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mountain-in-springtime · 8 months

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somethin' stupid (like i love you)

pairing: sam x reader | word count: 5.3k | warnings: kissing, language, alcohol consumption | my masterlist

summary: you and sam have been best friends for years, but the presence of three little unsaid words could be enough to tear you apart.

author's note: Y'ALL this is my longest fic ever like what is happeningggg?? anyways, this fic is almost entirely unedited aside from whatever grammarly told me to fix lol but i love her anyways. i was unsure of how to format this, and i was kinda worried that it was corny, but i think i'm really happy with this one. it makes me so very soft. also it's based off of the song somethin' stupid, which is one of my songs of all time and is also linked below!

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The icy night air stung your cheeks as it whipped around you, making your hair tumble from its carefully done style, and you were sure that you would wake up with a cold in the morning with the way the weather turned you into a sniffling mess. You guessed it was partially your fault for not grabbing a jacket when you and Sam had snuck your way from the cramped, sweltering space of your high school gym, but in your defense, you hadn’t had a lot of time to think it over. You were laughing and dancing with one of your friends, swaying with giddy delight when you felt a hand grasp your own. After whipping around, you saw that it was your best friend, his expression pleading as he made his request.

“Let’s get out of here,” he had said, and you followed without a single question as to why. Next thing you knew, you were walking hand-in-hand down the empty streets, wandering aimlessly in silence. Occasionally, you would hear a quiet sniffle from him, and you couldn’t be sure if it was a product of the environment or something else entirely.

After many minutes of wordless strolling, the two of you came across a playground. Void of any of the childish giggles and shrieks it usually fosters, it was almost an eerie sight. Still, you went with Sam as he turned toward the old, rusty swing set. The seat creaked as he sat down, and the chain on yours squeaked as it gave with your weight. You turned to your friend, studying the serious expression he wore as he gazed downward and kicked the pebbles that littered the ground below him.

“You okay?” you prompted, hoping for him to open up. He kept his eyes away from your own but held his hand out beside him. You reached your own out to him, and he linked his pinky with yours. It was a small gesture, but it didn’t go unnoticed by you. Even when he was hurting, Sam was sure to give you reassuring bits of affection, making it clear that it wasn’t you he was upset with.

“She dumped me,” he finally said after a long moment. His voice lacked any of its characteristic light, and his eyes stayed trained on the ground. The long waves of his thick hair hung like curtains that obscured his face from your view, something you figured he was grateful for.

You sighed and reached out a sympathetic hand, resting it on his arm. “Oh, Sam,” you mumbled, “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know. That’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I… couldn’t,” he answered, his voice quiet and strained.

A moment of silence fell between you as you took in what he had said. “Why?” you finally asked, and you could feel the weight of the question hanging in the air the minute you uttered it.

Sam let out a long sigh before answering. “Because… you never liked her anyway. I thought if I told you, you’d just rub it in my face that you were right.”

His confession hit you like a ton of bricks as you say there, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. “Oh, shit, Sam. I… I never meant to make you feel like that. I’m sorry,” you whispered, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replied through a deep breath. You knew he could tell how bad you felt. Sam was always so in tune with your emotions, quick to lift you up when you were down, but in this moment, you couldn’t let him do that.

“No, it’s not,” you corrected, shaking your head, “It’s really not, Sam. I’ve been a shitty friend. I thought that I was looking out for you, but I was just being a jealous asshole. I think seeing you so happy with someone else… it made me feel left out, y’know? But that’s not your problem, it’s mine. I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about your relationship, and that’s messed up. I’m sorry.” You turned to face him and were surprised when he was already looking at you.

His grip on your pinky moved to your entire hand as he laced his fingers with yours. He wore a gentle smile as he shook his head softly. “No need for an apology. I already forgave you, silly,” he mumbled, brushing stray hairs from your forehead. His hand cradled the back of your head and pulled you forward. You sighed softly as his lips grazed your temple. “I could never stay mad at you, y’know,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “I know,” you teased, “You love me too much.”

He let out a small chuckle and looked down at you. “You got that right. You’re the best friend I have,” he answered. His arm rested across your shoulder, pulling the two of you close despite the groans of the swings you occupied. You tilt your head up, your chin resting on his chest as you meet his gaze. You wished that you could keep this moment in a capsule and return to it over and over again, but you knew that there was more that needed to be said.

“Sam? You wanna talk about it? The breakup, I mean,” you offered, not wanting to pry but also desperately wanting to be there for him.

He gave his head a small shake as he continued to smile down at you. “Nah, it’s okay. I kinda knew it was coming.,” he explained, “She was pulling back. I just tried to ignore it. Told myself I was making it up, y’know?” He said it more like a fact than a question, punctuating it all with a long sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. You looked down at his hand in yours, turning it over and examining his long, slender fingers. You thought about how funny it was that even up close Sam was so beautiful and warm. He was perfect down to each minutia of his being. Your fingers traced along his knuckles, transfixed in the dips and curves between them. You grazed his fingertips and felt the rough calluses that had formed there from years of practice and passion. It was like you had fallen into your own private world as you stared at the canvas of your best friend’s palm.

A small chuckle from Sam pulled you from your daze, his laughter vibrating through his chest and flowing into you. You wore an expression that fell somewhere between amusement and confusion as you looked up at him. “What?” you asked with a soft giggle.

He shook his head as he held his fond expression. “Nothing,” he answered, “You look pretty when you’re all focused like that. Your brows get all scrunched, and your face gets all serious.” He tried and failed to mimic your expression, falling into a fit of wild, bubbling laughter.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful look. “That doesn’t sound pretty, Sam,” you chided jokingly, “You make me look like a doofus.” You shoved him lightly, making him only laugh harder.

He shook his head, fighting off his persistent chuckling as he placed his hand on your cheek and tucked a windswept strand of hair behind your ear. “Trust me, sweetheart. You look so pretty right now,” he whispered. Your heart jumped at how shamelessly he said it, making it impossible to not believe him. You swallowed thickly in an attempt to calm your racing pulse.

“Yeah?” you questioned teasingly, “You’re not too bad yourself, y’know.” Your cheeks felt hot as you said it, and you could feel creeping regret encompass you as you were suddenly afraid that you had gone too far and ruined the moment, but a small laugh from Sam calmed you instantly in a way that only he seemed able to do.

He mirrored your question, “Yeah?” His gaze pierced your own, freezing you in place despite your desire to look away and hide your growing bashfulness. You felt completely bare before him, like he was seeing every piece of you, and you weren’t sure if you could handle it or if you even wanted to. Just when it became too much to bear and you moved to turn away, you felt Sam’s fingers grip your chin, keeping you facing him. “You scared?” He asked quietly, his voice even and sincere.

You hesitated before answering, unsure of what the honest answer was. Your heart was racing faster than it ever had, and you felt like you were seconds away from passing out, but as you stared up at Sam, you had never felt safer. You were scared out of your mind, but you knew that he would never lead you astray. You shook your head. “I’m alright, Sam,” you answered shakily.

He smiled softly. “Good,” he cooed as he leaned forward, stopping when his lips were only centimeters from yours. His eyes flitted up to meet your own, silently giving you one last chance to back out. You let out a nervous breath and smiled at him before closing the gap between you, hesitantly locking your lips with his. You heard Sam gasp quietly in surprise, and he stayed still for a moment of pure shock before kissing you back in earnest. His hand on your cheek moved to the back of your neck, pulling you close with all of the gentle passion in his body. You squeezed his hand as you sighed softly into his kiss. Everything around you melted away. There was no playground, no icy wind, and no pressure to be anything but yourself. It didn’t matter where this went or what it would mean for you and Sam tomorrow. All that mattered was this beautiful, messy, perfect moment between the two of you as you made your undefined and unexplored love for each other tangible between squeaky swings and shuffling rocks.

Sam may not be right about a lot of things, but he sure was right about one: you really needed to learn to pace your drinking. You stumbled about Josh’s house, placing your hands on empty walls, wobbly shelves, and innocent party-goers in an attempt to steady yourself. Occasionally, you would spot someone you recognized and slur out a desperate “Where’s Sammy?” to which you would get pointed in a direction that never seemed to be where he actually was. After a few minutes of aimless wandering you gave up and decided to make your way to the kitchen. Your stomach had been growling endlessly for about fifteen minutes, and you had ignored it for just about as long as you could in your drunken state. As you crossed the threshold into the kitchen, your foot caught onto a statue near the entryway, sending you tumbling downward. You yelped and braced yourself for impact, but at the last moment, you felt strong hands grip your arm and waist and pull you back up. You mumbled out a quick thanks before turning towards your savior and seeing a familiar face.

“Oh, Sammy!” you gasped, “There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” You giggled softly and pulled him into a crushing hug, making it his turn to give a surprised yelp, which was followed promptly by his signature, good-natured laugh.

“Looking for me? What do ya need me for?” he asked. He kept a hand on each of your arms as he talked to you, making sure you didn’t take another dive toward the hardwood floors.

You stared blankly for a moment before shrugging. “Don’t remember,” you answered before a look of realization crossed your face, “Oh, yeah, I’m drunk. And hungry.” Your stomach growled loudly, cementing your latter point. “See?” you added, pointing to your belly.

He let out a bark of laughter before he looked at you with a smug grin. “Lemme guess, you didn’t listen when I said that doing all those shots with Jake and Josh was a bad idea, huh?” his voice had a tinge of prideful victory, and it was putting a serious damper on your excitement at finding him.

You let out a groan and stuck your lip out in a pout. “It’s their birthday, Sammy. What kind of friend would I be if I turned down shots?”

“A sober friend,” he countered with a chuckle, “Besides, they’re professional alcoholics. No one can keep up with them.” He pulled you into his side and ruffled your hair slightly.

“Hey!” you whined, swatting his hand away from your now-tangled hair, “You know, I think you only say that no one can keep up with Jake and Josh because you’re a lightweight.” You look up at him, wiggling your eyebrows in an act of challenging playfulness.

He rolled his eyes. “Watch it there, sweets. Don’t wanna bite the hand that keeps you from falling on your ass,” he quipped, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he felt you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“Whatever,” you dismissed with a scoff, “You know I’m right, though. That’s why you never drink much at these parties.” Now it was your turn to look up at him smugly, your nose scrunching slightly.

He brought his other hand forward and tapped the tip of your nose with his index finger playfully. “You wish,” he said with a smirk, “I don’t drink because I know you’re gonna get wasted and beg me for a ride home. What you gotta say about that one?” His gaze on you was triumphant as he expectantly waited for you to answer.

You opened your mouth to protest but stopped as your cheeks flushed, and your face grew into a half-hearted glare. “Can we get Taco Bell on the way home?” you finally asked defeatedly.

You felt Sam shake with laughter as he nodded, “Sure,” he agreed, “Now, c’mon, let’s go say bye to everyone. Don’t wanna be bad guests, now do we?” You nodded in reply, and he started to guide you out of the kitchen in search of his brothers. Finding them proved to be anything but a difficult feat, considering that all it took to find Josh was to listen for the loudest person and head in their direction. Jake, of course, was right beside his twin, Josh’s arm wrapped affectionately around his shoulders. After wishing them goodbye and a happy birthday and assuring them that while, yes, you’d love to stay, you really did have to go home, you set your sights on finding Danny. He was just as easy to find as the twins, pouring himself another drink and making friendly conversation with some of the other guests. You and Sam bid him farewell and began to make your way out of the house. You clung desperately to Sam’s side as you made it through the living room, and only three extra goodbyes and one near-faceplant later, the two of you had made it outside and all the way to Sam’s car. He unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you, helping you climb inside.

“Thank you, Sammy,” you mumbled, “You’re a real sweetheart.” You gave him an affectionate pat on the arm, which he returned before shutting the car door and moving to the driver’s side.

“Alright,” he said as he sat behind the wheel, “You ready to go? Got your seatbelt buckled?”

You gave a gasp of realization, “Oh!” The seatbelt made a loud zipping sound as you pulled it across your body. Sam watched with fond amusement as you tried again and again to click the buckle into place, finally nailing it on your fourth try. “Got it!” you exclaimed, all giggles and excitement.

He laughed along with you as he backed out of Josh’s driveway and set off down the road. You let the time pass between you, an ever-flowing stream of consciousness pouring from you as you shared anything and everything on your mind. Sam listened to every word, never interrupting or making you feel silly for your drunken rambles. It was the kind of thing that you’d really appreciate and probably comment on if you were a little more sober.

Eventually, you felt the car slow down as Sam pulled into the Taco Bell drive-thru. An excited squeal left your throat as the car rolled to a stop. He rolled down the window, and a few moments later the metallic voice rang through the speaker, asking for your order. You heard Sam ask for a moment before he turned to you with a lopsided grin. “Alright, what are you having, sweets?” he asked.

You gave a loud, exaggerated hum as you thought it over, staring at the menu through the windshield. “Ummm, quesadillas,” you finally answered, “Oh, and a Mountain Dew, please. A big one.” You held your hands up and mimed the shape of a comically large drink. Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled softly in response, ordering quickly and driving up to the window. You leaned over and reached down for your purse. As you picked it up with a victorious huff, you stuffed your hand inside, fishing around for your wallet. However, your movements stopped when you felt Sam’s hand on your arm.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told you, shaking his head as he pulled out his own wallet from his pocket. He moved to take out his card but stopped with a sigh as you shoved a few bills his way.

“Lemme pay, Sammy,” you pleaded, “People are gonna think I’m a gold digger if you’re always buying.” You hoped your attempt at a joke would make him give in, but it seemed that the odds weren’t in your favor as he shook his head again, pushing the bills away.

“Nice try,” he said as he handed his card to the woman at the window, “Besides, we’re not even dating. No one’s gonna call you a gold digger.” He laughed, mostly to himself, and took his receipt from the cashier. You pouted slightly as you heard her tell him to pull into a parking spot, letting him know that the food would be out in a few minutes.

You were about to open your mouth to complain about how hungry you were, but when you looked at Sam, the thought was erased from your mind. The glow of the parking lot lights washed across his features, making them seem beautifully sculpted and impossibly soft all at once. His lips looked plush and full as he sang along quietly to the radio, and the way his lashes fluttered with every blink was enough to make your heart beat out of your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out with one hand, gently touching his cheek. “You’re so pretty, Sammy,” you whispered as your thumb brushed along the smooth skin of his cheek. He laughed softly and thanked you, but you shook your head, feeling a burning need to make him understand. “No, I mean it,” you insisted, “You’re beautiful. The light makes your face look so good.” You leaned over the center console, craving to be close to him.

You didn’t notice the soft flush of his cheeks, but you felt his hand grab yours softly and place it back in your lap. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he answered with a small smile playing across his lips, “You look really nice, too. Even if you’re a little sauced.”

You sigh, ignoring his playful dig at your current state. Your gaze stayed trained on him for a few more lingering moments. “You look the way you did in the playground that one time,” you mumbled, and you felt your cheeks heat up even as you said it.

“Yeah?” he asked, tensing slightly and gripping the steering wheel tighter with his left hand, his right one drumming on the gear shift.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think about it a lot. Do you?” you asked with such unfiltered candor that Sam couldn’t deny you the truth.

“Yeah. Sometimes,” he uttered, his eyes staying trained forward, unable to face you. It was only when he felt your soft grip on his chin that he turned.

“I wanna kiss you, Sam,” you blurted. The words hung in the air, and you desperately wanted to take them back, but it was too late, and as much as you could try to deny it in the morning, they were all true.

He searched your face for a few seconds, confusion and heartbreak dancing over his features. “No, you don’t, sweets. You’re drunk,” he muttered with a shake of his head, “You’re just getting in your head and saying things that you don’t mean.” His hand firmly but gently gripped your wrist, pushing your hand away. You moved it back immediately, your face holding a look of vulnerable want.

“No,” you protested softly, “Drunk or sober, this is what I want. I just… I’ve never been brave enough to say it before. Please, Sam, you know I love you.” You leaned forward slightly, praying to whatever powers that be that maybe he would feel the same way, but he only shook his head, placing his hand over yours.

His voice came out in a pained whisper, punctuated with a shake of his head, “I love you, too.” They were the exact words you wanted to hear, but you never knew how painful they could be. What you thought would be a heartfelt confession became the biggest rejection of your life. You opened your mouth to speak back, to ask why he didn’t want you if he loved you so much, but you were cut off as a woman approached the car, knocking on the window and handing Sam your food. You sat in a terrible silence as he placed your drink in the cup holder and handed you the brown paper bag. He stared ahead for a moment before sighing and putting on a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Alright, sweets. Let’s get you home.” And just like that, the moment was over.

Hot tears poured down your cheeks, burning your skin and making you choke with every sob. You wiped your nose with your sleeve, not caring how gross you would normally find the habit. Your knees were pulled tightly to your chest as you sat perched on your couches. After a few moments, your breathing slowly evened out, and you took a deep breath before reaching for your phone, dialing quickly and praying for an answer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you heard Sam’s voice from the other line, full of cheer and affection. The sound of him alone was enough to pull fresh tears from you, pouring out in loud cries. He responded immediately with concern, “What’s wrong?” His question was simple. He never pushed too far, and it was something you appreciated now more than ever.

You sniffled loudly for a few moments before answering. “I dumped Austin,” you sobbed, “Can you please come over?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Do you need anything?” He asked, his answer swift and to the point.

After a few moments of silent thought, you whimpered back, shaking your head, “No, just get here as soon as you can, please.” Your grip on your phone was tight and desperate as if holding it close would bring Sam to you faster.

“Alright. I’ll be there soon. You hang in tight, okay? I love you,” he cooed, slowly easing your nerves, making your breath still.

“Okay,” you sighed, “Thank you, Sammy. I love you, too.” You hung up the phone and took a deep breath. All you wanted was to ball back up on the couch and scream, but you decided that you should try getting yourself together before Sam arrived. You were sure he wouldn’t mind if you were a blubbering mess, but it wasn’t like he could help you much if you could barely speak.

You walked into your kitchen, throwing open your freezer and grabbing a tub of ice cream. It made a soft thudding sound as you dropped it unceremoniously onto the counter and swung the door to the freezer closed. Next, you pulled open the drawer nearest to the stove, grabbing a spoon for yourself and an extra one for Sam. The old barstool that was posed near your kitchen island screeched as you dragged it towards you, and it creaked loudly when you sat upon it. You mentally reminded yourself to look for new barstools and yanked the lid off of the ice cream, scooping a large spoonful and shoving it into your mouth. The sugar truly did little to lift your spirits, but at least it didn’t make you feel worse. At least that was what you were telling yourself when you heard a knock at the door, signaling Sam’s arrival.

