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thepinkwriterr · 2 years

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Capricorn Season Chapter Sixteen Part Two

Hello! I ask that you forgive my lapse in posting... I just started college and it’s kicking my ass! I am also going through a lot of issues interpersonally (sigh... why is love so hard?)

Anyway, we join the gang back at Bron-Yr-Aur for the last part here! This continues from Robert’s POV. This chapter was co-written by my lovely friend @anothercanyonlady ! She has helped me from the begining and is always wonderful. I thank her very much for her work on this (and every other) chapter! Enjoy.

The sun hid behind thick, grey clouds. Although it was mid-morning the world was still washed in muddy blue with edges of sharp white. I was hit by cold air as I stepped into the wet grass just beyond the front door.

Carmen rushed out past me with Maureen following suit. I was left with Jimmy in the doorway, looking out at the expanse of green and grey. The earth was awakening today, blinking and bright. Flowers were popping open like eyes of sleepy children in the premature morning. Dew misted the blanket of grass that covered the glacial dirt.

Just days ago, flakes of snow coated limbs of trees that coiled and snaked into the ground. Now pops of green and orange created sparks in contrast to the terrible monotony of the spiritless British climate.

I was happiest here, it seemed. I was happier here than I'd been in months. Working endlessly was killing me, stripping the paint off my walls. I longed for a break and peace, stamina was making my bones ache.

Like the rising of a beautiful song, Spring erupted around me. The grass tickled my ankles as I made my way to the middle of the yard, a tangle of picnic items in my arms, and I laid out the quilted comforter that Jimmy found in the tiny closet by his room. As it fluttered to the ground I saw the patterned squares of galloping horses, pink roses, and green taffeta. The stitching that held each square together was tight, showing the neat craftsmanship of the creator. I wondered who made it, assuming it was the same person who made the afghan in the parlor.

Carmen scurried underneath before the blanket could settle. I smiled and started flapping it up and down. Her giggles filled my ears. She screamed with glee and her little face flashed as I lifted the blanket, then disappeared as it sunk back to the ground around her frame.

“More!” She cried, her voice desperate with laughter.

Strider joined Carmen under the blanket and I poked my head in. “We’re supposed to sit on top of it, my dear.”

“More!” She demanded.

I crawled underneath with her and sat up, creating a fort. “More? More of what? More of this?” I began tickling her sides. She squealed in delight. Her face was doused in a warm, golden haze from the sun shining through the thin quilt. Her round cheeks were soft and rosy, I’d never seen a face so sweet.

Maureen sat a basket down in the grass and grinned, she knelt to take out the victuals. “I don’t know who’s is whos’,” She pulled out four sandwiches and a bowl of cut-up melon and grapes.

“Juice!” Carmen wiggled out of my grasp and crawled out from under the blanket.

“Use your words, love,” Maureen held the sippy cup.

“I get juice now, please.”

“Good enough,” Maureen sighed.

Carmen grabbed it and furiously suckled the cup, stopping to catch her breath and then back to the juice.“Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick drinking it that fast,” Maureen scolded.

I flattened the blanket. “You’re a thirsty, lass, that’s all!” I patted her back as she chugged away.

The bubbling of the nearby creek sounded in my ears, “That stream must be thawing, how about a swim?” I grinned at Maureen.

“Yay, swim!” Carmen cheered.

“Oh no no no, don’t put that idea into her head, it’s too cold!”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” I argued.

Jimmy appeared around the opening of trees holding his guitar and 8-track, then sat down on the blanket next to Carmen and me. Maureen passed out the sandwiches and they all tried to enjoy the chirping and bubbling around them while Carmen was momentarily silenced.

The whole world was entrenched in a deep green field surrounded by trees that went on for miles and the only entrance was a small trail through the forestry. Soft grass and clover flowers blanketed the space.

Carmen tugged on my hair and pulled my ear up to her,

“Ow!” I groaned as she began to speak.

“Daddy, can we go swim, now?” She whispered into my ear.

“Mummy said no, love,” I whispered back.

“Pleeaase?” Her whine was convincing, but I had to be strong.

“No.” I dragged out the vowel to extenuate my clause.

The toddler huffed and her eyebrows furrowed, “Biscuit, please.” Carmen requested. Maureen opened a tin of biscuits and dropped one in her hand. It wasn’t before she’d popped the lid back on before Carmen had scarfed down the pastry and asked for another.

“Baby, you’ve only eaten a bite of your sandwich. How about you finish this half before another cookie?” I tried to reason with her. That was a fool’s errand… Toddlers don’t have very good deductive reasoning skills. It’s surprising how much you have to teach them!

Carmen huffed once again and crawled over to Jimmy’s guitar that lay face up. She plucked three of the strings and looked up at Jimmy with a mischievous look in her eye.

“Would you like to play?” Jimmy asked.

She nodded, she was still a little shy of Jimmy.

He picked it up, “You hold it like this, and you press these strings to change the note.” His fingers wrapped around the neck. He strummed a chord. She pulled one of the strings, making it slap back onto the board, “Ack, careful! You gotta be gentle with the strings or they’ll break.” She ran her fingers down the strings, up and down, squealing as the guitar rang loudly.

“She’s a natural, better than what I can do!” I chimed in, ruffling her hair. I was brimming with pride at her musical inclination. I figured it was about time to get her interested in such things, just as Bonham had done with Jason. He had that boy banging on the drum at three weeks old.

I was impressed with Jimmy’s openness with Carmen. He guarded those guitars with his life, and to see him duetting with her was adorable. It was a miracle watching him open up.

Carmen went back to disassembling her sandwich. Her attention was as short as her body. Jimmy looked a bit disappointed, another surprise. But he put the guitar aside and went back to finish his sandwich. But when he looked over he found Strider running away with it. He sighed and reached over for the biscuit tin.

I fell back to lay my head across Maureen’s lap and smiled at her. The sun's rays gleamed around her head. Her otherwise black hair was a lovely chocolate shade in the sun. It fell in fat coils with a tasteful amount of frizz and reached her shoulders. I couldn’t help but reach up and twirl it around.

“What?” she smiled back.

“Can I not have a look at my woman? Especially one so exquisite…”

“Exquisite?” she scoffed, “What am I, a meal?” She said in insolence. I grinned mischievously before she popped a grape into my mouth then leaned over to kiss me.

Her lips were sugary and soft like the tender fruit of a freshly peeled orange slice. She was like summer, sweet and welcome with a biting heat. I longed for her just the same, waiting and wanting for the feeling of sweat trickling down my chest. She was a tree, untapped and endlessly flowing with saccharine sap. And I loved her. I loved her, I loved her, I loved her, just as one would love the sun in the sky and the fresh blooms surrounding

After this exchange, Carmen quickly shoved a piece of melon into my mouth and pecked me on the corner of my mouth. I had barely enough time to recover from the grape. Maureen and I laughed haughtily. I quickly sat up and grabbed the two-year-old and squeezed her tight.

“What sweet girls,” I said with glee. She escaped my grasp after enduring for a couple of seconds. She grabbed a triangle of white bread and waddled away with Strider trailing behind.

Jimmy picked at his guitar and noodled away.

“Where is she going?” Maureen sighed and started after the two.

“I like that sound, Pagey.”

“Yeah, I was thinking it could be pretty upbeat.” He began a pattern of plucking and smacking, plucking, smacking.

I moved my shoulders up and down with the fast beat. Lyrics began to swirl in my head, an image of a dog and jostling trees in the wind. I was taken by his talent and wrapped in his musical charm. His little wizard fingers danced up and down the fretboard as he created one of the best sounds I’d ever heard. My eyelids fluttered closed and bolted shut as I locked in on a set of lines.

Angels singin' all 'round my door, so fine. Ain't but one thing to do, spend my natural life with you…

The notion swam into my thoughts like heaven’s mandate, so simple but effective. I could hear the angels calling and see the door of the cottage as a nebulous image, one created by his strumming. He was still going on and on with the strings, playing something I didn’t even know he had the penchant for.

“Carmen Jane Plant!” Maureen’s words were a shrill, shrieking end to our musical peace. Jimmy and I cocked our heads over to the stream, the direction her screaming was aimed at.

Then came the howling, not from the dog, but Carmen crying. I scurried to get up, driven by mad adrenaline, the kind only a parent who hears their child in distress could muster. I tripped over myself as I started to run. Jimmy sat down his guitar and drew his attention to deep-set water. He didn’t dare go to meet us, too afraid of what occurred and Maureen’s anger to come.

“Are you okay, my poor girl?” Maureen swaddled Carmen in her jacket as the toddler clung to her, wailing.

“What happened?” I asked, my feet just too slow to reach my poor child. I could feel Maureen’s unrelenting eyes bearing into me already. She was firing daggers into my chest and face.

“She decided to take a swim,” she glared at me, referencing the suggestion I’d made earlier.

“Oh, Mo, I’m sorry, I didn’t think she-” Maureen has already walked a ways past me, back to the quilt.

“I’m just gonna take her back to the house,” she called back to me, her tone still angry. Carmen hadn’t stopped her assault on our ears. I put my hand on my hip and itched the back of my head, watching her go.

I turned my attention to the water and kicked myself as the stream carried itself down rocks and twigs, over __ and through piles of dead leaves. It raged on despite the circumstances, no matter what it encountered. The water always prevailed.

“What’s wrong?” Jimmy paced up to me, guitar strung around his back, 8-track in hand. Maureen had packed up the blanket, I could see as I looked over his shoulder. The basket sat lonesome, contents splayed in the grass.

“Carmen just got into the stream and now Mo’s pissed at me for some reason,”

Jimmy sighed. “She’s probably just upset,” He soothed.

Strider ran past us, downstream, into the shadowy trees. “Strider!” I called and took off after him.

“For fucks’ sake,” Jimmy exclaimed under his breath, “Robert, we can’t go trampling around in the woods, I’ve got 500 pounds worth of equipment!” His voice was desperate as he reluctantly followed suit.

I came to the break in land, faced with either crossing the stream or losing my dog. I happily hopped across the water, resting on some rocks and leveraging my weight over in some mud, and splashed in the water to get to him on the other side. Water seeped into the canvas of my converse as I heard Jimmy whining behind me.

“I can’t get in! I’ll drop my stuff.”

I turned to look at him and sighed, impatient and irritable. He was one more person pissing me off today. He was worse than Carmen! I half expected him to start sobbing when I protested, “be a man! It’s just a guitar, you’ll be fine.”

“This was expensive! And this 8-track has been with me for the last four years. I spent the very last of my studio money on this. If I mess it up now we won’t have any recording equipment and this trip will all be for nothing! I can’t-”

“Oh, shut it! I don’t care! I have to get my dog.” I carried on without another word, shoveling through heaps of fallen leaves from the towering oak trees that shaded the watery dirt from the nonexistent sun.

I clamored into the trees, my feet smashed into the mud as I chased after the dog. I could see spots of caramel fur through the trees as I ran wildly. Strider was fast, running faster than he ever had before. The wind was whistling in my ears and fighting against my lungs.

I began chasing after the dog, dodging past the trees and skipping over roots. Dangling branches heralding leaves and berries whacked me in the face as I trudged over rocks and roots. I tried to push them out of the way as I clomped through the forest, but there wasn’t enough time. I had to find Strider.

As I ran, I imagined Maureen’s bitter bite when I told her I lost the dog. Her pursed lips bent into a frown and she stepped away with Carmen on her hip. It had happened once before. I had lost him before.

It was a year ago, right before I went back on tour. I took him out for a walk around the property right after we moved out of Mo’s parent’s house. I had just gotten him and he was getting accustomed to the new house, just as we were.

He slipped out of his collar and took off when he saw a car coming down the road. He started to chase after it and I lost him when he took a sharp turn. I looked everywhere for two hours.

I finally had to give up and go back home, faced with the shame of having to tell my wife I lost our new dog. I kicked myself the whole walk home.

When I returned he was sitting on the front porch, chin rested on paw. Maureen sat in the rocking chair behind him, feeding Carmen.

I could feel hot tears brimming in my eyes. My face was cold and bitten by the wind that whipped my face. I brushed the tip of my nose as I came to a clearing. Strider was nowhere to be found.

The same feeling of panic and pain filled my chest as that day last year. It seemed Strider had a penchant for making me worry.

I slumped over, hands on knees, and took deep breaths in and out. I was winded, I hadn’t run like that in years. My adrenaline was beginning to wear off as my thoughts became more lucid.

I was angry with him. I was angry that I had let him off the lead and trusted him. I was angry that I had to chase him. But most of all, I was scared. I couldn’t hear his bark or footsteps anymore and began worrying.

I imagined him lost and scared, or that he’d fallen into a hole. I worried another animal had found him, one that he could not fight off. He was no stray wolf, after all.

Just as my thoughts began to spiral I heard him once more. He was barking just ahead of me. I could see him through the trees now. He was walking closer to me. Finally, some sense out of the ole boy!

I walked closer to him and called out. I yelled his name once, twice. He stayed firm in his stance. He was on guard.

“Strider, c’mon! We’re goin’ back to the house,” I said, cupping my hands around my mouth. A twig snapped under my heavy boot. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I just wanted out of the cold and to have Strider once again.

His face came into view. I was a few feet from him, watching as he took off again. I groaned. I threw my head back and ran after him once more. I was beginning to feel angry again.

I stamped through dead leaves and roots, over rocks, and through ant hills. I had no steam left but kept rolling. I could see Strider ahead, his legs working overtime. He took a sharp turn to the left and we headed back through the vegetation, now en route back to the cottage.

I came to the stream once more. Jimmy stood in the middle of the water, watching Strider as he splashed around. He stopped and looked at me, barking and panting. It was all a game, I realized. He was testing me, angry that I hadn’t given him enough attention today. Unbelievable! He took off once more and I rolled my eyes as he stopped just downstream, staring and waiting.

I stopped my groveling when Jimmy began his own. I realized that he wasn’t just languishing in the water on this glorious four-degree day, instead, he was stuck. His galoshes were welded into the earth by thick mud, the bottom of his rubber rain boots forged into the stream by mother nature herself.

I began howling with laughter as he bitterly seceded and sat on a stump just below him. I doubled over, my hands on my knees, and shuddered with relieved laughter. I hadn’t lost the dog and Jimmy hadn’t dropped his guitar.

“It’s not funny!” He grimaced, “what am I gonna do? I’m stuck!”

His whining was no longer humorous and I was feeling the fatigue of my forest frolicking. “Just get over it, mate, it’s a little mud!”

He groaned and slumped over.

I was filled with adrenaline and I couldn’t be bothered to stay still. I paced along the bank caked in yellow and brown leaves, the crunch following every step I took.

The earth was still dim and dead but was awakening. The morning had given way to the afternoon. The sun was beginning to peek out from behind the cloud, ever so slightly. I surmised it was almost one o’clock. I hoped it was, anyway. I began to feel hungry. It seemed our breakfast in the grass hadn’t fulfilled me.

I turned back to Jimmy to see that he’d slipped his feet from his boots and was now sitting criss-cross on the stump. His boots sat straight up as if his feet were still in them. I blew a puff of humored air from my nose.

“You didn’t drop your guitar,” I commented, cocking my head.

“No, I didn’t,” he answered bitterly.

I huffed and turned around, admiring the towering trees that surrounded us. I hadn’t had a chance to really take them in while I was running. But they were beautiful. Iron-clad arms broke off from the main trunk and stretched miles into the sky, fingers spread. Large leaves were beginning to form, their dead incarnate lying under my feet.

I heard more splashing and turned back around to see Strider. I rolled my eyes at the dog but he made his way to me. He jumped onto the bank and stood before me. He dropped a large stick, covered in lichen, at my feet. He wagged his tail and sat, his glossy eyes looking up at me.

I shook my head, laughing, and bent over to pick up the stick. “Thank you, Strider, good boy,” I scratched between his ears, his favorite spot, and smiled down at him. How could I be mad when he just wants to play?

I threw the stick across the water and it landed on the other side in a pile of dead leaves. Strider ran for it, jumping clear over the stream.

“Ain’t no companion like a blue-eyed merle,” I sniggered, watching as he laid down to chew on the stick.

I saw Jimmy just then, his grimace mending into a grin. “Ah, caught you smiling!” I pointed, a laugh tumbling from both of our lips.

He bent his neck down and hid his face from view. I could tell he was still laughing, though.

With his spirits raised, his frown now thoroughly turned upside-down, he brought his guitar from his back and began to strum. His fingers worked along the strings quickly. The lithe fingertips were moving from chord to chord, a display of magic. To keep the allegro I began to clap and stomp.

“Ah, caught you smilin’ at me, that’s the way it should be… Like a leaf is to a tree, so fine!” I began to sing, words seemingly coming to me magically.

“All the good times we had, I sung love songs so glad. Always smiling, never sad, so fine.” I looked to Jimmy to ensure he was feeling the same energy I was. He wore a broad smile and nodded with every stomp.

I pictured the mud tracks in the driveway, and how Strider’s paws fit within them as we made for the front door. I could see the house now, as I opened my eyes to see the brick facade. “As we walk down the country lanes, I'll be singing a song, hear me calling your name. Hear the wind within the trees, telling Mother Nature 'bout you and me.”

“My, my, la la la, come on now, it ain't too far. Tell your friends all around the world ain't no companion like a blue-eyed Merle!” I called to Strider, watching his ears perk up.

Now I saw Gwen, sitting at home with her books and tea. I wished she were here to see us. I think she would’ve had a lovely time. I saw the two Johns with their kids, content with their time off. I was sad they hadn’t come either. “Come on now, well, let me tell you what you're missing, messin' 'round them brick walls.”

I stopped singing, winded and out of words. I left Jimmy to take it for a moment. He began noodling, as he often did. His fingers danced up and down, creating a repeating, jangling lick that rang into the trees and reverberated.

“So of one thing I am sure, it's a friendship so pure. Angels singing all around my door, so fine. Yeah, ain't but one thing to do, spend my natural life with you.” I smiled as I sang at him, watching his face morph into a grin as he registered my words.

“You're the finest dog I knew, so fine!” I sang now to Strider, who was at attention from our singing. “When you're old and your eyes are dim, there ain't no old Shep gonna happen again, we'll still go walking down country lane.” He began to wander off toward the cottage, stick in his mouth.

“I'll sing the same old song, hear me call your name,” I watched as he continued toward the cottage.

“Strider!” I called over Jimmy’s brash assault on his strings. He stopped playing and Strider stopped in his tracks.

The play button on the 8-track was pressed in. Jimmy had recorded us mucking about, and surely it would end up on the album. I hoped it would, it was a wonderful tune.

We were all giggles and smiles as we made our way back to the cottage. Jimmy had pulled his boots from the mud and we got across the water without another casualty. The sun was out now, lighting our way as we entered the cottage.

“Do you think Bonzo will like it? It’s a bit softer than he’d like,” Jimmy said, retrieving two mugs from the cabinet above the sink.

“I think if we let him do the stomping he’ll be just fine,” I laughed.

Jimmy leaned against the cabinets as he let out a howling laugh, the mugs abandoned next to his clutching hands.

“You two be quiet! Carmen is napping,” Maureen scolded, her lips pursed.

I grimaced, turning away from her to hide my laughter.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimmy said, covering his mouth to stop his chortling.

Taglist:

@anothercanyonlady , @jonesyjonesyjonesy , @paginate54 , @seventieswhore , @jimmypages , @jimmys-zeppelin

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homeimgs · 1 year

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7 Simple Summer Bedroom Decorating Ideas

1. Summer Bedroom Color Palette Summer Bedroom Decorating Incorporate coastal hues like sandy beige, beach pebble gray, watery blues, and summer whites into a summer color scheme that is lighter than one you might employ in the winter. Design Tip: Use a neutral color base for your furniture and wall color (black, white, gray, or beige) to create a flexible bedroom design plan. Then, add summer accent colors. You may use a summer garden color palette of yellows, greens, pinks, or mauves instead of a coastal sea-inspired palette of blues! To become a better decorator, you should be aware of the color wheel and color schemes. Why not use a light and bright neutral tone rather than a dark paint color when painting your walls? Of course chic white walls are always a winner for a bedroom!

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating - Include a coastal style A coastal design element looks fantastic in a summer bedroom! You may include seaside themes into your bedroom's general traditional, boho, farmhouse, or glam design plan by using bedding, toss pillows, art, and other accessories. I incorporated coastal design into this bedroom by using beachy blue hues and shell decorations. The summer is the ideal time to put my massive collection of starfish and shells on nightstands and dressers!

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating - Mattress Lightweight, breathable cotton blend linens and a quilt should take the place of heavy duvets and flannel sheets. I enjoy utilizing white blankets! Instead of using a duvet on chilly evenings, I place one folded quilt on the bed and a second one at the end of the bed. How to maintain white bedding's white appearance: A reader questioned me about how I keep my white quilts so white; the answer is that I use this laundry white revive and stain removal product on them. It's incredible! I added a scoop to my white quilt and washed it on the cold delicate cycle. A summer-weight duvet can be added if you truly adore them. Add a couple of throw blankets to

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating 4. Accent Pillows Accent pillows are where you can really make a summery statement to your bedroom and bring in layers of gorgeous color and pattern! For patterns, stripes are perfect for summer! Pin stripes, awning stripes and chunky stripes all work! I love these two chambray blue and white pin striped throw pillows paired with the wider awning stripe lumbar pillow – I picked these pillows up at HomeGoods. Incorporate summertime watery blues, blue-greens and nautical navy to your accent pillows. Accent pillows are essential accessories for a cozy bedroom so make sure you add a few to your bed, bench at the end of your bed and bedroom accent chairs.

