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sukiglycerin · 4 years

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starless fairy tales || keigo takami, katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: keigo takami (hawks) x reader x katsuki bakugou (gender neutral!)

* genre: it’s a sandwich: angst on the top, fluff in the middle, and angst at the end :) not fantasy DLKFSF IM SORRY

* words: 5.2k, somehow

* warnings: angsty, reader is wary of hawks at first, tokyo skytree!! so don’t read if you’re terribly afraid of heights, a reference to blood for a small metaphor, a reference to the league of villains ;P, cliffhanger ending that i’m not sure i’ll resolve

* original request from @bien-sur: hey, saw you wanted requests and I read through some of your work, really loved the Hawks one shot!! i’m a sucker for enemies who make out. i’m feeling angsty so uh maybe, if you want, a bakugo one-shot where he kind of uh cheats on the reader...? or maybe just hurts her feelings very badly? maybe the reader feels numb for a while but is comforted by Keigo, and the reader realizes they deserve better? so sorry if this is out of your comfort zone or it’s dark content(?) anyways I like your writing so i’ll read a few more of your works before going to bed :)) thank you, i appreciate u taking the time to do requests regardless of whether you do mine :)

* a/n: ENEMIES TO LOVERS IS SUPERIOR!! i was so excited to write an enemies piece with hawks. this showcases the soft, kind side of hawks so i hope you enjoy it !! thank you sooo much for being so kind in your request! this request is completely fine. i added much more plot than i’d expected, and learned sooo much about tokyo skytree. i couldn’t do infidelity because it hurts me too much and i love bakugou too much. i tried to keep the angst.,., but happy birb..,., this might become a multi-chap fic, as i do have a plot jumbled in my head because of the cliffhanger, and i’d like to develop more aspects of your request! for now, it’s up to your interpretation! biggest thing i got out of this: i now really, really want to go to tokyo skytree.

* synopsis: you had a fairy tale love with bakugou until your prince became the villain for vague reasons. in a moment of serendipity, you find a new prince, hawks, who just might take you high enough to reach the stars you’d so longed for. sometimes your dreams are only a train ride and a couple elevator trips away.

love was like a fairy tale. at least, that’s what you’d believed. love, with its ornate leather cover and soft golden embellishments. the pages would be worn but so cherished; the black ink printed in a pretty font, telling of charming words and whispered promises under the shining moonlight and twinkling stars. it was supposed to be your security, a castle hidden in the lush forest away from the horrors of the world. your castle would hold you and bakugou for an eternity, kept away in the pages of a pretty love story.

alas, even the strongest of castles fall, and the most beautiful of forests mangle. yours just happened to be a bit quicker. contrary to the illusion bakugou had painted in your fairy tale, your castle was not of stone nor brick nor iron. it was not of anything but sand, waiting for its turn to be washed away by the sea. your castle slipped through your fingers; the once elaborate stronghold now swept into the depths of the cerulean sea. what had once been painted seashells of wondrous hues and crystals that illuminated the night were now pebbles and corroded versions of things that had once been. it had slipped through your fingers so easily without a passing thought; now here you were, in your deserted kingdom, playing the fool.

like the sand past your fingers, love had once come easy for you and bakugou. it was always there, drifting in the air as you walked or swirling above your heads while you bickered. love was supposed to be easy, like how your hand just fit in bakugou's as if sculpted after many lives with him. love was supposed to be easy, like how bakugou aced his tests in school and nonchalantly taught you math so you wouldn't have to attend cram school. love was supposed to be easy, like how it had been for forever with bakugou. but your fairy tale was now coming to a close, velvet curtains falling and pages turning to dust.

you wondered if there were any fairy tales on the shelves of books bakugou had. contrary to popular belief at ua, bakugou was an avid reader. it was clear by the shelves that lined the wall in his dorm and the stacks of unread books on his nightstand. you never touched them, though bakugou had said you were free to pick them up whenever you wanted. the only time you’d touched a book from his bookshelf was when he pushed a book of yosano akiko’s to you.

the colored spines of the books on his shelf in your shared apartment all blurred like paint on a palette as you stared at them, bakugou’s voice becoming a fading afterthought.

“y/n? y/n, please…” the voice which had so held you in its tight warmth went cold and unfamiliar. a light flickered out in your castle, and so started the crumbling.

“say…” you started, your throat clogged with disbelief, “it again.”

“please, don’t make me…” his voice trailed off. you could feel his deep scarlet eyes trained on you. “i just…. i’m not in love with you anymore, y/n.” his voice cracked. “you’ve got to understand. please.”

your hand trembled in your lap, your vision shifting out of focus like a faulty camera.

“i tried to feel something, i really did. but…. i can’t.”

“how- how long?” your voice shook.

he paused. “a month… or two, by now?” he reached out to take your hand in his, but it no longer felt right. it was as if his hand was no longer yours to hold. you tensed, moving your hand away.

a light went out in his eyes as he understood and receded his hand. a tower fell in your castle.

“okay,” you said, turning away from him. tears dripped down your face silently and you quickly wiped them away with your sleeve. you stood up from the couch. “i’ll get my things,” you hollowly said, walking toward your shared room with him.

“you don’t need to,” bakugou said. the voice emitted from his throat was no longer his, but the shadow of a stranger’s. “not this fast, at least. don’t force yourself.”

“what makes you say that?” you snapped a bit too harshly. “sorry,” you added quietly.

packing your things was a numbing process. you left the photos of him and you on his nightstand, on top of his pile of unread books. you shoved it all in a backpack you had lying around; your clothes, your phone, your books. you took one last glance around the room and left. bakugou was still sitting on the couch wordlessly, not bothering to say farewell to you as you opened the door and walked out. not that you would’ve responded anyway.

you realized you may have made a miscalculation as you stood cluelessly in the lobby of the apartment building. you had nowhere to go. you fumbled with your phone in your backpack and pulled up your contacts. you knew of no one in your contacts who’d let you stay; they were either on vacation or far away. in truth, bakugou was your closest friend since childhood. he was your map, your guide, your destination; where were you without him?

the wind brushed your cheek as you stood outside the entrance, watching cars pass. the world felt so big compared to the mere side character of you, who buildings loomed over like menacing shadows. it was a somewhat comforting moment, being an alone speck in the grand scheme of things. like this, it was for only a moment you’d forgotten why you were out here in the first place. you’d forgotten the warm feeling that once nestled itself in your heart, instead enraptured by the freeing breeze that rustled in it.

red. then a breeze. that’s all you saw, eyes widening and stepping back. a man no older than you stood in front of you, hands in his pockets. vermillion wings protruded from somewhere on his back, arcing slightly over the man.

“heyyy….” he said lazily, shadows falling on his face. you started walking backward, hands discreetly feeling for the door behind you. “wait! i’m a pro-hero, i swear! i’m hawks, look it up!” he lifted his hands up in surrender, backing away from you.

“who…. what do you want?” you asked cautiously, hand on the doorknob behind you.

he sheepishly scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. “i, uh…. got lost…. tokyo’s such a big place, y’know?”

“where are you from?” you couldn’t really discern anything of an accent on him, other than a slightly rougher tone of speaking.

“kyushu, fukuoka…” he gestured vaguely. that explained the slight accent. “i’m in tokyo for a bit of work. business trip, y’know how it goes. haven’t visited tokyo in a while, honestly. what’s a good place for a bite? a bird is starving.”

“uh… there’s a place down the street to the right…” off the top of your head, you pointed out a cafe you and bakugou had frequented.

“it doesn’t have chicken wings, does it?” hawks asked.

“chicken…?” you looked from him to his wings. “no, sorry.”

“don’t sweat it! ‘s fine. hey, i might as well treat you for wasting your time. where’re you heading off to? i could pay for a cab, if you gotta go.”

“ah, thank you....” you said bashfully. “i’m not really in a rush anywhere.”

“really?” he looked excited, innocently so, almost like a puppy. “can i treat you to something?”

“uh… sure,” you replied, strengthening your grip on your backpack. “sure.”

“great! off we go, m’liege!” he pointed toward the cafe and started marching. he was a sight to behold on the street, red wings standing out a mile away. you followed somewhat reluctantly, grabbing your phone to google exactly who the pro-hero “hawks” was. the name sounded vaguely familiar, but you weren’t one who knew their heroes. yeah, it was definitely him; what was your luck, meeting such a famous pro-hero on the street after being dumped by the love of your life?

he hummed a tuneless melody, turning to the cafe. he held the doorknob waiting for you, opening the door for you first. the homey cafe was decently packed for lunchtime, the quiet chatter of people filling the atmosphere. the scene reminded you of so many other times you'd gone here with bakugou; it gave you chills as you stood next to hawks.

"hey," hawks said quietly. "you okay? you seem tense."

you gulped and shook your head. "nah, i'm fine. just thinking about what to eat," you lied.

he nodded, seeming to buy into the lie. stepping toward the menu, he said, "the toasted sandwiches look good."

"uh huh," you agreed absentmindedly. your attention was on the bout of people who'd turned to look at hawks, some snapping pictures on their phones. he did stand out pretty well with his wings.

"'scuse me-!" a little girl, no more than 6 or 7, approached the hero. she had a distinctive accent; it was slightly hard to understand her. "can i 'ave a photo with ya?" her eyes got all round. "yer my big brother's favorite hero!"

"'course, darlin'," hawks smiled. his voice somewhat mimicked hers, his dialect becoming apparent.

once he'd taken a photo with her, more and more people started following suit, crowding him. you stood awkwardly to the side. some people didn't even know who he was, from what you could tell. you debated ordering a latte and leaving, but decided it'd be unfair to hawks. he was kind to everyone he interacted with, unlike most celebrities who just wanted fame and disregarded others.

after some time, the crowd finally dispersed, leaving you and hawks together.

he glanced at his watch. “ah, sorry, that took a while…” he apologized. “do you have somewhere to be? i must’ve held you up…”

“nah, don’t worry about it.” you waved him off. “i, uh, actually… was just dumped by my boyfriend…” you nervously shuffled your feet. “i don’t really have a place to stay at the moment… so i’m free the entire day, i guess.” you laughed nervously.

he blinked at you, bird-like eyes wide. “you must be starving.”

you felt your face warm and you laughed - this time, a real, genuine laugh that was a missed sensation against your tongue. “yeah. yeah, i am.”

“hey, dove.” his voice suddenly got close to you, gentler. “you’re crying.”

“oh…?” you felt your cheek with the pad of your thumb. “sorry. i have tissues in my backpack, hang on…” you unzipped the front pocket and started to rummage blindly through your belongings, groping for something vaguely feeling like a packet of tissues.

“here,” he said, handing you a tissue. you turned to him gratefully, accepting the tissue and wiping your face.

“it’s just… weird,” you said after a pause. “he’s been there all my life - my ex, i mean.” ex. such a strange name for the man you so adored; ex, crossing off the relationship you thought you’d built with him.

hawks nodded, guiding you to a booth in the cafe.

you continued, “sorry. you probably didn’t want to hear this today… you’re busy with your hero duties and whatnot.”

“don’t worry ‘bout it, feather,” he reassured you. “he didn’t kick you out, did he?”

“oh, no,” you clarified quickly. “i… left,” you said, abashed. “i shouldn’t’ve been so sudden, but… it was an instinct thing.”

“why’d he do it so suddenly?” hawks asked. “you didn’t see it coming, right?”

“no, i didn’t… but maybe i should’ve…” you think about the part couple months with bakugou. nothing seemed different - you’d gone on dates like normal and spent time together like a couple that loved each other. his interest in you never faltered and nor did the sparkle in his eyes dull; what had happened? what had gone so wrong?

you realize the silence that’s fallen between you and hawks. the hero was looking at the menu behind you intently.

“ham and cheese…” he muttered to himself. “no, teriyaki… so yummy… with coffee…” he suddenly seemed aware of your eyes staring at him. “oh, what did you want to eat?”

“i’ll probably have the teriyaki,” you said. it was your go-to sandwich choice at the cafe. you reached for your backpack to retrieve your wallet, but hawks stopped you.

“let me,” he said. “i already caused you so much inconvenience.”

“ah, okay…” you said meekly. “thank you.”

he shrugged. “what wouldja like to drink?”

“uh… orange juice,” you said.

“alright!” he saluted you. “your wish is my command.” he got up to order, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. the cashier was particularly animated talking to him, initiating a conversation about aerodynamics with the pro-hero from what you could hear.

he returned with the sandwiches (made at the fastest time you swore you’d seen them prepare food) and set yours in front of you.

“let’s dig in!” hawks said, biting into his sandwich. you agreed, taking a bite of yours as well.

“what’s your name, by the way?” he said in between bites. “i don’t think i ever asked.”

“y/n,” you said.

“pretty,” he commented. “i’m hawks.”

“i know,” you blurted. “i googled it.”

“you did?” his pupils widened. “what’d it say??”

“uhh…” you pulled out your phone, finding the tab you used to google hawks. you turned your screen to him.

he studied the screen. “not fond of that angle,” he mused to himself. “so, why’d your boyfriend dump you?”

you were taken aback by his candor. “he… said he didn’t love me anymore,” you admitted.

“all of a sudden? out of the blue?”

you shook your head. “he said he’d tried to endure it for a while.”

“how long?”

“a month or two,” you sighed, thinking about the sight of him sitting dejectedly on the couch this morning.

“he didn’t say anything before that?” hawks gasped. “the nerve. how long have you been together?”

“four… or five years now?” you’d been dating him since your days at ua, even when most high school romances - between childhood friends, no less - were especially rocky. he was your promised forever.

“and he gives up after two months?” hawks set his sandwich down. “wow. some boyfriend.”

“i think there was something more to it,” you said thoughtfully. “we’ve known each other for a long…”

“you still love him, don’t you?”

“i mean… yeah….” you hadn’t given it much thought; bakugou was a habit your heart couldn’t stop thinking about. it was like depriving your heart of oxygen: foreign and wrong. “i do.”

“i’m sorry, dove,” he said.

“your sandwich will get cold,” you said in an attempt to divert the conversation topic.

“you’re right.” he picked up his sandwich and started eating again, eyes still on you. “this place has good food.”

you hummed in agreement, distracted by the cars going by outside the window.

“where will you stay?” he asked, halfway done with his sandwich.

hawks voiced the concern plaguing your subconscious from the moment you stepped out of bakugou’s apartment building. it was definitely not the most thoroughly well-thought out plan, and you didn’t want to come back knocking on his door in the night. besides, you weren’t sure if you could stand being there again, in the presence of a liar and someone who felt so foreign to you. you wondered how much you truly didn’t know about bakugou; were there any other lies he’d blossomed behind your back?

you knew you might be able to stay at a hotel for a couple nights, but not for long. going back to bakugou’s place… as much as you so dreaded the mere thought, you knew it might be your absolute last resort.

“i’m not sure,” you finally replied truthfully. hawks appeared to have come to a conclusion of sorts.

“tell ya what,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “explore tokyo with me.” he took a bite of his sandwich. continuing, he said, “‘s not often the commission puts me in the big city. i’m off today, so…”

the offer was somewhat bizarre, but what did you have to lose? you agreed, under the terms you wouldn’t be out too late. as you walked out the door, you greeted the cool outside breeze with the hope this would help you put the past behind you.

walking through tokyo with a pro-hero proved harder than it sounded. for one, people kept approaching hawks; after all, he was like a walking light-up sign that said “LOOK AT ME!” with the size and color of his wings. after every time a fan asked hawks for an autograph, he sheepishly apologized to you, and offered two autographs to you. you always laughed and declined; the trip was a reward in itself, you supposed. each acquaintance made you appreciate all the responsibilities of a pro-hero. he was charming, though. he really was, so you didn’t mind.

“skytree! let’s go there!” was the first thing hawks had said walking out of the cafe. you’d been to the skytree a couple of times in your childhood, and it was a nice memory; the tall building stretching, touching the tip of the sky. your parents had told you that stardust flecked the very top of the skytree, for it was so tall. you’d never actually reached the highest floor; it felt like a distant fantasy, as you’d always get tired before reaching the top or circumstance would interfere.

it was a five minute walk to the nearest station, and it’d be another forty or so to skytree. hawks didn’t seem to mind, though, happily promenading down the street like a kid in a candy shop. he pointed excitedly to random buildings that you hadn’t given a second thought about and rambled about the facts he knew about skytree with an accent tingeing his words more than usual. he reminded you very much so of a child going on a field trip, and his giddiness only boosted yours.

“we’re here!” his eyes glistened with anticipation when you reached the station. you’d visited the station dozens of times, but looked at it with a new light when you realized how excited hawks was. “i’ll pay; i dragged you here,” he said immediately when you started to pay for tickets.

“really, i can’t-” you started, but he cut you off.

“let me. it’s my off day! please.” he took the two tickets he paid for. “here.”

“i don’t really have a choice, do i?”

“nope!” he was already walking away, smiling back at you and waving his ticket.

“hey- wait!” you started running after him. “wrong way!”

forty minutes later, two transfers, and one circle around the station in pursuit of skytree, you stood at the entrance of the tokyo skytree. hawks’ mouth watered at the sight of the line of restaurants in the breezeway you’d passed prior, and you had to stop him from ordering the seasonal special from mcdonald’s before turning to skytree.

“but you just ate!” you exclaimed as he stared longingly at the ice cream being advertised on a poster.

he pouted. “but i’m hungry…”

you took his hand (which momentarily shocked him) and guided him to the entrance. it was a bit crowded, but not overtly so. hawks was looking everywhere once you’d entered; darting from here to there, sometimes carrying small souvenirs or drinks when returning to you. you were out of energy by the time you’d reached floor 340, though hawks told you there were only 29 floors total and the name was referencing the height. it certainly didn’t feel like an exaggeration, your feet dragging on the ground as you stepped out of the oddly fast elevator.

you begged hawks to let you rest at the cafe you saw. the cafe felt like a little oasis of tranquility, uncrowded on contrary to the other floors. it was relaxing as you stared outside the window and up at the sky. it brought you to your parents words of stars and magic, though something as modern as the skytree must be strange to intermingle with magic. in the moment you were suspended; the still sky surrounding you and the ever-moving cars below. you swore you could just reach the clouds in front of you and float, so serenely in an eternal bubble of quietude to yourself. everything else was forgotten in that moment; things were the way they always were. it was always you, in the end.

after leaving the cafe, you watched people stand on glass flooring overlooking everything below. some jumped on the glass, while some frightenedly stuck a foot on the glass and jumped back.

“quite the view, huh?” hawks mumbled with a mouth stuffed full with chocolate cake. “i usually have to fly so far to get this view.”

you nodded. “it’s amazing...”

“so… where d’you wanna go after this?” he asked you.

“actually…” your thoughts went back to the stories your parents told you. “can we go up to floor 455?”

he showed a hint of surprise on his face. “really? i know we bought the tickets to do it, but if you’re tired, we can just go down.”

“no…” you cleared your throat. “it’s been something i really wanted to do.”

he took this answer and smiled, grasping your hand. “let’s walk into the sky!”

the train ride back did not go as smoothly as you hoped. the adrenaline of being 450 meters in the air had worn itself out, and the pitting realization that bakugou was no longer yours dawned on you. the sapphire sky in your fairy tale story seemed so far now, stars shattering and crumbling. you reached for a piece of a star, but each piece dissolved above your head, light that would never reach you.

“feather,” hawks said quietly. the intense look in his eyes looked like he was building up to something important.

“yeah?” you asked. you fixated on him.

“do you want… a badtz-maru eraser?”

you stared at the spiky-haired penguin in the palm of hawks’ hand.

“sure…?” you said. hawks happily plopped the eraser into your hand.

“feather,” he said again in the same tone. “you should visit bakugou, you know. tonight, to make things straight with him.”

that was what he was building up to. bakugou. you hadn’t dwelled much on the thought of the man; the skytree filling most of your thoughts for the day. but it was still light out.

“i know,” you replied softly, looking down at your fingers. these were the hands that held your heart as you gave it to bakugou, the hands that bakugou held tenderly for so many days and nights. they were the same hands that held your heart now, returned by bakugou shattered and clinking to the ground. the rest of the train ride was silent.

you could now hear your thoughts echoing around the train compartment, deflecting off walls and still making their way to your heart. you wondered what words were left unsaid by bakugou, painful truths untold hidden in the recesses of his heart. you wondered if he remembered how he’d first nervously asked you on a date in high school, words rough but fingers softly fidgeting with each other. it was in may, near the end of the day. he shoved a small box of chocolates towards you, muttering something about “weird hair” making him do it. he’d aggressively stuttered his way through a confession, barely making eye contact with you. the memory brought a fluttering to your heart, but with it came a sore pain for the first time. you wondered if he felt the same or if he was just numb, like how he now felt about you. what did it feel like to fall out of love?

you wondered if he remembered the many times he’d walked you home (only for your sake, of course, not anything else). you wondered if he remembered how fondly he looked at you then. his heart was on his sleeve during those times, the perpetual blush on his cheeks disclosing his very vulnerable feelings towards you.

even on the most draining of days, bakugou would always be there for you. even if his eyelids were closing upon their own accord and legs were sore from a day’s work, he made it a point to be there for you. while children might’ve had their security blankets, you had bakugou. your heart dropped realizing those days of coming home to bakugou were gone.

what had happened? now, you were alone on a train that felt so cold and without the love that had so warmed your heart. why had things ended up like this? why did you numb bakugou’s feelings so? the wave was slow at first, but once it had reached the shore, your tears fell hot and unyielding as you toppled off the edge of being okay.

hawks was by your side wordlessly, a wing around you and leaning you close to him. the feathers were soft. you cried unabashedly in his embrace, sniffling as he soothed you. you tried to say thank you, but all that came out was another sob.

your feet, on instinct, took you to bakugou's apartment without any problem. it could’ve been any other day; you, coming back to the apartment after running errands. it was your hand that hesitated as it hovered an inch away from the wood of the door, the only sign that something had changed. you liked to pretend it hadn’t. you wished that when you’d open the door, you’d hear a light chatter from the tv and a familiar voice saying, “welcome home, idiot.” you wished that the air that enveloped you as soon as you opened the door was that of liveliness and comfort, of warm orange and yellow hues. you wished that the atmosphere didn’t feel so dead, dull, and musty; you wish it hadn’t drowned in shades of blue and gray. you wished you didn’t have the key to the apartment still.

you wished that bakugou would say something, anything, rather than sit on the couch with his head bowed. you wished that you didn’t miss him so much and that you had him, all at the same time. you wished you turned back as soon as you heard the knob click and pushed open the door; you wished not to see all that you had in what was once your apartment.

you wished you didn’t revel in his presence next to you on the couch. you wished you didn’t almost lean into his touch because he was your home, and you wished your eyes didn’t well up the way they had. you wished to have sat in that silence for a while then up and gone; you wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

“hey, idiot,” was a cracky and raspy thing coming out of his mouth, words familiar but so foreign at the same time.

“hey,” was what you whispered back, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“where’d you go?” but it wasn’t a question, just a fragile plea devoid of hope.

“skytree,” and you felt you’d break the mood.

“did you reach the top?” his response surprised and killed you at the same time.

“yeah,” you said quietly. “i did.”

“alone?”

“i could never alone.”

“who…?”

“met a pro-hero by chance.”

“your true hero, huh?” it was a bitter tone, venom biting you.

“no,” and your heart sunk because it was the truth.

he scoffed. getting up from the couch, he said, “you forgot something.”

your eyes followed him as he disappeared into your once shared room. he returned quite fast, as if you’d left it on the dresser, carrying a decorated shoebox. you’d almost forgotten about it entirely, eyes wide as nostalgia hit you.

it was a memory box you’d made the last year of high school. it was supposed to be for school memories, but it really just became a box of mementos of bakugou. you could barely see the contents inside, too busy trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. you thumbed through photos and polaroids of you and him, some with his friends and some with yours. oh, what you’d give to have those times back. though it was all blurred, you could feel the moments so vividly: feel the cool summer breeze and hear the sound of people conversing with each other at a festival; hear mina’s excited ramblings and bakugou’s grumbling at the supermarket; smell caramel and vanilla at a movie night, pressed against bakugou’s body warmth. you dropped the photos back into the box and picked up a scorched pencil. a pressed rose. a neatly folded sheet of notes you’d sent back and forth with bakugou during class.

and then it was all gone, shutting the box.

“keep it.” you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips, but you wouldn’t take them back. you handed him the box, staring at the floor and wiping your wet eyes. the memories were no longer yours to keep.

bakugou was silent, taking the box and leaving to his room to put it away.

“is that all?” you tried to make your voice sound strong, impatient. like you had better places to be without him. you hoped he couldn’t tell how it was more of a beg to stay.

“yeah.” cold. emotionless.

you stood for another second, looking around. everything seemed different, as if the glass which surrounded your universe had shattered. “bye, katsuki.”

“bye.”

your footsteps were light, but each step felt weighed by metal weights. you wished he stopped you from leaving. you wished you looked back at him. you wished you weren’t crying.

you shut the door quietly, weakly, behind you. it all came out in the hallway, tears and desperate sobs. you prayed he couldn’t hear you; but you knew, even if he did, he wouldn’t care anymore. he was numbed, no longer the firework you’d known.

“hawks,” it came as a quiet plea as you felt for your phone and dialed his number. he gave it to you right before you walked into bakugou’s apartment.

“please pick up, please pick up,” you muttered, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they came.

“hey, birdie? are you okay?”

“hawks,” you sobbed. “hawks, no, i’m not.”

“hey, are you still at the apartment building? i’ll be right there, chickadee, alright?”

you nodded, sniffed, then said meekly, “yeah.”

“stay on the line. talk to me, birdie.” his voice was soothing.

“hawks, it hurts, everything.” you felt as though you were pouring out your heart, spilling scarlet on the carpet. “hawks.” tears dropped onto the carpet. “hawks.” your knees almost gave in.

“what floor are you on, dove?”

“third,” you hiccupped.

“i’m right there, feather.” you saw hawks emerge from the stairwell. his hair looked windblown. he looked relieved to see you at first, then his face fell to that of sympathy. “oh, birdie,” he said softly, running up to you. “i’m here now.’

you weren’t aware bakugou was listening to you cry on the other side of the door as you sobbed into someone else’s shoulder, not his. with dark eyes and trembling hands he couldn’t calm, he dialed a number on his phone.

“well, tomura? i did it.”

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou angst #bnha angst #hawks fluff #bnha fluff #hawks imagines #hawks scenarios #keigo takami fluff #keigo takami imagines #keigo takami scenarios #katsuki bakugou #keigo takami #luna's writing

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goeymoey · 3 years

Text

What if you fixed me?

just a simple what if this time :) Tyler being a nurse for the guys and this and that

Yeah

———-

“ What’s the best course of action?”

Tyler looks up from his papers with a tired expression. “ To cut it off. There’s no use trying to save a bunch of fried nerves and dead meat.” He stands up with a sigh, hands shaking by his sides.

“ I know that’s not the news you wanted to hear, but-“

Evan cuts him off. “ No…no, you gave me something…that’s all I wanted.” His good hand clasps Tyler in a soft grip. “ Thank you.”

Their skin tones conflict each other greatly beneath the bright hospital lights, but the cause of Tyler’s tears are not just from the fluorescent shines sting.

His watery blue eyes bravely examine the blackened appendage hanging off Evan’s shoulder. Once an arm, useful, now nothing but an annoyance for his friend.

Dead weight.

Tyler let’s a cold tear roll down his flush cheeks, savoring the moment of silence, before readying himself to wield his bone cutting saw.

“ Okay…let’s get this over with.”

Evan weakly squeezes his friends hand. “ Let’s do it.”

—————

It was horrific. The smell of burning flesh still encases the inside of his nose and he can’t stop scrubbing the non existent blood from his hands.

He’s failed. He failed. The arms gone.

Human hands, one robotic, all dark…ripping at his shirt. Poking his sides. Their heads are screaming, screaming, voices hoarse.

There are tears. Streaming down their faces- oh the horror of it all.

It hurt. It hurts. He can’t tell wants real and wants not. It’s all coming at once.

Faces, hands, tears and voices. Holding onto him with their smudged finger tips and vice grip.

He can’t sleep anymore. He can’t-

“ Breathe.”

—————

Evan’s arm is replaced with one kick ass robotic one, courtesy of Brian, and he couldn’t be happier.

Of course, Evan misses his original arm. He still has nightmares of the day it was flayed like a fish…and sometimes the pain comes back on not so sunny days but, he’s good, he’s good…

The metal is tough, injury proof, and even matches the color of his suit. Black and gold.

So, it’s good. It’s all good.

No problems here…

—————

Tyler can’t bring himself to enter the hospital room. He’s still wearing his blue scrubs, stained with blood and…other fluids and just smelling like death on legs.

His hands are sweaty and shake underneath his gloves. He can’t open the door with them on so, why not come back tomorrow?

A soft hand claps his shoulder.

“ Let me help you.” Evan. His eyes are a mess of irritated veins and teary pupils.

Tyler bites his lip. “ I can’t…I couldn’t help him…he’s…” the more he talks, the harder it is for him to think, so he just shuts up.

Evan gives him a look, and it is just…so so sad, then uses his robotic arm to slip Tyler’s gloves off. He doesn’t dispose of them instantly. Rather, Evan stares at the gloves, stained with his friends blood, before tossing them into the waste bucket beside the door.

It will be burned later.

“ Tell him the truth.”

Tyler forces himself to meet Evan’s hard gaze. It’s tough for Tyler when he towers over Evan a foot, but he manages to hold himself still and digs his finger nails into his palms.

“ But what if-“

“ There’s no if.” Evan states plainly. “ You gave me the truth…do the same for him…He’s my friend as much as he is yours and-“ A sob chokes Evan mid speech and the shorter man is the first one to break their eye contact. He hides his trembling lips behind a black and gold arm as tears streak down his soft cheeks.

Tyler stays still, not fully comfortable with trusting himself to comfort his friend at the moment, and just watches as the other man collects himself slowly.