You got up from your place at the counter and plodded to the door. As you opened it and saw your friend’s face, you fell into his arms in a tight, bone-crushing hug. “Hey, Sammy,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he answered. You felt his hand splayed out across your back, rubbing up and down in a comforting gesture. After a moment, he spoke again. “You okay?” he asked, his voice full of gentle concern.

You let out a long sigh. “Yes. No. I don’t really know,” you whined, “I feel so bad, Sam. He had no clue it was coming.” Your head fell forward, landing in your palms as you rubbed your temples in frustration and uncertain grief. You slowly moved back to the kitchen and plopped back into your chair.

“I thought things were going really well,” Sam asked, following you and sitting beside you at the counter.

You nod as you take another bite of ice cream and nudge the extra spoon in his direction. “It was. I mean, he was so sweet and nice. He would come to all my family stuff, even when he knew he didn’t have to, and he was always doing all these sweet little things to make sure I knew he cared. Flowers, chocolates, the whole nine yards, y’know? He was the best boyfriend I ever had,” you shared, one long stream of consciousness pouring out of you.

Sam sat in silence for a moment, taking in what you had to say. Then, he gave a long sigh and finally answered, “I don’t understand then, sweets. Why’d you dump him?”

It was your turn to give a sigh in response, paired now with a shake of your head. “I didn’t love him,” you said quietly, “I tried. I tried so hard to love him. I mean, why not, y’know? He was a nice guy, the kinda guy I should consider myself lucky to be with. But I just couldn’t do it. No matter how hard I tried.” Tears started to roll down your cheeks again and your shoulders started to shake as Sam pulled you into a tight embrace, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to love anyone. You know that? Besides, any guy who’s with you is the lucky one, not the other way around,” he cooed sweetly to you as he gently patted you on the back, swaying slightly.

You gave a small huff, leaning into Sam’s embrace. “It’s like this every time. I meet a nice guy, and I try to love them, I really do, and it always just blows up in my face. God, what’s wrong with me?” you cried as you buried your face into the crook of his shoulder.

He shushed you softly, “Oh, now, come on. You know nothing’s wrong with you. You’re the best gal I know, and you shouldn’t try to force yourself to love anybody. That’s not the way to go about it. It’s not fair to yourself.” You felt his head tilt downward to look at you. “What’re you doing trying to make yourself love all these guys anyway?” he asked, no mocking tone in his voice, only a genuine desire to understand.

“It’s embarrassing, Sam,” you replied with a shake of your head, “I can’t….” Your sentence trailed off and you kept your face pressed against his body, unable to answer.

He nodded, “Alright. That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but just try to remember that things are gonna work out, okay? You’re gonna find someone out there who’s gonna really knock your socks off.” A small chuckle rumbled in his chest as he tried to slowly lift your spirits.

“No, I won’t, Sam,” you muttered, “I’ve tried over and over. It’s not gonna work out for me.”

Your words only made him tighten his grip on you. “Now, that’s crazy talk,” he chided softly, “Why would you think a thing like that?”

“Because you don’t love me.”

Your words hung between the two of you, Sam being the first to cut through the thick tension they left behind. “What?” he asked, his voice bearing incredulous confusion, “Of course I love you. I tell you I love you all the time.”

You gave a frustrated groan and pulled yourself away from him. “God, Sam, you just don’t get it. I don’t mean love like that. I mean love. You might love me, Sam, but you don’t want me. Not the way I want you.”

A painfully loud, blaring silence filled the room as the weight of what you said rested on the man before you. He didn’t say a word, his eyes staying locked on the floor.

“See?” you continued, “I’ve always loved you, Sam. I thought it was pass, but… fuck, I love you, Sam. And you just don’t love me. You never did.”

You opened your mouth to say more but was cut short as you felt warm, soft lips pressed against your own. Your body went rigid with shock for a moment before melting into Sam’s kiss. Deep, hungry sighs of relief flowed between the two of you as you desperately grabbed at each other. His tongue slotted itself between your lips, coming to meet with your own as his hands combed through your hair, gentle need filling him as he cradled you to his being. Your hands rested upon his shoulders and acted as an anchor to prove to yourself that this was real and not some sick joke your brain was playing on you.

After you could hardly breathe and had exhausted yourself in the raw passage of love you shared, you pulled back, looking Sam in the eyes. “I’ve always loved you,” he confessed, “I loved you since that night we kissed our senior year. I just… I was scared. The way I feel about you, it’s bigger than me. Hell, it’s bigger than the both of us put together, and I was scared that if I told you, if I really put my money where my mouth is and just laid it all out, it would ruin what we had. I could never afford to lose you. I still can’t. I just always told myself that I’d do whatever it takes to keep you around, even if it meant I couldn’t love you the way I wanted.”

You were almost moved to tears at his words as you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. “Oh, Sam, you’re so stupid. Stupid and wonderful. How could I ever not love you? And how could a love like ours ever go bad?” You tilted your head up and kissed him again, feeling so free just to know that you could.

A loud laugh rumbled through his chest as he held you and kissed you back. “Yeah, I guess love makes us all a little stupid, doesn’t it?” he asked and looked down at you, his playful, lopsided smile plastered to his face.

You giggled with unbridled delight. “I guess you’re right on that one,” you conceded, “At least we can be stupid together, right?”

“Right,” he answered, leaning in and kissing you sweetly. You smiled into his kiss, happy in the fact that you and Sam were both incredibly, undeniably stupid and unmistakably, absolutely in love.

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garricks4thwingqueen · 13 days

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Always Yours Part 3

Raelynn and Liam have to face the parapet. Xaden has to prep himself that the day is finally here for them.

Trigger Warnings: Slight NSFW mentions, Swearing

Part 3

Word Count :2128

Xaden’s POV

I woke up to the sound of Sgaeyl’s voice in my head “It’s time for your first official day of being a wingleader. Get up or risk the raft of being late.” I groaned. “ I could have fucking slept better if a certain dragon remembered to put her shield up when she was fucking her mate.” and then I felt her slam that mental door shut. “Great, at least you do it now.” I groaned as I heard a knock on my door, “coming.” I groaned knowing far too well it was either Bodhi or Garrick or both. I opened it to both of them. “Man you look shit.” “Shut it Boh, you can take my dragon from me.” “No thanks man, you can have that mated pair.” Bodhi responded with a chuckle. “Ready for today?” Garrick asked as we started to head down for breakfast. I huffed in the mildly cold morning air mixed with a sky that was a gloomy gray that threatened to brust through with a storm any minute. Hopefully after the parapet I said to myself. “Xaden, they’ll be fine.” Garrick siad reassuringly as we sat down at the leaders table for breakfast leaving Bodhi with Imogen. “I was terrified last year for Bodhi and Imogen, But this year? I may as well be a fucking trainwreck.” I said looking down at my breakfast plate which did not look appetizing at all, hoping that my sister and foster brother at least got a decent breakfast filled with protein.

Garrick and I made our way up to the turret as we could see this year's cadets already lining up for their turn. Taking surveillance, I didn’t see a head of blonde or a head of blonde with burgundy highlights or any relics sticking out in my vision yet. As wingleader and section leader it was mine and Garrick's job to take down the names as the cadets started to cross. “It’ll be my damned fault if anything happens.” I heard Garrick sigh. I didn't even think I had said them aloud Stop blaming yourself. They don’t blame you. They’ll do fine. I don’t respond to Sgaeyl. “Xaden.” Garrick started to say as I asked the approaching cadet their name and he wrote it down and I motioned them forward to start. “What?” I snapped “They’ll be fine. We all have been.” “Yeah, do you know what it feels like standing here being the one to call your foster brother and biological younger sister to the start of what may be their death sentence.” Garrick sighed once more as the 10th cadet started crossing. “That's not fair on yourself or even to me. You know I care about them too and Bodhi and Imogen. For the millionth time Xaden we are all in this together, so stop blaming yourself because we’d all rather be here then dead, and you know as much as I do that Raelynn isn’t going to put up with the blame game.” I chuckled. “Yeah, you may care about my sister a little too much.” It was Garrick’s turn to chuckle. ” You kind of squashed that a year ago and if I have a feeling in what she's written back to me, they may be a little more than friends now. Get ready for the next one, Riorson.” He finished. I sighed, taking in my line of vision in front of me about 6 cadets back was Liam. Liam holding on to my little sister, kissing her passionately like no one was watching. “Damn they need to breathe.” I said to Garrick. “Guess I was right.” As they finally stopped what may be their last kiss; I shook the thought out of my head as Liam’s soft blue eyes locked with mine as he was now third in line. Stop it. Sgaeyl said in a very annoyed tone. This time it was my turn to slam the mental door shut that connected us as there was only one more cadet ready to cross in front of Liam as it officially started to downpour. “Fuck.” I cursed. The parapet was a lethal balance beam on its own, but with weather conditions it may as well be even worse. Their strength was about to be tested as Liam stepped up. Instead of asking for his name which Garrick was already writing down I whispered, “Good luck, see you after this shit is over with.” “You’ve got this. "Garrick said on my left. Liam nodded “See you guys later. Remind Raelynn I love her.” He said, stepping forward. I nodded, not trusting my voice. He’ll be fine I whispered to myself as Garrick nodded in Rae’s direction and that's when my heart skipped a million beats. All I wanted was to hug my sister, but I couldn't. I couldn't risk that target on her all ready and as leadership we weren't allowed to intercept during parapet. “I love you.” She whispered with an added “both.” “I love you too, find Bodhi.” “Slow and steady. Small steps with the wet ground.” Garrick added as I motioned forward giving her a little more time then other cadets. Hopefully, Liam was at least now out of her line of vision if anything was going to happen. “She’s on.” Garrick whispered as I sighed, motioning for the next cadet to come forward.

Raelynn’s POV

I jumped off the parapet straight into Liam’s arms and buried my head into the crook of his neck. “I love you.” He whispered into my shoulder. “I love you more.” I said through a few rounds of tears; after facing one of the most stressful things I've done in my entire life, I never wanted to leave my man's arms again. ”Ouch, I thought you loved me the most?” “Boh!” I shrieked, flying out of Liam’s arms into my cousins. “Glad to see you both made it across. We’ve missed you.” I heard Liam chuckle as he pulled me back into his arms after he took his turn hugging Bodhi and placing a soft kiss on my lips. “So, are you two like what, official now?” “As of last night.” Liam said with the biggest grin on his face in Imogen’s direction. “Let’s just say I’m finally glad to have my best friend again. Dealing with these 3 alone this past year, it’s your turn.” Imogen said, giving me a hug. “Ha, I’ll gladly watch them all for a day.” I chuckled. “So how much of this is left?” I asked in Bodhi’s direction. “Let’s see, it's 11 am so it's about all day. First formation is at 6pm.” “Don’t worry we are all divided in the fourth wing evenly.” Bodhi said, looking between the both of us.

Later that evening after dinner and after formation, Liam and I finally had a chance to step away before going to our cots in the dormitories. “I love you.” I whispered as he pulled me in close in an enclosed alcove area off of the courtyard. He lifted me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Not having the same bed is really going to suck.” I sighed as Liam let out a deep chuckle in response as his fingers slipped into my underwear. “Who said we can't share a cot.” He said in a low raspy voice as he playfully bit my neck, his fingers still exploring my lower region. “Li.” “yeah baby?” “I need you, now.” “So eager.” He chuckled and started sliding my pants just low enough. “Being frisky in public?” I heard my brothers familiar voice, “Fuck.” Liam cruised, quickly pulling my pants back up. “Anything you two want to share?” Xaden asked, now coming into full view. “That I missed you like hell.” I said as he chuckled, pulling me into a hug. “It was so hard not to hug you earlier.” I whispered. “I know. I was a nervous wreck the rest of the day; until Sgaeyl actually finally told me you both made it across.” He said letting go of me and hugging Liam. “Let’s go for a walk.” Xaden said, wrapping his arm around my waist, Liam’s already there. “I hate having to say this but you're really going to have to be on guard the majority of the time. Being my sister and who our father was.” “Xaden.” I sighed “You really think I’m going to let my girl out of my sight if I have any control over it.” Liam intercepted. “No and I’m thankful she has you.” Xaden said as we stopped under a tree. “Garrick!” He chuckled as he turned around from talking to Bodhi and Imogen. It took Gar only 4 steps to close the space between us, “I’m glad you both made it.” he said as we hugged. “Isn’t this illegal?” I asked, looking around our core group of 6 and leaning back into Liam as he rested his back against the fruit tree. “Technically.” Xaden answered, “but it’s also the one place besides classes that we can all be together.” Garrick added in. I sighed, grasping Liam’s hand a little more for the added comfort. “The first year is always the toughest, not that it gets any easier.” Xaden said with a steady gaze on both Li and I. “Unfortunately, because of me, for us it's worse.” “Xad.” s started to say. “Told you Riorson.” Garrick chuckled. “Because of you we are alive.” I said, stepping towards my brother. Xaden was never one to show his emotions well. In fact, he was basically a solid rock when it came to expressing himself. “If you didn’t do what you did 7 years ago none of us would have a chance to even be standing here.” There were times I could break his tough exterior, but I knew it wasn't going to be now, especially when it involved mine and Liam’s safety. However, I did feel his tension release as we stepped out of our hug. “We just need to make sure that we all continue to help each other, so we all make it through.” He said while pacing back and forth. “We are safe in our squad. Those in the same squad can’t attack squad mates. That's why we split up.” Garrick explained looking directly at me.” The only class we have together is battle brief.” Imogen added. “ I wanna meet as much as we can here at night during the week.” Xaden said. “ “We come and go in twos. Splitting up pairs so it's not so obvious each time. It’s also getting late, and we all need our rest for the new year.” he added. “Let’s start heading back. Mairi goes with Garrick. I'm borrowing my sister as I can’t seem to trust you two tonight.” He said with a smirk on his face as I sighed, turning around to face Liam and giving him a kiss and a “Good night, I love you.” “I love you, Rae. I’ll see you at breakfast.” He hugged me tighter before letting go and walking away with Garrick, with Imogen and Bodhi following shortly after. “What’s your signet?” I asked as we killed time to leave.

“Shadow wielding.” He said as I felt a tap on my shoulder that I noticed didn't come from his hand but instead the shadows as if he had full control over them. “So Sgaeyl, coincidence or did she choose you because of Grandpa (who was one of her previous riders.) “Grandpa I’m 100% certain, even though she says it's because of my ruthlessness.” He answered as we started walking back to the campus, his arm around my waist protectively almost a little too tight. ”Xad.” I said “Hmm.” “My ribs would like to breathe.” “Sorry.” He chuckled, only easing up a little bit. “So you and Liam. Officially, official?” “Officially.” I said “I’m nervous as hell Xaden.” I said barely above a whisper as we stopped at the entrance to the hall that led to the girls dormitory; there was no point in giving first years their own room until after Threshing. “Losing Liam is my biggest fear besides losing you or anyone else close to us. I’m not even sure I’d be able to function without him. I’m not even sure I’m going to make it to October 1st. It's still the beginning of July and we’ve never spent a night apart.” Xaden chuckled letting go of me “You’ll survive that’ll be the least of your challenges up ahead even though I know it won't be easy for either of you.” “Speaking of night you best get to your cot before it's any later.” “Xad.” I said barely above a whisper trying to hold back my tears.

#fourth wing #xaden riorson #fourth wing fanfic #liam mairi

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nancywheelersgirlfriend · 2 years

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the pleasure is mine (to die by your side)

(3,103 words) read on ao3 :)

It was 1994 and Robin Buckley woke up with no blankets on her side of the bed. She wasn’t particularly surprised - even when the harsh winter weather wasn’t raging outside their bedroom window, Nancy was infamous for stealing the covers over the course of the night. It wasn’t her fault. It was innate. Some secret urge to be warm. Robin ran hot, anyway. Her metabolism made her a human furnace.

So when she blinked awake at a bleary six in the morning, eager to turn back over and frankly not wake up again for the next three days, Robin simply turned over on her side. She tossed a haphazard arm over where she guess-estimated Nancy’s shoulder was underneath the pile of fabric. She pulled the lump closer to her chest and let out a contented little hum; just like a furnace.

Robin hand pawed at the comforter, yanking it down far enough to both ensure Nancy’s ability to breathe and press a kiss to the side of her warm neck. She splayed her fingers out at the base of Nancy’s collarbone where her ratty sleepshirt had slipped over the course of a turbulent night. She nuzzled her nose against Nancy’s curls. They spread out over the pillow like a biblical halo.

“‘m up,” Nancy mumbled. She clearly wasn’t. Robin pressed her responding grin into her hair and nodded encouragingly. “Did you have good dreams?”

“Yeah,” Robin said. Her foot, reaching forwards in exploration, hit the end of the comforter. Score! “I dreamt I got to wake up next to the most beautiful girl in the world, cold as shit.”

“Aw,” Nancy drew out the word, trying and failing to turn herself over in the mass of comforter and limb. “Baby, ‘m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Now you can warm me up,” Robin replied, mischievous toothy grin carefully disguised by the dark room as her absolutely freezing foot dug its way underneath the comforter and landed on Nancy’s leg. Nancy immediately sprung upwards, yelping as she leapt into a sitting position. Robin nearly got herself knocked off the bed.

“You bitch!” Nancy accused, but it was hard to sound serious when she was laughing so much. Underneath the comforter, which had flown half up in the chaos, Robin took the opportunity to slip completely underneath. Inside the blanket it felt like a womb. Nancy’s laughter was dimmed but no less beautiful. Robin lunged on her legs, shimmying up her hips, her waist. She pressed a quick kiss to the mole on Nancy’s left hip. Her face popped out from the line of the comforter.

Robin grinned up at Nancy, hair all mussed and arms coming to wrap their way around Nancy’s waist. Together they tumbled back down onto the bed, Robin and Nancy no longer two people but one ball of warmth.

“Let’s sleep in,” Robin suggested. Nancy turned Robin’s head with her hand to press a smacking kiss to her cheek.

“Let’s stay here forever,” Nancy added. Robin’s hand squeezed her thigh in a resounding ‘hell yes’.

