ya safe. And I appreciate you stickin’ ‘round so long for us, but I’m gonna be just fine. I want ya to be just fine, too.”

He doesn’t look so certain. “But Deck-.”

“I’m only worried ‘bout Deck ‘cause I’m worryin’ ‘bout you.”

Artie is silent for a long, long moment. Eyes going from picking around like crazy to him squeezing them shut as hard as he can. He pops one open to look at her, and his voice is heartbreakingly gruff as he asks her, “Why don’t… why don’t we leave together? Then neither of us gotta worry about Deck or the other.”

The sweet man really is just digging his fingers into the raw, weeping wound of her.

Rue shakes her head. “He’ll chase me, and we… we both know he can catch me with the resources he’s got. It’s better for me to stay here and for you to move on out. And if you’re worried about him hurtin’ me. He won’t. He likes me too much. That’s the whole problem.”

Silence hangs heavy again. Artie looks upset. That one eye glancing her way is glossy and tugging at her heartstrings.

Rue’s smile hurts her cheeks with how bright she makes it. “But guess what? One day, I will leave, and I’m gonna come find ya wherever it is you’ve wandered to. Now’s just not the time.”

Artie Merlowe puts on his toughest mask, but his voice is still so rough and deep. “You promise?”

She offers Artie her pinky. “Absolutely.”

Rue can’t linger for much longer, not without arising suspicion, so she’s quick about doing what she needs to do at Artie’s place. She has him not-quite destroying his home but leaving it in a disarray –like someone came in and started to look for anything valuable but gave up relatively quickly when they figured out there was nothing to be found. Looting wasn’t really their plan after all; no, it was revenge. To finish something they’d started.

Which is what Rue works on with a quick, superficial stroke of her pocketknife along her upper, left arm. With the blood that lets, she stains Artie’s mattress. Not too much. She doesn’t want to get loopy from blood loss when she still has shit to do, but it does need to be a little messy. When she’s finished with the mattress, she leaves a handprint on the floor and close by wall, smearing her hand to make the prints look larger. She flicks her fingers to make smaller splatters.

“When ya go to leave, leave the door wide-ass open,” she instructs of the man, who watches her wide-eyed and shaking as she rips off her sleeve to tie around the self-inflicted wound.

“Ya didn’t need t-.”

“I did,” she interrupts, pulling the makeshift bandage tight. “Wait for me out by Fog Pond.” She pats the man’s shoulder warmly as she breezes pass him, darting down the hallway she crawled through, through the hole she’d made in the tarp wall.

Rue books it home quick as she can but slows her pace once she knows she’s in the house on the hill’s line of sight. She goes about it leisurely, fishing her key out of her bag, and once she’s through the door, she does what she always does. The oil lamp on the kitchen table is lit. She strips out of her ruined shirt, spends a few minutes in the bathroom doctoring herself, changes, snuffs the lantern, and then tosses herself in bed. She stays like this for thirty minutes before creeping out the front door with a tied-up bundle of caps and the clothes she never got to finish mending in hand, taking a moment to peek around the back of the house –to where she can see Deck’s place in the distance. There’s a single light on in an upstairs window, but the house is otherwise dark. It looks still. Dead for the night.

That will have to be good enough. Rue makes herself tiny as she can and takes off into the dark. Fog Pond is close by. She can be there in ten minutes.

It feels like it takes two hours with all her sneaking and ducking for cover, but eventually, the small, clouded body of water is within her line of sight. So is the thin frame of Artie, a ragged duffle slung over his shoulder. She runs up to him, immediately opening and shoving what she brought along into the bag.

“Move quick, Artie,” she urges, zipping the duffle closed. “Don’t ever send me word of where ya might be –don’t send me nothin’. If ya tell me which way you’re thinkin’ of goin’, I can do the rest.”

He bobs his head. “Goin’ East, through Arizona. Dunno where after that.”

“Perfect.” She smiles, genuine and relieved. This feels good. She feels like she can pull this off –they’re going to pull this off and be fine. She gives the old man a quick hug. “Take care of yourself, alright? …And thank ya for lookin’ out for me all this time. You’re a good man, Artie.”

He squeezes her back. “Yuri did a damn fine job with you.”

A tightening heart. A final squeeze. Rue pulls away, knowing she can’t linger, and neither can Artie.

She runs back to her cage, never once looking over her shoulder.

[saragargan]

I’ll Be Frankenstein, You Be the Monster - 2

masterlist

You have to help him back to your embalming room. It feels wrong, letting someone not part of the craft back here. It was a pretty strict rule that the embalming room was a sacred place. You guide Michael to one of the embalming tables, and have to help him up and to get straightened out. Then you go to the sink, and wash your hands, before pulling on a new pair of gloves and the smock back over your head. You give it a quick wipe down with some disinfectant spray, and then turn back to Michael.

He watches as you approach, but you can’t read his expression. You flick on a bright light -similar to the ones used in dentist offices- and adjust it to the angle you need. Leaning over the table, you inspect the wound more closely. It looks to you like something had blunt forced its way inside him, and pulled out his organs as it exited. And were those….wires? Imbedded inside of him? You suppress the urge to shudder, and your eyes trace his torn flesh.

The wound is jagged. Grotesque tears in his skin that make you squirm, trying not to think about what it must feel like. You’d seen much worse of course, but those bodies were dead.

Michael was alive.

Or at least, he was kind of alive.

You really weren’t sure.

You cross the room and retrieve a sanitized set of tools, then carefully lay them out on the paper-covered bedside table.

“Alright. I’m going to clean these up a little before I start sewing you up. But…”

You trail off, unsure what to say exactly. You could see that his remaining organs were functioning normally, but if you were to stitch him up like this he would still look empty. You chew your lip thoughtfully.

“Mike, what’s your blood type?”

He tells you, and you check the file of the body you’d been working on.

They’re compatible.

A little puff of air comes out of your mouth, and you laugh a little. Turning back to Michael, you know you must have the air of someone about to say something utterly insane.

“This man, Nathan Russell, he has, or had, the same blood type as you. Theoretically, I could transfer his organs to you, so you won’t look like a deflated balloon when I stitch you back up.”

Michael has a look of shock for a moment, before a bubble of laughter escapes him. Then he winces, groaning as he holds his side, carefully avoiding the wound.

“I’m serious, if you aren’t opposed. They’ve been on ice this whole time, they should work fine. In theory.”

“This sounds illegal.”

“It’s…highly illegal…yes.” Michael simply gazes at you, and you give him a look of defiance. “But I’ve never been one to care much about the law. And considering the situation, I’m not about to start now.”

“Then I guess….go for it.”

You prepare your suture needle and thread, then select an organ. Placing it in the general vicinity of where it would be, you ready your needle, but before you can do anything, wispy white fluid seeps out of his flesh.

You shriek, jerking back your head from where you’d leaned in close for a better view. You watch in disbelief as the fluid connects with the organ, pulling it to the inner wall of his abdomen and regrowing the connecting tissue right before your eyes.

Your mouth hangs open, in horror or amazement you hadn’t quite decided.

“What? What happened?” Michel asks, concerned.

“I….it just. This stuff just came out of you and. It reattached the organ. It healed you.”

“That’s probably because of the Remnant.” He puts emphasis on the last two words, as if they meant something other than their dictionary definition.

“...What?”

“I told you I’d tell you everything, keep going. I’ll talk.”

So you do. You carefully place organs inside of Michael’s body and watch as they magically adhere right back where they belong. As you work, Michael tells you about his past.

He tells you about how he caused the death of his little brother, how his sister also passed a few years later. He tells you about the years after, his father's absence, his obsession with the restaurant he'd founded, and the disappearances you’d heard about in passing, but never paid much attention to. And finally his move here, following his father's instruction to investigate Circus Baby’s Pizza World, and ultimately, the fate that brought him here, laying on an embalming table and split open like a high school dissection project.

He tells you about his father’s theory, about what was left behind after death. Being a mortician, you tended not to feed into any ‘life after death’ nonsense or ghost stories. But the way Michael explained it made it sound plausible, bordering on scientific. And after all, hadn’t you just watched his body put itself back together with little to no help from you? it ‘s all completely insane, and yet…it makes sense.

By now, you’ve finished with the organs, and have since moved on to the wound itself. Unfortunately, the external wounds did not offer up the same cooperation as the internal ones, so you start with the smaller, more jagged tears before moving on the largest, down the middle. It takes you a while to find your voice, carefully suturing Michael’s skin back together. Eventually, you’ve collected your thoughts enough to speak.

“So...you’re like… a ghost…possessing your own corpse?” You don’t fully comprehend what he’s saying, and the idea disturbs you.

Michael looks at you, but sees past you. He seems to be deep in thought.

“No.”

He reaches for you, frantically taking your hand in his and pressing it to his chest. You could feel the heart beating steadily under your palm.

“I’m still me. I’m still…alive.” He whispers. “I’m still alive.” He says more firmly, seeming to reassure himself more than you.

His eyes -once blue, now a dull gray- flick up to yours, pleading with you to believe him.

You were overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him.

Instead you turn your attention back to the gaping wound in his abdomen, and continue to stitch him back together. Michael sighs - you try not to stare at the sight of his lungs inflating - and closes his eyes. His skin is cold against your hands, not unlike the bodies you normally stitched up. You wonder if he can feel them.

It doesn’t take very long for you to finish, you were good at your job after all. You snip the thread, taking in your work. It’s not your best, but you felt you’d done the best you could with what you had to work with. What stands out to you though, is the dried blood that's caked around his abdomen and chest. You leave the table, a minute later coming back with a bowl of hot water and a cloth, and begin to clean off the dried blood. It takes a bit of scrubbing, and when you finish, your hands are stained, the water a dark orange color.

Your gaze finds its way back to Michael’s face. His eyes are still closed, and he’s so still that for a moment you think he may have died for real.

“Mike…?” His eyes flash open, and relief washes over you. You didn’t want to think about how you were going to explain this situation if he were to die right here, body full of stolen organs.

“I’m done.”

He tries to sit up, but groans and falls back against the table.

You offer him your hand, which he holds like a lifeline, and help him into a sitting position. There’s a visible sheen of sweat across his face, as if the simple act of sitting up seems to have exhausted him. You manage to get him to his feet, where he sways unsteadily. You pull his arm around your shoulder, supporting him with your body, and guide him out of the home to your car. You let him fall into the passenger seat.

“I need to clean up inside, are you okay to stay here?”

He nods sleepily, relaxing into the plush seat.

Returning to the morgue, the first thing you do is push the cadaver back into the freezer. You’d have to figure out something to dispose of tomorrow night when you embalmed it, now that you’d transferred a good deal of Nathan Russell’s organs to Michael. Perhaps a trip to the next town over’s butcher shop? You weren’t sure. The entire night had taken a turn you never would’ve imagined possible.

Once your tools have been properly sanitized and put away, you also clean off the metal embalming table. The last thing you did before locking up for the night was “accidentally” corrupt the video footage from the security cameras.

Stepping out into the chilly night air, it was nearing 5am. Inside the car, Michael was asleep in the passenger seat. He didn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but was snoring softly.

You turn over the engine, and drive home.

[editoress]

Now normally I'd give an OriRanna interaction idea, and I always welcome those, but I also wanna be different and hear what you think an interaction between Char and Ledo would be like? Maybe these two chilling after a job early on when they're still trying to get familiar with each other pre-campaign? Or perhaps the party has split while searching for something and they have to work together?

At the risk of being wrong, it's like—

*

Char wasn’t exactly the bark-chewing, misanthropic image of a ranger, but she had to admit that the lone wolf act had its temptations. For one thing, her disguise, which had held up to years of passing glances and brief meetings, was far harder to maintain under constant scrutiny. Harder, and less comfortable. Her tail cramped and her soles itched. But unless Char got her own room at an inn, her teammates were always nearby.

For another, traveling with a group, the mending really piled up.

A couple of weeks ago, Char had made the mistake of demonstrating her ability to sew. Now she sat on a rock with her elbows resting on her knees, darning a few alarming tears in Cook’s favorite shirt. Their target had been quick and free with a knife, but not, in the end, very good with it. Cook still radiated an indignant air as she made dinner across the camp.

At least Char wasn’t the only one who had been volunteered. Ledo seemed handy with basically any tool she was given, so she was checking the rivets and buckles on several pieces of Char’s and Lehala’s leather armor. 

“This is really tarnished,” Ledo noted.

Char looked up to see Ledo frowning over her slim pauldron. Ledo didn’t say it to insult; she said it like a crafter, apologetic, concerned over details. “Mhmm,” Char said, then took the needle out of her mouth. “Don’t want it to shine.”

Ledo gave her a knowing smile. “I see. I won’t polish it then.”

“Yeah, that’d ruin the surprise.” Char tugged on the thread, checking the way it pulled the torn linen together. Satisfied, she went back to stitching. “You can do Lehala’s, though. That’ll be the last thing somebody notices.”

Ledo chuckled, and a comfortable silence returned. Char belatedly remembered to angle her work toward the firelight she didn’t need to see by. There was a pause in the quiet clinking and scuffing of Ledo’s work, and Char looked up to find the tiefling watching her. “I thought Celeste snagged her skirt on something, too?” Ledo said idly.

Char pulled a face. “I think she’s waiting to see how neat my stitches are.” She snorted. “Kind of tempting to do it shitty so she won’t ask me to fix hers. But…” She shrugged. Cook was alright, and there was no need to ruin her shirt.

