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schrijverr · 3 months

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Growing Pains [Dick's POV] 4

Chapter 4 out of 6

Dick knows who Barbara is under the mask, Barbara doesn't. This causes some strange interactions as their friendship develops.

In this chapter, Robin and Batgirl slowly become friends, despite their ups and down. Though, Dick doesn't fully realize that until he watches Barbara fall of a roof without her grappler.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: grief (no major character death)

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Chapter 4: A Friend?

While Robin isn’t fully over his antagonism towards Barbara, he saw her at that table and he wants to be friends. So, when he and Bruce go out on patrol again, finding her, so that they can continue with the three of them, he decides to be the bigger person.

When she greets him – a little tensely still, which doesn’t make him feel a little guilty, no sir – he greets her back as kindly as he can, before adding: “Sorry for calling you a copycat.”

She looks surprised at that and glances at Bruce, which annoys Dick to no end. Can’t he do something nice on his own accord? He totally didn’t need B to tell him to say sorry. Or Alfred for that matter. He did that all by himself.

As the shock wears off, she quickly says: “Oh, I- uhm, sorry for calling you stupid.” And a part of Dick can’t help but be smug about being better at apologizing than her.

However, that’s childish, so he pushes it aside and focuses on the excitement he always feels when out here as he grins: “Great. I think I see a robbery, lets get this show on the road!”

He hates the aftermath of apologies, so he’s a little glad for the distraction in the form of this sorry sucker, who is about to meet Robin: the new kid in town. He even gently tells the lady that she’s all okay now as he ties the guy up, sending her on her way with a smile, before returning back to the roof to see where the hell the other two are.

Dick finds them still on the roof where he left them. Barbara is throwing a pretty good air punch, but his impressed feeling diminishes somewhat when Bruce says: “Yes. You have a better from than Robin when he go here.”

It’s irrational, but he doesn’t want Bruce to think she is better at this than him. So, he loudly exclaims: “Hey! I punched perfectly fine. And I can punch now, did you see how I took out that guy?” pointing to the tied up robber down below.

Barbara sticks her tongue out at him and he finds himself pouting: “She’s making fun of me! B, do something.” He feels like a child the moment it leaves his lips and embarrassment flushes his cheeks.

He’s somewhat grateful for Bruce’s silence, managing to distract from his babyish actions and turn them into a joke as he says: “It’s more fun when you’re not doing the whole silence thing. It’s boring.”

“It’s an intimidation tactic,” Bruce says, a conversation they’ve had before. Dick gets it, but he also thinks it’s a little silly, especially when he continues doing it when there is no one to intimidate around.

So, he corrects: “It’s being dramatic.”

Bruce doesn’t deign that with a reply. Dick starts searching for a new thing to poke at in the hopes of getting a reaction. They can’t be a dynamic duo (or trio, whatever) without a dynamic. Then Barbara slides up next to him and in a quiet voice asks: “How are you so chill doing that?”

“Insulting B?” he asks and it suddenly hits Dick that Barbara still has some awe for Bruce. She doesn’t know the dork that’s underneath there. No wonder she’s a little stuck up, he thinks as he sets out to correct the notion. He shrugs: “It’s easy. Look at him,” gesturing at Bruce, “that’s a dork right there. You have to make fun of him a little bit.”

Barbara cocks her head, studying Bruce as Dick waits. Then she gasps, as if she realizes something big, before she says: “He is dramatic.”

Dick can tell that Bruce is miffed, but he can’t help but cackle loudly. It’s actually quite fun to rag on Bruce together. Maybe they can be the dynamic duo, leave Bruce out of it. That actually doesn’t sound so bad. He should pick Barbara’s side more often, he decides.

However, thinking it and doing it, are not the same thing. And they but heads more often than not at first.

She gets mad every time that he’s in the way, while he’s just trying to be helpful and meanwhile she never seems to want to have his back. Doesn’t she know that the first step of working together is to always catch each other? His dad taught him that (and no it doesn’t still hurt, shut up).

Bruce is getting better at catching him or staying still to land on, but Barbara has a mind of her own and is never there. It’s super rude!

Not to mention how insufferable she is when she gets to take down the low on the ladder thug instead of him. He can totally also take those thugs and she knows it. She doesn’t have to be so smug about it, it’s not like he is.

Okay, maybe he is a little, but still!

Dick refuses to be solely blamed for their rivalry and bickering. He knows Bruce hates it when they bicker, but he’s not really doing much to stop it. Except for that time he had to actually pull them apart. That was embarrassing. Dick got a whole lecture about it. One that Barbara got to miss, he thinks bitterly.

Though, he has to admit that it was a bit of a wake up call. It is actually Alfred who made him realize it, commenting: “You can’t have teamwork without work. That’s effort, Master Dick. It’s not going to come naturally for any of you.”

At first he thinks it’s silly, because he has always worked well in a team, it’s Barbara who can’t work together.

Then he realizes that the trio he had with his parents was build on training every day together and making time for each other. Dick hasn’t been doing that with Barbara. Bruce hasn’t really been doing it either. They’ve been excluding her and expecting her to work with them. He feels a little guilty about it when he thinks about it.

So, next patrol he pays attention to her. He has always gotten annoyed that she lags behind, but he only now notices that she lags behind because she doesn’t have a grappler like they have. He calls out: “B! Slow down!”

Batman lands on a roof and looks back with confusion – Dick is getting better at reading him with the cowl on, so he is pretty sure it’s confusion – he lands next to him and says: “Batgirl is lagging behind. No grappler.” Barbara lands next to them right as he mutters: “Why the hell does she not have one of her own yet?”

The next day, he tells Bruce that they should give one to Barbara, to make patrol easier for all of them. “She has a belt right? She can have a grappler to go with that,” he says, adding: “It should be purple, so we’ll know it’s hers.”

Bruce gives him a curious look that borders on pride, so Dick scowls back at him and gives him a light shove as he goes: “Oh shut up.”

However, despite his embarrassment, he proudly exclaims: “I told him to make it purple to match your outfit. Can’t have him ruin your theme, right?” when Bruce gives it to her on their next patrol.

“Thanks, Robin,” Barbara smiles – actually smiles, they’re getting somewhere – then she even jokes: “For all his drama, Bats doesn’t have a lot of style, does he?”

Dick cackles, especially when Bruce pouts at her joke. It’s great to have someone on his side against Bruce, that rarely happens. So, he saves the information in his brain for later, before setting off to make Gotham unsafe- well, actually, to make Gotham safe.

It feels like a step in the right direction. They’re all working more smoothly together, even Bruce is making an effort. He’s not that good at the whole being a mentor thing, so Dick has been showing him some trapeze moves, coaching him so he can catch on and coach them in turn.

Everything is still a work in progress, but there is progress and the three of them are starting to feel more like an actual team. Yes, he’s even bold enough to include Barbara that.

Now that some of his jealousy has left, since Bruce didn’t drop him or some other shit that his brain can come up with, he’s kind of happy to have her there. Patrols are always less boring with her there, since she’s less likely to be all serious like Bruce – Bruce being serious is the worst – even if she tries to be professional.

Example A: They’re exchanging information with Commissioner Gordon. Well, Batman is, they’re lounging around and waiting for them to be done. Barbara is looking down at her dad a little absentmindedly. So he gets her attention. “Hey, Batgirl.”

“What?” she asks, turning to look at him.

Dick is prepared, doing the impersonation of B he’s been working on, dramatic cape and voice, as well as ears (because why the ears). “I have gathered some information through my super secret ways that are scaring the shit out of random hooligans. Marvel before me.”

A satisfied feeling curls up in his chest as Barbara giggles and he doesn’t care about Bruce’s glare as he drops the hands and innocently smiles: “Hi, B.”

The happy atmosphere is broken by the Commissioner, who says: “I don’t know how you do it, Batman. Or why for that matter. Kids aren’t my idea of great backup. But they’re effective at least, half of Gotham’s underbelly is scared of a child giggling, the other thinks you can multiply. Where did you even find these kids?”

Barbara shrinks into herself and Dick is offended on behalf of himself, her and B. Then he’s surprised to find that he knows Barbara well enough to see guilt on her face. Huh, it’s still her dad, who doesn’t want her to be out here. Maybe she wouldn’t want him to get mad at her dad.

But Robin isn’t an angry type of person, he’s a little shit. So, he lands on Bruce’s shoulders, happy that the man can catch him now, and gets up in Commissioner Gordon’s face as he grins: “Don’t worry, Commish. We just stack on top of each other, practically an adult.”

The man startles back at his grin – a reaction he’s gotten used to – who knew so many adults were uncomfortable with a grinning child in their face? Not Dick.

With his mission accomplished, he moves on the phase two, tugging on B’s cowl ears as he asks: “Did you get what we’re here for, B? I wanna go now.” Happy when Bruce agrees to get out, maybe even catching on to Barbara’s discomfort like he had.

Dick wonders when he started caring about that, then decides to push the thought away by challenging Barbara: “Last one to meeting spot B3 is a dunce face,” laughing when she yells at him, as she follows behind.

The interaction with her dad sets Dick thinking. He obviously is against kids running around in costumes, probably why Barbara isn’t shadowing him, like Dick thought she would have. That makes sense. She wants to make him proud, do what he does, but she can’t.

He still thinks it’s weird that she would put herself in danger like this over that, but he has mostly let go of his suspicions of her by now.

Which is why he’s feeling betrayed as fuck when she suddenly starts holding back when they’re up against Poison Ivy. Their first big threat since Killer Croc. And he knows that she’s holding back, because he knows her by now. Or thought he did.

What the hell is she thinking? Is she scared? No, she’s faced her before, Bruce said so when he put her on Poison Ivy duty and him on plant duty (totally rude, by the way). So, what the hell is her deal then?

Fuck, was he right when he didn’t trust her? Did he make a mistake in getting her equipment? In making Bruce train her too? In trusting her? Is she not the kind of person he made her-

The world screeches to a halt. Last thing Dick saw was Barbara pinning Poison Ivy. Now she’s falling.

He looked away for two seconds to cut down one of those plants and now she’s falling.

Dick hates how he freezes again. It’s only for a second, but he freezes and if he’d been a little further away, he might have been too late to catch her because of it. He became Robin to be better, to never feel like he did when his parents fell.

Yet here he is.

He hates that he only realizes that Barbara is his friend, that he cares about her, when she’s falling like they did.

If asked, Dick can’t describe the feeling of relief that overwhelms him when his hand closes around her arm before she goes smack into the ground. And he can’t explain why he isn’t happy when they land safely.

No, because he’s angry. He’s so mad. It almost feels like he’s just discovered Bruce is Batman and going after Tony Zucco again. The emotions just whirling about as he yells at Barbara: “What the fuck is wrong with you, Batgirl? You had her! I saw you. You had her. What the hell were you thinking?”

She still looks a little dazed, but Dick is too mad to feel pity. He wants answers. Now.

And answers he gets, because Barbara blinks, then is screaming back: “That she was my friend, Robin. That she’s a fucking kid, like you. Like me. That I’m the reason she’s like that now. That I can never fucking save her. And now I was hurting her. I hurt her. I never want to fucking hurt her, but I keep having to.”

Dick now curses himself for not reading up more on Poison Ivy, because Barbara obviously has history with her. She is the reason she’s in that mask across from him. She’s like him. But he doesn’t know the details.

Still, emotions are not so easily dismissed, so he still snaps: “You could have watched your fucking step,” because he’s not over watching her drop, grappler nowhere in sight.

“You try watching your step, dickface,” Barbara says, voice venomous. Her anger isn’t gone either and her voice accusing. “Why are you so fucking upset anyway. I was fine.”

Again anger rears its ugly head, because anger is easier than that overwhelming fear he felt back there. So, he starts another angry tirade: “Well, you almost weren’t. Alright? You almost died back there. You started falling and I- I-” he suddenly finds himself unable to continue being mad, everything catching up to him.

Barbara is looking at him with a shocked face, but he can’t stop his voice from wobbling as he continues, words pouring out, despite his mind screaming at him to shut up. “I had to watch you fall. And I- I wasn’t sure that I could catch you. I don’t- I can’t- Fuck, I can’t watch you fall.”

It’s embarrassing how close to tears he is, but he can’t help it. As he looks at Barbara, he hopes she’s as a much of a mess as he is.

He doesn’t have to wonder for long, because suddenly Barbara is pulling him into a hug, holding him tightly pressed to her as the tension of tonight bleeds out of her.

As he holds her just as tight, he can’t bring himself to give a fuck about the building being overtaken by plants behind them. He has Barbara in his arms right now. She’s safe. She didn’t fall to her death. He saved her. He saved her.

“Thank you for saving me, Robs,” Barbara whispers in a choked up voice, as if reading his mind.

Without his permission the tears start to actually fall and he’s glad that Barbara doesn’t comment on it as he replies: “I’m glad you’re okay. So glad.”

Bruce returns to take out Poison Ivy and Dick is glad, because he’s too drained to fight on, more than happy to collapse on the roof with Barbara. If Bruce needed their help, he’s sure they would have managed to get up again, but for anything other than a major threat, they’re are done.

Dick doesn’t know if Bruce knows what happened, both between them and to Barbara, but he probably does, because when get joins them, he hands them one of Alfred’s cookies. Dick doesn’t know how he knew to bring those, but he’s too tired to question it.

Right now, he’s feeling drained and he just wants B and Barbara to sit there with him and make him feel grounded. As much as he loves flying, he’s done a little too much of that today.

Sitting there with them is what he needs and they collectively watch the police take Poison Ivy away, Barbara hiding her face in Dick’s side, while Dick gets support from Bruce. It’s like they’re an actual unit now, instead of three people trying to work together.

#rr writing #dc #dc comics #batman #robin #robin dc #batgirl and robin #batgirl #dick grayson and barbara gordon #dick grayson #barbara gordon #growing pains au #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson is robin #barbara gordon is batgirl #early days batman #poison ivy #jim gordon

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strawberryjamsara · 3 years

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Keiji and Sara’s relationship throughout yttd

In which I analyze the found family dynamic between Sara and Keiji then nobody reads it. But jokes aside, I realized back when that anon asked me for my thoughts on Sara that I had enough thoughts on the relationship between these two alone for its own meta so here goes. What Sara and Keiji’s relationship means in the grand scheme of yttd.

ALSO THIS IS NOT SHIPPING SHIPPERS GET THE FUCK AWAY

Sara when she meets Keiji is distrustful of him. And how can she not be? The guy has some creepy bags under his eyes, doesn’t seem to care about the situation, and for no reason is gravitating towards her. And his response when she asks why the hell he keeps putting a random stranger in charge? “Because you’re cute.” Yeah. I’d stay within 50 feet of this guy too Sara. Especially when he’s not spilling a word about himself.

Alright we might as well get the gross part out of the way. To clear things up. In the Japanese version, the word he uses “Kawai” can be seen as a more fatherly word to use with a kid. But the comments about going on dates from himself and from Shin? Those are still there. And I still think they’re really uncomfortable and wish they weren’t in the game period but we can get thematic significance out of them.

We still don’t know Keijis reasons in game for being attached to Sara. My theory? She’s his handicap. He was told to get close to the higher scorer who could easily backstab him, and he’d be stuck with her. It just kinda makes sense to me. But since that’s just a theory I won’t lean to heavily on it for support. But let’s talk about his comments.

Keiji… well, it’s shown at many points in the game that Keiji just thinks of himself as doomed to be a bad person. It can be seen during his day two negotiations when he calls himself a killer and explains he can’t even trust himself so Sara shouldn’t really bother and more explicitly so is the classroom scene between him and Ranmaru where he says he isn’t fit to protect Sara because of his sins. The flirting is both a way to distract people, and to put distance between himself and Sara. He’s not really “protecting” her.

Okay gross bit nobody wants to talk about is over I promise we won’t talk about it again. Let’s talk about Russian Roulette. In this scene, Keiji once again tries to make Sara the leader with no explanation, but then, Sara yells at him, something he didn’t expect. And through this he actually reveals something huge. The source of his trauma. His shooting. For Keiji to have actually revealed something that big, I think that this is the first moment he began to see Sara past whatever reason he first started making her a leader. This is the beginning of their bond.

This bond gets solidified over chapter 1-2s investigation. Keiji is still putting her in charge because his handicap said to build her up for whatever reason, but they’re able to have chats, and she keeps picking at his armor. He reveals his dark sense of humor to her, and she, suspicious just sort of keeps him at arms length. Also she rides his shoulders to screw in a light and he complains which is funny. The scene post Nao also helps the two of them sharpen investigative skills together, as they discuss the mystery of Miley, and Mishimas head.

Then another significant scene. The white room. I call this scene significant because, instead of letting Sara investigate the gruesome scene of the first trial, Keiji for the first time, allows Sara to walk out. Something that will become relevant later but until then, Keiji has begun to put Sara’s well-being above serving whatever purpose he had by building her up. So keep that in your pocket while we go over the main game.

There’s only two points for the main game I want to cover. While Keiji and Sara do put their heads together a few times, Sara still doesn’t fully trust him, so I will only go over 1. When Shin brings up Kai’s emails. Keiji has been fully logical this whole time, questioning everyone’s alibis including Nao’s who he saw the emotional plea from, but when Sou brings up potentially damning evidence of Sara, he just asks if he read the emails wrong. 2. When Sara is panicking over being chosen for the final round, Keiji loudly shouts “GET A GRIP SARA!” With a serious expression. Before quickly backtracking and going back to a devil may care expression. This shows he is both already emotionally attached to Sara, but unwilling to stake himself towards giving himself to a new cause.

Anyways, he stops her from pressing the button blah blah blah, onto chapter 2! I’ve made a post about this before but it seems as early as here, Keiji is trying to talk Sara down from pushing herself further. But at this point, Sara has already dedicated herself to the role because her best friend died due to her priority to protect everyone. Keiji sees the problem and he tries to get her to rest up, but he still doesn’t spend the time to have a serious talk about it because as he says in the classroom. He isn’t fit to protect her. He doesn’t think of himself as a good person who can help her. He thinks of himself as a murderer and he doesn’t allow himself to recover from the trauma.

Sara however is starting to rely more on Keiji. He’s been willing to comfort her in her times of grief and furthermore, she has something to relate to him on. They both have deaths of important people in their lives they feel responsibility for.

There’s also the fact that Keiji sees a lot of his old self in Sara. An idealistic person, being beaten down, and worrying over the idea they might be becoming a bad person. He feels the same as her.

Not to mention… Keiji follows through on his promises. He actually tells Sara about the person he respected like he said he would which establishes a further sense of trust.

However, something that tears that sense of trust apart is the tokens scene. When Keiji doesn’t even let Sara hold 50 tokens, it raises suspicion. Sara already knows he shot a person- what more could he have to hide? That scares her away. The negotiation event is an attempt for Keiji to win back her trust. But it slowly turns into Keiji’s self-loathing session. And his declaration maybe Sara shouldn’t trust him.

However, time passes enough (and Keiji supports Sara enough in the final attraction) for them to get together and investigate in 2-2. And there’s a lot of moments I can talk about there so I’ll be just doing a few rapidfire things. So first, Sara is in peak weird girl mode and Keiji can hardly control her chaos. Second, Keiji makes a full on decision at one point to go against Sara when she’s putting herself in danger of getting caught for their search so they can hide. Third, his response to “I don’t intend to die” when he asks “will you die with me” is that’s a good answer.

And fourth… a moment I really wanna touch on… Keiji watches something that could easily incriminate Sara. It’s not just some word of mouth thing like with Shin who lied about things several times before this point. But in that moment, he still relies on Sara and says he wouldn’t feel bad betting his life on her. The message is clear. Keiji supports Sara unconditionally.

Now let’s talk about Keiji totally dropping Sara’s ass with the card trades.

The way Keiji makes his trades is very telling. He first, steals a keymaster card from either Sou or Kanna to give to Sara. This is supporting Sara, but it’s doing it in a way that supports his view of himself. That he’s a scumbag who would steal someone’s immunity just to give it to someone he likes more. And would a shithead like that be “worthy” of sacrificing themselves and taking the card for Sara? (And he knew she had it. Qtaro had to tell him for their plan to happen) no. Instead he essentially opts for a revenge plot. A plan to ensnare Shin and kill him for pawning off the sacrifice to Sara. Basically, he wanted to fuck up Shin like how he fucked up Megumi. Nice going Keiji. This is… kind of his low point in the story.

But 3-1….. man this chapter hits in all the right ways. I don’t remember 3A that much, (although I do know that Keiji shows a lot of concern over Sara potentially being triggered by Joe memorabilia) and also if you fail the Keiji Midori fight you can have Sara attempt to tag Keiji and he rejects. And how can we forget… the mr policeman flashback. As Sara says, this is Keiji’s first time opening up on his own.