* * *

Robin -

Yes we’re fine and no, we don’t need money. Come down and visit us sometime. New Hampshire isn’t that far from Greenwich, seriously. Plus you guys have a car - pretty lucky for that. Mike wants to save up but I don’t see the need. If we had a car, we’d have to go to Hawkins. That sounds like Hell. So we got a cat instead. Picture included, of course. But you’ll have to come down to touch her. Mike says I should enclose a bit of her fur as a test sample for you two. Why do I love him again?

* * *

Robin looked up at Nancy’s hazy form, disguised by the steam coming off of her abnormally large coffee mug. She was gorgeously tired. Sat in a little cafe somewhere in Bath, where the brick walls peeled themselves apart and the barista gave up her post to chat up the guy working the pick-up window, they had breakfast.

“You want a bite of my croissant?” Nancy asked. She was picking apart her pastry. The little flakes fell to the plate.

“Let’s trade,” Robin agreed. She pushed over a bite of her cinnamon roll. Nancy dropped a piece of hers into Robin’s open palm, brushing their fingers together as she did. They ate them at the same time and smiled around their food.

Nancy nudged the side of her foot against Robin’s big combat boots. She scribbled something down on the open and inked-up notepad on the desk in front of her.

“Whatcha writing?” Robin asked, nodding down at the offending paper. Nancy passed it over to her, laughing as she watched her quickly lick off the sugar icing as to not dirty the pad. Robin squinted her tired eyes, red-faced and fresh. A child. “Hm. Red wheelbarrow. Red hair. Who’s got red hair?” She tilted her head. Nancy reached over and tugged representatively at a strand fallen out from behind Robin’s pink-tipped ear.

“You’re so red all the time,” Nancy said.

“Is that a good thing?” Robin replied. She leaned down to take a tentative sip of her burning hot coffee. It scalded her tongue. It reminded her of being alive. She smiled into the rim of the mug.

“What color am I?” Nancy asked, moving forward to rest her chin on her open palm. Robin hummed contemplatively and dipped a finger in Nancy’s tea. It was equally hot and swirling. Nancy paid no mind.

“You’re green,” Robin said decisively. Nancy raised a questioning eyebrow and stole another piece of Robin’s cinnamon roll. “Like the forests back home.”

“And the forests here aren’t green?” Nancy asked, laughing.

“It’s a different kind of green,” Robin elaborated. She passed Nancy back her notepad, watching as she jotted down two words - different greens - in the margins of her work-in-progress poem. “It’s a warmer green. Even though you run cold.”

“You’re not red just because you’re burning hot all the time,” Nancy protested. She held up her tea cup in offering. Robin took it and tasted it experimentally. It tasted like floral. It smelled like Nancy. The green coloring swam in front of her eyes. She loved this coffee shop.

“We’re Christmas colors,” Robin gasped. Nancy stole her coffee mug out from underneath her hand.

“I’ll toast to that.” When they knocked their mugs together, the liquids splashed into each other.

* * *

Anyway, El’s been begging to go see the beach, so I think we’ll head out soon enough. She’s just finishing her last exams and then we’ll have the winter off. She finally decided she wanted to study biology. I think it’s perfect for her. And Lucas’ book - it’s great. Just great. If you want, we can send you a copy. He’ll sign it and everything. He’s very excited. I hope you’re doing well.

Love always,

Mad Max

* * *

Robin tucked her nose into the warm fabric of her scarf. On the cobblestone street of their little backwater town, the ground was getting littered with snow. Nancy was a few feet in front of her, gloved hands picking at a haphazard stack of books outside. They rested atop packed cardboard boxes, scribbled on with unreadable words and backlit by the yellow-stained windows of the bookshop they were in front of. A red, messy sign that read ‘ONE DOLLAR’ was taped and half-off the main table.

“Anything good?” Robin asked, words muffled by the thick wool. Her scarf was roughly knit, a gift from Joyce Byers (who was attempting to find something else to do with her hands besides chain-smoking).

“A signed copy of Frankenstein,” Nancy said, shaking a small paperback around enticingly.

“Signed?” Robin repeated incredulously.

“I didn’t say by who,” Nancy laughed. Robin snatched the book from her willing hands, cracking it open to the inside of the front cover. Therein lied a note written by blue pen: to suzie christmas 1960. “Wonder why Suzie gave it up.” Robin furiously flipped through the pages, uncaring that it was decades old. As she did so, a group of about twenty pages suddenly came apart from the spine and fell onto the snow-covered ground. The two women watched it flutter down, barely holding back their laughter.

“Probably that,” Robin said. She handed Nancy the book, who tucked it back into the book Jenga game in front of them. “You wanna go in?”

“Did you even have to ask?” Nancy replied. As they squeezed their way through the tiny, handbuilt doorway, Robin let her fingertips brush Nancy’s waist. It was a dangerous game, even in their sweet, sleepy little town. The older woman at the register seemed seconds away from passing out. Robin let her fingers stay on Nancy’s waist.

“History section?” Robin suggested, letting her eager eyes stray down the stacks of bending bookcases. She caught a glimpse of a book about ancient Europe and nearly foamed at the mouth from excitement.

“Science fiction!” Nancy argued. Robin followed her dutifully.

“Haven’t you lived through enough?” She groaned dramatically, leaning on the shelf as Nancy shifted meticulously through the books. Robin registered how far back they’d gotten in the bookstore - nearly at the back. They were completely alone. As she watched Nancy pick out the leftovers of the shelf in front of her, she shook off her scarf.

“They’re raising the prices,” Nancy muttered absently, flipping with fast fingers through the Ks and Ls. Robin draped her scarf around Nancy’s neck. The wool fell in front of her eyes.

“Guess who,” Robin sing-songed. Nancy’s hand came up to yank down at the fabric, smirking up at her much taller girlfriend. She stepped back so that her back hit Robin’s chest, pressing them together.

“Hello, beautiful,” Nancy said, tilting her head up to meet eyes with Robin. The scarf fell to the floor, completely forgotten. Robin’s hand drifted to grab at Nancy’s chin, holding her face in place as she leaned down and connected their lips. Nancy laughed at the position, spinning in place to fully face Robin in between the tight bookshelves. Robin squeezed her chin and then dropped her arms to wrap them around Nancy’s waist. She yanked her closer. They melted together.

Robin slowly pressed Nancy into the bookshelf, wooden grooves and all. She tilted her head and suddenly her mouth was falling open in pure contentment, Nancy responding tenfold. Her hands shot up to grip at Robin’s hair - a habit Robin loved teasing her about.

She whimpered into Robin’s mouth, a quiet little noise Robin heard like a bomb. She pushed her farther into the shelf in reply. One of her hands balled up a bit of Nancy’s sweater in her fist, fingertips skimming her skin. As they tussled against the stack, a group of hastily stacked books fell to the floor.

Robin pulled back, eyes deer-like and scared. But the woman at the front made no move to come back and see them. She kept Nancy close to her chest, both blinking back to the present.

“You make me forget where I am,” Robin told her as Nancy bent down to grab at the poor, damaged books. Nancy set them back onto the bookshelf with a final pat to their covers.

“You make me forget I’m alive,” Nancy retorted. She scooped up the scarf and tossed it around her neck with a wink. It looked much better on her, Robin thought. Everything was beautiful on Nancy Wheeler.

* * *

Nance and Rob,

We’ve got a guest room with clean sheets if you want it. Come out and escape the New Hampshire snow.

Jon and Argyle

* * *

The dimly lit sign nailed up outside the teensy church said the Christmas candlelit service was at 8 o’clock. Robin tilted her head to check it out, admiring the lopsided Jesus figure atop the sign. She resisted the urge to fix its position.

“Snowball?” Nancy offered from a few feet away. Robin turned on her heel just as Nancy was pitching back and tossing said weapon, which she’d balled up from the multitude of snow at her feet. Robin raised her hands too slowly. The snowball hit her square in the chest, soaking through her coat. She grinned challengingly and made a ‘come here’ motion with her hands. “No, no, I already gave it to you!”

“I want to return the favor,” Robin protested, bending halfway over to scoop at snow blindly - she couldn’t tear her eyes from a pink-cheeked Nancy even if she wanted to.

“You really don’t have to,” Nancy reassured, but it was too late. Robin threw the snowball way over her head - it hit the back of Nancy’s hip as she shrieked and leapt away.

“No, no, you ran away,” Robin said, words dipped in laughter. “Come back, let me get you again.”

“I think one was enough!” Nancy squealed as Robin rushed forwards like a bull, hands piled high with snow. “Rob!”

“Come here, you coward!” Robin accused, but it hardly held any weight with how much she was giggling. Nancy dodged again. Robin scooped up more snow and stumbled forwards, puffing out her cheeks and turning a little green.

“Rob?” Nancy asked, all concerned. She stepped forward, hand on Robin’s shoulder. Robin grinned mischievously up at her for a second before she made a gagging sound. She pretended to throw up the snow all down Nancy’s coat, stumbling into her and her hand. Nancy gasped from the sudden cold. “Robin Buckley!”

“It’d sound better with Wheeler after it, wouldn’t it?” Robin said, grinning like a fox. Nancy rolled her eyes affectionately. She let Robin pull her in close, pressing their equally soaked chests together for warmth.

“I dunno, I think Nancy Buckley has a good ring to it,” Nancy mused. Unbeknownst to Robin, she began to shuffle snow with her heels.

“You would never give up your last name,” Robin argued. Nancy hummed in agreement, reaching up with one hand to cart her fingers through Robin’s shaggy hair. As her girlfriends’ eyes shut in contentment, Nancy reached down with her other hand and grabbed loosely at snow. She slammed it down onto Robin’s head. The snow leaked down onto her face as her eyes snapped open, betrayed.

“You traitor!” Robin shouted. She barreled into Nancy, sending them both tumbling onto the snow. They rolled around in the snow, tussling for control and better access to ammo, getting increasingly colder and wetter as they went. Robin shoved snow down Nancy’s sweater along her spine. Nancy managed to get a few flakes into Robin’s open, accusatory mouth.

“Truce?” Robin gasped, chest heaving as she flopped onto her back in the snow. The steeple above, towering over them like God himself, peered over her. Nancy’s face, flushed and beautiful, appeared for a moment before she was flopping down beside her.

“Truce,” Nancy agreed, equally exhausted. Her gloved hand flopped out on the snow to grab at Robin’s hand. Their fingers tangled together. It was a ball of warmth. Robin shut her eyes and let out a sigh, breathing in the smell of snow.

* * *

Robin, please please please let me come over and visit. I’m so sick of Oregon. Okay, that’s a lie. I love Oregon. I love teaching. But I want to see you. Maybe become a Robert Frost. Maybe read some Nancy Wheeler poetry. Maybe ordain your wedding? Kidding. Kind of. Call me!

Your best friend,

Steve

* * *

Robin squinted into the lit fireplace, embers sizzling as it kickstarted itself. Outside the snowstorm raged. On the coffee table in front of her was a spread of letters and postcards, collected from friends. All waiting to be responded to. They’d been silent for too long.

But as she watched Nancy putter around in the kitchen, cooking up a batch of rocky road cookies and working on another round of coffee, Robin couldn’t help wishing they were the only two people in the world. Living in this little cottage off the side of the road, surrounded by mountains and wind and birch trees, it felt like they were. She smiled to herself. Nancy swore as she burnt the tip of her pointer on the hot, rumbling oven.

“Cookies are almost done!” Nancy called out, turning her head in Robin’s vague direction. She knew where she was. She looked almost shrunken in the low doorway from the living room to the kitchen, the doorway Robin had to duck through everytime she passed - or hit her forehead on the rim as a consequence of not thinking. Still Robin appreciated the hobbit hole. She liked feeling so close and so small. She’d never been able to feel that way before, at least not positively.

It was hard to believe anything had happened. Hard to believe it would never happen again. She let herself close her eyes and shift on their lumpy couch, head to the plush back and body warmed by the fire. The letters spoke like her friends. Robin wished they were here, in person. Then again, it was nice for everybody to be somewhere else.

“You wanna lick the spoon?” Nancy asked, waving around the spoon enticingly. She pretended to drop it into the sink, laughing as Robin’s face twisted up in childish pain. “You know I would never!”

“Nance, you’re evil,” Robin promised. She managed to get up off the couch anyway, stumbling through the doorway (ducking her head) to reach her girlfriend. She came to stand beside Nancy in front of the oven. The cookies within rose like little babies. Nancy passed her the spoon. Robin gave her a kiss on the cheek as thank you. She devoured the leftover batter like a starved man. Nancy just laughed. She looked adorable in her overalls, too big for her body and perfect for her soul.

“You’re a child,” Nancy retorted, leaning up against the counter a with a grin. Robin shrugged, unaffected. She dropped the spoon into the waiting bowl, which had been disposited in the sink. Soapy water splashed up onto the sides of her long sweater sleeves.

“You love me,” Robin challenged. Nancy reached up to twirl a bit of Robin’s hair around her finger and nodded in easy agreement.

“I do,” Nancy said. “I will.”

“Forever?” Robin asked. Nancy pursed her lips, the smile on her face that seemed permanent whenever she looked at Robin. She stepped closer and watched.

“Longer than that,” Nancy promised.

“Cheeseball.”

“Nerd,” Robin replied snarkily. When she leaned down to kiss Nancy, she met her halfway - arms around her neck, feet stepping on each other, the whole shebang. The oven dinged tellingly. Robin tightened her grip on Nancy’s waist. There was no point in letting her go.

#ronance #ronance fic requests #ronance fic #ronance fluff #ronance is real #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #stranger things #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #ronance hc #ronance fix it #ronance supremacy #fruity 4 #the fruity four #nancy x robin #robin x nancy

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tohisprettyc00l · 1 year

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Snow Day! Lilith + Reader

A/n: Fun fact! Mac n' Cheese canonically exists in the demon realm https://youtu.be/PSYuG-PizoM?t=136 this is just a simple slice of life with you and Lilith

You heard a knock at your door. When you opened the door you saw your best friend there. "Lily!" "Hello y/n!" She waved. You looked behind her back "Where is Hooty?" "He was sleeping... I think. I'm not sure if he can sleep, but if he can I didn't want to disturb him." "Fair enough." You replied. She walked in carrying a bag. "Can I show you a history model I made?" "Of course!" You replied. "Okay, so, this is a model based on houses in the savage ages! A little-known fact is that they had a thatched roof, made by hand." She rambled on, and you listened closely to every word she said.

After what could've been hours or minutes, she stopped her mini-history lesson. "Lily, I might as well be a history expert with how many amazing lessons you've done." "Ah come on, you're going to make me blush. They're not that great." "Come on, no need for humility. They're amazing!" "Let's go eat before you turn me red permanently." You giggled and went to your kitchen. You turned on your stove. "Are you okay with Mac n' Cheese?" "Mhmm." "Okay!" You poured water into a pot and put it on the stove.

"Yn what have you been up to?" "Not much, mainly watching shows and then reading stories about them. I've been really into polliwoga right now." "Would you like to tell me about it?" Lilith asked. "Sure, it starts with a human named Anna being transported to a world of frogs called polliwoga. Her main goal is to get back home." "Heh, kinda like Luz." Lilith interjected. "Kinda yeah," You said. You both paused. "I think the water is done boiling," you said standing up.

As you poured the noodles into the water you saw snow fall from the sky. You checked your scroll. The weather app said that there would be snow. "Lilith it's going to snow, you might need to leave early." "Probably not I've been on trips for the emperor even in the most fearsome storms!" Lilith boasted. "If you're sure," you said, stirring the Mac n' Cheese. After a few minutes of stirring, you scooped the food into two bowls. You placed the bowls on the table. Lililth gotta get some silverware. "Would you prefer a spoon or a fork to eat Mac n' Cheese?" "Lilith asked "I don't really care I guess a fork." "Good choice." Lilith giggled. Both you and Lilith began eating. In between bites, Lilith said, "Say wanna watch that show you were talking about after we're done eating?" "If you're up for it." "Okay." You smiled.

After you were done eating you started watching tv with Lilith. It started with Polliwoga, but eventually, it just turned into you watching random shows and laughing at them. "Lily, I would 'like to watch an episode or two of a historical drama next?' but those would probably make you more annoyed than anything." "Oh titan, it's so easy to make an interesting history show without being completely inaccurate!" Lilith exclaimed, "It might be the easiest task in the world to make an interesting history show." "Well, my teacher who taught history seemed to think it was pretty boring." "Well, that's your teacher's fault."You chuckled and looked out the window. "Oh my- you gotta get home its night time!" "I was hoping we could maybe have a sleepover." "Does your family and Hooty know about this?" "I can let them know!" "Alright then."

"Though, y/n, I hope you know I'm not going to stay up late just because it's a sleepover." he narrowed her eyes. "And I'm expecting you to also go to bed at a reasonable time." "Psh asked me to go to bed at a reasonable time is like asking Eda to join a coven... Which you did... Multiple times. You're not going to let me stay up late are you?" "Nope!"

True to her word she carried you to bed when she thought it got too late. "It's 12 this is nothing!" Lilith grumbled something unintelligible. She gently placed you on your bed. "Now I will go to the couch and you better not move-" "You can lay in bed with me." Pardon?" "My couch isn't comfortable to lay on." You said patting the spot behind you. "Okay, then give me a moment." Lilith returned with a blanket and pillow. Lilith climbed into bed. "Goodnight, Lilith." "Good night, Y/N."

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"Oh no, nononono-" You awoke to Lilith's panicked mumbling. "What's happening?" "There is a lot more snow than your scroll said." "Whaddya mean?"You asked. "I can't open the door! If I do, snow will fall in!" "Oh yikes." "I also promised Hooty that I would hangout with him today." "I wouldn't worry too much.Knowing Hooty if he really needed to hang out with you today, he would've found a way to come to you." "Heh, yeah." Lilith chuckled. "Wanna drink some hot chocolate and play games." "That sounds delightful."

You brought two cups of hot cocoa while Lilith set up Jenga blocks. "Are you ready?" "Yep." You sat down. "You go first." Lilith said. You slowly pushed one of the bottom blocks out. "Oh come on." Lilith said with a giggle. As you guys pushed blocks out eventually knocked over the tower. But out of instinct you held the tower up with magic. "You can't do that, that's cheating." "If you haven't thought of it, that's your fault." You said undoing the spell. The blocks knocked over your cup. "Good thing it was empty." You said annoyed, "Give me a minute. I want to go get some more hot chocolate." "Okay."