“She’s certainly the type to want it to look nice,” Ledo agreed. “But if she’s fussy, I can mend it good as new.” She snapped her mechanical fingers.

“Then what am I doing with a needle and thread?” Char complained without particular rancor. After all, Ledo was touching up her armor.

“Well, I can’t add those lovely seamstress touches,” Ledo teased, indicating the half-repaired shirt in Char’s hands. “Do you embroider, too?”

“Are you kidding?” Char deadpanned. “When would I have the time?”

Ledo laughed and shook her head. She was watchful and calculating, but for better or worse, she was friendly, too. It was easy enough to pass the time until Cook called everyone over for dinner. It was good enough company, at the end of the day, that Char spent another night without any particular desire to run off into the woods and live off the land.

[hqmillioncorn]

The Rabbit has landed.

After a busy....morning??? Pupusa finally had the chance to sit down. It felt like she had been on the move ever since she got here. Life itself wouldn't let her rest long however, because just as she sat down Babycorn decided to sit down right next to her. "Hi Pupu!!" Babycorn waved at her. As she stuffed half a sandwich in her face. Cherrypit was eating the other half. "I got something for you!" She stood up and from behind her back took out a bright yellow shirt. Pupusa was nearly speechless. "Did...Did you make this?" Babycorn shook her head. "Nope! Not me! It was Cherry!" Cherrypit waved around a small sewing needle. Ah. Yeah that made more sense.

Lalapril 4/23 Rise

pupusa takes a trip to go help some of babycorns friends :) yipppeeeeee

Pupusa took a breath and flicked the last drops of water from her hands. She took a step back and put her hands on her hips. The dishes had finally been cleaned, the fruit washed, cake decorated and her hair was brushed.

Her job here was done and now it was finally time for her to kick back and relax. 

She didn’t really have any plans besides sit around and people watch outside her house but she would probably find something to do. Pupusa always did. “I think Tortata is supposed to be back soon…”

Her sister had gone out to do some shopping and Pupusa had asked her to bring something sweet back for her. For now Pupusa figured she could wait outside for her sister to get home. 

That was until there was a frantic knock on her door. It was loud and it wasn’t stopping. “ For the love of-Hold your chocobos! I’m coming!” Pupusa dried her hands and headed towards the front door. No one else but her was awake so it was up to her to answer. “I swear if it’s another scam artist trying to sell me something…” 

Pupusa opened the door with a scowl on her face. It was neither a scam artist or her sister but instead a third thing that she never even considered. The Warrior of Light. Looking a little more nervous than usual. 

“Hi Pupusa!” 

“Hi Babycorn.” Pupusa dryly responded back. She looked down, Cherrypit was staring at her with his huge scary eyes. They had only been formally introduced just a few weeks ago. “H-Hey Cherrypit.” Initial scare factor aside, once Pupusa knew that Cherrypit was just a normal baby at heart she started warming up to him instead of turning and running the other way.

“Can um…we come iiiin?” Babycorn asked, a smile on her face. 

There was something about the way she was smiling that instantly set of Pupupa’s alarm bells. “Sure. Come on in.” Pupusa could recognize a fake smile like that a yalm away. She happened to be a master at them. 

Pupusa stepped aside as Babycorn nervously made her way inside the house. She was tapping her fingers together and shuffling her feet one over the other.

In contrast, Cherrypit was already busy climbing over the couches and flipping onto them with a loud squeal. 

Pupusa had to try really hard not to say ‘Awwww!’ out loud when she saw how messy Cherrypit’s hair was becoming with all his playing. She was digging her nails into her arms. The facade almost broke entirely when Cherrypit looked right at her. 

“Liba here?” Cherrypit asked. He started to chew on one of the throw pillows.

“Sorry baby. She’s taking a nap so she can’t play right now.”

“Pooie!” 

Despite his disappointment Cherrypit didn’t let it get to him. Instead he decided to just play with some of the blocks that Libra had left out before going to sleep. Babycorn shuffled over to where Cherrypit was playing and sat down next to him.

“Don’t chew on the blocks.” Pupusa reminded her. Libra did enough of that already.

“I wasn’t gonna!!” 

Babycorn put the block she picked up onto the small tower that Cherrypit was building. She criss-crossed her legs and took a look around the room to see if anyone else was around. “Hey Pupusa? Can I ask you for a favor?” Part of her was way too nervous to even look at Pupusa.

“Huh? Yeah sure.” 

Babycorn hesitated for a moment, truthly she wasn’t afraid of what Pupusa would say but she couldn’t help it, not really. “I have a problem. You see there’s a friend that lives really far away who needs my help but they want my help in making things and running some sort of…club? I’m not too sure…” Babycorn was still a little iffy on the details. Having so much info thrown at her often did that to her poor little head and she didn’t want to do the same thing to Pupusa.

“Go on?” Pupusa still wasn’t sure how she could help with this.

“Since you know how to goldsmith and run a store too I was hoping you could help! I’m not too smart for that sort of stuff soooooooo…That’s why I’m asking you!” 

“First of all, don't sell yourself short. Didn’t you tell me you were an alchemist just last week?”

“Oh I’m not an alchemist! That’s Cherrypit!” Babycorn pointed over to Cherrypit who gave Pupusa a cute little wave. 

“Ah I see.” That made sense. 

With that clarification out of the way, Babycorn continued. “We would have to travel really far away but I really need your help Pupusa! I don’t know what I’m doing really and they’re all counting on me but…!” Babycorn sniffled, wiping away snot from her nose on her brand new shirt. 

Pupusa rolled her eyes and walked to hand Babycorn a clean tissue. “Here. Don’t mess up that shirt, it looks expensive.” Pupusa took a step back and silently watched as Babycorn blew her nose. “I can go help. I mean if you really need me to.” She looked away bashfully, though she didn’t mean to.

“Really?!” Babycorn jumped to her feet and held her hands together. “You’ll really really do it?!” 

“Yeah I already said I would now stop jumping. You’re gonna wake up the whole house." Pupusa grabbed Babycorn by the shoulders and held her down. At the same time she noticed that Cherrypit had crawled up onto his sister’s head. Pupusa had a bad feeling about this.

“Hey. question. When do you exactly plan on leaving?” 

“We can go right now!”

“Yeah I thought so.” 

Good thing Pupusa was already wearing her shoes, Or rather her comfy slippers but that was better than nothing. Pupusa took notice of a purple glow around her. It was just like last time when Babycorn had teleported her to Old Sharlayan in the blink of an eye.

At least this time there was more of a warning. “You’re a really impulsive person. You know that right?” 

“Huh? Well yeah I do love to draw!”

“Impulsive! I said impulsive! How did you even hear artistic?!” 

Pupusa blinked once and then suddenly her house was gone. Instead she was surrounded by a dark sky and a sense of weightlessness. “Huh.” She looked around, there was nothing but grey dirt as far as she could see. Where in the world had Babycorn taken her?

“Not world!” Cherrypit chimed in. He was bouncing around in a circle around her. 

“What?” 

Just by sheer coincidence Pupusa decided to turn around. When she did, she was met with the sight of the planet she had lived her entire life on. The edge of her smile slightly twitched. Pupusa slowly turned to look back at Babycorn, who looked just as carefree as she usually did. “Who. Is the friend that needs your help again?”

“They’re a lopporit!” Babycorn put two hands over her head and imitated a pair of lopporit ears. “They got big ears and fluffy tails! They live on the moon that Hydealen built for them and for us!” 

Pupusa decided to pack away some of that sentence for later. “You didn’t mention they were THIS FAR AWAY!” Pupusa desperately gestured towards the planet in hopes that Babycorn would realize the scope of what she did. 

“Well I did say it was far faaaaar away!”

“I didn’t think you meant the fucking MOON!!” 

Pupusa’s cries echoed far, far, far away.

So far that even the Watcher turned his head to see what the commotion was about. Whatever it was, Babycorn was probably behind it. Nothing too surprising there.

[yellowedpagez]

an open letter to my mom

i think the words i love you have lost meaning to me.

it’s simply a pattern of speech at this point, tacked onto the end of sentences as to not disrupt the precarious peace so carefully put in place.

I ponder whether it’s one-sided at times, if i am simply living out a teenage angst that shall pass with age, or if it’s a permanent predicament, leaving my mother to stutter each time she utters the words herself.

i don’t want to know the answer.

like a math problem, the solution can only be found in tears.

so I am left with a rotten taste on my tongue, unable to sallow it down like i do my emotions or spit it out like I do my words.

the taste curls into letters big and bold and i chew it until it is in the state of the in between, teetering between the tip of my teeth and my tongue as i beg for it to make up its mind.

it falls forwards tumbling past my lips and my mouth has slipped into the syllables leaving my thoughts behind as I proclaim a love full of contradictions.

sometimes the words ring true,

and the guilt i know so well takes a leave of absence

for my declaration matches the decree in my brain.

it rings through the car stereo as we sit side by side screaming songs until our throats sting, nothing like the ache that yelling leaves.

but there are times in which i see the way she interacts with my sisters and something within me shatters to shards smaller than the size of sight.

For the person who mothers them is someone I shall never know, despite the fact we have lived side by side for all 16 years of my life.

Because of course there are memories that keep my hope hanging onto the unfurling spool of our relationship,

even after the end of it frays beyond use.

but just like the thread I pull through the needle, the way we interact is a delicate practice.

a dance between banter and bitterness, as the eggshells crack beneath my feet.

I wish the hole in our relationship was as easy to mend as the buttons I sew back for you.

because each one is done with care as I whisper to the needle the words i can’t say to your face.

because i love you feels like a lie

but still i will continue telling it till the day I die

because I know i do.

I love you in a roundabout racing way that I can not explain

i love you in the way that a dog loves a flea.

both bloody and uncomfortable.

i love you in the way a pig loves pork.

unethical and immoral.

i love you the way only a scared little girl can. terrified of everyone and gripping for a sense of comfort as she fails to understand unfairness of the world.

Despite it,

I am no longer that girl.

I am your son,

and

You are my mother

Sometimes i struggle to know whether that is enough.

[onlinesuccubus]

klitz/eli x gn!alternative reader slight nsfw

i’ve got paul dano brain rot recently and i had to force you into the horny abyss that is my brain

also i think this is gn but it’s 2am and idk if i wrote anything gender specific so lmk if i fucked up

KLITZ~

-i feel like klitz was the type of kid to have had a crush on all the goth characters in cartoons. you cannot tell me he didn’t feel flustered when the hex girls appeared on screen when he was 13 when watching scooby doo.

-when he first sees you, regardless of your gender, he feel intimidated.

-you two got partnered up in class because everyone else had partners and you were forced to do it together.

-while doing the assignment he can’t help but look at the ways your piercings highlight your face and the way the fishnets you’re wearing curve over the contours of your stomach and legs under your clothes.

-this man is hooked on your first time interacting.

-you’re the one who had to work up the courage to ask him out even though you overheard the way eli and matt would try to encourage him to grow a pair and ask you out.

-when you are finally official i can 100% see him asking if you can paint his nail black for him and he’d want to try on some of your clothes so you two can match but he takes it off when he leaves in fear of being made fun of by eli and matt

- he even thought about dying his hair to make you think he was all cool and rebellious like you but he talked himself out of it.

-one time he forgot to take off the eyeliner you put on him and they didn’t let him hear the end of it but you chewed them out and klitz never felt more turned on in his life.

-he even let you buy him black ripped skinny jeans and fishnets as a thank you and damn did those long slender legs of his look good you couldn’t keep your hands off his thighs and ass.

-when he feels attention starved he’ll put them on, just for your attention ;)

ELI~

-this horny man probably got a thing for alts from an emo girl in the first adult film he watched when he was younger.

-ever since, the dyed hair and tattoo combo get him going more than the normal person. (although he is not picky he will take anything he can get)

-he’s not very shy when it came to you and your unique form of fashion. he let you know from the start that he was attracted to you

-he would often stare at you in class and would ask you about the band on your shirt he knew nothing about but would pretend like he’s been a fan since the beginning just so you think he’s cool

-after watching his failed attempts of asking you out you finally said yes and he was over the moon.

-when you two start a relationship he immediately raids your closet and makes mental notes of what he should steal from you.

-he wears your graphic t shirts regardless if they’re too big or small, he doesn’t mind wearing a crop top either especially since it seems to make your hands wander and he’ll certainly not complain about that

-without a doubt would let you tattoo or pierce him

-when you two first kiss you tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth and he felt the cold metal of your lip piercing graze his warm lips and he let out the sluttiest noise that sounded like it came out of one of his adult films.

-if you have tattoos he will definitely ask if they have some deep meaning but you’ll tell him that you did it yourself with a sewing needle and pen ink cause you were bored and he’ll be swooning.

-when you showed him your tattoos/piercings in a hidden spot ;) he definitely popped a boner and was on the brink of going feral.

-eli is always ready to get on all fours to kiss your platforms if you asked, please step on him!!!

-hell, this man would start barking and drooling if you blew smoke in his face, cigarette,vape, or weed smoke, it doesn’t matter just blow it in his face and watch him lose all sanity he had left.