Summer Bedroom Decorating

Summer Bedroom Decorating 5. Baskets Make your bedroom lighter and brighter with baskets made of natural materials like wicker, sisal, and hyacinth grass for a summery feel. Baskets are ideal for a tree like this lovely artificial fiddle leaf fig tree and may be used for storage in the bedroom to keep clutter at bay (important in a small bedroom!). I adore how lush and flexible the leaves are, and how much greenery it gives our bedroom. It is ideal for both small and larger bedrooms because it is only 4 feet tall. I adore this basket since it has a lovely tassel hanging from one of the handles and is perfect for holding my fig tree. So fun! I also adore the white.

Summer Bedroom Decorating 6. Wall Art When it comes to decorating the bedroom most people wonder ‘What can I put above my bed?’ My advice? Hang a juju hat above your bed! I’m OBSESSED with this gorgeous white juju hat! It absolutely ‘makes’ the room and is such a stunning focal point! Hanging a juju hat over a headboard is the easiest way to add that ‘designer’ look! Just fluff it, hang on a nail and you’re done! It’s so so gorgeous – if you buy one you will literally gasp when you hang it! I know I did! The feathery texture just give a cozy vibe to a room too! See my juju hat that I hung over my living room media unit and TV here. I kept the beautiful Indigo coral framed prints on the walls – because I’m obsessed with these coral prints and the indigo color!! Plus they fit in perfectly with the white and blue summer look I’m going for. To add another touch of blue and white to the far wall of the bedroom I made some simple DIY piece of artwork. This super quick and easy DIY art project literally took less than 5 minutes to put together! I pulled a large white frame out from storage, took it apart and wrapped a beach sarong in a blue shibori print around the backer board of the frame! I’ve had this beach sarong since I was a teen and still love it today! You could also frame a beautiful scarf. I wanted to reuse my beach sarong later so I didn’t cut the fabric and I found a trick to disguise all the extra fabric too. I simply folded the fabric behind the frame and clipped it using bulldog clips! This tidies up all the loose fabric behind the frame. Read the full article

#Bedroom #HomeDecor #SummerBedroomDecorating

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bokettochild · 3 years

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Fic request! Legend and Ravio being best buds and being there for each other? Or like just them getting along. Platonic cuddling? I love them both.

Slight self projection on this one, but oh well!

I really like writing the dynamic for these two! But i would like to clarify that I write it as being strictly platonic.

Yes, Ravio does kiss Legend on occasion. But Ravio is a toucher, and that's just how he loves! For him, that's normal, that's something you do to those you love, not just in couples :)

Legend isn't great about physical touch, mostly because he's unaccustomed to it. He loves it, he just doesn't know how to ask for it or receive it most of the time.

And with that cleared up, on to the fic!!!

Mr. Hero was acting weird again.

His family had come back to visit again, and while many of them were wrapped in bandages and sporting some rather nasty wound, Mr. Hero seemed to be relatively well off from the fight. He wasn’t untouched, this was Mr. Hero after all, but he wasn’t as poorly as some of the others, which is why it was so odd for Ravio to find him curled up on the couch in their living room when he’d thought that everyone had gone to visit the local village.

They’d talked about it over breakfast. They’d arrived yesterday and hadn’t had time to restock in a while. The worse injuries were a broken arm on Mr. Smithy’s part, and that in no way hampered them from being able to do a run to the village, and it seemed many of Mr. Hero’s family saw visiting towns and villages as something of a treat.

They had been so eager over breakfast, talking over each other while Mr. Hero had rolled his eyes and pushed Tune- Wind back into his seat, scolding the champion for chewing with his mouth open and generally just correcting table manners and keeping people under control during the meal. Typical Mr. Hero, fussing over everything being right but pretending not to care, Ravio wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he sees them all they all eat like they’re in a castle, Mr. Hero’s just the kind of person to subtly train them all to behave lest they be faces with his flashing indigo gaze.

But he really would have thought, what with how everyone had chattered, that Mr. Hero would be with them all, leading them through the village and haggling with shopkeepers on the prices of potions and food. Yet here he sits, curled on their couch with that bulky quilt he likes so much thrown over his shoulders. Mr. Hero hasn’t bothered to fix his hair or tuck it under his cap, and it tumbles down his shoulders in a messy tangle as the Hylian stares unseeing at the far wall.

Ravio pauses in the entryway to the living room, his cup of cider still on one hand, and the book he’d been hoping to read in the other, heart torn over walking back into the kitchen and asking why Mr. Hero isn’t with his family. The slight shudder that runs across Mr. Hero's shoulders is all he needs as an answer and it’s without a second thought that the merchant strides across the room to settle on the couch beside his housemate, eyes bright and smile disarming as he looks over to Mr. Hero.

Dull violet meets his own green as Mr. Hero pauses and sighs, gaze shifting back down to the ground.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

No snark, no dismissal, no ‘Ravio, I’m not in the mood’. Mr. Hero is at a stage where he is simply accepting things, and that’s never good!

“Why the long face?” He prods gently, settling himself on the couch as Mr. Hero moves slightly to accommodate him.

Okay, that’s even worse. Mr. Hero is being accommodating.

Oh Lolia, is he dying?

“Enervated.” Mr. Hero drawls, and Ravio is now officially freaking out. The big words have come out, the big words that he doesn’t know the definition of. His gaze trails back over to his book.

Most people don’t consider reading a thesaurus a past-time, and Ravio never would have considered it before moving in with Mr. Hero, but if he wants to understand the hero than he needs to know all the words that will crop up in his vocabulary anytime he is especially tired or bored.”

“E-enerv-”

“Tired.” Mr. Hero clarifies, shifting in place and drawing the blanket tighter around is shoulders.

Sharp green eyes watch his movements. It’s autumn and a slight chill has pervaded the air, but there really isn’t any need for the heavy blanket in this weather. Maybe a shawl or afghan of some sort, but the thickest and heaviest blanket in the entire house? That’s just plain overkill!

“Just tired?” He doesn’t even bother pretending to respect Mr. Hero’s space as he reaches out to rest his hand on his housemate’s forehead, gently shifting to touch the vet’s cheek. Rather than shake him off, Mr. Hero gently leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed gently as a breath whistle from his lips. Ravio frowns as he pulls back.

Mr. Hero is warm, but not unhealthily so, and it can probably be blamed on the heavy quilt he’s got throw over his shoulders.

The merchant quirks a brow. “Are you cold?”

Mr. Hero’s face twitches oddly, eyes darting up to meet Ravio’s before drifting back down; blank and tired in a way they often are after a long day. But today has not been a long day, he reminds himself, and Mr. Hero must have been in here since finishing dishes with him this morning.

“Yes.” Mr. Hero murmurs softly, more at the folds of his blanket then at Ravio. “But not...outside?”

And that is... that is confusing.

“I don’t understand.” He half wishes for his hood and robe, but he’d only just finished cleaning and he hasn’t put them on again, so he plucks instead at the edge of his scarf, similar to what Mr. Captain Hero Sir does when he’s anxious.

Mr. Hero huffs a breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Glad you don’t.”

He doesn’t like the blankness of Mr. Hero's face or the heaviness of his words. “Can you explain it to me?”

If there’s one thing that brings light into his friend’s eyes, it’s teaching. Mr. Hero loves to share his knowledge, and Ravio has sat contentedly through a dozen lectures on bee-keeping and orchard work or weapons care and traveling precautions and any number of other things. All he ever needs is a cup of cider and a warm nook to bundle himself away while Mr. Hero talks. Goodness knows he chatters quite a bit himself; Mr. Hero deserves to have an audience on occasion too, and he always has such interesting things to say that Ravio never minds listening.

But Mr. Hero’s eyes don’t light up with that glint of passion and his fingers don’t tap with barely contained energy. Quite the opposite. He curls in closer around himself, eyes clouded as he breaths heavily. “It’s like there’s somethin’ ‘side you that’s cold an’ empty. Like you swallowed ice or somethin’ cold like an’ it won’t melt. You can be toasty warm on the outside and it ne’er goes away, it’s jist-” The pink-haired Hylian’s ears flick as his nose twitches with pent up irritation. “It’s like you’re empty and no matter how much you eat or sleep or keep busy, it ne’er goes away.”

Understanding dawns with a heavy heart and tears pricking in his eyes. “I think that's called loneliness, Mr. Hero.”

Mr. Hero’s eyes glisten as he turns away. “’m not lonely. There’s eight people on my tail on the day to day an’ I can’t lose ‘em even if I tried.”

The tight ball Mr. Hero is curled into could be defensive or self-comforting, and he can’t tell which, but Mr. Hero's grip on his blanket laden shoulders is too tight to be anything short of strained.

“Being with people doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely.” Ravio’s voice comes softer than he means it too.

Mr. Hero once complained that his own voice was trapped in the stage of squeaking and breaking, but Ravio’s could drop low ‘till it was nothing but a deep vibration. He’s teased Mr. Hero about it more than once, but he finds that it’s also effective at making the other boy calm. Mr. Hero loosens so now, eyes still blank as Ravio stares at them, hoping that they’ll turn to meet his gaze. “You can feel lonely in the middle of a full kingdom.”

He knows. He remembers hiding in his big room in the castle and wishing that it wasn’t so cold and empty and that someone would look at him and see something other than a cowardly advisor. He'd wanted someone to look at him and see a friend, or a brother or a loved one. He’d wanted to matter and be safe in the warmth that was a real home.

Mr. Hero gave him that. Mr. Hero’s house, with its big apple tree and buzzing bees, it’s pokey little kitchen and creaky staircase, the blasted rocker and the freaky masks on the wall, all of it makes this house a home that is so distinctly Mr. Hero's, yet somehow also his own.

He can see it in the knitting needles stashed in their basket by the couch. In the mugs that he’s left empty on bookshelves and table tops. He sees himself in the drawing of the curtains to let in sunlight, and the organization of the items on the shelves and the wall.

This is their home, something that is both of them, and it’s always felt warm and fulfilling to him.

He’d never realized that Mr. Hero might not feel the same...

It’s on impulse, and the fact that Mr. Hero doesn’t push him away speaks volumes, but Ravio scoots forwards and pulls the veteran hero over to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping tight around his friend as heavy breaths escape from them both.

“Is this better?” He whispers softly against the pink that curls beneath his chin and the fluttering breath of Mr. Hero.

There’s only a faint grunt from the hero in his arms, non-committal, but Mr. Hero isn’t complaining or pushing him away, so he doesn’t let him go either. Never mind that he’s almost pulled his friend on top of him, Mr. Hero needs a hug, and Lolia danggit! Ravio is going to give him the best one he’s capable of!

Mr. Hero’s breath evens out as he adjusts a few times, shifting but never pulling away, and Ravio takes that as a cue to make himself comfortable.

Short, pale fingers trail up to weave through curling pink locks that are still unbrushed from the night before. It’s silky under his touch, a testament to his friend’s alternate form, and he takes no small amount of pleasure in winding his fingers through it and gently tugging out the tangles. Mr. Hero only sighs under his ministrations.

“It’s okay to ask for hugs you know.” He teases softly, almost disappointed that he can’t see how his housemate blushes and stiffens, but Mr. Hero's ears give him away, red as they are, and a smile tugs across his face when he sees it. “I'm sure Mr. Chosen Hero would love to hug you, he seems like that kind of person. And Mr. Smithy always seems fond of that sort of thing. Why, even-”

“Shup.” Mr. Hero huffs, and Ravio grins as his eyes fall down to where his friend’s arms have wrapped around his waist, a messy head of pink lying against his chest and the full weight of hero and blanket pressing down on him.

He doesn’t respond, but he does go back to running his hands through Mr. Hero’s hair.

A tune comes to mind as he sits there, and he lets the melody drift through the room as he absently strokes Mr. Hero’s long pink hair, the book in his hands capturing his attention until soft squeaking snores begin to sound from the hero on his chest.

No one’s there to see the kiss he presses to the mess of petal pink, and when the others return from their trip, neither of the two bunnies is awake to say anything at all.

The heroes stop in the doorway, surprise and fondness taking over their faces at the sight of both of their hosts stretched out over the couch, Legend lying over the top of Ravio, one of the merchant’s hands still resting on Legend’s head while the other hangs down towards the floor, barely grasping the book he'd been reading (Wind makes a comment about reading a thesaurus being strange, but no one really questions it too much). Legend’s arms are still wrapped tight around Ravio’s waist, his cheek pressed against the merchant's chest as squeaking snores escape through parted lips.

They’ve never seen the veteran so peaceful, Time muses as he removed the book from Ravio’s hand and tucks the quilt tighter around the two, noting with surprise it’s weight. Neither hero nor merchant wake, although Ravio does shift in his sleep at the disturbance, but the two are out cold.

There’s the snap of a shutter and a faint coo as he looks up, single blue eye meeting Wild’s own, the champion smiling sheepishly from behind the slate, the image on the screen of him knelt beside the two boys, tucking them in on the couch. Time smiles at his cub. “I want a copy of that picture, you hear?”

“Yes sir.” The champion whispers in return.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu ravio #lu legend #fluffics #linked universe fanfic #linked universe fic requests #lu time #lu wild #not ravio\i #do not tag as ship #thank you!

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conceptstage · 4 years

Text

“Jester,” Caleb said with a kind smile. “This is your room.”

Jester squealed and hugged Caleb from the side. “Oh my gosh, Caleb! Thank you, I can’t wait to see it!”

Caleb cleared his throat awkwardly as she pulled out of the hug, his face a little pink, and continued down the hall. Jester reached for the door but her hand froze on the crystal doorknob at his next words.

“And Beau, this is your room.”

Jester frowned and turned to watch as Caleb led her to the next door down. “She… Wait.”

Beau glanced back at her over her shoulder and Caleb looked concerned.

“Jester? Something the matter?”

Jester opened her mouth to speak but caught Beau’s eyes and paused. She was looking at Jester without an ounce of protest or worry on her face. Didn’t she know that they were supposed to be roommates? They were always roommates. But Beau didn’t seem concerned.

“Oh, nothing,” Jester said finally. “Nevermind.” She squeezed the doorknob so tight that it might have broken a less magical doorknob and then she pulled the door open sharply. “Thank you, Caleb!” She disappeared inside without another thought and shut the door behind her.

She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep, filling breath, then let it out like a sigh, opening her eyes once more. The room was beautiful, she thought with a little smile. It was similar to her childhood room and she realized all at once that that was why Caleb had wanted to see it. The walls were a similar golden beige color with a white chair rail. A giant bed big enough for five people to lay shoulder to shoulder was on the left wall with silk white sheets, a fluffy yellow quilt, and a hundred pillows in silky yellow covers. There was an easel against the far wall but that wall was empty and blank to give her space to decorate it to her own discretion. There was a shelf against the right wall full of smut and Jester giggled a little at the idea of Caleb reading and memorizing them well enough to recreate them in his mind mansion. There was also a little table in the corner with a sign that read ‘Placeholder for Traveler Shrine’ and Jester could already imagine the one she wanted Caleb to make for her next time.

But, even full of all the things she loved, it felt… empty. Quiet. Too quiet. If this was an inn, Beau would already have claimed the bed (or the side of the bed, if they were sharing one) closest to the door. Maybe she’d have her notebooks spread out on the mattress, making connections between obscure conversations they had with that one guy four months ago and something she had read at the Soul today. Maybe she’d be talking out loud to herself as she thought, filling the room with soft murmurs and her warm, deep voice. Maybe she’d let Jester paint her again, reclined against the pillows with her notebook propped open on the thigh, spinning her pen around idly with one hand like she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Maybe she’d complain about the yellow bed dressings and she and Jester could get in a playful argument about what the best colors were.

She sighed and stepped fully into the room. Why did she suddenly crave the sound of Beau’s quiet breathing?

She visited the other rooms before dinner (Caduceus knew that they’d technically already had dinner at Trent’s but at least half the group hadn’t eaten a thing). Fjord’s dark captain's cabin that rocked gently like a ship at sea, Veth’s lavish spa room with hot tub and mud bath that never got cold or crusty, Caleb’s dark library with rolling bookshelf ladders and every book that he had ever read and memorized (including copies of several of the smut books that Jester had found in her room), Caduceus’ lovely little garden room, and even Yasha’s bed of roses and wildflowers. But not Beau’s. When Beau invited her over, Jester made an excuse.

“I’m hungry,” she said, still wiping steak sauce off the corners of her mouth from Trent’s feast. “I’ll drop by before we have to leave, promise.”

But when it came time to sleep, she still hadn’t been. She laid in her bed, the quilt pulled up to her chin, staring at the pastel pink ceiling. There were no crickets here. No crashing waves in the distance. No sound at all coming from the void outside her wall.

She chewed on her lip nervously and tossed off her covers before she could talk herself out of it, marching out into the hallway in her pastel green nightgown and fuzzy weasel shaped slippers.

She hesitated before shutting her door. What if Beau didn’t miss her at all? What if she was sleeping soundly, not worried about Jester at all?

But, still, she continued forward, shutting her door and tiptoeing to the next door down. She raised her fist to knock and squeaked when it opened before she even made contact.

The door swung open quickly and Beau jumped, startled.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed. “Jesus, Jes, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry! Sorry, I was just about to knock.”

Beau sighed and leaned against the door jam. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I just realized I didn’t come see your room, is all. I thought… if you were still up… Wh-What are you up for?”

Beau licked her lips and avoided Jester’s curious gaze. “Just… going for a walk. Felt restless, is all.”

Jester nodded and rocked back on her heels. “Cool. Cool. How do you like your room?”

Beau cleared her throat and pushed off the door frame, opening the door wider so that Jester could step inside.

It was a smallish, simple room, smaller than Jester’s but with high, vaulted ceilings. The walls were bright blue, closer to robin’s egg than cobalt which was what Jester had expected. The floor was dark hardwood instead of her white carpet and there was a small, single bed against the left wall. There were fighting dummies against the far wall and a desk against the right wall with two empty bookshelves on either side.

“Why are your shelves empty?” Jester asked, stepping inside.

Beau shut the door behind her. “Caleb can only create books that he’s already read and he left them empty until I tell him what books I want there,” she said.

“Do you like it?” Jester asked, looking back at Beau over her shoulder. “It’s a lot… simpler than the other rooms I’ve seen. Fjord’s room moves, did you know that?”

Beau smiled softly and shrugged. “It’s perfect, Jes.”

“You wouldn’t rather have a super big bed like mine or super tall bookshelf like Caleb? If you want to change it, I don't think Caleb would mind.”

“The room is great, Jes. I like simple. I had fancy stuff at my dad’s house and it didn’t make me happy. There is one cool thing though. Come here.” She grinned and waved for Jester to follow her towards the bed. She hopped onto the bed and Jester giggled and followed, sitting on the bed and only laying back when Beau did. The bed was tiny so they laid with Jester’s arm and shoulder overlapping Beau’s and Beau shifted so that her arm wrapped around Jester’s back. “Watch this.” She puckered her lips and pressed her tongue to her teeth and let out a high pitched, lyrical whistle that echoed up the vaulted ceiling.

There was a beat of silence, then all the candles dimmed automatically. In the dark, the vaulted ceiling almost looked like an endless night sky. There was a pop, then a streak of bright light flew up to the top of the ceiling with a whistle, not unlike the one Beau had done to activate it. The light faded out of existence, then there was another pop and a red firework lit up the room.

Jester gasped and grabbed Beau’s arm out of surprise. “Oh, wow!” she exclaimed.

Beau chuckled just as a blue one went off. “The man knows me,” she said, sounding a little put off about it. “It’s cool, right?”

“It’s so cool! I love it!”

Beau was smiling, pleased, before whistling again. The fireworks stopped and the lights rose but neither of them moved. “Glad you came over to see it?”

Jester licked her lips and avoided Beau’s searching expression. “I… I didn’t actually come over just to see your room. It was too… quiet.” She shifted on the bed so that she was laying to face Beau with her hands pillowed under her head.

Beau sighed and moved to mirror her. “Yeah. I was… When you came to the door I was about to walk over to your room for the same reason.”

Jester smiled softly. “Maybe next time we tell Caleb we want to room together? If you wanted to, that is.”

“Yeah,” Beau said, then she raised up her arm to let Jester cuddle against her chest. “I want to. You wanna stay here in the meantime or you wanna go enjoy your giant ass bed instead? Spread out a little?”

Jester hummed and closed her eyes, instantly feeling tired and safe in Beau’s embrace. The sound of Beau's heartbeat against her ear was already lulling her to sleep. “No. This is perfect.”

#critical role fic #critical role #beauregard #jester lavorre #beaujester #long post

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minaslittleone · 3 years

Text

Fission & Fusion (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story “And I failed to climb the mountain”.

Word count: ~3300

Wilhemina woke lazily the following morning to the warmth of sunlight on her face as it peaked through delicate lace curtains. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and to identify the source of the insistent scratching which had roused her. As she rolled onto her right side towards the bedroom door she caught sight of Miko's white dipped paw batting beneath it, scrabbling and scratching at the obstacle that dared to impede his free reign. An affectionate smile pulled at her lips as she watched his antics as she sleepily scrubbed at her eyes. His scratching stilled as she let out surprised gasp as her knuckles made contact with her bruised cheekbone, which was now undoubtedly swollen and probably a fetching mottle of red and purple. Now aware that she was awake, Miko's insistent scratching was replaced by a disgruntled meow. Wilhemina tried to ignore him, not really sure if he was allowed in the bedroom to begin with, but she was powerless to resist him once his meows were replaced by what could only be described as plaintiff cries. Who could resist that?