As you went to get more hot chocolate you suddenly got an idea. You slowly opened the door just a crack and some snow fell in. You shut the door and picked up some of the snow. Creeping behind Lilith you throw the snow and hit the back of her haid. "AH! Y/N! Where do you even get snow!?" "Outside, duh." "Oh is that so..." Lilith got up with a smirk on her face. "Wait no." Lilith went door and got some of the remainder of the snow on the ground. She hit you in the face with snow. "Hey I hit the back of your head! Not the face." "If you didn't think of it, that's your fault." You both laughed. "Honesty Y/n this is already the best snow day ever."

A/N: Lilith is ooc to YOU, I know her personally, she really acts like this. Yeah but in all actually I tried my best but i don't know if i got her character correct. Also this focused on the snow day as much as i wanted but i think it was in there enough to keep the title.

That's all my (kinda old) Wattpad fics on Tumblr!

#lilith x reader #Lilith and reader #toh x reader #the owl house x reader #toh and reader #the owl house and reader

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apoapsis · 10 months

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@healingbrews // [x]

He finds it funny– the way he can instigate such upset in others, whether it be due to the malaise of his ANOMALY’S influence, or due to his incorrigible demeanor. In some ways, SIEBREN quite enjoyed his ability to offset the atmosphere of a room with little more than a couple of choice words.

He liked to see others squirm when pressure is applied, whether they become confrontational or not.

The downside to this, is the emotional exhaustion that follows; a limited emotional spectrum offers very little emotional range– he doesn’t appreciate having them dumped onto him so ceremoniously. The argument in question is slightly one-sided in retrospect, Hinoka having not taken kindly to the notion that SIEBREN, despite either his or SIGMA’S attachments to her, still has zero intention of remaining on Earth for any longer than necessary. Her fault for insisting on asking what he, hypothetically, would want to do, should his research be completed. In a way, it was almost cute– the notion that any one would insist on him remaining behind. Then again, his fault for not considering the illogical nature of the inhabitants here– how much is there to blame upon naturalistic behavior when he should have circumvented the question altogether? Even hyperintelligence seemed to have oversights of its own, unfortunately!

He might have been more appreciative of the sentiment, or perhaps, slightly more receptive to it, were it not delivered so brashly. “-- You know, I will never understand you…. Emotional sorts,” SIEBREN conjectures flatly, rolling his eyes in muted annoyance as his arms cross over his broad chest. “-- The way you… feel the need to project it at the worst of times– SIGMA is just as awful about it. You’re both so… embarrassing– letting your emotions get the better of you.” However, rather than sounding frustrated by it, he remains neutral– as if discussing the weather, rather than ethics. The feigned nonchalance of a childhood bully, awkwardly attempting to mitigate the consequences of an unintentionally razor-edged tongue.

“-- What if I were to insist that you leave the Earth as well? Or go anywhere, for that matter? Just because, say… SIGMA loves you? Obviously I likely would not, as I have no interest in further displacement of any other individuals in my mission, but doesn’t it sound a little dramatic…? Demanding things only because of your personal attachment– do you truly think SIGMA or I belong on this planet anymore?”

“-- Besides… how much can you really mean it if you only say it in response to our eventual departure?”

“... It isn’t even that annoying– I suppose I am just… confused by the platitudes I keep encountering in regards to socializing with other life forms again.” SIEBREN pauses, looking thoughtful as an index finger traces the edge of his jawline. “... I guess I cannot blame you for it; it would be only logical for humans to crave the comfort of surface life planetside, but what, then, am I expected to do? The more I see take place upon this planet, the less I want to stay– it is nothing personal. Would it genuinely feel that much better to have the truth omitted...? I thought you wanted me to be honest with you-- I am trying to understand.”

#interactions + ғʟɪʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪɴғɪɴɪᴛʏ ; ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇᴏᴍᴇᴛʀɪᴄ ᴘʀᴏɢᴇɴʏ +#healingbrews #recall + ʙʟᴜʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇs ᴏғ ᴡʜᴀᴛ's ʀᴇᴀʟ ; ʀᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ +#siebren anytime emotions get involved; MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!!!!

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gogoyolko · 1 year

Text

Way to say "I Love You" #37 - "Can I Kiss You?" (WIP)

Pairing: Minami “South” Terano x Renge Haitani (OC)

Word Count: 973

Authors Note: This is my first time writing anything, or at least anything like this, that someone else will see. It’s unfinished but I need to start from somewhere and if improvement hinges on divulging my self ship nonsense, then so be it. Any feedback is welcome, even just a simple like tells me “Hey! You’re doing something right! Not too shabby!” Thank you!

Neither of them knew what time it was but it really didn’t matter; wherever they went there were streetlights.

South led the way for most of the ride but was soon overtaken by Renge who gestured for him to follow her.

She weaved in and out of traffic, laughing at the blaring horns and screeching tires. She darted into a parking garage and almost lost South in the process.

He managed to follow her, his knee sliding against the pavement and thinning a hole in his new jeans. They rode up several floors before stopping on a relatively abandoned level.

Renge pulled her helmet off and grinned widely at him. “Good job keeping up. And that turn? I thought you were a goner.”

He threw a half-hearted glare her way. “I don’t know how I did it either.” He said, getting off his bike. “One of these days I’m actually gonna wipe out and you’re gonna feel really bad.”

“Yeah?” Renge laughed, situating her helmet between her thighs as she perched on her seat. “I doubt I’d feel that bad. That would be more your fault than mine.”

South gave a bemused smile. “Sure thing, crybaby.” He teased.

Renge rolled her eyes and shook her head, scoffing. She turned around to place her helmet on its spot at the back of her bike and when she turned back to face South he was looking outside at the snow that started to fall. “You good?” She asked as she got off her bike.

South looked back at her. “Yeah, fine.” He shrugged. “Just… checking out the weather.”

His attempt at nonchalance made Renge smile. “I heard you like snow. Is that true?” she asked as she started down the stairs.

For one of the few times in his life, South felt flustered. “Yeah,” he laughed as he still tried to shrug it off. “I guess growing up without it makes it more appealing.”

As they made it out onto the sidewalk, Renge looked up at the sky. “I guess I can see that.” She turned and kept walking down the street. “C’mon, it’s just, like, a minute that way.” She said, pointing North.

It was definitely a short walk but definitely not a boring one. Being as tall as he is, South received constant stares and Renge got a similar reception for being adjacent to him with her diminutive stature. Honestly, the tokkōfuku, tattoos, and unorthodox hair colors didn’t help them blend in with the office workers and students that walked the streets with them.

As they walked, South couldn’t help but notice the couples around them. He glanced down at Renge who seemed completely oblivious, instead focused on reaching their destination. She had that scrunched up, determined look on her face that he adored. How someone who was typically wide-eyed and sweet could manage to look so sour was beyond him. He supposed that was one of the reasons he fell in love with her to begin with: she was multi-faceted. He smiled softly and wondered if he should say something but ultimately decided against it. Maybe he’d wait for Christmas Eve… or her birthday… or—

“Hey!” Renge shouted, jumping up to hit him on the chest. “We’re here!” She said before she crossed her arms and pretended to look at the scene in front of them when, in reality, she was watching for South’s reaction.

They stood at the end of an avenue lined with at least two dozen zelkova trees, each adorned with multiple strings of lights that seemed to twinkle as the snow fell. In a city full of lights it still managed to stand out. There were no fancy gimmicks or choreographed music but that honestly didn’t matter to South.

“So?” Renge asked.

South smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “This is amazing.” He looked down at her and smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

Renge looked up at him and almost choked on her spit in surprise. She quickly looked back down. “Y-yeah! For sure! I-I know you like sightseeing and stuff so I figured this would be pretty…”

They were both quiet for a few beats before South decided to break the silence. “Hey… can I kiss you?” He asked softly.

Renge’s eyes widened and she jumped back a bit. “K-kiss?” She asked. Her heart began pounding in her ears and she felt like she’d faint. “I-I…”

“You can say ‘no’, Ojōsama.” He teased.

“N-no!” She said quickly. “I mean yes! Please do!” She said, quickly covering her reddening cheeks. “Just give me a sec…” she said, rubbing her face.

South shrugged, trying to play off his nerves. “Take your time.”

Renge took a deep breath and stalked over to a bench and stepped up, turning to face him. “Alright, let’s do this.” She said, tucking her hair behind her ears.

South laughed. “Don’t make it sound like a chore.” He walked over to her. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“I want to! I’m just… nervous.” She said, looking down.

“You don’t think I am, too?” He asked, taking her chin and tilting her face up to meet his eyeline because, despite her standing on a bench, she was still far shorter than him.

“I… can’t really think right now…” she admitted.

South chuckled and slowly closed the gap between them. “Now you know how I feel.” He said, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers. He put a hand on her cheek and stroked it with his thumb.

Renge deepened the kiss and brought a hand to his shoulder. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Not the kissing, she’s kissed plenty of people, South included, but it was where and when they were kissing. It was Omotesando at Christmas and they were surrounded by beautiful lights. It kind of felt magical.

#Yolko #Tokyo Revengers X OC #South X OC #WIP

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rhetoricandlogic · 2 years

Text

Issue 97 – October 2014

9880 words, novelette, REPRINT

A Rich, Full Week

by K.J. Parker

AUDIO VERSION

He looked at me the way they all do. “You’re him, then.”

“Yes,” I said.

“This way.”

Across the square. A cart, tied up to a hitching-post. One thin horse. Not so very long ago, he’d used the cart for shifting dung. I sat next to him, my bag on my knees, tucking my feet in close, and laid a bet with myself as to what he’d say next.

“You don’t look like a wizard,” he said.

I owed myself two nomismata. “I’m not a wizard,” I said.

I always say that.

“But we sent to the Fathers for a—”

”I’m not a wizard,” I repeated, “I’m a philosopher. There’s no such thing as wizards.”

He frowned. “We sent to the Fathers for a wizard,” he said.

I have this little speech. I can say it with my eyes shut, or thinking about something else. It comes out better if I’m not thinking about what I’m saying. I tell them, we’re not wizards, we don’t do magic, there’s no such thing as magic. Rather, we’re students of natural philosophy, specializing in mental energies, telepathy, telekinesis, indirect vision. Not magic; just science where we haven’t quite figured out how it works yet. I looked at him. His hood and coat were homespun, that open, rather scratchy weave you get with moorland wool. The patches were a slightly different color; I guessed they’d been salvaged from an even older coat that had finally reached the point where there was nothing left to sew onto. The boots had a military look. There had been battles in these parts, thirty years ago, in the civil war. The boots looked to be about that sort of vintage. Waste not, want not.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “I’m a wizard.”

He looked at me, then back at the road. I hadn’t risen in his estimation, but I hadn’t sunk any lower, probably because that wasn’t possible. I waited for him to broach the subject.

By my estimation, three miles out of town; I said; “So, tell me what’s been happening.”

He had big hands; too big for his wrists, which looked like bones painted color “The Brother wrote you a letter,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied brightly. “But I want you to tell me.”

The silence that followed was thought rather than rudeness or sulking. Then he said, “No good asking me. I don’t know about that stuff.”

They never want to talk to me. I have to conclude that it’s my fault. I’ve tried all sorts of different approaches. I’ve tried being friendly, which gets you nowhere. I’ve tried keeping my face shut until someone volunteers information, which gets you peace and quiet. I’ve read books about agriculture, so I can talk intelligently about the state of the crops, milk yields, prices at market and the weather. When I do that, of course, I end up talking to myself. Actually, I have no problem about talking to myself. In the country, it’s the only way I ever get an intelligent conversation.

“The dead man,” I prompted him. I never say the deceased.

He shrugged. “Died about three months ago. Never had any bother till just after lambing.”

“I see. And then?”

“It was sheep to begin with,” he said. “The old ram, with its neck broke, and then four ewes. They all reckoned it was wolves, but I said to them, wolves don’t break necks, it was something with hands did that.”

I nodded. I knew all this. “And then?”

“More sheep,” he said, “and the dog, and then an old man, used to go round all the farms selling stuff, buttons and needles and things he made out of old bones; and when we found him, we reckoned we’d best tell the boss up at the grange, and he sent down two of his men to look out at night, and then the same thing happened to them. I said, that’s no wolf. Knew all along, see. Seen it before.”

That hadn’t been in the letter. “Is that right?” I said.

“When I was a kid,” the man said (and now I knew the problem would be getting him to shut up.) “Same thing exactly; sheep, then travelers, then three of the duke’s men. My granddad, he knew what it was, but they wouldn’t listen. He knew a lot of stuff, granddad.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Him and me and my cousin from out over, we got a couple of shovels and a pick and an axe, and we went and dug up this old boy who’d died. And he was all swelled up, like he’d got the gout all over, and he was purple, like a grape. So we cut off his head and shoveled all the dirt back, and we dropped the head down an old well, and that was the end of that. No more bother. Didn’t say what we’d done, mind. The Brother wouldn’t have liked it. Funny bugger, he was.”

Well, I thought. “You did the right thing,” he said. “Your grandfather was a clever man, obviously.”

“That’s right,” he said. “He knew a lot of stuff.”

I was doing my mental arithmetic. When I was a kid; so, anything from fifty-five to sixty years ago. Rather a long interval, but not unheard of. I was about to ask if anything like it had happened before then, but I figured it out just in time. If wise old Grandfather had known exactly what to do, it stood to reason he’d learned it the old-fashioned way, watching or helping; quite possibly more than once.

“The man who died,” I said.

“Him.” A cartload of significance crammed into that word. “Offcomer,” he explained.

“Ah,” I said.

“Schoolteacher, he called himself,” he went on. “Dunno about that. Him and the Brother, they tried to get a school going, to teach the boys their letters and figuring and all, but I told them, waste of time in these parts, you can’t spare a boy in summer, and winter, it’s too dark and cold to be walking five miles there and five miles back, just to learn stuff out of a book. And they wanted paying, two pence twice a year. People round here can’t afford that for a parcel of old nonsense.”

I thought of my own childhood, and said nothing. “Where did he come from?”

“Down south.” Well, of course he did. “I said to him, you’re a long way from home. He didn’t deny it. Said it was his calling, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

It was dark by the time we reached the farm. It was exactly what I’d been expecting; long and low, with turf eaves a foot off the ground, turf walls over a light timber frame. No trees this high up, so lumber had to come up the coast on a big shallow-draught freighter as far as Holy Trinity, then road haulage the rest of the way. I spent the first fifteen years of my life sleeping under turf, and I still get nightmares.

Mercifully, the Brother was there waiting for me. He was younger than I’d anticipated—you always think of village Brothers as craggy old fat men, or thin and brittle, like dried twigs with papery bark. Brother Stauracius couldn’t have been much over thirty; a tall, broad-shouldered man with an almost perfectly square head, hair cropped short like winter pasture and pale blue eyes. Even without the habit, nobody could have taken him for a farmer.

“I’m so glad you could come,” he said, town voice, educated, rather high for such a big man. He sounded like he meant it. “Such a very long way. I hope the journey wasn’t too dreadful.”

I wondered what he’d done wrong, to have ended up here. “Thank you for your letter,” I said.

He nodded, genuinely pleased. “I was worried, I didn’t know what to put in and leave out. I’m afraid I’ve had no experience with this sort of thing, none at all. I’m sure there must be a great deal more you need to know.”

I shook my head. “It sounds like a textbook case,” I said.

“Really.” He nodded several times, quickly. “I looked it up in Statutes and Procedures, naturally, but the information was very sparse, very sparse indeed. Well, of course. Obviously, this sort of thing has to be left to the experts. Further detail would only encourage the ignorant to meddle.”

I thought about Grandfather; two shovels and an axe, job done. But not quite, or else I wouldn’t be here. “Quite,” I said. “Now, you’re sure there were no other deaths within six months of the first attack.”

“Quite sure,” he said, as though his life depended on it. “Nobody but poor Anthemius.”

Nobody had asked me to sit down, let alone take my wet boots off. The hell with it. I sat down on the end of a bench. “You didn’t say what he died of.”

“Exposure.” Brother Stauracius looked very sad. “He was caught out in a snowstorm and froze to death, poor man.”

“Near here?”

“Actually, no.” A slight frown, like a crack in a wall. “We found him about two miles from here, as it happens, on the big pasture between the mountains and the river. A long way from anywhere, so presumably he lost his way in the snow and wandered about aimlessly until the cold got to him.”

I thought about that. “On his way back home, then.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

I needed a map. You almost always need a map, and there never is one. If ever I’m Emperor, I’ll have the entire country surveyed and mapped, and copies of each parish hung up in the temple vestries. “I don’t suppose it matters,” I lied. “You’ll take me to see the grave.”

A faint glow of alarm in those watered-down eyes. “In the morning.”

“Of course in the morning,” I said.

He relaxed just a little. “You’ll stay here tonight, of course. I’m afraid the arrangements are a bit—”

”I was brought up on a farm,” I said.

Unlike him. “That’s all right, then,” he said. “Now I suppose we should join our hosts. The evening meal is served rather early in these parts.”

“Good,” I said.

Sleeping under turf is like being in your grave. Of course, there’s rafters. That’s what you see when you look up, lying wide awake in the dark. Your eyes get the hang of it quite soon, diluting the black into gray into a palette of pale grays; you see rafters, not the underside of turf. And the smoke hardens it off, so it doesn’t crumble. You don’t get worms dropping on your face. But it’s unavoidable, no matter how long you do it, no matter how used you are to it. You lie there, and the thought crosses your mind as you stare at the underside of grass; is this what it’ll be like?

The answer is, of course, no. First, the roof will be considerably lower; it’ll be the lid of a box, if you’re lucky enough to have one, or else no roof at all, just dirt chucked on your face. Second, you won’t be able to see it because you’ll be dead.

But you can’t help wondering. For a start, there’s temperature. Turf is a wonderful insulator; keeps out the cold in winter and the heat in summer. What it doesn’t keep out is the damp. It occurs to you as you lie on your back there; so long as they bury me in a thick shirt, won’t have to worry about being cold, or too hot in summer, but the damp could be a problem. Gets into your bones. A man could catch his death.

It’s while you’re lying there—everybody else is fast asleep; no imagination, no curiosity, or they’ve been working so hard all day they just sleep, no matter what—that you start hearing the noises. Actually, turf’s pretty quiet. Doesn’t creak like wood, gradually settling, and you don’t get drips from leaks. What you get is the thumping noises over your head. Clump, clump, clump, then a pause, then clump, clump, clump.