-overall i can only see this man with an alternative significant other

[biggest-stupidhead]

So I was wondering if I could request something like Levi x reader where they get into an argument right before a expedition. The reader gets hurt on that expedition and Levi feels guilty. Kinda thinking angst and a bit of fluff at the end c:

I loved writing this sm! thanks for sending it in anon!

Summary: You grapple with Levi before a stressful mission.

Word Count: 2.3K

__

"Behave yourselves and enjoy this 'cause it cost the corps two months worth of our budget!" The chef announced as plates of meat were uncovered in front of the soldiers. Your mouth watered as you watched Hange slice the thick slabs of meat on the platter.

"Worth every penny." She hummed as she slapped a piece onto her plate. Levi rolled his eyes and looked up at Erwin, who was sat across from him. You elbowed him and shot him a dazzling grin.

"Lighten up cap, it's not often that we get to enjoy this stuff."

"It'll likely be the last for most." Levi grunted and your grin fell from your lips.

"So macabre." Hange snickered as she gnawed on a piece of meat.

"It's the truth." Levi's cold eyes were locked on Erwin who nodded in agreement.

"Well I plan on savoring it." You quipped, popping a piece into your mouth and chewing it dramatically. Levi scoffed and crossed his arms, ignoring his full plate.

"-Sasha! That's my hand!" Jean cried out, you had to cover your mouth in a futile attempt at hiding your amusement. Sasha had her teeth sank into his hand as Connie desperately tried to pry her from Jean.

"Sasha! Don't make me knock you out!" Connie pleaded as he caught her in a choke hold.

"Damn kids." Levi growled, as he glared at the teens from across the room.

"They're having fun! You should try it sometime." Hange kicked Levi under the table and you chuckled around another mouthful of food.

"I'm good." Levi's lip curled in disgust as Sasha was wrestled to the ground, the two boys finally subduing her.

"They're young, let them figure it out themselves." You assured him, gently resting a hand on his elbow. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second at this. Your touch was fleeting before your hand fell onto the bench between the two of you. He sighed loudly, finally grabbing his fork and picking at his potatoes.

The atmosphere was warm and made you feel so...whole. Even if you knew that Levi was right, tonight was likely the last time you and your comrades would dine together. But even if that was the case, you would be grateful for this happy memory. The peace was short lived however. Jean and Eren broke out into a fist fight, a rather pitiful one at that.

Within a few short minutes, the two were a sweaty mess, both huffing and staggering as they held their fists up. Levi got to his feet and stalked towards them, a deep scowl etched on his face.

With only two blows, the pair was on the floor, clutching their stomachs as Levi towered over them.

"Go to bed." He ordered. Jean vomited and Levi's lip curled in disgust.

"And clean that shit up." He added curtly as the dining hall murmured, recovering from the excitement. Sasha whimpered from her post as she struggled against her binds, feet kicking loudly against the wooden floors. As the soldiers filed out of the room, you made your way to her to free her. She sighed in relief as the gag was pulled off her mouth and the ropes slashed.

"Thanks miss." She gushed as she rolled her tense wrists.

"Don't mention it." You smiled as you reached into your pocket and passed her a loaf of bread.

"Did I mention how much I love you?" She grinned as she accepted the food and dove in for a hug.

"Actually, I don't think that you have." You giggled as she began eating the bread behind your shoulder as she hugged you.

"mf, well I sure do!" She exclaimed around a full mouth.

"You'd better go catch up with the others." You suggested with a firm pat on her back. She stood and jogged out of the dining hall, half eaten loaf in hand.

"You're too soft with them." Levi scolded from the doorway. You waved him off as you joined him, walking side by side out of the large room.

"They need it." You assured him, gently brushing your shoulder against his.

"The last thing they need is to be coddled." Levi argued.

"Levi, I think that sometimes you forget that they're fifteen." You paused outside of his office, leaning against the threshold as he unlocked the door.

"I haven't forgotten." He mumbled as he pushed the door open.

"Okay." You rolled your eyes, brushing off his especially sour mood.

"Don't you have formation plans to look over?" He asked as you followed him into his office.

"I thought we could go over them together." You shrugged, dropping down onto his couch.

"I'm not looking at them now."

"Then why should I be? Do you think I can't comprehend a simply formation we've used for years?" You were half teasing, but there was only so much crap you could take from him.

"Sometimes it seems that way." He agreed, falling into his desk chair. Your eyes narrowed and the food that had felt so good in your stomach moments before seemed too heavy.

"Why are you extra shitty tonight?" You asked even though you knew the answer. He always got moody the days leading up to missions.

"I think you know why." He looked up from his papers to shoot you a pointed glare.

"You need a nap." You attempted to rein in the easy banter, but Levi was persistent.

"I need you to get the fuck out of my office." His words stung, and you barely caught the hurt expression before it crossed your face.

"I'll see you in the morning." You said as you stalked across the small room and out of the door, closing it softly behind you. Levi groaned once he was sure you wouldn't hear him, his head hit his desk hard as he tried to fight off the migraine that had been creeping up on him since dinner.

__

As promised, the next morning he saw you. Or rather, he caught glimpses of you as you readied your horse and helped the younger soldiers make last minute preparations. The day ahead was going to be long and taxing. Mostly comprised of traveling out of the safety of the walls. Erwin had allowed for just enough time for the scouts to travel, timing it just so their departure from the gates would be well after sunset.

His morning was shittier than usual, Hange had been annoying, and Erwin had been stubborn as ever, continuing to dismiss his lack of an arm and insisting on joining the corps on the mission. So when you didn't brush up against him and crack one of your shit jokes during the long ride, he knew that he had royally fucked things up.

He still hadn't spoken to you when the lifts hoisted the scouts over the wall and into titan territory, or when the lanterns were the only light that guided them through thick trees.

When the first rays of sunlight fell onto the abandoned city of shiganshina, you stood stoically beside Hange and Moblit. He had missed his window, now it was time to focus on the mission. He could only hope that both himself and you survived.

__

As the morning wore on and the battle turned from bad to worse, you knew that chances of survival became slimmer. The only thing you could do was trust in Hange, Erwin and Armin to form a plan to defeat the Reiner and the beast titan. The colossal had yet to show his face, making you more uneasy. The small victory of bringing down Reiner was short lived as a barrel flew over the wall and the sounds of distance explosions echoed through the walls.

"Bertolt is in there!" Armin screamed as you watched the barrel fly overhead.

"What do we do!?" Connie cried as you flew through the rooftops.

"If he transforms, there will be nothing we can do!" Armin yelled over the wind. Eren's titan jogged ahead as you made your way towards the center of town.

"We have to do something!" You yelled, desperate for a solution. Luckily he didn't immediately transform, instead rushing to Reiner's side and addressing him first.

"I'm going to regroup with Hange!" You said, as Bertolt zipped towards you.

"Hurry!" Jean yelled after you as you flew away, pouring on the speed.

You reached Hange's team to find them struggling with some dysfunctional thunder spears.

"(Y/n)! I'm glad you made it! Was that Bertolt inside of there?" Moblit asked as you landed heavily on the tiled rooftop.

"Yeah, it's him. We don't have long before he transforms. We've got to get back to the kids!" You informed them and they all leapt off of the rooftop, rushing back in the direction that you had come from. You only made it about half way there before a blinding mushroom cloud and a clap of thunder overpowered your senses. Hange reached out for you, snagging your wrist. Moblit pushed the two of you down and you screamed as the blast took him in a blinding light. You and Hange fell down a well, a mess of limbs and tangled gear. You couldn't tell if it was your blood or hers as the two of you laid motionless in the shallow well.

"Hange!" Your ears rang as you shook her desperately. Her face was covered in blood, you could tell that her eye was missing already. You began clawing through your pockets in search of gauze, the taste of iron made you want to gag. With shaky hands, you wrapped her head, covering her exposed eye socket. She woke moments later, hands shooting out to grab you.

"Your face." She groaned, hand falling to rest on your chin as she slowly sat up.

"What's wrong with-" You froze mid sentence when you realized that was why you tasted blood. She dug into her own pocket and produced a needle and some suture. She sewed the large gash, which ran from the apple of your cheek to the corner of your mouth.

"We need to check for survivors." Hange grunted as she bit off the remaining suture, you nodded in agreement.

__

As you stood on the rooftop staring at the two lifeless bodies, you knew immediately who had to be chosen. Hange clutched Mikasa to her chest as the girl cried, tears running off her pale cheeks.

"Levi." You whimpered, his bloodied face turned, eyes wild and tortured.

"Get back, I'm giving the serum to Erwin." He ordered. Floch hauled Eren away from Armin, who's charred skin smoked in the late afternoon sun.

"You can't." You cried, tears stinging the wound on your cheek.

"I will." Levi growled.

"Now leave!" He pulled the syringe out of the case and filled it with the opaque liquid and your chest squeezed painfully.

"But-" Jean's hand closed tightly around your bicep as he began pulling you towards the edge of the roof.

"Let's go." Jean's voice was strangled, and you realized that all of you felt this loss deeply. He needed you to be an adult here, needed some reassurance. So you leaned into him and allowed him to pull you off of the roof, wrapped securely in his arms. As you hugged him and Connie a few rooftops away, the sound of a titan crashing through buildings made you look up. Levi landed near you, head hung low and empty syringe in hand.

The thin beast shoved the screaming boy down its gullet and you gasped when you saw its face. You knew it was Armin, and you felt ashamed at the surge of relief that flowed through you.

__

The sun beat down on your shoulders as you sat beside Sasha on the wall. Levi and Hange had gone with Mikasa and Eren about an hour ago, leaving you in charge of the remaining kids.

"Here they come!" Connie called, pointing excitedly at the group as they used the last of their gas to scale the wall. Levi didn't bother joining the group, instead favoring to walk in the opposite direction. You rushed after him, legs pumping as you ran across the wall. You snagged his wrist and tugged on it gently.

"Levi." You had no words, only able to form his name in a raspy voice.

"I should have chosen Erwin." He said numbly, too weak to even try pulling free of your grasp.

"It's over. We reclaimed Maria. You made a hard choice, I can't say it was the right one but.." Your words failed you as he turned to face you. You had never seen him look so hopeless, lips glued into a frown and eyes searching for validation.

"You did what had to be done." You assured him as you took a step closer, the tips of your boots touching his.

"Did I?" His brows knitted together as your hand slipped into his.

"Yes. You did, you gave us a chance." You slowly leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him. You were surprised when he melted into you, his body pressed close, breath tickling the skin behind your ear. Your hands gripped the harness on his back in an attempt to ground the two of you. He sighed and breathed you in, his own hands coming to rest at the small of your back.

"We'll figure this out." You said into his neck, lips brushing the skin there unintentionally.

"I'm glad....that you survived." He said into your messy hair, which was falling from it's hold. His hand slid from the small of your back to rest between your shoulder blades.

"Me too." You let out a small laugh half sob, allowing a few more tears to slide down your cheeks.

"Let's address those shitty kids." He said as he pulled back, and you nodded, giving him a watery smile as the two of you fell into a matched pace once more.

[shurelyasreverie]

Me getting ready to request a valorant agent: 😎

Anyways, I know I already asked for something so hopefully you dont kind me doubling up, and if not do you mind if I request headcannons about Jett with a medic agent? Less Sage's magic healing and more stick them with a needle and sew them up with a thread kind of medic?

Me getting ready to write for a valorant agent: 😎

Don’t worry about the double up! I just got round to this request quicker since there are a lot less Valorant requests than League (don’t worry your League request will be coming 😁)

Also, I completely missed seeing 'headcanons' and wrote a drabble, then it grew into a oneshot omg. Hope it's still alright!

Injured!Jett x Agent!Reader: Not Alone

Jett's injured and you're the only one left to do the mission, but Jett's not going to let you go so easily.

Word Count: 1105

“Hold still.”

“It hurts.”

“Conventional medicine typically does,” you groaned as you held onto Jett's shoulder as she writhed in your grip.

It was all in good humour, but the other agents all laughed at your decision to take a first aid course. With healers like Sage and Skye on your side who could heal instantly with their abilities, bandages and anaesthetic were a thing of the past that only you and the older agents were versed in.

“Nah, nah, nah. Let me do all the fightin' and my fire'll heal me up just fine,” Phoenix explained.

“First aid? Oh no my dear, your intellect can be used on something far more useful, such as testing my gadgets!” Cypher countered.

“(Y/N), I am sure such skills are useful in their own way, but your time could be better used elsewhere,” Sova respectfully gave his opinion on the matter.

But now here you are on a duo mission with Jett, and her, being as confident and reckless as always, managed to get herself shot. Of course, Jett's health was the biggest priority but still... you couldn't wait to rub this mission in everyone's noses. First aid was useless, huh?

“You're lucky it was your shoulder and nowhere else,” you muttered as you wrapped her shoulder. The bullet did more than just graze her but did less than fully go through any crucial nerves. There was a lot of blood, but give it enough time and Jett will be right as rain.

“Both Sage and Skye are on missions of their own but they can heal you up fully when you're transported back to Protocol,” you stated as you started to bandage her wound. She pouted, slouching in defeat, occasionally hissing as the anaesthetic kicked in in waves. Certain times the stinging was too great and her hand was latching onto your forearm, holding it tightly as she gritted through the pain. You watched her sympathetically, stopping for a moment until she gave you the nod to continue.

“And what will you be doing?”

“I'll be finishing the mission.”

“You can't do that,” Jett exclaimed, standing up in outrage. “You're going to end up worse than me!”