As she eased herself to her feet the full effects of the previous two days began to make themselves known. Her back was undoubtedly stiffer than usual but whether that was the result of two nights in unfamiliar beds or from crashing face first into concrete she couldn't be sure. Likely a combination of the two. The throbbing ache in her right wrist and hand as she supported herself on her cane was definitely a result of the concrete she rued, as she transferred the loathesome object to her uninjured left hand, her back complaining instantly. Today was looking like such a promising day.

Miko continued to make his displeasure known as she slowly made her way towards the door, his cries becoming increasingly insistent now that he could hear her moving. The moment she cracked the door the slightest distance ajar a flash of grey fur shot past her, heading directly for the patch of sunlit warmth at the centre of her recently vacated bed.

She tried valiantly to keep her features schooled as she scolded the cheeky feline who was currently in the process of kneading the covers into an acceptable state of comfort.

"Are you really meant to be up there, Miko?" The grey tabby cat shot her a questioning look as if to say "really human? You're the guest in my house and you're going to question if I'm allowed on the bed" before promptly turning his back on her and curling into a ball on his appropriately fluffed portion of the quilt.

She shook her head fondly, slowly making her way back towards the now occupied bed. Miko raised his head to study her as she gingerly lowered herself back onto the mattress, easing herself forwards to retrieve her book bag from beneath the bedside table. With practiced ease she flipped the lid on the amber pill bottle, dispensed two pills and threw them back dry. Normally she would muscle through the discomfort while the pills took effect but today, she reasoned, she had nothing to do and nowhere to be so for once she could actually listen to the pleading ache in her bones. It also helped that there was no one to witness her indulgence, other than Miko who had made his way across the bed to her and was currently standing about a foot away from her with his head cocked to the side, still not entirely sure what to make of her.

As she returned the pill bottle to her book bag she noticed the glass of water, which had evidently been left for her earlier that morning, and the handwritten note peaking from beneath the coaster on which it sat. She relished the way the cold glass dulled the ache in her hand as she raised it to her lips, pointedly ignoring the way her stomach churned at the tenderness behind it. Miko seemingly sensed her unease, trotting over to her and curling into a cosy ball against the side of her thigh. Her left hand rested against his tiny head, thumb stroking absentmindedly against the side of his chin, while her right hand returned the glass to the bedside table and retrieved the hand written note. She still could not place the feeling of unease it produced in her but she was emboldened to push past it by the comforting warmth of Miko pressed against her thigh, his rhythmic purring easing her nerves.

Good morning dear, I wanted to let you know I was leaving but I didn't have the heart to wake you, you looked so peaceful. I hope you slept well, I'm sure you needed it. I should be back around 6 baring any disasters but help yourself to anything in the meantime. And don't worry about Miko, he has been fed though I'm sure he will try to convince you otherwise. My office number is by the phone if you need anything. Try to take things easy today and be kind to yourself my dear. - Elizabeth

Wilhemina silently tested the shape of her adviser's given name, lips tentatively forming around the sounds. Of course she had seen the name Professor Elizabeth Thompson written for years but the explicit use of her christian name felt scandalously personal. A voice in the back of her head chided that thought - you spent last night in her guest bedroom and you're worried about using her given name? Ridiculous. Evidently in her preoccupation her left hand had stilled for Miko let out a sleepy chirup of annoyance, drawing her attention away from the complexity of her current relationship with her Professor. Elizabeth she reminded herself.

Having already disturbed Miko she took the opportunity to reposition herself to lay back down. The grey tabby was initially unimpressed to have his pillow so rudely removed but forgave her in short order, gently clambering up onto her chest as soon as she was laid flat. Miko stretched himself languidly, face contorting in a gigantic yawn that Wilhemina couldn't help but chuckle at. His little face came to rest upon her sternum, head cocked to the side, eyes watching her intently. Gently he lifted one paw, tiny pink toes pads coming to rest against Wilhemina's unmarred cheek, tenderly inquiring "more scritches, please." She happily complied, arm draping loosely across the little ball of fur who had wormed his way into her heart and her bed. As she began to scratch affectionately under his chin Miko craned his necked back in contentment and began purring again in earnest. Wilhemina smiled to herself as she allowed her eyes to close, the warm weight of the purring feline ensconced upon her chest lulling her to sleep. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to rest, just for a little while. Besides it would be cruel to disturb Miko when he looked so comfortable.

It was several hours later when she awoke again, judging by the way the sun no longer shone directly through the bedroom but instead created a bright indirect glow from further overhead. Wilhemina's stomach let out an indignant growl at the late hour, rousing Miko in the process who glared at her from beneath half lidded eyes. She scratched behind his ears in an apology which was evidently accepted as Miko began to nuzzle into her hand in response.

As she tentatively began to lever herself from the mattress Miko jumped down onto the bed and began to stretch out the kinks from his nap. Wilhemina looked on jealously as his spine extended as she slowly convinced her own vertebrae to support her weight. As she brought herself upright for the second time that day she noted gratefully that the painkillers seemed to have worked their magic, leaving her only slight tender even after the events of the past few days.

Navigating her way down the stairs proved to be somewhat challenging not merely from coordinating her balance with her cane in her left hand but also because Miko refused to leave her side, wending his way between her legs as she focussed intently on not breaking her neck. Having successfully reached the landing she made her way into the kitchen in search of breakfast, or whatever meal this now constituted. She noted gratefully that an assortment of cereals had been left on the kitchen counter, alongside a bowl and the necessities for tea and coffee, saving her from rooting through her professor's cupboards. She set the kettle to boil before preparing herself a bowl of muesli. As she set her tea to steep she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the mug Elizabeth had selected for her which proudly displayed the figure of Little Miss Stubborn, she couldn't really argue with the assessment but for once felt like such a gesture was meant as an affectionate jibe rather than an outright condemnation.

Miko stayed pressed against her ankles throughout the entirety of breakfast and whilst she cleared her dishes afterwards. He trailed behind her as she made her way back up the stairs, intending on changing out of her loungewear and into some proper attire. And he stopped beside her as she caught sight of contents of the room beside hers peaking through the door which had been left slightly ajar. The walls were painted with the most tender depictions of rabbits, squirrels, owls and deer, each peaking from amongst a lush forestscape. She found herself magnetically drawn to the scene, fingers ghosting across the hand painted figures on the plaster. Unfazed by her exploration Miko made himself at home on one of the two child-sized beds clothed in crisp white linen. An old oak bookself sat in the far corner of the room, practically bursting. Wilhemina's eyes skipped over many of the brighter, more modern spines, instead drawn to a shelf higher up full of older, more battered volumes whose titles she recognised from her own childhood. Familiar names jumped out to her like old friends - Blyton, Potter, Milne, Dahl. Far too many hours had been spent alone save for their company, whether alone and immobilised in a hospital bed or hidden beneath her bed clothes by torch light trying to block out her parents arguing, these had been her constant companions. She tenderly retrieved Matilda from the shelf, thumbing through the well worn pages, allowing the little girl she kept so securely locked away a moment to breathe, smiling fondly at the words which had given her hope in those moments of darkness.

So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.

She remembered vividly the delicious taste of revenge the first time she had partaken in Matilda's retribution against all those adults who had tried to squash the precocious young girl. More than once she had allowed herself to imagine what it would have felt like to exact similar vengeance against her mother. How sweet it would have felt to bleach her perfectly coiffured hair, to place newts in the punch at one of her horrendous soirees or terrorize her parents with ghostly reminders of their failings. How she longed to make her mother feel an ounce of the pain to which she herself had been subjected.

Still clutching the much loved volume she curled up next to Miko and allowed herself to retreat to a world of childhood comfort in which the underdog could triumph, in which I'm big, you're little could be usurped, in which Miss Honey might reach tenderly from the pages and adopt her too.

That was where Professor Thompson found her several hours later, relishing in the climax of the novel as Matilda vanquished Ms Trunchbull. She smiled fondly at the young woman she had always known to be so controlled and regimented curled lazily against the wall on her granddaughter's bed, Miko lounging against her thigh and contented smile playing across her lips behind a curtain of firey red hair. The floorboards creaked beneath the older woman's feet alerting Wilhemina to her presence. Her cheeks flushed furiously as she sheepishly met the older woman's gaze but found only genuine affection in her grey-blue eyes.

"Don't even think about apologising, my dear. I told you to make yourself at home and I meant it."

In spite of Elizabeth's assurances Wilhemina still felt the need to explain herself. "I didn't mean to end up in here" she began, "I saw the paintings and I only meant to look at them but then I saw the books and -"

"Wilhemina," the older woman cut her off kindly, "stop apologising. You've done nothing wrong, you needn't justify your every action. Not to me at least" she added knowingly. "My daughter will be flattered that you liked her paintings, though I really should show you photos of the masterpiece she created in the children's room back east. She works as a children's illustrator, though I think she would much prefer to do larger pieces like these if there was the work in it."

"I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful" Wilhemina whispered reverently. "Their little faces are just so sweet."

"I'll be sure to tell her you think so. Now, I should leave you to finish with Matilda, dinner should take me twenty minutes or so which, knowing the speed you read at, should be ample time."

"Oh no, it's fine" Wilhemina interjected, "I know how it ends, I've lost count of how many times I read it as a child. I should come and help you."

The older woman sighed, of course Matilda would be a favourite of hers. "Nonsense dear, finish your book. I'll call you when it's ready." And with that she was gone.

Wilhemina was indeed finished with the book when the older woman called her for dinner twenty minutes later, her voice floating up the stairs as if Wilhemina's presence at her dinner table was the most natural thing in the world. The simple meal of pasta Alfredo was passed in companionable silence between the two women, with Miko dividing his time equally between them. He remained under their feet as they cleared the dishes, with Wilhemina bracing her weight against the kitchen counter through her left hip to grant herself two free hands with which to dry the clean dishes as the older woman handed them off to her. Elizabeth shook her head fondly at the young woman's stubborness, once she set her mind to something there really was no stopping her.

Wilhemina was drying and putting away the last of the cutlery when the older woman disappeared momentarily, only to return with a manila folder which she placed atop the freshly cleaned kitchen table. Wilhemina eyed it warily. The older woman placed two cups of tea beside it and gestured for Wilhemina to join her. She did so cautiously.

"No need to look so nervous my dear, it's nothing bad. I just brought home the list of available casual positions from the careers centre on campus, I thought you might like to take a look to see if anything interested you."

Wilhemina froze. Of course it was too good to be true. Of course the kind older woman had grown sick of her already. Why wouldn't she, when she was nothing but a useless burden? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could you think that anyone would actually put up with you?

Professor Thompson caught the way Wilhemina's shoulders stiffened and how her jaw tensed, as if preparing herself for an attack. She reached out and took the younger woman's hand in her own.

"There is no pressure dear. This is not about me getting rid of you. I simply thought you might be interested, I know you must be anxious about what comes next, you've never been one to be without a plan." Wilhemina suddenly felt very small and seen in a way she never had been before. It was simultaneously terrifying and yet so, so safe.

"It can wait as long as you like" the older woman continued, "but I'll leave it here for whenever you're ready."

"No, I mean, I'm ready now" Wilhemina blurted, "I just thought you meant-"

"I know my dear, I know" the older woman cut her off with a firm squeeze of her hand, earning her a shy smile from the younger woman. "Would you like me to stay or -"

"Stay" Wilhemina affirmed, "please?"

"Of course dear, now where do you want start?"

"Well, I suppose law or business makes the most sense" Wilhemina sighed, "at least I have some experience there."

"I didn't ask where you should start dear, I asked where you wanted to start - there's a difference. You said your parents chose law for you, what would you have chosen? If you could start over and choose for yourself what would you do?"

Wilhemina froze at that. She had accepted so long ago that she would simply follow the path her parents had set out for her that she had almost managed to convince herself that she wanted it too. It did no-one any good for her to pine after a future that could never be hers.

"I don't know" she stared at the older woman, eyes wide with the realisation.

"What do you miss from highschool then?" the older woman tried. "Is there a subject you enjoyed that you had to give up?"

She considered that for a moment. "Science, maybe?" she added shyly, "I liked that it was predictable, that I could know what to expect."

"Ok" the older woman prompted, fingers rifling through the folder, "any particular area?"

"Electronics or computers, maybe?" She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, as if waiting to be punished for daring to express her own desires.

"Ok, there are a couple here that could fit." The older woman traced her finger through the list of positions. "This one looks interesting. A couple of graduate students from the engineering faculty are looking for someone to help with data management and organisation for a start-up. They seem to be interested in bionic limb development" she added, sliding the paper towards Wilhemina, finger marking the appropriate notice.

Wilhemina scanned the brief description greedily, trying to temper her expectations. It sounded perfect but she daren't allow herself to even begin to hope that it might be possible.

"I think you would be perfect for it."

Wilhemina scoffed in response, "I don't know the first thing about robotics."

"But they aren't asking for that dear, they're asking for someone to help with organisation. They want someone who is meticulous and logical to help keep track of their data - that is you to a T. You would be brilliant at that. And it would allow you to see if it's an area that you like and maybe later you could transition into a more technical position, or go back and study more about it if you wanted."

"Look" the older woman reached out to tap the paper in front of Wilhemina, "it even says they have patents filed and a company formed. It seems to have all the makings of a long term prospect."

Wilhemina could feel her heart start to flutter at the possibility, that maybe, just maybe it wasn't too late for things to change. She scanned through the notice again, Elizabeth was right, it did sound perfect. And try as she might she couldn't help but look at the company name printed at the end of article with the hope that maybe it also inscribed her future.

Kineros Robotics

A/N: there is one more part to come after this, though I think I will likely dip back into this universe as one-shots from time to time to explore some of the key moments between here and apocalypse. If there are any particular things you would be interested to see feel free to hit me up

#sarah paulson #wilhemina venable #baby mina #mina #gif: sussoria #lucyintheskywithxanax

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daisybeewrites · 3 years

Text

You Made Me Soup??

word count: 2.5k

warnings: lots of fluff, daisy gets a cold, daniel takes care of her :)

requested? yes

ship: dousy/daniel sousa x daisy johnson

Soooo this is the first writing that i’m posting on tumblr, let me know how I did in the comments! I’m a sucker for Daisy fluff, lets hope you are too b/c this is very fluffy. I appreciate any feedback and I hope you enjoy!

p.s. drop a request in my inbox if you have a fic idea!

Daisy felt like crap. She just got back home from a long, long mission that seemed as if it had dragged on for weeks (it hadn’t). More importantly, she felt like she hadn’t seen Daniel for weeks (she had, in fact, seen him just six days ago). The night air was chilly as she trudged up the stairs to one of her safe-houses. She frequently crashed here after missions, so she wasn’t surprised when Daniel opened the door and bear hugged her.

“Umph.” Daisy was sore, and her head hurt like a hangover made of bees, but Daniel’s soothing presence relaxed her. He lifted her chin and gave her a deep kiss on the lips. Sousa would love nothing more than to hold her like this for a couple hours minimum, he knew that Daisy needed time to decompress by herself after missions. He helped her inside and shut the door behind them. Daisy's stomach growled. She peered inside the fridge and settled for a tomato and cheese sandwich. Daisy sat at the kitchen island and munched tiredly. Daniel sat on the couch and silently studied her. Something, he thought, is off.

“Sweetheart?” he called.

“Yea?” she replied, around a mouthful of bread.

“Are you, uh, feeling okay?” The genuine concern in his voice caused Daisy to sit up some and look over herself.

“Do I look that bad?” she wasn’t offended, just surprised. There were a couple tears in the legs and one on the side of her suit from the brambles she had had to run through, and she wore dirt all over her face from the dust that had kicked up after she quaked the enemy assailants back about fifty feet. She honestly didn’t think she looked that bad. A tiny frown appeared on her face before Daniel quickly shut down her train of thought.

“No, no, you look amazing as always,” Daniel got up quickly and stepped across the dark wood paneled floor into the old tiles that covered the ground in the kitchen. “No, Dais, that isn’t what I’m saying.”

As he reached her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed her hair out of her face. Daniel had to admit, she looked very cute when she was tired. However, he was too worried about how out of it she looked that he couldn't fully appreciate her adorable state.

“Then what? Do I have leaves in my hair or something? I could’ve sworn I got them all out!” she began to comb her hair out with her fingers. Daniel just grinned. When she was satisfied that there weren’t any leaves in her hair, she glanced back up at him. His hands were on his hips, and he was using his new prosthetic leg that Jemma and Fitz had designed for him. She returned his grin and hopped off the counter so that she could wrap her arms around his gorgeous shoulders. Suddenly, her vision swam with little black dots and she couldn’t quite get her balance. Daniel reached out to steady her with a little more than worry in his eyes this time.

“Look at that,” Daisy grinned wider, “I’m actually falling for you.” Daniel let out a low sort of chuckle and sighed. “Daisy, I think you need some sleep.”

Daisy patted his chest and nodded. “Probably.” As she said it, she let out an involuntary yawn, “Okay, so definitely. I need sleep.”

Daisy began to walk back to her bedroom. It was cozy, and the colors reminded her of her bunk on the zephyr. There was a large bed with an old, wooden nightstand to match in the corner, and a few bean bag chairs and a short floor desk so that she could work at night. The bed was covered in comfy quilts and a soft, lavender duvet. No one would have guessed that a superhero lived here except for the hexagonal panels lining the walls, ceiling, and floor. Simmons and Daisy agreed to install them after Daisy almost leveled the house during a nightmare. It had been Daniel who suggested painting them, so that she wouldn’t feel as enclosed, like a caged animal. Daisy had been all for protecting those around her, insisted on it even. That doesn’t mean she didn’t feel weird having her bedroom look like the containment module. So, with Daniel, Coulson, and May's help, she painted the walls a homey grey and covered the floor in colourful mix-matched rugs. She left the ceiling white.

Daisy trudged over to her bed and slowly started taking her gear off, but got stuck with the zips and hidden ties.

“Hey, uh, Sou-” she coughed, “I need some help!” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of her suit. Daniel came to lean on the door frame. He smirked at the sight before him. Daisy’s arms were twisted behind her trying to undo a zipper, but had gotten caught while trying to pull it down. Subsequently, the material she had already loosened in the front rose up to reveal her tan, toned stomach. He walked over slowly and put his hands on her waist.

“Mmmhm, Danny-boy, if you want me to sleep you need to just help me out of this damn suit!” she heard a chuckle and a soft ‘okay’ in response. He reached around her and undid the zipper, freeing her hands of the black fabric. She pulled the top over her head and went to get a sleep shirt.

Daniel stopped her. “I’ll get it. You just relax.”

Daisy was too tired to argue. She undressed from the rest of the suit and took the over-sized, comfy clothes he gathered. She pecked his cheek before going to the bathroom to wash her face and put the clothes on. Daniel watched her walk into the bathroom, a bright pink blush on his cheeks when she turned around and noticed him staring. At least he didn't cover his eyes when she changed anymore.

Daisy closed the door and turned the lights on in the bathroom. This was the first time she was able to good look at herself after the mission. She really did look like hell. The scars on her stomach and legs were a tad irritated from wearing her tac gear for so long, and her eyes also looked red. She ignored it and made a mental note to use the healing ointment Jemma had packed in her duffel bag on the red, raised tissue. She leaned forward to get a better look at herself. Her nose itched. Daisy quickly forgot about it as she finished getting ready for bed and slipped into the shirt and shorts that Daniel had handed her.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Daniel wasn’t there, but she could hear him in the living room down the hall. She still felt horrible, but the warm, coffee-and-vanilla scent that was just Daniel lulled her into a deep sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

When Daisy woke up the next morning, she felt absolutely disgusting. She grumbled as she tried to sit up. Her head was pounding, the pressure centered right between her eyebrows. She noticed the bottle of water and pills sitting on her bedside table, and promptly took them. Her nose hurt now, and her body was achier than it had been last night. She could probably sleep for another hour. Instead, she forced herself onto wobbly legs to take a scalding hot shower. The steam felt good on her muscles, and cleared her senses enough that she could properly breathe. She dressed in a clean t-shirt that she recognized as one of Sousa's and a pair of grey sweatpants (also Sousa's, Daisy stole them). Daisy trekked down the hall towards the warm, inviting couch.

Daniel felt more than heard Daisy arrive in the living room, but only turned around when he heard a large crash!

“Daisy! Are you okay? What happened?” Daisy was currently laying on the floor next to a fallen lamp.

“Ow…” she . “I turned the corner and this lamp was here.”

Daniel crutched over to her, then gracefully sat down beside her. “Sorry Dais, didn’t know the lamp was an enemy combatant.”

She gave a tired laugh. “I should’ve looked. I don’t feel great right now. I was practically sleepwalking down the hall.”

Daniel looked over Daisy. He noticed she was wearing his clothes, and tried not to show exactly how that affected him. Daisy snapped him out of his reverie with a small sneeze. Without missing a beat, he handed her his handkerchief. Daisy still thought it odd that he had one, but felt extremely glad he did. Daniel thought he heard a low mumble of ‘cute square’, but couldn’t be sure. Daisy was definitely cute, even when sick.

Daisy groaned as she clutched her head. Daniel swung himself up, and she noticed his leg was... not a leg. Daisy smiled. Knowing that he felt safe enough in her house to relax and not wear his prosthetic made a little bubble of warmth blossom in her chest. Daniel reached a hand down to help her up, and with expert balance, helped her up to her feet. He pressed the cool back of his hand to her forehead. Daisy leaned into the touch.

“That feels good. Like, really good.”

Daniel gave her a quizzical stare. “Has anyone ever taken care of you while you were sick?”

Daisy was incredulous. “I’m not sick!”

Daniel replied with a raised eyebrow and took his hand away from her head. She leaned forward slightly, chasing his hand before stopping herself. It dawned on Daniel that she hadn’t had parents to take care of her when she was a kid, and there was no way she would have let the team nurse her if she came down with something.