Evan sniffs and then regains eye contact. “ He was my friend first…don’t break him more than he already is…keep it straightforward, like you did me…”

The taller man looks down, avoiding the stained scrubs. “ He’s not like you Evan…Brock’s more-“

“ Fucking stop it with that shit. He’s not a god damn doll, Tyler…you’ve seen him…you’ve fought with him…He’s not some fucking flower.” Evan points at the closed, ominous, hospital door. “ He’s a god damn bad ass…just like me, just like you!” Tyler receives a harsh poke to the chest. “ And just like everyone else!”

Evan takes a step back, holding his head still, and crosses his arms.

“ Just give him the truth…that’s all I want.”

Tyler opens his mouth, but nothing comes to mind, so he closes it.

Evan nods sternly and then turns his back to the taller man. “ Just do it…I’ll be back soon.”

He waits for Evan’s form to disappear around the corner, holds his hand on the doorknob as the footsteps fade and then enters the room as the elevator doors close.

Tyler closes his eyes. “ Just Tell the truth…”

Brock, from his place on the bed, looks up at the sound of Tyler entering the room and smiles…well, partly.

The left side of his face is a puckered and leathery mess…and no matter how hard he frowns, the left corner of his lip will never fall…In fact, it barley moves at all now.

Tyler holds back the sting in his eyes and swallows harshly.

Brock seems to sense his depressed atmosphere and let’s his smile fall. “ Give it to me straight…is it worth the trouble?”

‘It’ being Brock’s left eye. The honey brown color is gone, drained and dead, with a haunting grey fog covering the scarred pupil. The eye was not injured at the same time Brock’s skin was, but since the traumas happened within minutes of each other, Tyler considers is a “two birds with one stone” injury.

No one laughed in the debriefing room when he was describing Brock’s damage, but Evan still put the world play in their file.

Hopefully someone higher up would find it funny and give him a good star.

Brock coughs harshly, Tyler blinks out of his day dreaming, and points to his heavily bandaged eye with a lightly bandaged hand.

“ Can we save it?”

Tyler instantly thinks about convincing Brock to under go another surgery, but all he sees is a tired man- his friend- with one less eye to see with, and his aspirations fall flat.

A sigh escapes him. He pulls up a chair to Brock’s good side and clasps their hands together.

He squeezes for comfort, and Brock squeezes back.

A deep breath. “ We can’t save your eye…”

Brock doesn’t react the way Tyler thought he would. His shoulders deflate, and heads sinks closer to his chest with the one good eye closed shut.

“ That’s what I thought…bummer.” Brock sighs sadly.

Tyler stares at him silently, hand still tightly gripping Brock’s. “ I’m sorry…I know it’s-“

Brock gives him the same look Evan did just months ago. “ No…Thanks for giving it to me straight…I don’t think I would be able to handle another…”miracle surgery” that doesn’t work.”

Tyler flinched at that, but tightened his lips.

“…I’m just glad it’s not anything worse…Yeah, losing an eye sucks ass but…at least I still have one.” The same soft smile creeps it’s way on Brock’s lips, and Tyler thinks his heart might stop.

The taller man has to lick his lips before speaking. “ Yeah…Yeah…at least it’s not two…” He smiles back, softly.

Brock hums. “ Definitely.”

—————

He can’t see. His eyes are gone, the hands tear at his face.

It’s disappointing. The fog disorients him and sinks into his skin. Bubbling beneath it like hot lava. Stretching and pulling like a current.

The smell of flesh is faint, but very present. Hands clean but tainted with the feel of spider webs that never seem to come off.

He’s failed. He failed, again. But it’s only one eye.

Something scratches at his ankles, nail bitten fingers, threatening to pull him more into the fog.

It hurts. It hurt.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t-

“ Wake up.”

—————

Brian, like he had done with Evan, manages to fit Brock with a prosthetic eye. It’s similar to the man’s own eye, but more slender and it glows yellow instead of red.

It’s perfect.

But, sometimes, Tyler finds Brock looking at himself in reflective surfaces. His scarred hand skimming over the damaged part of his face. Fingers lingering a little too long on the part where skin becomes metal.

Its…sad.

Brock never brings it up, and Tyler never asks…because, as far as anyone else knows, Brock loves his robot eye! He can see farther, scan stuff, tell time without looking at a clock and know when or if it’s gonna rain that day.

He loves it!

Well, it itches every now and then, but no more problems here!

…not yet, anyway.

—————

In the following months, Tyler gives Marcel a new hand, preforms life saving surgery on Anthony, reattaches Scotty’s left foot, diagnosis’s Nogla with severe hearing loss, reconstructs Jonathan’s whole face, removes one of John’s fingers, puts Jaren in a full body cast and replaces Brian’s heart with a mechanical enhancement.

It’s…it’s not good. They’re not good. Everyone’s suffering and Tyler….Tyler doesn’t know what to do.

His hands haven’t stopped shaking since the day Nogla and Evan brought Jonathan to the emergency room, and he nearly collapsed from exhaustion trying to safely reattach Brian’s new heart.

It’s too much- it’s all too much…He can’t…He…

Tyler doesn’t know why “he can’t”…because, he has. He’s saved them all, his friends are alive, but he still says he can’t.

Maybe it’s because when he first dug his saw into Evan’s arm, he held his breath. Or maybe it’s because he slept for days after Scotty’s surgery and couldn’t wake up unless it was to the smell of blood from his night terrors…

He doesn’t know.

He probably doesn’t want to.

—————

They learn to talk about it.

Evan brought it up first. “ I still have…nightmares about the day I lost my arm…and I hate it.”

He’s told them all after dinner- while they were watching some rando movie Nogla had picked out.

And then, from there on, everyone opened up about their own insecurities.

“ I look so different from what I used to look like…It’s as if I’m wearing an itchy suit. Everything always feels tight and uncomfortable.” Brock.

“ Sometimes I feel like my hands still there. It’s a weird feeling, and sometimes it gets too much and I have to take off the prosthetic before I throw it in the trash.” Marcel.

“ I look at life so different than what I used too. Everything’s bright, but also not…It can be dizzy or stable and sometimes things aren’t there when you see them…” Anthony.

“ I haven’t walked the same since I’ve gotten it reattached. Every time I’m out of my wheel chair, I feel like my whole legs gonna fall off, and it scares the shit out of me.” Scotty.

“ I miss being aware. My hearing aids help, yeah, but they also…hurt? Not physically, but mentally…I don’t really know how to explain it.” Nogla.

“ Sometimes I look in the mirror and…I’m scared of myself…Because, I have no idea who I’m looking at. That persons a total stranger to me, even though I know I’m looking at myself.” Jonathan.

“ At first, it was just really weird…Like, a phantom finger on my hand. A few times I’ve had to catch myself from using my hand because I still thought my finger was there…it’s kinda…fucked, I guess.” John.

“ I don’t even know how I’m still alive. I don’t think I’ve moved more than a few feet since I got my torso and arm casts removed. I’m scared that if I do anything, even breath, that I’ll hurt myself again.” Jaren.

“ The heart is what makes someone human…and now, mines just not…I feel inhuman with it, but I don’t know what to do…it’s all confusing and it hurts…” Brian.

Tyler listens to them all open up, and it surprisingly makes him feel better. His shoulders relax as the same insecurities he’s shared about his work come from his own patients mouths.

They know the pain of living with it, but they also share a deeper meaning.

It’s…it’s nice to know.

Yeah.

#fanfiction bbs fanfiction #iamwildcat #moo snuckel #vanossgaming #jigglypanda #the gaming terroriser #basicallyidowrk #fourzer0seven #h20delirious #dathi de nogla #kryozgaming #smii7y

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greaterspawnislands · 3 years

Text

the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn | of the seed and the sickle

their first meeting

(or, hades and persephone, i suppose that’s one way to look at it)

links in the notes/reblogs :)

In the center of a valley, past evergreen trees that border a rushing, bubbling river, past tall, spindly aspen trees with leaves that are just starting to turn sunset shades of orange and yellow, is a small farmhouse. Bordered by fields with crops ready for harvest and the forest beyond, the idyllic house crafted of spruce and stone sits alone. The dwelling is still and silent, save for one restless being, who stands at the kitchen window and stares at the stars.

Phil exhales lightly from the counter, fingers tapping alone the smooth-cut stone. The house is quiet. Tommy is fast asleep, the nine-year-old tired out from another day of running through fields and forests on another adventure. Wilbur, not much older at thirteen, is just as tuckered out from keeping up with the younger blond, though whether he's actually asleep or using the moonlight to read books by is hardly Phil's concern.

Humans exist to fail by trial and error, after all, by consequence or natural progression. In the end it doesn't matter in the slightest, as mortal lifespans pass in the blink of an eye. Little changes from one life to the next, absolutely unchanging when it comes to books read by moonlight and heavy eyes refusing to sleep.

Children learn, and change, and learn, and change, and die.

Phil sighs again, wings fluttering behind him with a never-ending restlessness. His mind is a cycle of endless, meaningless thoughts that swirl like the clouds in the sky above him, parting briefly to reveal unconnected constellations that span across the dark sky.

The kitchen is barely big enough to fit his wingspan but Phil extends his extra limbs anyways, wings trembling as they brush against cabinet doors and pass the open doorway to touch upon the main room. Some of the moonlight catches on his feathers, glossy cream feathers dappled with the floral hues of light green, pink, and blue, the colors of a clear spring sky over a field of campions.

He wants nothing more than to take flight, now, soar until he finds a field exactly like that, but there will be no flowers blooming this late in the year, not without his coaxing. It is the time for deciduous trees to change the colors of their leaves from a summer green to a display of fire without the heat. A burning, brilliant showcase of shades before winter winds sweep in to douse the flames and bring bare branches and bright white snow to cover the ground completely.

Spring can not come early, nor disrupt the flow of the seasons that mortals so desperately rely upon to track the course of their lives until they no longer make it to the next turn of temperature. The Winter-Bringer flies the skies now, with his wings made of dark, opaque ice and endlessly calm disposition, for fall and winter move slowly, relentless yet patient in their arrival. Phil, in great contrast, is scattered and hasty, ready to melt snowdrifts with a flap of his wings at any second to watch bright flowers bloom under his gaze.

He has lived far too many centuries now to try and disrupt this cycle that he and Bad have fallen into, not willing to push his luck with The Balance any more than he does already.

Phil folds his wings and steps outside, pausing carefully to listen for either of his human sons' movements in the dead of night. There is silence, and so he steps outside, shivering as a cool autumn breeze rushes at him from the forest beyond. Hours left until they wake and he can fill another day with the love and care he has set aside for them, but now is no longer that time.

Outside, standing on the porch and looking out over his fields that he coaxed from the earth with careful hands, his fingers twitch. The knife sits in its sheath against his side, and he knows how trivially easy it would be to call upon Technoblade. Centuries ago, now, he could have flown into battle over Techno's head, landing his own blow as the Blood God took what was within his name to do.

Phil held his tongue to keep from cursing out The Balance aloud. It wouldn't give him anything except a visit that would fucking terrify his kids, which is the last thing he wanted. Now, he knows, that when he calls upon Technoblade that all he'll receive is a sorrowful look hidden behind the gentle smile given to the two mortal children who crowd his legs and beg for stories of grandeur and glory.

His wings catch the breeze a little as he steps out into the fields, barefoot, and he flaps them once, twice, watching the grain ripple out like the waves of the ocean. It shimmers, briefly, before settling, and Phil casts his eyes to the skies, wishing for something he can do nothing about except wait for.

Waiting, that's all a god's existence is, these days. Waiting for the moment of allowance when what was within a domain could be used or brought upon the world. Order, it was called. Balance, it was decreed. Chaos, dosed out in controlled segments, punished for being overused on a whim.

Bullshit, Phil sometimes privately thinks, when selfish thoughts crowd his mind.

He reaches the edge of the forest, casting a backwards glance at the house before departing into the treeline, forced to bend his wings to accommodate the interspersed tree trunks and bushes that crowded the forest floor. His fingers snatched leaves from the sky and scooped them up along the forest floor, feeling the cool plant matter against his fingers before he released it back to the rest of the rotting leaves along the floor. A trail of freshly green leaves followed him, from his footsteps and fingertips, turning in wandering circles until he is entirely surrounded by trees that are slowly blossoming to life again underneath his touch. They are the same leaves that thread throughout his hair, an array of flora blossoming along his scalp, intertwining with his blond locks. His coat, too, is made of those same spring-green leaves, shifting in dappled sunlight, sadly stagnant so late at night.

Around him, the animals that haven't already found shelter for slumber scamper across the forest floor, looking for a place undisturbed by a deity and his widespread wings. Crickets chirp in the undergrowth, and a few curious birds flutter along the treetops, wings beating among the leaves as they settle on branches to peer down at him from their perches above.

Soon, Phil stops underneath the stars, a spot where the trees have pulled back from each other just far enough that when he tips his head back, he can see the clouds clearing to display the stars, and when he looks around again, he can see no fields just beyond.

"Oh, shit," Phil mutters aloud, slowly realizing how far into the forest he's walked. "Where the fuck have I wandered to?"

He isn't answered so much as heard by a single crow, hopping down a few branches to perch upon a limb just a few feet taller than him. Phil meets the bird's gaze, and the two winged beings look curiously at each other for a moment, searching for more than what might meet the eye.

The crow takes flight in a blur, brushing right past Phil's cheek in a brush of wing that makes him yelp in surprise, turning his head to follow the crow's movements. "Hey!"

A few paces away, the bird waits on another perch in a different tree, still staring dead in his eyes, head tilted in clear expectancy.

Two more crows join the first, hopping on branches and the knots that jut out from various trunks of aspen trees. Phil continues to follow the first crow even further into the forest, a sense of uneasiness curling within him as more and more birds populate the trees around him, all staring down at him with the exact same inquisitive eyes, staring, watching, waiting.

It would be easy to turn around, or to fly out of here in an instant, back to the safety and stillness of the farmhouse and the two safe children that sleep within it. It would be easy to shake off the curiosity and excitement that mingles with this nervous feeling, to return to a routine of simplicity and ease.

But there is not much that Phil would consider to be beyond his knowing, these days. Now, hundreds of crows stare down at him from the trees that stretch high in the sky, nearly blocking out the orange leaves entirely as their round black bodies press together and their wings fluff out, all identical and yet Phil is certain he knows exactly which crow is the first one to appear to him, the one continuing to hop between branches as he follows, nearly dashing across the forest floor. Even more crows flutter around him as he moves, wings brushing against his own and landing on top of his striped hat or resting on his arm for a moment before taking flight again.

It's overwhelming, it's overbearing, and it's exciting. A wide, wild grin stretches across Phil's face as he spreads his arms, turning and laughing as the crows fly around him in a blur, hiding even the trunks of the trees from him now as he spins with them.

And then they're gone, off in a mass of beating wings and flurrying feathers, and Phil stands at the mouth of a large, dark cave, watching as the murder descends down into the darkness that lies below.

"Wait!" he calls, but the crows do not answer. They move as if they had never pressed their wings close to his cheeks, they move as if direct by something else entirely, they move as one.

Phil analyzes the structure of the cave, the width and angle of descent in a few quick glances. The cave is wide, and he cannot remember if he had been able to see the walls of it before, but when he looks at it again the slope is more than wide enough to accommodate his wingspan, walls consumed with shadow. The calls of the crows are growing fainter, and Phil does not spare a glance back to the forest and what rests outside of it.

His wings snap out, pastel coloring swallowed by dark shadow, and he flies, wings carrying him down in a quick descent as he takes off after the murder of crows who had led him here.

A breathless laugh leaves him as he flies again, wings maneuvering through the wide tunnels and closing to dart between smaller spaces held up by pillars of dirt and stone. He can barely see, and yet instinct takes over, following the distant cries of the crows through turns and tunnels and pausing, once, in a wide open space where a pool of water opens over a great cavern. Phil stays aloft there for a moment, marveling at the dark water he cannot see the bottom of and the ceiling he cannot reach, before taking off after the crows he can still hear, though deep inside him he knows they should be so much farther now, and he knows that they are waiting for him.

The tunnels narrow the more he flies, and soon Phil is struggling to keep his wings from brushing harshly against the sides of the tunnels, wincing as he dives through narrow gaps and struggles to keep aloft. He can no longer hear the crows, but he continues to fly anyways, pushing himself through the ever-narrowing tunnels until he can no longer flap his wings. Phil tumbles to the ground, pulling his wings against his back before standing again, staring at tunnel that waits ahead for him, barely taller than he is, and just as dark as everything before him.

Phil frowns, the sense of adventure draining from him as the mobility of his wings is restricted again. He scoffs lightly, listens out for the crows and hears nothing, and turns to find his way back out again.

The tunnel shakes, and rocks begin to fall around him.

#philza #zablr #philza fanfiction #c!kristin #trixtin #mumza as goddess of death #my writing #hhh.writing #otsats

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Not Quite: Killan

CW: Dehumanization, imprisonment, restraints, wing whump implied, blindfolding, muzzling

Timeline: Takes place after Killan is no longer with Calon Nie, but early on in his time being sold from person to person.

“I want to see it.”

The voice was young, and female, and the boy - who was not yet only a creature or monster in his own mind, but was already nameless except for whatever words they chose to call him - looked up from where he had curled up in the corner, scratching his talons idly along the floor.

One scratch for every day. He had three weeks of scratches on the floor behind the pallet stuffed with hen feathers and straw that he slept on. Not that it mattered how long he had been here, but he tried to keep track. It gave him something to do, and he had nothing else to look forward to but meals and the times the man who owned him visited.

The room was large, although he could only move around about a third of it. He had a pallet, a bucket, a shirt and a pair of pants, a bowl and cup. That was all he had here. They told him animals need nothing else.

A book might have been nice, though. Or a game. Or… something. Even Beron and Ren had given him stories to think over while he worked, time out in the light. Even Calon Nie had spoken to him, told him tales of his own life, given the boy’s mind anything, anything at all, anything to remind him that he had a mind at all.

The boy was kept in a large stone room in a large stone house in a large stone city he only saw in glimpses, tied down in a wagon, trussed up like so much cargo jostling around in the back. The buildings seemed so tall that the sky could barely make itself seen between them, but in the stone room in the stone house, he could see blue sky through the window that he could not reach.

He couldn’t reach the window because of the chains hooked into the rings pierced into the joins of his wings, chains that ran down to hooks in the floor next to his pallet.

Iron didn’t hurt him but they still used it just in case. Iron chains bound between stone floor and brass rings punched through feathers and skin, keeping the boy just a few feet away from a window where he saw pink skies in the morning, blue at noon, and the barest hint of stars deep in the night.

He could hear the stars, faint as a whispered word three rooms away. He could hear them, but nothing could hear him in here.

If anything out there had ever heard his prayers, it had only ever been to answer them with laughter and to give him more tears instead of saving, anyway. The boy thought he’d cried tears enough, now, that he had none left.

But the day the girl came the first time, he learned otherwise.

After she spoke, he heard another voice, older. “Now, miss, your father wouldn’t find it appropriate-”

“I don’t much care what Father finds appropriate. He brought it here and I should get to see it.” The girl’s voice was petulant, ringing clear and high on the other side of the locked door.

The boy looked over that direction from his corner, wrinkling his nose under the muzzle buckled tightly to his head, listening to the clink of the iron chains as his wings pulled a little closer in against his body.

“I absolutely should not let you be in there alone,” The older voice warned. “It has claws, you know.”

“It’s a fae thing, right? I think they’re called talons. Fae are like birds, aren’t they? I’m pretty sure they’re like birds.”

“It doesn’t matter. It could hurt you dearly, young lady.”

“I don’t care, and I’ll bet it doesn’t! I should get to see what my father keeps showing his friends, shouldn’t I?”

The boy cocked his head, unaware of the ways he’d picked up Calon Nie’s mannerisms and kept them. The more he was treated as something other than human, the easier it was to hold only to those things that seemed to reinforce the assumption.

“You are too delicate to bear such a sight alone-”

“Then come in with me.”

A hesitation. Then a resigned sigh. “... fine. But if your father comes home unexpectedly-”

“I’ll swear up and down I threatened to have you dismissed if you wouldn’t do what I wanted. I promise. I’ll put on such a show of snobbish spoiled nonsense, they’d pay me in the theaters to come act for them. Come on, let me in there! Let me see it, please?” Her voice turned wheedling. “Please, Governess?”

There was a sigh, exasperated and affectionate, and the boy tensed as he listened to the clink of the key in the lock, the tumblers shifting and clicking, and then the door to the stone room swung open and a girl his own age stepped inside.

She turned to look at him, and for a moment the boy forgot the misery and endless pain of living, and saw only her face.

She was brilliant as a star, shimmering light-colored hair in an elaborate tumble of braids and shine down her back, wearing an off-the-shoulder dress, a flash of warm tanned skin. Her eyes sparkled blue in a beautifully rounded face, reflecting the sun the boy had never directly seen since he’d been brought here in the first place.

He kept his gaze sidelong.

She was beautiful.

He was hideous, and a monster, and she was beautiful.

“Is this it?” She asked, eyes widening as she looked at him in what he thought must be horror, only to realize it was… delight. “Why, it’s a boy! With wings!”

“Not quite,” the older woman, dressed more severely in a high-necked gray-blue dress and with her own brown hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, said dryly. “It’s not a boy. It’s… damnation itself. Why your father wanted it-”

“I know why he wanted it.” The girl was still standing by the door, but the boy heard a shift, a scrape, and he turned to see her slippered feet, clad in pale satin to match her dress, moving towards him with a slow determination. “Because there’s nothing else like it in the world. That’s what he’s always looking for.” She stopped, just shy of how far the chains on his wings would let him go. “Isn’t that true, creature? Or… hm. Is there anyone else like you?”

He was already numb to the name.

Creature. Monster. Abomination. Should Not Be.

He shook his head in answer, feeling the shift of his hair, shaggy and badly in need of a cut, moving around the leather straps of the muzzle clamped over nose, mouth, and jaw.

“So there you go, that’s why,” The girl said matter-of factly. “It’s unique.” She still stood with her feet just outside the marked circle around him, drawn in chalk across the floor, a warning line of how far he could reach.

Then, deliberately, she stepped over the line.

The governess by the door gave a start. “Leanisa, he’s dangerous-”

“No, he’s not. Will you hurt me, creature?”

He shook his head again, watching her come closer to him. His own breathing sped up, rapid and shallow, audible through the muzzle as she came within a foot of him and dropped down, her dress spreading out along the floor. The sight of the pale blue silk lying along cold, dirty stone made the boy want to push her back up, tell her not to stay here, near him, near what he was and is and would always be.

“What would you hurt me with, if you wanted to?” Her eyes were alight with interest, avid and curious, and when he slowly lifted his right hand she gasped out loud at the sight of his talons, wickedly curved keratin, thick and slightly heavier than his human fingers. She took the hand in hers, and he caught his breath.

“Leanisa, I must insist-”

“Hush. Let me touch him.” She pressed her finger against the blunt side of one talon, ran it along the curve, and the boy wished desperately that he could sense the touch as more than a simple pressure. “These are lovely, aren’t they?”

Were they? He stared blankly at her, then gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Her fingers ran up the dark, rough skin behind the talons, feeling over it, murmuring to herself, until she reached the scarring where they had been sewn on a human palm just at the knuckles. Shivers ran up his arm, electric and never felt before, and he had to swallow against a sense of tightness in his throat that made no sense.

She clasped his hand, briefly, and he watched a bit of her braid fall over one shoulder. He would have done anything, in that moment, for her to move closer, or to be able to touch back. But he didn’t dare.

“You’re not dangerous for me, are you?” She asked, teasing, and he shivered as she let go of his hand and moved to lay her palm along the wrought-leather of the muzzle that covered the bottom half of his face, rubbing a thumb over the little holes edged in brass for him to breathe through. He let her raise his head until his eyes met hers.

She gave a little start, but her smile faded only a little. “Your eyes are blue… and bleeding,” She said, softly. He felt the trickle of reddish-pale saltwater, stinging when it reached the spaces where the muzzle fit tightly, rubbed and irritated until he bled.

They do that. All he could do was shrug in response.

She seemed to take the statement he meant with the gesture, because she laughed a little, pushing back some of his shaggy hair from his head. “That’s all right. Hold on.” She stood up and walked back away fromhim, and the boy found himself wanting to lean after her, whining in his throat when the chains in his wings kept him on the other side of the white chalk line in the floor. She stopped before her governess and held out her hand. “Natalia, your scarf.”

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

“I’d like your scarf, please. It needs something for its eyes.”

“You are not giving my scarf to that thing-”

“Yes, I am. Are you or aren’t you my governess? I’m doing it. Just try and stop me. Give me your scarf.” The girl paused, and in a beguiling, lovely, lilting voice, she added, “Please?”

After a pause, the older woman’s mouth pursed into a thin little curve of displeasure, but she unwound the scarf from her neck and the girl smiled brilliantly.

“Thank you, Natalia, you’re a love.” She leaned up to kiss the woman on the cheek before she turned and came back to him, stepping with casual carelessness over the line this time, dropping back into her crouch.

He looked at her, and she smiled kindly at him. “Hold on,” She said, softly, tenderly. “Be still.” She lifted the cloth up and for a moment he leaned forward, wondering if she would wipe away his tears.

Instead, she slid the cloth around and over his eyes, wrapping it over twice until the world was plunged into a pure and perfect darkness for the boy. Then she double-knotted it at the back of his head.

Her fingertips grazed against the skin just above where the muzzle cut in, curiously tapping nails along the side of the muzzle before he felt another touch, fingers deftly undoing the buckle of the muzzle itself. His head jerked up, and she shushed him playfully. For the first time when it wasn’t simply to eat a meal, the leather was pulled away from his face, and he heard it drop with a clatter to the ground beside him.

“There,” She said softly. “Isn’t that better?”

For a moment, he was so wracked with his gratitude that he forgot how to speak. “I… m-... much, yes,” He managed, his voice hoarse from disuse. “Yes, m… miss. Who are… who are you?”

“I am your master’s daughter, Leanisa.” Her fingers settled onto his jaw on either side of his face, lifting his chin, and he could feel the weight of her eyes along the scar on his throat. “I’ve heard you can thrall people. Will you enthrall me?”

Her voice darkened slightly, in something less like anger or suspicion and more like flirtation.

“No, miss,” He said, fervently, feeling a flush he couldn’t explain heating his cheeks near her fingertips. He could feel her hands like fire, the best kind of fire, warming him from the inside out. A shivery nervous heat in his stomach seemed to be telling him to touch her, too, but he kept his hands carefully to himself. He heard the chains clink together as his wings rustled behind him. “I don’t-... I don’t want to. It’s a dirty trick and it’s only, when I’m scared, I can’t… stop it.”

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t scare you, should I?” She had laughter in her words, and her fingertips danced over clammy skin and dry alike, moved over him, feeling at the structure and form of his face, his jaw, his throat, down to his collarbone visible through the low neck of the shirt he wore. “Do I scare you, creature?”

“C… can you call me something else?” His voice was low. He hardly dared speak the words. “Please? Can you give… give me a name?”

She hesitated, and then he could hear the smile when she said, “What would you rather be called?”

“Del,” he said, low. His own name meant pain, he didn’t want to hear the syllables out loud ever again. But… “Can you call me Del?”

Boy, in the fae tongue. Still better than creature or monster.

“Fair enough, Del. I can do that. It’s nice to meet you, Del.”

“It’s… good to meet you as well, Miss. You’re the first who has… who has been so kind to me. The first since… I became what I am.”

“I can see why, it’s hard when you see something you’ve never seen before. But I’m more used to seeing new things than most people, with my father being all a-twitter over every rumor of a new animal’s discovery. Do you sing like the fae do?”

His cheeks colored, humiliated at the idea of performing on cue, but he cleared his throat, and then chirped a few times, gave a quiet little trill.

She laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls, shining and lovely. It felt like he was listening to the laughter of starlight or moonlight or the sun itself. He could see her, almost - picture her hands clapped over her mouth in surprised happiness. “Oh, you can! How lovely! How lovely, Del! I adore it. What beautiful sounds you make.”

He dared a slight smile, and felt her hands on him again. He leaned into the palm on the side of his face, closed his eyes behind the blindfold and felt tears prickling, hot and grateful. Someone who did not hurt him. Someone who was kind.

Her thumb stroked over his cheekbone, her fingertips were just touching his jaw. He chirped, low in his throat, a fae sound of comfort and something like contentment.

“I’m glad you make those sounds to remind me, and have those wings,” Leanisa said softly. “Otherwise I might make a terrible mistake and not put this back on.”

There had been a curl of warmth inside him, slowly unfurling, remembering a life that had once held kindness. At her words, that warmth died, and the core of him went cold. “... Miss?”

He heard the movement of leather and brass scraping along the floor, and then felt the muzzle pressing back over his mouth. He made a soft sound of despair with both voices, and she laughed again, not unkindly. “Oh, hush. I won’t take chances, Del. You’re different, that’s for sure, but you’re still... what you are. I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

She buckled the muzzle on, catching it in his hair so he flinched at the sudden pinch and pull.

There was a pause, and she patted him on the head. Then he heard the nearly-silent sound of her silk slippers as she walked away.

He heard her pause, just at the door. Her voice, high and sweet, rang through the room. “With that blindfold on, you look almost human.”

The door closed as she and her governess left. He listened to the click of the lock turning, and then he tore the blindfold off his head, shredded the scarf into nothing but broken threads, and curled up behind his wings next to his pallet, in the corner of the room.

He looked through the curtain of feathers at the bare rectangle of pale blue sky he could see through the window they’d ensured he could not reach, wondering if he’d ever see the great expanse of sky he knew was out there, ever again.

Almost human.

But not enough.

He found he had more tears to cry, after all.