And then… coffin saga. Sara through everything is not willing to let Keiji die. Although she’s had her ups and downs with him, leaving him to die is inconceivable to her with everything they’ve been through together. So she opts to sign the contract both times she is offered it.

Keiji clearly is somebody important to Sara. Important enough that Ranmaru bringing him up is enough to snap her out of her murderous trance. Enough that she throws logic out the window when she has a sign he’s okay.

Likewise, the scene in the classroom for Keiji is… a huge step. When he’s alone with Ranmaru, who is unstable, in that classroom, his priority is Sara. He turns his back to the threat to hold Sara and try and make sure she’s okay- dumb move, but it shows how far he’s come.

And again, I want to reiterate- Keiji is Sara’s anchor. At the banquet when Sara is about to give up, she imagines Keiji talking to her which brings her back in the game. Much like Joe did back in chapter 2. The message is palpable. Keiji is Sara’s new Joe. And when Keiji comes back to comfort her? He’s now fully willing to sacrifice himself. It winds up not being needed seeing as Qtaro is the one that died. But in that moment, we see Keiji has made a huge leap from chapter 2. He almost sacrificed himself for Gin. And he would’ve used his final moments to comfort Sara. He’s embraced that he’s a father figure. He allows himself to be a good person.

Anyways I don’t know how to conclude this and I’ve been writing for hours. Bababooey.

#your turn to die #kimi ga shine #yttd #keiji shinogi #sara chidouin #gothitxt

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hobidreams · 4 years

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october 1864.

but nothing gold can stay.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: angst words: 1.3k contains: historical au, descriptions of accidental parental death and blood, grief a/n: for ease, Yoongi’s father is referred to as King Min even though it’s not technically correct.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 11. start from the beginning?

They said it was an accident.

She had slipped reaching for a precious herb around the side of the cliff. It had been raining the night before so the stones had still been damp. Too damp to support the weight that had been placed a smidgen too far, a tad bit wrong and then mother was just… gone. They couldn't stop the bleeding in time. And even though you told her to be careful with a warm smile that morning, even though she said she would be back very soon with a pat of your head, none of that means anything anymore.

You stare at the empty, unused bedspread beside yours and feel the warm wetness slide down your numb cheeks. You barely register the tears. Not when they've become so commonplace.

It's been three days since they gave you the news; it's been three days since you've ventured outside this room. It hurts so much to stay here but you are afraid it might hurt more to leave. If not for the kind person leaving meals outside your door (you managed to make out a swish of green robes once; one of the eunuchs it seems), you surely would have starved. But even the heat of the rice porridge doesn't seem to spread through your body, your fingers stiff and cold from lack of use.

Mother would absolutely scold you if she saw you like this.

It was she who always insisted on being independent, regardless of the strict rules that society placed on your gender and your rank. She taught you how to make the best of the resources you had, but also never to take any opportunities for granted when they came by chance. She is the best person you will ever know, and you… you owe it to her to take care of yourself.

Borrowing her strength, you push up from the blankets. You've relied on the mystery benefactor enough. You can get yourself a cup of hot water, damn it. Wrapping your mother's coat around your hanbok, her scent hugging you in comfort, you pad down the halls towards the kitchen with your head bowed.

It's a bit of a walk down, but the air helps clear some of the fog in your mind, even if you know it'll soon return in the end. Having a goal helps move you forward. That's all you need right now. To just keep going.

"Jeonha has issued a full funeral procession for her?"

Your quiet steps hesitate just as you cross the closed door of one of the tea rooms. The words worm directly into your brain. The voice is vaguely familiar, one of King Min's concubines maybe? But there is no chance that they would be talking about...

"Yes, for a mere uinyeo! Who would have thought?" A second speaker, this one harsher, sharper. She punctuates with a laugh.

With a frown, you move closer. Pretend to inspect a piece of the building tile that has come loose.

"She did help deliver the crown prince all those years ago. That would buy her some favoritism."

"Hmph. That wouldn't warrant such a fuss as this. But... I did hear that jeonha picked her off the streets himself, and that's how she first entered the palace. Imagine that — a cheonmin coming to live here!"

"How vulgar."

"But that’s not all one of the maids told me. That cheonmin…” Her voice lowers so you barely catch it. “She gave birth not long after to her daughter."

Another low laugh. "You don't think it’s the king’s bast—"

You rip away from the door, desperate not to hear the end of that sentence.

You’re going to be ill. Violently so. Or burst into the room and do something you’ll heavily regret later. Your feet move so fast you nearly fall over as you back away from the room, clutching the jacket before turning. You run back the way you came, water forgotten, the fresh sting of tears in your eyes.

Is that what they have thought of your mother all this time? Twisting her hardships and the kindness of the king into something so dirty when they knew nothing of the truth. Speculating so wildly when it was your father had abandoned you both. The truth: mother had been near death when the king happened upon you. She used the resources he allowed her to teach herself literacy, and then proper medicine to repay him with a lifetime of pure, untainted loyalty.

You throw aside the door to your room with a furious slam. You’ve never wanted so badly to break something, anything as you scan the place. Your temper flares hotter when you think of all the times mother refused to come to bed and rest because she was too concerned about the concubines and women like them who came so frequently to her for help. She talked to them, hand-fed them, cared for them. She sacrificed so much and this is how they thank her—

You make a wild grab and your hands land on unfolded laundry.

The first smack of it on the floor feels good. No permanent damage but the exertion of grabbing and hurling towards the ground is a like welcome release.

You do it again, again, again, something so deeply satisfying about seeing everything precise rumple and come undone before you as a result of your own actions. Not anyone else’s. Not even the universe’s. You snatch up another handful and prepare to throw.

“You’re packing? You’re leaving?” It’s a sharp voice, bordering on frantic.

You whirl.

It’s the prince, holding a pastry box, his eyes blown uncharacteristically wide with surprise. If this were any other time, you’d probably laugh at his thinking this scene has any semblance of proper intention and order.

“No,” you snap. But then you consider it.

You… You could leave, couldn’t you?

After all, there’s nothing tying you here any longer. Being in the palace will only remind of you of life before she was ripped away. The memories of her smile and her love have yet to scab over and you’re so terrified that they’ll always be there as festering, chafing wounds. You could still serve and be loyal to your king from within the town walls. Maybe open that clinic mother often talked about as a wild dream. It’d be difficult, so difficult, but you could maybe run it yourself, with a few helping hands. Yes… Yes, you could!

The more you think about it, the more you want to do it. An escape from this suffocating place. The easy way out.

“Actually, yes,” you hear yourself saying. “Leaving.”

No one would miss you, a cheonmin’s daughter. The thought of those women and their poisonous words makes you scrunch your fist, only to find you’re still holding clothes. Your heart catches when you realize it’s mother’s blouse. Yours now, you suppose. Yours to take with you and never look back.

“Don’t.”

Your heart leaps as you jerk your gaze up.

“Don’t go.”

You shake your head. “The uinyeo will be fine. All of them are more experienced than me.”

“No, they won’t be.” He grits his teeth. “They need you.”

“Seja-jeonha, I—I don’t belong here.”

“Bullshit.” Always stubborn to the end. “Stay.”

“I can’t—”

“Please.”

The way he looks at you now… you’ve never seen it before. The wobbling of his lip. The irregularity of his breath. It’s like he is truly, completely uncertain. Almost to the point of fear. As if he knows that your paths won’t cross again if he lets you leave now.

“Stay,” he says again, and you think of mother. You think of how much she loved living here where it was safe. How much she loved helping the women even if some of them were undeserving of it in the end. You think of the queen, and the affectionate kindness she always extends to you without fail or question. Then you look at Yoongi. At that charcoal storm in his eyes, and you think maybe there’s more left here for you than you thought.

You draw in a deep, quiet breath.

“Okay.”

#ficswithluv #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #bts angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #min yoongi #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #how can we ever know if the choices we make are the right ones?

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hb-writes · 3 years

Text

I Won’t Leave You

Summary: The Shelby boys have just returned from the war and John is lost and heartbroken after coming back to a home without his Martha. His best friend Sophie has been there for his family in every way, caring for his little ones while they’ve had no one else, but Sophie’s kept John at a distance, hesitant to intrude on what she feels isn’t hers.

Characters: John Shelby, Sophie Mason (OC), Robbie Shelby (John’s son)

Content Warnings: canon-typical content, angst, grief, death, war, (it’s hurting john shelby hours)

Sophie ate a quarter of her dinner in silence before setting it aside and doing up the dishes, cleaning the kitchen until it gleamed. Then she tidied up the rest of the small two-bedroom she had lived in for her whole life, a family heirloom of sorts.

She cleaned until there was nothing left to clean, not a speck of dust left on the mismatched frames or the secondhand furniture or the tired floors that had never been hers to begin with, all of it passed down from her parents and her mother's parents before them, everything a hand me down except for two pictures Sophie claimed as her own, one from the wedding day of her two best friends and the other of the groom just a few years later, donning not a wedding suit but a military uniform. He was a boy of only nineteen in the photo, but already a father of three…four, if you stopped to count the seed sowed the very same morning he left them all behind at New Street Station.

Sophie figured John had met the new baby by now, little Robbie Shelby who was more like the father he had yet to know than any of the other children before him had been, breaking and healing all of their hearts for the last three and a half years with the smiles and gestures they assumed they'd be going without while their proper owner was off in France.

The boy inhabited the space between pain in the arse and little charmer as if navigating a sailboat on calm waters, with the sweetest grin and the silliest comments and getting up to casual mischief integral parts of the boy’s typical way, full of words that had no business coming out of a three-and-a-half-year-old’s mouth and actions that had no business coming to fruition at his innocent little hands and his sweet, gentle way.

It was the thought of Robbie after her second over-poured whiskey that had Sophie slipping into her coat and shoes. Either John would have the kids put to bed and she’d find him alone, quiet. Or the devils would still be up, driving their father mad with their demands for more attention, more stories, more dinner, more sweets.

More, more, more.

John and Martha’s kids hadn’t always seemed hungry from the start, but they had been that way since Martha had gone from them. But with their father gone for so long before their mother’s passing, they just always seemed starved for something these days, anything—the food, the touch, a loving word or a stern one, the answers to a million and two questions.

Sophie imagined those babies had passed John’s first day back gorging themselves on their father’s mere presence, filling themselves to the brim with his laughs, drinking up the blue shine in his eyes, hanging off his every word and limb, stealing away the little insignificant moments in the off chance they’d need to one day make a meal of the meager memories they’d been fed.

It wouldn’t be the first time John and Martha’s babies had subsisted off nothing more than distant memories of John Shelby. Sophie knew that life too, though her memories of John and Martha were far from dim, polished by her mind to shine and shimmer just like the trinkets she’d just spent the evening rubbing a tired cloth over, willing the attention to detail to quiet the particulars running about wild in her mind.

Sophie focused on her steps on the walk over, willing herself to focus on the cool of the wind through her jacket, willing herself to empty her mind of the details. Sophie wasn’t certain of what she’d find in John Shelby after these four years and when emptying her mind failed, she set herself to the task of avoiding expectations, of breaking up any of the pictures that formed in her mind’s eye, unimagining his smile, disassembling his eyes, and shattering the imagined sound of his laugh, but as she stood on Watery Lane, shivering in the damp night’s air, she couldn’t stop herself from picturing him coming to answer her calling.

It felt odd to Sophie for her to be knocking on the door she’d become accustomed to passing through as if it was her own, arriving without notice and towing whichever child was wailing or meddling or in some sort of immediate danger up into her arms as she came through, an act she’d engaged in for months out of some unspoken obligation she felt to John and Martha, to the babies who didn’t ask to be born on the cusp of war, wailing for their father for four long years while everyone thought they were just after a bit of milk or food or kiss and a cuddle to heal an injury away.

And that was all before they’d lost Martha.

A little over four months had passed and the loss of her still felt fresh. Sophie thought maybe because it was, in a way, because they’d all been anticipating the boys’ return, anticipating the fresh wave of pain that would come from another person learning the new way of things, from coming back to a house that felt empty even though it was filled with kids, from the sense of camaraderie that had swiftly left the home, the lost sense of partnership that had once come from a shared glance fraught with laughter when the kids were getting up to something that warranted a snicker, but wasn’t to be encouraged, the shared frustration when all four of them were sick, a shared drink after they all went down, when the exhaustion finally distributed through the limbs and you couldn’t remember what had passed during the three or so hours after dinner.

Those things had all continued to feel fresh to Sophie every single day since Martha had gone. She had thought it would subside, thought that she’d stop looking over her shoulder or imagining telling Martha whatever story about her child when she returned from this outing or that, but those urges, the deep-seated need… it didn’t wane with time, but it was more painful in the start.

That was really what finally pulled Sophie from her kitchen chair, the thought of John alone once the babies went down, alone in the house he’d dreamt of for four years, fantasized about while he tried to sleep in the mud and the dust. At least that’s what Sophie imagined he’d been dreaming about in France—his little house on Watery Lane, filled with his wife and his babies, so loud and chaotic and lovely. They wore those words like a badge of honor, even their sweet, quiet Martha who had barely spoken when they first knew her.

Sophie started when the door creaked open and stepped back onto the cobblestone, nearly tripping over her own feet.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Sophie hadn’t allowed herself to imagine what words would be the first exchanged between them, and the ones she heard stumped her, confused her enough that John’s rough voice could’ve been speaking French and she’d not have known any better how to respond.

His voice, the first part of him she took in, even before she pulled her eyes up from the wet cobblestones to observe his face, was just as she remembered even if it had a little edge to it, and that had her mind crafting the types of responses they’d once been prone to, the cheeky comments that earned reciprocal grins and friendly shoves in the arm, laughter hidden behind hands or an impromptu cough to cover it all.

There was no grin on his lips though and no laughter either as she dragged her eyes from his face, running her gaze over the body he’d leaned against the door frame, focusing on his clothes, just a simple undershirt with sleeves pushed up to his forearm, an old pair of pants that hung a bit loose now, things he’d probably dug out of the bottom of his drawers.

“They’ve been asking after you all afternoon.”

Sophie met his eyes then and found them tired and red, fatigued from more than just being with a bunch of rowdy kids all day. John seemed tired in a way the kids couldn’t touch, and Sophie had a feeling their presence, their shouting and scrambling and squealing had made him look a bit better, a bit more alive, even though she couldn’t make herself imagine him looking worse.

“I only asked after you once,” he continued in her silence, backing through the door. “Pol said, ‘Let the girl have a day off. She’s been with those kids every—’”

“I wanted to give you time with your family, John. I—” Sophie followed him, stepping in off the lane and securing the door behind her, dealing with the lock that always caught with a certain ease as John watched her, a bit of sickness settling in his stomach. It was why he rarely locked it. He could never get it on the first try and somewhere along the line, he'd just decided it wasn’t worth his trouble.

John cleared his throat. “So, you’ve really been with them every day?”

Sophie caught his gaze as he turned back to her, his eyes sweeping over the simple green dress she’d exposed by taking off her coat before he settled back on her face, her cheeks warmed by the journey his eyes had just made.

She shrugged. “Someone needed to be.”

John nodded, reaching behind him to grab the glass of whiskey he’d set aside to answer the door.

She’d spent the last four years accumulating questions and comments for him, four years of things she knew she’d one day like to ask or say, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice a single one of them, all of it seeming a bit disingenuous considering, so Sophie focused instead on picking up the toys discarded across the room, settling them in their proper place before she noticed John was watching her, taking slow sips from his overpoured glass as his eyes followed her.

“We ate at number six,” he said as her gaze drifted to the kitchen door.

She already knew that though, was well acquainted with the schedule of the day for the Shelby family, the 11:17 into New Street, the family lunch planned immediately after, the lunch which she supposed had spanned until dinner, drinks maybe, screaming kids covering any of the awkward silences.

Babies always did that.

“John, I…”

John turned from Sophie as the creaking stairs sounded and Sophie wasn’t sure if she’d rather curse or thank the baby rubbing his eyes as he made his way down, heading straight for her skirts, hiding there against her side as John watched the two of them.

“It’s past bedtime, mate. You should be asleep.”

Sophie smoothed back the sweaty hair from Robbie’s face, both of them eyeing John as he took another sip of the whiskey.

“Your dad’s right, Robbie,” Sophie said, trying to take his hand and lead him towards the stairs, but the boy reached his arms up instead.

Sophie sighed and hoisted him up to her hip, his head immediately falling to her shoulder as she settled him in her arms.

“Can you read me a story?”

“How many stories have you already had?” she asked.

“Just one,” he said. “Aunt Polly told us just one because you spoiled us with too many. Can you read me a story even though it’s your day off?”

Sophie snorted. “My day off?”

“Aunt Polly told ‘em it was your day off.”

Sophie glanced at the clock. It was seventeen minutes past midnight.

“Good thing for you it’s tomorrow,” she said. “Go find daddy’s book.”

Sophie let the boy down and watched him amble across the room, watched as he tugged the heavy book off the shelf, stealing a few glances towards John as he settled on the far corner of the couch with his glass still in hand.

Sophie sat half a cushion away from him, grateful when Robbie climbed up into the space between them, settling the open book there in his lap, tilting the pages toward Sophie.

“Maybe daddy will read with us if we ask nicely, eh Robbie?”

“Sissy says you do better voices than Auntie Sophie.” Robbie spoke the words into the space in front of him, his eyes on the book rather than his father.

“Hey, there—” Sophie tickled his side, the small squeal bringing a tired smile to John’s face. “—My voices are just fine, mister!”

“Yeah, well, Uncle Tommy does ‘em better than any of us, eh Soph?”

Thomas Shelby doing the voices was something Sophie hadn’t thought of in some time, something she hadn’t heard since they were kids themselves, and she found herself longing for it a bit, the tenor of Tommy acting as the villain or the hero or Aunt Polly. It brought a gentle smile to her face, a wistful sort of relaxation falling over her, a feeling she found lacking in John as he chewed his lip for a moment.

“I’ll concede your daddy that,” Sophie finally offered. “Your Uncle Tommy does it best.”

Robbie made a face, raising his eyebrows as he glanced up at Sophie. “Really?”

The boy couldn’t imagine the man who’d sat at the table all day doing little more than smoke his cigarettes and answer questions in curt monosyllables doing the voices.

“Put us all to shame when we were little like you.”

“You weren’t ever little like me!” Robbie accused, poking her shoulder.

Sophie poked him back, tickling him a bit as he started to giggle. “Everyone starts out little like—”

John cleared his throat. “Alright you two, it’s late. What are we reading?”

“A good one. I just have to find it,” Robbie mumbled.

The boy flicked through the pages, slow and deliberate as he peered at the titles he couldn’t read, the symbols and pictures matched in his head with the tales they accompanied. John rubbed his eyes and settled his head against his fist, his gaze directed across the room while Robbie continued with his search for several minutes.

With only the sound of pages turning and Robbie mumbling to himself, Sophie shifted, settling her legs beneath her and stretching her arm across the back of the couch, her fingertips barely grazing John’s shoulder. It startled him and he met her eye for a moment before reaching for the book in Robbie’s hands. John pulled it into his lap and started reading off the open page, the only complaint from Robbie a look of shock when the boy turned to Sophie, his discontent quelled by her smile and the magic that was his father reading him a story for the first time.

As John read on, Robbie leaned back against Sophie, his eyes struggling to stay open as the words lulled him to sleep. John gave it a page and a half extra after the boy's breathing deepened before he shut the book and set it on the coffee table.

Sophie moved to shift the boy who’d curled into her during John’s performance, but John reached down, his hand sliding against Sophie’s side as he pulled Robbie up and away from her, settling the boy against his chest, the baby’s eyes fluttering open at John’s gentle repositioning.

“Sophie,” he mumbled, reaching his little hand down toward her though he stayed resting against his father’s chest.

John held a hand down and tugged her up, marching up the stairs first, his head shaking as his sleepy son extended his hand down over his shoulder, reaching out with his small fingertips to hold Sophie’s hand.

“Say goodnight to Aunt Sophie,” John said just outside the door to the bedroom where he and Joey slept, the room just across from the girls.

Robbie mumbled something incoherent and Sophie pressed a kiss to his forehead before his father carried him into the room, tucking him back under the covers, whispering something Sophie couldn’t hear, a short set of words that elicited a giggle from the boy and a chuckle from John as he shushed him and pulled up the covers.

“They missed you," Sophie offered as John shut the door to the boy's room and stepped across the hall to look in on his daughters.

“I don’t know. That one seemed more excited to see you than he was to see me.”

Sophie let out a soft scoff as she headed to the stairs, John just behind her as she went.

“Robbie’s a sweet boy…and a right pain,” she offered, turning up the stairs as she reached the bottom, a small smirk gracing her face as she delivered the teasing offense, “much like his father.”

“Well, he looks like her.”