They tell you, when you’re a kid and you ask, that it’s the sound of dead men riding the roof-tree. They tell you that dead men get up out of the ground, climb up on the roof, sit astride the peak and jiggle about, walloping their heels into the turf like a man kicking on a horse. You believe them; I never was quite sure whether they believed it themselves. When you’re older, of course, and you’ve left the farm and gone somewhere civilized, where it doesn’t happen, you finally figure it out; what you hear is sheep, hopping up onto the roof in the night, wandering about grazing the fine sweet grass that grows there, picking out the wild leeks, of which they’re particularly fond. Sheep, for crying out loud, not dead men at all. I guess they knew really, all along, and the stuff about dead men was to keep you indoors at night, keep you from wandering out under the stars (though why you should want to I couldn’t begin to imagine). Or at least, at some point, way back in the dim past, some smartarse with a particularly warped imagination made up the story about dead men, to scare his kids; and the kids believed, and never figured it was sheep, and they told their kids, and so on down the generations. Maybe you never figure it out unless you leave the farm, which nobody ever does, except me.

As a matter of fact, I was just beginning to drift off into a doze when the thumping started. Clump, clump, clump; pause; clump, clump, clump. I was not amused. I was bone tired and I really wanted to get some sleep, and here were these fucking sheep walking about over my head. The hell with that, I thought, and got up.

I opened the door as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake up the household, and I stood in the doorway for a little while, letting my eyes get used to the dark. Someone had left a stick leaning against the doorframe. I picked it up, on the off chance that there might be a sheep close enough to hit.

Something was moving about again. I walked away from the house until I could see up top.

It wasn’t sheep. It was a dead man.

He was sitting astride the roof, his legs drooping down either side, like a farmer on his way back from market. His hands were on his hips and he was looking away to the east. He was just a dark shape against the sky, but there was something about the way he sat there; peaceful. I didn’t think he’d seen me, and I felt no great inclination to advertise my presence. If I say I wasn’t scared, I wouldn’t expect to be believed: but fear wasn’t uppermost in my mind. Mostly, I was interested.

No idea how long I stood and he sat. It occurred to me that I was just assuming he was a dead man. Looked at logically, far more likely that he was alive, and had reasons of his own for climbing up on a roof in the middle of the night. Well; there’s a time and a place for logic.

He turned his head, looking down the line of the roof-tree, and lifted his heels, and dug them into the turf three times; clump, clump, clump. (And at that point, I realized the flaw in my earlier rationalization. Three clumps; always three, ever since I was a kid. How many three-legged sheep do you see?) At that moment, the moon came out from behind the clouds, and suddenly we were looking at each other; me and him.

My host had been right; he was purple, like a grape. Or a bruise; the whole body one enormous bruise. Swollen, he’d said; either that, or he was an enormous man, arms and legs twice as thick as normal. His eyes were white; no pupils.

“Hello,” I said.

He leaned forward just a little and cupped his hand behind his left ear. “You’ll have to speak up,” he said.

Words from a dead man; a purple, swollen man sitting astride a roof. “Tell me,” I said, raising my voice. “Why do you do that?”

He looked at me, or a little bit past me. I couldn’t tell if his mouth moved, but there was a deep, gurgling noise which could only have been laughter. “Do what?”

“Ride on the roof like it’s a horse,” I said.

His shoulders lifted; a slow, exaggerated shrug, like he didn’t know what a shrug was, but was copying one he’d seen many years ago. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I feel the urge to do it, so I do it.”

Well, I thought. One of the great abiding mysteries of my childhood not quite cleared up. “Are you Anthemius?” I asked. “The schoolmaster?”

Again the laugh. “That’s a very good question,” he said. “Tell you what,” he went on, “come up here and sit with me, so we can talk without yelling.”

In the moonlight I could make out the huge hands, with their monstrous overripe fingers. How tight the skin would have to be, with all that pressure against it from the inside. Breaking a neck would be like snapping a pear off a tree.

“Let me rephrase that,” I said. “Were you Anthemius? When you were—”

”Yes,” he said, speaking quickly to cut off a word he didn’t want to hear. “I think I was. Thank you,” he added. “I’ve been trying to remember. It’s been on the tip of my tongue, but somehow I can’t seem to think of any names.”

The approved procedure for coping with the restless dead is, essentially, what Grandfather did; though of course we make rather more of a fuss about it. The approved procedure should, of course, be carried out in daylight; noon is recommended. Should you chance to encounter a specimen during the night, there are two courses of action, both recommended rather than approved. One, you draw your sword and cut its head off. Two, you challenge it to the riddle-game and keep it talking all night, until dawn comes up unexpectedly and strands it like a beached whale in the cruel light.

Commentary on that. I am not a man of action. I don’t vault onto roofs, I don’t carry weapons. One of the reasons I left the farm in the first place was, I have trouble lifting even moderate loads. So much for option one; and as for option two—

Also, I was curious. Interested.

“What happened to you?” I said.

“You know, I’m really not sure,” he replied; and the voice was starting to sound like a man’s voice, my ears were getting the hang of it, the way my eyes had got used to the dark. “I know I was out in the snow and I’d lost my way. I got terribly cold, so that every bit of me hurt. Then the pain started to ease up, and I sort of fell asleep.”

“You died,” I said.

He didn’t like me saying that, but I guess he forgave me. “I remember waking up,” he said, “and it was pitch dark and terribly quiet, and I couldn’t move. I was very scared. And then it occurred to me, I wasn’t breathing. I don’t mean I was holding my breath. I wasn’t breathing at all, and it didn’t matter. So then I knew.”

I waited; but I hadn’t got all night. “And then?”

He turned his head away. No hair, just a bulging purple scalp. A head like a plum. “I was terrified,” he said. “I mean, I had no way of knowing.” He paused, and I have no idea what was passing through his mind. “After a long time, I found I could move after all. I got my hands up against the lid, and I pushed, and I could feel the wood burst apart. That scared me even more, I thought the roof, I mean all the earth on top of me, I thought it’d cave in and bury me.” He paused again. “I was always frightened of tight places,” he said. “You know.”

I nodded. Me too, as it happens.

“I guess I panicked,” he went on, “because I kept pushing, and I somehow knew that I was incredibly strong, much stronger than I’d ever been before, so I thought, if I push hard enough. I wasn’t thinking straight, of course.”

“And then?” I asked.

“Pushed right up through the dirt and into the moonlight,” he said. “Amazing feeling. The first thing I wanted to do was run to the nearest farm and tell them, Look, I’m not dead after all.” He stopped; he’d said the word without thinking. “But then I thought about it; and I still wasn’t breathing, and I couldn’t actually feel anything. I could move my hands and feet, I could stand upright and balance, all that, but—you know when you’ve been sitting a long time and your feet go numb. It was like that, all over. It felt so strange.”

“Go on,” I said.

He didn’t, not for a long time. “I think I sat down,” he said. “I don’t know why I’d have done that, standing up didn’t make me tired or anything. I don’t feel tired, ever. But I was so confused, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. It all felt wrong.” He lifted his heels slowly and let them drop; clump, clump, clump. “And while I was there the sun started to come up, and the light just sort of flooded into my head and bleached everything away, so I couldn’t think at all. I guess you could say I passed out. Anyway, when I opened my eyes I was back where I’d started from, lying in the dark.”

I frowned. “How did you get back there?”

“I just don’t know,” he said. “Still don’t. It always happens, that’s all I know. When the sun comes up, my mind washes away. If I’ve gone any distance, I know I have to get back. I run. I can run really fast. I know I’ve got to be back—home,” he said, with a sort of breaking-up laugh, “before the sun comes up. I’ve learned to be careful, to give myself plenty of time.”

He was still and quiet for a while. I asked, “Why do you kill things?”

“No idea.” He sounded distressed. “If something comes close enough, I grab it and twist it till it’s dead. Like a cat lashing out at a bit of string. Reflex. I just know it’s something I have to do.”

I nodded. “Do you go looking—?”

“Yes.” He mumbled the word, like a kid admitting a crime. “Yes, I do. I do my best to keep away from where there might be people. It’s all the same to me; sheep, foxes, men. I’d go a long way away, into the mountains, if I could. But I have to stay close, so I can get back in time.”

I’d been debating with myself, and I knew I had to ask. “What were you?” I said. “What did you do?”

He didn’t answer. I repeated the question.

“Like you said,” he replied. “I was a schoolteacher.”

“Before that.”

When he answered, it was against his will. The words came out slow, flat; he spoke because he had to. “I was a Brother,” he said. “When I was thirty, they said I should apply to the Order, they thought I had the gift, and the brains, and the application and the self-discipline. I passed the exam and I was at the Studium for five years. Like you,” he added.

I let that go. “You joined the Order.”

“No.” The flat voice had gone; there was a flare of anger. “No, I failed matriculation. I retook it the next year, but I failed again. They sent me back to my parish, but by then they’d got someone else. So I ended up wandering about, looking for teaching work, letter-writing, anything I could do to earn a living. There’s not a lot you can do, of course.”

Suddenly I felt bitter cold, right through. Took me a moment to realize it was fear. “So you came here,” I said, just to keep him talking.

“Eventually. A lot of other places first, but here’s where I ended up.” He lifted his head abruptly. “They sent you here to deal with me, am I right?”

I didn’t reply.

“Of course they did,” he said. “Of course. I’m a nuisance, a pest, a menace to agriculture. You came here to dig me up and cut my head off.”

This time, I was the one who had to speak against my will. “Yes.”

“Of course,” he said. “But I can’t let you do that. It’s my—”

He’d been about to say life. Presumably he tried to find another way of phrasing it, then gave up. We both knew what he meant.

“You passed the exams, then,” he said.

“Barely,” I replied. “Two hundred seventh out of two hundred twenty.”

“Which is why you’re here.”

His white eyes in the ash-white moonlight. “That’s right,” I said. “They don’t give out research posts if you come two hundred seventh.”

He nodded gravely. “Commercial work,” he said.

“When I can get it,” I replied. “Which isn’t often. Others far more qualified than me.”

He grunted. It could have been sympathy. “Public service work.”

“Afraid so,” I replied.

“Which is why you’re here.” He lifted his head and rolled it round on his shoulders, like someone waking up after sleeping in a chair. “Because—well, because you aren’t much good. Well?”

I resented that, even though it was true. “It’s not that I’m not good,” I said. “It’s just that everyone in my year was better than me.”

“Of course.” He leaned forward, his hands braced on his knees. “The question is,” he said, “do I still have the gift, after what happened to me. If I’ve still got it, your job is going to be difficult.”

“If not,” I said.

“Well,” he replied, “I suppose we’re about to find out.”

“Indeed,” I said. “There could be a paper for the journals in this.”

“Your chance to escape from obscurity,” he said solemnly. “Under different circumstances, I’d wish you well. Unfortunately, I really don’t want you cutting off my head. It’s a miserable existence, but—”

I could see his point. His voice was quite human now; if I’d known him before, I’d have recognized him. He had his back to the moon, so I couldn’t see the features of his face.

“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to do it,” he said. “Go away. Go home. Nobody knows you came out here tonight. I promise I’ll stay away until you’ve gone. If I don’t show up, you can report that there was no direct evidence of an infestation, and therefore you didn’t feel justified in desecrating what was probably an innocent grave.”

“But you’ll be back,” I said.

“Yes, and no doubt they’ll send someone else,” he said. “But it won’t be you.”

I was tempted. Of course I was tempted. For one thing, he was a rational creature; with my eyes shut, if I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was a natural man with a heavy cold. And what if the gift did survive death? He’d kill me. I had to admit it to myself; the thought that I could get killed doing this job hadn’t occurred to me. I’d anticipated a quick, grisly hour’s work in broad daylight; no risk.

I’m not a coward, but I appreciate the value of fear, the way I appreciate the value of money. I’m most definitely not brave.

I saw something in the moonlight, and said (trying not to talk quickly or raise my voice); “I could go back to bed, and then come back in the morning and dig you up.”

“You could,” he said.

“You don’t think I would.”

“Not if we’d made an agreement.”

“You could be right,” I said. “But what about the farmers? You’ve got to admit—”

At which moment, the Brother (who’d come out of the back door, crawled up on the roof behind him and edged down the roof-tree towards him until he was close enough to reach his neck with the axe he’d brought with him) raised his arms high and swung. No sound at all; but at the last moment, the dead man leaned his head to one side, just enough, and the axe blade swept past, cutting air. I heard the Brother grunt, shocked and panicky; I saw the dead man—eyes still fixed on me—reach behind him with his left hand and catch the swinging axe just below the head, and hold it perfectly still. The Brother gasped, but didn’t let go; he was pulling with all his strength, like a little dog tugging on a belt. All his efforts couldn’t move the dead man’s arm the thickness of a fingernail.

“Now,” the dead man said. “Let’s see.”

The delay on my part was unforgivable, completely unprofessional. I knew I had to do something, but my mind had gone completely blank. I couldn’t remember any procedures, let alone any words. Think, a tiny voice was yelling inside me head, but I couldn’t. I heard the Brother whimper, as he applied every scrap of strength in a tendon-ripping, joint-tearing last desperate jerk on the axe handle that had no effect whatsoever. The dead man was looking straight at me. His lips began to move.

Pro nobis peccatoribus; not the obvious choice, not even on the same page of the book, but it was the only procedure I could think of. Unfortunately, it’s one I’ve always had real difficulties with. You reach out with your hand that is not a hand, extend the fingers that aren’t fingers; I’m all right as far as that, and then I tend to come unstuck.

(What I was thinking was: So he failed the exam, and I passed. Yes, but maybe the reason he failed was, he didn’t read the questions through properly, or he spent so long on Part 1 that he didn’t leave himself enough time for two and three. Maybe he’s really good, just unlucky in exams.)

I was mumbling; Sol invicte, ora pro nobis peccatoribus in die periculi. Of course, there’s a school of thought that says the magic words have no real effect whatsoever, they’re just a way of concentrating the mind. I tend to agree. Why should an archaic prayer in a dead language to a god nobody’s believed in for six hundred years have any effect on anything at all? Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, I repeated urgently, nobis peccatoribus in die periculi.

It worked, It can’t have been the words, of course, but it felt like it was the words. I was in, I was through. I was inside his head.

There was nothing there.

Believe me, it’s true. Nothing at all; like walking into a house where someone’s died, and the family have been in and cleared out all the furniture. Nothing there, because I was inside the head of a dead man; albeit a dead man who was looking at me reproachfully out of blank white eyes while holding an axe absolutely still.

Fine; all the easier, if it’s empty. I looked for the controls. You have to visualize them, of course. I see them as the handwheels of a lathe. It’s because I had a holiday job in a foundry in Second Year. I don’t know how to use a lathe. What I mostly did was sweep up piles of swarf off the floor.

Here is the handwheel that controls the arms. I reached out with the hand that is not a hand, grabbed it and tried to turn it. Stuck. I tried harder. Stuck. I tried really hard, and the bloody thing came away in my hand.

It’s not supposed to do that.

I re-visualized. I saw the controls as the reins of a cart, the footbrake under my boot that was not a boot. I stamped on the brake and hauled back hard on the reins.

I haven’t got round to writing that paper for the journals, so here it is for the first time anywhere. The gift does not survive death. Nothing survives. The room was empty. And the handwheel only broke off because I’m clumsy and cack-handed, the sort of person who trips over cats and breaks the nibs of pens by pressing too hard.

I heard the Brother gasp, as he jerked the axe out of the dead man’s grip. The dead man didn’t move. His eyes were still fixed on mine, right up to the moment when the axe shore through his neck and his head wobbled and fell, bounced off his knee and tumbled off the roof into the short grass below. The body didn’t move.

I know why. It took ten of us, with an improvised crane made of twelve-foot three-inch fir poles, to get the body down off the roof. It must’ve weighed half a ton. The head alone was two hundredweight. Two men couldn’t lift it; they had to use levers to roll it along the ground. There was no blood, but the neck started to ooze a milky white juice that smelt worse than anything you could possibly imagine.

We burned the body. We drenched it in pine-pitch, and it caught quite easily and burnt down to nothing; not even any recognizable bits of bone. The white juice flared up like oil. They rolled the head over to the slurry-pond and pitched it in. It went down with a gurgle and a burp.

“I heard you talking to it,” the Brother told me. For some reason, the word it offended me. “I guessed you were using a variation on the riddle game, to keep it distracted till the sun came up.”

“Something like that,” I said.

He nodded. “I shouldn’t have interfered, I’m sorry,” he said. “You had the situation under control, and I could have ruined everything.”

“That’s all right,” I said.

He smiled; as if to say, it wasn’t all right, but thanks for forgiving me. “I guess I panicked,” he said. Then he frowned. “No, I didn’t. I saw a chance of getting in on the act. It was stupid and selfish of me. You’ll have to write to the prebendary.”

“I don’t see why,” I said mildly. “The way I see it, your actions were open to several different interpretations. I choose to interpret them as courage and resourcefulness. I could put that in a letter, if you like.”

“Would you?” In his face, I saw all the desperation and cruelty of sudden, unexpected hope. “I mean, seriously?”

“Of course,” I said.

“That’d be—” He stopped. He couldn’t think of a big enough word. “You’ve got no idea what it’s like,” he said; all in a rush, like diarrhea. “Being stuck here, in this miserable place with these appalling people. If I can’t get back to a town, I swear I’ll go mad. And it’s so cold in winter. I hate the cold.”

You can sleep in the coach, Father Prior said, when I tried to make a fuss about the timetable. I didn’t say to him; have you ever been on a provincial mailcoach, on country roads, at this time of year? A dead man couldn’t sleep on a mailcoach.

I slept, nearly all the way; on account, I guess, of not having had much sleep the night before. Woke up just as we were crossing the Fulvens bridge; I looked out of the window, and all I could see was water, moonlight reflected on water. Couldn’t get back to sleep after that. Too dark to read the case notes, which I’d neglected to do back at the farm. But I remembered the basic facts from the briefing. These jobs are all the same, anyhow. Piece of cake.

The coach threw me out just after dawn, at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere up on the moors; I’m a valley boy myself. We had cousins up on the moor. I hated it when they came to visit. The old man was deaf as a post, and the three boys (mid to late thirties, but they were always the boys) just sat there, not saying a word. The mother died young, and I can’t say I blame her.