“I don't randomly rush into the field,” you retorted and Jett hesitated.

“At least take me with you. Use me as bait or something, I can handle it.”

“No way.”

“And no way you're going alone!”

You pulled back for a moment, meeting Jett's crystal eyes. The two of you locked in a glaring battle, seeing who would relent. Jett was known for being stubborn, but unfortunately for her, you could be just as stubborn if you wanted to.

“Protocol gave us a mission, I'll get it done. We've faced worse.”

“We've faced worse as a group. What, are you going to suffocate them with your bandages or something? Stick a needle in their eye?”

“If that gets the job done,” you mused as you fastened the bandage to her shoulder, holding it still before Jett tried to do anything funny with her wounded arm. You kept her at eye level. “You're hurt, Jett. Go home, I'll see you there.”

“It's only worth it when you're there,” Jett huffed. She plopped back down on the box she was previously sitting on. “I'm staying here.”

“Yes, until Brimstone comes to pick you up.”

“No. Look, I can stay here and make sure this camp's safe while you go out and complete the mission. I've got a sniper rifle, I'll cover your back.”

“You can't safely fire a gun with that much recoil with that shoulder,” you pointed out.

“I'll use a pistol then.”

“From that range, it's useless!”

You rubbed your temples, pacing back and forth. “Jett, please. Just listen to me, for once. It's best you go back to headquarters. That wound isn't a problem now but I can't guarantee it won't get infected or anything.”

“Now you're just making stuff up.”

“Am not,” you groaned. Was Jett really that used to instantaneous healing she didn't know about infections?

“(Y/N), this place is nice, but not nice enough to die in. I'm not letting you die here.”

“I won't let you die here either,” you snapped. “A sniper shot is a sniper shot. We know how snipers think and act. It's a marvel they only got a chunk of your shoulder and not your head. You're already toying with death, I don't want you to do that again.”

“We didn't get to take down that sniper,” Jett replied, frustration evident in her voice. “They're still out there, and they could shoot you next. I don't want you to go through what I did, or worse.”

“You've done solo missions before, why won't you let me do this alone?”

“Because I like you, dumbass!”

And when the bombshell dropped, the dust settled, and the two of you were engulfed in silence. You, stunned as you stared at Jett in disbelief, Jett staring back but she was showing signs of cracking under your intense gaze. She started to chew on her lower lip, her face growing increasingly hot. Her voice came out timid.

“Say something. Please.”

“I like you too.”

Well, what a turn of events. You cleared your throat as you struggled to bring yourself to move, Jett's eyes tracking your every move. Although you might've spontaneously confessed to each other, the tension still didn't die down. There was still the imposing thought of you going out there, alone. You pondered for a few moments.

“I'll ask Brimstone to send in Reyna and Breach and they'll help me see this mission through, deal?”

“... deal.”

“How's the shoulder?” your voice noticeably softened. Jett shifted slightly.

“It'll do. It's not like we're doing anything until Brimstone comes. And, uh...”

Jett's eyes darted from side to side, seemingly checking for anyone watching, or perhaps she just wanted to look everywhere except for your face as her face started to redden. Searching her surroundings, she started to get closer to you as you watched her with curiosity. She stopped when she was right in front of you, any closer and you'd be touching.

“Thanks for the heal.”

She pecked your lips before using her ability to dash out of the scene. Stunned, you stood frozen for a few moments before shaking your head and chuckling to yourself. Jett was just as confident and reckless as always.

[shiversdownyerspine]

13. Affecting

Soon...kisses. Lip locking. SOON.

A couple of weeks pass after the reveal of your 2nd Phase and the acceptance of your request. And during that time the brothers make good on the agreement; they touch you, hands stroking your upper arm in greeting, lazily sweeping up and down your back, or simply resting a warm palm at your lower back when you linger a little too long in one spot.

With each passing day it gets harder and harder not to notice the sensual subtleties, not to mention the kisses don't stop either, lips pressing to cheek and shoulder and temple and forehead.

If you're in the kitchen baking, Axel will often be at your side. Whether sitting at the table or leaning back against the counter with cookbook in hand, you very much appreciate his quiet company and often return the favor when he cooks. The two of you have taken to discussing recipes and one day as you are busy preparing some chocolate croissants, he describes one familiar to him; Pirog, a baked good with savory filling.

The croissants were nearly ready for the oven, all that was left was one final pastry to prepare. Rolling the dough nice and tight to enclose the chocolate within, you muse aloud, "I've never made Pirog before, wonder what sort of filling would be good..."

The eldest brother takes a moment to consider before listing several, but according to him, "Fish is the best choice."

With a straight face you insist beef would be the better option, far more superior. And with little warning his heat was seeping into your back as his hands braced on the kitchen counter, arms either side of your body. Heartbeat quickening and ears reddening, you fumble with the pastry in your hands as he challenges your claim with a playful, "Is that so?"

Understandably a bit flustered, it takes you a second to successfully retort, "It would absolutely taste better, you just don't want to admit it."

Who knows, maybe you can goad Axel into making them.

The lighthearted bickering bounces back and forth until the warmth of his breath ghosts the shell of your ear. You hold strong, determined not to break but the brush of lips to your ear nearly makes you squeal.

The sound of the oven finishing its preheat cycle saves your skin.

Axel lifts the tray as his other hand leaves the curve of the counter to casually stroke up and down your side before he moves from you to pop the pastries in the oven. Immediately your hand is up and rubbing your sensitive ear, cursing the way it tingles. Taking a steadying breath, you still stumble over your own two feet as you go to grab up the mixing bowl and utensils for a good scrubbing.

Oscar sneaks up behind you like always, but he's started tugging you into him. The first few times his arms curl low around your belly and your back meets his chest, you're a bit tongue tied and bashful. But you don't want him to stop and it isn't long before you start leaning back into his hold. It becomes a part of his sneak routine and eventually it's not as startling as it used to be. It still has a high chance of pulling a gasp from you though, which you are highly suspecting he likes.

Sometimes when you're sitting on the sofa reading or watching television, the youngest brother would plop himself down on the carpet next to you. Curious you had considered asking if he wanted to join you on the furniture, but in the end decided not to. You figured if he wanted to, then he would. No need to ruin harmless fun.

And in the name of harmless fun, every now and then you would lightly nudge him with your leg, eyes riveted to your book and unmoving each time Oscar looks at you. It doesn't take long for him to wrap his arm around the offending leg, and satisfied with his capture, he'd lean his head back against the sofa cushion and rest his eyes. You do it again and again until eventually, he just starts automatically wrapping an arm around your leg whenever he sits with you.

Once while feeling mischievous, you had grabbed up a throw pillow as the urge to smack the catnapping man with it grew too tempting. The gentle pressure of a hand squeezing just above your knee had you glancing back with wide eyes to see him very much awake and watching you. The intensity of his gaze, the fixation, brought about this feeling. It was the same one you had when you'd sprayed Axel with the garden hose. You were once again on the verge of biting off more than you could chew.

Innocently you placed the pillow on your lap, using it to prop the book up a little higher. He gave you a suspicious squint before settling back down, leaning in and pressing his mouth to your leg with a smirk. It almost felt like he was daring you to do it, just to see what would happen.

Otto also likes to join you when you're on the sofa. One evening the large man brought out a small sewing kit and one of his shirts. Apparently he's the one that patches up all of their clothes when the need arises. He doesn't like throwing things out when they just need a little care.

Appreciating his resourcefulness, you mention that you'd tried your hand at patching up your own clothes in the past but you didn't quite have the patience for it and gave up fairly quickly. Subsequently, your request to watch actually had little to do with learning the skill and more with wanting to see how dexterous his hands are.

Otto shifts position so you could see better as you scoot in close. He works deftly with needle and thread, your eyes following the practiced motion of his fingers. As he tends to the stitches, he talks. His voice is a pleasant murmur as he explains that his brothers, much like you, haven't much patience for the skill either. They can do a little in a pinch but they wouldn't enjoy it.

You cheekily comment how easy it is to imagine the two; Axel scowling as he focuses on accomplishing the task as quickly as possible, tidy stitching be damned. Or Oscar's frustration growing, fit to burst as he pricks his finger for the umpteenth time. The descriptions tickle his funny bone, his smile growing until teeth glint and eyes crinkle. Shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, you lean into Otto's side as the conversation eventually lulls into a comfortable silence, his warmth pulling you into a light doze.

Within a few more minutes the holes have been properly mended and the mender rubs his thumb over the line of stitches, content. When the tallest Swede softly calls your name, your response is a mumble, more of a sound than actual words. There's no other movement from you so he takes the chance to press a light kiss to your head, breathing in a whiff of your hair as he lets you nap and considers joining you.

Towards the end of the week as you're making a grocery list for a trip to the market, the Commission finally contacts the Swedes. Tapping the pen against your bottom lip, you and Axel contemplate your list of goods on the table below you, "Milk, eggs, bread..let's see...seasoning! How much black pepper do we have left?"

Axel inspects your spice rack with a critical eye, "...Won't last long, a week at most. Maybe."

The eldest Swede places the pepper back in its place before lifting a little corked jar beside it, "Cinnamon too."

As you are adding the crucial items while Otto alerts you to your pantry's dwindling supply of flour, the unexpected clatter inside your cabinet draws attention. Oscar retrieves the canister, rolling it down the kitchen counter to his brother before walking to you. With a grin he scoots you into Axel as he squeezes in on your other side, pressing his arm at your back to trap you between them.

Cheeks pink you toss a look at Oscar who is busy peering past you at the paper being examined by his older brother...but he isn't too busy to let his hand playfully squeeze your side apparently. Otto joins the three of you as Axel tilts the paper towards you for you to see as well, the message short and to the point. It reveals the usual; the date, the target, the co-ordinates, and the rendezvous point.

"So the access point is...the abandoned bus stop beside the forest? I forgot that little shack was still standing."

Otto nods, "We know it."

You respond, mildly surprised and a touch remorseful, "Oh, Commission dropped you all off down there? If I had known I would have gone out to meet you three when you first arrived."

Axel grunts, "Wasn't a far walk."

Smiling you nudge him with your hip, "Well, I hope it was a pleasant one."

Turning your attention back to your shopping list you reassure the three, "Alright I can finish up with this if you all want to start preparing for your mission, I figure you'd want to get to it. I don't have any deadlines to worry about for my work, but I doubt that's the same for you three."

The youngest Swede pouts, "You don't want to help? With guns?"

And just like that you're on edge, frowning as your body stiffens. Your silence lasts just a little too long.

"...That's..not my area of expertise."

Axel grimaces, peering at you closely, "Never learned? For protection?"

Remembering that the grocery list is in your hands, you restrain yourself from clenching them and crumpling it, "I already have a way to protect myself."

"You want to hide. A gun will give you another way to protect secret."

He has a point. A good point. Regardless you can't imagine holding a gun let alone firing one without your hands shaking like a leaf in a storm. You just can't. So, you try to compromise, "Maybe I could use one in the future. The far, far future."

Glowering at the table, Otto tries to recall a previous conversation. An old memory, a desperate kill..bullets and blood. Ah. You'd been shot, possibly repeatedly? The tallest Swede shares his conclusion, "You're afraid of guns."

With a sigh you shortly acknowledge it, "I have my reasons. Anyway, caring for your firearms is going to have to be solely your responsibility. Sorry to disappoint."

Lifting your grocery list up you consider any missing items you may have forgotten. Something is nipping at the back of your mind, something that had popped into your head after Oscar had gotten chased out into the garden by Otto and the two roughed each other up...Oh! Your eyes drift up to Axel.

"...How often do you three get injured? Or...smack each other around? Actually don't answer that, I'm going to go ahead and add some first aid on here."

You scribble it down, look at the scars on the two older brother's faces, and firmly circle it.

Yeah, that's going to be a priority.

[consumeconstantly]

Lady Cross (first aid)

Summary: Somehow, Marinette always ends up biting off more than she can chew. It started off with a kid and a nasty gash on their knee. The sudden escalation to treating the new head of Gotham’s underworld? It can only be explained by the fact that she’s catnip for trouble. 

_____________________________________________

Marinette supposed she should have expected something like this to happen eventually.

Really, she patches up a few street kids and offers a meal and some resources and suddenly she's made a name for herself in the slums of Gotham. It’s not like she’s doing anything revolutionary. Well, okay, maybe she does cheat a little bit and uses her healing powers on a few of the tougher cases that really should have been out of her realm of expertise, but she’s living near the slums of Gotham for a reason. That reason being Marinette is just a little broke and can’t really afford to send everyone she comes across to the hospital, and the people who are injured certainly can’t. It’s not like she can leave them to die. That would be heartless.

When she stopped treating scrapes and cuts for kids on the streets as she came across them and instead found her apartment balcony frequented by families who needed her help, she couldn’t just say no. And so, more and more serious wounds started coming in. Kids brought their parents and friends. The parents and friends brought... well, if the police stopped by her apartment any time soon, she’s fairly certain they’d have a field day.

But again, it’s not like she’s going to turn these people into the police when they’ve come to her for help and have a small army of people who swear up and down that they’re good people and only doing what they have to do in order to get by.