Sophie, stilled, a hand going to the back of the sofa for stability, her heart a touch heavier at the mere mention of the woman who should’ve been there helping John tuck the baby back into bed. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment though it didn’t stop her from seeing in her mind exactly what John had meant.

Robbie had her eyes, not the color, but the set of them, and a dimple just to the right side of his smile. There was something about the nose, too, though Sophie hadn’t yet figured out exactly what, but somehow it was Martha’s face there in the boy, even if it was John’s mouth and mannerisms and mind.

“Sarah, too,” he said, pouring whiskey into two glasses and settling them both on the coffee table as he sat back onto the couch. “I remember when she was born thinking she wasn’t mine. The kid didn’t look a thing like me. That’s why she was so insistent we name her after my mother.”

Sophie lowered herself onto the cushion beside him. “Well, I’ve never had a doubt. Those kids are all a bit of you.”

“And a bit of her,” John said.

“Yeah, well, that’s usually how it works.”

John finished his drink, setting it aside, his gaze fixed off across the room again though he could’ve been someplace else, a different house, a different country, a different time.

His hand was shoved in his pocket, and Sophie watched as he fiddled with something.

“How long was she sick? Was she—”

“John,” Sophie said, his name nothing more than a plea.

It was starting to grate on her, the way John wouldn’t say his wife’s name, the way 'Martha' had yet to come from their lips, but Sophie could feel the woman there, filling the room, filling the space between them, filling the hurt, but neither one of them had even said her name.

“How long?” he ground out, pulling his hand from his pocket and leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees, a glint of gold finding the light as he fumbled with a ring.

Martha's ring.

Sophie put her hand on his shoulder, pulling back when he turned to her, repeating his question.

“How long?”

Sophie swallowed, her eyes shifting to his hand, to the ring before she could bring herself to deliver an answer.

“I know you were here every day, then, too. How—”

“A few...three months,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “She was sick for three months...or just about.”

John nodded. “Seemed like it came on sudden.”

That’s what the letter had said, the one delivering the message of her passing. It had been the first that had said anything about her being sick, first and last.

“She didn’t want you to…”

“And what about you? You didn’t write me the whole time I was away.”

It seemed silly now, the argument that Sophie had had in her mind to explain away four long years of silence, the one that said it wasn’t her place to be writing to him. Sophie had decided that it was something reserved for family, for Martha and the kids, for Polly and Ada and Finn, but there was a lot of things Sophie had done that had seemed reserved for family, a lot of business and caretaking that traditionally wouldn’t have been done by anyone other than a Shelby, and her not writing suddenly felt selfish, because her eyes had run over the letters John sent home. She’d memorized the stories scrawled out on the backs of his letters just as well as the children had, and she hadn’t even let him know his wife was sick.

She hadn’t written to him after either, hadn’t taken up Martha’s penning him lengthy tales of what the kids got up to on Watery Lane even though she knew whatever Polly and Ada were sending him wouldn’t be good enough because while John sent the kids tales from some fictional world he’d devised in his head, Martha had for four years sent him masterpieces of their domestic life, her tales of Sarah, Joey, Katie, and Robbie Shelby somehow coming across as epic fantasies, entertaining and descriptive, and so well done that the kids John came home to didn’t feel so much like little strangers to him.

And their best friend Sophie was weaved in there too. Martha had always been sure to include something about her, some silly story about something she’d gotten up to with the kids or some tit for tat she’d gotten into with Polly, mischief she got up to with Ada or Finn. There was always something, but Sophie hadn’t had it in her to take it on, not after being quiet for so long.

She let out a breath, blinking away the wetness in her eyes.

“I should have,” she said, her voice dwindling to a low murmur, the words barely coming out at all, “especially after Martha, but…”

Sophie stopped herself, so easily paused in her explanation because she'd been hoping for him to interrupt so she wouldn’t have to continue, so her voice wouldn’t break.

She thought the sound was nothing more than John clearing his throat, preparing himself to speak, but then his shoulders started shaking as he leaned forward, his silent sobs pressed into his fists as the ring fell to the floor, and Sophie sat frozen beside him, allowing his pain to wash over her, the pain she brought on just by saying Martha’s name, something they’d been dancing around since she came through the door, and just like in not writing him, Sophie realized she had been standing just outside, holding him at a distance, acting like this moment wasn’t hers to intrude on, like John wasn’t hers to comfort, just like he hadn’t been hers to write to, just the same as the way she’d barely allowed herself to cry over Martha’s death, letting those who were supposed to grieve have it even though John and Martha Shelby were the closest thing she had to family.

Sophie reached out a hand, tentative, slow, and had barely settled it on John's shoulder when he shrugged it off. “You shouldn’t have kept it from me, either one of you.”

“John, I—”

“No,” John said, his voice nearly masked by the sound of the glass shattering as he picked it up and tossed it across the room. He turned to Sophie, showing his reddened face and tear-stained cheeks.

Sophie stood up only for John to catch her wrist, keeping her still. “You should’ve known better. You should’ve fucking told me the truth. You should’ve—”

Sophie shook her head and held herself back from prying at his grasp, hoping her words would do the trick and he'd let her go. “John, I think I should—”

“Don’t go.” John tugged her to him, his head suddenly set against her stomach, his arms tight around her back as he hugged her to him.

Sophie stood there with her hands raised up in the air, unsteady on her heels, held up on her feet only by John’s crushing arms, surprised by the sudden shift in the room. As she steadied herself, Sophie was near-certain that she would break, both from the sound of John's painful wailing and the tightness of his arms wrapped around her.

Sophie took a settling breath as she lowered her arms around him, rubbing her palms first over his tensed arms before allowing her fingertips to find his hair, cradling the back of his head with one hand as her other hand found moved to his shoulder and back as she shushed him, soothing just as she'd done with his babies and his wife while he was away, easing the pain, drawing out the hurt, wishing wholly for them to find a bit of peace.

“They all leave, Soph.”

Sophie swallowed at John’s words, willing her mind to stop itself from running through the list, unable to stop once it got going.

Sophie’s mother.

Sophie’s father.

Her older sister.

John’s mother.

Tommy’s Greta.

And now their Martha.

It took everything in Sophie to not agree with him, to not slip down into the same pit of hurt and despair and hopelessness that came at accepting the truth of his words, to acknowledge that so many had left them behind, left them alone.

Sophie held him to her still, clinging to him even as his grip slackened and the fight that had him gripping her fell away, his sobs still echoing in the quiet as she whispered to him.

“I won’t leave you, John. I'll stay.”

For the night, the week, for the rest of their lives. Sophie knew even as she'd said it, that's what she meant. She'd be there for John in whatever way he needed, same as always.

Tidy Sums (Peaky Blinders) Masterlist

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby #john shelby x oc #john shelby fanfiction #martha shelby #hb.writes angst #500 follower celebration

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iflostreturntosteverogers · 3 years

Text

If You Love Her

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader, EraserMic, Ejiriou Kirishima, Hitoshi Shinsou, Kazuya Yamazaki (OMC), Hanta Sero (Mentioned), Mina Ashido (Mentioned), Denki Kaminari (Mentioned), Izuku Midoriya (Mentioned), Shouto Todoroki (Mentioned)

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Grief, Little Smidge of Fluff

Word Count: 2278

Beta: @sorenmarie87

A/N: Lyrics used from the song If You Love Her by Forest Blakk

Masterlist

Katsuki hums as he prepares breakfast for the two of you. You lean against the doorframe admiring him in his hero costume. “Just gonna stand there, Firework? Or are you going to come kiss me good morning?” He smirks over his shoulder at you. You push off the door frame and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sits his knife down and turns in your arms, cupping your face and kissing you. “You know you could’ve slept in right? UA is on holiday.” You shrug.

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m a little anxious this morning for some reason. Plus, I wanted to see you before you left for patrol.” Katsuki squeezes you hard before letting you go and turning back to his task. You grab your favorite mug and start to pour yourself a cup of coffee when his voice stops you.

“Don’t drink coffee if you’re anxious. You know it makes your heart race. There’s tea in the cabinet. Do you want me to stay home with you today?”

“Thank you. No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine, Kat, I promise.” You reach up on your tiptoes for the tea on the top shelf. You had a sneaking suspicion that Katsuki liked to place things you used regularly up out of your reach so he could grab it for you. He chuckles and grabs the tin, placing it in your hands. “Thanks.”

“Welcome, babe. Breakfast is ready, but I’ve gotta take mine to go. I’m running late for a meeting with Deku, Shouto, and Kirishima before our patrols.”

“Be safe, Kat. Come home to me.” He leans down to kiss you and presses your foreheads together.

“I will. I promise.”

“Love you more.”

“Love you most, Firework. I’ll be home for dinner.”

The envelope in his pocket feels like lead as he sits through the shitty meeting Deku is leading. The truth is he’d woken up with anxiety too. Terrified about the future and what would happen to you if he was gone and wasn’t there to protect and love you anymore. It’s not like hero work was exactly safe. There was always that risk. They had already lost friends and comforted significant others at burials. Kirishima nudges his leg. “Hey, man. You good?” Katsuki looks around and realizes the meeting room has emptied, leaving him and his best friend alone.

“Just thinking about Denki and Shinsou. And Sero and Mina.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s been what about a year since Sero was killed?”

“Mhm and only a few months since Denki. Fuck, man. Feels like forever ago and yesterday at the same time.” Kirishima’s eyes fill with sadness thinking about their fallen friends.

“Yeah. Listen, Kiri. I need you to do something for me.” He pulls the envelope from his pocket and holds it out to him. “If I- if I ever die, I need you to take care of her for me. Make sure she lives her life, man. Don’t let her shut down and her light die. She’s too bright for that, man. You protect her. You have to help her keep going. Make sure she falls in love again. And when she does, you give him this.” Katsuki’s voice cracks, thick with emotion.

“Katsuki, I-”

“Promise me, Ejiriou.” Katsuki shoves it at him. Eyes desperate and pleading.

“Of course, Katsuki. I promise.” He pulls Katsuki into a hug, a move that would’ve earned him an explosion to the face years ago. They stay like that until Katsuki’s calm and in control again.

“Let’s get out of here. I need to blow something up.” They both let out watery laughs and stand.

“You know everything’s gonna be fine, right?” Kirishima places his hand on Katsuki’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I just can’t stop thinking about how wrecked Mina and Shinsou were. Hell, they still are. We’ve done our best to be there for them but Shinsou shut down and pushed us away completely. He blocked everyone’s numbers, except Y/N, but she’s his sister. Mina tries, but we all know she can’t even look at us anymore, because she just sees the one who’s missing. I have to make sure someone takes care of her. For my peace of mind.”

“That makes sense.” They slip their comms in their ears and leave the conference room. Kirishima stops by his desk to store the letter while Katsuki texts you. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

Their patrol goes slowly. Katsuki just wants to get home to you. It’s hot as hell and quiet on the villain front. The only thing they’d done was rescue that dumb cat from a tree. “Dude, one more quiet block and I’m calling it a day.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I think we can let the sidekicks handle the last couple hours without us.”

You stand at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables for stir fry. The news drones on in the background as you make dinner. Katsuki had checked in multiple times and said his day was boring and long, so you figured you’d make his favorite food and you guys could have a movie night. Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, but as you reach for it someone bangs on the door. “Good grief.” You lay the knife aside and wipe your hands on a towel. “I’m coming.” The banging continues, growing more frantic. “Jesus, I’m coming. Chill.”

Time slows in that moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Katsuki’s picture on the news screen and turn. The doorknob jiggles as the person gives up on knocking and resorts to their key or picking the lock you don’t know. “Pro Hero Dynamight was killed moments ago in an attack. He and his partner, Red Riot, were on their way back to their agency when they were ambushed by a group of villains.” You stop dead in your tracks. The door opens. “Dynamight was dead by the time sidekicks and backup arrived. Red Riot has been rushed to the hospital. Dynamight was ranked number two behind Pro Hero Deku and leaves behind a wife. Japan thanks you for your sacrifice.” Your knees buckle, but arms wrap around you, keeping you from collapsing completely. Katsuki was dead.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” A familiar deep voice rumbles in your ear. Aizawa holds you close as you sob into his chest.

“Daddy, he’s gone. Katsuki’s gone. I can’t do this without him. I can’t!” You cry and scream on the floor in your father’s arms. Hizashi arrives moments later, hitting his knees and wrapping you both up.

Everything is a blur after that. People are in and out of your house. Arms hold you, but they’re the wrong ones. Someone shoved a cup of tea into your hands that went cold a long time ago. You shiver at the cold emptiness that has seeped into your bones. Hizashi wraps a blanket around your shoulders and kisses your forehead. You don’t acknowledge him nor Aizawa when he tries to coax you into eating some food. “Baby, please just drink some water then.”

You fall asleep on the couch late into the night, because you can’t bear to sleep in your bed without him. Your dads sleep on the couch opposite you. They’re curled protectively around each other, having been reminded once again that time is short and how lucky they’ve been.

Katsuki’s service is beautiful. People from all over the country come to say goodbye. Your dads hold your hands, while Kirishima, Deku, and Todoroki speak about their friend. It takes all your strength to stand at that podium. “Most of Japan knows Katsuki as Pro Hero Dynamight. The explosive, sometimes crass hero who never backed down whether in battle or simply in the way he spoke. I knew him as the love of my life. He never held back in loving me. He put things on top shelves that I couldn’t reach just so he could get them down and then kiss me. He loved to cook and has made breakfast for me every single morning since we began dating our second year. Katsuki was incredibly caring, even if he wouldn’t show anyone. I love you more, Katsuki. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without you.” You break down as you address your lost love. Hizashi realizes you won’t be able to move on your own and walks up to you.

“Come on, baby. Come back and sit down. You did so well.” He places his hands on your shoulders.

“I can’t, Papa. I can’t do this.” Tears flow freely down your face as you grip the podium.

“You can. One step at a time.” You let go and lean against him as he leads you back to your seat. The service concludes just after sunset. Fireworks fill the sky as tribute to the explosive hero.

Kirishima sits at a table in the cafe, enjoying the beautiful weather and cherry blossoms. You make your way over to him. “Thanks for coming, Kiri.” He stands and pulls you into a crushing hug.

“Of course I came! How are you? You look great!”

“Thank you. I’m doing good.” You smile and he pulls your chair out for you. “I actually asked you here for a reason. I-uh, I’ve met someone. His name is Kazuya. Kazuya Yamazaki. He works at UA teaching Hero Ethics. He’s incredibly sweet and caring. He’s compassionate and understanding. He’s not Katsuki, but I love him. I miss Katsuki so much, Kiri. I still love him. I’ll never stop loving him.” Tears come to your eyes when you mention your late husband. Kirishima smiles.

“Sweetheart, that’s awesome. Katsuki wanted you to live life after he was gone. He wanted you to find love again and be happy. He made me promise that I’d take care of you and make sure you lived and moved on. He’d be so proud of you.” He hands you a napkin to wipe your tears away and chuckles. “Do I get to meet him?”

“That makes me feel better. And yes, you can. We can do dinner at my house this week and I’ll introduce the two of you. Until then, let’s order some food. I’m starving.”

You order and catch up with each other. When you start to leave he hands you an envelope. “Give this to him.” You look down at it. Written on the front is “To the Extra that loves her after I’m gone” in Katsuki’s handwriting. You hug it to you.

“I will.”

You close your car door and take a deep breath. Kazuya makes his way over to you and the two of you walk silently to Katsuki’s monument. “I wanted you to come here for a reason. Today at lunch Kirishima gave me this.” You show him the letter in your hands. “It only felt appropriate for it to be read here.” He takes the letter from you and you both sit in the grass with your backs against the cold marble. You lean your head over onto his shoulder as he reads.

“To the Extra that loves her after I’m gone. Extra?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “that’s just how Katsuki was. Keep going.”

“If you’re reading this shit then I must be gone, but it also means that she’s found happiness and love again. That’s all I want for her. She deserves the world. But if you’re going to love her there’s some things you should know. If she gives you her heart, don't you break it. Let your arms be a place she feels safe in. She's the best thing that you'll ever have. She always has trouble falling asleep, and she likes to cuddle while under the sheets. She loves Pop songs and dancing and bad trash TV. There's still a few other things. She loves love notes and babies. And likes giving gifts. Has a hard time accepting a good compliment. She loves her whole family and all of her friends. On days when it feels like the whole world might cave in, stand side by side and you'll make it. She's the best thing that you'll ever have. She'll love you if you love her like that. Kiss her with passion as much as you can. Run your hands through her hair whenever she's sad. And when she doesn't notice how pretty she is. Tell her over and over, so she never forgets. Make her breakfast every morning, because she hates mornings and it makes her happy. Don’t let her drink coffee, it just makes her anxious. Buy her flowers and candy and those dumb stuffed animals she loves so much. Make her smile every chance you get because it is the most beautiful thing in the world. Love her. Love her more than anything else in the world. Don’t let her be sad over me. Make sure she shines. Her light is so bright and warm. Take care of her for me. -Katsuki Bakugou”

You wipe tears from your cheeks. “Oh, Katsuki.” Kazuya wraps his arm around you and lets you cry on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No, sweetheart. There’s no reason to be sorry. He was your first love, your husband. You are allowed to still love him and to still be grieving him. I know there’s room in your heart for both of us.”

“Thank you. Even after ten years, it still hurts and I still miss him.”

“And that’s okay. Why don’t we go to the market and buy some flowers, so we can freshen up his arrangement? And then we can go home and you can tell me more about him.”

“That sounds great.”

Tags: @fictionalabyss, @leave-me-2-rot-among-the-flowers

#bnha katsuki x reader #Katsuki Bakugou #Angst #my hero academia #fluff #sad #kirishima

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hopeisour4letteredword · 3 years

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personal furnace, ch1

Summary: Winter renovations at the inn in Zaphias leave Yuri in need of a warm bunk for the night. Good thing he can always count on his good buddy Flynn.

Read it below or at the AO3 link in the notes.

"It's freezing out there," Yuri complains, when he pushes in through Flynn's window. Flynn grimaces at the gust of cold wind through his room. It rustles through the papers on his desk threateningly.

"I'm quite aware, so if you could please get the rest of the way inside and close—thank you." He sighs with relief as Yuri slams the window closed behind himself. "I hope you realize that I was making a sacrifice for you by leaving that unlocked."

"You're indoors, you run hot and you have a fireplace, I don't feel sorry for you," Yuri says. He's shivering quite badly when Flynn looks up from his desk. Flynn frowns at him. When he rises from his chair, he scoops a blanket off the bed on his way past, and approaches to wrap it around Yuri's shoulders. Yuri makes a grateful noise. "Oh, fuck, thank you."

"You aren't in nearly enough layers," Flynn says. He fusses with the drape of the blanket and scowls down at Yuri's clothes. He's not so foolish as to be wearing his usual garb, but a full-fronted tunic and loose jacket are hardly a full winter kit. Yuri huddles into the blanket with a tight shrug.

"Wasn't so bad when I left Halure."

"Halure's always warmer," Flynn says, absentmindedly. He tucks the blanket all the way up against Yuri's throat. Yuri leans into it, eyelashes dipping against his cheeks when he sighs with relief, and Flynn has to swallow to stop himself from saying something stupid about how long they are or how soft the tender skin of Yuri's throat is against Flynn's knuckles. Gods, but he's always at his easiest to knock off kilter when they've been apart for a while. Sometimes he thinks if Yuri went away for long enough, Flynn would blurt out a confession just from seeing him again, because he'd forget how to cope with how beautiful Yuri can be.

"Sometimes by a great deal."

"Yes, well, I don't think about that when I travel."

"Have you got better jackets in your bag?"

Yuri grimaces. "Yeah, but I dropped those off at the inn. Speaking of..."

...Ah. The inn in Zaphias is undergoing renovations to improve their insulation right now. It had happened that furnace blastia had been compensating for more structural deficiencies than anyone had realized, and now the whole city is scrambling to prepare for the worst of winter. The Knights are helping wherever unskilled but professionally directed labor is of use, and Flynn had made certain that some of the Flynn Brigade was stationed in the Lower Quarter, but... renovating an entire building with the proper amount of care can't be done instantaneously, no matter how many spare hands you provide.

"The renovations," Flynn says, sympathetically. "They didn't get enough rooms ready?"

"I got the impression they'd already done an absurd amount for how much time they had," Yuri says, which is probably very generous of him. "But no. Seems like it's a little cramped. Mariam's sorting by priority right now, so the elderly and those who really need it are first..."

"You don't have to run through the list for me," Flynn says. "You wouldn't take a finished room now if Mariam told you to. I know you. You're waiting for everyone else to get their space first."

"Yeah," Yuri says. He rolls his shoulders back and straightens a bit to stare Flynn down, defiantly. "Of course. Who's going to handle sleeping out in the cold better than me? I mean, really. I've slept in the Drifts before."