They were supposed to be meeting the coach, but there was no one there. I stood for a while, then I sat on my bag, then I sat on the ground, which was damp. I heard an owl, and a fox, or at least I hope it was a fox. If not, it was something we never got around to covering in Third Year, and I’m very glad I didn’t see it.

They arrived eventually, in a little dog-cart thing; an old man driving, a younger man and the Brother. One small pony, furry like a bear.

The Brother did the talking, for which I was quite grateful. He was one of the better sort of country Brothers; short man, somewhere between fifty and sixty, a distinct burr to his voice but he spoke clearly and used proper words. The boy was the younger man’s son, the older man’s grandson. He’d been fooling about in a big oak tree, slipped, fell; broken arm and a hideous bash on the head. He hadn’t come round, and it had been a week now. They had to prise his mouth open with the back of a horn spoon to get food and water in; he swallowed all right, but that was all he did. You could stick a needle in his foot half an inch and he wouldn’t even twitch. The swelling on the back of his head had gone down—the Brother disclaimed any medical knowledge, but he was lying—and they’d set the arm and splinted it, for what that was worth.

I thought; better than killing the restless dead. One of my best subjects at the Studium, though of course we did all our practicals on conscious minds, with a Father sitting a few feet away, watching like a hawk. I’d done one about eighteen months earlier, and it went off just fine; in, found her, straight out again. She followed me like a dog. I’d been relieved when Father Prior told me; it could’ve been something awkward and fiddly, like auspices, or horrible and scary, like a possession. Just in case, I’d brought the book. I’d meant to mug up the relevant chapter, either at the farm or on the coach, but I hadn’t got round to it. Anyway, it had to be better than that empty place.

It was quite a big house, for a hill-farm; sitting in the well of a valley, with a dense copper-beech hedge on all four sides, as a windbrake. Just the five of them in the house, the Brother said; grandfather, father, mother, the boy and a hired man who slept in the hayloft. The boy was nine years old. The Brother told me his name, but I’m hopeless with names.

They asked me, did I want to rest after the journey; wash and brush up, something to eat? The correct answer was, of course, No, so I gave it.

“He’s in here,” the Brother said.

Big for a hill-farm, but still oppressively small. Downstairs, the big kitchen, with a huge table, fireplace, two hams swinging like dead men on gibbets. A parlor, tiny and dusty and cold. Dairy, scullery, store; doorway through to the cowstalls. Upstairs, one big room and a sort of oversized cupboard, where the boy was. I could just about kneel beside the bed, if I didn’t mind the window-sill digging in the small of my back.

The hell with that, I thought; I’m a qualified man, a professional, a Father; a wizard. I shouldn’t have to work in conditions you wouldn’t keep pigs in. “Take him downstairs,” I said. “Put him on the kitchen table.”

They had a job. The stairs in that house were like a bell-tower, tightly coiled and cramped. Father and grandfather did the heavy lifting, while I watched. It’s an odd thing about me. Sometimes, the more compassion is called for, the less capable I am of feeling it. I offer no explanation or excuse.

“He shouldn’t have been moved,” the Brother hissed in my ear, just loud enough so that everyone could hear. “In his condition—”

”Yes, thank you,” I said, in my best arrogant-city-bastard voice. I couldn’t say why I was behaving like this. Sometimes I do. “Now, if you’ll all stay well back, I’ll see what I can do.”

I looked at the boy, and I could remember the theory perfectly, every last detail, every last lecture note. His eyes were closed; he had a stupid face, fat girly lips, fat cheeks. If he lived, he’d grow up tall, solid, double-chinned, gormless; the son of the farm. Pork fat and home-brewed beer; he’d be spherical by the time he was forty, strong enough to wrestle a bullock to its knees, slow and tireless, infuriatingly calm, a man of few words; respected at market, shrewd and fat, his bald patch hidden under a hat that would never come off, probably not even in bed. A solid, productive life, which it was my duty to save. Lucky me.

Theory; theory is your lifeline, they used to tell me, your driftwood in a shipwreck. I reminded myself of the basic propositions.

To recover a lost mind, first make an entrance. This is usually done by visualizing yourself as a penetrating object; a drill bit, a woodpecker’s beak, a maggot. The drill bit works for me, though for some reason I tend to be a carpenter’s auger, wound in with a brace. I go in through the spiral flakes of waste bone thrown clear by the wide grooves of the cutter. I assume it’s from some childhood memory, watching Granddad at work in the barn. You’re not really supposed to use personal memories, but it’s easier, for someone with my limited imagination.

Once you’re in; first ward, immediately, because you never know what might be waiting for you in there. I raised first ward as soon as I felt myself go through. I use scutum fidei, visualize a shield. Mine’s round, with a hole in it at twelve o’clock so I can see what’s going on.

I peered through the hole. No nasty creatures with dripping fangs crouched to pounce, which was nice. Count to ten and lower the shield slowly.

I looked around. This is the crucial bit, and you mustn’t rush. How long it takes depends on the strength of your gift, so naturally I take ages. The light gradually increases. First things first; get your bearings. Orientate yourself, taking special care to get a fix on the point you came in by. Well, obviously. If you lose your entry-point, you’re stuck; in someone else’s head forever. You really don’t want that.

I lined up on the corners of a ceiling, drawing diagonal lines and fixing on their point of origin, measuring the angles with my imaginary protractor (it’s brass, with numbers in gothic-italic) One-oh-five, seventy-five; repeat the numbers four times out loud, to make sure they’re loaded into memory. Fine. Now I know where I am and how to get out again. One-oh-five, seventy-five. Now, then. Let the dog see the rabbit.

I was in a room. It’s nearly always an interior; with kids, practically guaranteed it’s their bedroom, or the room they sleep in, depending on social class and domestic arrangements. In all relevant essentials, it was the room upstairs I had him carried down from. Excellent; nice and small, not many places to hide anything. So much easier when you’re dealing with a subject of limited intelligence.

I visualized a body for myself. I tend not to be me. With children, it’s usually best to be a nice lady; the kid’s mother, if possible. I’m not good enough to do specific people, and I have real problems being women. So I was a nice old man instead.

Hello, I said. Where are you?

Don’t worry if they don’t answer. Sometimes, they do, sometimes they don’t. I walked round the bed, knelt down, looked under it. There was a cupboard; one of those triangular jobs, wedged in a corner. I opened that. For some reason, it was full of the skins and bones of dead animals. None of my business; I closed it. I pulled the covers off the bed, and lifted the pillow.

Odd, I thought, and touched base with theory. The boy must still be alive, or else there would be no room. If he’s alive, he must be in here somewhere. He can’t be invisible, not inside his own head. He can, of course, be anything he likes, so long as it’s animate and alive. A cockroach, for example, or a flea. I sighed. I get all the rotten jobs.

I adjusted the scale, making the room five times bigger. Go up in easy stages. If he was being a cockroach, he’d now be a rat-sized cockroach. If he was being a rat, of course, he’d be cat-sized and capable of giving me a nasty bite. I used lorica, just in case. I looked under the bed again.

I visualized a clock, in the middle of the wall opposite the door. It told me I’d been inside for ten minutes. The recommended maximum is thirty. Really first-rate practitioners have been known to stay in for an hour and still come out more or less in one piece; that’s material for a leading article in the journals. I searched again, this time paying more attention to the contents of the cupboard. Dried, desiccated animal skins; squirrels, rabbits, rats. No fleas, mites or ticks. So much for that theory.

I visualized a glass jug, to represent my energy level. You can use yourself up surprisingly quickly and not know it. Just as well I did. My jug was a third empty. You want to save at least a fifth just to get out again. I visualized calibrations, so as to be sure.

Quick think. The recommended course of action would be to visualize a tracking agent (spaniel, terrier, ferret) but that takes a fair chunk of your resources; also, it burns energy while it’s in use, and getting rid of it takes energy, too. I drew a distinct red line on my measuring-jug, and a blue line just above it. The alternative to a tracker is to increase the scale still further; twenty times, say, in which case your cockroach will be a wolf-sized monster that could jump you and bite your head off. I was still running lorica, but any effective ward burns energy. If I found myself with a fight on my hands, I could dip below that essential red line in a fraction of a second. No, the hell with that.

I visualized a terrier. I’m not a dog person, so my terrier was a bit odd; very short, stumpy legs and a rectangular head. Still, it went at it with great enthusiasm, wagging its imaginary tail and making little yapping noises. All round the room, nose into everything. Then it sat on the floor and looked at me, as if to say, Well?

Not looking good. My jug was half empty, I’d used up my repertoire of approved techniques, and found nothing. Just my luck to get a special case, a real collector’s item. Senior research fellows would be fighting each other for the chance of a go at this one, but I just wanted to get the job done and clear out. Wasted on me, you might say.

I vanished the dog. Quick think. There had to be something else I could try, but nothing occurred to me. Didn’t make sense; he had to be in here somewhere, or there’d be no room. He couldn’t be invisible. He could only turn himself into something he could imagine—and it had to be real; no fantasy creatures the size of a pin-head. At five times magnification, a red mite would be plainly visible; also, the dog would’ve found it. Tracking agents, even inferior ones visualized by me, smell life. If he was in here, the dog would’ve found him.

So—

As required by procedure, I considered abandoning the attempt and getting out. This would, of course, mean the boy would die; you can’t go back in twice, that’s an absolute. I’d be within my rights, faced with an enigma on this scale. The failure would be noted on my record, of course, but there’d be an annotation, no blame attaches, and it wouldn’t be the first time, not by a long way. The kid would die; not my problem. I’d have done my best, and that’s all you have to do.

Or I could think of something. Such as what?

They tell you; be wise, don’t improvise. If in doubt, get out. Making stuff up as you go along is mightily frowned on, in much the same way as you’re not encouraged to fry eggs in a fireworks factory. There’s no knowing what you might invent, and outside controlled conditions, invention could lead to the Cartographic Commission having to redraw the maps for a whole county. Or you could make a hole in a wall, which is the worst thing anybody can do. At the very least, I’d be sure to end up in front of a Board, facing charges of unauthorized innovation and divergence. Saving the life of some farm kid would be an excuse, but not a very good one.

I could think of something. Such as—

There’s no such thing as magic. Instead, there’s the science we don’t properly understand, not yet. There are effects that work, and we have no idea why. One of these is spes aeternitatis, a wretchedly inconsistent, entirely inexplicable conjuring trick that no self-respecting Father would condescend to use. That’s because they can’t get it to work reliably.

I can.

Spes aeternitatis is an appearances-adjuster. You can use it to find hidden objects, or translate lies, or tell if a slice of cake or a glass of wine’s got poison in it. I do it by visualizing everything that’s wrong in light blue. It’s a tiny little scrap of talent that I’ve got and practically everybody else hasn’t; it’s like being double-jointed, or wiggling your nostrils like a rabbit.

I closed my eyes and opened them again, and saw a light blue room. Everything light blue. Everything false.

Oh, I thought; then, one-oh-five, seventy five, and I started lining up diagonals for my escape. But that wasn’t to be, unfortunately. The room blurred and reappeared, and it was all different. It was my room; the room I slept in until I was fifteen years old.

He was sitting on the end of the bed; a slight man, almost completely bald, with a small nose and a soft chin, small hands, short, thin legs. I’d put him at about fifty years old. His skin was purple, like a grape.

“You were wrong,” he said, looking up at me. “The talent survives death.”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “How did you get in here?”

He smiled. “You practically invited me in,” he said. “When I heard that fool behind me, with the axe, I looked at you. You felt sorry for me. You thought; is he not a man and a Brother, or words to that effect. I used Stilicho’s transport, and here I am.”

I nodded. “I should’ve put up wards.”

“You should. Careless. Attention to detail isn’t your strongest suit.”

“The boy,” I said.

He shrugged. “In there somewhere, I dare say. But we aren’t in his head, we’re in yours. I’ve made myself at home, as you can see.”

I looked round quickly. The apple-box with the bottom knocked out, where I used to keep my books; it was where it should be, but the books were different. They were new and beautifully bound in tooled calf, and the alphabet their titles were written in was strange to me.

“My memories,” I said.

He waved his hand. “Well rid of them,” he said. “Misery and failure, a life wasted, a talent dissipated. You’ll be better off.”

I nodded. “With yours.”

“Quite. Oh, they’re not pleasant reading,” he said, with a scowl. “Bitter, angry; memories of bigotry and spite, relentless bad luck, a life of constant setbacks and reverses, a talent misunderstood. You’ll see that I failed the exam the second time because, sitting there in Great School, I suddenly hit on a much better way of achieving unam sanctam; quicker, safer, ruthlessly efficient. I tried it out as soon as the exam was over, and it worked. But I got no marks, so they failed me. I ask you, where’s the sense in that?”

“You failed the retake,” I said. “What about the first time?”

He laughed. “I had the flu,” he said. “I was practically delirious, could barely remember my name. Would they listen? No. Rules. You see what I mean. Bad luck and spite at every turn.”

I nodded. “What happens to me?”

He looked at me. “You’ll be better off,” he repeated.

“I’ll stop existing. I’ll be dead.”

“Not physically,” he said mildly. “Your body, my mind. Your fully qualified licensed-practitioner’s body, and a mind that saw how to improve unam sanctam in a half-second flash of intuition.”

It says a lot about my self-esteem that I actually considered it, though not for very long. Half a second, maybe. “What happens now?” I asked. “Do we fight, or—?”

He shrugged.”If you like,” he said, and extended his arm. It was ten feet long, thick as a gatepost. He gripped my throat like a man holding a mouse, and crushed me.

I guess I was about seventy percent dead when I remembered; I know what to do. I drew a rather shaky second ward; he closed his fingers on thin air, and I was standing behind him.

He swung round, roaring like a bull. He had bull’s horns sticking out of his forehead. I tried second ward again, but he got there before I did, grabbed my head and smashed my face into the wall.

Just in time, I remembered; there is no pain. I used Small Mercies, softening the wall into felt, and slipped through his fingers. I was smoke. I hung above him in a cloud. He laughed, and fetched me back with vis mentis. The back of my head hit the floor, which gave way like a mattress. I became a spear, and buried myself in his chest. He used second ward and was the other side of the room.

“You fight like a first-year,” he said.

Which was true. I clenched my mind like a fist; the walls closed in on him, squashing him like a spider under a boot. I felt him, like a nail right through the sole. Back to first ward, and we stood glowering at each other, in opposite corners of the room.

“You can’t beat me,” he said. “I’ll wear you down and you’ll simply fade away. Face it, what the hell have you got to live for?”

Valid point. “All right, then,” I said.

His eyes opened wide. “I win?”

“You win,” I said.

He was pleased; very pleased. He grinned at me and raised his hand, just as I got my fingers round the handle of the door and twisted as hard as I could.

He saw that and opened his mouth to scream. But the door flew open, knocking me back. I closed my eyes. The door was, of course, the intersection of two lines drawn diagonally across the room, at 105 and 75 degrees precisely.

I opened my eyes. He’d gone. I was in the boy’s room, the room upstairs. The boy was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, hands under his chin. He looked up at me.

“Well, come on,” I snapped at him. “I haven’t got all day.”

They were pathetically grateful. Mother in floods of tears, father clinging to my arm, how can we ever thank you, it’s a miracle, you’re a miracle-worker. I wasn’t in the mood. The boy, lying on the kitchen table under a pile of blankets, looked up at me and frowned, as though something about me wasn’t quite right. A quiet, analytical stare; it bothered the hell out of me. I refused food and drink and made father get out the pony and trap and take me out to the crossroads. But the mail won’t be arriving for six hours, he objected; it’s cold and dark, you’ll catch your death.

I didn’t feel cold.

At the crossroads, huddling under the smelly old hat father insisted on giving me, I tried to search my mind, to see if he’d really gone. There was, of course, no way he could have survived. I’d opened the door (Rule One; never open the door) and he’d been sucked out of my head out into the open, where there was no talented mind to receive him. Even if he was as strong as he’d claimed to be, there was no way he could have lasted more than three seconds before he broke up and dissipated into the air. There was absolutely nothing he could have done, no way he could have survived.

The coach arrived. I got on it, and slept all the way. At the inn, I got a lamp and a mirror, and examined myself all over. Just when I thought I was all clear, I found a patch of purple skin, about the size of a crab apple, on the calf of my left leg. I told myself it was just a bruise.

(That was a year ago. It’s still there.)

The rest of the round was just straightforward stuff; a possession, a small rift, a couple of incursions, which I sealed with a strong closure and duly reported when I got back. Since then, I’ve volunteered for a screening, been to see a couple of counselors, bought a pair of full-length mirrors. And I’ve been promoted; field officer, superior grade. They’re quite pleased with me, and no wonder. I seem to be getting better at the job all the time. And I’m writing a paper, would you believe; modifications to unam sanctam. Quicker, safer, much more efficient. So blindingly obvious, I’m surprised no one’s ever thought of it before.

Father Prior is surprised but pleased. I don’t know what’s got into you, he said.

Originally published in Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword and Sorcery, edited by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders.

#K.J. Parker #A Rich Full Week #short story #novelette #long post

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hyperfixation-tangentopia · 11 months

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More incorrect quotes!! Chikao & Tongbi with Nezha this time!

Chikao: Well, it rained today, but as a whole it's been warmer than it was last week.

Nezha: Why does it seem like every time you talk to us, you end up talking about the weather? Is your life so unimaginably dull that you can't think of any events in your life to describe that might be more interesting than the weather? Let's think of something for you to talk about other than the weather. I mean, we barely even know anything about you, other than where you live.

Nezha: Let's start there. What do you do for a living?

Chikao: I'm a meteorologist.

Nezha: Chikao, I rebuke thee! I rebuke thee!

Chikao: Rebuke? Is that a word?

Nezha: You have all invoked my fury! You will all pay recompense for your transgressions!

Chikao: What, you got like a word-a-day calendar or something?

Nezha: Sorry it took so long to bail you out of jail.

Chikao: No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have used my phone call to prank call the police station.

Chikao: I’ve been here in jail so long I think I’ve lost my mind.

Chikao: The days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.

Chikao: How long have I been in here now? Almost a year?

Nezha: This is Monopoly.

Nezha: Chikao…

Chikao: Oh no, 'Chikao' in B flat.

Chikao: You're disappointed.