----

Tagging Killan’s crew: @astrobly @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @slaintetowhump , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpallday , @whumppsychology, @doveotions, @broken-horn, @moose-teeth, @whumpfigure, @spiffythespook, @oceanthesarcasamfox, @whump-only(if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

NOTE: Killan's universe and the details of fae, fae biology, etc all belong to @wildfaewhump!

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allet-art · 4 years

Text

Wherever you go, you’ll be there

Steven Universe Future fanfiction: Chapter 1

Summary:

Steven's journey into the unknown, into who he is, and how to learn to live again, with a spice of nightmares, feelings and a lot of travelling, learning from his mistakes and from people he meets.

Who will he find in himself at the end?

(Post IAMM and disregarding the last episode, Future)

Characters: Steven Universe, Connie Maheshwaren, Connie is not focused on, The gems of LH as background, the Off-Colors as background

Warnings: Nightmares, Depressive tendencies

Relationships: Steven Universe & Connie Maheswaren

Tags: Tags to be added as story progresses so watch out for those, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Coping, Coping mechanisms, Trauma, Steven learns to live, This is just my “SU ended and now I am empty inside so here’s my continuation, OCs I guess but only to serve the story, Mommy Issues, Therapy, Steven gets therapy, Nightmares, Categories may be subject to change, Warnings may be subject to change, I have an idea for what’s in the chest just wait and see

Read on AO3

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He plummets. Loosing the ground under his feet, feeling the loss of pressure in a rush of cold and terror. He doesn’t remember landing on the ground, but he’s up. Something is there.

He turns around to see a creature, spider legs and massive fangs and the body of a snake, eyes black with pink irises, glowing. Fixating him.

He runs, feeling clumsy and heavy and weak, not fast enough, pushing against a force trying to stop him, trying to hold him back. He pants, the air burning in his lungs, forcing his limbs to move while fear tries to paralyze him to stop.

The creature is fast, faster than him. He runs, still, even though it’s pointless. Faster. Faster. He’s not fast enough. He’s too weak, too slow, too clumsy, nonono-!

He trips on the darkness. The fangs rise, and with a start, come down on his naval.

He jolts upright with a start, breathing, panting heavily. One hand over his gem and the other clutching his chest, he heaves in the air, staring at the blanket in front of him until he calms down a bit.

He glances over at his clock. 4:15 AM. Another nightmare.

He lets out a huge breath and falls backwards onto the bed. It’s comfortable, but that doesn’t stop him from looking to stare at the ceiling through sore eyes, opening them just a bit. Keeping them open is hard, but something desperately keeps him from closing them.

The ocean waves quietly crash onto the beach. A rough breeze presses onto the face of the house facing the water, making it creak ever so quietly. It was a familiar sound, one he grew up with. He breathes in, and heaves the breath back out as if he’d run a marathon.

Familiar. The sound of the water fills his ears like static white noise, threatening to make him forget what his nightmare was about in the first place. Does he even want to remember? Maybe he should just let go, and fall back into habit. His mind is blank, and he starts moving on his own.

He shuts off his alarm. No need for that anymore. He takes the steps down quietly, making sure to pace his steps just right to avoid the steps from creaking. From the room, to the ocean, to the creaking, to the hushed way he moves between the furniture; It’s like moving from one island to another, one concept connected to the next, each action familiar. Nothing he can mess up here if he does what he’s always done.

Mechanically, he starts making himself a protein shake. Connie’s been telling him to get better breakfast, but he feels too tired to do anything else. Well, he doesn’t have to tell her. He looks out to the sky through the large glass windows where the stars peacefully await the break of dawn. He feels tired, worn out and at the same time like a cold stone statue that has nothing better to do.

What’s the point, anyway? His shake finishes fizzling, and he screws the lid closed, starting to shake the plastic bottle. The sound echoes through the room in a surreal manner, making him question if he really is awake all of a sudden. He blinks the thought away. No, he’s sure he’s awake. Just tired.

He sits alone at the table and sips the tasteless protein shake, feeling the powder on his tongue. The stars look back. An eerie quiet hangs in the room, and a small flash of white light at the edge of his vision makes Steven blink. He feels himself sunk into the chair, shoulders hunched. Nothing. The room is empty. He’s alone, accompanied only by the crashing of waves, his sore eyes and the disgusting taste of the protein shake.

How sad this is, he thinks. Steven Universe the savior, sitting in his living room at 4 AM, sipping a drink he hates while waiting for morning to come.

Suddenly he sees the bright light again. A butterfly. He stops in his movements, and forces himself to breathe. He’s hallucinating. The butterfly lands on one of the chairbacks calmly, waving it’s wings at him. He stares at it, and it flutters off, dissapearing by flying through the closed windows and turning into one of the distant stars.

He stares after it for another moment, blinking, trying to see if he sees any more of them. Nothing. Moments, minutes pass before he calms down, picking the bottle up again to continue what he was doing like nothing happened.

He sighs, placing the plastic bottle down and staring into the mix of liquid. He feels sick. He looks over the fridge to think of getting something else, and sees the small glowing bracelet that he’d stuck to the side of the fridge not too long ago.

His thoughts wander, from the bracelet to Connie to the hospital. Connie was with him in that underwater bubble he’d made. He didn’t remember everything, but he felt it was his fault, anyway. But humans don’t swell up when they feel bad, at least not like he does. Was Connie okay, though? Did she ever live past that? Did she speak to her mother about it? Did she get therapy?

Maybe he should have known about that, too. Shouldn’t he have been the one to bring her to her mother, or to some hospital or therapist after all that? He feels if maybe, he had payed better attention, he could have helped her better. Helped her the way she’s helping him now, to somehow make up for all the senseless trouble she has to go through.

He grips the plastic bottle tighter, feeling his shoulders hunch up. If he’d just left her out of all this. If he’d just been smarter, been… better. If he’d just been kinder, like- like she was. Rose.

No matter how he looks at her, the childhood dream of the perfect light holding everyone together, inspiring everyone, taking care of everyone still sits somewhere in his mind. A distant vision of that pale pink and white color, but, she wanted him here. ...right?

Did she really? He looks out to the stars. If she could see him right now, what would she think?

He feels pain sting his chest. The sore spot isn’t made better by the pathetic sight he feels he must be right now, sitting alone in the dark, reminiscing about everything that’s happened so long ago.

But it feels so real. It feels so present. It feels just like yesterday. It feels like there was something to live by and live for then, and now there’s nothing. A blankness of the present and the future. Something that almost makes him wish he could go back, back to when everything made sense.

He places his elbows on the table, shoving the drink aside. Some of the liquid splashes over onto the table, and he feels as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Great going, Universe. Can’t even keep the kitchen clean for five minutes. He buries his face in his hands.

The silence, the cold tugging at his bare arms, making him feel weak and fragile, the fact that nobody was going to come here in the next five hours at least were rising, building up in his throat. That’s what hurt, really. Nobody is going to come here anytime soon. He stares at one of the walls, and suddenly he feels tiny. Helpless. Stuck, waiting for that stupid warp pad to glow and tell him someone would still care if he’d dissapear.

But right now nobody does. He sobs, shoulders hunching further, hands pressed to his face. The silence continues to stand in the room and watch him. He sobs, the same way he did just a week ago after he’d turned back to normal. In that freeing, loud way that he’d never allowed himself to do before that moment.

He wants to feel better. He desperately wants to feel something else, even if it means crying loudly and ugly, and if somebody were to see him they’d feel pity and they’d probably be right to feel sorry for the teenager sitting alone in the dark and breaking down over nothing.

He cries, until the soft morning sun starts to peak over the horizon and send light his way, letting the stars fade back into the ethereal space they came from. And when the house was filled with light and birds started to bring bright chirps into the atmosphere, he sat there still, shoulders hunched over and eyes red and puffy.

He stood up, at some point, fingers and toes cold, pouring the rest of his shake down the sink and tossing the bottle onto the counter. The plastic clunked against the stone surface in protest, and bounced down to the floor and onto the wood planks, but he’d already started walking towards the stairs. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He has to go get his face washed, before the gems come in.

---

Soft, October sun warms this side of the beach. Connie sits next to him, sipping a milkshake, eyes focused intently on the task trying to get the last few drops out of the plastic cup. Steven sits with his shoulders hunched over, his drink half full, listening to the shake give gurgles of protest. She looks up to him and they both snort, looking away again.

The ocean waves roll onto the beach. Steven’s smile fades, unsure what to say or think. He looks out to the horizon, watches the light glitter on the surface of the water. Everything is like it was before. Except him.

He feels like a sore thumb, out of place as he forces a smile back at Connie, who said something about the bakery that he didn’t quite catch. He feels hollow, like something is missing from his chest. He gulps. He spent the morning in bed, tightly hugging his blankets like they could replace someone else. It didn’t help.

Connie says his name, and he turns back to her. She gives him a questioning look, but he just shrugs.

“Jus’ tired,” he murmurs.

“You sure?”

He shrugs again, not knowing what to respond with. The ocean waves keep crashing into the beach. Connie puts the plastic cup down next to her. They sit in silence.

“Well… I’ll come visit next week, maybe.”

“I thought you could only do once every two weeks?”

“I know, I know. But maybe I can shift tutoring to earlier in the morning.”

“Connie...” His voice is tired, doing his best to sound hopeful, to sound stable. “You don’t have to do that. You told me, once every two weeks, and I don’t want you to go back on that.” His voice grows quiet, hoarse. “...and make yourself miserable.”

“I won’t, I…” She trails off, her smile fading. “It’s a lot, but I’m sure I can do it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

She sits with her arms stemmed on the bench, and one hand goes to hold her elbow. Sitting cross-legged, her top foot bounces up and down unsurely. Steven lets his glance wander back to the ocean, to the constant crash of the waves.

He closes his eyes, the salty scent of the ocean filling his senses. He’s just a burden here, again. But he knows that as long as he’s here, she’s going to be worried, and she’s going to keep visiting because he doesn’t know how to feel okay anymore.

He opens his eyes, looking to the horizon. “Once every two weeks will be fine, Connie. Don’t forget about yourself, okay?”

She opens her mouth, wants to say something, knows that there’s more to it than just this, knows that something is off because he won’t even look at her.

But she doesn’t know what to say. She looks down onto her knees, her smile fading too. “Okay.”

He wants to fix this, this horrible silence settling between them. He doesn’t know if he can. At the same time, his longing look into the distance makes him wish he was anywhere else, anywhere but here, having to sit out this silence, having to do things different with no way to tell what’s right and what’s wrong.

His hands clench into fists, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It just hurts. His shoulders hunch more.

Connie watches him, not knowing what to do. Maybe her mother would know. Maybe there’s nothing she can do.

As the waves crash, the seagulls call and the clouds pass, they both watch the sun set in silence.

---

Empty.

He walks around the house, up the stairs to his room, down to the kitchen. Empty. Like he’s missing something, and he has no idea what it is.

He plops down onto the couch eventually, groaning in frustration. Maybe it’s too quiet. Or he’s just lonely. Or futureless, or feeling guilty, or any other of the dozen reasons he can think of.

Sighing, he gets up to pace back and forth a few steps. He should probably do something, but nothing useful or particularly healing comes to mind. He stops and closes his eyes. If he were anywhere else, anywhere but here in this empty house trying to pick up the broken pieces of his life, it would be easier.

He looks out to the window, out beyond the horizon. He found his mind wandering more often, away from the million things he needs to fix and take care of or remember not to fix and not to take care of, all on top of changing his habits and whatever else he feels he still needs to do.

If he were anyone else, anywhere else, if he had to deal with anybody’s problems other than his own. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He has to deal with his own. He has to change, and abandon old habits. Just without actually helping anybody less.

The warp pad goes off. He jumps up, smile on his face, hands moving to do something, pretend to have been doing the dishes, anything to make it look like he had been involved in something useful. Pearl steps off the warp pad, humming something. She has a rusted old sword with her, but she’s holding it as if it’s made of gold.

The gears in his head start to turn and fall into place. That must be from the battlefield. That’s good. His eyes go over her, taking in both relaxedness and happiness and the faint smile of nostalgia on Pearl’s features. That’s also a good sign.

“Hey, Pearl. Is that from the battlefield?”

“Oh, Steven! Yes, I decided, well, I finally had it in me to bring it back.” She eyes the sword in her nimble fingers before shifting her focus. “But how have you been holding up, Steven?”

Finally had it in her? What was stopping her before? He doesn’t recognize the sword. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Was it a memory he hadn’t heard of yet? About his mother, or about some other gem? Was now the right time to ask? “Who’s sword is it?” He hopes present tense is right.

“This old thing? Oh, Bismuth made it for me thousands of years ago. It was the first thing that was ever truly mine.” She sighs, a distant sadness in her voice. “I lost it during a battle with quartz guards where the delta kindergarden was supposed to go.”

Right, that made sense. Steven can imagine what it must have felt like, loosing the first thing she owned during a fight after she swore to protect Rose and went after her new purpose. She must’ve felt like she failed.

“Well, there’s no delta kindergarden, so looks like you guys still won, right?”

A cheerfulness comes to her features and she smiles, an excitement in her voice that Steven rarely got to see. “We did! We beat those quartz guards right back to the warp pad in the end.” She held the sword into the air proudly.

Steven’s heart swells with warmth at seeing her so expressive, so much louder and prouder than usual.

Pearl’s gem gives a hum, and she stops for a moment to pull her phone out of her gem. “Oh! I’ll be late to my weaponry class.” She starts to head for the door, putting the sword away in her gem.

Before the door closes, she stops and looks back. “Steven?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I say this often, but, you can always talk to us, okay?”

Right. It hadn’t been long enough for the gems to forget about what happened.

He looks down into the sink. “I know. Thanks, Pearl.”

His smile fades as the door closes shut and he sighs.

He groans into his hands. Old habits die hard. How is he ever going to do that any differently? What could he have even done? If he told her about how his day and last night had gone, she wouldn’t have opened up about the sword. It’s not like she could fix any of it.

As the silence drags on, so does the emptiness, and so does the hollow feeling in his chest.

---

Lars and the off-colors are due to visit today.

Steven steps out of the shower, feeling refreshed after spending far too long at home and in the same clothes. He puts on the same shirt, his trusty jacket, and walks to the warp pad.

He stops right before it, contemplating. He checks the time. He’ll be too early, and he doesn’t want to come off as desperate. Not like last time. He cringes a little and goes outside to take the car.

Besides that, the alone time in the car seemed to do him good. Or maybe it was the distraction of driving, or the distant memory of car rides with his father, the endless landscape passing by the windows as the road gently rocked him to sleep as a kid.

The road there felt too short for the car, but at least he wasn’t too early. The small spaceport of LH had to reserve quite the area for Lars’ ship to land, and a handful of gems were already waiting. So he won’t be the only one. Good.

He saw Larimar, Snowflake Obsidian and one of the jaspers from funland that he hadn’t properly met yet.

They turn to him when he approaches, all excited smiles and shy glances, and he smiles back and greets them, remembers to ask Snowflake how the trip to the siberian research station went and gets the nickname of the jasper, Lacely.

A faint humm turns their attention upwards, a familiar ship entering the atmosphere, gently parting the clouds and touching down in front of them.

Steven wanted to rush in, but remembered to wait a moment to let Lars and his crew step out and be embraced by the other gems around him first. He spots Larimar and Padparadsha getting along better than he thought. Snowflake gives Rhodonite a playful shoulder punch, who returns it, making Snowflake pretend to be knocked over as they laugh. Only Lacely seems to stand somewhat lost, watching everything go down with wide eyes. Steven humms, ready to swoop in. He had a suspicion of what was going on.

“Hey, Lacely, have you met the off-colors yet?”

The gem stood shyly, her eyes covered and stance stiff. “Uh. Kindof.”

“How about I introduce you?”

Steven approaches Lars and Fluorite with the jasper, introducing them, watching the jasper blush as Fluorite compliments her hairstyle. Fluorite and Lacely go off to join Rhodonite as Fluorite insists on introducing them too, leaving Steven alone next to Lars.

Lars crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking down to the younger teenager. “Missed us?”

Steven shrugs a bit, trying to play it off and not look too emotional. “Yeah.”

Lars goes on, a bit more serious. “We heard about what happened.”

“Oh… yeah…” Steven’s mood drops, chewing the inside of his cheek briefly into the silence before he quickly goes on. “But it’s fine! Everything’s better now! Besides, your space adventures are bound to be much more interesting.”

Lars laughs, ruffling through Steven’s hair brotherly. “You’re still good ol’ Steven, huh? Always going on about everyone but you.”

“Hey!” Steven laughs as he moves his head away to get Lars’ hand out of his locks. “Just saying. Things have been as usual. Nothing special.”

The two almost-humans watch the other gems cluster together, standing side by side in silence for a moment. Steven glances over to see Lars smiling, happy to be home, happy to see his gem family getting along with others so well, happy to see them surrounded by people who appreciate them fully.

Lars isn’t one to draw in closely to social gatherings. What a contrast to what Steven had come to know at first, when all Lars seemed to care about was being friends with the cool kids, so that he could matter, so that he could feel like he belonged somewhere. And now that he knows where he belongs, he can contently lean against the ship with his hands in his jeans and smile into the october sun.

Steven’s smile falters a little as he looks over to the cluster of gems. He’s happy that his own close family has that too, of course he is. Pearl, Garnet and Amethyst becoming teachers all in their own way, helping gems find their new purposes, their new lives. Helping them in all the ways they wish someone would’ve helped them when they’d first arrived on earth.

So Steven should be happy, right?

Everyone says he needs to change. Lars changed, and from Steven’s perspective, it all made sense. He changed for the better, with each step he took and choice he made, moving towards something brighter. But Steven doesn’t know how he would change. He does everything to make the people around him happy, and sometimes it’s just not good enough and leaves him feeling empty.

He glances over to Lars again, and then to the gems. How it must feel, to just be, to laugh and be yourself and nothing else, and fit in with others like puzzle pieces. To be ones self with no visible limits or edges that need to be trimmed. To just breathe and live and make the people around you happy by just... existing.

Something in his chest does swell happily, although not entirely enough to fix the hollow feeling. They’re all so happy, so unique, so… themselves. The paths they went, the choices they made lead them here, to this place, to this happiness, this new family.

He sighs, and Lars looks over to him. “What’s up?”

“It’s just, they’re all so happy, and, “ he takes a small break not to sound too emotional, “and great, you know? They came so far. You came so far.”

Lars gives a nervous laugh. “Steven, you sappy kid. You came pretty far too, y’know.”

Steven gives a small laugh, a smile, not letting the slightly sinking feeling in his stomach show. He turns back to the happy gathering and ignores the feeling.

The hollow feeling in his chest expands. He wants to be there. Closer, there, amidst the smiles and comments and jokes and gestures and happy eyes. Closer, so the feeling would be easier to ignore, so he could be easier drowned out by people much better adjusted than him.

But it feels clingy. They seem fine without him. He could ruin it. With the way he always used to be he can insert himself, or insert someone else, but he’s supposed to change. What if he changes and they all finally realize they’re better than him? If he could just exist and fit, he feels like he would have done that already.

“So Steven.” Lars looks down to him. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Hey, weird idea. But did you ever wanna come with us to space?”

“Well, you’re a pretty tightly knit family. I wouldn’t want to interfere.” Before Lars can cut in, Steven quickly goes on. “Besides! I can visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s the journey! I dunno, I guess space just has a pretty good record at helping me.”

“That’s okay. I mean. I don’t know if it would do that for me.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I guess I really like car rides.”

“You been doing a lot of those then?”

“Kindof.” Not really, he thought. From home to Beach City to LH and back.

Rhodonite walks up to Lars excitedly, bubbeling about Lars’ old pastry shop as she pulls him along. Steven waves them goodbye, saying something about needing to be somewhere at LH. The conversation feels blurry to him by the time he’s in his car.

He adjusts the rear view mirror, seeing his reflection. He looks tired, and without the large smile, sad. Lost. He yanks the mirror back into place, trying to forget his reflection as he drives back home.

---

#Steven Universe #su #suf #steven universe future #su fanfic #suf fanfic #su fanfiction #suf fanfiction #tumblr writing #writing #WYGYBT #oof thats one weird abbreviation #I promised I would do this at the end of SUF and yall forgot but here it is #Loved that Lapis quote. She right u know #So here's what Ive been doing in the silence lol #FIXED THE ao3 LINK oof

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justamixofemoandpunk · 3 years

Text

Ok so i have to publish stuff for one of my classes. and I am publishing it to tumblr dot com

Please don't be mean I'm sorry.

Poetry Portfoilio:

I Come from poem

I come from rainstorms

Softly tapping the windows,

Nourishing the ground

Rainbows are just around the corner,

And yet nobody wants it to end

Soft and comforting

I come from rainstorms

With howling winds,

Beating at the doors,

flooding ponds and

Spattering against the window

Ripping petals off flowers

Violent and merciless

I come from cool mornings,

With fuzzy sweaters and hot tea

Coffee weak to with sugar and cream

Favorite spices stirred in

Trees are turning bright colors in the distance

Rubbing sleep from your eyes

I com from cool mornings,

With harsh wind biting cheeks and noses

Painfully early

Headaches from trying to remember a forgotten dream

And burning fevers

I come from mist and fog

Warm mornings with honeysuckle perfume

Birds in the far distance chirp

Of a new day

Covered in a fluffy white sweater

I come from mist and fog

Shrouding the distance

“Danger, Danger” whispers the trees

A snake slithers unseen on the forest floor

Mystery itself is fearful

I come from power herself

Spring spots poem

flowers peeking through honeysuckle vines

with bowed heads from the weight of the world

and pink stretch marks from holding it up

they do not care, they know they are strong and beautiful

and yet tired all the same from the thankless work

more flowers appear,

this time with anger that they hold the weight of the world

they have bowed heads too, they are also tired

they do not want to clean up thanklessly after others

just like the previous generation

yet they are tired, because they do it too,

and try to explain they they do not have to be the only ones to help

the first flowers fade, wrinkling and fading

tired out, exhausted

they droop to the ground

without mourning save but from the other flowers

just as they fall

more flowers bloom in their place

not picking up the weight of the world,

they have seen the damage it does

they do not want to hurt

they try to convince the other plants and creatures to help,

telling them that the damage won’t be so great

but the others just laugh

After all, why would they pick up, why would they work when they hadn't before?

they wouldn't be hurt either way

it stings, it hurts

so when the last generation dies

there is a frost

everyone suffers

the other plants are mad at the flowers

for not picking up the weight of the world

the flowers are angry, because the other plants will not listen

only cruelly twist their words against them

so when the next flowers appear

the dying second set of flowers tell them not to pick it up

for the other plants will eventually pick up their share

the new flowers won't pick it up,

and they try to explain that everyone needs to help

but the other plants won’t listen

and the cycle repeats, it looks doomed

When will the other plants learn?

Will the flowers ever get a break?

Sonnet

Sonnet to people who won’t wear a mask

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day

For thou art hasn't even a bit of class

You look like an animal that eats hay

Say, thou art even dressed the part,( donkey)

You killed a baboon and stolen it’s face

you're a murderer and uncunning thief

your mother never gave you an embrace

but a mere peek of your face causes grief

You are steadfast to theories of fraud

you use sources from all except science

At logic you have stridently guffawed

doctors receive only your defiance

To the nearest grocery employee

I say: run! covid is a guarantee

4 word poem

444Early thunder webs porch

I woke up early this morning

Packed my bag, took a quick shower,

Stepped onto the webbed porch

Walked down to the nearest train station

The city was already bustling, but in a tired sort of way

I boarded the metro, and dozens of ghostly eyes glanced up,

Haunted by the lack of sleep, decimated by the stresses

Only one pair of them saw me, I knew.

It was myself at a young age

visiting the art museum with my mother and brother

I still remember that trip.

If only my naive self knew what would happen.

What would become of me

What will happen

These Have I Loved

Cars whizzing past my house, blaring the radio, the sharing their snippets of sound

Raindrops dripping down a window,

The smell of baking bread in the oven, and the sizzle of eggs on the stove,

A book by the crackling fire,

Inky calligraphy, a page of scribbles for warming up the ink

Shooting stars speeding by, a gasp and a hundred thousand silent wishes

The stars and the moon, shining bright,

White roses dyed with split stems

Chalk monsters on driveways

Clouds forming and shifting, butterflies flitting between the bushes

Honeysuckle flowers picked and nectar greedily sipped out

Lumps of moss gently placed in potting soil, caringly watered.

666 this is just to say

This is just to say:

I forgot to text you back

I forgot to write the email

I promise I was thinking of you

I promised I haven’t forgotten

I miss you so much

I promise I love you still

I promise I promise I promise

I am thinking of you

I care, but I can’t write the email

I promise I tried

Forgive me

stretched pantoum( I’m sorry 3 stanzas wasn’t enough)

I’m scared/

Another friend drops/

I do not know their name/

Why does nobody notice everyone is falling//

Another friend drops /

My heart beats faster/

Why does nobody notice everyone is falling/

They’re being murdered by the minute//

My heart beats faster/

Why does nobody else see the blue-grey-green murderer/

They’re being murdered by the minute /

It’s holding a bloody hatchet, //

Why does nobody else see the blue-grey-green murderer/

It’s holding their head under water,/

It’s holding a bloody hatchet/

Why do they answer it’s sick questions //

It’s holding their head underwater,/

I KNEW THAT PERSON/

Why did they answer his sick questions/

They’re gone now, never coming home, never coming home//

I KNEW THAT PERSON/

And they’re gone, gone forever/

They’re gone now, never coming home, never coming home/

They were drowned in the fountain//

And they’re gone, gone forever/

With a hatchet in the back/

They were drowned in the fountain/

They were poisoned//

With a hatchet in the back/

They sank to their knees, eyes up to heaven/

They were poisoned/

They had no choice//

5 different ways of looking at the moon

A one-eyed space cat,

Staring with unwavering attention,

Never bothering to shake the glittering dust off its coat

It keeps a silent sigil

A bitten cookie,

Rudely munched on by ants

They didn’t even notice the silver and gold leaf

In their hunger, it was just more food

The cat is growing sleepy

It has been there for millenia

Ever watching, waiting

Why does it stay? What is going to happen?

A teacup,

Left with only the bitter dregs,

Someone forgot to take the teabag out

The last drops are cold and strong

Maybe the cat drank it

A colourful stamp on paint named ”Satin night”

Spotted and not quite perfect

Maybe from a cork

Slammed so hard the paint spattered

And made stars

I remember poem

I remember sticking my hands and head out the car window as we sped down the highway at sunset, speakers resounding our favorite songs on cassette,

Walking around the city with balloons in hand- we had picked them for the other

I remember laying on the rooftop, and you showed me my star sign, and yours, and your favorite constellations and their stories,

And I remember your face when I gave you a strawberry plant that I grew just for you

I remember making our playlist, with all our favorite songs, and it was fun because you tried to add words to the titles to make them funny because

I remember “It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s A Deathwish, Mom” and “Bring Me to Life, Mom”

And I remember your anger when they called me that word.

I had to hold you back to keep you from hurting them.

You flat ironed my hair, and I remember dyeing yours neon green.

I remember slow dancing in our room, with lit scented candles to spotify playlists and McDonald’s ads.

I remember growing ivy on the staircase with you

I remember your smile

4 word sketch poem

Firstborn, whistle, moonlight, strings

The whistle of the first firework,

it screeches up into the dusk.

The strings it releases explode and crackle,

A chorus of gasps and Oohs and Ahs

As the firstborn child sneaks away, unnoticed.

It’s fine, that was their plan anyways.

Fireflies are twinkling, traffic is clogged and congested.

They round the corner, pacing fast but quietly, the way they learned in 5th grade.

The boots make it difficult, so they tiptoe on the narrow strip of grass that lays next to the sidewalk.

They’ve reached their destination: the pharmacy.

It's hard not to attract attention when you’re the only customer in the store.

A few minutes later, they leave, crinkly plastic bag in hand,

Nearly sprinting towards their family.

They’ve only been gone for five minutes, but

The fireworks and the fact that they’re normally quiet has kept their family from alarm.

They sneak back into the circle,

doling out candy to delighted brothers and sisters,

The parents have no idea.

#tah dah #im not sure if this counts as publishing it but whatever #ppl may or may not see it

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ask-hws-germanys · 4 years

Text

Notes: Best when paired with this song, you’ll know where https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blwzw8YK2oI

I wrote this ages ago so I hope you don’t mind the length. I know writing isn’t what get’s the clicks when it comes to ask blog things but I hope you might relax and read along to this piece.

...

Theobold was the first one to pick up on Ludwig's new and strange behavior. It was nothing others would sneeze at really, it only really standing out to him so much because of his time possessing the German's body and the many corrections he had to learn himself in order to act as him and fill in for him when Ludwig would drop out and he would have to take over.

He was rising later, checking out of conversation more, and he could often hear music coming from his room. He knew Ludwig had played both the violin and flute in the past but to his knowledge he had been very out of practice and had no spare time to pick them up again. So.. where was the music coming from? After a few days of this consistent odd behavior, now adding muttering to himself to the list and straight up ignoring his schedule that particular day, not to mention flirting with Lutz, Theo was sure somehow Ludwig was possessed in some way with something he couldn't sense. And he was going to confront whatever it was and ask it to leave or else he'd use force.

The albino knocked softly on the door, his foot tapping as impatient as ever on the faded wooden floor. The door opened slowly, revealing Ludwig, or who was supposedly Ludwig. He was wearing a black and white striped shirt with a loose light blue button-up rolled to his elbows over top, quite casual and free flowing Theo thought to himself.

"Ah Theobold," Ludwig remarked. "Did you need something from me?"

Theobold gave the man a nod, crossing his arms. "Ja, I want to discuss something with you. Alone."

He didn't want the man to suspect something, so he kept his expression neutral, scanning for any sign that this perpetrator might try to bolt or attack him. But… nothing happened. Ludwig nodded and allowed the man inside, Theo rejecting his offer to sit as Ludwig moved to his wardrobe, moving some clothes around.