"Right," Flynn says. He knows that, objectively, but he hates the thought of Yuri having to sleep in the snow and freezing winds of Zoephir. He can't begin to fathom what task brought Brave Vesperia there that was worth sleeping that way. It must have paid quite handsomely, or been quite important. "Well, that's very noble of you and all that. Yes, you can sleep here instead."

"That's not—" Yuri splutters. His cheeks are red, but Flynn can't be certain that's not just the flush of the cold air yet to fade. "I wasn't going to ask for that! Just if I could take any spare blankets off your hands until the renovations are complete!"

"I suppose you can if you insist," Flynn says, doubtfully. He still doesn't really enjoy the mental image of Yuri shivering under a pile of quilts in a room so drafty as to be frosty when Flynn is perfectly content to share his space. Not that he would have any problem donating some spare blankets to Mariam in the morning, for others who didn't have a warm space yet, but for Yuri... And anyway, Yuri has never slept well when he has to share his space with strangers. He has enough trouble getting to sleep without further complications. "But really, you can just sleep here. There's no reason for you to be cold."

"Mariam said it would build character," Yuri says, presumably just to be a shit, because that's pretty much the only reason Yuri has uttered the words Hanks said or Mariam said since they were seven.

"I don't think anybody would accuse you of lacking character."

Yuri grins, sharp and proud. "Why thank you."

"I didn't hear any real objections, so I assume you're sleeping here," Flynn adds.

"I mean, yeah, if you're serious," Yuri says. He finally reaches up and takes the edges of the blanket into his own hands, adjusting it around himself. "Like you said. No reason to make myself suffer as some weird exercise in stupid pride."

"Good," Flynn says, satisfied. "I can lend you some clothes to sleep in tonight, so you don't have to go back for your bags."

"Alright," Yuri says, easily enough. He shuffles along behind Flynn when Flynn heads for the dresser and retrieves some soft pajamas. He takes the clothes, and Flynn excuses himself to the desk again to let Yuri change. They used to share clothes more when they were children, which is to say that they treated most of their things as interchangeable when they were children. Flynn tries to remember that so he doesn't feel so embarrassingly warm and fuzzy about Yuri wearing his clothes. Yuri promptly sabotages this by saying, "We are the same fucking size, how do you stretch the shoulders out so much?"

"My shoulders are broader than yours," Flynn says. He stubbornly doesn't turn to look, because he knows the warm, fuzzy feeling will only get worse when he sees the shoulders of his shirt hanging loose on Yuri's leaner frame. Good grief. He has no right to feel any kind of way about Yuri wearing his clothes. "Stop whining. At least it's not the other way around, and you stretch all my shirts out when you borrow them. I'd never let you borrow anything otherwise."

"Sure you would. You'd just whine about it."

"My uniforms are actually meant to look crisp and fit properly, you know."

"Not your pajamas, smart-ass. Since when have I ever borrowed one of your uniforms?"

"When you were in the Knights with me as a rookie," Flynn says. He risks a glance back. Yuri has finished pulling the pajamas on, and wrapped the blanket back around himself as a cloak. "You stole my spare uniform a few times, remember?"

"Aside from that. You weren't that much bigger than me then, anyway. I didn't fuck them up that much." Yuri gives him a sour look. "And you certainly chewed me out for it enough at the time."

"Well, you knew better than to be stealing my clothes."

"Not my fault we shared a drawer. I didn't even realize I was taking yours half the time."

"I'm not going to argue with you about idiotic things we did when we were eighteen," Flynn says. Yuri could have just paid attention to which side of the damn drawer he was reaching into, but this debate is pointless. "You can go ahead and get in bed. I need to finish reading this."

"Don't stay up all night," Yuri teases, climbing into bed with the blanket still wrapped around him. Flynn wonders, with some amusement, whether he gave up the right to share that blanket with Yuri later by handing it to him now. But no. Once he's snuggled down under the covers, Yuri wriggles until he frees himself and can haphazardly yank the cloak-blanket out. It spreads mostly-evenly over the rest of the quilts.

That's one way to do it.

It doesn't take too much longer for Flynn to finish looking over his document, but it does take longer than it should. He keeps catching himself peeking over at Yuri, a glimpse of dark hair settled cozy and comfortable against Flynn's pillows, the quilt-softened shape of him under Flynn's covers. Flynn has to force himself to be responsible and complete his task rather than just following him to bed.

Yuri doesn't react when Flynn finally joins him. His eyelashes are a dark curve against his cheekbones, and his breathing is steady and even. Asleep already, it seems. Good. Flynn is glad he feels safe enough in Flynn's space to rest easily. He slides under the blankets as carefully as he can and settles down with his back to Yuri. For all that Yuri always says Flynn runs hot, he's putting off no shortage of body heat himself. It's nice and toasty under the covers as a result. Flynn has no trouble falling asleep.

---

He wakes up and smells citrus.

In the time it takes his newly-conscious brain to begin processing that that's confusing and unexpected, he realizes that his nose is buried in someone's hair. Silky, dark, soft hair, which smells faintly of citrus—

—Oh. Yuri must be buying new soaps in Dahngrest these days. He used to just use whatever plain soaps could be bought for cheap in the Lower Quarter. Flynn supposes that nicer, interesting-smelling soaps are the kind of luxury that a person might consider if they recently gained a consistent source of income. Somehow he still smells, in some unidentifiable way, like Yuri.

Because it is Yuri, of course. Yuri still huddled almost up to his own nose under the blankets. Yuri bundled tightly in Flynn's arms, his chest pressed to Flynn's chest as Flynn wraps around him like a clinging octopus. He's warm, very warm. Flynn can take comfort in the secure knowledge that he made sure Yuri was warm at night. Which isn't to say that this embrace was an intentional move to get him there. No, Flynn is just guilty of sleep cuddling, and now he has to try to undo that without waking his friend. There are several associated problems with this; the first is that Flynn doesn't actually want to stop cuddling Yuri, both because he's soppily in love and because Yuri is warm and Flynn can already tell the rest of the room is distinctly not. The second is the actual logistics of the maneuver. Flynn can't move him too much or he'll wake, but if he just moves himself without moving Yuri at all, Yuri might flop around enough to wake anyway. And even if he can avoid both of those, the frigid air that will sneak into the blanket roll when Flynn leaves it might be enough to wake Yuri on its own.

The third problem is that as soon as Flynn leaves the bed he's going to be haunted by every faint citrus perfume he encounters for the rest of the winter, remembering this moment of Yuri safe and vulnerable and content in his arms, but perhaps that's more of a new extension to Flynn's general in love with Yuri problem than an issue with leaving the bed.

Alas. He must attempt the thing anyway. He uses gentle, soft touches to Yuri's person and little shifts in tiny increments of his own. When he's finally extricated himself, he watches Yuri for a second longer just to be sure his stealth operation was successful. Yuri huddles down into the warm spot Flynn left behind, blankets still tucked up around his shoulders and tousled hair concealing his face from view. His breathing is still slow and even, the mountain of blankets falling and rising with every sleeping breath. Flynn sighs with silent relief and heads for the bathroom.

When he emerges, fresh-faced and dressed in his under-armor uniform, he walks as softly as he can over to his armor stand. Metal is still metal, but he tries to be quiet as he begins to assemble it.

The blankets rustle. Yuri says, hoarsely, "Oh, what the fuck, are you really getting up already? I thought maybe you just had to pee or something." Flynn looks sharply over his shoulder. Yuri has pushed himself up onto one elbow, and peers back, looking crabby and half-asleep. "I'm sorry. I was trying not to wake you—"

"You've gotta be joking. It's not even fucking light outside yet, Flynn. What's wrong with you? At least wait until dawn."

"It's the dead of winter," Flynn says. He snaps on the wrist-piece of his gauntlet that he was already holding and turns to face Yuri. "Dawn's still a while off. I have to get started on my day. I meant to let you keep sleeping, though." "I know you were still awake when I got here, and you haven't slept any more than I have. Seriously? You do this every night?"

"I think it's later than you realize," Flynn says, miffed to be lectured on his sleep habits by a known insomniac. To be fair, Yuri has the excuse that his sleep problems are involuntary, but still. "I don't—hang on. What did you mean, you thought I just had to pee?"

"What does it sound like?" Yuri groans, a rough, exasperated growl of a sound, and pushes himself the rest of the way into a sitting position. Ah, no. Flynn had been hoping Yuri wouldn't follow his example, and he would rest some more. It is difficult for Yuri to find peaceful sleep, after all, and he had been traveling yesterday, too. If he came through Halure, he couldn't have taken a shortcut by sea, either, nor been dropped off by Ba'ul. He has to be exhausted. "I thought you got out of bed to use the bathroom or something, not because you were getting up for real. I'd have stopped you before you got out of the blanket nest if I'd realized."

Flynn smacks down the tender, flowery ache that blooms in his heart at the conjured image of Yuri sleepily grabbing after him to keep him in a shared bed. "Since when were you awake?"

Yuri scrubs a hand through his hair with a grimace. "I don't know, whenever you started moving around? I'm a light sleeper."

"I know that," Flynn says, tightly. He tries to wrestle his voice back under control. "I—my apologies. For—"

For the cuddling. He can't quite force the words out, though, in a moment of spiked mortification and shame. Yuri squints at him for a few seconds in confusion before his expression clears, realization dawning on his face.

"What, for the cuddling? You don't need to apologize for that. It's fine. Is that why you got up? Good grief, you're an idiot. I don't care. You could have stayed."

"It's not why I got up, the clock says—never mind. Even if you don't care, I care, since apparently you refuse to do so for yourself." Yuri gives him an outraged look for that one, which makes sense, but which is also a point Flynn is willing to start real shit over, so good luck, Yuri. "If I'm going to offer to share my bed, I should be able to control myself enough not to invade your space and your boundaries. So—"

"I said it's fine," Yuri snaps. Flynn prepares to argue more before Yuri, red in the face and avoiding eye contact, adds, "You're really warm."

Flynn stops and stares at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're warm," Yuri repeats, sounding frustrated. "I've told you, you run hot. Hotter than me, anyway. Human furnace. You always have been. It's—it was helping."

Flynn has to stare for a few more seconds, stupefied, before Yuri rallies himself enough to glare back. Yes, Yuri had been a comfortable heat source in his own arms, but... Flynn finally shakes his head, slowly. "Well, I... Alright. Fine, then. If you're sure."

Yuri rolls his eyes and shakes his own head. He climbs out of the bed and begins gathering his clothes from around the room. "We've slept in beds together before, Flynn. I knew what I was getting into. I wouldn't have agreed to share the bed if I had a problem with it."

Flynn feels heat rush to his face. Yes, they've shared beds a few hundred times if they've shared them once, but the vast majority of those times were as small children. That is to say, young enough that cuddling was seen as cute and friendly and permissible, not invasive and creepy. Flynn knew before last night that he'd never lost his unfortunate sleep habits, had mortified himself on several past occasions bed-sharing as young adults by waking up to discover he'd wrapped his body around Yuri's as they slept. He had hoped that Yuri had slept through the disentanglement process, but if what Yuri is saying is true, Flynn failed at that particular task miserably.

"So I... every time...?"

Yuri stops with his arms full of his own clothes to stare at Flynn incredulously. Flynn can only imagine he's comfortable being dramatic instead of dressing because he's standing directly beside the fireplace. "You did know you do that, right? Hey. You did know? I need you to confirm that now, actually."

"Of course I—"

"Because you've been doing that since you were six, every single time, and if nobody else has bothered to tell you—" Yuri shakes his head again. "No, hang on, you're the one who always wakes up first. Did you honestly think I was the one who—?"

"No! I know it's—me, I know I'm the one who does that," Flynn bursts out, freshly embarrassed. "But I thought you slept through it when I woke up and tried to give you some space. You really woke up every time? Or did you just assume—"

Yuri looks amused now. "You think I sleep on the road where monsters might try to eat me and I don't have the survival instincts to wake up when someone is manhandling my body?"

Flynn doesn't know what to say to that.

"Yes, it's true. You aren't the stealth master you thought you were and I still knew you cuddle in your sleep. Sorry to be the one to break it to you."

His mortification must show on his face, because Yuri laughs at him. He turns away from Flynn at long last and starts stripping out of his borrowed pajamas to put on his clothes. "I guess I'll give you a little credit for the effort. It's kind of my bad for not making it obvious I'd woken up."

"Why didn't you?"

"Why do you think? I wanted to go back to sleep. And steal your warm spot, usually."

Flynn gives him an offended look. It's wasted on the back of Yuri's head. "You really have been using me as a human furnace for twenty years, then."

"Using you is such strong language. Appreciating you, maybe."

"You don't even run that much colder than me!"

"C'mere for a second," Yuri says, muffled as he finishes pulling a thick, woolen second tunic on over the first. That's definitely Flynn's, and Flynn's not sure when he stole it but he won't call Yuri out on it. He'd rather Yuri was warm on his way back to his bags than raise a pointless fuss. Yuri holds a hand out to Flynn and wiggles his fingers. "I wanna show you something."

"Absolutely not," says Flynn, who has known Yuri long enough to know when he's being threatened with cold fingers on his neck. Yuri grins wolfishly.

"No? It's for science."

Flynn watches warily as Yuri strides across the room, towards where Flynn's sitting at his desk. "It's not for science, you big bully."

"Aww. Don't be such a baby—" Yuri comes within an arms-breadth and reaches for him. Flynn bats him away, and Yuri cackles and climbs half-over the armrest of the chair, fighting against Flynn's protective arm.

"Yuri, I swear, don't you dare—"

Which is, of course, the moment Flynn's maid knocks and opens the door, Yuri balanced perilously on one knee and wrestling with Flynn to regain the advantage on the assault.

"Good—morning. Sir," Cecelia says. "Uh. Mr. Yuri?"

"Good morning," Yuri says, cheerfully. He yanks a wrist out of Flynn's grip and tries to shove it against Flynn's neck again. Flynn smacks him away again with a low growl. "What can we do for you?"

"Um."

"Ignore him," Flynn says. He finally gets a hold on both of Yuri's wrists at once, and after a brief struggle of pure brute strength, manages to shove him back so that he stumbles the step off the armrest and trips backwards onto Flynn's bed, laughing the whole way. Flynn strongly suspects he was only launched so far because he let himself be. Good grief. He tries to fight down his answering smile as he turns back to the door. "I'm sorry about all that, Cecelia. Good morning. Have you brought breakfast?"

"Yes, sir," Cecelia says. She dutifully presents him with a tray of food, which he accepts gratefully and moves to his desk. Tentatively, she adds, "I can... fetch more, if...?"

"Ah, don't bother," Yuri says. He sits up on the bed, stretching. "I should get a move on, see who needs an extra pair of hands in the renovations today. I'm sure someone will feed me when I get there."

"Come back for lunch if they don't," Flynn says, absentmindedly. Yuri makes an affirmative noise and shuffles around behind Flynn, locating his boots. "Is there anything else you need me to address at this time, Cecelia?"

"Why..." Cecelia starts, then turns pink. "Not anything I need you to address, sir, but why is Mr. Yuri here at this hour?"

"To be a pain in the neck," Yuri says. Flynn rolls his eyes.

"Literally, if you had your way."

"Ha! Maybe."

"The inn in the Lower Quarter is among those having emergency renovations," Flynn tells Cecelia. She nods. "They need re-insulation and fireplaces for all of the rooms. They were able to renovate enough rooms with urgent speed to house most of the people who need shelter there, but things are still cramped, and there wasn't a spare room for Yuri. So I offered to let him sleep here until the inn is sorted out."

"That was kind, sir," Cecelia says, slowly, giving Flynn a confused, almost studying look.

A thought occurs to Flynn. He tilts his head back towards Yuri, who appears to be putting on boots somewhere in the vicinity of the bed. "Now that Cecelia is here with breakfast, will you believe I didn't wake us up absurdly early?"

"No," Yuri says, without hesitation. "I'll believe you trained the poor girl to deal with you waking up absurdly early. Sorry about him, Cece."

"I think it's the standard time for the Knights, Mr. Yuri," Cecelia says, doubtfully. "I've seen other people about, and the kitchens have started, of course. I don't need to cook breakfast myself if I bring it now."

Flynn cranes his neck enough to be gratified by the comically horrified look on Yuri's face. He snorts fondly and turns away again. "You had to get up at this time for your stint in the Knights, too. Or have you repressed that?"

"I must have. I don't remember Niren inflicting this kind of suffering on me."

"Maybe you're simply cranky because of the dawn being late."

"The dawn's even later in winter in Dahngrest, too, they just handle it like sensible people and sleep in until it's light out." Yuri's heels thump against the floor, one-two, presumably as he stretches out after he finishes assembling his attire. "It's funny, up there, it's almost like the whole city's hibernating—I'll tell you some other time. You've got your stupid early Commandant stuff, I've gotta go convince Mariam I'm still worth feeding. Thanks for letting me crash here."

"It was the least I could do," Flynn says, sincerely. "Keep warm out there. Are you still interested in taking those extra blankets to Mariam?"

"Hm. Yeah, actually."

"Cecelia, would you mind terribly—"

"No, sir. Here, Mr. Yuri."

At the very least, Yuri's arms loaded with blankets force him to leave out the door rather than making an escape out the window. He bids Flynn and Cecelia goodbye and heads out.

"Sir," Cecelia says, after she finishes making Flynn's bed. "Will you be requiring two sets of breakfast tomorrow?"

"No thank you," Flynn says, after a brief moment of consideration. "We've no timeline for when Yuri will be able to return to the inn, so let's not waste the food in case he doesn't come."

"Alright, sir," Cecelia says, but she looks dubious. She takes her leave.

#fluri #flynn scifo #yuri lowell #tales of vesperia #long post #original character

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lizacstuff · 3 years

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SCK/EDSER anon asks ep 41

Apologies for getting to these so late in the week, but lots of good asks for this episode.

Find them under the cut:

Anonymous asked: Your thoughts on the epi? The kisses were a huge surprise! I'm glad she didn't slap him. And I'm kind of liking the two assistants' story. Its subtle but nice. And Aydan is so weird around Kemal! Is it just me or does her voice change frequency when she's talking to him. I like that they explained why Eda named her daughter Kiraz. I wasn't a huge fan of the name initially but it's growing on me.

So once again I thought it was a really good episode of television, the time moved quickly, it was well constructed and the acting was terrific.

The only thing that marred my enjoyment of it was grappling with Eda’s lies. Sometimes that just got too much for me. I think at one point I actually yelled “LIAR” out loud at the screen. I understand why Ayse and the writers wanted to delay Serkan finding out, it gave us two really great things, one Serkan deciding to pursue Eda again without knowing of their forever tie, and Serkan bonding with his daughter while thinking she has no connection to him.

Dramatically, both of those things are great and entertaining and I’m happy they went that direction. However, that once again requires me to set aside reality and find a way to stomach the fact that Eda not only didn’t tell him about his child, but now is forcing her child to actively lie to the person she wants most to meet.

That was really hard to take on first viewing. She’s also dragging poor besotted Burak into the lie, allowing Melo to continue the lie to her former eniste, expecting Piril to lie to her husband and to her business partner/“friend”, not to mention all the direct lying she’s doing, both to the man she once loved more than anything and to her beloved daughter. They’ve done a good job of making us understand the pain Eda went through and why she might want to protect her daughter, but nothing, and I mean NOTHING justifies what she did. And let’s be real, she going to say she did it to protect Kiraz, but if Serkan had rejected being a father, everything else could have been the same. Kiraz didn’t need to know. Eda could have left, raised her on her own, and told the fairy tale of an astronaut. She decided not to tell Serkan in order to protect herself, it was entirely selfish. And it’s really hard to watch Eda hold Kiraz in her arms when Kiraz tells her of dreaming of her father and Eda still come out of that determined to keep Serkan in the dark. I know she’ll come around. But I really don’t want it be brushed under the rug and for the narrative to consider what she did as totally okay. Perhaps that could come in the form of Kiraz making her pay a bit when she understands she’s been lied to and Eda has hidden her father from her. We’ll see.

Alright, enough of that, I saw several tweets on twitter complaining about Edser alone screen time, that it was too little, but during the episode I didn’t feel it. Probably because I consider funny scenes like them using their assistants as go-betweens to flirt and fight as an “edser” scene. Of course I always want more, but I think we’ll get much more in the coming episodes.

As for Kiraz’s name, I’m super glad it has meaning related to Serkan. That’s very heartwarming. Though still a bit at odds with the fact that she hid her from him. She’s going to deprive him of knowing he has a child, but give her a name connected to Serkan? These are the things you handwave when a show swings big for dramatic purposes, I guess.

On the positive side for Eda, I do appreciate that except for that one gargantuan thing, she is being very open with him in their conversations. It’s new for them for one to be honest about how much they were hurt by the other. Eda would always pretend that she wasn’t impacted when they parted, I’m glad she’s past that.