Morality comes in such a variety of shades, who was she to judge? Ladybug and Marinette have both certainly had their fair share of mistakes that they’d gladly go back in time to rectify, and her hands weren’t clean of blood either. Sure, the Miraculous Cure may have brought people back, but their deaths were still on her. And Hawkmoth? Yeah, he’s alive now, but she hammered him into the pavement after dropping him from the top of the Eiffel tower, and she’s not going to pretend that she didn’t take a bit of morbid joy in that moment.

But back to the matter at hand. Which was, the notorious Red Hood—responsible for a coup amongst Gotham’s drug dealers and responsible for taking down a man whose morality truly vanished with the wind, Black Mask himself— was currently bleeding out on her second floor balcony, smoking a cigarette and lounging against the rail like he owned the place. 

“Lady Cross,” he inclined his head.

“Red Hood,” Marinette returned his greeting.

God, she really didn’t want to get involved with Red Hood. She wasn’t opposed to helping out street thugs and criminals, but Red Hood was a different league. He seemed to be a fairly decent guy, ensuring that kids weren’t dealt drugs and tried to keep them out of the circuit as much as possible. He took down plenty of worse criminals while he was at it. In fact, Marinette would go so far to say the Red Hood as one the good guys.

But the issue was, once she started treating people of a certain level, she’d be open game. And that didn’t seem very enticing to her. Not at all. Everyone knew that Red Hood had beef with the Bat Family for some reason or other, and also made enemies with almost every single rogue in Gotham, and a good number of enemies outside of it as well. Basically, Red Hood was a universal enemy of both the vigilantes and rogues. Someone she shouldn’t get involved with while she was trying to investigate the darkness surrounding Gotham whole running her online boutique and going to college at Gotham University.

Unfortunately, Tom and Sabine and her own stint as Ladybug taught her that she could never ignore someone in need. Marinette sighed and slid the mesh open, leading Red Hood to her living room. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Real nice place you got here,” he said.

With the mask covering the whole of his face, Marinette had no facial expressions to figure out whether he was poking fun at her current living situation or not. His voice sounded genuine, but vocal emotions were easy to fake.

The apartment she was living in was not on the nice side of town. There were three bullet holes in the wall between her living room and bedroom that she just didn’t have time to patch up, some pretty nasty looking stains on the ceiling near her kitchen, and a huge, spray painted red cross on one of her walls, which was where her street name derived from. Her floor and coffee table were also in states of disarray; she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to clean up after working on two commissions and the last guest whose wounds were heavy enough to warrant several rolls of gauze, which was now half stuffed into a garbage can sitting next to rolls of fabric. Perhaps not the neatest or most sanitary situation, but she didn’t have time to clean up before every single one of her unexpected guests came in.

Look, it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have time to fix things up real nice and neat. She’d only been living in the apartment for a month and a half, and most times, she barely spent any time in it other than to sleep, cram last minute projects for her design course, or to help heal people. Her living situation wasn’t the biggest of worries.

“Sit,” Marinette gestured to the one of the few pieces of furniture that she specifically bought for the apartment. She didn’t mind the stained, half broken, and extremely creaky couch the last owners left behind for the first week, but after she started bringing back her first… visitors, it seemed important that the couch was comfortable, sturdy, and most crucially, cleanable.

Rummaging through a cabinet, she pulled out a tattered briefcase she thrifted a while back to keep all of her medical supplies in. Not the prettiest of things, but she tried not to keep expensive looking items in her apartment because she wasn’t a fan of getting mugged. The medicine she kept was already expensive enough, she didn’t need to attract everyone’s attention by owning one of those metal containers used in hospitals. Even though most of the people who dropped by her apartment were thankful to be treated, she had a few instances where people tried to steal things from her.

“What’s the damage, doc?” Red Hood’s voice came through rather tinny through his helmet. 

Marinette grimaced. The helmet must have awful air circulation. It looked like some sort of metal, and wet and metal never smelled good together. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Thought you were supposed to be some mystic healer who came from the far east.”

She paused and looked at the man, trying to judge whether he was racist as well as rude. “That’s rather insulting.” 

Red Hood shrugged. Marinette applauded the man for showing no outward sign of pain at that, even though there was a bullet embedded in his shoulder, and shrugging had to bite. “That’s what the word on the street is, though you sound French to me. Thought I’d come and check out who’s healing Gotham’s criminals. What’re you planning?”

“Sorry to foil your plans, but I’m not planning anything other than getting my college degree and not pissing off the people I live near.” She paused, flipping the lock on the briefcase upwards. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use me as your go to healer from now on. You’re going to bring trouble my way.”

“Trouble? Me? Perish the thought.” His hand rested comfortably on the holister of his gun, ready to shoot if the girl pulled out a weapon from the briefcase. “We’ll talk about repeat appearances after I see how you do today.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Any wounds other than the obvious?”

“Just need the bullet out, and some stitches on the gash.” His shoulder and his abdomen, respectively. The gash looked nastier than the bullet; no shrapnel, but the cut on his stomach was jagged and wide. Not a normal, sharp blade. Probably needed a good cleaning.

She grabbed the tweezers, a sterilized needle, and medical thread. “That’s fine. Now are you going to undress, or am I going to have to cut your… costume… up?”

“Getting me naked already? We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Very funny, little Red Riding Hood. Now hop to it. I have class at 9 tomorrow and projects to finish tonight.” Somehow, trouble always seemed to find her when she least wanted it to. Not that she wanted to have trouble find her at all, but luck was a two way street, and for all that being Ladybug granted her good luck, she attracted criminals like catnip. 

“And here my informants had me thinking you were a regular Florence Nightingale.”

Marinette snorted. “They wish. I’ve got to ask who told you, because everybody should know the rules. You know, the ones where they don’t speak of my existence to their higher ups?”

“I’m not a rat,” Red Hood said, taking the top part of his outfit off. “And it’s not like you would have gone unnoticed anyways. You might be treating small timers now, but people catch on to healers pretty easy.”

“Because some gauze and sewing skills make me such a prime target.”

“No, your magic does.”

Shit. Marinette never told anyone she was using magic, and she rarely used it unless it was a dire situation. If she could patch them up using regular skills, she did. 

“Yeah right, if I had magic healing powers, do you think I’d be shoving my fingers into your shoulder to get a bullet out?”

“Not a very good liar, Lady Cross. You have this deer-caught-in-the-headlights look about you.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I’m also the deer that tramples through your windshield and takes a dump on the driver’s seat.” She maneuvered the tweezers a little rougher, hoping to make Red Hood hiss in pain. He just chuckled, amused. His high pain tolerance was getting rather annoying. She had half a mind to pour hydrogen peroxide over the wound just to see if that would make him show he was in pain, but thought better of it. Even though she didn’t like the man, she also didn’t want to piss him off. Or worse, have him come back and make her fix him up again. 

Threading the needle, she made quick, small stitches on his shoulder, sewing the bullet hole up, then put some petroleum jelly to speed up the healing process and reduce scarring. At least the wound was in a position that didn’t require a lot of gauze. She needed to go out and buy some more soon. She barely had enough to wrap around Red Hood’s waist.

“So, the magic,” Red Hood started. “Is it a conditional thing? Can you not use it all the time?”

“Again, I don’t have magic.” Marinette did have to use some antibacterial on the knife wound. He would need to take good care of that one to make sure it didn’t get infected. 

“So a meta, then. What are you doing in Gotham? Everybody knows Batman hates metas.”

“Not a meta, either, sorry to disappoint.” She tied off the gauze, then stood to wash her hands. “Make sure to clean the stomach wound well. Hope you have your tetanus shot, otherwise you should look into getting one.”

“Surprisingly, I’m inclined to believe you on the not-a-meta thing. Back to the first thing, then. Magic. Why don’t you show me the old razzle dazzle? Do you have to say one of those weird spells like the godmother in Cinderella? Bibbity bobbity boo?”

“You’re hilarious,” Marinette dead panned. 

“How’s this for magic? Bibbity bobbity boo, kindly leave. Shoo.” She followed his suggestion, made a show of jazz hands as well. “Pity I don’t use magic otherwise you’d be gone now. Anyways, it’s time for you to make your exit. It would be great if you didn't visit me again. Ever. Thanks.”

She ushered him out onto her patio, then slammed the sliding door. He saluted her before dropping off the side of the building. She could imagine the man under the helmet smirking.

Marinette ran a hand through her loose hair. “He’s going to come back, isn’t he.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Terra and Aqua are getting married—and Ven is the Bridezilla. || Word Count: 9,058

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek​ I could have never written this without my dear friend @localcryptideli​. We talked about this wedding years ago, and I promised to write it. It’s here, three years later, blending their headcanons with mine and I couldn’t be more proud of it. <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

the threads that tie hearts together

Terra never once considered in his entire life that his wedding preparations would include the perk of mice squeaking in his ear—but he here is, in the tailor’s studio, getting re-fitted for his tuxedo, with Princess Cinderella’s team of seamstress mice on his shoulders, measuring the length of his arms. His muscles were too big for the previous suit. 

Ven refuses to hire a proper tailor, and instead rents out the parlor so the mice could do their work in private.

Lea sits on a nearby bench by the shoe shelves, the top button of his shirt open, jabbing at his Gummiphone. He’s quite popular today, pinged every two minutes. Isa and Roxas share a mirror, trying to get the mechanics of their bow ties right. 

Terra is getting married. 

The thought. Married. Soon. Yes. Damn. He can’t cry right now.

Terra stands in front of a mirror and bends his elbows to see how the fabric moves. The mice are tiny, three of them in skirts. They’ve developed an efficient obstacle course of threads all down his entire body, a network so the mice on the floor can deliver them supplies—spools, sewing needles, thumbtacks, measuring tape—in a jiffy. 

Lea groans, squeezing his Gummiphone. “This twerp is going to turn me into a serial killer.” He yawns, possibly for the fortieth time.

“Not an ill-fitting job, all things considered,” Isa says from across the room.

“I do appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Who’s bothering you?” Terra asks, lifting his collar so the mouse on his left could thread through it with a sewing needle.

Lea snorts, slaps his knee and leans forward. “Did you not know your buddy is a monster?”

“Ven?”

“Oh, he’s a joy.” Lea holds his Gummiphone up as if he’s about to make a speech. “Come help me pick out Aqua’s flowers. Now. If you could.” He glances at Terra, then back at the phone. “He writes that in all-caps.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so pushy.”

“The other day, he called me to model the bride’s dress because Miss Aqua couldn’t be bothered to come to the fitting herself.”

“Master Aqua was away on a mission,” Isa explains.

“Isa took photos of me in it—” Lea scrolls through his phone, but stops. “Oh, I can’t show you before...” He clicks his tongue. “It’s very nice. Very bridal.”

Terra is sure that’s true, but the image of Ven hanging his head so much on someone else’s wedding is worrisome. Last night, he fell asleep at dinner. “I think Ven is taking on too much stress.”

“Lea,” Roxas says, snorting a chuckle and giving up on his bow tie, “you should show him the texts.” 

“Gladly.” Lea stands to shove the Gummiphone into Terra’s face. Out of the history, a couple of messages stand out.

Ventus

I got 500 cake flavors come taste them with me

Ventus

Which cologne do you think terra should wear

COME SMELL 

i need a second opinion

Ventus

Do you have aqua’s flowers yet?

remember 

we want orange roses and bluestars

Ventus

Aqua isnt here im freaking out

Youre closest to her body type

HELP

After all that, Terra feels as though he’s being watched by several microscopic eyes. One of the mice squeaks with urgency, and he straightens one of his arms. “I don’t know what to say... Why doesn’t he talk to me directly?”

Lea purses his lips as though this is a secret not worth sharing. Roxas is the one to step forward, a knowing grimace plastered on his face.

“He told me that he doesn’t want to bother you with anything.”

That doesn’t sound entirely false but not true either.

“That’s ridiculous.” Terra tests the bend of the elbow to fiddle with his bow tie. It’s already done but something about it doesn’t sit right. “He could come to me for anything,” he says with a low voice, wondering if there’s something he’s missing. Terra has also been a mess. He’s getting married. Holy stars. 

Isa huffs out of frustration, turning away from the mirror, his bow tie undone. He studies Terra’s suit. “I don’t like it.”

His straightforwardness is well appreciated. Aqua would probably smirk at the sight of it and stare at his neck the entire ceremony. “I don’t either,” Terra says.

“Smart man.” Isa smirks, and tugs Terra’s bow tie to undo it. “Let’s change it.”

Lea snorts. “You might want to ask permission from he-who-shall-be-slapped.”

“It’s my wedding,” Terra says.

“So you think.”

He-who-may-be-slapped enters the tailor’s parlor through the front entrance, announced by the bell of the ring. He’s perfectly dressed in his ringbearer’s/best man’s/maid of honor’s suit, vest fitted, bow tie sublime, sleeves coiffed. He sees what Isa is doing. He gapes.

“Hey guys,” Ven asks with a frustratingly shaky voice. “What are we doing?”

“They are unbecoming,” Isa answers, wrapping a traditional tie around Terra’s neck.

“Oh.” 

Sometimes, speaking to Isa is like getting clocked in the stomach. By the looks of Lea’s expression, chewing on the edge of his Gummiphone, it’s well deserved.

“Okay,” Ven says, with a tight smile. He takes the tie from Isa’s hands. “Do they match?”

“A hello would be less rude,” Terra says. “Hi, Ven. Can we talk?”

Ven glances up. “Later. There’s lots to do.”