"What did you want to discuss, Theo?" Ludwig asked, taking one of his newly pressed shirts and slipping it onto its hanger and then in the wardrobe. Theo lightly glared, preparing himself for the worst. He never had much of a filter anyway.

"Who are you?"

Ludwig seemed to pause in confusion before turning to him. "..What?"

"Don't make me ask you again." Theo vaguely threatened. "You heard me, I know you're not Ludwig. I can sense it, something just off right below the surface. Not wrath… but something else. Tell me what you're doing here and get out of him this instant."

Ludwig and Theo were staring, locked in a gaze for longer than Theo liked. As if Ludwig was seeing which would cave first, who would back down. He sighed, shaking his head as he moved to continue his task.

"I'm afraid I couldn't 'get out of him' even if I tried. We're one in the same, you see." He remarked. "Two halves of the same faced coin. I’m not like you."

Theo gave him a confused look, and the man quickly elaborated on his analogy.

"It's impossible to have one side without the other."

"So you admit you're an imposter!" Theo accused, the man simply chuckled under his breath, covering his slight smile with his hand.

"I'm afraid I admitted to nothing of that." He pulled a case from the wardrobe before moving to close it, Theo keeping his eye on the case, jumpy at any sudden movement. Ludwig seemed to notice his paranoid nature, smiling in an almost eerie way. He stood a bit closer to Theo.

"However… you look quite exhausted my friend, are you feeling alright?"

Theo squinted, as if asking him why he was changing the subject. The man's smile grew, and he brought his case from his side to over his chest, holding it as one would hold something precious.

"I ask because, perhaps we can make a deal? I can sense the exhaustion within you, and I can assist you with it.. in exchange for your silence of my presence." he held out his hand. "I can show you I mean no harm to you, or anyone else here, and in exchange allow me to coexist here as everyone else has."

Theo frowned slightly, though vaguely intrigued, he was cautious. What did he mean by "assist him with it?" he was honestly confused. And why point out his exhaustion. If he had been around here long enough he knew how Theo was when it came to rest and his inability to do it.

The man moved to set his case on the bed, his moves slow but fluid, allowing Theo to see every move he made and process what he was doing so he wouldn't jump to conclusions. Within the thin case was Ludwig’s flute, a gift from his brother from many years ago. He watched as Ludwig had put the flute together quietly without fuss, as if he had been diligently playing every day. But he knew Ludwig hadn’t touched it in years. He didn’t have the time anymore..

The demon watched with caution as the man tested each button and tuned softly to himself, as if he was in his own little world with the instrument, and Theo was outside looking in.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" Theo asked. Ludwig continued, his smile unwavering.

"Have you ever been able to sit in a field of flowers at midnight, Theobold?"

Theo was confused, his head tilting to the side slightly as the man seemed to change the subject again. "No.. I haven't."

"Hmm.." he twittled one of the buttons on his flute mindlessly. "I could take you to one... if you’d like." At the mention of leaving Theo quickly objected, his shoulders tensing as he shook his head.

"I'm not escorting you out of this room until you tell me who you--" Theo began, but Ludwig quickly held up a hand to stop him.

"Oh, there would be no need. Just allow me to play for you." he remarked. "My playing can be quite immersive. I promise, I mean no harm. I simply want to help you relax."

Theo let out a slow exhale through his nose, weighing his options. He could tell that the man was not going to give him a straight answer. He was dancing around the subject harder the Lichtblau had been dancing about Aster when they finally seemed to come to an accord. He hadn’t acted malicious, or tried to jump him. So it wasn’t anyone he knew… This strange deal might be the only chance for him to get a hint on who this was, perhaps he could win their favor and then use that position to figure out how to get Ludwig back, and what he meant by the two of them being inseparable.

“Hm..” Theo sighed. “If I accept your offer, do you swear on your life that you will not harm a single person here, and that this is not trickery?”

The man smiled, raising one hand to swear. "I swear on my life I mean no one harm, especially not anyone here. And I am not trying to trick you, I merely wish to help you.”

Theo paused, hardening his resolve before nodding in approval. The blonde nodded to him in return, and moved to sit, crossing his legs in his lap.

"Please, sit."

Theo paused, taking one more moment to think about his options before slowly lowering himself to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands resting palm side down on his knees. Ludwig smiled at him in approval, happy to see him letting his guard down the slightest bit.

"Now… close your eyes, and listen."

Theo frowned, his eyes staying open and trained on the blonde, but the man began to play anyway.

The melody was slow and tranquil, Theo thinking he must only be warming up the instrument. But after about a minute of watching and listening, his eyelids began to feel heavier, like they were being weighed down with sandbags. He was an amazing flutist he had to remark but why did he feel so at ease…? It felt like the sound was wrapping around the two of them, and Theo found it harder to focus on keeping his eyes open. His eyes continued to flutter, struggling to stay open as the man continued his tranquil solo. Theo couldn't recall when he shut his eyes but when he opened them again he was startled as the scenery had changed around them.

The two were both sitting in a field of strange blue flowers, some sort of flower he had never seen before. Petals were floating through the air as a gentle breeze moved them in almost hypnotic patterns. On the horizon around them there were tall, sturdy trees littered with lights. The air was abuzz with butterflies and fireflies, some coming to rest upon his arms and shoulders without a moment's hesitation. He tried to sit as still as possible as to not disturb them, turning his head up from the flowers to see the sky speckled with stars as the soft melodies of the flute began to blend with the chirps of crickets, the sweet songs of bird calls and the soft flaps and clicks of insect wings.

It all felt so real.. what kind of witchcraft was this..? They hadn't left the room, he knew that... and yet as he ran a hand through the flowers beneath him he could feel every petal, every stem as they brushed against his gloves. They were there but they couldn't be..!

Theo was hardly registering the soft melody that continued to ring and echo through the cool night air. It was becoming harder and harder to keep up his guard when there were so many distractions around him. So many soothing sounds, the scent of the flowers in the air…

He found his eyes wandering to the flowers beneath him. Curling his finger around the stem of one he found it wrapped its grip around him without much of a fight, opening itself more as Theo ran his fingers down the soft petals. In any other situation he might have found that alarming, but right now… he wasn’t. He brought the little bud to his face and the aroma of the nectar hit him full force. It was sweet, a subtle but powerful smell. His eyes felt even heavier than before, an ache in his bones he was used to ignoring got louder and louder.

Slowly lowering his hand back to his lap, he finally caught a strange color out of the corner of his vision. He looked up, Ludwig was still there! How… had he not noticed that? He seemed… different. His appearance had changed, he was draped in a black and blue cloak and his head was adorned with a garland of the same flowers as the field they were sitting in. Had he made that garland while he wasn’t looking…? He couldn’t have… he surely would have noticed that much movement, right? Had he stopped playing?

The German’s slight smile was showing through, still unwavering despite his focus. His eyes were closed, but as if he had sensed Theo's staring, one opened ever so slightly, looking at him with something Theo couldn't quite put into words. It was strange, he had never seen Ludwig’s eyes so bright before… so emotional… They were swirling with so many things he could hardly decipher one before it was gone and replaced with another.

The ache in Theo’s bones was becoming deafening. He tried to stay sitting up, moving to lean back on his hands as the music of the flute continued to envelop him like someone would curl into a woolen blanket on a cold winter’s eve. He fought to keep his eyes open, but his exhaustion and this strange relaxation that had settled in his chest were beating out his willpower. He was only able to keep them open the slightest crack.

He was waiting for something… he didn't know what for but he was waiting.. he was so tired… it was getting so hard to think, all the sounds around him were starting to melt together, his senses felt overwhelmed but in the most pleasant way possible. Theo had been so absorbed and keeping himself vague conscious... he hadn't even noticed that the man in front of him had stopped playing.

He could hear shuffling in the grass, the air changing. Someone was moving closer, but unlike normal Theo was unresponsive. He didn’t even flinch or move to stop the hand that slowly moved a stray hair on his face back into place. A movement that very very few people could get away with in any other circumstance. The demon’s face was relaxed, his eyes lidded and gaze caught in some distant space as he watched the flowers bend and sway in the wind, rippling like waves. It was captivating… he could watch this for hours....

"Are you still awake, my friend?"

Theo nodded softly.

"That's good.. I'm glad." the blonde’s smile had reached something eerie as he gently held Theo's face in his hand. "Are you tired?"

"Yes…” the demon groaned, finding himself leaning into the hand on his face, trusting the touch. If he had the energy he would have reached out to him, but the thought of moving at all was so unappealing. “I’m so tired… never get enough.. sleep."

"..And you like this little field of mine, don't you?"

Theo nodded again. "...Relaxing..."

"That it is…" He smiled, looking around the field before back down to the dozing albino. "How about this… If you want, I'll bring you back here from time to time." He suggested, letting out a small chuckled as Theo’s head lolled to the side in his grip, clearly trying and failing to stay awake.

"That is… Of course… if I may stay around?"

"I would… like that…" Theo nodded again. "...stay…"

“...But of course.”

The blonde smiled, letting one hand slowly rustle Theo’s hair in an affectionate manner as the other hand, still holding onto the body of the flute, grazed through the flowers in a circular motion. As it went around again and again, a soft blue light was glowing, the flowers bending and twisting into one another until a garland of them was what remained. With utmost care he gently sat his flute onto the ground, and bent down to pick up the garland of flowers. He gently placed it over the demon’s head, minding his horn as it came to rest over his shoulders.

Theo’s eyes had lulled shut again, opening ever so slightly but he couldn’t hardly see straight. Everything was blurring and spinning into itself… How many Germanys were in front of him again…? Where… was he? What was he doing…? He wasn’t sure. All he knew is that he was tired… so very tired.

"Enjoy your rest, my friend. We'll keep this little secret to ourselves, yes?"

Theo nodded wordlessly, his arms were shaking behind him. He was barely able to hold himself up.

"......jaaa..." he tried to say more, but he was so tired, and it was so hard to think the words were blurring together. The noise he made was soft and completely intelligible, and the man gently shushed him.

"That's gut.. I think I will quite like having you as an ally."

The man moved away from him, though Theo hardly registered it at all. The world around him felt like unintelligible white noise, his mind teetering on the edge of the abyss and more than willing and ready to plummet at the slightest push.The blonde let out a small sigh through his nose.

"Please... rest now, no need to hang onto my words. Rest, all of this will feel like a distant dream when you awaken. I will call for you if I ever need you, my friend."

At that remark, Theo felt something snap, and he collapsed. His mind no longer felt like it was waiting, he had no more a need to keep himself conscious. He finally succumbed to that oh so tempting sleep he desired. It was as if he had only kept himself awake to speak to the blonde and now that he was free of that burden he had been completely swallowed whole by this warm feeling of sleep. He felt like he was sinking into a warm hug or he had been encased in ice by War. It was beyond relaxing…

Theo could still faintly hear the sound of chirping birds and could smell the sweet aroma of the flowers from the field that adorned his neck... Everything felt so calm... the thought of waking up from this was enough to make him feel the fire of Wrath well up in him. He didn’t want to wake up… not yet. He wanted to stay like this… just for a while longer.

Theo's body hit the wood floor with a soft thud, his head lulling to the side on the wooden panels as the room back to the way it was before as if nothing had happened at all. Ludwig moved to place his instrument on the crisp bed sheets, moving down to lift Theo and carry him to his room. Luckily for him the hallways were empty, it seems they were still either at lunch or cleaning up. That was for the best, he didn’t want to explain this. Having to dodge around Theobold was enough for one day he thought.

He had honestly been surprised the man had caught on so fast, as he was sure that he had kept him from the light for a good while, but the man was better at reading people than he thought. He opened Theo’s heavy wooden door, pushing it open with his side and moving quickly to bump it closed again. Sliding him under the covers was tricky but he was able to pull it off eventually, making sure to sit his boots by his bedside and rest his beret on the post of his bed.

Theo looked more relaxed than he had ever seen him, the music had worked like a charm, and he was happy Theo seemed to enjoy it. Not a single fleck of fear was on his face, and he was even smiling in his sleep. He wondered what the man might be dreaming about… maybe he would be content with no dreams at all? After hearing about the man’s nightmares, I’m sure just a calm quiet place would be more than welcome to him.

He wasn’t sure if Theo would remember this exchange or would be blissfully ignorant of the situation and go to approach him again the moment he noticed the changes again. But.. he wouldn't mind a session like this from time to time either way. The man deserved a rest, he had long earned it. And he was more than happy to assist with it if he asked for it.

If there was any worry for him… it would probably fall upon some of the others. Surely not all of them would be accepting as Theo had been…

He sighed, moving to stand from the bed’s edge and toward the door. There was not much else he could do but wait and see… If situations occurred he’d have to react quickly and resourcefully. He moved to leave, shutting off the light behind him as he slipped out the door. For a moment, his eyes showed a blue, luminescent glow before the door closed behind him and he was back in the brightly lit halls of the house, the strange light fading as he stepped into the light.

#hetalia #hws germanys #theobold kramer #hws germany #???

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

To Be Seen

02/26/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader Word Count: 9,079

*Masterpost in Notes

Warnings: language, smut, angst, alcohol consumption, drunk sex

A/N: So, this turned into something I wasn’t expecting. I haven’t edited it because I’m hurting and I don’t have the energy to go back and fix it. So please excuse the typos if there are any. There probably are. I’ll come back and fix it all when I feel better. I’m thinking this will be a mini-series because I don’t want to leave the characters yet and would like to explore them some more. I hope y’all like it. As always if you reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You're heartbroken.

The agony ripping through your chest you’ve known before. You’re familiar with rejection. Over the years the bitter sting of once again not being enough to be wanted or desired has become a toxic friend.

Rather than every wound healing to make you stronger, it has only broken you more. Conditioned you into a fearful and hopeless response when your eye is caught by some person or other.

It's also not like you fall often. It takes you ages to move on. Which leaves you caught in the limbo of pining for someone you know you can never have.

You sniffle, overcome with sorrow as you replay the soft expression on his face. His name doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is that as you sat beside him in the small local park, body burning from being so close to him on the stone bench you’d first met, you’d been happy to just be near him.

He was no Adonis. It's not like he had movie star good looks or that he was some ideal that everyone wished for. What he was, was nice. He was sweet and considerate and funny. He had gorgeous green eyes and a soft smile.

His teeth weren’t perfect, but they didn’t make him less attractive to you. They were normal. He was normal. Extraordinary because you cared about him.

After two months of getting to know him, two months over which you fell more and more for him, your crush taking solid hold, you’d done what you swore you wouldn’t do again.

After last time you should have learned your lesson.

“I like you.” Your soft voice, uncertain and barely confident had seeped out those dreaded words without your permission.

He'd made you laugh, made you feel safe, and without your consent you confessed.

The stunned silence that followed had been stressful. Your hands were suddenly numb and your heart had stalled completely as you and he were suspended in unbearable awkwardness.

You’d wanted to take your words back. You hadn’t truly been ready to tell him. You'd just gotten caught up in the moment. Stupid!

Then he'd turned to you, watching you with those stunning eyes and you recognized the guilty shift.

“I…I’m flattered, Y/N but I-"

He was so sorry to say it, sorry to hurt you. Why did this always happen? Why you? What was wrong with you? What were you missing?

You weren’t the most outgoing but with the people you liked you were an open book. You were polite about it, speaking your mind while being considerate to respect the opinions of everyone else. You rarely lost your temper and when you did you never misdirected it and let someone else feel your rage.

You weren't a genius, but you had your smarts. In your own way you were pretty. You didn’t think you were lacking there. Perhaps your beauty, what you saw when you looked in the mirror, wasn't enough?

You'd always been grateful for what you had. Maybe you weren’t a supermodel, but you were you. You had your own charms. Or did you?

Why couldn’t any of them see you? Why couldn’t they, just once, like you back?

You'd quickly reminded him that he'd said he had an appointment, by which you knew he meant date, before he could finish his sentence.

You hadn’t wanted to hear another speech about how you were sweet or so nice or such a good friend.

He’d continued to stare at you until you gestured behind him where a girl, much closer to a supermodel than you were with her flowing blonde beach waves, large sweet smile, and big blue eyes had stood waiting in a short white and pastel blue floral dress.

You’d compared yourself to her even though you knew you shouldn’t. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. You were you and she was herself…but why her? Why not you?

“You should go, your appointment is waiting.”

“Y/N…?” He'd said, that guilt in his voice twisting your gut.

“Don’t keep her waiting. It's not polite. Especially when she can see you sitting with another girl. Even if there’s nothing between you and the other girl it can cause misunderstandings.” You gave him a quick smile, trying to ease his conscience but failing.

“Y/N…”

“Please, just go.” You’d quietly begged almost losing your voice completely as you’d turned your gaze down onto his hands which had slid towards you, but he still wouldn’t reach out.

You knew he wouldn’t and still part of you had hoped.

He’d risen slowly and you could feel his eyes on you the entire time. They were always nice guys. They always hated to hurt you. But they always hurt you any way. It wasn’t their fault. You know that.

They hadn’t made you like them. They hadn’t made you confess. You’d done it on your own and so the heartbreak had always been on you. As much as you wanted to hate him, as much as you wanted to be the one who was in the right, you had never been and never will be. He hadn’t led you on. He hadn’t made promises and broken them. All he’d done was be nice. You’d fallen for him all on your own.

Maybe this time you’d finally learn your lesson?

“We’re not done talking about this, Y/N.” He’d said sternly as if he were trying to settle that your confession was more important than you both knew it really was.

You’d known the truth of what he was doing. If he’d really cared, if it had really mattered, no other girl could have kept him from reaching out to you right then, in that moment. It’s not like he was married or in a relationship. He’d told you he was single. Had it really mattered that you’d just told him you liked him, he’d have apologized to the other girl and the two of you would have talked.

Instead he continued to stare down at you.

“Y/N?” He’d repeated with more authority, but you were unmoved.

“Just go. She’s getting upset.” He’d followed your gaze and sure enough the pretty blonde was standing with a frown on her face, contorting her beautiful smile into a nasty pout.

To you she hadn’t looked so beautiful right then, but it was enough to finally pull him away.

“We’ll talk later.” He’d insisted one final time before he turned and hurried to his date.

You’d watched him place his hands on her biceps. She’d pouted a bit more prettily as he got closer, and he’d pulled her in for a quick hug before leading her out of the park without glancing back.

He’d left you sitting on the bench, staring across the small and worn brick path at the small pond where birds, squirrels, and other small wildlife gathered during the daytime, unafraid of human presence.

You hate thinking about it again and again, but it replays itself in your head over and over.

You kick the ground, scuffing up your sneaker as you sniffle again then reach up to wipe your nose with the back of your hand. Very attractive.

You haven’t cried much this time which is a big improvement to your last crush.

“I’ll never like anyone ever again.” You grumble forlornly as you kick the ground again, dislodging a brick and smacking your toe. “Ow!”

You fold your leg up and quickly curl both hands around your large right toe. It feels like you’ve broken it. It’s throbbing and hot. You really want to take off your shoe.

“Oh, sorry. Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude.” A deep rumbling baritone hits your ears like a soothing song.

You sniffle again, hating your runny nose and look up for the source of the intrusion to your multilayered and self-inflicted torture.

You should be shocked by what you see because you’ve never seen any of the Avengers in person, well except for Mr. Stark. However, you’re not shocked. In fact you look down at your foot before lowering it back to the ground as you wiggle your big toe. Definitely not broken.

“You’re not intruding.” He speaks in a funny cadence, accented. It’s pleasing.

You look at him again as you sniffle once more. He’s tall, really tall. He’d tower over you, your head barely reaching his chest if you stand up. He’s large too. Muscles rippling underneath a black heather shirt as he stops his casual walk and slowly shoves his hands into the front pockets of his black jeans. His brown leather boots look the newest. They’re dark and glossy. He’s also wearing a watch—why would he need a watch?—and a few silver rings on his fingers. Large manly rings. Has he acclimated so much to living here with the team that he’s taken to caring about Earth’s fashion?

Your eyes roam over the exposed skin of his clavicle, the two top buttons of his shirt left unbuttoned flashing browned peach skin. He’s so tan. His short blonde hair and full but well-manicured beard looks almost brown save for the soft golden flecks that the sun illuminates as he teeters back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“I felt as if I was.” He insists. “May I join you?”

“It’s a free country.” You counter with a final sniffle. “Mostly.”

He smiles sweetly, no teeth, just a soft curve of his full pink lips. They’re wide and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He seems to genuinely be smiling at you as he moves over to you and sits to your left. He’s large closer. He takes up a lot of space.

You turn your gaze back across the path to the pond and wonder about the heat radiating off of his body. Is it an Asgardian thing?

“I am Thor, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You introduce yourself simply. He won’t remember you later anyway. “And I know who you are, Mr. Thor.”

That sounds weird.

“Please, just Thor.” He waves off your formality. “Hold on, how do you know who I am?”

“Doesn’t everyone know the Avengers?” You shrug and look up a little higher at the beautiful wine, grape, and pearl colored butterfly flowers across the pond.

“Oh, right.”

You feel a little guilty about not being a hundred percent truthful, so you come clean.

“I uh…I also work in the compound.” Your hesitancy draws his brow to a pucker, and you stare this time, his confusion looks funny and for a moment you forget today’s disappointment.

“I have never seen you before. What department do you work for?”

“You wouldn’t have seen me, I’m kept in the back. Hidden from view. I fix everyone’s suits. Me and a few other people. Did you think Captain America’s Kevlar just magically stitched itself back up?” You tease.

“Sort of. Is it a hard job?” He rests his hands beside his thighs, leaning forward as he attempts to get a better look at your face.

“Just a thankless one. I fix your cape and then you just go and tear it again.”

“You have fixed my cape?” He asks, astonished. You know why. Asgardian material is difficult to work with sometimes. When the tears are too big you’ve had to find a weave that is similar.

“Every time you’ve torn it. I had to shorten it a few times and fill it in with some of the stuff we have here on Earth. You know, if you want to make my job easier, next time you happen to be around whatever provides the thread and material for your cape, you’d remember to bring me some.” You feel distracted enough that you smile at him kindly.

It doesn’t reach your eyes and he seems to see that because he frowns.

Feeling exposed, you turn tender eyes back onto the pond and shift uneasily in your seat.

“I shall keep that in mind.” He assures you. “Is something wrong? When I found you, it appeared as if you had been crying.”

Damn.

“Your eyes are still red.” He continues relentlessly.

You sigh and cross your arms across your chest, hating to be so obvious.

“If you do not wish to tell me-”

“I don’t.” You reply quickly. “But…it’s no secret. I’m kind of a loser when it comes to romance and I confessed to a guy I was crushing on.”

“Crushing on?” Thor asks, that cute look of confusion shaping his chiseled features again.

“Someone that I have an interest in being with. Someone I like.” You explain gently.

“Ah. What is wrong with confessing? Unless of course he…Oh. I see.” Thor realizes what must have happened.

“He doesn’t feel the same way.” You confirm for him and he turns to look out across the path at the pond too. “It’s a stupid reason to cry.”

“Love is a very powerful emotion. The strongest, I would say.”

“I don’t love him.”

Your eyes are suddenly wide as you think about the big ‘L’ word. You definitely don’t love him.

“Perhaps not, but an attraction that would bring one to tears is sure to have been deep and with the potential for love. It is a sad thing to lose. A terrible hope to crush. I am sorry that this man did not return your affections.”

Thor’s right of course. And as he talks about the potential you’d seen with him, the future that now you know for sure is lost forever, you feel your chest give way again and let the pain back in.

Your lip trembles and your eyes spring with large salty tears. You turn away from Thor, angling your body towards the small empty gazebo. It’s surrounded on all sides by wild flowers and tall grass. It’s picturesque and pretty but you don’t see it. All you see is your rejection. Not just this one. All of them. This isn’t so much about him anymore. It’s about all of them. One after the other. Blow after blow. How much more can you take?

You jump slightly as a warm graze prompts you to turn back towards your left. Thor’s hand rests against the side of your bicep with a neatly folded handkerchief clutched between his thumb and forefinger.

After staring at the small square for a few seconds, you look up at Thor expecting to find him watching you but he’s not. His eyes are courteously trained across the pond to give you your privacy. You take the piece of fabric and carefully unfurl it.

“Thank you.” You offer thickly.

“You are most welcome.”

You wipe your cheeks and eyes first then your nose before balling the fabric into your hand. You’re not handing it back to him until you’ve washed it. Gross.

“This place is charming. I’ve never seen such a collection of flowers in one location. Not like this.” He gestures around at the way the flowers grow in whichever direction they want to among other flowers that look nothing alike. The wild grass and the barely maintained pathways all lend to the beauty of the garden.

“It’s a wild flower garden. It’s maintained by some of the locals and they plant new flowers every season. Some spring up on their own. The point is not to control it but to let it grow on its own. It’s pretty.”

You’re suddenly smiling again, glancing around at the numerous flowers and the way their contrasting colors oddly compliment each other. The soft song of bluebirds, common sparrows, and cardinals fills the air pleasantly once again, for a moment, making you forget your sadness.

“That it is. Very beautiful.” His voice is soft as velvet and quiet so that only you might hear him.

Suddenly, you spot a bright red cardinal. It stops first on a stone in the pond then flitters over to the gazebo and hops forward along the railing.

Quickly you turn to Thor to see if he’s seen it too but instead find him watching you. “Did you see-What? What is it?”

You reach up to quickly wipe at your nose and then at your cheeks. Had you made a mess of yourself?

“Nothing.” Thor says with a shake of his head. “So, who was this man who rejected you? A fool no doubt?”

Great. You’re back on this topic. “Just one of the guys from work. No one important.”

“That cannot be true if he has made you shed tears like this. Shall I give him a stern talking to? Perhaps he simply needs a guiding hand to lead him down the proper path?” Thor offers, the threat clear in his tone though it’s slightly teasing and the smirk on his lips affirms the joke.

“Really, he’s just another guy. It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it and then I’ll probably fall for another guy who won’t like me back and I’ll repeat this process over and over. It’s my own personal time loop. Doomed to repeat the same mistake again and again, somehow expecting a different result. Which means I’m crazy. So, I’m fucked.”

You sigh heavily and beside you, Thor answers you with his own long sigh. “Hmmmm.”

Watching him, you can see the cogs in his brain turning.

“I need a drink.” He concludes. “And I do not like to drink alone but my friends are away on mission. Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the local bar?”

“Me?” You laugh because it sounds stupid. You and Thor in a bar? Drinking? If anyone from work saw you out with him it would cause quite a lot of gossip. Not that you care about the gossip. It’s just strange.

“Yes. I have enjoyed our brief conversation and would like to continue. I beg you, do not let me drink alone. Join me. I shall pay.” He asks again.

“I don’t know, Thor…” A drink sounds great but you’re also a terribly emotional drunk. “I’m not exactly a stable drunk.”

“You need not get drunk. Just one drink to relax and forget your trouble for a few hours. That is all I ask.”

“Thor…”

“Please! Please join me. I will not take no for an answer. Unless you really do not wish to go in which case, I cannot force you though I will be very lonely and depressed to be drinking without you at my side.”

You watch the uncertain expression on his face and measure up his invitation and the look of sincerity on his face. His lips suddenly curve into a very small pout and you laugh. “Fine. I’ll come.”

“Excellent. We shall imbibe into the wee hours of the night and laugh and celebrate with great joy that I have made a new friend and that you are rid of your crush and shall soon find a man worthy of your affections.”

“Right.” You sigh again, highly doubtful that he might ever be close to right.

Thor rises and towers over you as he offers you his large hands. Your stomach twists nervously. Are you making a mistake? What if you become a mess after having a few drinks? It would be so embarrassing to fall to pieces in front of Thor. It would be embarrassing to fall to pieces in front of anyone, but especially Thor since now he knows who you are and that you work at the compound.

You carefully slide both of your hands into his. They’re calloused and warm. Rough, manly hands but soothing in their heat. He closes his around yours, devouring them in their enormity, and gently gives you a tug to your feet.

“Promise me something?” You ask him as you fall into the space before him, turning your chin up to look at him with pleading eyes.

“Anything, Y/N.” His lips curve into that sweet soft smile from before and you can’t believe how close he is. This man is an Adonis. Perfect and so out of your league that your mind and body reject the idea of him immediately. The thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

“Please don’t let me get drunk. I’d hate to do something stupid now that you know I work for Mr. Stark.”

“I promise, on my honor, I shall keep you safe and ensure that you do not become intoxicated.” He drops his hands and with his hefty assurance, you follow.

The world is spinning. You can feel strong hot hands hovering around your waist as you spin in circles, blurring the room around you. You can still vaguely hear the steady and bopping beat of Deniece Williams’s ‘Let’ Hear It for the Boy’. It fills your body with unbridled joy, and you can’t fight the rhythm as it prompts you into a final spin.

A deep chuckle reaches your ears making your chest feel warm. You look for it’s source and find Thor standing before you, his eyes focused on you completely but he’s a lot shorter. How did he get down there?

“Hey…” You slur and reach down to place your hands on his wide shoulders. They’re so firm. You give them a squeeze. “How’d you get so short?”

Thor’s smile widens. “Perhaps your drink had a potion to make you taller?”

“We don’t have potions here on Earth, silly.” You giggle as his joke makes no sense.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” He blinks slowly, smiling softly up at you. “Then perhaps you should come down from the table and we might correct my height. However, if I am honest, I cannot say that I mind this view.”

You’re not sure what his words mean. You shut one eye, watching him in confusion. Is he flirting? It kinda sounds like he is but your mind is so befuddled that you can’t decipher his meaning.

“You like being short?” You stupidly surmise.

“If it means that I can look up at you, why not?”

What the hell does that mean? Frustrated, you semi-explode. Luckily, you’re not a screamer when you drink. You’re just prone to strong shifts of emotion.

“Are you flirting with me?!”

Thor laughs. “I might be. Come down. I would hate it if you fell down and hurt yourself.”