I’m also happy that Serkan isn’t wasting time pretending he’s not still in love with her or that he doesn’t want her. It took him, what, like a day, to decide he wanted her back? LOL. And even though he was being high-handed in manipulating hotel-owner lady to force Eda to work with him, it was all very in character for the old Serkan so I enjoyed watching it. Even if he had zero rights to do it!

Loved watching her guard come down when they were working together, they were always a very good team, and I’m sure neither of them has had quite that same dynamic since they parted, so it was fun to see them syncing right back into old rhythms. Oh and watching her thaw completely when he complimented her work. Serkan as her mentor was one of my favorite things about their relationship so it was nice to see that aspect back and that she still respects him professionally as much as she ever did. Then the flowers! Gah! I love that the show is picking up these old threads and using them to illustrate how Eda was still a priority for Serkan during the 5 years of estrangement.

So far we’ve only seen flashbacks from Eda’s perspective, it will be very interesting to start seeing them from Serkan’s perspective so we know why he did what he did. I think there’s no doubt that he pushed her away out of some sort of misguided attempt to get her to pursue a better life without him.

Wasn’t it refreshing for there to be a misunderstanding about the phone call, for us to get to see jealous Serkan, but for Eda to actually clear it up for him? Don’t get me wrong, Serkan had no right to get angry and it was frankly none of his business, but it was also a honest emotional reaction from him, and I’m glad to see Eda recognize that and put his mind at ease. Also it was worth it for us to see their argument in the car and them both deciding to walk back. I wish we would have gotten like a 4 minute scene of them just walking and bickering on their way back, though.

Their conversation once they were back was great, so open (except for that pesky secret) so emotional. Serkan really putting in some emotional work for one of the first times ever.

And I love how it continued the next day. Eda searching for the pick that means so much to her, Serkan coming right out and telling her that her wants her and still loves her. And he just upped and kissed her. And she kissed him back! if nothing else, I’m just so happy that the cliffhanger was “happy.” I’ll take a kiss cliffhanger over the horrifyingly heartbreaking ones we got used to there for awhile!

As for the other characters: Fuck off, Ayfer. Shut up, Aydan. Bad judgement, Melo. You’re a traitor, Piril. Hugs to you, Engin. Kemal, you’re a saint. Seyfi, grow a pair. Baby assistants, you’re cute. Burak, wake up. Deniz, you’re embarrassing.

Seriously, Ayfer is insufferable, I can’t stand when she’s on screen. At least Aydan is funny and has her own storyline, even if it’s stupid. Why, oh why, is she lying to Serkan about Kemal? Good grief!

Who does Melo think she is taking a letter out of Serkan’s car? I get the comedy of that letter moving around the supporting players and causing misunderstandings, but it was none of her business and I think out of character for her to meddle to that degree.

However, I’m glad that it looks like from the fragman that while both Aydan and Engin figure it out, they want proof before they do anything about the info. That makes sense, and will allow time for Serkan to figure it out on his own without being any more betrayed by those closest to him.

The baby assistants, are adorable, and now I’m rooting for them, but Kerem needs to tone down his middle class outrage. As for Burak... oh honey. With or without Serkan, does this dude really think he has a shot with Eda? It’s like a 4 deciding he is entitled to date a 10. Just no, dude, she’s so far out of your league you’re not playing the same sport. And once he sees Serkan... seriously? That handsome hunk of man is her ex and you still think you might be her type? I say again, oh honey. Melo seemed to be crushing on him, but I hope that’s not the direction they’re going unless they flesh it out. Melo deserves to be someone’s first choice.

Anonymous asked: Hi! Love reading your sck-related answers! Been wondering about this: how do you think Serkan will react once he finds out about who Kiraz really is? I’m hoping, of course, that he will turn into the soft serky bolly we knew but am also a bit afraid that his dislike of children would not go away instantly and he will act a bit cold towards Kiraz at first..coupled with the anger towards Eda for lying

Thanks for the kind words! Honestly, I don’t foresee him acting cold towards Kiraz, I don’t think that is the story they’re telling. Especially since they’re going to have spent 3 full episodes having Serkan/Kiraz grow close without even knowing. Him reverting to robot bolat once he knows, doesn’t make sense to me. Plus, as you alluded to, once Serkan allows himself to open his heart, he becomes the biggest softy in the world and I expect that exact same dynamic with Kiraz as soon as he processes the information. I can so see him spoiling her rotten trying to make up for lost time. He might not know what to do or always how to act with her, but I think he’s going to try really hard.

His anger at Eda may linger, and that will probably be a wedge between Edser, a wedge I expect Kiraz will work hard to remove by forcing her parents to spend time together.

What I hope to see is a Kiraz who doesn’t want to let her father out of her sight, including out of her house, and a Serkan who wants to get to know his daughter and a Serkan and Eda who are both so riddled with guilt that they will pretty much do whatever she asks of them, including living together and spending tons of time together. We’ll see, but that could be marvelous to watch.

Anonymous asked: I loved that they brought the guitar pick back. Same feeling regarding the ring turned necklace. Those are symbolic and since they got rid of most of them (globe, mug, flower case), I'm happy we have something. I also love the Kiraz/Serkan relationship. He may be a bit annoyed by her but the things he does for her! My heart!!! I can't wait for the moment he realizes she's his!

YES! So happy to have some of these symbols back! Love that she carries that pick around with her, and so did Serkan, lol. That was the thing that gave him hope that she hadn’t forgotten him.

I love that Serkan and Kiraz are so drawn to each other before knowing, it’s like something deep down it telling them the truth, even though they have no conscious realization of their real relationship. Kiraz is surrounded by people who cater to her every whim, (and let her get away with murder) so I think Serkan was a surprise to her. Like her mama, Kiraz is intrigued by someone who challenges her. And Serkan challenges her.

The clues are piling up, and you’d think Serkan would be able to have put them together by now. I mean we have the kid slipping up and poking holes in the ‘Melo and Burak are my parents’ lie, you have her aptitude for building, her strawberry allergy, not needing sleep and getting up early, being frustrated when folks don’t finish their sentences. Come on, Serkan! Though, I think he’s so distracted by having Eda back in his life, that he can’t focus on anything else.

The arrow scene was adorable, and I just love how she goaded him into playing with her. They are obviously very alike and I will never get enough of him being unable to say no to her. There are, apparently, exactly two people Serkan is unable to say no to in everyday situations, and they are mother and daughter.

I wish we had seen a little more from Eda’s point of view when she found Serkan and Kiraz sitting there together having ice cream for breakfast. Because a more un-Serkan like thing is hard to imagine. I want to know what she thought and felt at that. Why wasn’t she curious how they’d gotten to that position and both were compelled to want to be there? I suppose the writers didn't give that to us, because if they had, and had portrayed the character of Eda honestly, then that probably would have been enough for Eda to decide she should tell Serkan.

Anonymous asked: People are playing the team Serkan/team Eda game but in my opinion both are right and wrong in their own way. We still need more flashbacks to explain how things went down but I think everyone should be team Edser. At the end of the day it's about them learning from their mistakes and moving forward to build a family and life for their daughter and themselves.

Yes, I really don’t want to vilify either one. Even if Serkan pushed her away to protect her and give her a better life, once again he was being controlling and making decisions for her, just like he did back in episode 14. And Eda’s mistake is obvious... and too much pride has always been one of her fatal flaws, so having too much pride to tell him and wanting to avoid that rejection in some ways makes sense for her.

I can��t wait to watch how they find their way back to one another, they’re already having better, more open conversations than they ever did.

Anonymous asked: ANOTHER scene of them talking maturely, laying out their feelings, who are they and what have they done to edser?!? sure we still get their usual bickering beforehand when they both walk back to the hotel (LOL). but him voicing his feelings at that night scene about how he KNOWS how much he hurt her, and that he broke them apart, but he "just can't leave" and how he repeats that over and over again... ugh just chef kiss!

Oh, that conversation at night on the boardwalk, that was something. They were both so raw, and Serkan is actually showing a lot of growth by owning his mistakes, admitting he hurt her, apologizing and being honestly about wanting to start something. That is BRAND NEW, it was what we needed after amnesia and never got. It’s very satisfying to watch them having these heart-to-hearts and it looks like there are more in our future.

Anonymous asked: as much as the flashbacks actually HURT my heart to watch, i've really appreciated them bc without them i don't think just telling what happened in the past would be enough for this plot and we need to have it actually shown. we've had eda's pov so far on the events that happened, but im really looking forward to serkan's thought process behind his actions in the past, even though i do already understand where he was coming from, i think it's needed for eda to understand.

The flashbacks are really good, but oh so painful.

As for getting them from Serkan’s perspective, yes please! There’s a lot that both we and Eda don’t know. We know that Serkan couldn’t leave his house for months after Eda left, but Eda doesn’t know that. Eda really thinks he fell out of love with her and once again choose work over her, but I’m sure that’s not what happened. Hopefully, in 3 and 4, we’ll see what spurred Serkan on to act so coldly to her. Sure, part of it probably was depression and changes in him brought by the cancer, but I’m sure it was more than that. We shall see.

Anonymous asked: Do you get the impression that Piril has known the entire time that Eda was pregnant and had a baby? I thought she only found out when she went to Sile for the hotel project but a lot of people seem to think she was in on it all along? did I miss a key line somewhere? Like I can see why she hasn't told Engin if it was recent but keeping it from him for 5 years? Idk about that. And it makes Piril a little more bearable if she hasn't stood next to Serkan all these years with this secret

My guess is she’s only known since this project. There is absolutely no reason for Eda to have confided in her prior to that, unless Piril somehow stumbled onto them during the years. But I think that scene in the second fragman, where Eda is telling her that it’s better for Kiraz to have no father, than a father that doesn’t want her, is a flashback to when Piril and Eda first meet for the project and that’s Eda convincing her to keep the secret. That’s my best guess at least.

It’s bad enough if Piril has known for weeks and has actively worked against Serkan figuring it out, but it’s a whole other thing if she’s lied to her husband for years. Either way, I sure hope this causes problems between Piril and Engin, it should.

Anonymous asked: One thing I love about Serkan now is that the man has learned to apologize. That was one thing that was very difficult for him but in the past two episodes he's apologized a few times. Yes in the first season he was sorry over his actions but never said the words "I'm sorry". What a great improvement. And I love that he's communicating. His "I want you" and his other efforts are great to watch.

I LOVE THIS! I think the first time he ever said the words “I’m sorry” was in 15 and that was after she forced his hand by driving like a maniac and really losing it so when they’re on that cliff he finally breaks down and says it. But that was one of the only times. Even in 28 when they have the big miscommunication about getting married, he only says something like “me too” after Eda apologizes.

It would be interesting to know how he came to this point, but I assume he’s had a LOT of time to think over the last 5 years and to think about what he would say if they ever met again. That has to be it, because he’s been able to articulate a lot of very sincere, heartfelt things in the course of these conversations

Growth! We love to see it.

#Sen Çal Kapımı #sen cal kapimi #edser #serkan bolat #eda yıldız #sckask #sck 2x41 #sck 2x02 #edser discussion #sck episode discussion #asklizac #anonymous

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degrassi-fanatic · 3 years

Text

Happy Father’s Day

Yet-to-be-inflated balloons are strewn across the dining room table, only two or three streamers are hung up so far, and a banner that reads Happy Father’s Day is still inside the plastic packaging he bought it in. All the decorations have been readily ignored and abandoned in favor of a lovingly worn and torn photo album with a cracked spine; the result of being open and closed for many years.

Sitting at the head of the table, Bobby touches the cover of the album, gently tracing the words: The Nash Family.

Although it might seem a tad bit morbid and sad to be alone on Father’s Day looking at photographs of his late family, it’s become some sort of a tradition of his ever since they’ve died.

It used to be far worse, though. He would call in sick for work if he was scheduled that day and drink his body weight in alcohol as he flipped through the pages of the photo album with white knuckles, refusing to let himself forget what he lost.

Now, it's different. He turns the pages in the photo album with only a deep ache to replace what used to be a sharp sting in his chest. Memories used to only equate to suffering for him but now Bobby looks at all the pictures with a renewed sense of love.

Overtime, Bobby has learned that memory can be a beautiful thing sometimes.

Bobby was alone in the house today as earlier in the day, Michael had taken May and Denny back to his own apartment for their own private Father’s Day celebration before the joint party that was supposed to take place here in the evening. Michael had asked if he wanted to join but Bobby had only politely declined, only half-lying about having to decorate.

In all honesty, even after all of these years, Father’s Day was still a sensitive subject for him.

Suddenly, at the sound of a doorbell chiming throughout the house, all of his melancholy thoughts are put on pause.

Setting aside the photo album on the dining table, Bobby pushes himself out of the chair and walks over to the door. He pulls open the door to find Buck standing on the other side with his hands stuff awkwardly in his front pockets.

“Hey Buck.” he greets pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here?”

“Bobby.” he says as he darts his eyes to the ground, “I was—um, I was wondering if I could spend the day with you.”

“You do realize what day it is, right?” Bobby asks as he wouldn’t put it past Buck to forget.

He watches as Buck avoids meeting his eyes, only scruffing the toe of his shoe against the ground.

“My—my dad’s in town and I really don’t want to be around him.” he begins to explain and suddenly Buck’s surprise appearance makes much more sense, “Everyone else is busy; my sister’s with Chimney and Joy, Eddie’s with Christopher, Karen and Hen are using today as a second Mother’s Day, and Michael has Denny and May at his until Athena comes back from her shift.

“So I was hoping I could spend the day with you?” Buck asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“With me?”

The small smile that was tugging on the corner of Buck’s lips disappears with his words, in its wake is a resigned look. Nodding his head, Buck lowers his gaze to Bobby’s shoulder.

“Y’know what, it’s fine.” Buck says, “I’ll just go to the mall or something. Sorry to bother you.”

He feels something sink deep inside of him as he watches Buck turn away, heading down towards where his Jeep is parked near the sidewalk.

Desperate to right whatever wrong thing he must’ve said or did just now, Bobby blurts out, “I could use an extra hand with setting up for the party today.”

In the middle of the concrete pathway, Buck stills. As he turns around to face him, Bobby pushes open the door fully and motions with his head for Buck to make his way inside. Practically skipping, he does so immediately.

Once he’s inside, he gestures for him to make his way down to the kitchen as Bobby closes and locks up the front door.

“Thanks for letting me do this.” Buck says as he picks up a string of reflective blue streamers.

“Helping me decorate?” he teases as he begins to tear open the plastic packaging of the banner.

“You know what I mean.” Buck responds with an eye roll.

As he does, he catches sight of the tattered photo album near the edge of the table. Suppressing the urge to hide it away where no one could find it, Bobby lets Buck pick it up and search through it. He decides to concentrate on rolling out the Party City banner in his hands.

“What’s this?” Buck asks.

“It’s just a photo album from my first marriage.”

Right away, Buck closes it before setting it back right where he got it from.

“Sorry,” he says with guilt laced in his voice, “You probably don’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s okay. I’ll always miss them but, it doesn’t hurt to remember them.” he explains.

At Buck’s hesitant, almost wary look, Bobby decides that maybe it’s time this old photo album finally gets some new attention. Picking it up, Bobby searches through the pages until he finally settles on one.

“Here, this is my son Junior and this is my daughter Brook.”

The picture was the two of them awkwardly linking their arms around each other's shoulders. It was taken at Junior’s middle school graduation ceremony. With a smile, Bobby remembers how much Brook whined when her parents forced her to take a picture with her brother, complaining that Junior didn’t shower enough and smelled like he just came back from hockey practice.

From his peripheral, he sees Buck shift around until he’s looking at the photograph from over Bobby’s shoulder.

“What were they like?” Buck asks.

“Brook loved reading. Her whole bedroom was lined up with bookshelves. Y’know she won this personal essay contest once...” Bobby says, still bragging about his daughter even after how many years have passed since she’s been gone

Old habits are hard to break, huh?

“Yeah, she won five hundred dollars for it.” he explains, “She was always doing stuff like that.”

“And Junior?”

A chuckle bubbles out of Bobby.

“Oh God, Junior, he was always getting himself into trouble. But, he was a good kid, he had a good heart.” he remembers.

Kind of like someone else I know.

Pulling his gaze away from where he was looking at Junior’s face, Bobby shifts his attention to Buck. For a second, he takes in just how light his irises are and how blond his hair looks in the light.

He likes to imagine that this is what Junior would have grown up to look like.

“Junior would’ve been a lot like you.” he mumbles, more to himself than Buck.

It takes a few seconds of gears grinding and cogs turning around in his brain before Buck fully processes the depth of his words but when he does, he tilts his head to face Bobby and gives him a shy smile before taking a step backwards.

“High praise.”

“Yeah well not that high.” Bobby jokes as he closes the photo album, “The kid got himself stuck in a tree that was only four feet above the ground once. And I was the one who was dispatched to get him out of there.”

At the story, Buck starts to double over laughing, clutching at his abdomen as he forces himself to take a breath between every wheeze and snort. Soon, Bobby is following suit; Buck’s laughter is infectious even on a bittersweet day like today.

For a brief moment as he studies the way Buck throws his head back chuckling, he cannot remember if Buck always sounded like Junior while he was laughing, or if Bobby’s still-grief-ridden mind is having some sort of auditory hallucination.

“Seriously?” Buck asks as the laughter begins to wane.

“I never let him live it down.” he answers as he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

Placing the photo album back on the table, Bobby decides that they’ve spent enough time on the subject and judging by the clock, they should really get back to decorating if they don’t want Athena to come back home to a complete mess.

“He must’ve been a lucky kid.” Buck says, as Bobby searches through the mess to find a roll of tape or some thumbtacks.

“Hmm?”

“To have you as a dad.” he explains as he hands Bobby a cello tape dispenser, “Junior, I mean.”

If Junior was lucky, he would’ve been alive right now.

“When I wasn’t drunk and or high out of my mind, I did alright.” Bobby responds with a hint of self deprecation.

“Yeah, well, I think you’re doing a great job right now.”

Before Bobby can open his mouth and ask Buck what exactly he’s referring to, he’s cut off by the blaring sound of Buck’s cellphone ringing in his pocket. He pulls it out with a huff and practically glares at the screen lighting up in front of his face.

He waits for Buck to pick up the call but all he does is mute his cellphone and shove it back into his back pocket.

At the way he clenches his jaw, Bobby can deduce who it is with little difficulty.

“Your dad again?” he asks.

His only response is a short nod as he begins to busy himself with preparing some pieces of tape for holding up the banner; harshly ripping them off from the dispenser before attaching them to the edge of the table.

Suppressing a sigh, Bobby knows he needs to push Buck into doing the right thing, even if it isn’t what either of them want to do.

As much as Bobby wants Buck around today, not only to ward off all the bad memories associated with today’s holiday but also simply because he enjoys the man’s company, he knows he shouldn’t monopolize his time.

Buck deserves a father. Though Bobby may downright despise Phillip Buckley, the man had the honour of holding the aforementioned title and that was something he could not compete with.

Buck already has a father. He may not be a good one, but he was trying.

Even if he is 29 years too late.

“Maybe you should go meet him?” Bobby suggests, “I mean, if I got a second chance to become a father, you deserve a second chance to have one.”

Buck stops ripping off pieces of tape. His hands travel down to the edge of the table and he grips so hard at the wood that Bobby’s afraid there’ll be claw indents once he’s finished.

Within a second, however, he pushes himself off of the table and he goes to reach into his pocket.

Bobby barely has enough to take a look at what Buck’s pulled out before it’s already shoved into his hands. Tilting his head down, he sees a semi-wrinkled piece of printer paper that has been folded in half to make a card. On the front, in big and bold handwriting that he recognizes to be Buck’s, he sees the words Happy Father’s Day and a couple of messy drawings of two firefighters scattered across the page.

“I already do.” he answers, “Do you—um, do you like it?”

“I love it.” Bobby whispers.

He opens up the card to find a long and what he presumes to be a heartfelt message on the inside. At the top, it says, To the best father and at the bottom, Love, Buck.

“Also, um, some of those random hearts and flames are courtesy of Christopher, who helped me make this, by the way.”

#9-1-1 #evan buckley #bobby nash #~fic~

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kallypsowrites · 3 years

Text

Siege and Storm Thoughts

I have some mixed feelings about this book. It’s definitely not as strong of an entry as the first one for a variety of reasons. But lets start with stuff I like:

1. Alina. I really enjoy her as a protagonist. I like seeing her navigate power and balance of power because I think she proves herself good with it at most every turn. She listens to people, takes advice, stays away from her darker impulses. She never has a moment when she goes too far. It is a shame that her gaining power is still kind of framed as a negative thing, but I’ll get to that in my things I didn’t like section. Overall, she’s good. Still funny. Still blunt. Still very likable and relatable.