Lea inhales sharply. “Hey, Ven. Here’s an idea. Did you know you could tame cicadas to sing in harmony on command?”

Ven whips his head around. “You can?”

Isa brings a hand up to hide a smirk and Lea passes him a subtle wink.

“Picture it.” Lea opens his arms. “From nine until eleven at night, they gather in the bushes. They mutter, a light dusting of atmosphere on a peaceful summer night.”

Ven’s eyes grow wide with obsession. 

Roxas comes near. “You can also make them glow.”

“Like stars in the bushes,” Ven whispers to himself.

“Come on, guys,” Terra says, unimpressed. “Leave him alone. We’ve got better things to do.”

Ven snaps himself out of it, but not before pulling out a notepad and writing notes. He eyes Terra over, nudging him to open his arms and pinching the sides of the suit. Ven draws them in by the measure of a finger and pulls pins out of his pocket, like he’s been expecting to use them, and marks their places. “Jaq Jaq,” he calls, “where’s Suzy? We need to make sure these ties look right. Oh, and we need two extras—we have to ship some to Riku and Sora.”

Some mouse squeaks in reply.

“I can help her carry things.” Ven gives a flash of a smile and then hurries off.

Out of earshot, Lea gives Terra a look. “Anyone able to talk to mice is a crazy person in my book.”

Terra glares back and quotes, “‘You could tame cicadas to sing on command?’”

“He needs something to obsess over. How else am I going to get peace?”

“This is going to bite you in the ass,” Roxas says, wrapping his new tie over the neck and having a much easier time.

“Ventus may very well task you with hunting and gathering the cicadas,” Isa says, a tie already in place, immaculate. 

Lea groans and Terra feels it’s well deserved. 

Well deserved… the suit may be. The future wife, maybe not. The suit is a glove for every finger with no excess. It makes him a good-looking groom, a nice addition to the closet for any special occasion. The bride is beautiful, no matter what she wears. She is loyal, patient, strong, intelligent, loving, funny when she’s stern, too good for him, a divine gift he didn’t earn and he still can’t understand how she said yes.

“I hope you’re laughing at the face of my misery,” Lea says.

Terra knows that’s sarcasm. Weddings are headaches, emotions are terrifying and Terra needs Aqua like a sip of medicinal tea to calm down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The others squeal when they walk into Le Grand Bistro. It’s sunset, the city lights already ignited and giving it the glow of evening fairies welcoming the moon. They’ve just discussed dresses—Xion requests a pantsuit instead, which looks stellar—and they can choose their own styles so long as they all wear the color of night. Simple, elegant. That’s the kind of effect Aqua prefers. Thank goodness they’re almost done. Aqua couldn’t handle more hands in her hair and she rejected the flower crown that would have come down on one side to compensate for the lack of length. 

She fiddles with the ring—a thin, intricate design weaved around a small, blue stone—as a waiter escorts them to the kitchen. On days when she doesn’t have missions, she wears it.

Aqua is getting married. Some part of her wonders about the surreality of it, like it’s a dream or a picture she created in her mind when she was a child, at the altar with a faceless person next to her. Sometimes, it feels like she is already married. Terra has always been with her. Every day in class. Every day strolling through the woods. Every day sparring, sharing meals, bickering and laughing. Her best friend, her confidant, her rock.

There is something about nearly dying that challenges perspective. When they both thought they’d never see each other again, it made them realize there’s more to it and there’s been more to it for years. The emotional intimacy that strengthened after the fact. The physicality of it, when he takes her to bed. They argue differently, they laugh the same. Terra has always been with her, so what is the difference between being with him and being married to him? A part of her is eager to find out. The other is already at peace, a kind of joy Aqua has always wanted.

Ven is in the kitchen, talking with Remy (responding to Remy, who is naturally unintelligible). Plates of cake pieces sprawl out on the table, eliciting oohs and aahs from the others, all patient like they’re waiting for Aqua’s permission to take a small bite.

Aqua reads through the description of flavors—strawberry, fudge, angel food cake with blueberries, red velvet, even coffee. “The one we requested isn’t here.”

“You mean…” Ven pulls out his notepad and looks through his notes. Remy climbs onto Ven’s head, squeaking and pointing to a bowl of flour and eggs, unmixed. “Dark chocolate and rum?”

“That would be correct.”

“A spicy cake? Are you insane?” At his shock and at Aqua’s denial, Kairi helps herself to a spoonful of vanilla. “This is a wedding, not a club!”

“My wedding, Ven.” Aqua isn’t annoyed, but amused. Ven has such strong opinions about for some reason. 

“Try this one.” He holds up a plate of a decorated piece that honestly looks delicious. “Triple chocolate, with the rarest berries found in the woods, matured at thirty-five degrees Celsius for a week.” 

“Burnt cake?” Kairi asks with a smirk.

“Not the cake, the berries.” 

“Oh,” Xion gasps, with need in her eyes. It takes a nod from Aqua to grab a fork and have at it. She approaches each piece with so much excitement— Aqua wonders if there are flavors here she’s never tried before in her short life. 

“What will the final cake look like?” Naminé asks, the only one not to dive forward. She’s so gentle, so serene. When they were trying out dresses, everyone was saying what a beautiful bride she’ll be one day if she chooses. 

“Perfect,” Ven says, like it’s the most obvious thing. “It has to be perfect so it will look beautiful. Painted like a night sky, with stars everywhere. You got that, Remy?”

Remy glares at Ven.

“I want,” Aqua starts, and when Ven frowns, she smirks. Sometimes, for the sake of maintaining control, she has to play dirty. “Rosewater and cardamom.” 

Ven sticks his tongue out in disgust.

“Terra needs something to enjoy,” Aqua insists. “These are all too sweet for him.”

“Terra is the bane of my existence.”

“By the way, I don’t know if I want King Mickey and Queen Minnie to officiate.”

“You are way more difficult to deal with.”

Aqua and Ven have a staring contest as the others talk about their favorite flavors. Ven, a glare, a challenge to outwit her. Aqua, a calm knowing that she’s going to win. Ven relents.

“Fine,” he stresses. “Remy, change of plans. We’ll need some damage control. Let’s add some”—he writes into his notepad—“fruit pastries, sweet cheese with chocolate—”

“Triple chocolate,” Kairi adds.

“Custard and kiwi,” Xion says.

“All good choices.” Ven writes them down.

“Sea salt ice cream?” Naminé says, lifting a shoulder. “Everyone else eats them, I hope to try some.”

“Ven.” Kairi slams a hand on the table. “You need to add marshmallows covered in hazelnut and chocolate.”

“We need all the chocolate,” Ven agrees. “Call it revenge on this nasty cake.”

Kairi cackles, but it’s nothing malicious. They’re young and excited about the wedding, their suggestions a way of helping. Aqua takes it all in stride. The small details don’t matter, only the intent, and letting friends have fun deciding makes the entire process easier. What’s bothering her is Ven. He’s exhausted from taking it all too seriously. Aqua assumes the best intentions, but she doesn’t get it.

“You know what would be really cute?” Xion says. “Little petit fours shaped in your symbols.”

Ven blinks. “What symbols?”

“Oh, the Keyblade Master symbols.” Naminé claps her hands. “That would be so lovely.”

“In different colors,” Xion says.

“Each a different flavor,” Naminé adds. “Maybe the same colors as your Wayfinders?”

“You two are geniuses.” Ven taps his notepad. “Remy, we gotta get to work.”

Remy stomps a paw and squeaks vigorously.

“No worries. You’ll get paid.” Though it seems that’s the last thing on Remy’s mind.

“Ven,” Aqua says softly, pulling him aside as the others brainstorm ideas. “I don’t think we can afford all this.”

“Sure you can,” he says too confidently, though she and Terra were the ones to save up their munny. “Don’t worry,” he stresses when she’s not convinced, giving her a squeeze on the arm. “You asked me to bookkeep your finances” 

“Reminder that I did not ask you to take full responsibility. Remy can’t do all of this alone, he’s going to need you.”

“I’ve got plenty of time, and we’ve got plenty of budget.”

Aqua does not know how that is possible. After the dresses, the refitting of Terra’s tux, the decorations… sure, since they’re using the ballroom in the Land of Departure, they saved on not having to rent out a venue, but the original plan was to have a small, intimate wedding in the woods, something private with just the three of them, minimal decorations necessary, all plucked from nature. 

All of this is out of their price range.

Ven goes back to the table, back to the stovetop and oven where he follows Remy’s instructions and mixes the flour in the bowl with some milk. He doesn’t assuage her at all, like he knows something she doesn’t.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Home should be a solace but not when it’s the wedding rehearsal. 

Ven has ushered in movers from different worlds to carry in artifacts, all decorations, all star-themed. Terra has yet to see the ballroom, but the amount of people rushing through the hallways makes him nervous. 

Ever since Terra called Riku in the dead of night (in a panic, needing someone to talk to, alone in the kitchen with a cracked mug of tea), blabbing about tripping on the way to the altar, or cutting the cake clean through the table, or stepping on linen and ripping the curtains, or dropping his plate of food, or looking like an idiot on the dance floor, or worse—forgetting his vows—he hasn’t lived a moment of peace. Sora won’t let him. 

Terra finds it hard to breathe. What if he chokes on his vows and accidentally offends everyone?

He stays far away from the workers—it’s for the best. No one needs a huge bull stampeding in a china shop, destroying everything.

Lea crosses the hallway on his sixth trip and enters one of two entrances to the ballroom, vases of flowers in his hands. Terra peeks. From the looks of it, Ven did a fantastic job. 

The ballroom, once gold, now looks like the set of night. The ceiling is covered in blue with twinkling lights. The table linens are also dark, with napkins and silverware sets a solid gold. Glass windows that take up one entire side to the ballroom are bare of curtains—the wedding is planned for after sunset so they’d be declaring their vows under the stars. Two navy blue carpets come in through both entrances of the ballroom, meeting in the middle and then straight to the altar at the far end. The point is for him and Aqua to enter together, like equals. With her in a bridal dress, she’ll look like a light in the darkness.

Through the doorway, Terra can see Riku and Sora, the latter making motions with his arms as if he’s flapping like a bird. Terra lets the door close so they don’t notice him. 

There are fears he’s never voiced.

What if she realizes she doesn’t want to get married to him after all? At the altar no less?

Oh stars, what if he makes a terrible husband? 

What if he neglects her?

What if, years down the road, she realizes after a slowly oncoming epiphany that she isn’t happy and regrets it?

Tonight is the party, tomorrow is the wedding, and Terra still has no vows. He pinches his nose hard enough to distract him from crying. He’s already cried five times in the arc of three hours.

Footsteps—light, brisque, confident, hers—approach him, and Terra embraces her in his arms, taking her in with a needy kiss. She smells like home, she lets him breathe again. 

“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” she says, stroking a thumb on his cheek.

“Not if you’re my glue.”

She snorts, smacking him on the bicep. “What did I say about the puns?”

“Shower you with them.”

He kisses her before she can roll her eyes—

—and gets interrupted the moment Ven peeks out of one door. 

“What’s with the hold-up?” he says.

Terra breaks from the kiss, casually noticing how Aqua is patting his shoulder, as if to warn him. “What’s with your attitude?”

Ven pouts like he’s about to choke and slaps the notepad to his forehead. “No one listens to me. I said baby blue and champagne on the napkins, all shaped to form the constellation of Juno… and they gave me yellow. I am gonna complain so much.”

“There are worse things?” Terra says and Aqua shakes his shoulder as another warning. 

Ven snaps his eyes open. “Get into position, we’re starting.”

Aqua stands behind one door and Terra goes to the other, waiting for the cue to enter. On the other side, Ven is speaking out loud, organizing people and where they should stand. Grooms and bridesmaids will enter the altar from behind and gather together, leaving the carpet only for the star couple (no pun intended). He interrupts himself, raising his voice about vases that match too much and Terra can imagine him pointing across the room.

“I have to tell you something,” Aqua loudly whispers from the other side of the hall. 

Terra runs to her and wraps an arm around her waist. Touching her is a panacea. Despite knowing there is still a possibility she’ll rethink this entire relationship, it seems unreal, like a nightmare.

“It’s about Ven,” she continues, keeping her voice low even though they’re the only ones in the hall.

“Lea threatened to slap him.”

She frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Don’t you think it’s too expensive?”

“I don’t know. Ven doesn’t tell me how much anything costs.”

“It’s way more than we have saved up.”

Terra gapes. “Then how—?”

Aqua stammers, fiddling with her fingers. “I looked into his books.”

Terra melts into a breath-heavy laugh, careful to keep his voice out of it. “Reading people’s diaries? Aqua, I thought I knew you better.”

She blushes. “I didn’t mean to, but I was worried.” Now Terra is worried. Her expression is too serious. “Ven has been doing side-missions and hustles for months just to earn enough to hire the best chefs and tailors, to buy linens and all these flowers and carpets—” 

“He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

“Why?” 

“I think it’s because he wants us to be happy.”

“We are.” Terra doesn’t appreciate how he doesn’t sound confident, scared he’s assuming too much on her behalf. “How could he just…”

“We were stuck in darkness for so long and he couldn’t help us.”

“But that’s not his fault.”

“He feels he is the weakest and wants to compensate.” Aqua grimaces and she blinks back tears. 

“I feel so guilty.”

“I feel worse.”

“Why?”