“C’mere,” Daniel led her over to the couch and handed her a thick blanket. She took it and tried to spread it over her legs. Daniel laughed a little as she failed miserably. Daisy pouted and sighed, frustrated. Daniel took the blanket and flourished it, then laid it gently over her.

“Square,” she teased. An adorable square.

“Your square, though.” Daniel grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, then her knuckles and wrist. Daisy didn’t want to admit how good it made her feel. Daniel got up as he directed her to stay there. “I’ll get some stuff to help.”

Daisy dozed in and out while Sousa gathered what he needed. She could smell something delicious in the kitchen, and heard Sousa walking around. When he was finished, he woke Daisy up with a shake of her shoulder. He carefully helped her sit up.

“Let’s go,” he stated, with a mischievous smile.

“Go... where?” she questioned. The look in Sousa’s eye was making her slightly nervous. No, not nervous... just jittery with anticipation. Huh. Daniel started to walk away, checking over his shoulder to see if she was coming. She quickly shook her head and got up. She followed him down the hall to the bathroom, where a warm bath was waiting.

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear?” Daniel was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and staring at

Daisy as if she was the only light in the universe. His gaze made her feel all mushy inside, and she pushed down the tears that almost welled up. Daisy told herself it was because she was sick (but we all know it wasn't). Daniel broke eye contact and pushed himself off the counter.

“I’ll be in the kitchen," Daniel winked and gave her kiss on the cheek, then left Daisy standing dumbfounded next to the tub. "Holler if you need me.”

She touched where he kissed and promptly undressed. The bath felt like heaven. If only she could keep her eyes open...

She was woken around fifteen minutes later by the smell of something she could only describe as mouthwatering coming from the kitchen. She toweled off and put on a t-shirt and the shorts she wore the night before. She tip-toed to the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Daniel. Daisy rested her head in between his shoulder blades. She lifted her head and he turned around to place his hands on her waist, slowly pulling her in.

“I don’t think this is safe next to a stove.” Daisy quipped. Daniel murmured something incoherent in her hair. She peered over his shoulder to see what he was cooking.

“Soup?” Daisy questioned, “You... made me soup?” Daniel suddenly seemed shy. He looked away, unsure if he was stepping too far, or if she even liked soup. Even groggy and sick, Daisy picked up on this. She threw her arms around him and whispered into his shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel. No one's ever done this kind of thing for me.”

His face warmed at hearing her call him Daniel. It wasn't often that she did that, usually she stuck to a silly nickname or called him ‘Sousa’ out of habit.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Daniel leaned in for a kiss, but Daisy quickly leaned away. Daniel sent her a confused, pouty, adorable glare.

“I-I don’t want you to get sick,” she stuttered by way of explanation, “You should probably stay away until I’m feeling better.” In spite of her words, when Sousa slowly leaned in, she mirrored his movements.

“So, you do admit you’re sick.” Daniel whispered with a triumphant smile. Daisy wanted to argue, but realized there was no way out of this. She pushed him away and shuffled over to the living room, flopping dramatically on the couch.

“Yes, fine! I’m sick.” Daisy closed her eyes to go back to sleep, then remembered the soup that Daniel was currently pouring into bowls, and sat up. He brought it over and carefully handed it to her. She tried a spoonful and burnt her tongue the first time. When she tried again, she looked up through her lashes at Daniel sitting beside her, intently waiting for her verdict.

“Oh my god, this is amazing!” she half-moaned with delight. “You need to cook more often.”

Daniel watched her eat the soup quietly, and took her bowl to the sink when she was finished. When he got back, Daisy had turned on the TV and was watching Singing in the Rain. He smiled at the familiar picture. They spent the next couple hours watching old movies and cuddling. Daisy had protested at first, but gave in when Daniel threatened to tell Jemma she was sick. Daisy happily drifted to sleep with her head on Daniel's chest and the rest of her wrapped around him like a koala.

She woke up early the next morning, and somehow got up without waking Daniel. She padded over to the fridge to pour a cup of orange juice, swallowing a couple pills to help get rid of the last dregs of her cold. She felt really good. Better than good, actually. She felt warm and loved and she had a soft smile on her face as she watched Daniel snooze.

Little did Daisy know, Daniel had absolutely caught her cold. Daisy also didn't know exactly how needy Daniel is when he’s sick.

A/N: how are you feeling? warm, fuzzy? good. that was my evil plan all along. have a great day and don’t forget to drink water!

#dousy fic #timequake #daisy johnson x daniel sousa #Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.#marvel fic #aos season 7 #writer #major fluff #sick trope #hurt/comfort #mini fic #fanfiction #drabble #x reader #ao3

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

Lighthouse (A translated one-shot)

I translated this masterpiece originally written by 白飞飞是我宝贝 on Weibo (with permission)

It’s rare to find a piece of writing that is so immersive and makes the deepest parts of your soul ache. I knew it’d be a tragedy if it isn’t accessible to anyone who doesn’t read Chinese T^T

I’ll be keeping the original writer updated on comments left on this work because she’s the one who deserves all the credit 💕

[1]

Morning sunlight filters in through the curtains and fall on my eyelids, leaving a reddish shadow. I frown slightly, struggling to open my eyes.

Before me are grey curtains and white walls. The familiar yet foreign decor leave me unable to react. I turn over.

My head feels like it's filled with water, and the pain sobers me up a little.

I look at the grey-blue quilt, the grey-blue pillows, and the clean outershirt and T-shirt in the closet...

I shoot up from the bed, ignoring my severe headache. After a quick glance around my surroundings, I finally look down at myself - I’m still in the same outfit as yesterday. Other than it being slightly wrinkled from sleep, not a single button is loose.

Even so... why am I in Gavin’s house?

I get up with some effort, pressing a hand to my head while the other is against the wall, supporting me as I walk out of the room. On the table sits a glass of soy milk, a glass of fresh milk, steam buns, but no Gavin.

Sitting at the dining table, I stare dazedly at the warm milk in front of me.

Maybe my body isn’t fully conscious yet, or maybe yesterday’s hangover has left me a little numb. Today, I don’t feel the irritability and gloom that has been torturing me for almost half a month.

Half a month ago, I broke up with Gavin. I initiated it. To my utmost surprise, he didn't refuse. He simply hesitated for a while, and said “okay” in a hoarse voice.

I take a sip of the milk, suddenly recalling the way a coquettish smile had hung on my lips when I was still with him.

“Gavin, I want to drink the milk you’re holding. Is that okay?”

“It’s not that I dislike soy milk. I like both, so I want to drink it too.”

“But I can’t finish two cups by myself, and I simply enjoy... snatching. Food. From. The. Wolf.”

The tips of Gavin’s ears turn red. With one hand, he grabs me off his body and wraps my entire self into a hug.

Since then, we would always have a cup of soy milk and a cup of milk for breakfast, with both cups placed in front of me.

He would always wait for me to finish my meal before helping himself to the “leftovers”. I would blush and watch as his thin lips casually stick to the cup where my traces still remain. An inexplicable sweetness would fill me, occupying the entire atrium of my heart.

The sudden memories are overwhelming. The knuckles gripping the cup have gone white. After taking a deep breath, I feel the first sting in my heart. I resign myself to my fate, forcing my eyes shut, and let the delayed pain and torment swallow me up whole.

[2]

The phone rings, and I pick it up without checking who the caller is.

"This is Gavin."

In my trance, his classic greeting makes me think we are still together.

“Are you awake? If... you are, there’s breakfast on the table.”

"Why am I in your house?"

My voice sounds strangely hoarse and terrible, like a broken bellow.

"You drank too much yesterday. Minor called me. Your doors and windows were shut, ahem, so...”

"Oh,” my voice is a little dry. “I see, thank you.”

We’re already adults, and even used to be lovers who were attached at the hip. Simply spending a night at his house doesn't warrant me to cause a scene.

What’s more, he is Gavin - the Gavin who has never made things difficult for others.

After finishing breakfast hastily, I tidy the table. I pretend not to see the matching teacups on cabinet. My eyes tremble slightly when they sweep past by the photos we took together.

Before leaving, I walk to the shelf behind the door to retrieve the key out of sheer habit. When my finger touches the ginkgo leaf pendant, I shirk backwards.

When I spot the two pairs of cotton slippers - one large and one small - in the shoe cabinet, I feel my heartstring finally snap, and I collapse against the wall.

The memories in these details are truly terrifying. Donning a harmless appearance, they slowly tear down the defences I had constructed with great difficulty.

These two pairs of cotton slippers were purchased during our early days as a couple. I still remember that it was the first time I saw a sick Gavin. He was leaning against the wall of the hallway - just as I am doing now - his soft bangs covering his tired eyes.

Trying a new menu in the kitchen, I suddenly feel a searing chest pressed against my back. His chin rests lazily in the crook of my neck, and the warm breath exhaled from his nose reddens my cheeks.

"Gavin? Why are you back so early today?" I try to ignore my rapid heartbeat, and my speed of cutting the vegetables slows down significantly.

He rubs his head against my shoulder and responds in a muffled voice:

“Dizzy.”

Only then do I notice his abnormally high body temperature. After hastily washing my hands and wiping my apron twice, I place my hand on his forehead.

He lowers his head obediently and lifts up his bangs, revealing delicate eyebrows. The amber eyes underneath are unnaturally moist, and remind me of a deer in a forest - pure and gentle.

“What happened? Why are you burning up so badly?”

I frown and pull him out of the kitchen, then press him onto the bed without giving him a chance to refuse.

When I was sick as a child, my dad would always tuck me in tightly. Although it was very hot, I would feel much better after sweating it out. So I also tuck the white quilt around Gavin’s neck. He is very cooperative, but his bright eyes remain wide open and he stares at me without blinking.

"What are you looking at? Close your eyes and go to sleep!" I pretend to be angry. However, upon seeing the abnormal flush on his face and the obvious tiredness between his eyebrows, my heart softens. "Well, you should have a good rest if you’re sick. I'll cook some porridge for you. Take your medicine after eating it, okay?"

My tone sounds as though I’m pacifying a child. After hearing this, a bright smile appears in his eyes. After a long time, he responds lazily with an “okay”.

But his actions are not as obedient as his words. While I’m busy cooking porridge, he walks out of the bedroom again and hugs me from behind without saying a word, like a huge koala.

Clearly, a sick Gavin and a normal Gavin are two completely different people. For the first time, I realise that this man, who is unafraid of dying in a shower of bullets, can actually be coquettish to such a degree.

I shake his hand away angrily, but he responds by lifting me up and striding over to the sofa.

"Gavin! What are you doing!" I instinctively want to pound on his shoulder, but when I think about how he’s still sick, I stop myself. The only thing I can do is raise my voice to sound agitated.

He places me on the sofa, then leans against me lazily, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, breathing in the scent of my hair.

"Can you keep me company?" The cold has made his voice deeper, as if a handful of sand has been sprinkled into his voice. "I feel terrible.”

With these few words, the anger that was about to flare vanishes. My heart softens and feels numb, as though there are ants crawling through it.

“...okay, I'll stay with you."

He falls asleep on my shoulder in under five minutes. He must have been really tired. I lay him down carefully on the sofa and pull a blanket over him.

At this moment, Gavin, who is more than 1.8 meters tall, is curled up on the sofa looking aggrieved and haggard. The blanket isn’t large enough to cover his feet, and I realise that he has been walking around barefoot.

Although the weather has begun to warm up during this time of year, it’s easy to fall sick between spring and summer. He once dragged me home because I didn’t wear a jacket. But when it comes to himself, he isn’t as meticulous.

Treading quietly, I leave the house to buy food items from the supermarket downstairs. I also stop by the living area to pick out two pairs of slippers - one big and one small, one blue and one pink, with a wolf and a bunny printed on them.

They feel soft and warm, and are very comfortable.

When I reach home, I’m wrapped in a familiar embrace as soon as I open the door. I hear a voice filled with grievances from above my head.

“Where did you go? Why didn't you tell me?"

I break free from his embrace. Lowering my head, I see that he’s still barefoot.

"I went out to get groceries. I’ll make you porridge with preserved eggs and lean meat tonight."

I kneel down, retrieve the newly bought slippers from the bag. Without looking up, I command:

“Lift your feet.”

Gavin puts them on obediently. I stand up and look at him. “How are they? Do they fit?”

His ears are ridiculously red. He blinks gently.

“Are these for me?”

"Yes, my Mr Wolf."

I reply casually, carrying the ingredients into the kitchen.

Gavin finally settles down peacefully, sitting on the sofa obediently and waiting for my food. Most of the porridge that day ends up in his stomach. After taking the anti-fever medicine, he encases me in his arms and turns the lights off early.

His breathing is especially clear in the dark, and is tainted with scorching heat, ironing the back of my neck in a regular pattern. I can’t bear the numbness and move slightly, but the man behind me holds me even more tightly. I can’t fathom where this sick person derives his strength from. I can't break away at all.

"Thank you for today," I hear him say suddenly, with a slightly hoarse voice that sounds particularly sultry in the quiet night. "I liked the preserved egg and lean meat porridge you made, I liked the slippers you gave me, and... ahem, anyway, thank you."

I chuckle, rolling over in his arms. I raise my head to meet his crystal-clear eyes in the dim night.

"No need to thank me, Mr Gavin. Because I like you the most."

[3]

When I awake from the memory, I hear the rattle of a key coming from outside the door. Feeling flustered, I have no idea where to put my hands and feet. In the next second, I meet the bright amber eyes from my memory once again.

Holding a bag of vegetables in his hand, he stands quietly at the door, looking at me silently. When his eyes trail to the high heels on my feet, his brows furrow slightly.

I bite my lip and break the awkward silence. "Thank you for yesterday. I won’t bother you further. Goodbye.”

I give him a nod. Before I can step outside, he blocks the way.

Lifting my head, I look at him with a puzzled expression. His neck muscles are tense, and his lips are pressed into a line. The morning light falls on his handsome side profile, softening his sharp features.

"Your complexion looks bad. Rest for a while, and don't force yourself.”

Perhaps I have yet to sober up completely, because I find myself agreeing awkwardly. I change my shoes again and sit down on the sofa. Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore the faint pain from my temples.

Gavin pours me a cup of hot water. I hold it in my palm and say mindlessly, "I didn't expect that I would be a guest here one day."

Gavin pauses, and he says nothing.

After retrieving two tomatoes and a piece of tofu from the bag, he walks into the kitchen, which is pretty much a decorative piece to him.

I arch my eyebrows in surprise. When I hear the stove turning on, I walk over with curiosity.

Gavin has his back towards me, surrounded by sliced tomatoes and tofu, and a bowl of beaten eggs. At a glance, there are no eggshells in it. He flips through a booklet and follows the steps in it meticulously.

I probably guessed what he wanted to do. When he finally stretches out his hand to take the sugar, I stop him in the nick of time. "Gavin, that’s white sugar. The salt is over there.

His stiffens, the tips of his ears turning redder than the tomatoes in the pot.

Once the soup is prepared, he ladles it into a bowl and brings it to me.

"Drink a bowl. It’d help you sober up.” His voice is a little soft and obviously lacking in confidence. "I tried it just now... ahem, it's not bad...”

I smile and take the egg drop soup from his hand. Stirring the soup with a spoon causes bright red tomatoes to bob around. The aroma of green onions instantly dispels the smell of alcohol stuffing my nose.

I take a sip. It really doesn’t taste bad.

But I can’t understand why such a delicious soup makes me feel as though I’m drinking something bitter.

I stand at the door of the kitchen, taking slow sips. When I can almost see the bottom of the bowl, I force myself to laugh.

"Is this the former police officer who only knew takeaway food and instant noodles? This cooking is a great leap forward."

The brightness in his eyes dims for a moment, and he responds with a hint of self-mockery. "I’m used to your cooking, so I can no longer eat takeaway food or instant noodles. The only thing I can do now is learn to make it myself.”

I’m left stunned, not expecting that he would say this. He turns back to the kitchen to wash the pots and bowls. I watch his tall figure in a daze, and am suddenly swept up into a whirlpool of memories.

While heading to the supermarket, I turn my head to Gavin and ask him a question.

“Gavin, what do you like to eat?”

He responds with a faint smile. “Anything. As long as you make it, I will love it.”

I know Gavin always puts me first, and that I would get nowhere if I continued down this line of questioning. I simply change my approach.

“What do you usually eat then?”

After thinking about it carefully, he says, “STF doesn’t have a canteen. I usually eat at a restaurant outside, or have instant noodles. I'm not a picky eater, so it’s fine as long as I can fill my stomach.”

I know that he works hard, but I’m still a little angry at his living habits.

“Without me around, would you be eating instant noodles your entire life?”

When he sees me suddenly frowning, his tone gets slightly flustered.

“I...”

“Hmph, in order to punish you, I’ve decided that..." I reach out angrily and pick out a Chinese cabbage from the freezer. "You have to clear the entire plate tonight, and my boxed lunches in future! Eat well, sleep well, and take care of yourself. Do you understand!”

There is a smile in his amber eyes, and the corners of his mouth rise a little. In the end, he rubs my hair with some helplessness, and obediently says, "okay.”

Bang.

The sound of the cabinet door closing shut pulls me back to reality. When I meet his eyes, I hurriedly conceal my dazed expression.

“Thank you. I just remembered that I still have things to do at the company, so I’ll make a move.”

I walk towards the entrance, slightly embarrassed.

When I hear him call my name, I stop.

"Can we talk?”

I stand frozen in place, all the blood draining away the warmth from my heart. It isn’t until I’m surrounded by a broad embrace that I can eventually hear my heart beating again.

Gavin always liked hugging me from behind the most, hanging his head by the side of my ears, his soft sideburns on my face. I would hear his unhurried, gentle breathing.

Just like right now. My back leans against his hard chest, his body temperature wrapping me in a thin cloak. The arms on my waist are strong, and there’s a new scar on it.

The familiar heartache sweeps across me again, unbridled. Before I can react, I hear a breath near my ears.

"If Minor didn’t call me, would I have had no chance to see you again?"

[4]

I ruminated over why Gavin and I broke up. It always came back to a cliche term - unsuitable.

I’m the boss of a small company, living a standard 9 to 5 life. Although I sometimes work overtime, my life has a fairly regular pattern.

Gavin is a special officer who has no fixed working hours. He runs off whenever there’s danger, and we often lose contact. The longest time we’ve been apart was for nearly a month, and the only communication we had spanned only ten minutes. Most of the time, I was asking, “Is there a signal? Can you hear me?”

But I never felt that our professional life was an obstacle in our love. On the contrary, it was precisely because of our intersecting schedules that I cherished the time with him even more.

It's just...

When I learned that he had a vacation on the 520 during our early days together as a couple, I excitedly made a travel plan for an overnight stay at the beach.

There was a filming site of a movie that I particularly liked. I lay in his arms enthusiastically and described the reeds, the lighthouse, and the ocean where the first light of day could be seen. Gavin had smiled and listened to me, then dropped a kiss on my forehead.

But when the time came, I went there alone.

He had received an urgent task suddenly. After hesitating for a while, he wanted to call and decline. However, I held his phone and shook my head at him. "It's okay, go.”

Then, it was the first Qixi Festival we celebrated together. Gavin had specially adjusted his schedule to keep me company. That day, we walked through the ancient streets lined with lanterns while holding hands. We released a small paper boat by the river together. We also watched a sweet and romantic movie. He watched me smile, our fingers clasped together, warm and powerful.

But when I got up in the morning the very next day, I saw Gavin seated on the sofa with his head down. I whispered his name, and he raised his head to look at me. His eyes were moist and red, and his usually clear voice was hoarse.

"The teammate who swapped shifts with me yesterday met with an accident during the mission... if it weren’t for me, he would have been fine now...”

I held his hand distressedly and comforted him. It wasn’t his fault. But when I saw the pain in his eyes, I knew that he would shoulder everything himself, and that he would carry on with this self-blame and guilt.

After that, Gavin became more frequently tasked with missions, and became more frequently injured. In addition to distress, I also felt helpless.

Then came the Spring Festival. He had accompanied me to my aunt’s house. He wasn’t very good with talking, and his body had unconcealed wounds. My aunt’s expression gradually morphed from enthusiasm to politeness.

My aunt dragged me to the kitchen and asked me solemnly, in a low voice.

"What does he do? Special police? You know this kind of work is dangerous! Should you marry him in the future, what if... and I’m saying ‘what if’... what if something goes wrong? What would you do?”

I tightened my cuffs, took a deep breath, and said, "Aunt, no matter how dangerous his work is, or how dissatisfied you are with him, he is the person I’ve decided on, and I love him very much.”

My aunt frowned and looked at me. She sighed slowly. "Silly child, you’ll understand later on that the most important thing in marriage is not love, but suitability. Love is just one condiment in life, and life is a big dish. It needs the right dishes to match, supplemented by condiments, in order to have an excellent and delicious presentation."

“I’m not trying to nag at you. I just want you to think this through carefully. I know that Gavin is a good boy, and I can see how much he cares for you. But I can also see that you don’t look as happy as before. I just hope you young ones can live happily.”

After returning home that day, my aunt’s words continued echoing in my ears. I didn’t want to accept my somewhat shaky reality.

In countless nights without Gavin, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling in a daze. What flashed before my eyes were Gavin’s scars. He never took the initiative to tell me about his injuries, and never mentioned the danger of his missions.

His solemn and stern eyes told me that every “I’m fine” from his lips had no credibility.

With time after time of heartaches and disappointments, I seemed to suddenly understand what my aunt said.

When he flips through the medicine cabinet in the living room again in the middle of the night, I walk out of the bedroom and turn the lights on with a “click”.

At first, he’s surprised. Then, he starts panicking as he tries to hide the scar on his left shoulder. Without a word, I take out the hard iodine and gauze from the medicine box, carefully remove the his bloodstained clothes, and gently clean up the wound little by little.