2. Nikolai. I LOVE Nikolai. His charisma, his intelligence, his honesty, his genuinely good intentions. He’s a good boy all around. He really is this perfect medium between Mal and the Darkling. Ambitious but not evil. And he has more of a sense of humor than the other two as well. He is consistently the most helpful to Alina while Mal is mostly causing her grief throughout the book. I honestly don’t know why he’s not the endgame love interest. More on that later.

3. Tolya and Tamar. Great new characters. They’re strong. They fight. They are also very helpful to Alina while also calling her on stuff when she makes a mistake. I especially love Tamar but that’s probably because it is hinted she is gay. I’ve decided she is and no one can tell me otherwise. She is my wife.

4. The Darkling. There’s not near enough of him in this book, but he’s a sinister villain and what conversations he has with Alina are electric. The first few chapters *chefs kiss*. This man is never not going hard with his dialogue. And he is a real, credible threat. Love his plan at the end. I like smart villains. Fuck him for hurting Genya though. That’s my girl.

5. Zoya. She got to be more of a person this time. I still think there’s a lot of development left for her and she’s not the most fleshed out, but I like pragmatic characters who put their feelings aside for what they think is the greater good.

6. The beginning and the end. This is a weird thing to say but I think both the opening of the book (up until they get to the Little Palace) and the close of the book (Nikolai’s birthday on) are really strong sections with some of the best material yet. It’s the middle that I have some problems with.

Things I didn’t like:

1. Pacing. The first 10 chapters are very well paced. The return of the Darkling, finding another amplifier, intro of new characters, an exciting trip through the fold on a flying ship. I was really gelling with the novel. And then the pacing just grinds to a halt. Most of the content in the little palace feels like padding out the novel waiting for the final battle to get here. Some of the conflicts, like the one with Mal, seem so contrived to stall for time. We spend a lot of time with side characters but I don’t feel I get to know most of them that well. It just feels like a lot of...waiting. And I definitely found myself skimming through some parts.

Certain things were dragged out for too long. The reason behind the Darkling and Alina’s visits for one thing. I think that could have been revealed to her before the climax. Maybe earlier on to give things more stakes. She realizes that she is the one calling to him and tries to stop but it just keeps happening. Maybe he’s even exploiting the connection to gather intel. There’s just a lot more that could have been done with those meetings to keep the pacing up.

It’s funny because a lot of book 1 was spent at the little palace, but it had momentum then. Alina had a lot of drive because she was trying to reach a goal. In this book, they are preparing for a goal to reach them to respond, so it takes away some agency that could keep the plot moving. I also think we could have gotten to the climax a bit faster because its ultimately only a few chapters. We could have expanded that. All in all this book is about 100 pages longer than the first but it doesn’t need to be.

2. Side characters. Outside of the leads and a few side characters like Tamar, Tolya, Zoya and David, this book really does not delve much more into the characters. Sergei, Marie, Nadie, Fedyor, Ivan...they all end up kind of nothing characters and when half of them die its just like......oh. Kay. David is given a bit more development as is Zoya but it feels kind of superficial with them as well. I’m a little more interested but not exactly forming a connection. And I can’t even say that Tamar and Tolya are that complex. They’re just archetypes that I like done well.

It’s clear that the author likes to focus on her leads. On Alina, Mal, and Nikolai (and the Darkling when he’s there). Alina obviously has to be there for everything. She’s the lead. But it feels like all the complexities are given to the main cast and the side characters kind of suffer. So in the final battle they’re canon fodder. As long as my leads survive I don’t mind. I cared about Genya, despite her barely being in this book, but that’s only because she was written so well in the last one. I guess I can applaud Leigh for being able to flesh out six POV characters in Six of Crows cause she clearly grew in that regard.

3. Mal. I think I was willing to let some things in book 1 slide because like...growing pains, right? They’ve never acknowledged their feelings before. He says some gross things but he does apologize. I’m not that interested in him, but fine. But book 2 his behavior continues to be gross. He’s often weirdly victim blamey at Alina, scared of her power even though she uses it well, and just so unwilling to accept how she’s changed. He’s also a hypocrite, doesn’t listen to her and makes everything about him. His moments of good banter with her are eclipsed by how constantly frustrating he is.

Not to mention he doesn’t really...have anything to do in this book? Like, outside of finding the Sea whip...he has no importance to the plot. He’s Alina’s guard. He doesn’t do much of significance to help her or the war effort. I thought they were going to give him the goal of tracking the fire bird to make that his plot thread but they decided to push that off. Which just shows that his only plot utility is as a tracker--an ability he has and not like...one of his personality traits.

And the book acknowledges that he feels useless but I feel like he still should have had something to do other than cause extra drama for Alina and then save her at the end. He just feels so tacked on most of the time.

4. Alina’s trajectory. Like...I know the endgame. That’s been spoiled for me. But I resent it. I resent whenever a woman gaining power (especially when she treats it well) is viewed as a bad thing. I resent whenever an ‘ordinary life’ is elevated above like...having magic. And if there’s going to be an endgame, Nikolai just makes more sense to me right now. Darklina will end in tragedy. That seems pretty clear. But Nikolai just feels like so much better than Mal. I have to read the other book to fully get my thoughts together on this though.

That’s it for Siege and Storm. See you all when I start Ruin and Rising!

#s&s liveblog #siege and storm #the grishaverse #shadow and bone

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iamtheprotagoneil · 4 years

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im sure youve talked about this before but the fact that the protagonist had to say goodbye to neil twice - one we see in the movie, and the other in the future when he sends him back for the sator mission - AND the fact that when he sends neil to help the protagonist in the past the future!protagonist KNOWS he is essentially sending neil to his death....... it is all just very ouch

yeah, i probably have mentioned it once or twice, but you know what i haven’t talked about? the fact that maybe, the goodbye they got in the movie was the only one.

listen, i’ve talked lots about how sad the protagonist (in the future) would be when he had to send neil on this mission that would be his last. i’ve also talked lots about how sad neil would be to leave the protagonist behind to go to the past and save the world (and the protagonist’s life in the process). however, i don’t think i’ve ever talked about how, perhaps, they never got to do that. i’ve never talked about how, maybe, the protagonist never got to send neil away, and neil never got to say goodbye before he had to leave for the past.

So, let’s consider: The Protagonist died before it was time to send Neil away for the Sator mission.

It’s not too out of the left field, right? They lead a very dangerous life. Death was always around the corner, just standing in the shadow, waiting for them to make a mistake – for their luck to finally run out – so it could come out and pounce. And what if it did, when it was still much too soon?

Perhaps, it went down like this: in a flash, so fast that none of them had the time to react. One moment The Protagonist was there, and the next, in just a blink of an eye, he was on the ground, unmoving. Perhaps, it was a gunshot, a sharp/blunt object struck just at the right angle, that delivered the fatal blow and brought him down quick.

Neil was on him in an instant, abandoning his position in order to run over to his Protagonist. Neil tried shake him awake but he was unresponsive; the mask on his face – covered in dust and blood – did a very good job of obscuring his features. Neil couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not. Neil kept calling his name, kept trying to rouse him to consciousness but nothing happened.

Still, they were in an active battle field. A teammate pulled Neil up by the arm, practically dragging him away from The Protagonist’s body and into the escape vehicle. Neil sat where he was placed in the backseat, feeling so numb and detached from the situation that he thought it might have been a dream. It must have been a dream, because this couldn’t be happening. The Protagonist couldn’t be gone. He was the mastermind, after all; the one who held all the information about the past, the present, the future. He couldn’t just be gone because—Neil just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Back at the base, Neil got angry. He started going off at the person who had pulled him away, screaming about how could they just leave their teammate behind like that. They would let him, seeing the desperation behind Neil’s eyes. They’ve all heard the rumors about The Protagonist and Neil – didn’t need confirmation to know it was true because they witnessed it pretty much every day – so they knew what he was going through.

Finally, Neil’s anger ran dry. He choked, came to a sudden standstill as the gravity of situation struck him once again, no way to deny it. They wouldn’t be able to help him if they brought him back, and they needed to get out quick. They couldn’t risk the rest of the team for just one person. Neil knew all this, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

He apologized to the teammate, who nodded and told him to go home and get some rest. Neil obeyed, grateful for the instructions because everything was so chaotic right now, in his mind, he wouldn’t have known what to do if left to his own devices. So Neil left, took their his car and returned home, the place he shared used to share with The Protagonist.

It was empty, expectedly, when he walked through the door, and the dread in his stomach grew, grew, and grew with all the intentions to eat him alive. He laid himself down the bed, unable to hold back tears because fuck, he just witnessed the love of his life died in front of him. He’d just seen it; it was all too real and not at the same time. He ran the scene back in mind, seeing himself in third person and thought of it as a stimulation only – something that he could return to and change. But, what’s happened, happened. It would always go down like that, Neil knew this. Neil had lived this life for so many years now, it was ingrained in his brain, but god, it was still such a painful truth to swallow.

Or, maybe, it went like this: Neil got to The Protagonist just as the wound was inflicted, catching him on the way down. The Protagonist looked up at Neil, trying to come up with words but the wound took all of his breath away and Neil wept, begged for him to stay, don’t go just yet, they could get help, please. (You’re going to die in your best friend’s arms...)

Or, possibly, it went like this: They managed to get The Protagonist back to home base. The wound wasn’t a fatal blow, and there might be a chance. Neil got to him just in time to stop the open wound from bleeding, pressing his hand to it as he barked orders for his team to call in the cavalry.

They got out of there, but barely, with The Protagonist on a stretcher, holding onto his life by the skin of his teeth. Neil’s eyes never left him, as the medics worked on him. It killed him not to come over and touch, to check for himself that The Protagonist was fine, would be fine, that he was going to get through this. But, he didn’t want to get in the way; he knew despite his medical trainings, he was still no experts compared to the ones who were working their asses out to keep his Protagonist alive right now.

But, the medics’ expressions were grim. They didn’t say anything, and the air in the escape vehicle was thick and suffocating. No one spoke; no one made a move. Most of them were still trying to catch their breath, while the rest was just like Neil, biting their nails and hoping for The Protagonist’s survival. They might not be as close to the man as Neil was, but he was still their boss – their teammate – and it was never a good feeling to see one of them go down.

When they finally return to base, they wheeled The Protagonist off into the operating room. Neil could do nothing but stand on the other side of the glass panel and watch, hands clenched in fists, thoughts running a marathon in his mind – all screaming, praying, begging for this to not be the end. But, that’s just not how this story goes (this time around). No, in this one, the medics came out with bad news to give, and Neil’s entire world crumbled.

Or, it could also go like this: Neil didn’t go on that mission with The Protagonist and he only got to hear about it after the fact. He’d only get the chance to react to the news of it. The cup of coffee he was holding in his hand got dropped to the ground, and Neil’s was entirely unbothered by it. He wasn’t even aware, despite the deafening sound of glass breaking on hard wood.

“No,” he said, because it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t accept it. But, the look on the messenger’s face was serious, apologetic, and Neil felt like he couldn’t breathe, felt like all the air had been knocked out from his chest. It felt like all the light in Neil’s life had been put out, and he was drowned in darkness, and kept on drowning, sinking down, down, and down.

It would take him a while – a long while – to recover. He went on more missions than he should, just to have something to occupy his time and, more importantly, mind. His superiors – the people who have now taken over The Protagonist’s place – would bench him but his results never faltered. He was trained by the best of them, after all, so how could they ever doubt him?

Then, later, when the time finally came, Neil would receive a file from his handler. His heart would jump as he opened it up and found The Protagonist’s handwriting, a note specified who this particular file should be delivered to and when. Neil would trace his fingers over it, to feel some residue of The Protagonist against his skin, then bite his lip until it bled, and read on.

Inside the file included the details of the mission he could not turn down – his very last one. He wasn’t going to turn it down, anyway, even if he could. There was nothing left for him in his present; in this timeline where The Protagonist was no longer. (What was a story without a protagonist, anyway?)

So, Neil accepted the mission in stride, knowing the he would never come back to this time again. He walked into the turnstile with determination in his eyes and shoulders squared, his team right by his side. The tenet team stationed in the past greeted them as they walked out; mission brief ready to fire off the moment every one of them settled.

Meeting The Protagonist again was like having cold water poured over Neil’s head. It was unforgiving, devastating and a relief all the same. Like coming home to find the place all different, not yours any more, but some remnants of when it was were still there; you could feel it in your bones, but it wasn’t yours to claim.

At the opera house, Neil didn’t have the chance – couldn’t risk it – to stop and really take The Protagonist in, but there was no denying that it was him. Then, later, at the yacht club in Mumbai, Neil watched The Protagonist strut in with that same confident swagger Neil had missed so much. Neil’s heart did a tumble, a cartwheel, then crashed and burned at the bottom of his stomach.

It hurt like hell to see the love of your life again, after months of pushing aside the grief you should have taken the time to acknowledge if not process. It was like coming home again, knowing that this home wasn’t yours anymore. He was The Protagonist but he wasn’t Neil’s Protagonist. His face looked the same, if younger. His voice still sent a thrill down Neil’s vein, but left his mouth without any affection. His smile still made Neil’s heart flutter endlessly, still made Neil wanted to taste under his lips, but Neil knew he couldn’t. All the same, but so different, so far out of reach.

It hurt, too, to know what was waiting for The Protagonist – this Protagonist – in the future. Neil looked at him, and saw what was, essentially, a dead man walking. Still, Neil knew he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t warn him about the fate reality that was waiting for him in the distant future. Neil could say it was because of that goddamn ignorance policy, but honestly, he was just a coward.

The end of The Protagonist might have been written in stone, but so was his middle – the part where he met, recruited, befriended, then fell in love with Neil. Neil didn’t want to lose that; too much of a coward to think about what life would have been like if The Protagonist hadn’t approached him when he did; hadn’t done all the things with Neil like he did.

So, Neil took his cowardice and turned it into fuel. Made it the one thing that kept him going through this entire mission. What’s happened, happened. It wasn’t an excuse to do nothing, he told himself.

Then, he told The Protagonist as well, repeating it aloud like a mantra. He knew what was waiting for him once that chopper landed and he inverted, for the last time. It wasn’t hard to guess based on the pained expression on The Protagonist’s face.

So, Neil said goodbye to this Protagonist like he never did get the chance to his own. He said it was the end of a beautiful friendship because it was beautiful, and for him, with this Protagonist, friendship was all they shared. Home, but not Neil’s, yet. He promised The Protagonist as much, “We’ll get up to some stuff. You’ll love it,” because Neil knew he would. Neil had lived it with him, after all.

Their endings might not have aligned, but there would always be a beginning for them. In the past, in the future, all the same. They would meet again, unofficially, officially; in this life, in the next one; it didn’t matter. Their lives were intertwined, threads in red color braided together by reality itself.

Neil took comfort in that and smiled when he promised to see The Protagonist at the beginning. For now, though, he walked with resolution in his eyes and shoulders relaxed, finally processing his grief. Acceptance was the last step, and he took it in stride as he walked into the turnstile and returned to the hypocenter, all ready to finally return home, the one that was his; to reunite with his Protagonist once again.

#ask #Anonymous #tenet #protagoneil #anon: let's talk about something sad #me: oh so you have chosen death #and it's long y'all; painful and long #like 2.2k-word long #(yeah i checked the word count this time just because)#it really got away from me this time kiddos #i even took the time to format it so y'all don't have to tread through this whole mess and need an eye exam at the end #i know all the lowercase shit can be tiring but that's my style y'all #this still doesn't constitute as a fic tho; so i won't post it on ao3 #unless y'all think i should?#idk anyways; i'm sure someone has run with this concept before but here's my take on it #being left behind is definitely real bad huh #especially when you then have to go back and see the one who left you again; then have to act like there was nothing between you #yeah that sucks #*my ramblings

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Eitr | Chapter 2

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FORANGAL CASTLE, WEDENSCIRE

MORNING

Hurrying down the steps of the castle as her dress frolicked around her legs, Lady Edlynne rushed to catch up with her brothers before they could scurry off into town without her, and leave her at the mercy of Bishop Hundwerth once again.

Apparently, the head chef of the castle was in need of some trout for the meal she had planned for this evening, but instead of relying on one of her servants like she normally did, the ealdorman’s sons had offered to fetch it for her, and were preparing to leave from the main gate.

Unfortunately for Edlynne however, her name had been left out of their festivities as per usual, and thus left the girl at a disadvantage considering how she only learned of their plans mere moments ago.

But this time, she was not willing to stay back as she normally did. The dreary walls of the castle had caged her in for far too long already, and with Hundwerth constantly hammering his piety in her ears, the young noblewoman was in desperate need of some fresh air.

Jogging up to the main gate, Edlynne found her brothers conversing at the stable as they readied their horses for the journey ahead, giving them a light snack to start off the new day.

Her twin brother, Joseph, was currently sat on top of a rather wobbly looking fence with an apple in his hand, but seemed to fare alright thanks to his lean frame. He was only a boy of sixteen years and hardly stood any taller than his sister, but even then, some still considered him to be particularly scrawny for a nobleman.

As for their elder brother, Edric, his appearance was more akin to that of a soldier than a lord. Despite not even being thirty years of age yet, the young man already had his fair share of battle scars and sported a rough beard, giving him a much more weathered temperament than his father probably would’ve liked.

He constantly carried a sword around with him and armored himself with a black gambeson, but still made sure that the cross hanging from his neck was visible underneath the collar of his cape.

Both of them were a welcome sight to see after Edlynne’s many days of being trapped in the castle, but with the absence of their eldest brother Gareth looming over them like a stormy cloud, she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness suddenly gripping at her heart.

“Joseph, Edric!” She exclaimed, running up to them. “Wait!”

The two boys turned their heads towards her, clearly surprised to see her face this morning.

“Sister,” Joseph greeted, “I didn’t expect to see you here today. It’s been ages since I last saw you out in the sun. Will you be joining us in town?”

Edlynne sighed out of annoyance. “God, I hope so. Bishop Hundwerth hasn’t dared take his eyes off me ever since I spoke of my interest in the Danes’ religion. He fears that their influence will corrupt me.”

Edric chuckled at that. “You thinking of converting to paganism, Edlynne?”

“Hardly,” she denied. “I will always be a Christian at heart, but I do not think it is wrong to have an interest in other religions either. How can we expect to resolve the conflict in our shire if we will not even attempt to understand our enemies?”

Joseph took a bite out of his apple. “Well, some people would consider that to be heresy.”

Edlynne crossed her arms. “Some people would see us at war for another century.”

The eldest threw a grin at his brother. “You hear that, Joseph? Wise beyond her years, this one. We should give her a seat next to father.”

Edlynne smiled in response. “You jest, but I’ll have you know that father has sought my counsel in the past. He spoke to me last night, in fact. Though... it’s not very often he actually listens to me, I’ll admit.”

Joseph hopped off the fence. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure he doesn’t hear of your fascination with the Danes. You know of his feelings for them.”

The girl’s expression drooped with sorrow. “Yes, I do. He’s changed so much ever since... well, you know.”

Falling into a state of heartache, the young woman quickly snapped out of her grief when she realized how she had dampened the mood and forced herself to push her thoughts aside, not wanting them to overtake her again.

“But... let us not dwell on that. You two have a busy day ahead of you, and my chances of getting any fresh air dwindle with every minute Hundwerth isn’t near me. So let’s get going.”

Edric climbed on top of his horse, taking hold of the reins. “Alright. Edlynne, you go with Joseph. I’ll take my own mount. We’ll ride the path west of here, and cut through the woods into Agenbury. It’ll take longer, but the main roads are laden with soldiers nowadays. I’d rather not weave my way through them.”

Taking a seat behind her brother as he plopped himself onto the saddle, Edlynne wrapped her arms around Joseph’s waist and held him tightly as the three of them began trotting through the main gate, bidding the castle farewell.

It was a bright morning today, blotted with only a few clouds. The sun shone freely throughout the sky despite the residue from the recent storm, and thanks to the rain that poured on Wedenscire the previous night, a fresh layer of mist hung over the land, catching the light in a fashion that was worthy of paintings.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Edlynne remarked. “And also much colder than I remember. Though, that’s probably due to the storm. Still, it’s nice to be outside of the castle walls again. I can’t recall the last time father allowed me to leave. Thank you both for letting me come with you.”

“Of course,” Joseph replied. “I fear that Edric and I were also in need of some time away from Forangal. That’s why we volunteered to help Nelda. The poor old woman’s practically locked herself in the larder this morning, trying to prepare this meal for us.”

“How is Nelda?” Edlynne asked. “I’ve not spoken to her in ages.”

“Oh, you know her,” Joseph said sarcastically. “Cranky, old bat as usual. Still the same woman that used to chase us around the castle after we’d steal the treats when we were children.”