Chikao: I think this might be a bad idea…

Nezha: Don't start thinking on me now!

Nezha: Chikao, are you drinking… drinking hydrogen peroxide?!

Chikao: It says H2O2! That means it’s the sequel to water!

Nezha: What's two plus two?

Chikao: Math.

Nezha: …I will accept that answer.

Chikao: Guess who just found out the difference between wax paper and parchment paper the hard way?

Nezha: Wait, what’s the difference?

Chikao: One you can use in the oven safely, and the other you can also use in the oven… if the thing you are trying to make happens to be fire.

Chikao, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Nezha.

Nezha, not looking up from his coffee: Good morning, problem child.

Nezha: I have a new hoodie.

Tongbi: Wrong.

Tongbi: We have a new hoodie.

PIF: Red Son was in a fight.

Nezha: Oh no, that’s terrible!

Tongbi: Did they win?

Nezha: Just so everyone knows, don't ever try to climb a tree at night carrying a strobe light, owls DON'T like it.

Tongbi: …what happened?

Nezha: I made a VERY bad mistake.

Nezha: I did it! I memorized everything in the book! I'm gonna ace this test!

Tongbi: Ok, Nezha, I'll give you one more question before you go. What ended in 1918?

Nezha: 1917.

Tongbi: …You're ready.

Tongbi: Awww, why don't you like cats, Nezha? They're just snuggly buddies! They have toe beans! They make a little blep! What's not to love??

Nezha: I don't know Tongbi, I just prefer to be conscious instead of dead on the floor.

Tongbi:

Nezha: I'm ALLERGIC.

Tongbi: Mint is just cold spicy.

The Squad: …

Nezha: What the actual fuck is wrong with you.

Nezha: How would you like your coffee?

Tongbi: As dark as my soul.

Nezha: Got it, one cup of milk coming right up!

Tongbi: I can do anything I put my mind to. I once figured out Nezha's phone number just by choosing random numbers.

Nezha: Look, Tongbi, it's the third time this week you had a mental breakdown and its Monday.

Tongbi: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this?

Nezha: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

#I could 100% see Nezha leaving a hoodie somewhere while they're babysitting Red Son and by the end of the night Tongbi takes it home tbh #and nobody knows how it happens and nobody thinks Nezha has noticed #he has he just doesn't ask for it back #also Chikao literally having caused the rain #Tongbi would totally help Nezha with studying for something #especially spacey related because ofc #please note when I talk about Tongbi and Nezha I am talking about stuff like #way after the Chikao & Nezha comic thingy #tealstars

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tendouluvr · 3 years

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aizawa calling you clingy - gn reader

- [attempt at] angst to fluff

- warnings: being called clingy, aizawa gets annoyed with reader and berates them, one use of the word ‘shit’

- wc: 1.9k

a/n: this wasnt......as sad as i wanted... i cant tell if im just not so good at writing angst or immune to it T_T

once again, not edited!

#! aizawa!!!! eee

#! hes a levelheaded man so arguments are rare

#! u both trust one another so theres no reason to have doubts in ur relationship

#! being his s/o, he tells u things thats not so easy to tell others over time, and you’re patient enough to let him take however much time he needs to let u in

#! however, years of keeping to himself most of the time doesnt just disappear even if you’re his s/o

#! so aizawa does have this tendency to close off and distance himself from u bc of his stress and insecurities

walking through the spacious halls of ua, you were headed towards your lovely boyfriend. aizawas been pretty busy lately with teaching his class, making sure no one is being left behind progress wise, doing his job as a pro-hero, and then spending his free time training with shinsou.

you knew showing up at school unexpectedly was something aizawa found irky, that’s why you made sure to tell him the night before that you would be coming during lunch time to bring him some yummy homemade food.

humming softly to yourself, you finally reached the door opening to class 1-A and walked in. the classroom was empty, but there at the front was no one other than mr. aizawa shouta. you quickly greeted him with a smile and he turned to look at you.

“what are you doing here?” he slowly asked with a look of confusion.

“i brought you some food! did you eat yet? i hope not, i made-,” you quickly stopped talking once you noticed the look he was giving you.

“why are you here? i already told you, you shouldnt be showing up without letting me know first. our relationship is quiet, if the students see they’ll get noisy and ask questions, i’ll get bombarded by my colleagues, and it’ll put you in danger if words get out. did anyone see you coming here? can you listen to me for once instead of continuing to always be near me? you’re so damn clingy and need to start thinking about the consequences your action will bring. i already ate, just go home before anything happens.”

your jaw dropped a little after hearing what he just said to you. did he not remember what you told him last night?

worst of all, you couldnt believe he just called you clingy. you just wanted to do something nice for him by making his favorite food hoping that it’ll relieve some of the stress thats been building up, but he just thought of you as clingy.

fine, if clingy is what you are then you’ll stop bothering him. you quickly whispered an apology, not sure if he could hear or not, and began making your way back home as fast as possible. the food you made for him was still tightly grasped in your hand.

due to the new dormitories, aizawa stays at ua majority of the time. he comes home to your shared apartment whenever he can to spend time with you. unfortunately, those time aren’t usually much because as soon as he’s free, he’s quick to do something else.

once you’ve made it home, you packed the food away and put it in the fridge. you felt your phone buzzing repeatedly, already guessing who it could possibly be, you took it out to see it was your boyfriend.

shou <3: im sorry

shou <3: honey, im so sorry. pls text me back when u can

shou <3: i know what i said hurted u, but i promise u i dont mean it. pls just call me or text me so we can talk about this

shou <3: i have to go back now. but i love u. so much.

staring at your screen, you contemplated texting him back.

letting out a sigh, you decided not to.

putting your phone to the side, you walked to the bedroom and changed out of your clothes into the comfy pjs you were wearing right before you left.

seeing that there was nothing for you to do other than wallow in your insecurities and let out a few tears, you got into bed and made yourself comfortable for an afternoon nap.

aizawa on the other hand was at school and distracted. his own words kept replaying over and over in his head and all he wants to do is smack himself a few times (after comforting u ofc).

his students could tell he was in a badder mood than usual so they collectively agreed to not worsen it (one particular student does not care. can u guess?). aizawa just wanted the day to pass so he can apologize to you directly and make it up with some cuddling.

despite being distracted with planning his apology and thinking about you, he was still teaching as he should and constantly telling his students to be quiet because he’s intimidating like that.

a few hours passed, the students are back in their dorms and some of the teachers are still in school finishing up some work. the hallways were empty and silent, and the weather outside was nice and calm - not too sunny with just the right amount of wind.

however, if you were to peek your head inside of class 1-A at the moment, the environment is an exact 180. aizawa is quickly trying to grade the remaining stack of papers he has on his desk so he can leave as soon as he can. there’s papers everywhere, he’s not so sure where the answer key went off to but to hell with the answer key. he just needs to go home.

his hair is messily tied up and his lips have probably been gnawed off by now. as soon as school ended, he got out his phone to see if you replied and sadly you didn’t. he doesn’t blame you though, considering all of the shit he said to you earlier.

finally writing down the fat score in red pen onto the final paper, he gathers everything and put to the side of his desk and packed up his stuff. his stuff being his yellow sleeping bag and that’s it.

he went to his room first to clean himself up a bit, and then grabbed a taxi to go to your shared apartment. arriving at the front door, he takes out his copy of the key and entered.

first thing he noticed while entering and taking off his shoes was that the apartment was dark and quiet. he made his way to the kitchen first and turned on its lights to check the fridge. in the fridge laid the food you made for him earlier today. he took it out to start heating it up in the microwave then he walks away from the food and to your bedroom.

quietly opening the door, he poked his head in to see you laying on your side with your back facing the door. he assumed you were asleep and gently closed the door to not wake you up. he made his way over to the bed and sat on the edge of it.

you, feeling the bed dip, slowly opened your eyes to be greeted with the sight of your boyfriend gingerly brushing his fingertips across your cheekbones. he notices that you’re awake and looks up to meet your eyes.

making eye contact with him, you quietly grunted and brought the blanket up to cover your face while turning your entire body to the other side to ignore him. aizawa sighed and brought his hand down to rest on your waist as he begins talking.

“yn... i know you’re.. mad at me for the things i said to you earlier, but i’m truly sorry. i know saying i didn’t mean it isn’t good enough for you to forgive me, but i want you to know i’m really really sorry. i’ve been so busy for the past few days, my head is all over the place, seeing you at school just got me overthinking and worried that i ended up saying things about you that’s not true at all. i love you so much, hun. you’re the best thing to happen to me. you don’t have to forgive me now, i understand if you want some space.”

it was silent for some time after he finished his apology. the echoing silence was slowly making aizawa worried that you’ll leave him, but he won’t tell you that. thinking that you wanted space, he lifted his shaky hand off of your waist and moved to get off of the bed when you suddenly grabbed onto his hand to keep him there.

“i...i told you the day before that i was going to be visiting you during lunch time. did you not remember? or even hear me tell you?”

aizawa situated himself back down onto the bed before replying. “if i’m being honest, i don’t really remember much of that day at all. my brain was occupied with work and rest, so i was practically drained by the end of the night. i’m sorry i took it out on you, it’s my fault for overworking when i know you’ve been trying to help.”

letting out a soft sigh, you turned your body back towards him. still holding onto his hand, you carefully slotted your fingers in between his and pulled him down to lay with you. he immediately found comfort in this and placed his head into your neck. you could feel his facial hair against your skin making you let out a quiet giggle.

“i love you. i know you have a habit to overwork since that’s all you did before we dated, but please shou, take care of yourself. im not talking physically, cuz you’re already so damn fine, but mentally. i hate seeing you bury yourself in work and training that it even makes me tired just watching you.”

he grumbled something against your neck - his usual reaction to you complimenting him - and held onto you tighter while putting light kisses on your collarbone.

“i know. i will. please bear with me, i know i’m a pain but i’ll always try to be my best for you. i’m never letting you go, love you too much for that.”

“hmm? who said i’m going? you’re stuck with me forever just so you know,” you laughed and patted his head before rising from the bed.

“i heard you heating up the food earlier. get up and come eat,” you tugged aizawa to get him off the bed.

he grumbled once again because he was being forced to leave the warm comfort of your shared bed, but followed you out anyway holding onto your hand.

“wait. you heard me entering? so you were pretending to sleep when i got here?! not funny, babe. not funny. -also don’t take sleep for granted. i did and look where that got me. stop laughing!”

bonus:

it was the next day and aizawa just finished passing out the grades he rushed grading yesterday. even though it was rushed, he was confident that there wasn’t any mistakes-

“aizawa sensei, you marked this question wrong when it’s right. this one too. and this other one on the last page. are you trying to fail me?!” denki dramatically wailed as he showed aizawa his papers.

guess he did make mistakes after all.

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seriouslysnape · 3 years

Text

Under the Weather

Harry Potter x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Sickness.

Word Count: 1,518

“I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”

Harry felt bad. Correction: Harry felt terrible. He watched as you crawled into your bed with sunken eyes and a nasty sounding cough. He wouldn’t ever say this out loud, but you didn’t look so good at all. It was all his fault that you were sick, and he wouldn’t let himself forget it anytime soon.

He had just recovered from possibly the worst case of the flu that he had ever fallen ill with. It had knocked him on his ass for a week due to the fatigue, coughing, fever, and body aches. Pomfrey had done all she could to try to make him comfortable enough, but the strain was just a bit more than her remedies could fix this time around. He was stuck in bed with nothing to do but roll around in his sickness and complain about how bad he felt.

In the end, Harry was able to recover swiftly and without any real problems. Before too long, he was as good as new thanks to your help. You had taken extra good care of him by keeping him cool from the fever but warm from the chills. You made sure he was eating, even if it was just chicken and soup everyday. You made sure he was hydrated and getting plenty of rest to ensure his recovery...which also included lots of snuggles and kisses.

It turned out that those snuggles and kisses were rather sickly ones, and about the time that Harry was fully feeling better, you had begun to feel crummy. Harry actually noticed it before you did. It was extremely rare for you to sleep later than him. You almost always were up and going before him, but on particular Friday morning, you were still knocked out when he woke up. Not only that, you were unusually warm and ill looking. He had pressed the back of his hand to your head, feeling a pit of guilt when he realized that you definitely were running a fever.

He had woken you up, feeling even worse when you began to cough. He had practically jumped out of your bed, wrapping you up and doing whatever he could to make you comfortable. You had all the same symptoms that he did, and you were guaranteed to be in for a long week. He had insisted that he take another week off from classes to watch over you, but he was already a week behind, and there was no chance that you were letting him fall back more on your account.

He went through all of his classes in a haze of worry. He knew that he had undoubtedly gotten you sick. There was no way that you could’ve gotten it from anyone else. He didn’t even stop in the common room after his classes, going straight back to your dorm where he had left you. When he did walk into your room, you were standing at your trunk, looking weak and drained. You would’ve thought that you had tried to mouth off to Professor Snape by the way Harry reacted.

“What are you doing?!” He shrieked, closing your door and rushing to you.

You threw your hands up in defense, sniffling more drainage out of your nasal passageway.

“What? I’m getting changed. I was in the same pajamas from last night and I felt gross,” You explained with a congested tone, not seeing the big deal, “I’m fine, Harry.”

He ruffled your hair when he noticed it was damp. His face fell into even more horror.

“Did you shower?” He asked as if it were a crime.

“Uh, yes?” You replied nonchalantly.

“But you’re sick! You could’ve...I don’t know! You could’ve fainted or sneezed so hard that you fell or-”

“Harry, I’m not dying. It’s just the flu.” You argued, giggling at his dramatic act.

That sealed the deal. He was dedicating his entire weekend to make sure you were at least on the road to recovery by Monday if you weren’t going to “take care” of yourself.

“Get in bed, you mad woman! What are you doing up?!” He shrilled again, ushering you to your bed again.

That was when you returned to bed to put HIM at ease, looking and sounding just plain awful. That was also when he REALLY started to feel guilty for your current state. He rushed around the room, setting things up the way you had in his when he had been sick. He layered blankets onto your bed, turned on some soft music, made sure the windows were closed to make sure you didn’t catch a cold draft. The only difference was that you had spoken to him in sweet, calm tones. Harry was running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Are you warm enough, my love?” Harry asked, adding yet another blanket on top of you, rushing to your desk on the other side of the room.

“Yes, Harry. I told you that I’m fin-”

“Do you want a book? Or maybe I can sneak into the kitchen and bring you a snack?” Harry rattled off, barely letting you get a word in.

“No, angel. I don’t want-”

“I promise I don’t mind! The castle is pretty quiet this time of night and Filch is easy to sneak around and-”

“Harry!” You finally croaked out through your already hoarse voice, “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

Harry’s demeanor softened. His shoulders relaxed and his breathing slowed. He was getting himself worked up over nothing, and panicking wasn’t going to solve anything at all.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” He said, sitting on the edge of your bed, “I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”

You shrugged under the pile of covers, giving him a feeble grin.

“I’m okay. I don’t feel that bad. Just a little under the weather I guess.” You brushed it off.

Harry smiled softly with an even gentler laugh. You certainly didn’t look “a little under the weather”. He had been much more difficult when he was sick. He kicked the sheets off of his body and complained that it was too hot, and then hissed that it was too cold each time he got a new chill. He whined when he had to keep changing clothes because the sweating from his fever dampened his pajamas. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content, even in your ill state.

“If you say so. Can I squeeze in with you, darling?” He queried, wanting to hold you close in your bed.

“I don’t want you to get sick again. You’re already behind.” You shook your head.

“I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you, my pretty girl.” Harry bantered.

He knew you hated missing school, and you were sure to miss at least a week. The thought of you having to spend the next several days cooped up in your dorm made him feel awful. Worst of all, you weren’t your normal, healthy self and it was all because of him. He wanted you to be happy and at your best at all times, because seeing you happy made him happy.

“[Y/N], baby, I’m sorry I got you sick. I shouldn’t have let you get so close to me and love up on me. If I had known it was so contagious I would’ve taken care of myself.” Harry apologized, his eyes lowering, finding your hand under all the sheets and giving it a caring caress.

“It’s not your fault. I wanted to take care of you. I always want to...love up on you,” You remarked, laughing at his previous choice of wording, “I couldn’t let you be sick and not do anything. I care about you.”

Harry’s eyes found yours again, his lips upturning into a wide smile as he looked at your lovingly.

“You really love me that much, huh?” He questioned, bringing your clammy palm to his lips for a ginger kiss.

“That much and more,” You returned with a smirk, “Now shut up and get in bed with me. I need cuddles.”

Harry leapt up from the side of the bed, rushing to the empty, opposite side.

“Yes ma’am.” He joked, crawling in and pulling you flush to his chest.

He winced at how warm you still were, but he was sure that the fever would subside with time. Harry’s paranoia had subsided almost completely, but he still kept a hand on your back to make sure you were breathing...just in case. He’d cater to your every need to make sure you’d be better soon. You’d be back to normal in no time with Harry Potter as your caretaker.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Harry. I really appreciate it.” You sniffed, beginning to feel drowsy as your body fought off the horrid sickness.

Harry pressed a kiss to your forehead, keeping you safe and comfortable in his arms. It was something he would do until forever ran out...with or without a bad case of the flu.

“I’ll always take care of you. No matter what.”

******

Tags: @writingscape @lupinsslut @msmimimerton @thefilmcity

#Harry Potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x female reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #harry potter fluff #seriouslysnape

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wiipes · 3 years

Text

The Blood God's Sacrifice.

(I decided to write a blurb on the hadestown talk with techno 👉👈 @bloodgoddarlin)

-----

Fearsome, bloody gruesome.

Insanely loyal.

Loving to a fault.

You committed the memory of your lover to your brain, tried to savor the memories of late mornings, hazy moments of life-or-death choices, feverish kisses after weeks of not seeing each other.

Tried to remember the face, you knew, that loved you. "Wait for me, my love, I'll see you later," you had told him, telling him to hold on to breakfast. To wait for you to come back.

But you knew what you had to do.

He was going to blow L'manburg to smithereens. And as much as you loved that man, you couldn't let so many people die. Couldn't stand by and let them get hurt.

Approaching the forest that sprung up a while back, you take a seat in the middle of suspiciously arranged boulders, praying with your mind and soul.

There has to be a way.

You called upon the only person who could help you.