“Okay.” You laugh like an idiot and with his hands firmly held on your waist you let him lead you first down onto the seat of your booth and then onto solid ground. “Woah.”

You sway unsteadily but Thor catches you up, wrapping his left arm around you loosely as he waves to the bartender across the emptying room.

“Some water, I think.”

Suddenly, the bar is filled with the infectious notes of ‘You Make My Dreams’ by Hall & Oates. As if it is beyond your control, your body begins to respond and there, within Thor’s arm, you begin to dance again. You sway your hips left and right then like a deranged but rhythmic tornado you spin again, laughing.

“You make my dreams come true!” You laugh again, singing excitedly. “Oo-oo, oo, oo, oo-oo.”

“If I had known you would enjoy music this much, I might have chosen a venue where we could have danced.” Thor doesn’t let you go and let’s you dance around him.

At least until the bartender approaches with two glasses. He places them down on your table and Thor wraps his arm more firmly around you as you spin again to stop your dancing.

You’re so disoriented and dizzy but your body feels happy and warm. He’d stopped you mid-spin, pressing you back against his large body with your back pressed against his front. You squirm in his grip, eager to keep dancing.

“Gods save me...Please do not move so, Y/N.” His voice is suddenly nervous as he leads you back to the table. “I am still a man and your hips are taunting.”

“Why? I wanna dance.” You completely didn’t hear his reason.

“You were not kidding about not letting you get drunk. Come, sit. Let us drink a little water and then if you wish to dance again, you may.” He moves to your side of the booth and turns you around then with large hands on your shoulders he sits you down. He slides a glass of water over to you and you stare at it with a small pout. The Police’s ‘Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic’ just came on!

As Thor drops into the seat opposite you, you finally allow your eyes to roam over the space again. The bar is nothing great. A hole in the wall, probably privately owned. Nothing fancy but it’s nice. It’s one of those bars that you choose to go to every day, and it becomes a regular space to inhabit where everyone seems to know each other. You remember the bartender greeting Thor as if he knew him and the way he brought Thor’s drink without being asked for it.

You wrap your hands around your glass of water and appreciate the dim lighting and the plush blue cushion you’re sitting on. There are small candles at the center of every table casting a soft glow on the patrons. Or it would if there were any other patrons in the place. It looks like it’s just you and Thor now. A waitress lingers around the bar chatting up the middle-aged bartender.

“What time is it?” Now that you’re sitting, you’re regaining your sobriety if only fractionally.

“Very late. You danced for a long time.” Thor leans forward, elbows on the table, as he watches you with that same soft smile he’s been giving you all day.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” You demand before taking a drink of your water.

“Do you think I did not try? I’m sorry I did not believe you about letting you get drunk.”

You’re still drinking but you narrow your eyes at him.

“I enjoyed watching you. I think you have been needing to relax for a while.”

Finally, you put your glass down, almost empty. “Why do you come to a regular bar? This stuff can’t get you drunk, can it?”

“No. But I enjoy the flavors. And the company is excellent. Especially today.” He gives you a toothy grin and the sight of it makes your heart stutter.

You must still be really drunk.

“Thanks for asking me to come. I…I did really need to cut loose a bit.” You sigh, remembering your afternoon.

Thor’s smile wavers and he reaches towards you with his right hand but before he can touch you and before the sting of your rejection earlier in the day can bite, the melodic Ahh of ‘Don’t Worry Baby’ by the Beach Boys flows through the speakers of the bar.

“My song!” You proclaim and rush up onto your feet.

You stumble your way towards the large digital jukebox at the far end of the bar, grabbing chairs and tables as you go so that you don’t fall.

Pressing your hands along the hard plastic and then the brilliant touch screen you begin to sway your hips to the left and the right in time with the music. You sing with familiar voices, your voice soft and gentle as the smooth tones and sweet melody begins to stir up your emotions.

“Well it’s been building up inside of me for oh I don’t know how long. I don’t know why but I keep thinking something’s bound to go wrong.”

You can hear Thor’s heavy footfall approaching.

“But she looks in my eyes and makes me realize and she says, ‘don’t worry, baby’.” Your voice cracks.

“Y/N?” Thor’s deep tremble is directly behind you and you lean your forehead against the machine, the fingers of your right hand fiddling with the screw on the bottom right corner.

You sob once. Thor places his hand on the space between your shoulders and gently coaxes you to turn towards him. You do. You let him lead you closer and you don’t try and hide the way your tears fall.

“What is wrong? I thought-?”

“Why can’t they see me?” You sob, fat heavy tears splashing down onto the floor.

“What-?”

“I’m not mean. I don’t do anything wrong. Not that I know of. Am I too nice? Should I be meaner? I can be meaner...I think. I have feelings. I can feel. I’m not empty. My heart breaks. I have hopes. I have dreams. Why can’t they see me, Thor? What’s wrong with me? I-I know I’m not perfect. I know I’m not pretty like other girls. But I’m patient. I listen. Should I not listen? Should I play games and pretend that I don’t care? Is that what they want? Do they want me to be aloof? I can’t do that. When I like someone, I can’t pretend that I don’t. When will it be my turn? When will I be the one that they choose? Why can’t it be me?” You shut your eyes tight, gripping Thor’s forearms while your body shakes with heavy sobs. “Why am I the only one that ever gets hurt? Why? I just want to be seen.”

Large hands suddenly engulf the sides of your face. You open your eyes, looking for their source and find bright blue eyes and a narrowed brow watching you. With your hands still gripping his forearms, Thor leans down and presses soft warm lips against your own.

You gasp against his mouth, shocked by the contact but you don’t pull away. You can’t. He’s got you held in place.

He’s so gentle in the way he massages his lips against your own. Unable to fully comprehend what’s happening you don’t kiss him back.

When he pulls back, he gives you only enough space to speak. You can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips. “Why…?”

“Forgive me. You just…to answer your question. Perhaps these men of Earth are not worthy of your vulnerability.”

“And you are? Why did you kiss me?” You demand.

“I needed to.” He confesses.

“Oh.”

And he kisses you again, once again startling you. You gasp again against his lips, this time your heart flutters. Unsure of what it is that you’re doing exactly, you give in and pucker your lips against his. He responds to your kiss and pulls you closer, dropping his left hand to wrap his arm around your waist to pull you flush against his body.

The way he moves is intoxicating. You’re not sure what you’re doing. You’re half not thinking. You’re drunk. Sort of. You’re sober enough to know that you’re making out with Thor in the middle of a bar. But had you not been drinking, would you have kissed him back? Not this soon, maybe. But it feels so good. Suddenly you’re pulling him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck as he finds your legs and guides them up around his waist as he lifts you up.

Your kiss deepens as he opens his mouth and traces the edges of your lips with his tongue. You let him in, mingling with him as you mewl at his touch. As he kisses you, his beard tickles you but you don’t dare pull away, shifting your head to the left as he also adjusts to keep your kiss going.

You kiss him until your lungs begin to protest and you pull back, gasping for air.

“Forgive me.” He says again, confusing you.

“For what?”

“You are…I cannot help myself.” He explains, his voice low and husky.

“Then don’t.”

“You are so starved for affection.” He looks down at your hands as they trace the shape of his biceps and shoulders.

“I…” You feel shame course through you, and you begin to pull your hands back. “I’m sorry.”

“Was that your first kiss?” He asks and it makes your neck and ears burn.

Had you sucked that much? You nod.

“They do not know what they are missing.” He assures you.

You look up at him, wondering if he’s serious or simply trying to make you feel better.

“Are you sober?” He wonders.

You think, trying to examine your own mind but the dizziness you feel could be from Thor’s kiss or the copious amount of liquor you’d drunk earlier. Because you can’t tell, you shake your head.

Thor sighs heavily. “Then we shall stop here for tonight.”

“But…” You protest, wanting so much to kiss him again. Now that you’ve had it, you want it. He’s right. You’re starved for it.

He unhooks your legs from around his waist and helps lower you down gently to the ground before he lumbers towards the booth, you’d been in to grab your bag.

He moves back to you, grabbing your hand as he passes and after a nod to the bartender, he leads you back out into the night.

“This is where you live?” He wonders, staring up at the small house.

It’s not exactly nice. It’s cheap. The shutters are falling down, the paint is faded, the windows barred, and the lawn overgrown. You feel embarrassed again.

“The landlord is supposed to come and fix it up, but they never come.” You look up at him but find him watching you instead of your house.

“Do you live here alone?” He wonders, worry in his voice.

You nod.

“Come, I shall escort you inside.” He pulls you up the rickety steps of the porch, stopping to look down at them as they protest against his weight.

“The wood is rotted.” You explain with embarrassment.

You release his hand and move up to the door and first slide your key into the black metal security door, struggling with the lock for a moment before it finally turns. You pull it open and it creaks loudly. The second door is easier to open. You unlock it and push it open before moving inside. Thor follows and your heart hammers in your chest as you drop your bag and keys by the small table near the door and flip lights on as you go, moving towards the kitchen.

Thor keeps close behind you, his eyes roving over the small living room and the sparse decoration.

Your kitchen is dated. The last time the house had been remodeled must have been the fifties. It’s canary yellow, counters made of cheap plywood. Your fridge is rusted in certain areas, also no older than the fifties, with the handle for the freezer missing, replaced by a rope you’d found in your boxes when you’d moved in. You sigh as you look the space over feeling more and more self-conscious as you expose your home to him.

“I know it’s ugly. I mean, compared to what Mr. Stark must have for you guys up on the compound? He’s got such an eye for modern design. I love working at the compound.” You turn to look at him, to explain that this is only temporary until you can save enough money to move out of here into somewhere much nicer, but you don’t get the chance as he’s suddenly lifting you up to sit on your counter.

He closes the space between your bodies and sighs heavily as he leans down to rest his cheek against your own, itching to kiss you again it seems.

Your mind is a jumbled mess of sensory information. His large hands on your waist grip you tightly, his large torso, so close to yours washes you with wave after wave of heat. His breath tickles the curve of your lips and once again his beard gently scratches along your cheek.

Your surroundings, the way he’d found you today, crying in the bar, you’re suddenly worried about why he’s doing this, and you pull back to look at his face. His blue eyes search yours, curious as to what you’ll say.

“Thor, I’m not…I don’t need you to save me if that’s why you’re…you’re doing this. I know that my life kinda sucks but it’s really great too. I might not have a boyfriend and I might have been rejected earlier today and then gotten drunk and made a fool of myself by crying at the bar, and I know my house is shit but this is my life and I’m okay with it…for the most part.” Obviously, you could do without the constant rejection. “I don’t need you to save me.”

Thor pulls back, giving you a bit more space as he smiles down at you. “Is that why you think I kissed you?”

“Isn’t it?”

Thor sighs and reaches up to caress the back of your head before dropping his hand to rest on your right left shoulder.

“I kissed you because you make me laugh. I kissed you because you can’t hold your liquor. I kissed you because of the way you dance. I kissed you because…because you wiggled against me.” His cheeks flush. Even beneath his scruffy beard you can see the red hue burn bright.

“When did I wiggle against you? I did not!” You argue.

He laughs lightly. “I kissed you because of the way your hips swish in time to the music. I kissed you because I have never seen someone open up the way you did when you cried in the bar. And now I want to kiss you because you prove that although your heart was broken this morning, you do not need to be saved. And I like the way you taste.”

It’s your turn to burn.

“But…” You begin, unsure. “I’m nothing. No one ever wants to kiss me. No one has ever wanted to kiss me.”

Not to mention this is Thor in front of you. You look him over again and your heart aches with how beautiful he is. And he’s nice too! It’s not enough that he looks the way he does but he also has to be nice and funny? How is it fair?

“I do not think you understand just how much you have made me want you.” His voice drops in octave again, making it husky and fluid as he speaks. “If we had not been drinking and I were certain that you are not drunk, I would take you into your bedroom and have you in every way I could think of.”

You swallow hard, suddenly wishing you hadn’t been drinking tonight but also remembering that you’d just met him. “Thor…”

“We will have plenty of time for that. For now, I will have to make do with your lips.” He leans down and catches your mouth in another searing kiss.

This time he kisses you until you’re dizzy. His heady scent, fresh spring rain and the slightest hint of ozone, overcomes all of your senses as he deepens his kiss once more. You could sit here in your kitchen and kiss him forever. His lips move with such gentle passion, his hands exploring the curves of your body without moving too far into taboo territory for a first date.

No. That hadn’t been a date, had it?

You’re not sure how long you and Thor make out but when he finally pulls away, you give in to the comforting heat of his form and lean in against him. You rest your cheek against his left shoulder, your eyes staring at the tight muscles of his neck as he swallows and forces himself to breathe slowly.

“What if I wake up and this has all been a dream?” You ask, reaching up to grab a gentle hold of his right ear with your left hand.

“I will show you that it is not a dream.”

“This is really weird, Thor. We just met today.”

“Did we?” He asks, teasing uncertainty.

“Didn’t we?” Your brain quickly tries to think of another time you might have come across Thor but you’re drawing up a blank.

“I should go. It is very late, and you need rest.” Regrettably he pulls away from you and with your hands held in his he helps you down from the counter before moving for the front door.

The closer he pulls you towards the it the heavier your feet seem to get. You don’t want him to go. The idea of him leaving weighs heavily on your chest until he’s reaching for the handle and you yank back on his left hand.

“No.”

Thor’s blue eyes find you again, “What is the matter?”

“Don’t go, Thor.”

“I must go.”

“Because I’m drunk?”

“Well…yes, but-”

“I’m not drunk.” You argue, ignoring the way the world sways beneath your feet. “Please, don’t leave me. Stay.”

“I cannot. I do not wish to take advantage of you if you are not of sound mind. We will have plenty of time to revisit this possibility, Y/N. I-”

Throwing caution to the wind you throw yourself on him. You pull his head down so that your lips can move with his. He kisses you back, gentle and uncertain if this is right.

You want him. You’ve never wanted anyone more. Now that you’ve kissed him, his intoxicating lips, you need more. You move your hands down slowly along the taut muscles of his back before they come to rest on his waist where your fingers search for the seam of his shirt. They yield their purchase and with yearning intent your hands caress the surprisingly smooth skin of his back sliding his shirt up further and further as you explore.

He suddenly groans into your mouth and slowly he backs you up until he can turn you and press you up against the wall of your hallway. You break the kiss to catch your breath, excited by the feel of his skin underneath your hands.

Shifting slightly, he trails his burning kisses down along your throat. He reaches up and pushes your t-shirt aside to kiss the bare skin of your shoulder sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Stay…” You whisper, begging in what sounds so much like a moan.

“I should not.” He argues, the groan in his voice as he struggles with your pleading sending flutters into your stomach.

“Stay…” You insist.

“No.” He argues, still kissing his way up and down your shoulder and neck.

You reach up to catch his face once again and pull his lips back to yours as you initiate a slow salacious kiss.

“Mmph.” He moans against you and you know just a little more and he’ll cave.

While his hands are busy massaging the flesh of your hips, you let your own snake their way down to the front of his pants to undo the buckle of his belt and the button of his pants.

He breaks the kiss, startled.

“Stay…” You beg against his lips.

“Y/N…” He warns.

You search for the small metal tab along the front of his pants and find it in triumph before you slide it down. The sound of his zipper echoes around the hallway loudly. Your fingers go searching, delving into the front of his pants to find the soft fabric of his briefs, and the growing heat of his rod. He shuts his eyes tight and flexes his jaw hard, fighting some internal struggle as you touch him.

“Stay with me.” You plead one final time.

Suddenly his hands on your waist are rough. He lifts you up, slamming you slightly against the wall of your hall. You gasp and your hand falls out of his pants. He grabs your left leg firmly and wraps it around his waist as he holds you against the wall with his body alone then rocks his hips against your sex.

He uses his left hand to pull your shirt up over your head and you raise your arms up to help him pull it free. He rips the latch of your bra and you quickly peel it off for him and toss the fabric aside, gasping as he pushes himself against you.

For one long agonizing moment, Thor simply stares at your chest. Does he not like what he sees? Your insecurities begin to manifest quickly then they’re quickly wiped away as Thor leans down and suckles on your left breast.

You gasp, your core growing slick quickly. How long have you wanted to be touched this way? How long had you waited for the perfect one? The man who would finally have you? You’re so glad that it’s Thor.

As he traces long tantalizing circles around your nipples moving each of them into his mouth in turn, his right hand finds its way to the front of your jeans. He pulls his own hips back then undoes them and without warning slips his hand in underneath your underwear.

You moan as his fingers find your wet lips and immediately he begins to slide them up and down along your slit searching for whatever spot might please you most.

You tremble as he finds your nub, your little bundle of nerves at the apex of your lower lips and he pulls back to watch the twist of pleasure in your expression.

“Does that feel good?”

Does he really need to ask?! “Yes.”

He wraps his free arm around your waist as he continues to play with you, then turns and waits. “Which way is your bedroom?”

“Th-Third…ah!” You shudder against his hand, gripping onto his shoulders tightly as you lean forward to bite down on his shoulder.

He stops his fingers so that you can speak. “Third door on the right.”

As soon as you’ve released the desire information his fingers are back at work, pressing hard against your nub so that you shudder against his large body.

You have no time to look to see what he thinks of your bedroom. Nothing much in it but a small full-size bed on a rusted bed frame and two sets of drawers, both mismatched and out of place. He’s too busy to care about what’s in here too. He drops you onto the bed and pulls his hand free of your pants only to remove them along with your underwear leaving you completely exposed for him to see.

Nervously you attempt to cover yourself, but Thor reaches for your wrists and pulls them away from your breasts and presses them into the mattress over your head firmly, indicating he’d like you to keep them there. You do as he wants and with nervous flutters in your stomach you watch as he stands back up. He reaches back behind his neck with both hands and pulls his black shirt up over his head exposing for you large rippling muscles. How can he look like that? It’s not possible.

Your jaw drops as you gape at him in awe.

He smiles knowingly at you before pushing his pants and briefs down exposing his fully erect staff. You panic slightly, wondering how the hell he’s going to fit inside of you. This makes you clench your legs together, worried that you’ll disappoint him suddenly.

“Thor?”

He removes his watch and tosses it down onto his pants before he moves back to crawl over you slowly.

Your heart racing in panic, you reach up to press flat palms against his approaching chest. God, he’s hard.

“I…I’ve never…I haven’t been with anyone before.” You confess feeling self-conscious again.

He suddenly stops his advance, lowering himself down against you but keeping his weight supported with his arms.

“You have never made love before?” He wonders, surprised.

“No.” You shrug bringing your arms down to cover your chest again.

Thor frowns and reaches up with his right hand to push your hands away from blocking his view.

“I…I told you that no one has ever, they don’t see me.” You say, reminding him of your breakdown in the bar.

“I see you.” He whispers then leans down to kiss your lips.

That you like. You like his lips. You kiss him back eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck. You’re so intoxicated by his kiss that you don’t realize he’s positioned himself over you, nudging your legs up and open as he presses the tip of his rod against your very wet entrance.

You pull back, gasping at the strange sensation and look down between your bodies but he’s lying almost completely on top of you that you can see only the tight well-formed muscles of his stomach.

“I will be gentle.” He assures you. “But if you would like to stop, we will stop right now.”

He’s giving you an out. The fear you feel at never having done this before, the pain it might bring, the consequences it could yield, and your inexperience all scream at you to take it. You might suck. What if you suck? With Thor? And he’s so…so big. Will it hurt?

“Y/N?” His voice brings your eyes up to meet his. “Shall we stop?”

And you might have said yes. If you weren’t looking into his stunning blue eyes and if you couldn’t see the kindness and gentle patience in them, you might have stopped. He reaches up with his left hand and caresses the side of your face slowly. You shake your head.

“Don’t stop.”

He leans down to meet your lips again while simultaneously pushing himself slowly inside of you. Your limbs spasm, quickly reaching up to clutch him closer, tighter, as you fight the strange sensation of being filled. It hurts. It does, and you groan against his lips. He stops and lets your body adjust before he pushes in a bit more, all the while kissing you with soft feather light kisses.

He pulls back to trails those soft, apologetic kisses along your jawline and up towards your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, your other cheek, and back to your lips.

He finally stops moving and you realize that he’s all the way in. Your pelvis hurts only a little and slowly the throbbing dies down leaving you feeling strangely stuffed.

“Are you alright?” He asks gently.

You nod. “It hurts.”

“Shall I stop?”

“Please, don’t stop.” You try to focus on something other than the ache and pull him back down for a quick kiss.

“If you want me to stop…” He begins, giving you another out but he pulls back slowly, sliding out of you almost three-quarters of the way before he pushes himself back in.

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as the pain is renewed.

He stops.

“Keep going.” You beg.

Thor hesitates but you pull him into another lusty kiss, and he begins to pump himself in and out a little faster.

You wish it had gotten better after a few minutes, but you didn’t enjoy your first time. Thor didn’t dislike it, but you can tell that he’s regretful that your first time was painful. He reached his release and that makes you happy. At least you were able to make him feel good.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, breathing heavily over you, his hands massaging your shoulder then arm.

“Don’t be.” You slip your hands into his hair and gently scratch his scalp. He shuts his eyes, enjoying the sensation before he slides his hand down between your legs.

“Thor…” You begin, worried that he’s going to obsess over your lack of orgasm.

“It is not fair.” He argues and proceeds to press his fingers against that nub of yours again.

You squirm slightly, shifting your hips beneath him.

“It will get better with time.” He assures you.

You reach down to grab his wrist and hold it in place, brow furrowed as you search his face.

“You…You want to do this with me again?”

“Of course. Did you think this was a passing fancy?” He demands, half laughing at how ridiculous he finds that notion.

His fingers move again, and you buck against his touch. He plays your nub until your hips surge upwards, seeking one final push as your body is suddenly awash in euphoric climax. Thor worms his arm underneath your waist as you lift your body up towards him with the power of your release. He holds you close and lets you ride out your orgasm until your body is slack in his arms.

“I feel better.” He sighs, happy to see you content.

You laugh and reach up to pull him down for a long kiss.

“If someone had told me that I would wake up this morning alone and end up in bed with Thor, the God of Thunder at night, I would have called them psychotic and delusional.”

“You do not give yourself enough credit. You are irresistible, Y/N. And if I may, I’m almost certain that tomorrow you will end up in bed with Thor, the God of Thunder again. And this time, you’ll enjoy your time together much more.”

“I did enjoy tonight.” You assure him.

“You’ll enjoy it more.” He promises.

You take him at his word and then look down at your body. “I should go shower. And we should change the sheets.”

It’s not a large stain but the red on the sheets is embarrassing. You slip out of his grip and roll off the side of the bed, feeling sore, but eager to get cleaned up. You’re also still dizzy, drunk still but you’re not telling Thor that. You concentrate hard to keep your body from swaying.

He watches you, slowly getting up too so that you can strip the bed of the soiled sheets.

“You do not regret my staying?”

You look up at him as you ball the dirtied sheets in your arms and are startled by the soft look of insecurity on his face. How can he be worried about you wanting him here?

“No.” You assure him sweetly. “Thor…”

Quickly you move around the bed to his side and without hesitation wrap your left arm around his waist. Where you’ve found this sudden confidence, you’re not sure, but you know that you need to show him that you love his being here.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if I didn’t mean it. I wanted this. I wanted you. Do you regret staying?” Now it’s your turn to be insecure.

You loosen your arm and he’s suddenly wrapping you up in his own.

“Never.” He promises.

“Good.” You smile. “I’m gonna go shower.”

You pull out of his arms and wander into the bathroom. It takes you ten minutes to clean up. You hope that the soreness will fade quickly. You want to try that again soon.

In the room, Thor is laying on top of a freshly made bed, right hand under his head, left on his chiseled stomach, still completely naked. He must have found the sheets in your closet and made the bed for you.

You stare at his perfect form and reach over with your right hand to pinch your left bicep hard. “Ow.”

Definitely not dreaming.

It’s a whisper but Thor’s eyes shoot open at the sound and he pushes himself up to look at you, a sweet smile plastered onto his perfect lips.

You had been wanting to wait for a while before you tried again but just watching him lay there, naked, looking good enough to eat, you unhook the corner of your towel and let it fall away.

As your nakedness is exposed once more, Thor’s smile falls away and he swallows hard as the rod between his legs twitches and slowly stands erect again.

“I think I’m ready to try again now.”

“Then come here.” He murmurs huskily and you happily obey.

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@zoey-odinson-stark @slice-of-thunder

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dontdietwd · 4 years

Text

Don’t Die, day 15

A flock of birds flew through the sky above the road, chirping loudly and joyfully as the first rays of the sun lit up the landscape, pinks and oranges painting it beautifully. A clear contrast against the road, infinite rows of cars parked in line, gloomy and quiet. It was like nature was mocking us all, pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Like it was celebrating the fact that the city a few miles away had been bombed; celebrating that nature had finally won over humanity.

I’d been staring at the sunrise for a while, sitting on the roof of the car, hugging my knees against my chest. It was gorgeous. After a while I took a deep, deep breath and felt the air was fresh; the smoke from the cars’ exhausts having dissipated hours ago. I had always liked the sky. One good thing of having lived in Garden City was that I could always see the sky there; bright nights of full moons or with millions of shining stars; and the sunrise. More often than not, when the sky was clear, I left her house a few minutes earlier than necessary just so I could take a glimpse of the sky.

Now, on top of the truck, head turned up to avoid seeing the rows of cars and strange, hopeless people around, I felt a tiny flicker of normalcy. The world was still out there; it was only different. By my side, having been silent for more than one hour, Daryl had his elbows resting on his knees, biting into his lower lip, mind seemingly miles away but his presence still there, solid by my side.

“About this group,” he slowly broke the silence in a real low voice, for my ears only.

I turned her head to look at him for a moment and waited for him to go on, but he didn’t say anything else, his thumb now suffering the abuse from his teeth.

“Yeah?” I encouraged him in a whisper, which made Daryl turn his head to look at me.

He still took a few moments to speak. “I don’t like people,” he lowered his eyes and it sounded like a confession.

“I know.”

“Don’t trust them,”, he looked at me again.

“I know. I don’t either.”

He didn’t answer, but also didn’t look away, again biting into his lip.

“That’s why I need you and Merle with me,” I moved on gently. “We’ll be with them for safety. For a real camp, for weapons and more look outs, for food.”

“But we –” Daryl said suddenly, without a thought, and stopped himself abruptly.

“The three of us?” I whispered leaning a bit closer to him, as if I was sharing a secret. “We’re our own group, from the beginning. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Daryl kept quiet again, eyes fixed on mine like he nearly never did, dancing from right to left, searching for something. He then nodded slowly, no longer biting on his lip, trying to see if I really meant it.

“We’re still it… Right?” he asked in the same whisper a moment later.

I took a moment to understand. Being in a group, as small as it was with only three people, seemed to mean more to Daryl than he had ever let out, and I understood it by his question and unguarded expression; unguarded like I had never seen before. He like what we had and didn’t want to lose it.

“Of course,” I said softly, hiding well my surprise, I think. “We’ll always be it. No matter the group we’re in. You and me…” I paused and added, as an afterthought “…and Merle,” because for a moment I did forget to mention Merle and I wondered why. Was I thinking of just Daryl and I as a together thing? I did get along way much better with Daryl than with Merle, that was a fact and I’m sure even they knew it. “We’ll stick together,” I finished and gave him a small, reassuring smile and felt the need to add “Right?” having a sudden need to also hear it.

Daryl nodded. “Right. I’ll have your back.”

“Yeah,” I smiled more. “And I got yours,” and lightly shoved his shoulder with mine, receiving the same gesture back a moment after, accompanied by a tight little closed lips smile.

I was still smiling when I looked again to the sunrise, feeling strangely content for someone in my situation. What was it about this little conversation what warmed my heart like what, like I hadn’t felt in a real long time? By her side, I could feel Daryl stealing few more glances at me, not lingering for too long on each look. By the corner of my eye I caught him eyeing my tattooed art, like he was paying attention to each of them just now. There was a perfectly drawn green hummingbird flying among orange flowers, right above my elbow. A little higher, on my shoulder, the silhouette of a little girl standing, arm outstretched towards a balloon that was clearly soaring away from her. Under the balloon, a date; August 1998. Lower, on my forearm, a colorful mandala with Bowie’s “you’re too old to lose it, too young to choose it” written in typewriter letters under it.

Daryl was thinking hard of something, I could tell. He was back to biting his inner lower lip, poor flesh must be sore by now, a sot frown worrying his forehead, but still looking at me and away repeatedly. I wished he would talk to me, speak what was on his mind.

“Uh, hey, hum…” an uncertain voice woke us both from our thoughts. Both of us looked down at the asphalt, a bit startled, to see a young man, Asian with a baseball cap who looked like no more than a teenager. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah?” I was the one to speak, not moving. Daryl did tense a bit by my side, though. Not much, the boy didn’t look like a threat.

“I heard you talking last night? This is my car.” he pointed to the one parked right by ours. “I wasn’t trying to overhear, just… Heard you. I’m - I’m Glenn, by the way.”

“Yeah, Glenn, what did ya hear?” Daryl asked annoyed by the interruption.

“You’re forming a group to get away from the road and set camp?”

“That a question?” I stretched my legs in front of me and crossed my arms.

“No. Question is if I can join.”

I stared at him for a moment. There was no reason at all why I wouldn’t let him join. He was young and probably energetic, and he looked smart – maybe I was just stereotyping him – but we could use smart people on the group.

I looked at Daryl and he shrugged, “You call it.”

I looked again at Glenn, “You know how to do something useful?”

“I learned how to shoot years ago, but I don’t have a gun. And I can run pretty fast, won competitions at school… I’ve killed a few of the dead when I was escaping, so I think I can deal with them. And Atlanta?” he kept going as he pointed towards some random spot with his thumb over his shoulder. “I know the streets like my own backyard, if it’s needed to go there for something. I just… Yeah.”