Edric butted in. “And then blame me for it.”

Joseph laughed at that. “Do you remember that one time Edlynne and I brought in that stray cat from the streets? And we accidentally left it alone in the kitchens? The wretched animal had buried its face in a meal she was making for father, and sent it spilling all over to the floor. I thought Nelda was going to butcher us all that day -- cat included.”

“Oh, don’t remind me. She dragged the two of you fools over to me later that day and shouted with a fury so hot that I could’ve sworn I saw flames on her breath. Gareth had to calm her down whilst we ended up cleaning the kitchen.”

Edlynne smiled at the memory. “Gareth always had a way with Nelda. He knew how to ease her temper.”

“Indeed,” Joseph said. “Though, I think he had that effect on everyone. Something about him always brought peace to other peoples’ hearts. He knew how to unify them in times of division, and comfort them in times of war.”

A morose sigh escaped the sullen boy. “Things will... not be the same without him around. I know it’s been over a month since he died, but... I fear the wounds are still fresh.”

“Aye.” Edric agreed quietly. “He was a good brother to us all. And an even better friend. It was a tragic loss, the day he died. I think father’s taken the brunt of it.”

A sudden thought crossed the man’s mind. “Edlynne, you said you spoke with him last night?”

The girl nodded. “I did.”

“And... how did he seem? Did he seem better to you?”

Edlynne stuttered, unsure of how to describe their encounter. “I... I don’t know, to be honest. He appeared to be doing alright, but it felt like he was wearing a mask. As if... he was simply putting on a strong face for everyone else’s sake. Deep down though, I think he’s still hurting.”

“Of course he is,” Edric noted. “He lost one of his children. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare.”

Joseph raised a question. “What exactly happened to Gareth, anyway? I know he was killed near Grantebridge, but father has yet to give us any further details.”

“That’s because you would not wish to hear them,” his brother explained. “Believe me. All you need to know is that a clan of Danes killed him. The Raven Clan, specifically.”

The name was unfamiliar to Edlynne. “The Raven Clan? Who are they?”

“You haven’t heard of them? They’ve been causing quite a stir in Mercia -- killing kings and crowning new ones. From what I understand, they’re the ones who helped the Ragnarssons remove Burgred from his throne.”

“But why kill Gareth?” Joseph asked. “What could they possibly gain from killing the son of an ealdorman? Aside from a lifetime of conflict, that is.”

Edric sighed solemnly. “I do not know their reasons, nor their justifications. But you would do well not to get caught up on it. All that matters now is that Gareth is at peace. He was a devote Christian, and he now joins our mother in Heaven, forever to be at God’s side. He would not want us to sulk. So keep your chins up -- both of you -- and let us carry on with our day.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

AGENBURY

Finally arriving at Agenbury, the three siblings slowed down to a halt as the peaceful settlement came into view, decorating the flat horizon with a quaint series of houses and shops.

The quiet town seemed to be the same as usual -- lunatics and all -- and despite the hefty toll the war had taken on its people, everything appeared to be in working order.

The fisherman’s wife, Ardith, remained attached to her husband’s stall as always, and with the unpleasant stench of freshly-captured fish to start off her morning, the permanent scowl on her face only seemed to deepen.

“There’s Ardith,” Edric pointed out. “She’ll have the trout we need.” He climbed off of his horse, leaving it near the main entrance. “Come along then, you two. Let’s finish this quickly.”

Mirroring their brother’s actions, Joseph and Edlynne unmounted their horse before following the young man into town, hanging behind him as he navigated his way through the scattered groups of civilians.

Many of the town’s residents seemed to eye the noble family with a wary gaze -- which was uncommon for their people -- and the further they stepped into the watchful settlement, the more everyone’s voices seemed to lower into hushed tones.

“Is it just me,” Joseph whispered among them, “or does it feel... odd here today?”

Edlynne narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “No, it’s definitely not just you. The people here seem frightened. It’s almost like the whole town is... waiting for something. Do you reckon something happened before we arrived?”

“It’s most likely because of the war,” Edric assumed. “I know the conflicts in Wedenscire have had a rough impact on these people. Who knows what kind of horrors they’ve had to endure at the hands of the Danes? Though... there don’t seem to be any signs of a raid.”

Joseph disagreed. “If there had been a raid, we would’ve heard about it. This is something different.”

“I suppose we’ll find out, given enough time. Just keep your wits about you, and try not to alarm anyone.”

Carrying on with their plans, the three of them casually walked up to Ardith’s stall as the woman focused on organizing her collection of fish, stopping only to greet the peculiar customers that had suddenly shown up at her shop.

“Hello, Ardith.” Edric said, deterring the woman’s attention.

“Oh, good morning, milord!” She said in surprise. “I was not expecting to see you here today. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m just here to pick up some trout for Nelda back at the castle.”

The stout woman rested a hand on her hip. “Ah, I see. Normally, it’s her servants that come by, but I won’t turn away a friendly face.”

Her expression grew dim. “I’m... so sorry about what happened to Gareth, Edric. We received the news not too long ago. He was loved by many people in Agenbury. It’s such a shame that he had to depart from this world in so brutal a manner. He will be missed.”

Edric nodded in agreement. “Indeed. His death has affected us all, I fear.”

“And Aegenwulf? How does your father fare?”

The young man shrugged in uncertainty. “Hard to say. He keeps his head high and does what he must to protect this shire, but he bears the burdens of twenty men combined. I do not envy his position.”

Ardith gave him a look of sympathy. “Aye. But have no fear, Edric. Your father’s always been a fighter. Trust me. I’ve known him since before he had any grey in his hair. He will come through. I know he will.”

“Thank you, friend. Your words bring me comfort.”

Joseph jumped into the conversation, inquiring about the rest of the town. “Ardith, do you have any idea why Agenbury’s so on edge today? The town carries a strange mood.”

The woman nearly offered a response, but bit her tongue in hesitance. “Y-Yes, but I do not wish to burden you with our troubles, young lord. I imagine you’ve enough of your own already.”

Edlynne took a step towards the stall. “Please, Ardith. If something has happened in this town, we’d like to help. You’re our people, after all.”

Ardith let out a deep sigh and crossed her arms, glancing back at her house.

“I-It’s my husband, Wilfred,” she said quietly. “He went fishing at the harbor this morning as he always does, but... instead of returning with a sack of fish, he came back with a bloody Dane...!”

Edric paused in alarm upon hearing that. “What? A Dane? In Agenbury?”

“Believe me, I was just as shocked as you. Apparently, Wilfred found him washed up on the shore, beaten and wounded. By whom or what, I don’t know, but he already looked dead by the time my husband dragged him back.”

Joseph decided to ask for more information. “Do you have any idea who he is? Or where he came from?”

Ardith shook her head. “No. We’ve yet to speak to him. He’s been unconscious ever since Wilfred brought him back from the harbor.”

The boy let out an uneasy breath. “Father’s not going to like this. He’s been tense enough already ever since Gareth died. If he finds out that a Dane has infiltrated the town...”

Edlynne cut him off. “He won’t. Not yet.”

Her twin quirked a brow. “What do you mean, not yet? He’s the ealdorman, for God’s sake. He has to know.”

“We can’t tell him about this. Not for the moment, at least. If father learns about this Dane’s presence, he’ll have him killed for sure.”

Edric scowled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The noblewoman remained staunch in her belief. “Listen, both of you -- I know everyone’s still hurting from Gareth’s death, and believe me, I am too. But we could learn something from this Dane. He might be useful to us.”

Edric wasn’t entirely convinced yet. “We don’t even know if this man speaks our tongue, Edlynne. And if he does, there’s no guarantee he’ll help us anyways. You know the Danes. They’d rather pick death over dishonor.”

“Even then, I’d like to be certain of what this man’s intentions are before we start lopping off anyone’s heads. Let me speak to him, at least.”

Edric sighed in defeat, crossing his arms. “...Very well. If that is what you wish. But be careful, sister. We have no idea who this man is. And I’d rather we return to the castle in one piece.”

The young man turned back to Ardith, trying to calm the woman’s nerves. “Have no fear, old friend. We’ll speak to this Dane for you. He need not worry you any longer.”

She seemed pleased with that. “Thank you, Edric. I think everyone would feel better if we knew who he was, or why he was here. He should still be at home.”

“Then I will go there,” Edlynne said. “Joseph can come with me whilst you conclude your business here, brother. That way, we can get things done faster.”

“Alright,” Edric agreed. “I’ll meet you there once I’m finished here. Don’t do anything drastic before I arrive.”

The girl gave him a reassuring nod. “Of course.” She turned to her twin, beckoning him to follow. “Come on, Joseph. Let’s go see this Dane for ourselves.”

Allowing their paths to diverge for the moment, Edlynne and Joseph made their way to Wilfred’s house while Edric stayed behind to collect the fish for Nelda, clearly still unsettled by the strange turn of events.

He understood it was unfair to judge one Dane based on the actions of many others, but in a time of war, compassion and empathy were always a dangerous thing to gamble with.

Edric knew details about Gareth’s death that the twins didn’t. He knew how the Danes had butchered him and left his body for the ravens, and he knew that their people were not so easily negotiated with.

But still... he supposed he could let Edlynne investigate this Dane’s sudden appearance, at the very least. He may have been skeptical of this man’s motivations, but he could not deny that he was curious to learn the truth for himself.

And so, without another word said, Edric simply let the twins go about their business as he continued his conversation with Ardith, eager to get this errand over with.

Meanwhile, Edlynne and Joseph walked side-by-side as they approached the fisherman’s house, speculating amongst themselves about what this Dane could’ve possibly wanted. It wasn’t uncommon for a Northman to be in Wedenscire exactly, but Agenbury was a different story.

“A single Dane showing up on our shores...” Edlynne murmured, “what could it mean?”

Joseph shrugged nervously. “Nothing good, that’s for certain. I’m aware that not all of them are barbarians as Hundwerth would have us believe, but tensions have been rising ever since Gareth was killed. If we don’t sort this situation out properly, it could reach a breaking point.”

“Then let us make haste, lest it comes to that.”

Strolling up to the fisherman’s front door, Joseph firmly knocked on the wooden surface as the two of them waited for a response, silently observing the quiet house.

There didn’t seem to be much activity happening inside -- probably due to the Dane’s unconscious state -- and the only sounds they could hear were the rapid footsteps of a man coming to greet them at the door.

“Pardon my untidiness, whoever you are,” a gruff voice said from the inside as they moved around some objects to clear the way, “but I fear things have been rather... disorderly this morning.”

The fisherman swung open the door, revealing an old but lively man standing in the entryway.

“Now, then, how can I--” He came to a halt, his eyes widening in surprise upon seeing the twins.

“Lord Joseph...! And sweet Lady Edlynne. Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you two here today. I suppose this morning’s just chock-full of unlikely guests, isn’t it? What brings you to my doorstep?”

Joseph beamed at the elderly man. “Hello, Wilfred. Your wife sent us. She said you had a... Dane problem?

Wilfred scratched the bald patch on his head, sighing in discontent. “Aye. The poor bastard. I found him this morning, lying unconscious and alone. He was laden with battle wounds, and covered in blood. I don’t have a clue why the river shat him out in Agenbury of all places, but I wasn’t about to leave a man to die. Saxon or not.”

Edlynne admired his compassion. “Then you’ve already done more than most. Has he woken up yet?”

“Nay. He’s been out cold ever since I brought him back. He spoke briefly when we first met, but it was mostly out of delirium. Couldn’t understand a word he said. You know the Danes. Bloody weird language, they have.”

“May we see him?” Joseph asked. “We’d like to speak with this man ourselves, if possible.”

Wilfred stepped off to the side, granting them entrance. “Of course. Do what you wish. Though, I’m not sure if he’ll wake up during your stay here. He was in a severely bad state when I found him.”

Strolling through the front door, Joseph and Edlynne welcomed themselves into the cozy atmosphere of Wilfred’s home as they gazed around in curiosity, anxious to see what this Dane looked like.

Joseph had already met a few of their people during his time with Edric and Gareth, but Edlynne on the other hand, had yet to meet a Dane for herself. Aegenwulf often kept them at a distance when it came to interactions with his daughter, and now that he had lost one of his own children to their axes, the girl imagined he would only grow more protective.

“Look,” she said with a soft gasp, “there he is.”

Following his sister’s line of sight, Joseph spotted the fallen Dane sleeping on the opposite side of the room, seemingly undisturbed.

He was currently resting on a makeshift bed that Wilfred had created, and was wrapped head-to-toe in an abundance of bandages. He looked like he was still breathing -- for the time being -- but just based on the amount of blood that was already seeping from his skin, Joseph started to wonder if they’d even get a chance to see him wake.

He appeared rather normal though, the boy thought. For a Dane. His skin was etched with many traditional Nordic markings, and the red hair on his head had been shaved in a fashion common with his people. Meanwhile, his beard remained bushy and untamed, and the calloused texture of his hands told Joseph he was no stranger to battle.

“Friendly looking fellow, isn’t he.” The boy remarked.

Edlynne walked closer to the man, driven by her fascination.

“I’ve... never seen a Dane before. Father has always done his best to keep me away from them, but... he looks surprisingly human. Bishop Hundwerth always makes it sound as if they’re the Devil himself roaming the earth.”

Joseph took a seat on a nearby chair. “Bishop Hundwerth would call it heresy if one of his priests farted too loudly in the chapel. Pay him no mind.”

The noblewoman turned back to the fisherman, asking him more questions.

“Wilfred, what was he like when you found him? I know you said he was hurt, but... how hurt, exactly?”

The old man exhaled deeply, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I’m surprised he was alive to begin with. He had two bloody arrows sticking out of his chest, and his skin was torn up from getting sliced so many times. I don’t know much about their pagan gods, but they must be a protective bunch to pull him out of that.”

Joseph thought back to their talk with Ardith. “Your wife said you found him on the shore?”

“Indeed. I assume the river carried him here from upstream. Possibly from the north. He crawled out of it like a corpse rising from the dead.”

“Do you think he’ll live?”

Wilfred furrowed his brow in a grim manner. “I... I don’t know, Joseph. I’ve done everything I can to patch him up, but I’m just a simple fisherman at the end of the day. I’m no healer.”

Interrupting their conversation, a knock suddenly emitted from the door, leading all of them to bring their attention to the entrance.

“That must be Edric.” Joseph announced.

Allowing their new guest to come in, Wilfred stepped over the many items scattered around the house before opening the door, revealing Edric on the other side.

“Ah, hello, milord. Your siblings are here already.”

The young man poked his head in, greeting the twins with a new sack of fish on his shoulder.

“Well?” He said, walking into the house. “Have you two learned anything?”

Joseph shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. We’re fairly certain the river carried the Dane here from upstream, but other than that... all we have is speculation.”

Edric strode towards them, kneeling beside his sister. “Speculation won’t do us any good. We need to know for sure who he is, and what he wants. I assume he hasn’t woken up yet?”

“No. He’s been unconscious this whole time. We don’t even know if he’ll survive.”

Wilfred joined their side, offering his advice to Edric. “As I was explaining to your brother earlier, milord, the only way this Dane is going to survive is if you get him in the hands of a healer. I’ve done what I can to buy him some time, but... without proper medical treatment, I fear he may pass soon.”

Edlynne’s expression lit up with an idea. “Linette! Back at the castle! She could look after him. She knows what she’s doing.”

The look on Edric’s face alone was enough to make his disapproval clear. “What? You want to bring a Dane back to the castle? After what just happened with Gareth?”

“I know it’s risky,” the young woman conceded, “but he’s dying, Edric. He needs our help.”

“So do many of our own people.” He countered. “We need to save our resources for those we can trust; those who will fight for us. Not stray Danes that wash up on our shores.”

Edlynne almost appeared offended at that. “Brother, do you hear yourself? This man’s life is in our hands, and you’re willing to just throw it away? All because he’s a Dane?”

The older man fell silent for a moment, admittedly feeling somewhat ashamed of his words, but still obstinate in his opinion.

“I know it’s harsh, Edlynne, but you’ve not seen the horrors that have occurred between our people and the Danes. We’d be foolish to trust one, especially when we have no idea who he is. There’s also the fact that we’d have to keep his presence a secret. Until he wakes up, at least.”

“I think it’s worth it if it means we can save a life,” she replied. “I understand your fear, brother, but what sort of Christians would we be if simply stood by and watched this man die? His being a pagan doesn’t make him any less deserving of our help.”

Edric grew frustrated with his sister’s naivety. “It’s not just about the religion, Edlynne. It’s also about the war. There’s no love lost between Saxons and Danes, and for good reason. How do you think our friend here is going to react when he wakes up in a foreign castle, surrounded by hostile forces?”

The young woman frowned. “And what if he has a clan? What if they come looking for him? How do you think they’ll react when they find out we simply left him to die?”

Joseph shrugged in agreement. “She raises a fair point, Edric. If we help this man and he turns out to hate the Saxons, so what? We’ll have a castle full of guardsmen fighting against a single Dane. But if we don’t help him and his clan comes looking for him, we’ll have an entire army to deal with, plus anyone who’s allied with them. I say we bring him back. How much harm could he do in this condition, anyways?”

Edric sighed in defeat, finding himself at a loss for words. He really wasn’t fond of the idea of bringing a stranger back into the midst of their home -- especially when that stranger was a viking -- but deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do.

After all, what good was he as a Christian if he was not even willing to help those in need? He may have distrusted the Danes for their crimes in the past, but on the other hand, he had no way of indicating that this particular man had any similar motives.

For all he knew, this could’ve just been some poor soul who had gotten caught in the crossfire, and left for dead. There was nothing that could prove he had any intentions of doing wrong by their people, and... perhaps it would’ve been cruel to assume otherwise without even giving him a chance to wake up.

“...Alright, you two.” Edric finally said. “We’ll bring the Dane back to the castle.”

Edlynne beamed with appreciation. “You mean it?”

“Yes, but this will not bode well with father.”

Joseph dismissed the warning. “Father is blinded by his grief. He’ll understand eventually.”

Edric stood up from the floor and handed the sack of trout to his brother, giving him a new set of instructions.

“Here, take this. Ride back to Forangal. I’ll bring the Dane with me, and meet you two at Linette’s clinic later.”

Joseph groaned in effort as he lugged the sack over his shoulder, surprised at how heavy it was.

“Sounds good. Stay safe on the way back, brother. We promise not to tell father about this.”

“Good.”

Bringing his attention to Wilfred, Edric took out a few pieces of silver and placed them in the man’s hands, giving him an appreciative nod.

“Here, Wilfred. For your troubles.”

The fisherman smiled warmly. “Thank you, Edric. You’re far too kind.”

The nobleman chuckled. “My sister would disagree.”

Making their way out of Wilfred’s house, the siblings finally took their leave from Agenbury and swiftly returned to the stables, eager to ride back to the castle. They had no idea how well they’d be able to keep this a secret, considering all the prying eyes at Forangal, but the three of them were determined to ensure this man’s survival.

He could’ve been the key to all the conflicts that had arisen in Wedenscire. So many fights had broken out in the past few years between their people and the Danes, that a part of Edlynne hoped their new friend’s presence would help to ease the tensions.

Though, she couldn’t help but wonder if her elder brother was right. What if Edric turned out to be correct, and this Dane only ended up causing more trouble? Was it wise to trust a man so blindly?

Probably not, but that didn’t hinder her desire to help the wounded man. He was completely at their mercy in his current condition, and Edlynne did not have the heart to cast him aside, regardless of the risks.

So, with a nervous heart, the young woman simply followed her brothers out of town and prepared herself for the journey ahead, praying that it would not end in more bloodshed. She knew how adamant their father was in his hatred for Danes, and she hoped that he would be able to see past the grief that still held onto him so tightly.

Gareth would’ve vouched for peace, after all. He always favored the diplomatic route over unnecessary violence, and in light of recent events, Edlynne imagined he would’ve wanted them to save this man too.

It was the only right thing to do, Edlynne thought. And she did not intend diminish her brother’s legacy.

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #male oc #female oc #sigurd x male oc #ac valhalla fanfic #eitr

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

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FINALLY!!! AN UPDATE!!! Lol. Nice long one, too. Post-Cassandra's Revenge AU. Grievous injuries occur to more than one character during Cassandra's fight for magical dominance. These afflictions won’t become manifest until after they’ve left the Tower, however.

In the aftermath from Cassandra's Revenge at Black Rock Tower, Eugene is trying to use his rare alone time to process all that had happened. Thankfully, he has Lance to keep him grounded with his own irksome ways.

One enormous weight had been lifted and Eugene's psyche was flying because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rapunzel reciprocated all of his feelings for her. He also witnessed exactly to what lengths Rapunzel would move heaven and earth to fight for him.