Aqua bites her lip. “I’m still attached to the idea of a small, intimate ceremony in the woods. Just the three of us. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No. Our wedding has become a spectacle. Maybe pointing that out makes me terrible, too.”

She groans. “I found a book. I left it in your room. It’s very last minute, but there are some ancient rituals in there that I found so beautiful… the exchanging of rings is beautiful, too, but modern and there are some lost traditions from our Keyblade history that I’d love to do instead... if you could take a look?” 

The way she smiles, stars. Ancient, modern, he’d do anything for her. “Sure. I’ll read it tonight.”

Aqua winces. “He’ll be so angry with us.”

Terra squeezes her hand. “He wants us to be happy. Think about that.”

One of the doors burst open, and Lea sticks his head out. “Kindly stop being an ass and don’t keep your guests waiting anymore?”

They start: Terra at one entrance, Aqua on the other, entering the ballroom at the same time, where guests will watch them approach one another, like the shadow of the moon to a star. They meet at the point where their lanes merge into one. 

Terra offers his arm—

“Nonono,” Ven warns, running up to them. “You can’t meet her like this. You must bow at a forty-degree angle.” Ven scans the room frantically. “Here, I have a ruler.”

After that hiccup, Aqua finally takes Terra’s arm, walking down the single aisle, where guests can ogle at them. Their groomsmen and bridesmaids take pictures with their Gummiphones for their arrival at a wall of flowers. 

Sora has his hands behind his head and snickers when they reach the end. “I made sure the carpet is ironed out so she doesn’t fall with you.”

“I’m going to kick you in the shins,” Terra says.

He snorts and wipes his nose. “I’ll kick you back.”

At the altar, Ven is too excited to stop rambling. “We have to make sure that you arrive here, at this spot, at exactly nine-thirty so we can finish the vows at ten because...” He frames the windows with his hands. “We’ve got a perfect spot for star sighting so we need to be on time.”

“Do you mean, right after the wedding ceremony?” Aqua asks. 

“Before the reception, yup. We’re walking out to the balcony, we’ll watch the meteor shower where a new world will be born, then we’ll come back in for supper and dancing.” When he notices their stupefied faces, he continues, “I spent three weeks finding the right angulations so you can witness a unique astronomical event, and we’ve got a miracle of a spot right here so we can’t be late.”

“It’s a wonderful thought, Ven,” Aqua says, her voice shaky.

“Okay, now you get into position and face each other.” He points and they follow. “Next, Mickey and Minnie will talk some stuff, you know, all official, and then you say your vows.”

Terra freezes up. “Our vows.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said. You ready?”

Terra hesitates and Aqua speaks for him. “We’re keeping those a secret until tomorrow.”

Ven pauses, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Aqua doesn’t let Terra have another thought, leaning forward to kiss him in front of everyone (aahs and awws elicited), and ending the rehearsal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How do you get your skin so clear?” Kairi asks, though the warm glow of the fire makes for spectacular lighting. 

They’re camping in the woods near the waterfall, equipped with warm blankets and pillows, a bowl of cookies, and toasted marshmallows on sticks; Aqua’s vision of a bachelorette party. No gifts necessary.

“Mountain spring water does wonders for you,” Aqua says.

“I’ve read in a magazine,” Xion says, crawling out of her sleeping bag, “that some people like to put mud on their faces to get clean skin.”

“Why?” Naminé asks, chewing on a marshmallow.

“Something about the properties. Lots of good minerals.” She walks over to the creek, digging her hands into the dirt and smashing it into her face against the shocks and cries of the other girls. “If mountain water is good for you, then that must mean this mud is magical.” 

“Is that true?” Kairi says, though she’s asking no one. She hurries over and joins in on the mud-mashing, running fingers over Xion’s face in places she’s missed.

With globs of mud in their hands, they bring over the excess to the camp. 

Xion offers it to Aqua. “For beautiful skin on your special day?”

“It’s our job to pamper,” Kairi says with her hands out so that Naminé can scoop up the mud on her own. 

Aqua tries not to chuckle too loudly. It’s adorable. “Okay,” she says, and Xion gets to work, massaging it into her skin. It smells unpleasant, earthy and mukky. She closes her eyes and tries to relax regardless.

“I think we’re supposed to keep it on our faces for at least a half hour,” Xion says, rubbing more on Aqua’s nose. 

“This will make us prettier?” Naminé asks.

“Cleaner,” Kairi says. 

Naminé blinks, already covered in the mud and hesitating to put on more. “But we look dirty,” she says quietly.

“Can I request something, Miss Aqua?” Xion says, patting her fingers onto Aqua’s forehead.

“Certainly.”

“Can you tell us the story of how Terra proposed?”

Kairi jumps and squeals, and Naminé claps her hands, both of them chattering please, please, we’re dying to know.

“We’re around a fire,” Kairi says, as if that’s a convincing argument. “We’re supposed to tell stories.” 

“I feel bad for asking,” Naminé says. “You’re very private, and I don’t want to intrude…”

Aqua reads her face. “But you’re curious.”

Naminé pouts. Xion’s eyes go wide, and Kairi nods excitedly. Everyone is guilty as charged.

“It’s a simple story, I guess,” Aqua says, crossing her legs and watching the fire. It’s not often that she talks so openly about the details of her relationship. The two of them together is something people know, but never knowing where they come from and why, except for Ven—even then, there’s so much he never pries to. Watching their reactions is a little overwhelming. She rubs the stone on her ring. “Terra made the engagement ring with his own hands, but he took months to propose.”

“I remember that,” Xion says, sitting on her chair and smiling. “It annoyed Lea so much that he offered to set you both up just to get it over with.”

Aqua laughs. “I’m grateful we had it to ourselves.”

“Was it romantic?” Kairi asks.

“Not at all. I… knew he was up to something. I know him.” She lifts a shoulder. “He was burning breakfast too often, he couldn’t look me directly in the eye, and he left on his own to do more missions than usual. I took that as though he had done something wrong. The last time he was that clumsy and avoidant, it was because he accidentally cast Firaga in the library and was trying to hide it. Or when he broke the oven. Or when he offered to do my laundry but didn’t know how to treat my fabric and ruined my clothes.”

“He sounds like a clumsy oaf,” Kairi says.

That makes Aqua smile. She loves that oaf. “He is. The general rule of thumb is that a clumsy, avoidant Terra is usually hiding something.”

“So how did the proposal happen?” Naminé asks.

“I cornered him—”

Kairi snorts.

“—and he blurted it out.”

They giggle, Kairi acting out how that may have looked and Naminé holding her hands over her heart in a show of genuine affection. 

Aqua smiles to herself, a finger to her lips. It might be her favorite memory, her standing her ground and demanding to know what was going on. 

Terra, looking all around the terrace except for her face, guilty, guilty, guilty, pulling a box out of his pocket and stammering for a cohesive sentence. Well, I don’t know what to say, he had said, like a child getting grounded. I-I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I’m a big lump of a human being. He paused, his cheeks rounding up like he was about to vomit. Will…will you marry me, anyway?

It felt like racing in a train and pulling all the stops, crashing. He got red in the face, tears welling in his eyes and she realized he took her silence as rejection. Aqua had to hold his forearms, and all she could utter was a soft, I genuinely thought you burned down a building.

Terra’s eyes went wide. Do you mean you’re not mad?

Of course not. Why would I be?

So… He licked his lips, reaching for her but not touching her, forgetting that he had the box with the ring inside. What do you say? I mean, you don’t have to give me an answer straight away. I mean, I just thought you would… you know… because… He sighed. Yeah.

Aqua finally laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. Of course I will marry you, you beautiful dork.

The laughter quiets around the fire. They’re waiting for Aqua to continue her story.

“Then he drops the ring.”

They howl, melting into a blissful exchange of cheers and gossip, a vibrant hearth brighter than the one keeping them warm. 

“I had hoped to propose first, actually,” Aqua continues. She shrugs. “The end.”

“That was beautiful,” Naminé says, wiping her eyes.

“If Sora hears about this, he’ll never leave Terra alone,” Kairi says, grinning something mischievous. 

“I don’t know what love is supposed to look like,” Xion says thoughtfully, gazing at the sky. “But it sounds sweet.”

In Aqua’s opinion, the proposal was perfect, him scattered on the ground frantically searching for the ring, her on her knees helping him. How he slipped it on her finger, how they kissed for an hour in the dirt, unaware that they were dusty, unaware that anyone else existed in the world. 

Aqua nods, mostly to herself. It aches to be away from Terra tonight but it burns her insides to see him tomorrow and finally do this. Aqua wants to sleep and get this night over with but she doesn’t want to sleep so she could see the sunrise, knowing he’d be up early watching the same thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bachelor parties aren’t fun.

Sora is whooping about a cannonball, the water splashing when he makes contact. Ven and Roxas race to the lake, testing who will be the first to dive, the first to swim across and come back. Considering the expanse of the surface area, they’ll be gone for a while and the barbecue will get cold, but maybe it’s for the best. It’s not the right time to talk to Ven right now, not when all of them have a moment of fun (except for Terra, the only one here thinking about tomorrow). Lea and Isa prefer to relax, sipping drinks on their chairs by the lanterns erected onto the sand, speaking quietly about memories, about chores, about home and what ifs. 

Terra sits by himself, the thin booklet Aqua gave him on his lap, tucked under layers of parchment. It’s titled The Way, no author. She was right: old Keyblade rituals are interesting, almost possessive, their focus on the literal binding of hearts. They’re from the Age of Fairytales, and Terra realizes as he reads through it that ancient Keyblade wielders were for some reason obsessed with the loss of memory and the prevention of it. The rituals sound painful, too—maybe Aqua has developed a mild taste of macabre from her time in the Realm of Darkness. 

All Terra has left to do are his vows. His stupid, dorky-sounding vows. He should have accepted the simple, “I do.” He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.

He’s tried dramatic.

You are my other half, my heart, my breath of life, my sky, my angel, can we keep our souls together? 

He’s tried poetic.

The mountain will thirst if not for the water— 

He’s tried being honest.

I don’t know why you love me, but I’ll do my best to make it up to you.

All dumb.

Terra groans into his hands, eyes wide in existential blunder. 

“Keep doing that,” Riku says, setting a chair next to him and sitting down, “and you won’t be able to blink again.”

“I’m not finished.”

“But if you don’t sleep, then you’re more likely to have accidents.”

Terra gapes and almost whacks Riku on the side of the head from the sight of his constricted smirk. “You’re so mean. I called you one time.”

“In a huge panic talking about causing mass destruction of a wedding the worlds have never seen.” Riku shrugs nonchalantly. That’s his state of being—too cool for anything, too sensitive for everything. It’s refreshing. “It was the funniest phone conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll never call you again.”

“Not in the middle of the night, please no.” Riku bites a forkful of steak. “Is it cliché to tell you to speak from the heart?”

“This entire conversation is cliché, but here I am, living it out.” Terra stares at his messy pages, where he pressed the pen so hard that it left ink blots.

“You could do the very committal thing and tell her you love her fifty times.”

“All the guests would leave by the time I reach twenty-five.”

“More like fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Disaster.”

Terra grimaces, not entirely comforted, but not entirely anxious anymore, either. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It is a big deal, I’ll give you that,” Riku says, more serious. “I don’t have any advice.”

“None of it makes sense. Be honest, but not too honest. Be loving, but don’t make it cheesy. Express yourself, but hold back on certain things. Do make it personal. Don’t expose personal details. How am I supposed to know how to do it right?” 

It would be easier if there are no witnesses. If it’s just Ven, if Aqua is the only person he’s talking to, if he could simply say, You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I know I’ve fucked up. For as long as I live, I’ll never do that again. I will never take your forgiveness for granted.

And if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, there’d be nothing he could say to make her stay.

“I think if Aqua was the kind of person who expected you to do it right,” Riku says, looking out to the lake where Ven and Roxas are swimming back to their shore, “you wouldn’t be marrying her.”

Terra bends the pages, exposing the cover of the thin, leather bound booklet. There are no vows he could use in there, except for the officiator declaring their hearts intertwined. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Sorry I can’t be of more help.” 

Riku pats him on the shoulder and leaves him alone to take a walk, Sora begging him to enter the water. Terra flips to a page where he’s repeated I love you, I love you all over, each in different calligraphy, like doodling, like losing his mind and procrastinating the night away, hoping that any moment, inspiration would drop bricks on him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s time.

The strangest part of the day is waiting it out in her bedroom until it’s her turn to show herself. Over the years, her bedroom has been a reflection of her personality. The cleanliness, the artifacts from her home world long ago, the size of the bed, the furniture—they all stayed the same. What’s come and gone were the paint colors, the bedsheets, the art on the wall, the smaller vanity mirror. Her bedroom is her old life, and she sits in front of the mirror in her bride’s dress, about to start a new one. For now, they both collide, as though her childhood doesn’t know her.

The cape dress is simple, plain white with the neck scooped across the collarbone. The sleeves slit at the shoulders, draping over to the floor with the rest of the train. Aqua couldn’t have asked for something better. She completes the look with the ring, a jeweled hair pin on one side, and an armored choker. Makeup is minimal. 

Aqua is surprisingly calm and the sun is going down. 

Her Gummiphone buzzes with a text message.

Terra

Let’s do it

Aqua sighs, not texting back immediately.