This time, the wound isn’t deep, but there is a lot of bleeding. I squat down in front of him, the hand holding the tweezers trembling slightly. In contrast, my words are calm.

"Gavin. Do you know that if I were your teammate, I definitely wouldn't want to see you in this sorry state? It’s only when you take care of yourself that you can protect even more people.”

I throw the napkin away and wrap the gauze around his arm. His muscles are smooth and tight. Even though I’ve seen it so many times, it still gives me heart palpitations.

"In the future, you have to protect yourself well, understand? Don't let the people who love you feel scared all day. This kind of torture is even more unbearable than physical injuries.”

I tie a neat knot, then sit beside him, hugging him gently. His amber eyes flicker, and within them are waves of pain and struggle.

"Gavin.”

I lean my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes and memorising the warmth of his body.

"Let’s break up.”

[5]

I break free from Gavin’s embrace and leave his house in a hurry after leaving him with a sentence:

“Don't follow me.”

I run in a hurry, because I know that if I hesitate for a second longer, I will fall into his arms completely and become unable to extricate myself.

It's ridiculous.

Even though I keep reminding myself that we have already broken up, I still love his warmth.

The drinks were really worthless. If it weren't for this hangover, I wouldn’t have been so embarrassed, and I wouldn’t have been so easily defeated by mere memories and a hug.

I take a taxi and return home.

The moment I close the door, I finally remove all my forbearances. I throw myself onto the sofa and raise an arm to cover my eyes. Tears trickle down the corners of my eyes, silent and endless.

[6]

I must have been crazy to agree to Minor’s invitation to attend the high school reunion. When I see the tall figure walking into the banquet hall, my instinctive reaction is to flee.

But standing next to me is an old friend. He’s chatting about the past enthusiastically, and I have no choice but to remain still and nod along in agreement.

Gavin’s appearance is akin to throwing a boulder on calm water, and the ripples caused by the waves spread through the entire banquet hall, including my heart.

Although he should have already spotted me, he doesn't talk to me. Instead, he sits two spaces away. His expression is cold and fierce, as though he has come to participate in a serious operation.

No one dared to approach him in high school, and this has remained true even now. To outsiders, he is a lone wolf - indifferent and arrogant, causing everyone to retreat from him.

I used to see him in the same light, but everything that occurred later overthrew these myopic impressions. I discovered the softness and delicateness hiding under his hard shell.

“Hey, what's the matter with you? Why are you distracted all the time?"

My old friend waves his hand in front of me, and I apologise with a bit of embarrassment.

After saying a few more words, he suddenly asks, "Do you have a boyfriend now?"

Hearing this, I choke on my red wine. In the corner, Gavin seems to be frowning at me, his amber eyes bright and scorching, making me subconsciously want to escape.

I avert my eyes and shake my head. "No."

He becomes a little more interested then, changing the topic from high school to the present.

"Let me tell you - I’m working at LFG now and have bought a car and paid the down payment for a house. Also, my parents don’t live with me, so if you’re...”

"Are you done?” A cold voice interrupts him. My heart trembles and I raise my head, only to see Gavin's cold glare.

At this moment, nearly half of the eyes in the hall are focused on our conversation. Looking like he doesn’t care about anything, Gavin grabs my arm and pulls me out of the room. I can’t escape from his grasp, and feel frustrated by his inexplicable behaviour.

He takes me to a small balcony outside the hall, then imprisons me between the wall and his chest. He looks down at me, brows furrowed deeply. There’s an unconcealed anger in his eyes.

"What are you doing?” I question, unwilling to look at him directly.

The reply I get is a kiss that plunders everything.

His lips press against mine roughly, and his unique scent overwhelms me. There is a collision and friction between our lips and teeth, and there is pain.

It’s an uncontrolled plunder and invasion.

He doesn’t let me go until my last breath is violently swept away. I pant heavily, but he embraces me in the next second.

This time, his embrace is gentle.

It’s careful, as if he’s protecting a fragile glass flower. His heavy breath brushes my neck, mingling with his low and trembling voice.

"I'm sorry."

[7]

I don’t deny that I lived a terrible life in the half month after separating from him.

I worked overtime every day, letting work fill all the gaps in my life. I didn’t give myself a chance to relax at all, because it only takes a second for pain and regret to gnaw away at me.

Minor has been secretly reporting my life to Gavin. I knew that. But I never thought of stopping him, and a ridiculous expectation even started brimming in my heart.

I wondered if there would be a night, when the lights of the city begin to fade, when he would appear in front of me as he used to. He would wrinkle his beautiful eyebrows and gently bring me into his arms. With a slight touch of reproach, he would ask resignedly, “Why are you working overtime again?”

I also wondered if he would push the office door open anxiously when I’m stricken with another stomach ailment, picking me up sideways without a word. The expression on his face back then was full of anger, but the stream of light in his eyes magnified his distress and tenderness infinitely.

I also wondered, when I have finished my work for the day and am leaning against the wall of the elevator and staring at the changing floors, whether I’d see him as soon as I open the door.

If he did show up, I would put everything down and leap into his arms, and tell him over and over again that I love him.

But in the half month since our break up, he never appeared once.

This city is so large that even if two people were once intimate, they may miss each other for a lifetime if they don’t stay in touch.

So I started to waver again. Why did I live even more unhappily after listening to what my aunt said?

Why is it that once the seasoning of love is no longer part of this big dish of life, the entire thing tastes like wax?

I don't understand - would I be happier finding someone I’m suitable with but do not love, or consume each other’s love and embrace the friction?

Deep down, I know that if I could abandon everything and make a choice, I would choose the latter without hesitation.

At least, my life as of now tells me very clearly that the decision I made was wrong.

And this mistake has tortured the both of us beyond recognition.

[8]

My back is extremely tense and feels like a fully stretched bow.

The hands around my waist move slightly, and Gavin’s voice falls on my ears, drawing intense pain from my heart.

With every breath, I can only smell the scent of his body and the sweet aroma of red wine from just now.

Over his shoulders, I see the bright, brilliant, erosive, and prosperous city. Trapped inside are people all sentenced to life.

I know that I’m one of them.

Without warning, tears trickle from the corners of my eyes, leaving streaks of cold water on my face.

In my increasingly fuzzy and hot vision, I see Gavin’s somewhat flustered expression. He gently wipes away my tears with his rough finger pads.

Those eyes, full of anxiety, become the only lighthouse within reach.

It seems that as long as I look at him, I will never lose my way.

After a few small sobs, I rush into his arms without a care. I pull at the corners of his clothes and cry until his white T-shirt becomes damp.

He comforts me clumsily, his hands caressing my hair in exchange for the string of muffled "sorry"s flowing from my mouth.

[9]

I called my aunt.

"Aunt, is suitability really that important in life?"

"Silly child, suitability is very important. But more importantly, are you happy?"

“What if I’m with someone who I’m not suitable with, but I feel happy?”

"Then he might be the most suitable person for you.”

[10]

I stand at the door of the STF office, holding a boxed lunch and looking outside.

An officer who recognises me greets me with a smile. "Is sister-in-law giving Gavin food again? Just go in and wait. The team is already on their way back.

I smile and nod. “It doesn't matter. Waiting over here is the same thing.”

Another colleague pats him on the shoulder, as if laughing at his stupidity. "What would you know, you single loner? Sister-in-law wants to see Gavin sooner!"

I blush, and suddenly see a familiar profile coming in through the door.

The faint light of dusk outlines his wide shoulders and narrow waist, depicting his side profile clearly. Seeing me, the solemnity and coldness on his face melts into a pool of spring water.

"What are you doing here? Didn't I say you should wait for me at home?"

He walks up to me and takes what’s in my hand, his tone brisk and clear.

I crinkle my eyes and smile, saying, "I’m off work early today, and came over since I have nothing to do.”

We walk all the way to his office. Opening the boxed lunch, he sees that it contains his favourite dishes.

Gavin takes a whiff in a slightly exaggerated manner, then smiles. "Mm, smells good.”

I quickly hand him the chopsticks. He picks up a piece of beef and brings it into his mouth. After swallowing it, he lowers his eyes and smiles. "I get to eat the food you cook after my mission. I suddenly don't feel tired at all.”

I feel a twinge in my heart. I huff nonchalantly and respond. "If you like it, I’ll prepare and bring you boxed lunches in the future.”

"No need." He reaches out and tousles my hair. "Be good and wait for me at home. Just knowing that you’re at home makes me feel very contented.”

After work, we walk home together hand in hand. The setting sun filters through the uneven skyline of the city, elongating our shadows.

The summer evening breeze carries the scent of camphor trees across my face, and the temperature of the day finally reveals a tired and lazy side. Dim light reaches the world through the clouds drifting in the sky, bringing a certain tenderness to this steely city.

"Gavin?" I turn my head to look at the man wearing a smile on his mouth, and happen to meet his clear eyes.

"What's the matter?"

"Your birthday is coming soon. Are there any gifts you want?”

"Anyth-"

“You’re not allowed to say ‘anything’!" I interrupt him with a glare, giving his palm a forceful squeeze.

He smiles compromisingly, and his eyes seem to be filled with scattered gold.

"Then teach me how to cook a meal. I hope one day in the future, you can return home from work and eat a meal I’ve prepared.”

I’m momentarily startled, and suddenly remember what my aunt said -

"Then he might be the most suitable person for you.”

I have thought about this question of suitability many, many times. Just like the “unity of opposites” in philosophy, I simply can’t make sense of it. But no one has ever told me that this question doesn’t require thinking. The answer has always been in my heart, and the clues to finding the answer have been scattered throughout my life.

Even the most trivial things in life carries memories belonging only to us. And these small and plain memories will gather into a surging tide when you least expect it, washing away the dust covering the answer in one’s heart.

Perhaps there has never been such a thing as “unsuitable” to begin with. This so-called “unsuitable” is just used by people looking for an excuse to part ways.

A breeze blows past, and ripples appear on the lake in my heart. When I look at him again, I suddenly feel light and happy both physically and mentally, and that nothing could come between the both of us.

With a big smile, I say, "Okay! I’ll leave the birthday party to you then, Mr Gavin.”

He chuckles softly, his bangs a little messy from the evening breeze. "I will learn properly, and won’t disappoint you.”

The sunset finally sinks behind the tall buildings. Neon lights and vehicle headlights begin to flicker, and the dim yellow streetlights on the side of the road replace the sunset, continuing to illuminate the long road.

I know that he will hold my hand as we walk, step by step, slowly and steadily, along this path home.

#mlqc #mlqc gavin

149 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 3 years

Note

Hiya mun, sorry to ask for one, but could you please write a short ficlet of either any of the ow cast or your ow fankids spending time with their pets, if they have any?

I need to write more Spiderbyte Parent Content. And of course I should write more Smol Marti content.

Also Camille Saint-Saen’s “Aquarium” lives in my mind rent free.

-----

It was the sixth night in two weeks that Marti’s gasping had woken them up. Widowmaker had learned to tune her ears to Marti, and despite how quiet she was in daylight hours, Widowmaker had become aware of the small girl’s shuffling around the house. She felt Marti’s large, deep brown eyes on her, peeking out from around walls and doorways. Marti talked to Sombra in Spanish, but had shrunken back when McCree tried to speak to her, clutching close to Sombra’s legs. At six years old, the top of Marti’s head came up to about Sombra’s hip, but Widowmaker had to listen for her so she didn’t trip over her. Marti had spent the first week in their apartment curled up on a blow-up mattress in Sombra’s study--a space that was more or less rendered walk-in-closet size by Sombra’s multiple monitors and servers---while Symmetra and Torbjorn took out a wall of their apartment to expand into a new room for her. She slept in the pink glow of Sombra’s monitors as she worked, to the faint tapping of keyboards and clicking of a mouse and the warbling of screens projected by Sombra’s own augmentations. Widowmaker wanted to tell Marti how much she understood her, how much she understood the instinct to make yourself smaller, how much comfort lied simply in being in Sombra’s presence as she delved her digital rabbit holes.... but Marti was still wary with her, still distant. It was Sombra who had found Marti that bloody night. Sombra who held her hand and walked her to safety. Sombra who held her on the dropship ride back to Gibraltar, stroking her fingers over Marti’s black hair. Sombra who spoke gentle comforting words to her that she, as a crisis orphan, never got the chance to hear herself. Sombra the guardian. Sombra the godmother.

Widowmaker and Sombra had painted Marti’s room together, a pale orchid pink (Sombra had managed to get Marti to pick out the color swatch) and they had sat on the floor together, puzzling over the parts of a twin-sized captain’s bed and a small desk. Once furniture was all assembled and the scent of drying paint faded enough, Marti moved in, hesitantly, skeptically brushing her hand over the quilted magenta Official Meka bunny-printed comforter and pillowcase that D.Va had donated. Sombra tried to decorate the room with little mementos of Dorado--One wall had a short banner of purple papel picado etched out with floral, star, and sun designs, as well as one in the center of the banner that had Marti’s own name, ‘MARTINA’ in ornate letters hanging over Marti’s bed. The opposite wall had a mulberry-colored macrame wall hanging that Sombra had gotten in a Dorado marketplace. There was a small framed photo of Marti and Soledad on the bookshelf headboard of Marti’s bed. Overall, the room was a cozier, more toned-down adaptation of the hot-pink glitter-addled ‘princess’ rooms that Sombra and Widowmaker never had in their own childhoods--Sombra by virtue of being crammed into an orphanage, and Widowmaker by virtue of her own parents’ brutally avant-garde tastes. Finally, Marti sat on the bed, looking up between Sombra and Widowmaker.

“...Is it okay?” Sombra had asked.

Marti gave a short polite nod and Sombra smiled. Marti gently nudged Sombra’s arm, prompting Sombra to bend down so Marti could whisper in her ear. After a beat Sombra huffed, smiled, brushed a thumb over Marti’s cheek and said, “Para esto estamos,” softly before drawing herself back up to her height. “She said thank you,” Sombra said to Widowmaker.

“I gathered,” Widowmaker said, but felt the distance in the politeness.

And now Marti was waking them up again with her gasps--high pitched sounds with how small she was, creaking with sobs that were suppressed by hyperventilation. Pretty and brittle like thin tree branches whipping in an autumn wind.

Sombra broke out from Widowmaker’s arms, stumbling, clumsy with sleepiness, and quickly paced into Marti’s room. Widowmaker propped up some pillows in their bed and sat up, resting her bare forearms on her sheet-covered knees as she waited. In the other room, Sombra was talking low and quick in Spanish to Marti, and Widowmaker made out the sound of Sombra demonstratively breathing slow and deep, trying to get Marti to sync her own breaths to her. Those high pitched breaths slowed. Widowmaker pressed her fingertips into the skin of her arm, her lean dancer’s muscles not yielding against her own grip. I should be in there, she thought, I should be helping her. One more person who lost everything to Talon. One more person who lost everything to a fight that had nothing to do with her. But I’m a stranger.

----

“...there has to be more we can do,” Widowmaker said the next morning as she gently eased a fried egg onto a slice of fresh baked baguette smeared with avocado.

“She’s got her first vid conference with that doctor that Ziegler looked up for us next Wednesday,” said Sombra, flicking through a few pink screens at the table, sipping her coffee, “I checked her out. It’s solid.”

“Mm,” Widowmaker set a plate in front of Sombra.

“And I think we know better than anybody, stuff like this isn’t cut and dry,” said Sombra, biting into the toast and pulling away quickly to avoid getting egg yolk on her chin as she , “She’s going to be dealing with this for a long time.”

Widowmaker was silent, easing her own fried egg onto her own avocado-smeared baguette slice. She listened to the slight warbles of Sombra’s screens as she cracked pepper over the sunny yellow yolk, then brought her chin up with some resolve. “So we make new memories,” she said.

“Mm?” Sombra glanced up from her screens.

“For me, it was looking up Gérard’s photos, it was... rebuilding, but for her... she’s stuck in a strange place with this--this fear bouncing around in her and so little experience in the world. So we make new memories. We let her see that, even though this thing happened to her, that this world is... is... bright. And... and good.” The words felt a little alien in Widowmaker’s throat and her shoulders were bunched up as she set the plate aside. Widowmaker had spent so long in such a dark place that all the defenses and instincts she had built up in that darkness were completely discombobulated by her own desire to let Marti know safety and happiness. She felt Sombra’s eyes on her, bright and studying.

“So... a day out?” said Sombra, opening up another screen.

A shuffling of bare feet on linoleum came from down the hall and both Sombra and Widowmaker glanced up as Marti entered the kitchen and clambered up into a chair that was just a little too big for her, but she was a little too big for a booster seat.

“How do you like your eggs?” said Widowmaker looking over her shoulder at Marti, “Um...” she gave an uncertain glance at Sombra and then pivoted, pointing at the frying pan with her spatula. “Huevos?”

“Fritos?” Sombra said to Marti, gesturing with her thumb at Widowmaker before pointing at her own plate.

Marti nodded.

“Same thing for her,” said Sombra, looking at Widowmaker.

Widowmaker quickly sliced off another bit of baguette, smeared some avocado over it, and cracked salt, pepper and little squeeze of lemon juice over the avocado, then quickly fried the egg to golden yolk and lacy-browned-edges perfection. Sombra was talking to Marti in Spanish as Widowmaker worked but Widowmaker only made out about 75% of it. Something about Sombra’s computers and... Luz nocturna... night light?

Marti gave a furious, stiff-lipped shake of her head and craned over to whisper something with an unusual amount of forcefulness into Sombra’s ear. Sombra’s shoulders slumped and she said something conceding in Spanish. Sombra gave a “welp” glance over to Widowmaker and Widowmaker understood immediately. Marti didn’t get her hyperventilating nightmares back when she was sleeping in the glow of Sombra’s computers in the study, but she had refused Sombra’s suggestion of a night light. It was all Widowmaker could do to bring Marti’s plate over and take a seat at the table with her own breakfast.

Marti bit into her avocado toast sullenly, not making eye contact with either of them, though her eyes widened as she chewed and she dug into her food with a reassuring eagerness. Widowmaker smiled a little. I’m good at that, at least, she thought, then cleared her throat awkwardly. “I... was thinking... we could all have a day out. Do something fun.”

Marti looked up from her plate, then over at Sombra. Sombra half-translated and Marti seemed thoughtful.

“We could...” Widowmaker gave a flailing, ‘help me’ glance over at Sombra, “We could...um...”

Sombra quickly flicked a pink screen into existence and rapidly scrolled down. “Go to the aquarium!” she blurted out.

“Yes,” Widowmaker latched onto that, “The aquarium.”

“Aquarium?” Marti repeated the word, the latin roots providing a stumbling middle ground for her.

“It’s... educational!” Sombra eked out the words hesitantly and gave a glance to Widowmaker. She smiled at Marti, “I think you should be able to see there’s more to Gibraltar than the watchpoint.”

Marti gave a bewildered glance between them. At that point there was a strange rapport that arced between the three of them, sharp and swift like lightning, all of them fumbling in the dark trying to figure out what it was that families did. Happy families. They had to do things, didn’t they? And aquariums existed, didn’t they? Sombra was looking at her screens. There were children in the promotional pictures--this was a thing kids did, right? Marti gave a hesitant nod and Sombra gave a grin to Widowmaker.

----

“Gibraltar’s artificial reef started as an initiative in 1973, sinking ships in the mediterranean sea to give wildlife structures to colonize and breed in,” a primly dressed tour guide was standing in front of a massive tank that featured fake pier beams and what appeared to be the ragged front half of a fishing boat covered in coral, barnacles, and seaweed. Some skates and fish lazily drifted about the tank, and a few finicky crabs were crawling around the wreck and the rocks. “Overwatch’s ‘Ecowatch’ division’s efforts to mitigate the environmental impacts of the Omnic Crisis, as well as new sunken wreckage from the conflict itself, resulted in an unprecedented explosion of biodiverse marine life!”

Marti was swaying a little where she held Sombra’s hand, not really listening to a tour guide whose words she only understood a little bit. Widowmaker gave an uncertain glance to her own bluish nailbeds. She had gotten a lot of color back in her recovery, but she was still wary, for both hers and Sombra’s sake. Getting here had been easy enough, just Sombra ‘borrowing’ the Watchpoint’s crappy old truck (pretty much anyone who might object was off on a mission), and a short drive from there, and of course Sombra had hacked them tickets, but now Widowmaker became acutely aware of just how strange the situation was now that Marti was in their lives. In any other situation, civilian life would be a mask--her presence here would be merely idling time away before or after a mission, but now she was coming to terms with the fact that people were here and this was their lives, this was their normal lives, and now, though her own life was still far from normal, this was her life too. She and Sombra were both dressed to blend in, of course, Sombra parting her hair and wearing a sleeveless turtleneck to cover up her neural implants, and Widowmaker wearing large coral-framed glasses to distract from the yellowness of her own eyes. Marti stood out more than either of them in a magenta and white sundress and chunky black velcro sandals. Widowmaker smiled a little. The looseness of the sundress and the thickness of the sandals’ straps against her feet seemed to emphasize Marti’s small size, and Marti had doggedly wrangled her thick, wavy black hair into two uneven pigtails that swayed about her bare brown shoulders every time she turned her head. It lent a certain wildness to her appearance that Widowmaker couldn’t help but admire. At the core of all that timidity was a furious, stubborn survival instinct, and it simultaneously filled Widowmaker’s heart with love and compassion, and broke it, for all her desire to have Marti look to her like she looked to Sombra.