"I didn't expect to see you so soon, but then again, I have just the smallest window before… a lot of souls will have to be escorted." You turned on your knees to crane your neck to look at the goddess leaning against one of the boulders.

"That's.. that's what I called you here for." You shifted on your knees, pulling yourself to stand and she's approaching slowly.

"Oh, y/n, I can't stop this. What is going to happen will happen, we both know this." She regards you with a face already resigned, with the combined efforts of your respective lovers and the help of a madman, she would be overwhelmed with helping people.

"And what if I offered myself? In exchange for their protection, the people of L'manburg." You put your hands together, wringing them as you stared her in the eyes.

"Taking you in exchange for thousands of souls? You must know that's a deal I can't make."

"Yes, but I am Techno's… the Blood God's devoted worshiper, his lover, the one person he cares for other than Phil." You make a bold guess, but with the way her foot stills in the air as she thinks it over.

"The only one to die is the one person who's close to Technoblade, the God of Blood… y/n, you do know what this means, don't you?"

"I might never see him again but… there will be families and children and so many people who are worth dying for."

"If you come with me in exchange for the souls and lives for the people in L'manburg, you would have to leave with me now, to interrupt the flow of paperwork and cast protection spells over those you bargained for, you won't get a goodbye with Technoblade. And you will be leaving to the Underworld, you're aware of all of this, and you're absolutely sure?"

Tears welled up and a sob choked it's way out of your throat but you rub your eyes in your fists, clearing your vision before letting out the last words you'll say in the land of the living.

"I am sure. I'm ready whenever you are."

After escorting you down to her office to wait while she grabs your file, she summons one of Philza's crows, knowing they are almost done with the preparations for Doomsday.

"Let him know where their body is, they should be able to hold a small funeral for them."

With a flash of feathers and wings, the crow was gone and she had paper to fill out and figure where you'll be held.

As they arrive back at their cabins, covered in ash and gunpowder, he half expected you to be waiting for him, sitting at the table with Ranboo while playing a game of poker.

But you weren't there. Weren't in your shared bedroom. Not in the bathroom. And not in the basements. (He even checked Tommy's raccoon hole. Still no.)

You weren't anywhere, even your bowl from this morning's soup is still in its place, colder than the weather outside of his home. He couldn't imagine you'd be gone this long, where would you have gone that's so important? But you had so to wait for him to wait for you, so obviously, it shouldn't have taken you this long.

Closing the door behind him, he goes up to Phil's door, about to knock on it when it opens with harsh movements as the blond man grabbed his arm and led him down the stairs.

Techno saw the forest. Saw the ominous amount of crows surrounding the roof of the forest, but over a particular part of it. "She said… but why would they…" Phil kept mumbling to himself and refused to elaborate with him.

They found the place with all of the crows. They surrounded a meadow with a ring of boulders lining said meadow, a particular amount of vines and flowers covering something, a bulge in the dirt that was clearly not natural.

Phil rushed over and kneels next to them leaving Techno by himself, outside of the ring.

Phil's head sinks as it examines the peculiar thing, hands limply hanging by his side. Sliding his arms beneath the lump, Phil lifted them into his hold, before turning to Technoblade and stealing both of their breaths.

"No.. it can't be-" Technoblade rushed over, several strides and he was in front of his dearest friend.

He chokes on something, reaching to cusp your lifeless face, a peaceful expression holding your features together before he pulls his hand away and takes you into his arms.

He turns around, fully planning on taking his rage out on whoever did this to his lover when Phil's hand rested on his shoulder in the split second he turned. "Kristin sent me a message, they… they left on their own, traded their soul in an exchange."

Phil kept talking.

For the people of L'manburg, you traded your soul. But that wasn't your choice, you hadn't relished the blood that spilt, in the aftermath with smoke filling his senses and all he could see was a crater.

But now all he could feel is the emptiness in his arms, in your stiff body. You were gone.

You had gone and died and you had died alone. The one thing you… the one thing you had told him that scared you. You died alone to pay for his sins.

His knees sink. He hears a scream distantly, not entirely aware of the moment. He couldn't tell if it was him or not.

But before he knows it, he's back on his feet, rushing back home. He has to set you down, lay you down before he leaves you for the last time.

He has work to do.

#technoblade dsmp #technoblade x reader #technoblade drabble #technoblade imagine #c!technoblade x reader #c!technoblade dsmp #technoblade dreamsmp #techno x reader #techno x you #technoblade x you #mcyt #mcyt writing #hadestown au

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ladyeliot · 3 years

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Are you happy? [1/2]

Part 2

Pairing: Ex!Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Summary: After almost two years without seeing each other, fate brings you together again, each of you has your own reason for the reunion, which brings your feelings to the surface again.

Warnings: Angst. Ex-friends / Ex-partner.

Word count: 3411

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

The decision wandered through your mind trying to be made as you sat inside the car with a head full of doubts. You couldn't help but lean back in the driver's seat closing your eyes, letting out a slight sigh between your lips. Guilt was present in you and you couldn't explain why, for in your thoughts was present that you had committed, or were about to commit, any act bordering on recklessness. Two months had passed since your parting, and though you tried to forget him you could not get him out of your thoughts, yet, though you were no longer together as such, your reasoning informed you that you were not acting rightly, and that fact might have been caused by the feelings your heart still harboured for him.

Finally, after a few minutes of meditation, you opened your eyelids and let the brightness of that morning in the small Massachusetts town into your eyes, but quickly covered your face with the palms of your hands, letting a sound of frustration escape from within you. You couldn't stay there any longer, hidden inside the car, so a mere decisive nod of the head emphasised your acceptance of the proposition Chris had made to you a few weeks ago, and with such firmness you placed his right hand on the knob and opened the car door. The coldness of the weather fell upon you, sending a shiver from the back of his neck to the tips of your toes, but the quietness of the street relaxed you, for what you feared most at that moment was that the press would report your presence there with your companion, causing a halo of fabricated stories to reach the ears of the world. Thus, and obviating any negative thoughts, you put on your sunglasses before you started your way to the charming pastry café, looking again at your watch and fearing for your tardiness, for the decision had taken you thirty minutes, Chris would have disappeared from there.

As you approached the shop you realised that it had hardly changed since the last time you came, the glass panes on the front of the shop revealed a variety of sweet and savoury pastries, accompanied by a tantalising raspberry scent. Small tulips decorated the front door, where a wooden sign informed you that the shop was open and at your disposal. You couldn't help but take a deep breath of air before you decided to push open the glass door, before you were grateful for the warmth that opened up in contrast to the cold of Massachusetts.

You removed the cap from your head and smiled immediately as a young woman approached you with a friendly expression on her face, inviting you to step inside and take a seat. Gently you thanked her for her kindness as you unbuttoned each button of your coat. It took you only a few seconds to scan the place with your eyes, evidently to look for him, and you found him, at your table, in a small corner of the room, offering you one of his smiles in the distance as he fiddled restlessly with his hands. You tried with all your might to avoid him, but on your lips a nervous smile showed its presence, which meant that in the blink of an eye you could see Chris widen his. You were only a few feet away from each other, but the distance seemed infinite to both of you as you began to walk towards him.

As if he were a gentleman of old, Chris rose from his seat awaiting your arrival, keeping his blue eyes fixed on yours with barely a blink of an eye. You had imagined that situation in your head every night of every day since Chris had informed you by a message on your answering machine that he was going to visit his hometown, or rather your hometown. At first you didn't respond to the suggestion to meet again, because things were not easy between you and you didn't know how to act in that situation, but you decided to accept his proposal.

As you were shortening the distance, your heart accelerated, making you feel as if you were in a slowed down movie scene, as if you were moving in slow motion, until you reached him and his arm rested firmly on your back, making the distance come to nothing.

As the distance shortened, your heart sped up, making you feel as if you were in a slowed down movie scene, as if you were moving in slow motion, until you reached him and his arm rested firmly on your back, making the distance come to nothing. It was two, no, a year and eight months, that passed without knowing anything about each other since things were cut short, it wouldn't really hurt so much to say it if it hadn't started with a childhood friendship, but things happen. The fear you felt at that moment had disappeared the moment Chris had taken the initiative to offer you that hug that was lasting longer than socially established, but that was too comforting to bring you feelings you thought were lost.

"I'm sorry I'm late," you mumbled without so much as an inch from him.

"You've come, that's all that matters," he said, stepping back to look at your face.

The fact that they came within inches of each other's faces caused your gazes to withdraw and you each took your seats, facing each other at the little round table at which you had spent so many moments.

"It's great to be back here," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and looking around.

"Yes," you mimicked his gesture of looking around. "I guess there's no better place to try raspberry pie."

"Agreed absolutely," after saying those words silence flooded around you, leaving you with a blank stare at each other and an imposed smile from the moment you saw each other.

The few people around you hardly knew everything that was going on between you, all the hidden feelings, what you wanted to say but couldn't, what you had experienced, and above all, what you had left to experience, although you didn't know that either. That level of intimacy that on thousands of occasions had been an inconvenience between the two of you was now present and you were grateful for it, because no matter how much the media had published about you, the truth only had the two of you.

"Do you know what you're having?" the young waitress who had welcomed you broke the moment with her presence.

"The usual?" Chris looked at you to which you nodded curiously. "A green tea with honey, a cappuccino and a piece of raspberry tart with two teaspoons, please."

"All right," again the young woman disappeared bringing you the previous comfort.

"You still remember," you said smiling crossing your arms on the table creating a distance between you unconsciously.

"Of course, it was many Sundays," he finished his words with a sigh, which again generated a silence that he decided to cut. "By the way, I was glad to hear that you were finally engaged to Garret," his tone became nervous, "I wanted to have called you but..."

"No, it's my fault, I wanted to have told you but..." your voice trailed off as you shook your face in denial.

"I know," Chris smiled, "I guess neither of us knew how to do it."

"Exactly," you whispered looking into his eyes.

As if things weren't complicated enough, yes, you were engaged. Maybe it had all happened too fast, you didn't feel it at the time, but now it was as if a pile of doubts was coming down on you like a bucket of cold water. When Chris said the word fiancée and Garret in the same sentence, while being happy to hear it, it was as if an arrow pierced your heart. You had no doubts at the time, you opened your heart to Garret, after Chris had completely shattered it, you accepted his proposal with all your love, but you were terrified of how quickly Chris was making you doubt in those moments.

As if things weren't complicated enough, yes, you were engaged. Maybe it had all happened too fast, you didn't feel it at the time, but now it was as if a pile of doubts was coming down on you like a bucket of cold water. When Chris said the word fiancée and Garret in the same sentence, while being happy to hear it, it was as if an arrow pierced your heart. You had no doubts at the time, you opened your heart to Garret, after Chris had completely shattered it, you accepted his proposal with all your love, but you were terrified at how quickly Chris was making you hesitate in those moments.

"So how long are you staying in town?" you asked that question just to change the subject, to break away from the thoughts that were eating away at you.

"I leave on Tuesday next week, so... five days," he explained, fixing his gaze behind you, as the waitress brought a tray with your breakfast. "Thank you."

"Thank you very much," you pleaded offering her a smile as she set your cup of tea down in front of you before leaving again.

"And when are you leaving for Washington?" Chris arched an eyebrow as he stared at his coffee and the way he swirled the spoon around, but seeing that you were silent, as you were taken by surprise that he knew you were leaving for Washington, he looked up at you. "My sister told me."

"I see your sister has caught you up on everything," you said with a little laugh, spooning up a piece of raspberry pie. "In two months, Garret is taking care of all the paperwork from there, he's also found a house in the suburbs, away from all the hustle and bustle of the city. He's really going to a lot of trouble."

"It's normal," he shrugged, "it's your future."

"I guess," you whispered taking the cup in your hands.

Weird, that was the word that defined the situation at the moment, you knew Chris well enough and he evidently knew you well enough to know that there was an end to your meeting and neither of you were putting it on the table. He wanted to meet you again for a reason and you had gone to meet him again for a reason, but neither of you were putting it on the table.

"By the way, I went to the cinema to see the latest Avengers movie," you said, resting your face in the palm of your hand. "I really loved it."

"Oh come on, you don't have to do that anymore," he said between smiles, "I know you hate them."

"That's not true!" you exclaimed with a chuckle, looking offended at his comment. "You know I really enjoy them, I'm sorry if you're not my favourite superhero."

"Ah, so I'm not your favourite superhero, you didn't think that the night that... well you know," he hid a laugh and ducked his face, you arched your eyebrows opening your mouth in surprise at his words. "I'm sorry, that comment was out of line."

"I can see you're still too smug Evans," you shook your face with a smirk and looked away.

Those were the moments that made you miss Chris every day, your childhood friend, your mischief ally, your first love, your prom date, your first kiss, your ex-partner. Too many memories to let it all slip away because of a turning point, when you both realised that your relationship wasn't working as a couple over the years. It was a hard moment for both of you to come to terms with reality, a reality that seemed totally unrealistic, but the paths you had taken were too far apart to be compatible. Each of you had your own dreams, your own goals in life, which were far removed from each other, so before either of you gave up on your dreams, you chose to give up on your relationship.

"How was it?" asked Chris after putting a piece of cake in his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"How did Garret ask you to marry him?" he asked crossing his arms over the table, approaching you. "Well, if you're uncomfortable or..."

"No. It was over dinner, it was actually quite conventional," you began to explain distractedly. "We both took a week's holiday from the office, so we decided to take a trip to Montreal, you know to unwind, so he set up a romantic dinner in the hotel suite and asked me to marry him."

"And you accepted," concluded Chris nodding taking the cup of coffee and taking a sip.

"I accepted," you repeated looking at the tea.

"I suppose you don't have to put on a show when you're going to ask someone to marry you," he began, looking at your face. "I guess when it's clear to you, it's the person you love and want to spend the rest of their life with, all the frills don't matter, it's the words that matter."

"I suppose," you murmured looking away from his gaze and instinctively focusing it on your engagement ring.

Chris really was good at making you feel a lump in your throat with his every word. How was it possible that you were so confused at the time, you had considered the consequences that breakfast might have on you, but really when you left the house that morning you had no idea what it was going to be like to face Chris.

"Are you happy?" that question came out of Chris's mouth like a bullet and threw you completely off balance.

"How?" you rebutted with a frown, hoping your ears hadn't heard his words correctly.

"I want to know if you're happy," his tone was calm, he spoke each word slowly staring at you, making you lose yourself in his eyes.

"I..." you mumbled drawing air into your lungs, making time to find an answer to offer him.

How could he even think of asking you that question? Everyone knows it's an unanswerable question, no one can offer you a concise and firm answer to that question, because if you say 'yes', you were probably lying and if you say 'no' you're probably lying too, it's an unanswerable question, and you hated it every time you heard it from someone. You have moments of happiness in life, as well as moments of bitterness, but no one is 100% happy, or at least that's what you thought.

"I'm not sure what you want me to answer," you said, avoiding addressing an answer.

"I want to know if he makes you happy," he finally said with a shrug. "That's easy."

"Yes," you said with barely a thought, nodding a little confused. "Yes, he makes me happy."

"Okay," he whispered nodding, his countenance serious. "Then that's it."

That's it? That's all I wanted to know, that's why I was meeting you in that coffee shop? You wanted to know if Garret made you happy? You assumed that was his reason, why he wanted to have this reunion with you, but it was all really confusing. It got even more confusing when Chris put down his coffee cup, got up from his seat, put on his scarf and jacket and went to pay, leaving you completely bewildered and desolate at the round table. Your eyes followed your every step, but you barely had time to react as Chris was already on his way out the door when you stood up from your chair. You grabbed your belongings without a sign of alteration on your face, and with a slow but steady step you headed for the exit, thanking the kind waitress again for her service.

As you left the bright morning had turned grey, there was no shade and those clouds looked like a storm. Chris had gone up the street, and had turned down a charming alley full of typical houses, you didn't want to shout his name, so you quickened your pace to catch up with him and stand beside him.

"Can you explain to me what the hell just happened in there? Because I really didn't understand anything," you asked harshly, seeking his gaze, but he was staring straight ahead under that Red Sox cap that hid much of his face.

"I guess there's nothing to explain," his steps didn't stop, "I really wanted to see you, to hear from you, to know if you're happy, and you are, that's all that mattered to me."

You began to understand where the turning point at breakfast had come from, at what point there had been that change of attitude in Chris, it was when you had said yes, Garret made you happy, which was funny because how could Chris expect you to say he didn't make you happy. Still you needed an answer to what would have happened if you had answered no.

"Wait," you addressed with a frown, but he didn't stop, so you ran to stand right in front of him, causing him to be unable to move forward and look you in the face. That fact seemed to annoy him. "What if instead of telling you it made me happy, I had told you it didn't make me happy?"

You thought in that instant that you had managed to stop him, to get his attention, but after a couple of seconds he made an attempt to dodge you and continue walking down that lonely alley.

"Chris!" you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to stop him, causing him to turn suddenly towards you. "Can you answer my question?"

"Do you really want to know?" he inquired in a raised tone, his brow furrowed and his hands shoved inside his coat pockets.

"I want to," you said, unlike him, with a quieter volume, causing Chris's features to relax as he listened to you.

"Alright, being that you'll regret it after you hear it," Chris nodded, looking to the side and then back into your eyes. "I probably would have acted without thinking and kissed you."

You regretted it, instantly after hearing him say those words out loud. As if in a flashback, it came to your mind what that moment would have been like, if Chris had closed the distance between you in that charming café to kiss you after two years. You regretted doing that too, but Chris broke your thoughts.

"Because yes, if you're wondering I'm still in love with you, and yes, I still blame myself for everything that happened, it all went to shit," he continued with an infuriated tone each time the words passed, gesturing freely with his hands. " Fuck, when I heard you'd accepted Garret's hand I didn't know what to do, whether to phone you, get on a fucking plane and show up here, but what was I going to do?" he swiped his hand over his mouth and looked around nervously. "I think this whole thing was a mistake, I shouldn't have called you. I really don't have the slightest idea what I was waiting for."

Body lock took over your limbs, Chris nervously running his hand over his face, blaming himself for everything he had just said, blurting out insult after insult, not resting his gaze on you. Of all the possible situations that could be presented to you, that one wasn't on your list, so you hadn't thought of it, but right now you had to deal with Chris, with his feelings and with your own, which were now creating an immense panic. To add to the intensity, the raindrops were beginning to make their presence felt, watering down a morning that seemed to be quite watery.

Tomorrow the final part.

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