Aqua

I don’t want to break Ven’s heart

Terra

I’ll talk to him

We can both get what we want

I already stole some flowers from the wall

Don’t think he notices

She chuckles, moving a hair strand behind her ear. She hasn’t noticed that her stomach has been a knot, from excitement, from nerves, from anticipation. The sun takes so long to set. Terra is the warmth of a tight blanket.

Aqua

Will this label me as a runaway bride?

Terra takes a long time to answer, giving her the impression that he must have been distracted and forgot to reply. 

It buzzes.

Terra

The shame

Aqua

What will they think when they find out the groom seduced her to it

Terra

The scandal 

when they hear how she met him secretly at the creek 

an hour before the ceremony

It sounds like an action plan. Aqua picks up her bouquet of orange roses and bluestars from her vanity table, heading out the door.

Aqua

I want Ven there

Terra

Definitely

I love you

Aqua

I love you too

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Terra finds Ven in the dining room, taking inventory of an indulgement of sweets and a feast of meats, fritters, and rice. The wedding cake is as tall as his body, a dark blue with smacks of gold glitter in the shapes of galaxies, large stars framing each layer, and topped with two halos. Ven is mostly dressed in his vest and tie, the suit missing. By comparison, Terra is overdressed, a groom ready for his encore.

Ven sighs when he sneaks a cookie the shape of the Keyblade Master symbol into his mouth, as though Terra’s presence reminds him of disappointment. 

“I couldn’t tame the cicadas,” he says morosely, like he’s apologizing, and for a moment Terra second-guesses what he’s about to do. Ven eyes the white rope curled around Terra’s shoulder. “What’s that for?”

“This may either cheer you up or piss you off,” Terra says, dropping The Way on the counter.

“I don’t like how you said that.” As Ven flips through pages, he frowns, chewing on the side of his lip. “Are you... not happy with the wedding preparations?”

Terra inhales, caught off guard. “Of course I am. Happy, I mean. It’s… huge. It’s a giant ordeal.”

“And you don’t like that,” Ven says quietly, stroking one of the pages with his thumb.

“I think there are things we’ve always wanted to have privately.” Terra sits on a stool, but Ven won’t look him in the eye. “And we want you to be there. We can do it now. We’ll be back in time for our guests.”

The booklet shakes in his hands. “I messed up.”

“From my point of view, I’ll be eating very well tonight. There’s nothing to compensate for.”

Ven closes the book. “I just wanted to do a good job.”

“If you allow Lea to slap you, he’ll forgive you.” Terra smiles, but Ven doesn’t join him. “We’re still doing your grand ceremony—that, we could never pull off on our own. But we also want something tiny and ours, and we won’t do this without you.” Terra takes Ven’s hand and squeezes it, before glancing at the cake. “I hope it’s delicious.”

“It’s disgusting so you’ll definitely like it.”

“See, I can always count on you.” Terra stands up. “Now come on. You wouldn’t want us to be late for the bride.”

Terra takes him to the creek, not far from where Aqua hosted her bachelorette camp, where the sound of rushing water is gentle and the creek splits into two directions, one that would drip off the side of a cliff and one that would join a massive river downstream. The trees huddle close in the clearing, a soft shadow from the fierceness of the setting sun, like a pocket of protective magic in the middle of the forest. 

Ven gasps. “You stole my flowers.”

“Please, you didn’t even notice.” Terra had built an easy wooden arbor before the crack of dawn that morning, an arch weaved with orange and blue flowers, spotted every so often with green lilies. He showered right after so no one would suspect.

“Let’s take it over there.” Ven points to a short boulder against a tree nearby, a good photo op. They pluck the arbor up from both sides and plant it in front of the boulder. Ven takes stock of the sight. “Not bad.”

“Thanks!”

“I take credit for the choice of flowers.” Ven rolls the rope into a tight circle, layering it on the boulder with each loop in equal circumference. He splays the book open and studies. “It’s kinda creepy,” he says though he gets no response and he doesn’t ask for one.

Terra shoves his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo and waits. Aqua isn’t here yet. The vest constricts his breathing, the thicket suddenly feels humid, and Terra wipes his cheek, realizing that his heart is beating fast. Time sped up to this moment and dropped him here without warning. Now it’s slowing down out of pure, unjustifiable spite to torture him in the final hour. 

“You okay, dude?” Ven asks.

Terra lifts his face to the sky to keep the tears in his eyes. “If I cry now, I think I’ll cry for the rest of the night.”

Ven snorts. “No one would be surprised, trust me.”

But it’s not working. He’s two seconds from sobbing. “I don’t know. I…” He scoffs. “I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m expecting her to never show up or brush me off last minute when she realizes what we’re doing—”

“No.” Ven approaches Terra like he’s about to punch him in the stomach to make a point. “Don’t think like that, she’d never do that.” 

Ven has good faith and better timing. Aqua approaches the other side of the clearing, the fabric of her dress gracefully making waves with every step, the foliage fluttering light and shadow on her figure. She holds her bouquet in one hand and a framed photograph tucked under the other.

It shocks Terra.

He can’t stop the flow of tears. He covers his shivering lips and the drip of his nose, his face twisting from the sight of her—brilliant, like she’s made of stars, a gift walking the earth.

“Terra, are you okay?” Aqua asks, rushing to him now, the train of her dress bouncing behind her. 

In the flash of an instinct, Terra runs to meet her, tripping over a branch and landing right into her arms. 

“You’re—” Terra sucks air in, his heart shoving itself up his esophagus. “Y-you’re s-so beautiful.”

Aqua uses her pinky to wipe his tears. “So are you.”

“Let me help you.” He takes the frame—a portrait of the Master, bordered with a white ribbon—and walks her to the arbor. Ven takes the portrait and places it on the boulder, their little family tied together, fractured in glued pieces, now and always. Before they start, Terra asks Aqua to pose under the arbor so he can take a picture of the trees and the flowers surrounding her. Beautiful.

“How do we do this?” Terra asks when he finds his voice again, still trembling. Aqua stands to the side to take her place. She’s beautiful.

Ven takes the book in his hands. The description of this ritual covers at most two pages. “Well, it’s archaic. It’s from the Age of Fairytales but it sounds like we will intertwine your hearts—but in an intense way, like we’re sewing them together.”

Aqua holds her bouquet to her chest. “Shall we start?”

Terra chuckles too hard, gasping for breath. “Simple as that.”

They wait for Ven’s cue, who also has no idea how to do anything. Ven clears his throat, shrugs his shoulders, and reads:

“We witness today the soldering of two hearts. To intertwine like the roots of a tree, the severance painful, the nourishment plentiful. A physical bond, a magical one, the merging of two sprites under the guidance of one truth. Two hearts, but one.” Terra watches the way Aqua watches him. There’s no one else in the world, Ven’s voice disconnected, like it floats on air. “Now it says to summon your Keyblades. Dig the tips into the ground, and offer your hilts to each other.”

Ends of the Earth is massive, taller than Ven. Stormfall looks delicate but it’s menacing, sharp, direct. They offer their hilts, the shafts crossed over each other, Stormfall light and airy in his hand, Ends of the Earth weighty and thick in hers. 

Terra finds it interesting that they’re using the hilt to connect each other’s hearts—the Keyblade should never be used against a person’s heart in traditional Mastery, because it’s such a dangerous weapon and it’s so violating. The blunt hilt, on the other hand, the physical manifestation of their hearts, is like exposure, an offer of vulnerability. 

Aqua’s feels like it’s thrumming, singing. She’s happy.

Ven steps forward with the rope and ties it over the hilts in loops. “This is just an image, the ties that bind, two Keyblades, but one. To intertwine a heart is to forge a chain, a friend, a companion, a memory. If missing then a void, a dream, a wish until reunion.” He steps back into position. “Before we go on, I think this would be a nice place to say your vows. Terra, you first.”

Terra stammers, looking into her eyes. “I-I couldn’t write one. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Ven whispers, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I wrote some just in case.”

Terra doesn’t take it. He licks his lips. “It wouldn’t have been graceful. None of it—all of my thoughts—pale in comparison to you, Aqua.” He steadies himself with labored breathing, the squeeze on her Keyblade like a hold on her waist. “You’re so, so beautiful, and I’ve spent my days believing I don’t deserve you, because… because I couldn’t make things right like I should have.” 

Aqua quivers, gently touching his arm with her free hand and motioning for him to breathe. 

He continues, “I’m sorry. I wish the Master was here. I wish I was smart enough to prevent it from happening.” He inhales, choking up from the mention of Eraqus. “I never thought you would marry me of all people, so… I promise... I will be there every step of the way. I promise you, if you’re scared at night, I’ll be there to protect you. If you’re hurting in another world, I’ll come find you. If you’re confused, I’ll hold you close and help you make sense of it. I’ll brew you tea to help you sleep, I’ll step in the line of fire even if you wish to do the same for me, I’ll walk to the ends of the earth to make sure you are safe and healthy. I promise I’ll be with you.

“And I’ll mess up. I know me. I’ll fix it. If you want to clobber me, I’ll be patient. I’ll learn. I’ll do better. Every day you save me from myself. This is the least I can do. I’ve loved you since I was a kid. I’ll love you every day.”

Silence falls on all of them, Terra sniffing just to get some fresh air, Ven wiping his eyes, Aqua blinking too much. 

“Now you, Aqua,” Ven says. 

Despite being teared up, Aqua holds it together. She’s so good at that.

“Terra, I stand with you because I do want to be here. I do want to be by your side. I do want to laugh at your bad jokes.” She relieves a giggle. “I love you. I have for as long as I can remember, even if I didn’t know the words for it.” She studies his face. “I’m sure the Master is here with us, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. I’m proud of you.” Suddenly, she switches her tone, as if to lecture. “And if you even fathom taking a hit for me, remember that I’m faster than you. I’ll protect you first.” Then she softens. “I promise to be your shelter when the storm falls on us. I promise to sit on your bedside when you’re sick, to lift you up when you’re down about yourself, because you are sometimes. 

“You are my home, no matter how far your heart is from me. If you need a star to light your way back, I’ll give it to you.” She smiles widely, like she’s about to laugh. “If something between us breaks, I’ll mend it with you. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

Their words are now spoken. Aqua suppresses a laugh and grins like a child. Terra holds his breath, just in case he screams from every emotion that he can’t name.  

“Well,” Ven says, rolling his sleeve up so he could wipe his nose on his forearm. “I guess it’s time. This bond is an oath you will remember each other until you close your eyes for the last time, for the tragedy to forget is to be alone forever. Do you accept this?”

“I do,” Terra says.

Aqua hums. “Yes, I do.”

Ven smiles. “You know what to do.”

With his free hand, Terra presses two fingers to his chest, over his heart, where he builds a golden glow. Twenty years living with her, ten years in darkness thinking about her, this vow is impossible to break—even if they can’t do this any longer, Terra could never forget her. Never. In his hand is now a piece of himself, a nugget of his heart, a memory of her in his bed that he never wants to lose.

He takes those fingers to her chest, two thick golden threads drawn out from his heart. She winces at the touch, quick to dissolve. Stormfall shifts in his hand, growing longer, its hilt thicker and darker, wrapping around like a weaved shield. A subtle change, a little piece of him.

Aqua does the same, fingers to her chest first to create the threads, bringing them to his chest. It does hurt, like a needle digging into his skin, sharp for the entire length until it’s suddenly gone. 

He feels full, as though his insides are creating space for something extra. Warm, frightening, whole, exciting. Her piece is a memory he can’t read but he doesn’t need to. Ends of the Earth opens way for an icy blade to cut through the middle as the hilt fans out like wings. A piece of her to take with him where he goes.

“Alright,” Ven chirps, snapping the booklet closed. “The book ends with the quote, Two hearts, only one, but I think this means I can call you husband and wife in secret. So kiss.”

Their Keyblades dissipate when they hold each other, tender but with appetite, unaware of their surroundings for several selfish moments. With sewn threads, it’s as though he breathes through her. Terra presses her onto him, feeling how her heart now beats in sync with his.

“I love you,” she whispers. They are married. 

He’ll never tire of hearing it. Stars, they are married. “I love you, too.”

Terra hears Ven sniff before a handkerchief is shoved into his face. “You need your face dry and clean before everyone sees you,” Ven says. 

The sunset now is deep, a fiery orange. Terra doesn’t want to let go.

“I’ll hold you again tonight,” Aqua says, patting his chest. “I want to see the meteor shower Ven promised.”

“It’ll be a good one,” Ven assures.

Terra kisses her. “Then we have to make a run for it.” He picks Ven up like a log, jogging through the thicket of the forest with Aqua close behind him, the Master in her arms. When they approach the castle, in the twilight, they hear chatter coming from the halls, as though ghosts are partying outside. 

Terra feels at peace despite that he now has to perform, balancing on a tightrope where he doesn’t care if he falls. He turns around and holds her neck to kiss her again, feeling her laughter in his mouth. “One more?” he asks when they break. 

Ven, still tucked in Terra’s arm, groans. “I never asked for a front seat to the kissing show. Is this my punishment?”

Aqua kisses him one more time, whispering to him I love you for what will be a string of I love you’s in the night to come. Friends will cheer, Terra will trip on the way to the altar, Sora will cry because Terra will cry, Xion will eat too much cake and get sick, Isa will laugh because he is drunk, Kairi will be the star of the dance, Aqua will be the star in his eyes.