But Marti wasn’t looking at either of them, now, those big brown doe eyes were nearly black with blue-white highlights by the light of the aquarium tanks as she stared into a tank of moon jellies, transfixed by the drifting, alien forms. Widowmaker wondered if she was reading too far into Marti’s apparent fascination with the cnidarians’ utter indifference to each other. Marti was still hesitant to interact with the other kids on the watchpoint, which was fair, considering her shakily growing grasp on English and the fact that she was two years older than Rei and four years older than the twins. They were able to watch holo-programs together, at least, but actually playing was a bit awkward. But then Widowmaker’s train of thought was interrupted as Marti lead Sombra along again and Widowmaker trailed along with them. Marti’s silence seemed at home here, the conversations of the crowd only a low murmur and most people resigned to just stare at the fish in the different tanks as they drifted by. Marti made an audible gasping noise as they entered the tropical fish section, yanking Sombra along to point at the more brightly colored fish.

“...I like this,” Sombra said, as Marti squatted in front of a tank where several leafy sea dragons wove through a mass of seaweed and seagrass, “It’s so easy to forget sometimes, you know? That there’s a world outside the fight.”

“That there’s a world outside that ‘eye?’” Widowmaker glanced over at her and Sombra quickly tensed and looked around, scanning the crowd.

“Sorry--” Widowmaker started.

“No--it’s fine...” Sombra shook her head a little, her eyes fixing on Marti, “Now I have one more person it can target... as if there weren’t enough monsters in the dark already.”

The word ‘dark’ caught Widowmaker. “What you were saying to her earlier... she doesn’t want a night light?”

“She said they’re for babies,” Sombra huffed, putting her hands on her hips, “But if her own stubbornness is just going to keep her hyperventilating like that...”

“It’s awfully dark in here, non?” Widowmaker mused.

“Well, yeah, ‘flash photography bothers the fish’ and all, but most of the light comes from the tanks anyway---” Sombra started and then caught herself and then looked at Widowmaker, “...what web are you spinning now?” she said, a smile pulling at her lips, but Widowmaker just smiled in turn.

The afternoon trailed on in that strange suspension of time one only gets in aquariums, the tension between wanting to see everything, yet being able to stare into the blue forever and the minutes slipping by like so many bluefin tuna. Marti served as the major marker of how much time was passing, going from brisk little jogs, to a more steady pace matching Widow and Sombra’s, to tiredly trailing a couple of steps behind them. . They rested on a bench against the acrylic glass walls of the aquarium’s shark tunnel, watching as rays and a massive angelshark drifted overhead, the ribbons of water-refracted light shimmering across the floor. Marti first leaned against the glass, staring up between Sombra and widowmaker, then slowly, ever so slowly, thick lashes drooped over her eyes and her head nodded down slightly. The glass of the tunnel squeaked under the bare skin of her shoulders as she drifted to the side, her cheek smooshing against Widowmaker’s shoulder as her weight slumped against her.

Widowmaker froze at the contact, glanced down at Marti with wide eyes, then her eyes flicked over to Sombra, whose face scrunched up with a stifled giggle. Widowmaker just gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Marti’s face. It wouldn’t be cut and dry--it wasn’t for her, and it wouldn’t be for Marti... but she could be here. She and Sombra would both be here.

-----

“So...? What do you think?” said Sombra as Marti’s eyes flicked between different fish tanks at the pet store. A few days had passed since the aquarium.

“Are you sure?” Marti looked over her shoulder at both Sombra and Widow, her words were halting, her accent thick in her consonants, but she was getting more confident, she wasn’t grabbing Sombra to whisper in her ear as often.

“It’s a big responsibility, but we can all help,” said Widowmaker, bending down to Marti’s level, “We’ll read all the books, and work together to make sure it’s very happy with us.”

Marti pressed her lips together tight and gave a short little nod with a very serious, “Hm!” and Widowmaker smiled at her determination.

“So... which one?” said Sombra, as Marti turned back towards the fish tanks.

Marti surveyed each of the tanks very seriously, her brow furrowed. Several minutes of dead silence passed before Marti pointed to one nearly-black betta with purple-blue undertones and said, “I like this one.”

Both Widowmaker and Sombra stooped down next to Marty to look into the tank. The betta flared its fins at all three of their faces looking through the glass and Widowmaker softly snorted through her nostrils.

“Why this one?” said Sombra.

“He’s pretty, and um--a little scary,” said Marti.

“Scary?” said Widowmaker.

“He’s a guard fish,” Marti said very firmly.

“Oh, a guard fish, of course,” said Widowmaker.

-----

Another two weeks had passed when Sombra stirred in Widowmaker’s arms in the middle of the night and she slipped out of bed.

“Sombra?” Widowmaker sat up in bed.

“I’ll just be right back,” Sombra whispered.

Curious, Widowmaker slid out of bed after her and trailed behind her down the hall. Sombra was at the frame of Marti’s door, peering in. Marti’s breaths were steady and barely audible amid the sound of a fish tank filter. Sometimes they could hear Marti talking to the fish, which she named Nochito,

Nochito stood stark against the bright green plants in his tank on Marti’s desk. The faint blue-green glow of the fish tank itself made the pink of the room look more purple in the night.

“...I keep waking up thinking she might...” Sombra trailed off and Widowmaker gently draped an arm around her shoulder.

“We’ll be here if it happens,” said Widowmaker, gently kissing Sombra on the corner of her jaw.

“Yeah...” Sombra said, putting her hand over Widowmaker’s, “Yeah, we will, won’t we?”

They watched Marti sleep for another few minutes, her black hair splashed across her pillow in dark whorls. Sombra’s eyes flicked back to the faint light of the fish tank.

“Gotta say, guard fish is way cooler than night light,” said Sombra with a wry grin at Widowmaker.

“It suits her,” Widowmaker said with a gentle smile.

“She’s a fighter, too,” said Sombra.

#spiderbyte #spiderbyte kid

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blacknailpolishonguitarstrings · 3 years

Text

I can't lose anyone else

TW: mention of death/loss + panic attack

A tall elderly woman in a long brown wool coat walked down London’s gray streets, wrinkled cheeks pink in the fresh morning air. Heads turned as she passed, eyes staring after her. While she was certainly a beautiful woman, there was nothing incredibly special about her or her clothes, but she radiated a regal aura, almost...magical. Her face was impassive though unreadable, and she seemed oblivious to the awe she induced in others. Minerva was simply too grief-struck and numb to notice. She walked rapidly, hands hid deeply in her pockets, strides long and unwavering, turning around corners, swerving left and right between the throng of Londoners going to work, still unaware of the hiss of tires on the wet asphalt as people turned around to look back at her.

Somewhere between the thousands of irregular footsteps hammering the pavements, the last drops of rain dripping from the roofs and sliding off the tiles, the honks of cars, and the hushed mix of words and languages and conversations rising from the crowd, the haunting notes of a musical partition escaped a lone violin. It came from a young man, with long dark brown almost black hair, clad in black leather, a red scarf wrapped around his neck, and sparkling, youthful blue eyes full of hope. He stood under a porch, the wooden instrument resting on his shoulder under his chin. Minerva locked eyes with the musician and smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile, full of magic and kindness. It was probably the warmest smile the young man had ever seen. Despite that, he had no idea, no way of knowing, that when she turned away and disappeared amongst the sea of unknown faces, her eyes were full of tears and her heart clenched a little tighter in pain. A single thought flashed in her mind through the haze of desolation:

“He looks so much like Sirius.”

***

The building wasn’t particularly remarkable, it looked rather shabby in fact. The dull blue-gray paint was crackled and dirty in some spots, white-framed glass windows detaching themselves on it. The only splash of colours were the bright multi-coloured curtains weaving in the light breeze through the windows on the fourth floor. Minerva took a small piece of parchment out of her pocket, unfolding it.

“13, Athlone Street, London”, it read.

It was the right address. Sucking in a nervous breath, she looked left and right before taking her wand out of her sleeve.

“Alohomora,” she whispered, pointing her wand at the door.

A faint trickle of magic leaked out of its tip, slipping into the lock, gliding between the whirring cogs of the intricate mechanism, unlocking it with a small click. She smiled, satisfied. It was a very simple spell, one she could have easily executed without a wand, but the familiar weight of it in her hand was reassuring, and knowing all of her spell-work was flawless, from the basics to the most complicated skills, still filled her with childish pride and delight.

Minerva pushed the door open and found herself in front of an old, wooden staircase that appeared quite fragile and rickety. Some parts of the wood were chipped away at, splinters sticking out here and there, and others had begun to rot, filling the air with an unpleasant musty smell. Carefully, she went up the stairs, passing locked door after locked door. Finally, on the fourth floor, a single door offered itself to her eyes. It was painted bright red and a rainbow doormat lay in front of it. She knocked. It creaked open, and a tall, slim, young man dressed in a large knitted cardigan appeared. Remus Lupin. The last Marauder.

She observed him carefully: he looked exhausted, dark rings circling his honey-brown eyes speckled with green. He was very pale, and his hair had lost its golden shine, grown longer, ends1 split. He had also lost weight, his shoulders appeared bonier than ever, protruding in sharp angles under the wool, and his cheekbones stuck out harshly, giving his usually soft face a hard, cold air.

“Professor McGonagall! I can’t say I was expecting any visit, especially not at such an early hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He greeted her, smiling weakly.

“Merlin, Remus, how many times do I have to ask you to quit calling me “Professor” and just use Minerva?” She replied, rolling her eyes, falsely lighthearted.

“At least a hundred more, Professor,” chuckled Remus.

“Once a Marauder, always a Marauder, constantly doing it your own way,” she observed, sounding almost amused. “Anyhow, there are some…matters I wish to discuss with you. May I come in?”

“Of course, sorry,” he answered bashfully, stepping aside and letting her in, leading her through to the living room. “Would you like some tea?”

“That is a very kind offer I will gladly accept.”

She sat down on the couch, folding her hands in her lap, back straight, waiting, apprehensive, while Remus disappeared in the kitchen. In front of her, one of those new, fancy muggle boxes which showed moving pictures and emitted sounds rested on a low table.

“Televisions,” she remembered they were called.

Next to it, a record player stood proudly, surrounded by boxes upon boxes full of vinyl discs protected by their colourful thin cardboard covers. Books lay strewn everywhere, some askew in shelves, others stacked on one another on the floor. Patchwork quilts were neatly folded over an armchair, and a couple of sketchpads peeked out between the books here and there. A vase full of half-dead red tulips, Sirius’ favourite flowers, of course, ruled over the coffee table on which stood an empty coffee mug. But what captured Minerva’s attention above everything else were the framed pictures which hung by the dozens on the walls, occupying every available centimetre. There were traditional muggle photographs, still and unmoving, but there were also wizard-moving pictures. Most of the time, they showed Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter, occasionally joined by Lily, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, Molly, Arthur, Frank, and other friends from Hogwarts. There were photos of them in the Gryffindor Common Room, others in Hogwarts’ hallways, others on the Quidditch Pitch, others near the Black Lake, some in their dorm room, and a couple from Hogsmeade. There were a few photos of Remus with his family at home and by the sea, and one of Sirius and Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. And, there was also a series of neatly ordered photographs, seven in total, hung up one above the other, displaying the Marauders in the Transfiguration classroom. She knew them all too well. She had taken those, every year, at the end of the last term, exactly an hour before the Hogwarts Express would depart. Minerva had watched these boys grow, year after year, become adults, and now…two of them were dead along with one of her favourite students, one of them was in prison, and only one remained.

“I apologize for the mess, I only arrived a couple of hours ago and Sirius seems unable to maintain any order in our apartment without me,” said Remus, interrupting her thoughts, handing her a steaming mug of tea.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, taking a sip.

“I found a box of biscuits, feel free to help yourself,” he added, gesturing to the metal tin he had brought with him in which lay golden-yellow butter biscuits. “So, what did you need to speak of so urgently?”

“I…,” she hesitated. “Have you read the news from the Wizarding World recently, Remus?”

“No, I had none available where I was and today’s newspaper hasn’t arrived yet. Why? Did something happen?”

“Merlin, I am so, so sorry, my dear boy, but—“

A sudden sob broke through her words.

“Professor,” gasped Remus worriedly. “Are you all right? Should I get you a tissue or something?”

“N-no,” she cried, “stay.”

She sighed deeply, dejected, before attempting to deliver the dreadful news again.

“I—“

“Minerva,” interrupted Remus, “while I am dreading whatever you must tell me, I need to hear it. It’s fine, I have been through a lot, I can handle it, I’ll be all right.”

“James, Lily, and Peter are dead, Sirius is in Azkaban,” she blurted out, burning tears sliding down her cheeks.

“What?”

Looking at him compassionately, Minerva took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice, and began recounting the events from the start. Remus listened wordlessly, staring at her in dumbfounded shock.

“No,” he whispered, as soon as she finished. “No, this isn’t possible, Sirius would never murder James and Lily. No, I refuse to believe this…”

He shook his head violently as she sat quietly, waiting for the outburst.

“No,” repeated Remus with more conviction. “Tell me the truth, Professor, what actually happened?”

“That is the truth, I am so sorry,” she replied softly.

“TELL ME THE BLOODY TRUTH!” He roared, standing up.

His teacup fell out of his hand, shattering on the floor. Fragments of china flew everywhere, peppering the floor and sofa. A small piece grazed Minerva’s hand, scratching her pale skin. A few droplets of scarlet blood oozed out of the thin wound. Remus looked around as if suddenly realising what he had done, and sat back down abruptly, burying his face in his hands.

“This can’t have happened, I know Sirius, I’ve known him for almost 10 years now, the man I love would never murder his best friends in cold blood, he simply isn’t capable of that. Please, tell me the truth,” he begged desperately.

At that moment, he appeared so fragile, so weak. It was almost as if he would break into a million pieces if anything so much as a light breeze would blow over him. He shook and shivered, every limb trembling brutally, as his breath quickened drastically. Sensing the impending panic attack, Minerva put her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to face her, gripping him tightly.

“Remus, look at me,” she whispered soothingly.

He did not react, staring blankly past her before shutting his eyes tightly as he began to suffocate, panting heavily.

“Remus look at me, I’m here,” she repeated, harsher this time. “REMUS LOOK AT ME!”

It was as if something inside him had switched off as if his consciousness wasn’t there any longer. At loss, she took out her wand, pressing it against his temple, and said:

“Spiritus remedium!”

A warm wight light briefly illuminated the room. Remus opened his eyes, his frantic breathing slowly regaining its normal pace.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Of course, my dear. Do you…want to talk about it?” She asked, looking at him concernedly/

“No…thank you but no. I just need some time for myself right now, be alone for a while, understand, and come to terms with whatever this is,” he replied, turning away.

“Remus,” she began hesitatingly, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. “I know we haven’t exactly been very close lately or spent a lot of time together, after all, you did know me as your teacher for most of your life. Nevertheless, it is precisely because of that that I’m concerned about you. I’ve watched you grow into the wonderful young man you are now, and…I just can’t lose anyone else, not you.”

He met her gaze glistening with tears, and a look of understanding passed between them. They both knew what was at stake here, and they both knew they probably wouldn’t survive any more loss. In some ways, they only had each other left now. Student and mentor. Friends. To some extent, mother and son. No, they definitely could not lose anyone else, especially not each other.

“Take care, Remus,” said Minerva finally standing up, wrapping herself in her coat.

“You too, Minerva.”

She left the colourful apartment and all its pictures and former happiness behind, disappearing in London’s grey streets, just another nameless human being. This time, heads did not turn as she passed, or maybe they did but she never even fathomed it, as all she thought of was the funeral.

#angst #fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #marauders fanfiction #marauders angst #remus lupin #minerva mcgonagall

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Complexities Unknowable- Chapter 7 (Finale!)

Ao3, 1 2 3 4 5 6. MasterPost

Relationships: Deintruality, background Analogince

Warnings: Cursing, Remus-typical language and jokes, Minor self-deprication/insecurity, the ol’ ‘thinks-it’s-unrequited-and-is-oblivious-to-obvious-flirting’ song and dance, all sympathetic sides, feelings of being left out, also I accidentally projected too hard and now Patton has adhd oops.

Word Count: 4,000 (approximately)

Patton felt better than he could ever remember feeling. Sleep came easy as it hadn’t for him in years. It was amazing how far a little bit of understanding went.

When all your closest friends are together, you get lonely. Patton wouldn’t say that he was jealous, but everything was different now. When he used to spend time with the others, it was four pals spending quality time together! Now when they did, it was a date, except oops! Patton’s here too! How awkward!

He knew that was unfair. They didn’t really think of him that way, of course not. Hence why he didn’t bring it up.

It wasn’t like that with Remus and Deceit. Even though they were dating, Patton never felt left behind. Their humor was dark and snarky but accessible, not laden with inside jokes that he’d missed out on or specific clues that he didn’t pick up.

The inclusiveness they treated him with was probably borne from being excluded for so long, though he didn’t like to think about that. The fact was, the three were friends now, the past was past, and Patton was drinking in their companionship like fine wine (or, to be more accurate to himself, a grape juice box).

It did not take him long to figure out why he was so fond of their company. You can only spend so much time with Deceit prattling about the dangers of repression before you start to unearth all of those deeply buried feelings.

He’d fallen for the Dark Sides. Whoops.

Could you really blame him? Deceit, suave and clever and funny, yet so gentle when he wanted to be; Remus, bold and brash and energetic, but still with such a deep empathy hidden in him! It was no wonder that the two were already together- anyone who spent as much time with them as they spent with each other would be head-over-heels as well! (Patton was speaking from experience on that one).

Initial surprise regarding the feelings had soon faded to something almost comfortable. He was happy to have them as his friends alone, so what was a little crush? No big deal!

...Was what he had thought ten minutes ago, when there wasn’t an affectionate Remus wrapped around him, chattering off various compliments.

“I could hold you forever, Patty. You are just the softest, like a water balloon full of blood and organs! But still so ripped, I mean, damn!”

“Language,” Patton chided meekly, trying very hard to not dissolve into the ether.

“Awww, you can’t make an exception for me? Just this once? I’ll make it worth your while~,” the last part was a hushed sing-song right near Morality’s ear. He felt his face redden, but forced himself away to refocus on… whatever he had been doing.

“Nope, no exceptions,” he chirped, going back to- right! Cleaning!

“You aren’t tempted at all? You are so responsible- and that’s really one of the sexiest qualities there is.”

It was just Remus’ nature to talk to people like that, Patton told himself firmly. The Creative side was just expressing his friendly affection in a way that made sense to him. It came alongside being close to someone so unused to ‘typical’ friendship dynamics, after all. Patton reminded himself of this again and again, denying himself the desperate urge that welled up and told him to respond in kind. He would not purposefully misinterpret Remus’ actions for his own gain, he was better than that!

“Thank you, Rem,” just nice, platonic gratitude for nice, platonic compliments.

Eventually, finally, mercifully, The Duke had seemed to get bored. He disentangled himself from Patton (appearing rather crestfallen, though the moral trait wasn’t sure why), and wandered off.

But that, whether for good or for bad, was hardly the end of that.

Deceit’s room was magnificently cozy. It was armchairs that swallowed up whomever sat in them, warm lamps casting down on all surfaces, and jazzy music playing distantly in the background. In other words, the perfect place for a good cup of tea and some sandwiches, not to mention pleasant conversation.

Deceit lounged back in his oversized chair, sending Patton an inscrutable look across their teacups. The side smiled, hoping that was the appropriate response.

“So,” he drawled, switching the track of their conversation abruptly, “You’re something of a seamster, aren’t you?”

Patton stared blankly for a moment before the term clicked.

“Oh, you mean a seamstress?”

“Sorry, I thought you’d prefer the masculine, but that really was presumptuous of me,” Deceit amended in apology.

“I didn’t know that there was a word for it other than seamstress. Hey, isn’t it kinda weird how some jobs are like that, when you think about it? Like how there’s actors and actresses! Why wouldn’t ‘actor’ be all encompassing, ya know?”

Deceit made a vague noise of disinterest and waved his hand, as though manually cutting off the tangent in conversation.

“Yes, gender is a distasteful societal construct and an overall prison to our consciences, we both agree- but regardless, you sew. Make clothing and things like our quilt. Isn’t that right?”

“Right- yes.”

“Do you make all of your own clothes, then?”

“Hmm, sometimes I do- I mostly make stuff for the others. It’s easier to conjure simple stuff for myself, but making them is a lot of fun!” Morality gestured enthusiastically to the pastel pink sweater that he wore, fluffy and intricately patterned.

Deceit’s eyes glinted in a strange, intimidating, and also incredibly hot way. Patton almost forced the attraction out of his mind, before realizing that that kind of repression would definitely be noticed in this part of the Mindscape.

“I would have to say you have quite the talent, in that case,” the dishonest trait set down his cup and craned his body over the small table between them, heterochromatic gaze alight with… something. Patton cleared his throat.

“W-Why’s that?”

“You look positively hideous in that, my Dear,” he purred in obvious lies, gloved hands now sitting in the middle of the table and creeping forward by the inch.

“Aw, thanks,” Patton croaked, fighting the urge to lean forward in turn.

Something strangely disappointed flashed in Deceit’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. He reached out to run a hand along Patton’s sleeve, the touch lingering against his arm.

“My my, that’s just like a cloud. How did you manage that, Darling?”

Morality shivered as Deceit continued to toy with the fabric of his sweater.

“I-It’s probably because it’s made with love! Since that’s what I am, kinda,” he stammered, desperately trying to keep up the cheery tone.

“I’m inclined to agree. There’s beauty in all you touch, Sunshine.”

Oh, the pet names. Patton really couldn’t take it; he jerked away and pressed his back against the chair, before he had the chance to do something stupid. Honestly, it was sad how hard this was for him- Deceit was just trying to be a good friend! It wasn’t his fault that he showed it with flirts!