I simply stared at him for a long moment, one eyebrow up, thinking. Well, I wasn’t really thinking, I had agreed already. I guess I was in a better mood today, enough to even tease the boy. But I felt for him, poor guy, he started t shift his weight from one foot to another, looking from me to Daryl repeatedly.

So I finally smiled at him, “Yeah, you can come.”

Glenn laughed. “Oh, phew! Good, thanks!” and he looked at Daryl, smiling. “Hey!”

“Yeah.” was all he got as an answer, just I Sam hopped down to the floor and extended her hand at the boy.

“I’m Sam.” we shook hands. “This is Daryl, and there’s one more sleeping in the car, name’s Merle.”

Daryl also fell to the asphalt and hit the front of the car three times with his palm. “Wake up!” he shouted and we watched as Merle woke up from a deep daze, defensively looking around the road through the windows, asking “what�� repeatedly.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” I said in a sing-song voice.

“Son of a bitch!” was his answer

Daryl poked me and pointed down the road, to where Shane and Lori approached us being followed by three new people who hadn’t been there last night.

“Morning.” Shane greeted us. “You guys ready?”

“Almost,” I answered. “Hey, this is Glenn, he’ll be joining us.”

Shane eyed Glenn for a moment, as the boy waved awkwardly at him, and looked back at me, annoyed.

“Ya picking up people now?”

Oh, the nerve. Instead of an answer, I leaned to her left to be able to look at the three new people behind Shane; an older man with a bucket hat and two blonde girls, very similar to each other. I looked at each of them for a moment then smiled. “Hi, I don’t believe we met, I’m Sam.” and looked back at Shane, smile vanishing in a blink of an eye. “Yes, I am, just like you.”

“Dale’s got an RV. Might be useful.” Shane explained. “Andrea and Amy were with him.”

“And Glenn needed a group. He can run.” I finished and looked again at the three people. “Welcome to the group. We’re heading back south 85 until we find some other road. Gonna look around checking for places. After we find it, all our supplies will be rationed and shared. Get used to the idea.”

“Hey, can I speak to you for a moment?” Shane said in a low, a but urgent voice and touched my arm to nudge me away from the group. Daryl tensed by my side, taking a step to follow us, his chest puffed.

“Alone?” Shane asked looking from me to him, eyebrows raised.

“Anything you gotta say to me, you can say it to Daryl. Gonna him later anyway.”

Shane breathed out loudly as to control something that had instantly boiled inside him. I didn’t want to know what, but wondered what the fuck did he want to tell me tha Daryl’s presence would ruin it.

“Look, it’s just…” Shane started once we were away from the rest of the group, Daryl standing facing us both with his arms crossed. “I’ve come to you and invited ya to join my group. Right? Glad you accepted, but we gotta set some boundaries here. Can’t have too many people calling on decisions here. I’m an officer, alright? I know how to deal with things.”

“You’re a cop?” Daryl asked in an impressed tone, making me look surprised at him. I’d never heard him joke before. I liked it, the sarcastic tone. “Really? Hadn’t heard about it yet.”

I held in a laugh, a smile playing on my lips trying to contain it. By the look in Shane’s eyes, he was quickly approaching some kind of limit that I preferred not to push. At least not for now.

“Being a cop in the fuckin’ end of the world ain’t gonna mean that much, Shane,” I said as my smile vanished. “We all got abilities here, you got yours, I got mine. If ya think you’ll be making all the decisions for the group just ‘cause of the profession ya had before the end o the fuckin’ world, well, you wrong.”

“Now look here –”

“You will be making decisions…” I raised my voice to interrupt him and lifting a hand between us to make him stop talking “if that’s so important to you, if you make reasonable decisions. That’s all it’s gonna take. For now, this group has no leader. We don’t know you, alright? Ya can’t expect people to do as you say with no questions asked.”

“Ain’t that what you just did?”

“I stated the obvious, is what I did. Last night we talked about leaving the road, the only possible way is south. About finding a place, sharing and rationing things, all things we talked about last night. Ain’t that what we gotta do?”

Shane stared at me in silence, big eyed, hands on his hips. After a moment he nodded, tongue liking his teeth, and looked from me to Daryl and back again. With that, he turned his back to them, returning to the group.

“Alright, let’s all get the cars and turn around to south, it’s time now. We’ll travel together.”

* * *

The day felt like a week as it passed slowly, the stuck traffic on the road making the all our cars, truck and RV need to navigate through the grassy path between the lanes of the road, ever so slowly. Down south on 85, the asphalt was little less packed with cars and we were able to gain a little speed, but by then it was already mid-afternoon. We were unable to leave the main road that day. When evening started to come, we decided to stop in the middle of nowhere, not having a better place to do that. By this time, our caravan was already bigger. One more car and a van had started following us at about four in the afternoon. Shane had sped up to catch up with our truck.

“Ya think we should be worried ‘bout these guys following us?” Shane had asked aloud with both cars moving.

“Saw them too, huh?” Merle shouted from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, ‘bout a mile ago.”

“Let’s stop.” I yelled leaning over Merle to the window. “We’ll see what they want.”

Shane and I had gone opening the party, Merle, Daryl and Glenn standing behind us with weapons purposefully on sight. It had turned out to be a family, the Morales couple with their two children, and two more people they had picked up to help on the road, Jim and Jackie. Behind them, alone in a van, was a man named Theodore, but he preferred to be called T-Dog. We talked for a while with those six new people, who practically begged to go and set camp with us. I don’t know what they saw in our little group that made them want to join so badly, there was nothing special about us. But well, we did have weapons and food, I guess the value of those was pretty high then. Shane rubbed his nose, scratched his head and, finally, looked at me. I was just waiting, had been quiet almost all the time, and as I looked back at Shane, I nodded. I didn’t think these people would be the kind we’d like to avoid, and they had children. As I said, any group with children would do anything to protect them. At my acceptance, Shane told it would be ok for them to follow.

“Yeah, that’s a good one.” Merle mumbled when the three of us reentered our truck. “Picking up strays. Latinos and niggers. Gonna start mixin’ up our kinds now?”

“Fuck, shut up, ya dickhead!” Daryl barked from the opposite window.

“See, that’s the kinda comment ya gotta keep just here among us, huh?” I told him. “You say that to them, you start a fight, shit hit the fan even before the camp’s settled.”

“Whatever. But ya think like I do, dontcha princess?”

“Of course not! You’re being an asshole again. A racist asshole, to make it worst! Don’t you ever say anything like it to them!”

Merle said even more racist things for a while and I answered to them for a moment, before realizing that working myself up trying to convince Merle of something was a complete waste of time. After a while Daryl and I just told Merle to shut up once again, Merle told us to go fuck ourselves, and everything was peaceful again.

Now night had fallen and a fire had been built on the side of the road. Glenn was standing on top of the RV with a rifle, keeping watch and Jim was doing the same in the middle of the road. We were exactly twenty people – four children, seven women, nine men. Around the fire, all the women were sitting together, light conversation rolling between us, a clear search for bonding starting to happen, asking each other what we did before the turn, telling about our lives.

Jackie told us she worked at Atlanta’s city hall, but hadn’t been in the city on the turning days. She had just lost a cousin in LaGrange and had been there for the funeral. She heard the news about what was happening on the radio as she drove back home. At some point on 85 she got a flat tire and started walking her way up the road. Jackie had walked for hours and was completely exhausted when the Morales pulled up for her and offered a lift. They had just done the same for Jim miles before. On the Morales’ car, she got acquainted to Miranda, who gave her water and something to eat. Their family had been driving from much closer to Atlanta, in search for the shelter. Miranda told us she and her husband were married for almost fifteen years and she was a housewife. Lori and Carol both told they were full-time moms and wives as well. Carol didn’t say much about herself, retreating from the subject by asking Lori about her husband.

Lori told the group he had been a deputy-sheriff in King County and had been shot on duty weeks ago. He had passed away in the hospital just days before, Lori said with a trembling voice and unshed tears in her eyes. Her husband’s best friend had run to their house to pick her and Carl up to take them to the shelter. To enlighten a little the mood, we kept on the subject, Andrea telling them she was a civil-rights lawyer and had been on a road-trip with her sister, Amy, driving her back to college when it all happened. They had been caught up in a walker attack on the road and Dale, with his RV, had helped them to get out, only to later be caught up on the traffic.

They finally asked me what I did, and I told them I was a single waitress who went to adult school at night and jumped around things for sport on the weekends, and that was it. As I spoke, I noticed Carol looking around, eyes searching for something worriedly.

“Uh… Have any of you seen Sophia?” she asked in her small voice.

“She left minutes ago, I saw her get up.” Lori told her. “I thought she had told you she was leaving.”

“No…”

“Where did she go?” I asked Lori.

“Towards their car.”

“Oh… I think she went to sleep then. I’d better –” she started motioning to get up.

“I think it’s alright, her dad’s in the car, isn’t he?” Andrea asked in order to make Carol stay.

“Uh… Yeah. He is…” she got up anyway, a nervous look to the car. “I gonna go there anyway. Good night, girls.”

We all were silent as she left. Jackie looked around at the other’s faces, looking for someone who was thinking the same as her, and found my eyes by her side taking a deep breath, brows furrowed, looking at Carol as she reached the car. I then looked back at Jackie, our glance exchange telling us all we had to know. The group dispersed shortly after that, each woman going to try and find comfort to sleep for a few hours in their own cars.

I went to where Daryl was sitting and smoking on the hood of our truck – Merle had just left him to go sleep inside. I sat by him, controlling by breath because damn, I was angry. My fists were closed tight. Carol didn’t want Sophia alone with her dad, her eyes denouncing just how worried she was at the idea, and the meaning of it made by blood boil. Daryl and I didn’t say anything as Daryl handed me a cigarette. I took it and held it between my fingers, but denied with a gesture when Daryl reached out with his lighter. Still holding it, I rested my elbows on my knees.

“Ed definitely beats up his wife,” I whispered for his ears only. “May touch his girl as well, but I ain’t sure ‘bout that yet.”

Daryl took a deep breath then, looking to the same direction I was; the Pelletier’s car.

“Son of a bitch.” he whispered back.

“I know I got nothing with this.”

“Yeah?”

“But if I see something…”

“Won’t blame ya.”

#twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fic #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #daryl fic #daryl fanfic #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x oc #daryl ofc #daryl x ofc #daryl dixon x original female character

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incandescent-eden · 5 years

Text

Tithonia

Desc: An old princess sleeps through her days after her youth has passed until a kind stranger wakes her.

Word Count: 3669

TW/CW: mentions of blood, low opinion of men, apathy

----

Tithonia watched the sun fade beyond the horizon. The fading light edged the rim of the pink sky like neat lace on a fine dress. The sky turned, an ugly bruise’s recovery in reverse, first yellow then violet then blue, and deepest black. The stars would soon come out, but it would be far too dark to really see anything in her tower, surrounded by brambles and weeds. The tiny oak tree she had passed had been barely at the knee of her horse when she first arrived, but it now was so tall she was mere inches from the branches. She might have tried to shimmy down, but the height was dizzying, the squirrels far more courageous than she. The trees, once light and merry, now grew tall and gnarled and thick, obscuring her thorny, ivy covered tower for miles around.

She would have once despaired to be alone, would have said affirmations perhaps, that someone was coming, but now she merely sighed. It didn’t do to count the days or even the years anymore. They all blurred into each other like the colors of the sky after sunset, day in and day out.

She wearily pushed herself up from her chair by the window. Her joints were not as limber as they had once been. Still, what was she to do with joints unstiffened? She had nowhere to go, no one with whom to visit.

Shuffling to her bed, she lay down and was promptly asleep through the night, just as she had every night before in the past few decades, for she had not counted the years, but still, her hair was graying, and her eyes grew blurry, so it must have been decades.

Tithonia did not dream as she once had. That is to say, she dreamt, but no longer of the adventures and dances and stolen kisses of youth, but of simpler things. Of spring coming early and the first robin to land at her window, of the first tiny crocuses pushing up through the thin layer of snow, their yellow petals growing blurrier in her eyes each year, but still merrily announcing their presence, of the first wind that smelled of winter, like sharpness and unrelenting cold. Of anything to break up the monotony of her days, so she might know time truly was passing, after all.

Most days, it didn’t matter. She had read and reread and reread again all the books she brought with her, and how childish they now seemed! Stories of handsome princes slaying dragons and riding away into the sunset, priests who were good and kind and raised the sun each morning, animals who talked and espoused silly morals that any child could have guessed. Once, she thought herself enlightened, felt her heart soar to read those words. It was a comfort, all alone in the forest, to have something familiar, but familiarity soon bred hatred. Now she simply sat or stood or paced in her tiny chamber, staring out the window. She slept.

Time passed. She slept more. Sometimes, she was content, but sometimes, she grew bitter and resented the world around her: the trees for growing, the squirrels and birds and flowers for dying, the universe for moving on without her. And she slept again.

There had been princes, once. A family, a prophecy, fairies who decreed she should not live past sixteen, lest she sleep for eternity. The last fairy to bless her had been kind: she would be awoken, but only by a noble heart who truly loved the princess.

There were no noble men left.

Oh, there were always men. Young men whose beards had not yet grown in, who stumbled over their own feet and who were too easily frightened by bandits. Older men who time had weathered, who feared worse things than bandits: starvation, a child’s death, a wife’s infidelity. And older men, still, who had all of the years but none of the wisdom with which came age, their dark hair streaked with gray, fat fingers bumbling, out on one last great adventure, reaching for legacy while a wife waited at home despairing he should turn away from her toward younger and younger serving girls and boys. But none of these men were noble of heart, and none loved her, she learned time and time again.

Once upon a time, Tithonia had welcomed these men. She warmly sang to them, calling them into her briarwood tower. Please, she implored, kind sir, won’t you come up? Won’t you rescue me? I’ve been waiting for a prince for so long. There is a prophecy, you see.

And those princes and kings and lords of their land, swaggering and boasting, would try to climb up to meet her. Inevitably, they would get cut by all the thorns, and, trailing ribbons of blood on their soft hands that had never known callouses, they would sit back on their horses and shake their heads sadly. I’m sorry, Princess, it cannot be done. Perhaps the next fellow will be better than I. They would ride off into the forest leaving her alone again, because they would never tell the next prince over. Who wanted to admit he was the prince who failed, after all?

Years passed, and princes and knights still came, but they began to wane. They balked at Tithonia’s voice, cracked and low from years of solitude, at her skin that no longer sat taut and pale on high cheekbones, but that revealed small wrinkles and furrows, darkened by years of staring out the same window. They stopped calling her ‘Princess.’ Eventually, so did she. Princess of what? Of nothing but her small room in a tall tower, of winds that lost her voice among them and birds that never stayed longer than to briefly perch at her windowsill. Princess of nothing at all.

She began turning them away. No, no, don’t bother, she would tell the travelers who came. It will do you no good. It was always the same. They wanted to take home a sweet young princess, wanted the glory of having saved her, but they were tens and tens of years too late.

She would sleep and sleep and sleep for eternity and wake up at the edge of the stars if need be, but she did not need these men to save her, not with soft hands and softer wills. Besides, she told herself, she was not waiting for a savior. She was content to live a simple life. It had been so long, she could not remember what it was to be a princess.

It was deep in the night when the trespasser came. The moon slipped silently into the room, her pale light streaming in as if to lay with her as a lover might.

“Ah,” escaped the soft sigh from the trespasser’s mouth when a floorboard creaked. A woman’s voice.

Tithonia shot up, leaping to the corner of the room. She grabbed her chair, holding it in front of her. Years of stiff joints and brambles keeping out men made her slow and soft, but the fear remained always in her mind, remembered from ages ago.

To her surprise, the trespasser stopped, right in the middle of a column of moonlight. In the white light, Tithonia could make out wide, surprised eyes, thin lips open in an ‘o’ shape, short curls that shimmered silver. The sound of a woman’s voice suddenly made sense.

“How did you get up here?” Tithonia demanded.

The woman paused. “I just –“ she pointed at the door. “I was looking for shelter. Out of nowhere, a rose popped up, and another behind it. Imagine! A rose, this late in the autumn. I decided I simply had to follow the trail, and it led me to the back of your tower.” She smiled wryly. “Lovely place you have here.”

Slowly, Tithonia lowered the chair. “It is rude to enter a maiden’s chamber without permission.” Although, she could hardly call herself a maiden anymore.

The trespasser beamed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, lady! Seeing as I’m here already, do you mind if I stay? It’s grown so cold nowadays, my fingers get stiff in the night air.” She rubbed her gnarled, calloused hands together, drawing her cloak closer to her.

Sinking into her bed, Tithonia nodded. “Yes, I don’t see why not. What are you doing out in the woods at this time of year so late at night, anyway? Surely a woman like yourself has a family to whom to return at night?”

Laughing, the trespasser shook her head. “No husband, I’m afraid, if that’s what you mean, my lady. Never was one for, well, men. And no children, either. Had a few lost children come live with me in my cottage out in the woods some time ago, but they’ve all grown up now. They don’t look back when they reach that age. And I can’t blame them,” she chuckled. Her lined face looked sad in the pale light. “Who would want to return to the woods when there are villages and towns and cities beyond?”

“I always wanted to experience a cottage in the woods when I was little,” Tithonia mused. The memories were thick and gummy in her mind after years of disuse.

“It’s the loveliest thing, among the bears and the wildflowers and the fairies.” The stranger smiled, wringing her hands. “The fairies can be tricky, but they’re quite lovely if you don’t promise them anything.”

“Yes, fairies are rather capricious figures, aren’t they?” said Tithonia, surprised by the words that bubbled so easily to her lips.

“How refreshing to find someone who still remembers the fairies! The children don’t believe in them anymore.” The stranger sighed. “It’s a different world out there now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it might be,” Tithonia yawned. Truthfully, she never considered how the world might have changed while she remained stuck in her tower. What did it matter, after all? She would never see it for herself.

“I’m sorry for waking you, and keeping you up so late, lady,” the stranger said. “I will just make myself comfortable on your chair here, if that is alright with you. By the way,” she bowed, “my name is Evanne. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home.”

“Nonsense,” Tithonia tutted. “It is hardly proper to let you sleep in a chair. Come, sleep in my bed instead. I have a pallet and a cloak, they will do for me.”

“Why, I could never –“

“Do not dispute your hostess,” Tithonia replied simply. “I can sleep on most anything these days. There isn’t much else to do. You’ve come so far, you might as well sleep in a real bed.”

Evanne hesitated, but she nodded after some consideration. “May I know the name of my most gracious hostess?”

“Tithonia.” No titles, no frills. This was as she was now. She was too old to be called ‘Princess,’ but she had never become queen, and even then, what would she be queen of? No, she decided, just Tithonia suited her most. She quite liked the sound of it, unburdened by clumsy titles.

“Tithonia,” Evanne repeated, the word soft on her lips. Her eyelids flickered, as if she recognized it, but she was soon asleep, snuggled up in Tithonia’s blankets, before she could say anything.

When the sun rose the next morning, Tithonia was wide awake. She had never seen the sky so early, when the edge of the world beyond the trees was not searing blue, but still pale. What did sunrises matter to her? Each day was the same anyhow.

Until now.

She stretched slowly, letting herself sit up, her disheveled hair pooling over one shoulder. Evanne was still asleep. In the daylight, Tithonia saw that she was no young woman, either. Her hair, silver in the moonlight, was instead a dulled reddish brown mixed with gray. The lines around her face were more pronounced, even with her relaxed, dreaming visage. Her chest rose slowly, not the graceful rise of a maiden glowing with youth, but the deliberate rise and fall of a woman who had long since learned brashness could lead only to trouble.

A warm feeling stirred in Tithonia’s own chest. She could not remember the last time such a feeling struck her.

When Evanne awoke at last, the sky was the blazing blue to which Tithonia was accustomed. She yawned happily before sitting up.

“I hope you slept well, dear hostess,” Evanne said with a smile.

“I did, thank you,” Tithonia replied from her place at the window, turning to face Evanne. The leaves outside were stark in their reds and oranges against the blue sky. When was the last time she noticed the color of the leaves as she had now, shining as they were?

“If I may be frank,” Evanne started after a pause.

“Be frank.”

“Well, pardon me, Tithonia. I must be mistaken, and it’s such a silly concept, really…”

“What is it?”

“Tithonia is such a lovely name.” Evanne paused, rubbing her hands together slowly, as if forming the words between her palms. “It’s quite unique. I recall… a story from my youth. A princess had that name, too.”

“Is that so?” Tithonia said, staring out the window. “I didn’t think anyone in the last ten years has thought of that story. I certainly have let it go.”

“It must have been difficult growing up, sharing a name with a princess,” Evanne said sympathetically.

“Believe me, it was harder being a princess,” Tithonia said. “I had once thought court to be terribly boring. I can’t say I don’t miss the company. Although perhaps solitude is better than the company of idiots.”

“You? Truly?” Evanne gasped. Her hands fluttered excitedly together in a soundless clap.

Tithonia nodded, struck by the pure awe and glee in Evanne’s eyes.

“Oh, where are my manners! Your Highness!” Evanne leapt up in a clumsy cross between a courtesy and a bow. Tithonia waved her off.

“I have no need of formalities. The courts and I have long since become strangers with each other.” She blushed. Once upon a time, she enjoyed it, but now her heart beat fast. When Evanne straightened up, hair disheveled, and a big grin on her face, Tithonia’s heart beat even faster, a river that cracked and unfroze when spring arrived.

“I’m so sorry, ahhh, well, is calling you Tithonia alright? You’re quite sure?” Tithonia nodded. “Well, I apologize, Tithonia. You see, I always loved the story of the princess… of you! I…” and at this, Evanne reddened. “I always wanted to ride out to the woods and save you,” she finished sheepishly, rubbing her already messy red and gray streaked hair.

“Would that you had come before the first five hundred kings who tried their lot and failed. ‘Tis a shame you should only have found me after everything faded. Some great prophecy,” Tithonia seethed. “When the frozen river break, so then shall the princess wake. The solitude its leave shall take, and from her tower high depart, when found by they of noble heart, who has loved her from the start,” she quoted.

Evanne looked at her curiously. “That prophecy is from our youth. Have you been up here… alone? All this time?”

Tithonia shrugged. “If you define alone as without other humans around, then yes, and no. In my tower, I have been alone.”

“That sounds terribly sad.” There was a dip in her words. Not sympathy, nothing so heavy as that, but compassion, perhaps.

Still, Tithonia had to turn away, unable to look her in the eye. “I suppose one becomes accustomed to solitude. I’m not too sad. The spring always keeps me company when the winter becomes unpleasant.” She shrugged. “Besides, I must have waited some forty springs, heard the river crack and splinter every time, and I have yet to find someone of noble heart come to rescue me. Nor have I been asleep the entire time.” She laughed. “Perhaps I’m the wrong princess for the prophecy.”

“Or perhaps the prophecy is just wrong,” said Evanne. “Or perhaps we interpreted the prophecy wrong. You never know with fairy prophecies,” she said in response to Tithonia’s pointed look.

“Well, either way, no one has been able to get in. The food replenishes itself, new clothes magically appear every year. At least the fairies were kind enough to give me this luxury.”

“But then… I was able to get in,” Evanne said softly.

“Perhaps they decided my torment was over,” Tithonia said. “Perhaps they wanted to torment me more with the hope that I might have a companion. I don’t know. The prophecy remains to be fulfilled.”

At this, Evanne grew quiet. She pulled her cloak closer to herself. “What if…” she said in a small voice. “Well, what if… you just left?”

“The tower is enchanted. I cannot leave.”

“But have you ever tried?”

“Once. When I was still young. There was a handsome prince I thought might… but it turned out he was betrothed already, and the door of the tower would not open.”

“It will open now,” said Evanne, getting up and taking Tithonia’s hand in her own. Her hands were rough and warm.

The stairs were dark even in the daylight, and spiraling besides. Tithonia followed Evanne, dazed, as Evanne guided her down each step with quick feet and encouraging words. The last time she climbed down these steps, she was still a fair youth.

Tithonia’s heart leaped, always two stair steps ahead of her as she stumbled downward, until at last they reached the bottom of the stairs. The door, once grand and oaken, now looked weak and rotted, its hinges rusted. The lock remained brass. A small window in the door cast a patch of sunlight on the floor where Evanne stood.

“Go on, then,” said Evanne. Tithonia’s heart continued racing, as if it had not yet recovered from her perilous trip down the stairs.

She held her hand over the lock. Its brass was warm and inviting, like the hand of an old friend. Slowly, she unlocked it, watching it turn rusted and black as the hinges. Inch by inch, the old oak door opened.

It was a sunny day. Beyond the door, the trees had grown in, their roots twisting and overlapping. Sunlight filtered in through the tree branches and leaves above, forming a path with stepping stones made of pure sun where the light hit the ground. The leaves had begun falling, and the ground blazed in reds, oranges, yellows, and violets, soon to turn brown and then white when winter came and the snow covered the forest. At that moment, however, the forest was still a burst of a thousand different colors. A crisp wind blew by Tithonia. She could smell the hint of apples and earth and dying things.

With a cry, she collapsed to the floor. Evanne was by her side in an instant.

“What’s the matter, Tithonia?” she said, rubbing her back, holding her. Tithonia clung to her shoulders. The woods, as crowded by trees as they were, were far too large, far too open.

That wasn’t true she realized. It was the world that had grown too wide for her.

“I can’t go,” she whispered. “I just can’t.”

“Why not?” Evanne urged.

“Why, I don’t know where I’d go,” Tithonia said. She held in the sob she felt in her chest. “Where could I possibly go after all these years in a land that’s all but forgotten me?”

Evanne hummed in contemplation. Finally, she said, “Come home with me.”

Tithonia paused, letting her heart beat onward, but steadying her breathing. “With you?”

“Why not? We will go together. I get lonely in my home, and you’ve always wanted to live in a cottage away from everyone, right? So why not?”

Slowly, Tithonia got up. She took a shaky breath. “I would hate to intrude.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Evanne beamed, letting go of Tithonia ever so slowly. “I would be honored to have you! And besides,” she strode to the door. “Isn’t it time you left this tower?”

Tithonia looked out the door, at the sunbeam path. Like the fairies had laid it out for her and Evanne to take home. “I’m not the princess that you loved when you were a child. I can’t promise you land or riches or even glory.”

At this, Evanne took Tithonia’s hand. “I neither need nor want land nor riches nor glory. Just your company would be enough. You won’t need to be a princess or anything else, just be as you please.” She gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

Tithonia thought of all she had left behind, upstairs in the top of the tower. A few books. Some spare dresses. Wine and cheese and bread that would surely continue to replenish forever and never rot should someone find the tower after her.

In short, nothing much. All she had truly left behind, she had left long ago, without ever realizing it. She blinked, rubbing her eyes as she might after a long period of sleep.

Evanne was watching her expectantly. She gripped Evanne’s hand, nodding.

“Take me away to your little cottage, to the bears and the wildflowers and the fairies.” And together, they set out stumbling through the woods, the crisp autumn air guiding their way.

When they reached the clearing on the top of a little hill, Tithonia could not be sure, but she thought she could hear faint laughter coming from behind them as they moved, the tinkling laughter fairies are said to have. She turned for only a moment, but she could see no fairies, and no tower, although they had just left a little while back, only the road they had taken here.

When Evanne asked her what the matter was, she turned back, shaking her head and smiling wryly, to the road she would take forward, instead.

#writeblr #wlw fiction #sleeping beauty retelling #fairy tale retelling #sleeping beauty #original story #original fiction #creative writing #tw: mentions of blood #tw: low opinion of men #tw: apathy

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spmcomic · 5 years

Text

Aftermath

The beeping was like a constant tiny hammer on the back of her head.

She’d never seen anything like this. Nastasia had learned about electricity and technology over their travels, but she’d never been inside a building that felt like it was, in itself, a big machine. The distant but pervasive thrumming, the device ticking off each heartbeat. The clean, curved plastic casings and clean floors. The thin clear tubes stuck to his forearms. She perched on a chair next to the window, looking through the half-open blinds out over a courtyard that may have been cheerful in brighter weather. But for now, the grounds lay as dormant and washed-out as the Count.

Just over the white noise, she could hear O’Chunks and one of the doctors - nurses? - talking softly. It was easy, to let the conversation fade behind the heart monitor, but she forced herself to pay attention. They were talking about him.

“How good is a, eh, Ultra Shroom compared teh th’normal variety?” O’Chunks was straining to keep his voice low.

Nastasia glanced toward the two of them, turning her head almost imperceptibly. The nurse was a tall, pale, slender creature, with long padded fingers tapping a thin pen against a screen shaped like a clipboard.

“It heals all injuries,” the nurse replied. “But he still has to stay here. It doesn’t heal dehydration.”

“But ‘e’ll be good t’go, soon?” Nastasia’s insides turned at the tiny, weak hope in his voice.

The creature made a clicking noise. “I don’t know anything about his species, so it’s hard to tell, but your doctor wrote in her notes here that he’s fried… Oh, that explains it.”

“Fried?”

A pause. Nastasia could just make out their reflections in the window, murky as they were through the thin coat of drizzling rainwater. The nurse looked up from his clipboard. “I couldn’t figure out why he had so much trouble taking the heal,” he blinked, once, taking his time. “But his magic is tied to everything, isn’t it? Arcane-based. No wonder he couldn’t eat properly.”

“What is fried?” O’Chunks pressed, worry creeping into his voice despite his efforts.

“When a caster far overexerts their abilities, it can break the part of them that generates their F.P. Usually they just die, but with help they can survive…” The nurse drew his brows together and looked at the Count as if to ask “what did he try to do?”, but when neither of them clarified, he continued. “After becoming fried, if a caster tries to access their F.P., such as by casting a spell, it will injure them.”

Nastasia’s breathing hitched. She really, really didn’t want to hear the answer to the question she knew O’Chunks would ask next. But ask he did.

“How long does it take teh heal?”

“It doesn’t.”

She flinched.