“You’re too sweet,” with distance reestablished, Morality found it much easier to formulate words, “I really appreciate you, Dee.”

Deceit blinked, still hovering over the table. He cleared his throat and snapped back into his seat, suddenly looking the part of the cold and distant Dark Side that Patton had feared just months prior. Guarded, callous, stoic. It was almost frightening, how quickly he changed.

“Yes, I know you do. Let’s change topics, shall we?”

Patton, feeling quite a bit of whiplash, nodded hesitantly. Their conversation continued to flow normally, for the most part, but he couldn’t help feeling that he’d messed up somewhere. There was something heavy over them, but Patton hadn’t the slightest idea what it was.

For a brief, dizzying moment, he wondered if they were moving backwards. If he’d somehow crossed a line when he was trying so hard not to, and now they were two steps back again. Just the thought of it made him too sick to finish his tea.

Patton didn’t have to be worried for long about that particular mishap, thankfully, as a very momentous occasion had swallowed up the fear. Remus and Deceit were going to be joining in their first ever movie night as part of the family!

There’d been plenty of TV marathons with just them and Pat already, but now they’d all come together! As part of the group!! Contributing to the voting and the arguing and the joking and the experience of it all!!! Needless to say, Patton was practically bouncing off the walls in his excitement.

He plopped down onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn, passing a much larger container of snacks to the amorphous blob of limbs and sass that had once been his three best friends, cuddled together far across from him. Now, all they needed were the Dark- sorry, former Dark Sides.

He wasn’t waiting for long before Deceit and Remus appeared in the living room (Remus, thank the lord, wearing actual pajamas). Patton couldn’t contain the happy little chirp that escaped him, scrunching himself to one side of the sectional so that they’d have plenty of room to make themselves at home.

Rather than huddling together in the crook of the curved sofa, however, Deceit immediately gestured for Patton to scooch over, and Remus sat on his other side. Morality was happy (if a bit surprised) to comply with this new seating arrangement, flashing them bright smiles. In light of recent events, being so close with both of them was a little dizzying, but it wasn’t too hard to bear. For now.

The conversation on which movie to watch that night was more agreeable than usual, which was nice; they got right to the marathon with little hassle. Patton sighed as the opening credits to Tangled played. At that moment, his life couldn’t get any more wonderful. Surrounded by the people he cared about, finally all together, it was perfect.

And then, a mere ten minutes in, Remus leaned his chin on Patton’s shoulder and pressed into his side.

“Mother Gothel is such a Milf.”

Patton would usually have been put off by the sexual comment, but at that moment Deceit had also seemed to decide that he’d make a good headrest. Which was fine, this was fine. Some mild friendly cuddling- nothing he couldn't handle!

Another twenty minutes later and Remus twisted an arm around his waist. Deceit held Patton’s hand between a couple of his own. By this point, they were beginning to look a lot like the cuddle pile wrapped up together on the other side of the couch. He was still alive, though!

Neither of the sides beside him moved an inch until the film ended, only begrudgingly letting go when Morality had to get up for a snack refill. Even then, they latched back onto him as soon as he returned. Thus began the second movie, and the beginning of Patton's slow and snuggly death.

Every few minutes, it would be something else: Deceit ran a hand or two through his hair, Remus hooked his leg around Patton’s, Deceit nuzzled against his neck, Remus laughed into his shoulder, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

Three movies in and he was barely keeping up with the conversation. His head was spinning and he was sure he’d never been so warm, but more than that he felt protected. Even adored. He wasn't often on the receiving end of affection, and the longing brought with it ached, but he never wanted it to end.

Then Virgil yawned (oh yeah, the other three were still there), exiting from the ending credits of All Dogs Go To Heaven and clicking back to the main screen.

“Bed time,” he grumbled, a tone so intimate and low and clearly meant for his boyfriends that Patton almost felt bad for overhearing it.

“It is getting quite late,” Logan agreed, standing to stretch. Roman followed suit and dragged a sleepy Anxiety up with him.

Virgil tossed the remote in Patton's general direction and let Roman haul him up in his arms (Deceit caught it with an unoccupied arm, given that the moral side’s brain was currently jelly). The three bid their goodnights and were gone with a few shimmers of color and a whoosh.

“I guess we should head up, too,” Patton murmured, working very hard to disguise his reluctance. To his surprise, the traits sandwiching him only sank further into his sides.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, it’s so very late,” Deceit rumbled, his face partially hidden in the crook of Patton’s neck.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I can’t move,” Remus added, his voice ticking up in a noticeably mischievous way.

“I can’t either. We should stay, just like this.”

Patton's heart warmed, looking between their adorably sleepy faces. He couldn’t lie, the offer was tempting, but in such a situation his brain came back to him. Despite the continued proximity of his crushes, this was something he could handle!

“Aww, don’t you worry about it, I’ve got ya,” and, making very sure that his grip was secure, Patton stood up with Deceit and Remus cradled in either arm. He hardly staggered under the weight of the sides, familiar with such heavy lifting.

Remus and Deceit went from sleepiness to pure shock in a matter of milliseconds. Deceit instinctively clung to Patton with all of his limbs, meanwhile Remus gave a startled laugh. Their faces were a matching pink; oh, he could have made them uncomfortable!

“Is this okay? I promise I won't drop you.”

Remus nodded frantically; Deceit squawked in an affirming sort of way.

Relief washed over Patton and, satisfied with the response, he sank out in a circle of cyan. For a moment, he feared that the nausea that The Subconscious usually brought him would unsteady him, but he was left pleasantly surprised when he felt none. In fact, it felt just like rising up anywhere else. Just as easy as breathing. Hm.

He didn’t dwell on it too long, ascending The Subconscious’ staircase and bringing his cargo to the first bedroom he saw (Deceit’s). He nudged the door open with his shoe, carrying them right to the bed and dropping them down gently. Remus fell onto his back with a happy hum; Deceit stayed upright and stared at Patton with wide eyes. He huffed a laugh and nudged The Snake's shoulders, and Deceit let himself fall beside his boyfriend, dazed.

This was routine for Patton: grabbing the covers and blanketing his friends, as he’d done for probably every other side at one point or another (even Logan, though he would deny it furiously). Once Remus and Deceit were sufficiently tucked in, he stood up and dimmed the lights to near darkness.

“Alright, you two have a good night's sleep.”

There was a noise of approval from the pair. Patton gave them one last smile before disappearing back to his own room. To scream into his pillow and think about how gay he was.

Which meant that he didn't get the opportunity to hear the interaction that followed between Dee and Ree.

“Well, that didn’t backfire at all.”

“I want him to snap my spine in half like a glow stick. He could break every bone in my body and I would thank him,” Remus replied dreamily. Deceit hummed in agreement.

“Perhaps we should try a more… direct approach, as this doesn’t seem to be working in our favor.”

“I dunno about you, but I’m feeling pretty fuckin’ favored right now.”

“I was suggesting that we be more-” he very nearly gagged, “Straightforward.”

“More like gay-forward, actually,” Remus corrected, “But I’m with you! You know I love being direct.”

“Now when I say direct, I don’t mean blunt.”

“I don’t understand the difference.”

“I know you don’t. Let me do the talking.”

“Fine by me! Whatever works to get him to pick me up and throw me!”

Deceit rolled his eyes, settling his arms around Remus.

“Yes, yes- but I’m actually wide awake right now, and I’d love it if you keep being loud all night, Dearest.”

“Oh, right,” Remus lowered his voice, curling himself around the lying side in turn. Together, their breathing slowed. As they drifted to sleep, the feeling of Patton's arms around them still ghosted their skin.

Patton was cleaning furiously. He’d already reorganized the entirety of his room- twice, for that matter- and now he’d moved to the Common area. It hadn’t been so much as a week since his last tidying session, and the Mindpalace was pretty much spotless, but that was irrelevant. It was as good a distraction as any.

Maybe he was avoiding the trifecta of trifling traits- aka his best friends- because he knew that they’d ask about why he was being so weird lately. Maybe he was avoiding Deceit and Remus, the reason that he’d been weird lately. Maybe he was just avoiding his thoughts about them, because seeing them all cozied up and sleepy and adorable a couple nights ago really hadn’t helped settle his growing infatuation with them. Most likely, he was avoiding all three.

But he had failed to take into account that The Common Area was not the best place for avoiding stuff. Given that it was. A Public Space.

“Patton,” began the voice of Deceit behind him, in a tone deadly serious.

He spun around to see a very embarrassed Dee and an immensely giddy Remus. Well, Shhhhh-ucks. Shucks.

“Hey!” Patton tossed the sponge in his hand back into the sink and pretended that he wasn’t freaking out at that exact moment.

Deceit hardly registered the greeting, continuing:

“We need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

The Snake opened his mouth, and promptly closed it. His eyes had widened concerningly, and he cast his gaze downwards.

“We-” he cut off again. Patton’s worry was mounting.

“DeeDee?” Remus prompted, elbowing his partner’s side, “I thought you were doing the talking?”

“I-I can do this, I’m not tapping out,” his voice was frenzied, hiding himself behind The Duke in a rare display of fear.

“Guys? Is something wrong?” Patton approached them, all of his nervousness about his feelings forgotten in the face of this distress, “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Remus gave him a warm smile, not hesitating for a breath.

“We came to tell you you’re hot and we wanna date you! But, you know how bad Dee is with words! Anyway, whaddya say?”

Deceit, for his part, nodded in deep resignation. And Patton’s head reeled.

He could hear, audibly hear his heart thumping against his ribs. It was probably as simple as a confession could get, but regardless he found himself frantically replaying the words over and over and over again. He’d never imagined- not even for a second- even the thought of it-

Mentally, he took a step back. Roman, Logan, and Virgil were an item. Remus and Deceit were an item. And Patton was a third party, paternal and caring and watching out for all of them and their misadventures, though he knew he’d never be entirely part of it. But maybe, now he could be. After everything, they wanted not to just be with him, but to be with him.

It didn’t process.

“I- You- What- Me?”

Because there is good in this world, Remus (correctly) interpreted his flustered stammering as surprise and not distaste. The smile that he almost always wore widened and he took a step forward, dragging the mildly less panicked Deceit along with him.

“You,” he confirmed, shimmying excitedly in place, “Definitely you. And us.”

“I second that not-at-all vague sentiment. We’ve grown unfortunately fond of you,” Deceit uncoiled himself from Remus enough to be seen clearly.

Patton saw it. He saw, in full light and understanding, the subtext in their previous interactions. And now that he did, he had no idea how he’d missed it. A testament to the power of his insecurity, probably. But that didn’t matter, because they liked him back.

Patton failed to words. But, they were very near, and he was very happy, and in the light of new context, he figured that they wouldn’t mind the response he opted for instead.

He hopped forward with a delighted squeal, scooping the traits up in his arms. Remus started cackling and immediately returned the hug with just as much fervor. Deceit wasn’t far behind for once, allowing his face to split with a smile equal parts shock, relief, and glee.

“Oh, I love you two so much!” Patton laughed out, burying his face in Remus’ hair.

“I love you back!” Remus said in kind.

Deceit attempted a dramatic groan, but he failed to tamp down his grin.

“It could be said that I feel something love-adjacent for the both of you. Perhaps.”

Patton’s mind was swimming in joy, so much so that it barely registered when Remus tilted his head back only to lean forward, and oh wow, were they kissing. Patton’s vision was all bright blurs of color, and he melted. The creative trait pushed up against him, rough in much the same way as an overly excited large dog. Patton hardly had time to reciprocate the kiss before Remus broke off completely from the hug, unflustered and unaffected by what he’d done, save for a light blush.

“Now you guys!”

Oh, he was still hugging Deceit.

“Only if it’s okay?” he’d barely gotten the apprehensive words out of his mouth when it was suddenly occupied, and the world went back to hazey vibrance. Deceit was almost skittish, a barely-there press against his lips like he expected Patton to shove him away. He didn’t, by the way. Rather, he slid a hand up to rest between the side’s shoulder blades, bringing him nearer.

After a moment, they pulled back slowly, not letting go of each other.

“That was hot, ngl,” Remus chimed from his perch on the counter.

Patton was overcome with a fit of giggling, energy building in him. He ended his and Deceit’s very drawn-out embrace to satisfy the necessity of full body wiggle. He was in Silly Mode, there was no avoiding this until it had been exorcised via The Joyful Movement™. Patton flapped his hands at his sides and shook his hair out, laughing all the while. Today could not possibly get better!

But he remembered his audience of two. He looked up, hair fluffed up and face flushed with fading excitement and a tinge of self-consciousness.

“Sorry, I got over-excited...”

“That,” Deceit announced solemnly, “Was astoundingly adorable.”

“I’ve died a gruesome death,” Remus rolled off the counter and onto the ground with a crash (and some bone crunches thrown in, probably for fun), “My heart overloaded, it has burst. There’s blood everywhere, it’s in my eyes, I’m now also blind.”

Patton’s relief escaped in another bout of laughter, and something lifted in him. A weight that had been there for so long that he hadn’t even remembered it was there, nor how it felt to be without it. But now that it had left, he didn’t know how he had been living with it for so long. There was airiness in his chest, a clarity in his mind, a general sense of contentment rushing over him. This wasn’t a face he put on for others benefit, it wasn’t a fleeting enjoyment of one thing or another- what it was was a deep, thrumming joy that overcame him.

He was happy.

Naturally, Patton could not finish cleaning due to. Circumstances. Those circumstances being, he was finally letting himself indulge in some quality time with his new boyfriends (an identifier he very much liked the sound of).

The trio were half-laying on the Common room’s couch, a tangle of various limbs. Remus leaned against a pile of pillows, and Patton rested his head on his chest. Draped across the both of them was Deceit, fastening all of his arms around them in a manner simultaneously protective and needy. Oh, and also very, very cute.

“This was totally what I was planning from the beginning,” his voice reverberated through Patton’s chest, “God, I am so great at plotting.”

Remus clicked his tongue agreeably, pressing a kiss to the top of Morality’s head.

“Yeah, I was pretty sure we were gonna end up killing you, Pumpkin. This wasn’t even in the ballpark of outcomes.”

Patton hummed in thought, cuddling himself closer to his partners.

“I dunno. I’d say your plan turned out pretty well.”

@deceits-left-glove

@princemesscharming

@shrimp-crockpot

43 notes · View notes

cozywritings · 4 years

Text

Stitches: ch1

Summary: Transferring to a new college two years in seemed crazy, but so was being a fashion major that was being double housed in a dorm building with medical majors. Meeting Shawn was a bonus to the arrangement, and everything else that happens, well, that was just fate.

------

Explaining to people that you were going to college for fashion merchandising was always a fun conversation. You usually got weird stares or the famous question “what can you do with that?” But that’s what you wanted to to. So now here you stood, in front of your dorm hall, your final suitcase in hand as you took it all in, in it’s old beige bricked glory.

For the next two years, this was your home, and as much as you’d miss seeing your family every day, you’ve lived with them for the first 20 years of your life.

When your parents dropped you off, your mom told you “Don’t think I don’t want updates every night during dinner, especially about boys. And classes. But mostly boys.” She’s always been very pushy about you having a boyfriend. Or at least one that treated you correctly.

Since you were a transfer, luckily you didn’t have to live by the usual first year dorm rules. So while you were required to spend at least a semester in a dorm, you could choose a single room., so you were on the housing website at midnight on choosing day. Sure it was more expensive than a double occupany, but your college fund your parents set up paid for your tuition, so you got one of the lucky single rooms. Considering your odd sleeping habits, your need to listen to music while you study, and a few personal reasons, it was really best for everyone that you had a single room. Plus, now you could binge watch Gossip Girl and Project Runway on repeat without judgement.

What you just learned, however, was that your dorm was one of the few on campus that was housed by two majors. Usually they try to keep students together by major so studying is easier, but yours wasn’t just fashion majors, you were sharing a dorm with med students. Which was an odd combination, but the biology building was on one side of the dorm and the business building was on the other, and fashion majors were required to have a business minor. So it made logical sense in terms of location.

Walking into your new room, you saw all the opportunities for decor. The walls were totally bare, the bed was light enough for you to easily move it around the room, and there was a small package of dorm safe hanging hooks on the desk in the corner, along with a list of things that you were allowed to do and what was restricted.

Dropping your suitcase to the floor, you walked over to the desk and began reading your list to see if you could get a mini fridge.however, a soft knock on your door startled you, and you dropped the paper, letting it flitter down to the carpet.

You opened the door to see a tall brunette holding out a small gift bag and giving you a really nervous smile. “Hi, I’m Emily. I live just down the hall and I, uh, wanted to drop this off.” She looked at you with big eyes as you took the bag from her and smiled. “It’s got um, some popcorn and a bottle of soda in it and a few snacks and stuff. Oh! And a few school supplies.”

She was obviously very nervous, a freshamn. Technically you were too, but you understood being 18 and trying to make friends in college. Even if your first two years where at a comminuty college. She was probably doing this to meet new people and try to find some friends.

“Hi. Thank you so much! This is actually really cute and I love Dr. Pepper, it remonds me of home. It’s really nice to meet you.” The two of you finished your introductions. You learned that she was a first year med student, and that the RA’s were showing a movie being the hall’s big study loft tonight, and that’s why she put the snack bags together.

“So I guess I’ll see you tonight?” She asked, excited to have a new friend.

“Of course! I love Pretty Woman, it’s one of my absolute favorites.” Emily squealed and clapped her hands before walking off the deliver the rest of her treats the other residents. “Oh and Emily, if you ever need anything, I’m always here. Just be sure to knock twice so I know it’s you.” Her smile got even bigger, if that was possible.

“Thank you so much! You’re so sweet. I’ll see you tonight!” After waving goodbye, you closed you door and looked around your empty room again, thanking the gods you had a whole room and bathroom to yourself. You’d never lived alone before, well technically you weren’t alone, but it was close enough.

Wondering out loud to yourself you asked. “What am I going to do in here?” You eventually decided you thought the desk would look better by the window, for a pretty view while studying, and the bed would be best on the opposite wall. Tha t would make it easier to see your tv that you’s put on your dresser. When you were able to find someone to lift that heavy thing onto it, and how you were going to move it all, you had no idea. But for now you could at least plan out where the rest of your things could go, and put up the things you knew wouldn’t be in the way of the rearranging.

Things were going along rather smoothly until you heard a loud thud against the outside of your door. Opening it carefully, a tall guy with glasses tumbled into your room. “Oh fuck! I’m so sorry I stumbled over my own two feet.” He laughed, face a bright pink in embarassment.

“Oh, no, It’s alright, are you okay?” you asked and he stood up and nodded, brushing off his jeans.

“Yeah I’m good, I just have two left feet and the world’s worst balance. I’m Kyle by the way!” He smiled, sticking out a hand. You gave him the same intro you gave to Emily, he was also a fashion merchandising major, the first one you’ve met today. “So if you need any help just come get me. I took most of the intro classes already so I can give you my notes. If you’d like.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much. Are you going to this movie thing tonight?” You asked, hoping he’d join and Emily wouldn’t be ubset that you brought an extra person.

“Yeah, who would pass up a movie night? Also it’s got pizza and snacks and it’s kinda just a greeting party. Last year’s was really cool.” You talked for a few more minutes before saying goodbye after sharing phone numbers, then you were left to get ready. This thing seemed like it would have a lot more people than you thought, so you decided to take a shower after working on your room.

A few hours later, and your bedroom was now fully put together, kind of. You made sure that your sheets where clean and your bed was freshly made with the brand new white quilt your mom got you. All of your school supplies were put away respectively, and your clothes were all put in the small dresser and closet.

After taking your shower you called your mom. “Hey sweetie. All moved in and comfy?” She asked, excited for you. She was a little bummed that she wasn’t able to stay and help you unpack, but her job was demanding, and you understood. Besides, you had to grow up eventually.

“Yeah. I just took a shower. They’re playing Pretty Woman in the loft tonight so I’m going to go watch it. It’s like I never even left home honestly. That’s probably exactly what I’d be doing tonight anyways.” She laughed, knowing how you watched this movie almost every weekend and it eventually became a family tradition on Friday nights.

“Oh honey I miss you so much already! Your room is all empty and your father is already talking about a men cave.” She groaned, already fearful of the idea.

“You’re not letting him turn my room into a man cave. That’s stupid.”

“Well duh, he’s lucky I let him put his football stuff up in the living room.”

The two of you talked for a good ten minutes before she brought up the topic of boys. “Well honey, just remember. You’re living with soon to be doctors. Imagine scoring a hot doctor. Like a McDreamy of your own!”

Your mom always watched Grey’s Anatomy with you, and you laughed at her comment. “Okay mom, I’ve gotta get ready. This thing starts in an hour and I’ve got to make sure I look worthy of a hot doctor.” Your mom put your dad on the phone to say goodbye before you hung up and turned your music on, tossing your phone onto your bed.

Your mother's words in mind, you decided to redo your makeup for the movie night. Who knows, you really might just meet someone. But you’re doubtful they’d be interested in you.

Looking yourself over in the mirror, your loose and slightly messy curls, the vintage long sleeve from your cousin, and your black jeans looked presentable enough. Slipping on your vans you grabbed your snacks from Emily and your phone and made your way to the loft.

“Hey, you came!” Emily smiled when you walked in, a group of other students sat around her on the fluffy bean bags and waved with her. Kyle was with them as well, so you made your way over to them. Most of them looked like first years, but then again, so did you.

Emily went around introducing everyone “There’s a few more I know are coming. I met them last, they were talking about coming but I just don’t know where they- oh hey!” Her smile bright as her eyes shifted to look at the new arrivals.

When you turned to look for yourself, you were expecting another freshman, maybe another girl like you, who decided to show up in something other than pyjamas.