The nurse continued with only a small pause, perhaps at O’Chunks’ expression. “There are some ways to alleviate-“

The Count jerked abruptly, setting the beeping off-rhythm. More blood trickled from his nose and mouth as he tossed his head from side to side. The nurse hustled over to the monitors and touched the screens a few times with those odd, padded fingers. The Count stopped moving, sweat dampening his forehead as he panted and grimaced. After a moment, the bleeding stopped, and he looked to be less painfully asleep.

“Um, what was that?” the nurse asked, when it was over.

Nastasia sighed, her cold breath fogging up the window. “He casts spells in his sleep sometimes.”

The nurse paused. “He’s going to be in a lot of trouble if that happens often.” He narrowed his pale eyes thoughtfully at his clipboard, tapping the screen a few more times with the pen. “It’s imperative that your mage doesn’t cast any spells. His magic reservoir is tied to too many things. If he zaps himself, he won’t be able to walk, or talk, or see. Or eat, which he will need to do, if he wants to recover his strength after exerting himself at all. He definitely isn’t a candidate for your adventure party anymore.”

O’Chunks said nothing.

“I’ve given him painkillers to make him more comfortable, for now, and I’ll see about digging up something more long-term that can prevent him from casting in his sleep,” he continued. “Moving forward, he can't eat anything harder to digest than toast or crackers. I can find a chart of tonics that will temporarily boost his magic so he can handle eating. And I’ll get a list of common vitamins for casters…” He turned to step out of their tiny room.

“Get him another blanket,” Nastasia mumbled without looking away from the window. The nurse stopped, but didn’t say anything else before he left.

Her eyes drifted to the Count’s blood-soaked clothes, hanging off the wall in her corner of the room. She bit at her lip, unable to look away.

O’Chunks sighed as he settled his weight against the wall next to her chair and sank to the floor, stretching out his knees. “We have t’just throw them out, Nassy. They’re ruined.”

She shook her head. “We just have to wait for him to wake up.”

O’Chunks grunted, but didn’t argue. Nastasia gritted her teeth and rested her forehead in her fists against the windowsill. The Count wouldn’t be cleaning any clothes, now. He wouldn’t be fixing their pots or their tent. No lights to guide them at night, no casual effects here and there for their convenience or comfort. There would be no way to avoid frequent stops at towns for resupplies. Their safety would always be at more risk. She had ruined him.

The tears were just audible over the gentle misty rain as they hit the windowsill. That was the only sound, for a while, interrupted only by the heartbeat monitor.

“I-I want to try to clean them,” she said, eventually. “A-and the skirt. I don’t think… I don’t think we can replace that.”

O’Chunks leaned his head back against the wall and tugged at his beard. He still hadn’t stolen a moment to clean up. He had insisted she take that agonizing first period of waiting time to put on an undamaged shirt, that he would keep watch while she washed her hair. It had been a kindness, to let her keep herself busy for a few minutes, but now a distractible shard of her couldn’t help but disapprove of how dirty he was compared to the rest of the room.

He took a deep, slow breath. “He needed a new bag anyhow. Don’t worry ‘bout tha’ one. Th’rest… Methinks they clean up blood ‘ere a lot, if’n yeh wanna give it a go.”

The heart monitor changed its rhythm, so Nastasia and O’Chunks turned their attention toward the Count. He hadn’t moved except to open his dull, near-colorless eyes. He must have heard them talking. His gaze slid lazily over to the window and came to rest on the two of them. Nastasia cleared her throat and stood abruptly. She stiffly grabbed up his clothes in her arms and marched out of the room, leaving O’Chunks half-curled up against the wall.

…

O’Chunks squinted his eyes closed and cursed internally. They were going to have to tell the Count what had happened to him. They were going to have to tell the Count what had happened to him more than once.

“’Ey, Count,” he began. His throat felt too dry to give the full lecture. The Count was drugged anyway, his eyes glazed over and uncomprehending, but O’Chunks hoped that even a little information might start getting through if he brought it up as soon as possible. “Th’doctors here did a number on yeh. We were real worried, fer a bit, but yeh pulled through, yeah?”

He fussed over his fingernails. “Uh, so, th’nurse here said yeh’re fried…” The corners of his mouth tugged erratically as he wrestled to get himself under control. Stars above, he was holding it together even worse than Nassy. “… So yeh cannae… cast spells, anymore.” He looked up from his muddy fingers at the Count.

The Count only stared at him for a moment longer, and then closed his eyes again. That could have gone worse.

But the scene was distressingly familiar. The lad had barely survived, permanently injured, after such a betrayal… Utterly alone. There was nothing that had made him feel better, at his lowest, and there was certainly nothing they could do to make the Count feel better now. He could only hope the Count would learn to adjust, with time. He stared down at his hands, propped limply against his knees, but couldn’t find it in himself to pick at his fingernails again. The room was big enough for two beds, but somehow the walls were pressing in against him.

In desperation he cast his eye wildly around the room. There- in the top corner- a television propped in a harness. The moving image was incomprehensible for a moment, but he forced himself to blink and focus in on the program. Good thing no one had come in and caught him gawking like a suffocating fish at the tiny screen.

It was some kind of sports game. If he squinted, he could just catch the flashes of captioned commentary… Jousting, that was the word that kept coming up. The image was disorienting, but it only took him a moment to start making out the giant colorful birds draped in glittering cloth, ridden by relatively tiny creatures with lances. That was something to start with.

He glanced at the Count. At the inns, they had liked to find the sports games on each world. It had become a game of its own to try and guess the rules before the end. This one would have been really exciting… Tiny dark spots flashed around between the birds, and when the camera angle changed O’Chunks realized that they must be flying the cameras between the players in the arena. What a show.

He wondered if the Count would ever want to play games with them again, or spend time around them at all. He couldn’t imagine sitting down at the dinner table next to the man who had taken everything from him. And, alas, Nassy… How would she adjust to the coming change? Was there anything he could do about that at all?

The room still felt so cramped, but O’Chunks felt so small. The heart monitor continued, uninterrupted.

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index

start at the beginning

#spm #super paper mario #paper mario #nastasia #count bleck #o'chunks #arc 5

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thefaithie · 5 years

Text

WC, Chapter 8

Wrong Conclusions Chapter Eight: Reconsideration

"What're you two so down about?" Cyborg asked, turning momentarily away from his own metallic arm and lifting up the goggles he had been using to protect his organic eye from electric sparks. Robin and Raven had entered the Tower no more then ten minutes ago, and from Robin's somber expression and Raven's colder-than-usual attitude, the metallic Titan had been able to tell something had gone wrong.

"Nothing," Robin spat out as bitterly as possible. "Nothing at all."

"And my mother was a toaster," Cyborg rolled his natural eye. "What happened?"

"I said 'nothing'!" Robin growled through gritted teeth, but Raven sighed and answered properly, instead.

"Robin's jealous of the fact that Beast Boy's the one going out with Starfire."

"So they are actually datin', huh?" Cyborg asked in mild surprise, ignoring Robin's indignant look. "I was wonderin' when it'd happen. I mean, they both changed a lot after you two got together-"

"We're not together!" They both cut him off at once.

Robin grinded his teeth and balled his fists in fury, and the shadow over Raven's face revealed four red, glowing eyes. Cyborg ducked just in time as a Bird-a-Rang and a wave of black energy went for his table, causing a small crater to form in the middle of it.

"DUDE!" Cyborg looked up from the crack and glared at the two of them to assure they wouldn't repeat those motions again. "I know, okay!? I was just messing with you two!" The mechanical man straightened back up carefully, staring at his friends in disbelief. "Seriously, if you two're THAT jealous, maybe you should just tell 'em instead of bein' all moody with me?"

"I'm not jealous of anything!" the Boy Wonder snapped again before turning on his heel and heading towards the gym, still utterly seething.

"I don't do 'jealousy'," Raven said coldly, floating a few feet in front of her metallic teammate. "And furthermore, there's nothing for me to be jealous of whatsoever."

"Will you two stop foolin' yourselves?" Cyborg sighed, pulling out a screwdriver and ignoring how taken-aback his comment made Raven look. "You've had it bad for BB ever since that mirror-thing. But you're never gonna admit it because you think you're this awful demon or whatever and you think that means you don't deserve someone nice like him. Just like Robin's been droolin' over Star for as long as I can remember, but won't say anythin' 'cause he's too scared it'll mess up the team or whatever way he phrases his excuse. All of ya gotta just suck it up, tell each other how ya feel, an' finally give me some peace and quiet."

Raven was now emanating an energy so black that it made her leotard look grey. She glared at Cyborg, wondering what she could do to make him regret saying what he had dared to utter.

She could encase him in energy so he couldn't breathe...no, that was stupid - he probably had an oxygen mask. She could take all his bolts out of him...No, no, he could just pull himself back together with whatever magnetized sensors he had inside him. Something, something to get him back for daring to say that she had feelings for that stupid monkey of a boy...

After a few seconds, the furious glow around Raven faded and a satisfied smile appeared on her lips.

"...Says the guy who fell for a pink-haired villain, of all people."

Cyborg's head shot up, blushing in surprise and embarrassment, sputtering, "H-Hey! That's low!" but it was too late. Raven was already floating back towards her room and shutting the door behind her, leaving nothing but a peeved teammate in her wake.

But after the door slid shut and she floated onto her bed, Raven couldn't help but begin to wonder...

Her? And Beast Boy? Sure, she liked him enough to tolerate him, but that was it, wasn't it? He was just an annoying, green, obnoxious boy who never knew when to keep his mouth shut!

She managed to hold that thought for a moment, then sighed. That isn't true... She told herself instantly. He's a lot deeper than that, even if he acts like he isn't...

Her eyes became fixated on the ceiling as the memory of Terra's betrayed ran through her mind. Beast Boy had shown off some of his true, darker colors during that crisis, but despite everything, he had given the Earth-user a second chance, and Terra had redeemed herself because of it as a final act.

Then there was Malchior... Beast Boy had turned into a fly on her wall just to watch Raven, to make sure she was alright. She had taken it as him being overly nosy at the time, but now appreciated how it had merely been the green teen's way of showing concern. And, of course - it had turned out his instincts had been correct, to have been concerned.

And then there were all the times he had tried to make her laugh. It was easy enough with the other Titans, but Beast Boy tried extra-hard for her, even if she didn't appreciate it outwardly...

Raven let out a small sigh, feeling her face break into a warm smile, just at the memories of some of his more recent attempts. He could be so stupid.

Wait. A smile? Her, smiling, thinking about Beast Boy? No, no, that...that wasn't possible! He was loud, annoying, stupid...There was no way she had any feelings for him!

She sat bolt upright and scanned her room momentarily. The jewel on her forehead glowed and a nearby drawer opened, causing a black mirror to float towards her. She looked at it, inhaling deeply.

She needed to know. She's been behaving so strangely, not at all like herself. She was constantly on the verge of letting her powers loose. She needed to be honest with herself, no matter how she didn't want to, and face whatever the truth was. She needed to go inside of herself and see what she truly thought about Beast Boy...What all the sides of her thought of him.

With a final deep breath, she concentrated, feeling herself being drawn into the mirror, and found herself within the gates of her own mind...

Downstairs, the punching bag flew back a few feet into the air before falling back and causing the chain that held it to the ceiling to jangle violently. Before it even had a chance to swing back to its original position, it was punched again and flew even further than before.

Robin panted, continuing his barrage of upper-punches. He was dressed in his gi with ripped sleeves, and sweat was pouring down the sides of his face and into his mask. But the Boy Wonder didn't seem to notice as he continued to abuse the bag before him, trying to keep his mind free of thoughts: empty, vacant, clear-

...What's he got that I haven't!?

"Augh!" Robin cupped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block his own thoughts out, only to be hit in the face by the punching bag on its swing-back. The Boy Wonder was sent back and found himself on the floor before he could even think to react to the bag's act of vendetta.

"Stupid bag-!" Robin growled, rubbing his nose and glaring daggers at his inanimate assaulter. He thoroughly considered standing and giving it another beating, but after several seconds of thought, instead decided to take a short breather. He sat up and ran a hand through his spiky hair, exhaling slowly, his thoughts now free to roam again on the matters that he had so attempted to avoid.

...Why did she pick him? What did Beast Boy do to get her? Is it his hair? The jokes? What?

...Why didn't I say anything to her sooner...?

Robin groaned, another voice in his head quickly answering his questions for him.

He's not scared of telling people how he feels, and that's all he had to do to make Starfire feel special. Where as I stayed quiet, lying and telling myself she was like a sister for the past...what, three years, now?

Robin sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. Growing up with Batman had, indeed, taken a toll on him. All the constant talk about 'job first, personal matters later' had made him too jumpy to ever talk about...feelings. What drove Robin crazy was that it was EXACTLY why he had left the Batcave, anyway - to prove to him there was more to life that kist "job first" and he could still lead a team to victory, despite it. But in his desperation, all that happened was that that obsessive need to win and show Batman he could make it as a leader overtook him, and he ended up pushing most other things aside, instead, especially his own feelings. It had always been Starfire who had made Robin realize that he had to think of the whole team, not only himself or how to get the job done as quickly as possible... Which was quite surprising, considering how the two had met.

Starfire had been the one he had considered the villain at first, and in all honesty, he had been wary of her their first few months together because of it. Robin had avoided making her angry or annoyed, thinking of her as only a war-class fighting, above anything else. He learned to think of her as a friend, that much was true, but more as a friend who could break him in half than someone like a possible girlfriend. The more Robin avoided her, the more Starfire had tried to get to know him, doing her very best to grasp the concepts of kindness and love. But even she had eventually started to lose hope in ever getting Robin's full trust, in those early days.

That was, until the cooking incident. Starfire had never used a kitchen before, and had been asked by Beast Boy to make some toast. She had agreed, and attempted making them. Somehow (none of the Titans had ever found out quite HOW, as the cameras were also damaged beyond repair), Starfire had managed to set half of their kitchen aflame, as well as half of the living room.

After seeing half of the files he had worked so hard to obtain and put together burnt to a crisp, Robin had lost it. The Boy Wonder had spent almost twenty entire minutes yelling at Starfire about how she had to be more careful and ask if she didn't know how to use something, rather than risking turning their entire home into a pile of ash. He had even called her stupid, air-headed, and several other things he still deeply regretted to this day. But the moment he had finished his rant and actually realized what he had said, Robin had cringed, expecting to be hit into the next week. But to his amazement, all he had heard was a whimper. A small, weak whimper, followed by the sounds of crying and rushed footsteps.

That had been the first time Robin had ever made Starfire cry, and the first time he realized being physically stronger than him didn't mean she couldn't have her feelings hurt by him.

Robin sighed, but despite himself, he was unable to keep from smiling when he thought of the incident. True, he felt nothing but guilt for having made tears fall from those beautiful green eyes, and he absolutely hate himself for the things he'd called her without thinking and had made sure never to do that again, but it had also been the first time he had hugged her. For almost the entire night, while she cried, muttering apologies, half in Tamaranian, half in English.

After that memory, more avoided memories began to rush into the mind of Robin. All good ones, about how he and Starfire had become very close friends, how she had slowly learned more things about Earth, how he had learned to be a better person all because of her. And the more Robin remembered, the more glaring the realization became:

I'm in love with Starfire.

He breathed in deeply, the thought coming to him as much less of a shock than he would have expected. Truthfully, he really had been fooling only himself with all his excuses. After all, if he had only felt platonically about Starfire, he wouldn't have gotten jealous about her being forced to marry, and his heart wouldn't have skipped a beat when Cyborg had called Starfire his girlfriend. He could have carried on normal conversations with her without worrying what she thought of him, or have wanted to protect her as much as he constantly did. The feelings had been inside of him for so long, but he had always pushed them aside, calling them 'friendly', or mentally referring to Starfire as a sister, even though the term never sounded right.

And now, it was too late. She was with Beast Boy. They were having a good time, he had put her hand around her and she had leaned close to him. All was lost...

...Or...was it?

Robin thought back to when Kitten had asked for a date from him. He had far from enjoyed it, considering how annoying she was, but Starfire had acted very, well...jealously then. She had even dressed up just to follow Robin to the dance and make sure no harm came to him. And she had also been jealous when she had thought that Blackfire had replaced her, on the Titans, too...

So, maybe there was a chance? Maybe...maybe if he told Starfire, then she could still have feelings for him! Maybe Beast Boy and she really were just friends. Heck, maybe she'd seen one of those old 80's flicks and has asked Beast Boy to stage something to make Robin jealous. Maybe Starfire was hoping Robin would say something!

'Maybe' was usually not something Robin would dare gamble with, but for Starfire, he really had no other choice.

Just as Robin began pulling his last piece of uniform on to go find Starfire again, the door to the gym slid open and Raven and Cyborg stood outside of it. A Communicator was flashing in Cyborg's large hand and his expression was grim.

"Robin, there's trouble at that hospital from a week ago. Starfire and Beast Boy are there, but they said they can't hold out alone much longer!"

Disclaimers:

Starfire, Beast Boy, Raven, Robin, Cyborg, Silkie, and pretty much everything but the plot at hand belongs to © D. C. Comics/Cartoon Network/Kids WB

9/2019 Update:

Woof. This is kind of a fun chapter. I forgot about all the back and forth and inner acceptance and everything, haha. Hopefully it's still fun to read.

#teen titans #teentitans #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #raven #robin #robrae #cyborg #Cyborg is the voice of reason #robstar #dick grayson #BBrae #romance #acceptance #inner feelings #feelings #love

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paladin4theright · 5 years

Text

Under The Stars

Craig pitched the tent and dusted off his knees when he stood up again. He smiled widely and turned around to find Tweek trying to get a fire going. The teens had left the small, quiet mountain town of South Park to be together for their anniversary.

The news said there was supposed to be a meteor shower tonight as well as the possibility of seeing glimpses of the the aurora borealis. Craig also had the idea that maybe camping could be romantic if they played their cards right.

In his truck he kept a ton of blankets, food, hot chocolate and some of the Tweak’s coffee. He was trying to get Tweek to stay away from it but knew it would be a long road to success. The boys picked a spot by a frozen lake that had an empty spot where trees had yet to grow. It made the perfect spot to see the night sky.

“You doin’ okay there honey?” Craig asked as he pulled a soft pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.

Tweek was getting annoyed. He tried to get the two pieces of flint to light like he’d learned in Boy Scouts but they just wouldn’t take. He shook his head and threw the flint down into the kindling they’d found throughout the woods. “Nghh,” He groaned. He placed his hands in his blonde hair and squeezed roughly. He was hunched over, sitting on the log he and Craig had moved by their homemade fire pit. “The fucking flint won’t light, man!” He squawked impatiently. He looked up at Craig. His left eye twitched and he felt the tick in his neck make his head move slightly. He moved his hands from his head and to grab at his shirt, pulling it outward. He felt a button pop off his shirt and he looked down. “Nghh….” He moaned again.

Craig pulled out a long, menthol cigarette and put it between his lips. He pulled out a galaxy decorated flip lighter from his pants pocket and lit his cigarette. He closed the lighter with a clink as he inhaled. “Baby…” He said softly as he made his way over to the stressed out teen. “It’s no big deal, dude.” He said as he flipped the lighter open again and got on his hands and knees right by the kindling. He flicked the lighter a few times until the flame responded and he set the flame onto the dry sticks. Once a small bit of a flame took, he removed his lighter and stuck it back into his pocket. He quickly got up and took just a few long strides to his dark blue truck. A large NASA sticker decorated the back window. He reached into the bed of his truck and pulled out a gallon of lighter fluid. He moved back to the fire pit and coated the kindling with the lighter fluid and immediately the flames grew. He threw a few big branches of wood on the flame and then set the lighter fluid behind the log that Tweek sat on. “There.” He said as he crossed his arms and looked at the growing campfire happily. A small, stubborn smile sat on his lips. Smiling sometimes seemed rare for the boy, but when it happened, it was usually around Tweek.

Tweek watched how cool Craig was when it came to lighting the kindling on fire. He shook his head and looked back at the fire, his left eye twitching. “Craig…” He began, “Thanks.” Tweek stood up to take a few steps over to Craig. He placed his arms to Craig’s belly the wrapped them around the taller boy’s middle. He sighed and breathed in the scent that was purely Craig - menthol cigarettes and cedar wood scented cologne. It relaxed the anxious teen as he placed his face into Craig’s chest. “How are you always so fucking cool?”

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Craig lifted his head when he pulled it away from his mouth. He released a long breath of smoke into the changing twilight sky. “I just lift my arm into the air and give everything the bird.” He said and he did just that. He lifted his free arm into the air and flipped off the world. He smiled down at Tweek. “Fuck the world Tweek. It doesn’t care about any of us. It’s too big.” He said as he dropped his arm to wrap it around Tweek, looking down at him with his dark blue eyes.

Craig was good head and a half taller than the twitching blonde. Tweek hadn’t grown much through adolescence but Craig certainly had gotten taller. Craig was even tall as a kid but at least back then Tweek could look him in the eyes. Now he had to crane his neck just to see his boyfriend’s facial expressions. Tweek smiled, though, and licked his lips. “What if it cares more than we think?” He asked softly. “The universe is always all around us. It knows everything.” He said softly. “I don’t wanna piss it off by telling it to go fuck itself.” His voice was muffled against Craig’s chest.

A wide grin grew over Craig’s face. His smile reached his mischievous blue eyes. “Yeah, well, the universe can go fuck itself.” He said as he brought the cigarette from his other hand to his lips. He took in another drag. “Besides, I don’t think it’ll be too hurt. It’s not like it cares about my opinion anyway…but that’s why I am cool. It’s because the only shit I give is about you.” He said softly, looking off towards the glass looking lake.

Tweek grinned, continuing to rest his head against his boyfriend’s broad chest. After a moment, he looked up and reached his small hand up to take the menthol cigarette from Craig’s lips. He placed the filter to his own mouth and sucked, pulling all the menthe and tar into his own lungs. He held it there for a moment and then exhaled, letting the smoke leave his nostrils. It wasn’t often when Tweek smoked cigarettes but he was used to the inhale. He had started buying weed around fifth or sixth grade (he couldn’t remember now) to begin calming his nerves. The cigarettes he would occasionally drag from his boyfriend did the same thing, though for shorter amounts of time. He smiled up at Craig when he was done and offered the other boy the cigarette he’d stolen. “You can have this back.” Tweek felt slightly less twitchy.

Craig watched Tweek thoughtfully and took the cigarette back when it was offered to him. He took another drag from it, keeping it between his lips as he looked up at the turning sunset. “Thanks.” He replied finally, letting the gray smoke leave his mouth. He continued to hold Tweek close. He could see the twinkling of stars to the east. It was so beautiful. If he could, he would be an astronaut, but that would mean leaving Tweek here alone. He thought this somberly as he looked back down at his green eyed boyfriend. He couldn’t do that. He needed to get Tweek away from here. They could leave as soon as possible; right after graduation even. Assuming he still stayed in school of course. The teen had thought about dropping out for quite a while. He was usually spending his time in some form of suspension, whether in school or out.

Smiling, Tweek leaned his head back onto Craig’s chest. He kissed it lovingly before turning around in Craig’s arms to look out into the lake. He loved these quiet moments with Craig. They were never weird, awkward, or uncomfortable. He’d never felt like he could just truly relax with anyone. Even his own parents gave him anxiety. Tweek looked up at Craig and then back to the glass like water. “When is the meteor shower supposed to start?” He asked, voice calm for once, gentle even. “Is this like a Haley’s Comet kind of thing?”

Craig kept his eyes out to the lake, but a small smile crept over his face. “Nah, Haley’s comet comes every 75 years.” He had an amused twinkle in his midnight blue eyes. “It’s just supposed to be a meteor shower. They are caused by streams of cosmic debris entering Earth’s atmosphere at extremely high speeds on parallel trajectories.” His smile grew wide as he became more excited. He fucking loved space. So maybe he did kinda like the universe.

“That’s fascinating, Coffee Bean,” Tweek chuckled, moving his head to look up at his much taller Craig. “I love that you have closeted nerdy interests.” He chuckled, nuzzling against his lover. “It’s fucking sexy, man.”

Craig flicked his cigarette butt into the campfire and wrapped both arms tightly, protectively around Tweek. “Closeted nerdy interests?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, though a grin was glued to his lips. “I hardly think they’re closeted.”

Tweek pulled away from Craig, moving to sit on the log in front of the campfire. He patted the area next to him, wanting Craig to sit. The raven haired teen looked down at this boyfriend and nodded his head, following his lover’s wishes.

As soon as Craig sat down, Tweek leaned his head against Craig’s shoulder, nuzzling his boyfriend affectionately. “You don’t think so?” A light colored eyebrow perked up Tweek’s forehead. “I don’t think nearly anybody sees you as nerdy as you let me see you.” He pulled his head away from Craig’s shoulder to look at him, watching the movement of Craig’s breathing, the sharp angle of his chin, and his nostrils flaring ever so slightly between breaths. Tweek wouldn’t word it this way if he ever told Craig, but he thought the other boy was gorgeous.

Craig looked down to meet Tweek’s green orbs. “Maybe that’s because you are the only one that cares to see it all.” He answered nonchalant. The sky had gotten dark and stars littered the sky. It closely resembled the interested teen’s own eyes as he looked up. His eyes reflected the tiny sparkling lights. “God.” Craig breathed. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen: the Milky Way.

Tweek looked up, watching the stars twinkle and shine in the night sky. He placed his head back to Craig’s shoulder and sighed, smiling. He loved seeing his boyfriend happy, even if it was something so simple as just looking at stars. He and Craig had spent plenty of time just staring up into the dark abyss that was nighttime. He grinned, moved his head so he could kiss Craig’s neck, and then leaned back down. “You’re so sweet.” He said in almost a whisper. “I love you so much.”

Pulling Tweek close against him, Craig leaned down to press his lips against the younger teen’s. “I love you too, Honey. I am so glad you’re here with me.” He whispered back. His eyes moved straight back up to the sky. Little darts of white started raining across the black backdrop. First it was a few here and there. Then it started raining heavily. The meteor shower had begun and Craig reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone so he could record the moment.

Despite the usually cold weather, Tweek felt incredibly warm inside. He moved to let go of his lover, placing his hands in his pockets. Craig (and Tweek was sure Craig would deny this later) was making cute little enthralled faces as he watched the raining meteors. It made Tweek grin as he looked to the only star that mattered for him. “You happy Craig?” He asked.

“Am I?” Craig asked as he smiled widely and looked down to meet the emerald eyes he loved so much. “You bet, Baby.” He eyes twinkled under starlights. His smiles rarely reached his eyes like they did in this moment but it became more common the older he grew. He kept his grin as he looked back up at the sky. Colors of green and yellow slowly began to ripple across the sky and move. “Tweek! It’s the Aurora Borealis!” He exclaimed as he pointed up into the darkness.

A continuous smile stayed spread across Tweek’s thin lips. He went from watching Craig to looking up to what his boyfriend was so excited to see. The Aurora. A wide array of colors in the twilight formed overhead. Tweek moves to stand up, silently watching the shower overhead. He looked back at Craig. “I want you to love me.” He whispered softly. “After the shower ends. I want you to love me underneath those stars.”

Craig grinned widely. “Okay Honey. I can do that.” He watched Tweek with gentle eyes. There was just something special about his blonde headed mess. He just knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life looking after his hot, blonde headed mess. He loved Tweek Tweak.

#south park #south park creek #sp creek #sp craig #sp tweek #south park craig #south park tweek #craig tucker #tweek tweak #craigxtweek #craig x tweek #revenge au

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celtics534 · 5 years

Text

Natural Chapter 12

Natural Chapter 12 is ready for y’all to enjoy! I have two things to say about this chapter. First: @gryffindormischief helped with Ginny’s killer comeback. Second: sorry for the ending....

Read on: FF.net, AO3, or down below!

"Come on!" Ron looked like a child going into the local sweet shop. He refrained from dragging Harry by the arm, but only just. Harry, for his part, was too amused to say anything. When he had offered to take his future brother-in-law to the pub, he hadn't expected the full-grown adult to become a toddler.

The Cannons frequented a small pub only a few miles from their stadium. With such a limited fan base, the pub rarely filled after games. Harry and Ron had no issue entering the place, let alone finding the team.

"Holy Merlin's balls," Ron breathed as he stopped dead by the front door, rather reminiscent of a teenage witch seeing her favorite member of the Weird Sisters.

"Hey, Potter!" Lance Goone waved them over with a smile

"Ron?" Harry had made it halfway to the table before he noticed Ron was still at the door. His mouth was wide open, welcoming any sort of insect to fly in. "You coming?"

It took a solid five seconds for Ron's feet to start moving, though still at a sloth's pace.

Merlin! At the rate Ron was moving, Harry could drink four beers and down three shots before he made it to the table.

Harry moved back a few steps to gently push Ron forward. The tall man stumbled slightly, but picked up his pace.

"Hey, Goone!" Harry greeted the Cannons' beater while nodding at the rest of the team. "How was the game today?"

"Not too bad." Goone snapped his thumb and forefinger together, and got the attention of the barman. "Another two drinks, please!" He turned back to Harry. "We only lost by a hundred."

"Who were you playing?" Harry asked while the grumpy barman placed down two bottles in front of him and Ron- the latter of whom instantly took a slip of his liquid courage.

"The Wigtown Wanderers."

Harry could feel his brow rise. "Really? Not bad, Goone."

Goone pretended to shine his fingernails on his shirt sleeve. "They weren't expecting me and Snyder to focus on their keeper every time we were about to take a shot." He waved his hand dismissively. "But, anyways what are you doing here? And who's your mate?"

Harry could hear Ron's breath catch. Such a teenage witch!

"This is my fiancée's brother, Ron. He's been a fan of the Cannons forever and I promised to show him your preferred spot."

Goone looked shocked for a moment. Most likely never met a fan before, Harry thought sarcastically.

"Nice to meet you, Ron." Goone stuck out his hand. Ron remained as stiff as a board, just staring at the proffered hand.

"I'm glad this moment happened before Ginny showed up." Harry laughed lightly. "She would never stop taking the mickey."

"Oh, your girl is coming here?" Goone turned his attention back to Harry, letting his hand drop back to his side. Ron was still sitting ramrod straight. "I've never met her before."

"Yeah, she had a late training session with the Harpies, but after that she wanted to come- and this is a quote from her-'watch Ron make a fool of himself'."

Goone snorted, but gave Ron a kind smile. "Well, I look forward to meeting her. Remind me again, what does she look like?"

Harry could feel his lips curl in a stupid grin. It always happened when he talked about Ginny. "She's got semi-short red hair, brown eyes -"

"Athletic build?" Goone interrupted.

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Does she tend to order a firewhiskey?"

"How do you -"

Harry turned in his seat and saw Ginny at the bar, a glass of whiskey in one hand and an annoyed scowl on her beautiful face. It didn't take long for Harry to see why she looked irked. Alfie Malcolm, the Cannons' seeker, leaned against the bar, clearly flirting with her.

A creature within Harry's chest started to growl. The way Malcolm was leaning over Ginny… It wasn't as if Harry didn't trust Ginny. Fuck no! He trusted her more than anyone else, but that didn't mean he liked other men hovering over her like she was a piece of meat.

Harry snorted in glee as Ginny's expression shifted. He knew that look. That sickly-sweet batting of eyelashes that meant she was about to crush some dreams - and likely a few toes.

Sure enough, Ginny patted the seeker on the cheek not-too-gently with her left hand and gave him a smile that could make a tough man whimper in fear. Malcolm's eyes darted towards the ring on her finger. Harry had never been good at reading lips, but he could see Ginny's mouth form the word engaged. Then she stepped on his toes as she walked past the seeker, making the man flinch.

"Hello, love." Ginny placed glass her next to Harry's, giving him a quick kiss in the process. She pulled an empty chair from another table and sat down next to Harry. "Ron." She nodded at her still star-struck brother. "And you must be Lance. Harry told me you're a decent bloke, unlike that prick." She gestured back towards the bar where Malcolm was still standing stunned.

"I've always heard redheads are feisty, and you seem to be the epitome." Goone laughed as he looked over at his teammate. "Alfie needs to learn to look for rings before chatting up a bird."

"He should also learn to how to chat someone up properly." Ginny sipped her whiskey. "I mean, his lines are pathetic." She deepened her voice. "I'm a seeker and let me tell you, I think I already have you in the palm of my hand."

Harry and Goone both snorted into their beers. "Seriously?" Goone asked.

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, and I told him I bet a cactus got more action than him." Ginny grinned mischievously. "Self-attention not included."

"Oh," Goone choked, as his body shook with laughter. He rested his forehead on the table. "That's good!"

Harry couldn't agree more. The creature in his chest purred as Ginny leaned into him. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

"So what have you lads been talking about?" Ginny changed topic as she looked over at her brother. "Did I miss something good?"

"He's been like this since before we sat down," Harry confided. "I think he's broken."

Ginny dismissed Harry's concern with a careless gesture. "Oh, I know how to fix that." She turned to look at Goone, who had only just composed himself. "Wanna hear the story of how Ron got knocked out?"

To Harry's surprise, Ron came back to attention. He glowered at his sister. "You don't tell it right!"

"Well then, dear brother." Ginny smiled wickedly (something Harry found way too attractive). "How do you explain the time you ran into a door frame while fleeing from a three centimeter spider?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I like this color blue." Ginny admired the fresh coat of paint on the sitting room walls. "It's simple and keeps the room feeling light."

"I see what you mean," Harry rested his back against the base of the sofa. He and Ginny had moved all the furniture to the center of the room so the paint that had been casted up on the wall could dry without an issue. With all their different spells and enchantments to make things simpler for themself, Harry was shocked there wasn't a paint drying spell. Sure, they were able to make the mid-grade blue color stick the walls no problem, but they still had to wait for it to dry. Wizards were odd.

Ginny grabbed another piece of pizza from the box that sat between them. Harry had decided that a picnic in the sitting room was perfect for their Saturday night. Neither of them had practice (both coaches decided their team needed a night off with it being a quarter of the way into the season) and a quiet evening sounded pretty amazing.

They had been living in their cottage for a few months, but hadn't gotten around to improving anything. When Harry had started working on the place he knew there would be things Ginny would have opinions on, such as paint colors. Today alone, they had changed the colors of all the rooms and reorganized the furniture.

"So, Mum's been getting on my case again," Ginny started nonchalantly. She placed her half- eaten slice down on her paper plate. "She has wedding fever."

"Better than baby fever," Harry joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ginny frantically shook her head. "Don't give her any ideas. I bet the minute we're married she gonna start knitting booties."

"But she has Bill and Percy to help with her grandkid craze, right?"

"You'd think that'd be enough." Ginny sighed and scooted her body closer to his, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. "But no, she can't wait for her only daughter to have a baby."

She suddenly jerked her head up. "Oh! I forgot to tell you! Fleur's pregnant!"

"Really? That's great." Harry was happy for the older couple. They would make great parents. "I didn't know they were trying."

"For over a year. They were really starting to get stressed about it. Fleur told me she thought it was a sign they weren't meant to have children." Ginny's smile somehow widened. "But here they are, three months along. She's even showing a little."

"Wow! They waited a bit to tell you, didn't they?"

Ginny shrugged. "Fleur wanted to wait until their chance of miscarriage was lower."

"Ah." Harry understood that. He couldn't imagine telling everyone the good news, only to have it ripped away from you.

"Anyway, Fleur wants to give baby a French name." Ginny took a bite of her dinner. "They don't have a boy's name yet, but they are saying Victoire for a girl. It's close to victory in French. She says getting pregnant is a victory to them."

"Well, that's..." Harry wasn't quite sure of the word he wanted to use.

"One way to look at getting knocked up," Ginny supplied with a sly smirk.

Harry laughed. He tilted her chin, intending to give her a light kiss, but Ginny seemed to have other intentions. She pressed her mouth hard to his, her fingers tangling into his hair.

"You know," Ginny murmured against his lips, "we could celebrate their victory… We haven't shagged in this room while the walls are blue, yet."

Harry pulled back slightly, adjusting their bodies so he hovered over her. With a wave of his wand (that had been sitting beside him) he lit the fireplace, filling the room with the happy sounds of crackling logs. "We wouldn't want break our streak, now would we?"

He moved his mouth down from her lips to her throat, then to her sternum. Ginny let out a sound of approval as he slid his hands to the hem of her shirt, letting his fingers play with the the little bit of exposed skin.

"You know, they rightly named this carpet." Ginny's voice was husky as she untangled her hands from his hair. She guided her fingers to the top button on his shirt. She made quick work of the first three. "It is perfect for shagging."

Harry stopped his ministrations and connected his eyes to hers. They gleamed with delight at her own joke. "Really?"

"Do you disagree?"

"Oh no! I couldn't agree more."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Have I ever told you how much I hate wedding planning?" Ginny moaned as she flopped down onto the sofa beside Harry. Deciding he would find out who murdered the young woman in his novel later, Harry placed a bookmark into the folds. His fiancée need his attention more.

"You have, but it is the groom's job to listen to his ranting bride. So please, keep me up to date. What happened?"

Ginny glared at him for his sarcasm, but clearly decided her tirade was more vital than reprimanding him for his satire. "My mother spent three hours on flowers. Just flowers!" Her face contorted in pain. "Do you know how little I care about flowers?"

"Probably as much as I care about tablecloths." Harry twisted his body so his back was against the armrest. He helped Ginny position herself with her back to his chest, their legs spread out in front of them on the cushions.

"Remind me again why we can't just elope?" Ginny whined, as Harry rubbed small circles into her thigh.

"Because we want to live to see thirty."

"Right, our mothers would become murderers."

"And I don't think our fathers would forgive us for making that happen." Harry pressed a kiss to the top of Ginny's head. "I get why they are pushing us more."

"Oh, don't bring logic into this!" Ginny complained, her hands coming up to cover her face. Her voice was muffled, but Harry had become completely fluent in the ways of Ginny Weasley allowing him to understand her through the barricade. "Two months is plenty of time."

"How many weddings have you planned?"

Ginny turned her neck to look at him, her hands dropping. "Huh?"

"You say two months is plenty of time, but I can say that I have no idea how hard it is to plan a wedding. But I have heard it takes quite a bit of time, maybe more than two months."

"Stop with your logic, Potter. Can't you just agree with me?"

"Sorry, darling. You know I love playing the devil's advocate."

Ginny let out a deep breath. "You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"No. I guess I should go back and work with my mum, huh."

"I mean." Harry leaned around to kiss her cheek. "I could come with you. I picked white tablecloths so I can help to make sure the flower's color works with the tables."

Ginny turned her entire body around, her eyes locked on his. "You'd do that?"

"For you, I'd suffer through the seating chart rearrangement for the twentieth time."

"Well if that isn't love..." Though her tone oozed with sarcasm, the way she kissed him told Harry he had done the right thing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Weasley has been unstoppable today!" Mothers told the listeners. "She hasn't missed a shot. It's as if the Magpies haven't had a keeper at all."

"Fifteen shots and fifteen goals." Gregory clapped his hands together. "We don't tend to see such a one-sided game this close to the finals."

"Make it three-hundred and ten to one-hundred and twenty. Harpies still in the lead."

"I wish we could bottle whatever is driving Weasley today so we can have more games like this," Gregory mused as he watched the red-head speed pass him. "What do you think is her inspiration today?"

"I have no idea, Dan," Mothers admitted. "We did speak with her fiancé, Harry Potter, before his match today. When we brought up Weasley, he claimed she was ready for today's match, and clearly, he wasn't lying."

"Have the happy couple set a date yet?" Dan asked, more for himself than the listeners at this point.

"Actually, I did ask Potter." Mothers smiled at his partner. "He didn't say the exact date, but he hinted it was less than a month."

"Amazing! I can't explain how much I love the -"

Gregory gasped as Ginny Weasley started to fall fast. Her body was like a rag doll, moving through the air limply.

"Weasley has been taken down by a bludger to the head!" Mothers informed the crowd. "There is no one near her! She's gonna hit the ground!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mr Potter, I need you to remain calm."

"Oh, I'm plenty calm. I'm calm enough to hex you from here to Timbuktu."

"Harry, dear, how about you and Ron go get a cup of coffee down in the canteen."

Ginny couldn't move. She recognized her mother's soothing tone and Harry… a very distressed Harry. What would cause him to be so upset? She tried to open her eyes, but it was as if her lids had been stuck together with a permanent charm.

"Ergh." She tried to call Harry. She wanted to comfort him, but instead of saying his name loud and clear (like she had planned) the only noise that came out was an odd grunt.

"Ginny!?" Harry's voice had moved closer. "Gin, are you awake? Open your eyes, love."

Ginny tried to follow his instructions, but she just couldn't. The more she tried the more her head pounded.

"What's going on? Why can't she open her eyes?" Molly Weasley's voice accused fast and sharp. It was the tone she used when interrogating a trouble-maker.

"If she opens her eyes, her brain will face a sensory overload. I have made it so her eyes will remain shut until her brain has had more time to heal." Ginny didn't recognize the man's voice, but based on context clues she had to assume he was a healer of some sort.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Harry's tone made her want to laugh. He sounded ready to rip the head off the assumed healer. "Gin, can you hear me?"

"Ye-" Ginny tried to say yes, but she seemed unable to complete her task.

A hand she knew was Harry's lightly traced her cheek. "Good, love. Just relax then."

Ginny was more than happy to comply.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Multiple contusions, brain swelling, shattered bones in the hands, a broken leg and broken arm," Healer Rhodes explained, his elbows resting on the desk in his office "Miss Weasley is going to have quite a recovery process."

"Why did it take a week for her to wake up?" Harry asked for the fifth time. He, Molly, and Arthur sat together on the opposing side of the healer's desk.

"We believe she was in a comatose state." Rhodes laced his fingers together. "Her brain tissue swelled. Her body decided to shut down in order to focus on the trauma. It takes time for the body and mind to recover from such a serious injury. Our concern now is to test for any side effects from the swelling."

"Like what?" Arthur asked, his hand squeezing Molly's.

"Memory loss, speech functionality, motor functions, change in personality, things like that."

Harry didn't like it at all. "She might not remember things?"

"It's a possibility." Rhodes turned to Harry. "Though based on the response to you earlier I will hypothesize she knows you, Mr Potter."

"How do you check for…"

Rhodes gave Harry an understanding expression. "Slowly but surely. First we get her to a state where she can use her eyes comfortably. Then we see how well her brain responds. I would like to start healing some of the more serious injuries as soon as we can confirm she is mentally responsive."

"I'm going to go tell the boys to head home." Molly wiped away some stray tears. "It sounds like she doesn't need the whole family here right now."

"I have to agree with that, Mrs Weasley." Rhodes pulled out some charts from a drawer in his desk. "I'm going to wake her in about an hour and we are going to try and test response time. Mr Potter, I would like you to be there. It's always better if we have someone the patient is comfortable with."

"I had no intention of leaving," Harry told the healer. He knew he must sound rude, but at this moment he didn't give a shit about being charming and nice. If the healer had told him to leave, Harry had been more than prepared to fight the man.

"Good. Like I said it's going to be a hard recovery." Rhodes leaned in closer. "I want you to be prepared, Mr Potter. Miss Weasley is going to need you more than ever."

"Won't be a problem." Harry had never been more sure of anything in his life.

"I thought so." Rhodes stood, grabbing the charts with one hand and offered the other. "I'm going to check on a few other patients. Feel free to wait in your fiancée's room. I'll be there within the hour."

#hinny #hinny fic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry X ginny #harry potter fan fiction #hinny fanfic #natural

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thestoriesthatweweave · 6 years

Text

Another Autumn Follows Summer

Nicaise’s first love affair is with a Veretian boy.

He’s a few months older than Nicaise, yet the edges of him are still a little unformed with adolescence, where Nicaise already looks like a man. His hazel eyes are wide and warm, velvet-soft and his sand-colored hair never seems to quite lie flat at the back of his head, no matter how carefully he combs it. His upper lip is thin, but his lower lip is so full it looks like it’s been stung like a bee.

None of these traits, taken alone, could be considered beautiful, yet their whole coalescences into something that Nicaise finds irresistible.

The boy’s name is Aleaume. They meet when the intermingling courts are at Marlas, the place that is soon to be the capital of the New Artesian Empire. Aleaume and his friends come to the practice fields, to gawk at the wrestlers and whisper and snicker among themselves, but Aleaume keeps coming to watch them even once the novelty of the naked barbarians has worn off.

He sits in the stands, weight braced on his arms in a casual sprawl, his gaze hot and intent on Nicaise’s back as he takes to the sawdust. They cross eyes, once in a while. Aleaume always looks away first, a blush coloring his freckled cheeks.

It comes to a head after weeks of this, when Aleaume walks down to the arena just as Nicaise is leaving it, shoulders squared and a determined jut to his chin “Hello,” he says, in heavily accented Akielon.

Nicaise is not sure why he’s surprised he’s being mistaken for an Akielon - here he is, after all, surrounded by the barbarians, sweat and sand clinging to him, and there’s plenty of Akielons who share is fairer coloring. The relief follows the surprise, sudden and bone-deep, that no one has connected the blue-eyed fighter in the kings’ retinue with the Regent’s pet.

If they had, the gossip would have reached Aleaume by now.

Aleaume, who has stopped, uncertain, his eyes a little too fixed on the jut of Nicaise’s collarbones, as though he both wants and doesn’t want to look lower and has only now realized that this, perhaps, was not the cleverest moment to make his approach.

Nicaise stares back at him, just as tongue-tied. He feels suddenly hyper-aware of his skin, of the droplets of sweat running down his back and chest and neck, his face too warm, his smile too wide.

Pallas, may the gods bless him, is the one who comes to his rescue. “He speaks your language,” he says to Aleaume, in his Veretian that remains thickly accented regardless of how much time he spends around Lazar. He claps Nicaise’s shoulder, gives him a little push, before leaving the arena.

Nicaise watches him go, a half-panicked, half-giddy lump in his throat. “Drink?” he offers, tentatively.

They never make it past hungry kisses and roving hands. Almost a month into their affair, as they’re hesitatingly inching towards more, Nicaise surprises Alueame as he’s pushing another young man up against a wall, their mouths frantic as they move against one another.

“I still don’t see why you can’t have him executed,” he says, sullenly. His eyes feel swollen, his face crusty with dried tears.

Laurent raises his head, abandoning the grain report he’s perusing. “Because going behind your back, heinous as it may be, does not constitute treason.”

Nicaise purses his lips, refusing to answer.

“Additionally,” Damianos says, from the back of the room, “I would say you’ve taken your revenge.”

Stealing Alueame’s jacket to rub it all over a flea-ridden dog had felt good, as had been seeing Alueame and his new lover trying to surreptitiously scratch themselves during the solemn, dragging court functions. But whatever satisfaction he’d found had been short-lived.

Aleaume and his new lover still had each other, while Nicaise had been left with nothing but a few flea-bites on his hands and wrists to show for his revenge.

“Exiled from court?” he asks, hopefully.

Damianos sighs. “Your brother is a terror,” he says, to Laurent. To Nicaise, he adds, “The first love is always painful when it ends. But you’ll look back on your memories with him fondly, one day.”

Nicaise settles for glaring at him, to dissimulate the little glow of pleasure he feels deep in his gut, when Damianos calls him Laurent’s brother and Laurent doesn’t correct him.

The first time Nicaise has sex - the first time it counts, by any reckoning he finds worthy - is also at the first games he attends as a participant rather than a spectator.

He’s nineteen, when Philias - the decrepit trainer who, if the whispers of the boys around the training yard are to be believed, has taught even Damianos’ father to wrestle - finally, begrudgingly, proclaims his form with the trident fine enough that he might participate in an official function.

The contestants from Ios are used to him, by now, but the games are an important enough occasion that contenders flock in from the provinces. One of them, an hulking gladiator from Ishtima, looks him straight in the eye and spits on the ground.

Nicaise finds himself bristling.

“If you see Philias,” he tells Pallas, who’s hovering anxiously at his side, “distract him.”

Pallas stops him with a light touch on his wrist. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish,” he pleads.

Nicaise just smiles at him, shaking off his hand.

He’s at the tail end of a growth spurt, still slightly lanky with it, under strict orders not to wrestle anyone seriously until he relearns the balance of his body, to only focus on the trident, his primary discipline. Still, he makes his way over to the gladiator from Ishtima, stopping a few paces away to smile at him, hard-eyed. “Fancy a friendly bout?”

It’s a mistake.

His back hits the sawdust, quickly and with a force that makes his eyes water, a moment before the gladiator��s meaty arm finds his throat, pressing down violently. He’ll have bruises tomorrow, but for now he sucks in sharps breaths through his nose, stars dancing in front of his eyes. He’s panicking, terrified, arms flailing before his training wins over the fear.

He counters the hold, throwing all his weight into it, all that new height he still hasn’t quite learned how to master, until their positions are reversed, his hands steady on the gladiator’s body, his legs planted on the man’s shoulders.

He keeps the position until the gladiator raises his hand and taps it three times, in quick succession, on the disturbed sawdust. The signal for surrender.

“Good fight,” the gladiator says, once they’ve both caught their breath, and Nicaise is gingerly pressing his fingers against his tender throat. Surprisingly, the man’s words are not grudging.

“My name’s Telegonus,” he says, sticking out his hand for Nicaise to shake. “From Ishtima.”

“Nicaise,” he replies, taking the proffered hand, his free hand still touching his throat. “From Ios,” he adds, surprising himself. Usually, he claims to hail from Marlas, so no one will think twice of his Veretian name and fair eyes.

If Telegonos thinks them odd, he does not mention it. “Stop doing that,” he scolds, instead, taking Nicaise fingers in his to keep them away from his neck. His touch is warm, surprisingly gentle. “You’ll only aggravate it.”

“Philias will have my head,” Nicaise admits, “if he finds out what happened.”

Telegonus whistles. “Philias’s your trainer? He came to Ishtima once. I still have nightmares of the commentary he gave me.”

Nicaise laughs. “You get used to it. Legends has it the greatest praise he ever gave was to king Damianos, and it was that his form was passable.” If the story’s true, at the very least, it would explain why the man’s so fond of Laurnent’s arch adequates, Nicaise finds himself thinking. He smiles.

Telegonus smiles back. The expression makes his face look younger, somehow. Lighter. His features are rough-hewn, but pleasing, his mouth generous and his eyes dark and slanted. “How are you planning to keep him from finding out?” he asks, gesturing between them.

Nicaise shrugs. “I’ll just tell him I fell.”

“On your neck?”

“Why?” Nicaise asks. His smile comes slower, this time, more deliberate. “Are you planning on giving me a better excuse?”

The next day, when he appears for his match, Nicaise’s throat is purple with bruising, but so are his collarbones and his shoulders. There are scratch marks on his hips. He walks like he’s floating, a smile that he can’t quite suppress at his lips.

Philias clucks his tongue when he sees him. “The gods spare me from adolescent boys,” he laments. “Of all the times for you to have discovered the pleasures of the flesh. I hope she didn’t give you the clap, at least. It would be no less than what you deserve, but we don’t have a month to lose to you bent in two with the pain in your testicles.”

“It was a man, actually,” Nicaise says, his good humor still unshakable.

Philias doesn’t look very reassured by this. “Then I hope he didn’t give you the clap. And that you didn’t do anything that could impact your performance today.”

“No, sir,” Nicaise, says, truthfully, suppressing an childish curl of amusement at use of the word performance.

He wins at the trident, of course, and goes to the stands to watch Telegonus’ fight - short sword. He, too, sports a collection of love bites, though his complexion is dark enough to conceal most of them. Nicaise feels a sort of illicit thrill at watching him fight, at looking at the play of muscles and sinews under burnished skin - he knows this body, has felt it under his hands.

Still, he keeps his expression passably neutral, standing a few paces from the emperors as he is, and all eyes are turned to the match, anyway. He’s reasonably certain no one would’ve noticed, had Lazar not decided to elbow him in side, in the most conspicuous way possible. “Is that your lover-boy?” he asks, loudly. “A little bird tells me you didn’t come back to your room last night.”

Nicaise colors, as several heads turn to look at them. He kicks Lazar in the back of the knee, hard, where he knows it’ll hurt but do no lasting damage, enjoying, at least, the fleeting pleasure of seeing him buckle. Then, desperate to regain some of his composure, he turns to look at the emperors rather than at the arena.

But of course, the gods know no mercy.

“What is it with gladiators from Ishtima?" Laurent asks in a musing tone, slanting a sly-eyed look at his husband. "Perhaps I should sample one myself."

Damianos chokes on his wine.

Nicaise’s first serious relationship starts to fall apart just as the emperors’ marriage does.

Gregor’s native to Marlas, the son of a merchant, not quite high-born, with a sweet smile and perpetual ink-stains on his fingers Nicaise finds endearing. His kisses taste of apricots. Their lovemaking is tender and a little awkward, nights spent pressed up against each other in Gregor’s narrow childhood bed, the thin blankets hauled up over their heads to create a cocoon for themselves.

It’s wonderful and comfortable and warm and should be everything Nicaise has ever wanted. And yet, it is not.

The first year, they are happy - then, the fight starts. The misunderstandings. The endless silences.

He’s so wrapped up in his own unhappiness that he barely notices the same thing happening to Damianos and Laurent, barely registers the hushed gossip sweeping though the court, until he invites himself to Laurent’s chambers, one day, and is confronted with the reality of it.

Laurent’s curled up on an armchair, arms wrapped around his knees. He’s not quite crying, but he’s getting there. He looks up when Nicaise enters the room, his eyes shining with unshed tears, his jaw shaking a little, his lips pressed together in a bloodless line.

“Are you…” Nicaise asks, brought up short. “Are the two of you…” He doesn’t know how he plans on finishing that sentence- Are you getting an annulment? What about the empire?. All the questions that flit through his mind seem unspeakably callous, in the face of Laurent’s distress.

“Fine,” Laurent replies, his lips trembling but his voice firm. “I’m fine. We’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Nicaise snaps. “How can you bear to be with him, if he makes you so unhappy?”

“He does not,” Laurent says. He’s smiling, just a little, something wistful in the lines of his eyes. “But no marriage is ever effortless. There are always times when it’s easier to let things end, rather than hold on to them.”

“I thought love was supposed to be simple,” Nicaise says. He feels lost, like a child in a starlit wood.

“Oh, Nicaise,” Laurent says. His voice is gentle. “No one ever tells you this, but love is not a choice you get to only make once. You’ll have to keep choosing it, again and again and again, even when it’s painful, if you want it to survive. So long as it’s worth it.”

“How do you know, then? If it’s worth it?”

Laurent inclines his head, pensive. “I know,” he says, slowly, “because any pain I feel now is like a candle to the sun, when compared to the happiness Damen gives me. And I know it’s the same for him.”

Nicaise watches, while his relationship with Gregor splinters and cracks, as Laurent and Damianos knit themselves back together. He watches the way Laurent leans over to whisper something in his husband’s ear, one night at dinner. Damianos throws his head back and laughs, too loudly, with surprise and relief.

A few days after that, he watches as Damianos puts his arm around Laurent’s waist as they walk through the gardens, his touch delicate, a little hesitant, as though Laurent is some wild, skittish bird that’d take flight at the slightest provocation.

A month later, there’s a festival, for midwinter. Nicaise watches, still, from afar, as Laurent and Damianos dance across the hall. Their faces are turned together, bright, as though there’s a flame lit beneath their skin, firelight spilling forth from within.

Something turns, unpleasantly, in his stomach. The next day, he ends things with Gregor.

He feels both lighter and heavier for it.

He meets Deianira when he’s twenty-two, newly made an imperial guard. It’s summer, unreasonably hot even in Marlas, and the emperors have decamped the court at their summer palace for the worst weeks of the heat.

Nicaise, ostensibly, is on duty, but the atmosphere is relaxed enough that he spends much of his time on the beach, bare feet sinking into the warm sand, armor discarded a few feet away, ready to be put back on as soon as he’s due on rotation.

She’s the daughter of the Kyros of Thrace. Nicaise has seen her before, once, when she’d been presented to the court at fourteen. She’d been a wren of a girl, lively but shy, half-hidden behind her sisters’ skirts; Nicaise had not spared a thought for her, then, and has not spared a thought for her since.

Five years on, the shyness has dissipated, leaving behind only the liveliness. She runs along the surf, one in a dozen of highborn Akielon maidens, naked to the waist, her skirts hiked up so she won’t be caught in them, spraying and screeching with a gaggle of children - her siblings, or maybe her cousins.

Nicaise looks at her, her tousled curls cut along her chin, her strong jaw and delicate ankles, her thick-lashed black eyes and dark brows. She’s tanned all over, in the way of Akielons who’ve never had to know modesty at their nakedness.

Desire is a surprise, when Nicaise didn’t think such things could ever surprise him again. As she leans back on her elbows, slick and dark on the rocks, her clothing sheer with water, spine arching, he finds he wants to run his fingers over the tendons in her legs, up and up and up.

He spends a few days puzzling his approach. It will be different, he thinks, to court a woman, but he cannot quite place in which way it will be different, and he has no one to ask. The friends he’s made on the sawdust carry on as though they think they know how to talk to a woman, but Nicaise has seen enough of their approaches to know they’re severely deluded in this. The only person he’s reasonably close with, who’s ever successfully courted a woman, he realizes with a twist of his mouth, is Damianos.

And even if Nicaise were desperate enough to go to him for advice, Damianos’s royalty, so his success hardly says much about his abilities - although, to be fair, he has managed to get Laurent into bed, so perhaps the man has some charms Nicaise has never been privy to.

In the end, it doesn’t matter, as Deianira’s the one to approach him.

They kiss for the first time in an alcove in the gardens, her mouth warm and wet against his. Her skin is soft, smooth as river-pebbles under his palms and he feels clumsy and awkward, unsure where to put his hands, her body foreign under his touch.

She pushes away from him, slightly. “First time?” she asks, teasing but not mocking.

“With a woman, yes,” he admits.

Her mouth twitches. “Come here,” she says, “and I’ll teach you.”

“I can’t get you pregnant,” he blurts, slightly panicked, as she puts her hand over his. “Laurent would have my head.”

“Well, good,” she says, laughing, bright-eyed, “I don’t want you to get me pregnant, either. I’ve things to do with my life.”

It’s a summer fling, all the sweeter for its briefness.

They lie together on Nicaise’s bed, a few days before parting, the sweat cooling on their skin, Deianira’s head tucked up against the hollow of his shoulder.

She’s chattering about her plans to join a diplomatic envoy to Vask, come fall. She has, not quite an intended, back in Thrace, but an understanding, and plans to be gone before their parents can negotiate further, so that her refusal not be seen as too great an offense.

“Don’t you want to get married?” Nicaise asks.

She pauses, turning her chin so that she can look at him, her eyes shining with good humor. “To Meleager? He has a weak chin and speaks of nothing but goats.”

He laughs. “No. I meant in general.”

“Oh.” She slips away from him a little, bracing herself on her elbows, though she keeps their legs pressed together. “No, I don’t think so.” A pause. “Do you?”

Nicaise is silent for some time. He thinks of Deianira, running across the surf, muscles flickering under her skin, wild with the thoughtless grace of freedom. He thinks of sweet Gregor, who could never be all that Nicaise wanted.

He thinks of Damianos and Laurent, standing more than a foot apart and yet with no daylight between them, looking at each other with bright gazes, choosing and choosing and choosing.

“Yes,” he says, eventually. “I do.”

#Captive Prince #captive prince fic #nicaise lives #Nicaise lives au #bisexual nicaise #nicaise/original male characters #nicaise/original female character #damen/laurent #My writing #nicaise #damen #laurent #pallas #lazar

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