However, the person in front of you was not definatelynot a freashman, or female. He was tall and handsome. Extremely handsome. Your fingers twitched in the need to touch the curls on his head and his eyes were the most beautiful thing you’d seen.

His jeans were probably as tight as yours, and you wanted to know what was under that beige hoodie more than anything in the world, but you were getting way ahead of yourself. You hadn’t even spoken to him yet.

“Guys, this is Shawn!” Emily announced “Actually, he lives just across the hall from you.” She said, placing a hand on your shoulder. before she bent down and whispered “he’s also a junior, like you. He’s gonna be a doctor.”

Looking back at the gorgeous man before you, you watched as he grabbed a bag of popcorn and plopped down into the beanbag next to you. “Hey, I’m Shawn. We’re neighbors right? Emily was telling me about you.”

You nodded, unable to speak. “Yeah. I live just across the hall apparently.” His eyes were so pretty, and his smile was unlike anything you’d ever seen. I was almost impossible to not smile with him.

“Yeah I saw you moving in earlier. If you need any help rearranging the room just come ask. I usually study in my room anyways so I’m almost always there.” You nodded, making a mental note to ask him to help you move the tv as well

“How did you know I was thinking about rearranging the room?” You questioned, stealing a few pieces popcorn from the bag that he’d tilted towards you as an offering.

He just shrugged, “When I first moved in I wanted to do it too. I thought the desk would look better by the door, that way I could put my bed by the window so I could look out over the courtyard. Plus the sun in my face really wakes me up” he let out a soft chuckle. It was almost like everything about him was enchanting.

Smirking a little you popped the popcorn into your mouth before speaking again. “I’m going to have to take you up on that offer. I was actually going to rearrange today until I realized I needed some help. So I’m assuming you’re in a single room as well?” He nodded, grabbing a slice of pizza and a water bottle.

“Yeah I got lucky since I’m a junior but also real close to graduating next year with my program internship. l want to specialise in Pediatric Surgery.” You looked over at him in shock. There was no way he was already about to graduate, especially in a field like that. This was a man after your heart. “I know I know, I’m young. But in my 11th and 12th year I ended up at a special center for Medical studies so I got started early. I’m hoping to get into a residency soon, and wow I am talking about myself a lot. What about you?”

You smiled, giving him an earful himself of your love for fashion and how you hoped to one day work in New York, LA or even Paris or Milan. What surprised you was how interested he seemed. It was like he actually cared about what you were telling him as opposed to being obligated to listen to you drone on and on about trends and the color patterns for next fall.

“So, I was thinking tomorrow about going around campus and just finding where everything is. Are there any suggestions for the perfect studying spot? Or where to get the best foor or decaf coffee?” He swallowed his mouth full of pizza before answering.

“I’ll one up you. I’ll show them to you myself.” Before you could say anything else, a dorm adviser announced that they were about to start the movie and the lights went out as the opening credits rolled. When you felt a nudge on your shoulder, you looked over to see Shawn offering you a blanket from the backpack he brought with him, noticing your slight shaking due to the temperature of the room. You didn’t even realise how cold you were until you wrapped it around yourself, whispering a small “Thank you.” You finally situated yourself into the fuzzy bean bag, snuggling into the blue fleece.

You took a deep breath to relax and had to stop yourself from humming at the smell of cologne that lingered on the fabric. It had a nice sandalwood scent mixed with a bit of vanilla and you had to keep from audibly moaning at the smell. So instead you focused on the movie, shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth. Trying to ignore the literal greek god only 6 inches from you on the grey bean bag was nearly impossible, especially since he kept looking over at you.

It was almost midnight when the movie ended, half of the dorm had fallen asleep on the floor, Emily and a few others in the group included. The rest had left right at the end of the movie to sleep in their own beds. To be honest, you weren’t far behind, but there was no way you were getting up, you were wrapped up in this blanket, Shawn falling asleep on your shoulder. You didn’t have to heart to wake him.

Technically you didn’t have classes for another week, so thankfully someone decided to start another movie. It would’ve been boring to try to fall asleep to the main menu repeating over and over until someone decided to turn it off. You smiled as the beginning music of The Great Gatsby filled the large study room. The DiCaprio version would always be the better. So you settled back into the bean bag chair, wrapping yourself tighter into the blanket, deciding to fight sleep in favor of another one of your favorite movies.

Right when Nick walks into the parlor where Jordan and Daisy are lounging, Shawn rolled over in his sleep. At first it was fine, that is, until he kept rolling and ended up halfway on top of you. His head on your shoulder and his arm draped across you, his leg curled up on top of yours as he got comfortable.

You thought about waking him or moving him off, but he looked too peaceful. Too cute. And his body heat mixed with the blanket was keeping you comfortably warm. So you let him stay there, it wasn’t like he was hurting anything.

Throughout the movie, Shawn would move slightly closer. Obviously it wasn’t on purpose, and at one point, Cheryl, another girl you’d met earlier in the night, woke up and offered to help you get out from under him. She said her girlfriend likes to cuddle so she got really good at sneaking away since she likes to be at the gym by 5am.

“No thanks, I’m pretty comfortable and I wanna finish this movie. But thank you.” She smiled down at you, bidding you a goodnight.

“You just want to bask in the glory of the hot doctor in training sleeping on you.” She whispered, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at you.

Laughing softly, you looked up at her before shifting your eyes back down to Shawn. “You got me. Now go to sleep. You’ve gotta be up early for the gym tomorrow.”

With a laugh and a wave, she walked off, leaving only you and a few others awake to finish the movie. But that suited you just fine. No one to ask questions because they were lost due to their negligence of reading the book.

As the movie came to an end, so did your energy and willpower to stay awake. Looking down at the boy asleep on you and the room full of college students who would probably hate themselves for falling asleep on the floor, you closed your eyes. Joining the rest of the group in slumber, waiting for the aftermath in the morning.

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #Shawn writing #shawn fluff #med student shawn #college shawn #shawn mendes writing #shawn fanfic #my fic #stitches

41 notes · View notes

yesloverboy · 4 years

Text

Baby You’re a Haunted House (Iwan Rheon!Mick Mars x Reader)

Requested: Anon

“Hi! Could you do a Mick Mars one shot where Mick and the reader are really close friends and they’re watching a scary movie at his house and she’s scared so he lets her stay over. And she has trouble sleeping so she sneaks into his room and they both awkwardly admit they like each other?”

note: finally, after an arduous hiatus brought upon by school, I have a new little request to add to the library. I’m a little rusty so I hope it’s up to par. I don’t deserve your patience, but I’m glad y’all have stuck around. :’) (also if anyone wants to change their taglist preferences, lmk)

word count: 3,219

[no warnings! just two idiots in love!]

tags: @lauravic, @lululovesgwtw, @kingbouji3, @oldschoolimagineblog, @thecrue, @colsonbakersnoseringmain

To say you had a stressful week would be an understatement. Despite your best efforts to hold it together, things just seemed to go completely wrong of their own accord. You burnt your toast at breakfast, found an angry pink parking ticket on your windshield, and spent the entirety of your day working your fingers to the bone. It could have been your sour mood, or the melodramatic attitude you had developed since waking up that morning– but the day seemed completely and utterly cursed.

Even as you leave your shift, you can’t help but stare bitterly at the sun as it dips lazily into the horizon, wondering what exactly you did to make everything feel so shitty. It’s a Friday for Christ’s sake and it seems as though you hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to look forward to the weekend, let alone make plans.

Speaking of Fridays, you think, eyes flitting down to the watch dangling loosely from your wrist. The hands point toward 6:45, making it known that you are running incredibly and unbelievably late. Flustered, you sprint to your car, keys jingling noisily between your fingers. You should have left at least half an hour ago, but there had been so much going on at work that you lost track of time.

“Shit!” you exclaim, jamming your key into the ignition and speeding recklessly out of the parking lot. Tires screech against the asphalt as a cloud of dust erupts from behind you, settling only when you skid out onto the open road. The sky quickly shifts from honey orange to dusky purple as you retreat from the glittering lights of the city, instantly becoming more relaxed at the sight of sparse houses and distant mountains.

You and your best friend, Mick, have a Friday night tradition of staying in and watching movies while the rest of his friends– and bandmates –go out to wreak havoc on the remaining population of Los Angeles. Mick is similar to you in a lot of ways; you’re both the strong and silent type, usually only speaking when spoken and always responding with a biting comment. The two of you met in a record store off Sunset Boulevard, quickly bonding over your love for the emerging metal scene and your hatred for cheap glam rock. Nothing was ever smoke and mirrors with Mick– no, he was raw and honest. Something you admire far more than you’re willing to admit.

Fingers tightening around the steering wheel, you suppress the feeling of your heart twitching excitedly against your ribs. You aren’t sure what’s been up with you lately, but every time you’ve seen Mick these past few weeks your heart has begun to skip along to an unknown rhythm. This new sensation makes you grit your teeth in frustration. Mick is your best friend, you have no reason to feel anxious around him. Right?

Typically, when something abnormal is going on in your life, your first instinct is to tell Mick, but you already know this isn’t the kind of conversation you’re prepared to have with him. These days, it feels as though Mick is the only person you can really be yourself around and you can’t imagine jeopardizing your friendship for the sake of talking about your feelings, of all things.

With a heavy sigh, you pull into the sloping curve of Mick’s driveway, hoping the walk to his doorstep will be just enough time to get your head back on your shoulders. You rap on his door with a heavy hand, listening to the sound of crickets thrumming softly in the distance. It’s times like this where you find yourself thankful that Mick decided to move outside of the Los Angeles city limits. Sure, the drive is long and the daytime traffic could be excruciating, but there’s at least some semblance of stillness in the air.

Mick pulls open the door, greeting you with a soft smile and bright eyes. Rather than wondering what took you so long, he gives your disheveled appearance a once over and simply asks, “Long day?”

You nod, the fatigued slump in your shoulders only getting heavier as Mick motions for you to step inside. Abandoning your jacket and keys by the door, you flop onto Mick’s plush sofa with a content groan.

“Sorry I’m late,” you mumble, voice partially muffled by the pillow pressed firmly against your cheek. At this point, you had been over to Mick’s place so many times that it was slowly starting to feel like your own. You roll on your side, arms cradling the side of your head as you gaze upward with glassy eyes.

Mick just chuckles and lifts your legs so that he can sit underneath them, allowing your calves to rest comfortably in his lap. His fingers ghost the exposed skin of your ankle, making your breath hitch uncomfortably in your throat. The gesture is so familiar and yet, you can’t help but feel as though it were the first time. To your relief, Mick doesn’t seem to take note of your sudden uneasiness, and instead picks up a video tape from the glass coffee table in front of you.

“I rented A Nightmare on Elm Street,” Mick grins, “you seen it yet?”

You sit up, eyebrows knitted in concentration as you study the tape, unsurprised to see that it’s a horror movie. The cover art depicts a young girl staring entranced at a set of knife-like fingers as they hover menacingly above her head. The guys in Mick’s band often joked about him being some kind of ghoul or vampire, and his love for the spooky and supernatural really didn’t help his case.

“Another slasher, Mickey?” you tease, shoving at his shoulders playfully. Just last week the two of you spent the night watching My Bloody Valentine, all the while jeering and laughing at every ridiculous mistake that the characters made. At this point, it may as well be a Friday night tradition.

Mick rolls his eyes, “Come on, Y/N. It’s not just a regular, old slasher. This guy is supposed to come after you to haunt your dreams and shit.”

“What? You sick of me haunting yours?”

“Never,” Mick scoffs, flinging your legs to the side so he can get up and feed the tape into the VHS player. “Not if it’s you.”

For the umpteenth time that evening, your heart leaps.

...

As it turns out, Mick was right, it wasn’t just a silly slasher movie– it was a fucking terrifying slasher movie. By the time that the television screen faded to black and the credits began to roll, you hardly noticed the way your body had wrapped around itself in terror. Gripping the blanket across your lap, you jump as the dark living room becomes illuminated in pale, yellow light. You peer behind a wall of couch cushions to see Mick lurking by the lightswitch with a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Jesus, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were scared,” Mick grins, his expression infuriatingly smug.

You feel your face grow hot as your heart hammers noisily in your chest, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration bubbling from within.

“I wasn’t scared,” you insist, “I was just–just, uh, startled is all. Long day, remember?” Gesturing to your blanket enshrouded form, you hope that the dark circles under your eyes are enough to persuade Mick to say he’s ready for bed and leave you be.

“Speaking of long days, it’s getting pretty late. Why don’t you just crash here for the night?” Mick points to the digital clock on his mantle, the bright red numbers flashing 1:32.

You nibble on your lip wordlessly, trying your best to ignore the feeling of butterfly wings tickling your stomach and climbing into your throat. Mick has a point, it is getting late. However, in all your time as friends, Mick had never once invited you to stay over. Would this change things? Could it change things?

“Um, Earth to Y/N?” Mick steps over to your place on the couch a waves an impatient hand in front of your face, making you jolt upright. “What’s the matter? Freddy got your tongue?”

“You little shit, I swear to God I am not scared–!” your tangent is interrupted as a clap of thunder rumbles from somewhere outside the window, the panes rattling and shaking in protest.

A dramatic yelp escapes your lips before you have time to rationalize what’s happening, making Mick double over in laughter. With trembling hands, you pull the blanket up over your head in an attempt to shroud your humiliation from Mick’s taunting eyes.

“F-fine, you win!” you relent, voice muffled beneath the quilted fabric.

Mick pulls the blanket away from your face, his dark blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Guess we’re having a slumber party after all.”

“If you wanted a sleepover, you could’ve just asked instead of scaring the fuck out of me. We could have braided each other’s hair by now,” you grumble bitterly.

“Better luck next time, I guess,” Mick flicks off the lightswitch with a devious grin, leaving you enveloped in darkness, “Sleep tight, and don’t let the interdimensional sleep demons bite…”

“Oh fuck off,” you squeak, uneasiness creeping on you as Mick leaves you alone in the blackness of his living room. Living closer to the city’s epicentre, you can’t even remember a time it was this dark in your apartment, let alone right outside the window.

Bundling yourself into a tight cocoon, you try to let the rare patter of California raindrops soothe you into unconsciousness. Just as the fuzziness of sleep starts to curl around your weary mind, another clap of thunder rattles through the walls of Mick’s house, your eyes snapping open in fright. You attempt to regulate your frantic breaths, chanting sweet nothings of normalcy and security to no one in particular. But, no matter what you do, nothing seems to unprickle the hairs standing rigidly on the back of your neck.

Rolling over, you decide to face the room in the hopes that your tired eyes will eventually adjust to the darkness. The shadows seem to squirm and shift as your spine tingles with paranoia, making you curse yourself for ever agreeing to stay in the first place. You groan internally when you realize that, in the time you’ve spent anxious on the sofa, you probably could have made it home by now.

Goddammit, Mick.

Ignoring the oppressive movement of the shadows, your eyes wander toward the hallway. The position you have on the couch gives you a direct view of where the curve of the hall snakes into the door of Mick’s bedroom. More than anything, you wish he had stayed out in the living room with you rather than retreating to the confines of his bedroom. It would have been completely unfair to ask that of Mick considering it’s his house, but you can’t help it. You hadn’t been this afraid of the dark since you were a kid and, as far as you knew, Mick wasn’t scared of anything.

The longer you lay scrunched up on the couch, the more tempted you are to just barge into Mick’s room and see whether or not he’s still awake. Minutes feel like hours as you debate the odds of Mick being mad–or worse, weirded out–at the sight of his best friend shaking him awake in the middle of the night. If Mick were having the same problem you probably wouldn’t be upset, right? Then again, there was a better chance of hell freezing over than Mick actually being afraid of the dark.

Deciding you can’t handle being alone a second longer, you swiftly untangle yourself from the comforting embrace of your blanket cocoon and place your bare feet on the cool, wooden floor. Shivering slightly, you hug your arms around your shoulders protectively and pad toward Mick’s bedroom, a nervous lump knotting in the back of your throat.

You approach the white door apprehensively, wondering for a brief moment if testing your friendship like this is even worth it. With a hefty sigh, you abandon all caution and pull the door open, a soft breeze rushing forward and tickling your face from the sudden movement. Heart thudding unceremoniously in your chest, you find yourself faced with the sight of your best friend sleeping soundly in a tangle of black velvet bedsheets.

Lying flat on his back with arms crossed securely over his chest, Mick slept like the dead, looking just as peaceful and twice as forbidden to disturb. A soft smile ghosts your lips at the sight of Mick looking so unwound and at rest. He was always a high-strung individual, that much is true, and watching him sleep so soundly made all your anxieties from earlier feel unbelievably not worth the effort. The realization that Mick’s face alone is enough to settle your nerves makes your heart hammer out a strangled pulse of adoration, twisting your stomach into a knot.

Inching away slowly, you decide that it’s probably for the best if you just saunter back to the couch and squash your feelings. Mick deserves a good night’s rest, not a lovesick best friend who is becoming blindsided by her feelings. Cursing your heart for being so fixated on the trivial human need for intimacy, you take a step back and immediately bump right into Mick’s dresser.

“Fuck,” you hiss as the dresser’s wooden frame trembles noisily against the floor.

To your horror, the man in front of you begins to stir. Raising balled fists to his eyes, he wipes away the sleep and glances over to the source of the sound in a haze of weary confusion. Your heart plummets to the ground as his eyes find yours in the darkness.

“...Y/N?” he mumbles, as he rises stiffly from his pile of blankets like a mummy from a sarcophagus. “Am I dreaming?”

“I was just leaving,” you squeak, hoping beyond hope that Mick would be tired enough to think nothing of his best friend suddenly creeping into his room in the middle of the night. Turning on your heel, you attempt to reach for the door knob but are immediately halted by the sound of Mick’s voice.

“Wait–” Mick calls out, his voice faint, “stay.”

You suck in a breath, grateful that the cover of night conceals the cherry red flush of your cheeks. Taking a tentative step forward, you find your fingertips gingerly clinging to the cool metal of the doorknob in worry. Swallowing the lump in your throat, it feels as though you might be the one dreaming.

“Mickey, look, I can explain, I, uh–I was just…” you stumble over the words of your confession, eyes now well-adjusted enough to see Mick’s expression go soft, almost as if he were concealing a smile.

Mick chuckles at your embarrassment, his gravelly voice making your heart flutter involuntarily. “You were scared, weren’t you?’

“Yeah,” you sigh, not bothering to dig an even deeper hole, “I guess I was.”

Staring down at your bare feet, you allow a beat of silence to pass between the two of you. Mick says nothing, only stares, and for a moment you squirm at the thought that you may have overstayed your welcome. The thought alone is enough to make you cringe.

Mick clears his throat, startling you out of your compulsive rumination. Peering up like a scolded child, you watch him scoot toward the far end of the mattress and straighten out his wrinkled duvet with a lazy hand.

“Well don’t just stand there,” he grins, “get in.”

“Seriously?”

Mick rolls his eyes and pats the empty space for emphasis, “Yes, seriously. Freddy can’t get ya so long as you’re with me– scout’s honor.”

“As if you were a fucking boy scout,” you snort, unable to let your previous feelings of shame conceal the utter ridiculousness of the present situation. Here you are standing at the bedside of your best friend with a bleeding heart, and he’s already prepared to bandage you back up.

“But it’s the thought that counts, right? Now hurry your ass up, I want to get back to sleep.”

Your feet seem to propel you forward of their own accord and, before your neurotic brain can shift into overdrive, you’re already nestling into Mick’s bedsheets. You hum comfortably, the velvet still warm from where he had been sleeping. Every inch of the fabric smells of him, and it takes the last shred of your willpower to not just let your feelings leak straight out of your mouth and onto deaf ears.

“That’s easy for you to say, Mickey,” you tease weakly, “you’ve never been scared of anything.”

“I get scared sometimes,” Mick confesses, “I just wouldn’t want you to ever think differently of me because of it.”

You don’t need to see Mick’s face to know that he’s frowning.

Emboldened by his sudden admission of vulnerability, you turn on your side to face him. Mick’s eyes are fixed firmly on the ceiling, as if all the answers to life’s deepest, darkest questions could be etched somewhere in the popcorned pattern.

“W-what do you mean?” you meant to sound confident, but your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper.

To your disbelief, Mick turns over as well, his deep blue eyes shining through the shadowy bedroom like the frothy caps of a stormy sea. You can practically feel your heart reaching out to him, begging to pull you under and keep you there.

Mick’s hand finds yours somewhere beneath the velvet sheets and gives you a gentle squeeze, his warm palm enveloping your cold one in an instant.

“There’s something I want to say but I’m afraid…” he whispers, voice as delicate as spun sugar, “...I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I do, and I don’t wanna lose you.”

For a moment all you can do is blink, your mind reeling from the implications of what your best friend may or may not be admitting to you. You know that you need to say something quick, but your tongue turns to sand in your mouth.

Mick’s hand still entwined with yours, you take the opportunity to move in closer. Slowly you close the gap between the two of you, leaving nothing but the space reserved for the halo of mutual body heat forming around your place in the sheets.

“I think I know what you mean,” you bring Micks hand to your chest and let the frantic pulse of your heart do all the talking.

Without warning, Mick gives you a gentle kiss on the nose. The touch is so faint, you’re almost worried you may have imagined it.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, Mickey?”

“I think I love you.”

Your free hand rests gingerly on your best friend’s cheek, and for the first time that night you find yourself unafraid of what comes next. His face is red hot to the touch, and you wonder if anyone else knew Mick could be so warm.

“You sure you’d want to do a crazy thing like that?”

Mick just chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing feels crazy when I’m with you.”

“Then I guess I’m just gonna have to love you, too.”

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