Amongst his euphoria for Rapunzel, however, he must also figure out how to forgive Cassandra for all that she’s done.

Chapter 3 Summary:

Although Eugene had originally explained that he wasn't otherwise affected by his experiences from yesterday at Black Rock Tower, today was proving out much differently.

Eugene had tried valiantly to keep things from Rapunzel in order to save her more grief. Yet he had to quickly make the determination to tell her everything instead, due in large part to Lance’s prodding. Nobody had known it at the time, but Eugene’s affliction symptoms would soon send him spiraling too quickly. Unfortunately for Eugene, he would be caught up within the throes of the fight's aftermath before he could ever tell Rapunzel anything else. Or even confess privately to Lance. He was no longer capable of giving an explanation about anything to anyone.

What, exactly, had happened to him and who was to blame?

CHAPTER THREE MEA CULPA, TUA CULPA, NOSTRA CULPA

Approximately 40 minutes later, Lance, Rapunzel, Varian, and Eugene had sat down for tea. And although Eugene had originally told Rapunzel that the new scars didn’t hurt, the skin around them had definitely become more sensitized overnight. It’s why earlier he had practically jumped out of his skin even at Rapunzel’s lightest of touches. But he didn’t want Rapunzel to worry needlessly and he wasn’t entirely sure if the sensation was real or if he was just in a state of hyper-awareness and imagining things that weren’t there. However, since their confrontation in Eugene’s room, the presumed-healed wounds were even stinging and smarting somewhat, quite unlike before. Again, Eugene wrestled internally with the idea of telling her about what was happening or not. He finally decided that after tea, he should take Rapunzel aside and tell her about this latest development.

During the past several minutes, Eugene had barely touched even a morsel of his hors d'oeuvres, much less anything more substantial. That was not at all characteristic of his notoriously healthy appetite. At the present, he preferred instead to sip absently from the same cup of tea. Before long everyone at the table kept giving him surreptitious double-takes. Certain he must’ve been imagining it, Eugene turned away from the group and laid down his head, pillowing it against his elbow on the table…..and he was still barely touching that teacup.

Moderately taken aback by Eugene’s abrupt change in mood, the rest of them simply let him alone for the time being. Although still a sensitive person, Eugene wasn’t usually quite so moody anymore. In fact, Lance quite liked to tease Eugene about how his once formerly nihilistic professional thief friend had instead become a rather insufferable eternal optimist. The rest of the group wordlessly seemed to agree that whatever was happening would perhaps blow over soon and Eugene would be back to his normal self in no time.

Little did his friends know that at this very moment, Eugene had been additionally and shockingly swept up in the personal hell of biting back against rather sudden and excruciating pain emanating from his core. Red hot burning sensations now simultaneously emanated from and rippled outward from the new impalement scars; they had quickly forged a web of blazing pain over the entire surface of his skin. So rapidly tuned out was he that Eugene became practically oblivious to the world around him. As each corresponding wave of burning sensations caused him more pain, he subsequently had to fight mounting nausea, overheating, and dizziness. What was being fought from within him was now manifesting outwardly upon Eugene’s face, deepening his complexion to an alarming shade of crimson. Something Eugene’s friends hadn’t yet witnessed was him taking on the shocking appearance of one who had been stricken with extreme sunburn -- over the entire surface of his body. After all, Eugene had turned his back and covered his head with his jacket.

Some mysterious internal source of heat had arisen within Eugene, almost as if his body were trying to fight off something particularly nasty and virulent. And although earlier he’d promised to tell Lance and Rapunzel the story behind why he thought he’d received his newest scars, Eugene was currently in no shape to tell them anything, especially now, as he’d fallen silent with the rapid spiking of his internal temperature.

The young man had become so light-headed, overheated, and overburdened with pain that he could hardly think, much less speak intelligibly. Oh lord, it’s so hot, was one of Eugene’s only lucid thoughts.

At this point in time, he was finding it impossible to merely sit at the table without needing to fall sideways off the chair or slump bodily over the table. He was additionally getting so annoyed with all the racket surrounding him...the bits that penetrated his thickened consciousness and brain fog, anyway….why couldn’t the people around the table just stop yelling, already?? Eugene wished they all would just shut the hell up, and stop clanking their silverware on the dishes so loudly. That way, his ears would stop ringing and he’d have a better chance of getting his head to stop pounding a little. Although his back was toward his companions, they noted his non-verbal mounting signs of distress nonetheless. Rapunzel had stood up out of her seat and walked around the table to check on him. She lightly touched his shoulder from behind.

Without any outward indication he’d noticed her, Eugene greatly startled Rapunzel and everyone at the table as he clapped his hands over the ringing in his ears and shot up unsteadily out of his seat. He attempted an announcement to the entire table his intention to leave and take refuge in his bedroom until he felt better. Yet before he could complete any of the words coming out of his mouth, Eugene’s eyes rolled back in his head and he suddenly collapsed like a sack of potatoes. Everyone in the dining hall simultaneously expressed alarm and dismay upon seeing Eugene’s current condition.

‘--Gene!’” was the only panic-stricken syllable that Rapunzel managed to utter in that moment. Before the princess could even fully comprehend what was happening, Eugene’s chin slammed into the edge of the hard wooden table in front of him. The princess sprang into action and managed to catch Eugene before he could cause himself any further injury. Everyone at the table began chattering worriedly at once, wondering how it was that Eugene could go from looking perfectly healthy just minutes ago to outright fainting and turning red as a sunburn victim.

“Lance!” called Rapunzel. Lance made it to Eugene instantly, saying, “On it, dear Princess,” as he took up his friend Eugene’s side opposite Rapunzel and the pair laid the distressed young man on the cool marble floor of the dining hall. Varian had dutifully sprinted from the large hall, having volunteered to go summon the palace surgeon. They needed to see what, if anything, could be done for Eugene. And hopefully even get some insight as to his current condition.

Right now, blood was gushing from a superficial wound in Eugene’s chin where his skin had split open upon making contact with the unyielding table. Rapunzel had ordered one of the kitchen servants to bring her a bowl of cold water and several clean serviettes. This, of course, was done immediately. The princess took one serviette, folded over a corner, dipped it in the clean water, and pressed it against Eugene’s chin wound. It was only then he began to stir a little. He had turned his head enough to dislodge the cloth, which in turn caused Rapunzel to shift and firmly press the cloth back upon the wound.

“That huuuurts,” Eugene whimpered semi-consciously, feebly attempting to push away Rapunzel’s ministering hands with one of his own.

“I’m sure it does,” soothed Rapunzel, running her hand across his fevered brow. She looked up at Lance with deep concern, “He is positively burning up. Could you soak another cloth for me and press it against his forehead, please?”

“Sure thing, Princess,” answered Lance, and did what Rapunzel requested.

That much cold moisture coming into contact with Eugene’s reddened overheated face, however, nearly succeeded in fully rousing the unconscious young man. Their charge soon settled down, however, as Lance restrained one of Eugene’s flailing arms and Rapunzel restrained the other.

“Lance,” Rapunzel queried worriedly, “do you have any idea about what might be causing this curious overheating within him? And do you know anything about those new scars that he hasn’t yet told me?”

“The only thing I know for certain, Princess, is that he received these marks yesterday during the time, ah….Cassandra…..was squeezing him with rocks? -- whatever that meant.” Rapunzel’s eyes grew larger than saucers and Lance couldn’t hold her gaze. “But he did say he….” even Lance was having difficulty finishing the explanation in the same place where Eugene had, though Lance had originally been the one goading his friend into telling the Princess, “....he did say he had literally felt himself get run through in four places whilst being held onto by those rocks.” Rapunzel’s complexion noticeably paled, even in the bright afternoon sunlight of the dining hall.

“No…..please….no…..” she whispered, wilting before Lance’s eyes in spite of her obvious desire to remain strong for Eugene.

“But -- but he also was positively adamant and was almost certain that Cassandra wasn’t the one responsible,” Lance fibbed, not wanting to see Rapunzel’s confidence falter. “And that’s all I know,” he said in a rush, before he could descend any deeper. This little white lie of Eugene being sure it wasn’t Cass felt practically necessary right now.

“Really?” asked Rapunzel hopefully. Suddenly Lance understood why Eugene would do anything to keep Rapunzel from being disappointed or feeling betrayed, especially when it comes to Cassandra. “I wonder why Eugene wanted to keep this from me, though….” she mused to herself.

“The only reason he didn’t tell you is because Eugene knew how worried you would become if you had even one inkling that Cass had actively tried to kill him. His sincerest wish was to keep you from experiencing even more distress.”

Rapunzel looked down at her intended and ran her free hand lovingly through his hair. “And to think, I was upset with him for keeping it secret….I should've known he was merely trying to shield me. Dearest Eugene….what’s happening to you right now? If only I could’ve asked you sooner….” her eyes grew moist and she said to Lance, "he’s forever the protector, even when he’s the one in worse danger, or the one who’s truly suffered --”

“Princess Rapunzel?” An authoritative yet kind voice interrupted her speech as more quickened footsteps echoed across the hall. True to his word, Varian had brought the palace surgeon to assist with Eugene.

“Dr. Eden,” acknowledged Rapunzel, nodding with some relief, “thank you for coming so quickly. While we’re not exactly certain what’s affecting Eugene, we can tell you that the visual symptoms you can see weren’t affecting him as little as an hour ago.”

Lance stood up from his place by Eugene, volunteering the empty spot for Dr. Eden. The doctor quickly knelt down and began examining her patient. “So he’s not sunburned, then?” queried the doctor. “Not at all,” Rapunzel answered.

“And his fever?” continued Eden.

“He showed no signs of it at all until approximately 30 minutes ago, when he laid down his head upon the table during tea.”

“Hmmm,” Dr. Eden’s brows knitted together as she mused to herself. “Does anyone here happen to have a spyglass or other magnifier?”

“I do!” Varian chirped, clearly pleased to be of further assistance. The young teen stepped closer and volunteered his ever-present prism goggles. After Varian showed the doctor how to work the goggles, she asked the nearby servants if the castle had any ice stores in the palace cellars. Unfortunately, they did not and had used up the last of the stores the week prior and had yet to replenish them. It was then that Varian again volunteered. “Uhm, actually, I have an alchemical compound that creates ice from regular water almost instantly,” he said helpfully.

“Can the ice safely touch human skin?”, asked Dr. Eden. Varian answered in the affirmative. “Can you make enough ice to fill an entire washtub with it too?” Dr. Eden continued multi-tasking by asking Varian questions and closely examining the surface of Eugene’s skin up close with the goggles.

Varian made some brief calculations in his head and affirmed that he did indeed have enough ice-making compound for the task at hand.

“All right, then -- retrieve your supplies, Alchemist, and I shall meet up with you again in the bath chamber. My patient is in need of your services too,” said Dr. Eden.

“Yes, ma’am!!” said Varian excitedly, very nearly saluting the doctor as he rushed out of the hall, nearly ploughing into one of the palace servants in his haste. "Whoops! Sorry!!" the teen exclaimed in a hurry.

Then the doctor turned toward the princess and said, “We’ve simply got to bring down Eugene’s temperature as rapidly as possible. Now tell me -- has he perhaps recently been struck by lightning?”

“No!!” Rapunzel answered immediately. But then thought better of it.

“Wait….actually....” The power and energies that she and Cassandra had been wielding yesterday had certainly resembled nothing if not so much as awesome lightning…. And poor Eugene and Varian had been haplessly trapped and caught up right in the center of it all. Oh, how foolish she had been to assume they had all somehow escaped her goddess-like fight with Cassandra completely unscathed…..therefore she nodded despondently toward Dr. Eden.

“Y-yesterday,” Rapunzel’s throat constricted on the word, and a hand flew to her mouth. The princess could no longer speak. That instantaneous tsunami of guilt which built within her over the mere possibility that her actions from yesterday might’ve led to Eugene’s current state of suffering today threatened to overwhelm her.

Lance had just explained to her that Eugene was all but certain that Cassandra wasn’t the one responsible for his newest gnarly scars. Was it possible that’s because Eugene knew that Rapunzel was the one who had given them to him instead, however unwittingly?

#rta #tts #fanfiction AU #tangled fanfiction #cassandras revenge rewrite #eugene fitzherbert #lance strongbow #rapunzel #varian #cassandra #whump #eugene whump

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miss-tc-nova · 4 years

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No Right - Xehanort x Eraqus

I’m still kind of testing out this writing style if you haven’t noticed. I think I’m gonna stick to 1st POV for self-inserts and do this 3rd POV for canon characters. It’s been testing my skills so far but I kinda like it.

TRIGGER WARNING: for suicide attempt

~~~~~

“See you soon buddy. We’ll all be waiting for you.”

The curious words replay in Xehanort’s head as he takes the first steps of his new journey. Surely Eraqus doesn’t know what awaits the seeker in the future—he can’t know the path that’s been laid before his friend. Yet his final goodbye holds an ominous knowing that Xehanort can’t seem to shake.

It’s been a while since their friends met such terrible fates and were taken away. Despite Eraqus’s insistence, Xehanort harbors feelings of responsibility for what happened. They’ve hardly spent a moment apart after that as a result, having only each other to rely on. There’s no doubt that the two are close—sometimes, it’s unclear how close. There’s no denying the airy feeling Xehanort feels seeing Fleetfoot smile, even while napping. Just being in close proximity gives the silver-haired boy a sense of peace he can’t recreate alone. Simply put, everything is better with Eraqus around. That makes reminding himself that their paths will soon lead in very different directions a bitter notion.

Ever since Xehanort announced his journey before the Mark of Mastery, Eraqus hasn’t quite been his sunshine self. He’s still trying be who he was, but the gloom can be felt seeping off him when he thinks his classmate isn’t looking. He’s probably just worried about his friend, but there’s so much he doesn’t know—this is something Xehanort has to do.

Nevertheless, attempts were made to poke holes in Xehanort’s plans.

“You don’t have to leave.”

“You’ve already seen what’s out there.”

“What are you looking for?”

False answers were given to Eraqus while the boy kept the real answers for himself. Still, the way his classmate spoke and his final warning continue nagging at the back of his mind.

You’ll be waiting for me? With who? Master Odin? No…

The scene plays again. They stand before the graves of their friends. Eraqus shows no sign of his bright self, no light in his eyes, and the smile on his lips is dead. It’s a dreary thing—parting with friends.

“See you soon buddy. We’ll all be waiting for you.” There it is: at that moment, Eraqus had turned his gaze on the tombstones.

Understanding shakes his core. Not another thought is wasted before Xehanort’s feet rush him back towards the cemetery. Droplets impede his vision but do nothing to persuade him to slow down; there can be no hesitation—not for a single second.

No no no! Don’t be that kind of fool!

The freezing air fueling his flight stings at his lungs. Panic tightens its grip in his throat, threatening to close off his airways. If Eraqus is gone, well, Xehanort doesn’t want to think what kind of person he’ll turn into.

In a blinding flash, lightning strikes a lamppost barely meters ahead, halting the mad dash. Not wanting to waste time, Xehanort ignores the freak incident and prepares to bolt again. Then something catches his eye. There’s no saying for sure, but the rain falls so perfectly it looks like a group of people standing before him—some very familiar people.

Why are you in the way?!

Movement off to the side earns a quick glance and then a double-take. Ambling along the road to the docks is Eraqus, and the large stone in his arms does not bode well. A concoction of hope and terror spur Xehanort off his original path.

The gap between them is closing but the boy with black hair gets ever close to the edge. Xehanort’s lungs are screaming to stop but Eraqus is just one step away from the water—there’s still too much space between them.

“ERAQUS!” The anchor hits the water at the same time the name rings out. Granite eyes flash to Xehanort filled with horror. Fingers snag the hem of Eraqus’s sleeve but the boy in black isn’t prepared for the weight of the rock at all. A face full of icy water takes him by surprise, nearly causing his grip to falter; only sheer refusal lets him hang on.

The pair falls through the sea like the sky—the waters of Scala are deeper than anyone imagined. It’s a fathomless depth; they could be sinking for eternity. An entire world’s weight presses on Xehanort’s chest, coaxing his lungs to spasm. Common sense fights the urge while the boy in white watches with pleading terror.

Natural instincts gets the better of Xehanort and the ocean invades his body—ending the struggle to save the person most important to him. White fabric slips from his hand and he can only watch Eraqus slip farther away while his body writhes for air. Dark water grows darker, thrashing becomes too much effort, and Xehanort slips away in regret.

~~~~~

It’s bad enough that Eraqus had been found out, but when he ends up dragging Xehanort into the water with him, he’s mortified. With all his heart, he prays for his friend to let go but, with a look of absolute determination, Xehanort holds on.

There is no relief when Xehanort finally does lose his grip: he’s clearly drowning. Getting to the surface on his own will be impossible—he’s going to die and it’s Eraqus’s fault. Those are unbearable final thoughts.

One swipe of the keyblade severs the rope pulling Eraqus down and an aero spell propels him higher towards the motionless body. His own lungs are crying out for air but he’ll be useless if he blacks out now. Clinging tightly to the boy, Eraqus uses every ounce of energy he has to fight for the surface.

Air fills his lungs, signaling the half-won battle. He struggles not to panic while dragging both himself and the unresponsive Xehanort from the water.

“Xehanort! Hey, say something!” he demands, shaking the victim. “Wake up! WAKE UP!”

Nothing. Ignoring the fear that will only get in the way, Eraqus presses down on his chest. His own breath comes in drags, but for Xehanort, he ensures his chest rises.

No! Not you too! We lost everyone else! Please not you too!

Pretty soon, Eraqus has to rely on touch alone to continue, blinded by his tears.

~~~~~

Against his will, his body convulses. Water forces its way up, spilling across the ground and leaving Xehanort hacking through the pain.

“Oh my gods! You’re okay!” The gray sky above greets him just beyond Eraqus’s shoulder—they’re still here. There’s really no chance to process the fact though before the rescuer pulls away, glaring. “What the hell were you thinking?! You could’ve died!” The anger doesn’t faze Xehanort, only reaffirms the things he’d been trying to put aside for so-called destiny. “You were this close to-”

“I love you.”

Those three words wipe the frustration clean. “What?”

Pushing off the ground, Xehanort sits up, his tears warmer than the rain. “I love you, you clown.” A fist wipes at his tears in an attempt keep together. “And you were just gonna disappear while I was gone? I was supposed to come back and find out you drowned yourself right after I left?” Behind his drenched hair, the guilty hides. “So instead of asking what the hell I was thinking, how about you ask yourself that?”

The response is pitiful stuttering. “I-I-”

“You what?” Xehanort knows what. “Think you’re not worth it? Think that nobody will miss you? What gives you the right to decide that for someone else?” The seeker reaches out, using a firm grip to force Eraqus to meet his gaze. There’s hardly a thing he wouldn’t give to wipe the grief and regret from those gray eyes, but for now, Xehanort means to get his point across. “You don’t get to decide what you mean to me.”

The cold, the rain, the uncomfortable feeling of being soaked, none of it matters the moment Xehanort drops his mouth onto Eraqus’s. Sure, he’s always been eloquent in his words, but in this moment, nothing he could say could better express the things he wanted Eraqus to know. Everything is poured into this connection, from his love to the fear he’d just experienced—all of it needs to show.

While drowning in affection is certainly better than drowning in water, Xehanort breaks the kiss. Puffs of hot air float away while they attempt to recover. The boy in black is first, leaning back and shoving the hair from the face of his beloved. His adrenaline is gone, now replaced with the relief of various things. Wearily, he smiles at the somber boy. “How dare you try to take that away from me.”

Eraqus’s lips twist and tears well in his eyes—that’s all the apology Xehanort needs. Prepared to wait out the sobbing, he pulls his mess of a loved one in and holds him tightly.

In the white noise of the rain, with intermittent sniffles from the boy in his arms, Xehanort re-evaluates all his choices. Maybe the worlds need him to leave—to summon Kingdom Hearts and break everything down to nothing—but Eraqus needs him here. He could logic with himself all day that destiny and the fate of all the worlds meant more than the relationship of two teenage boys, but it’ll be a long time before Xehanort forgets the sight of Eraqus sinking into the watery darkness. Just thinking about it makes it all so very clear: Xehanort would forsake everything if it meant he got to keep Eraqus in his life.

The man in the black coat can find another scapegoat.

#xehaqus #xehanort #young xehanort #young master xehanort #eraqus #young eraqus #young master eraqus #xehanort x eraqus

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years

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Somebody To You: 26

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Word Count: 3,031

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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Last night was draining and Zoey hardly got any sleep. There were too many thoughts running through her head. Being back home gave her mixed emotions. There were so many great memories filled with lots of great people, but there was so much loss, as well. She felt like she was on a death march, visiting a terminally ill man, a son who is about to lose his father, and bereaved parents. The knowledge of the losses made her normally bright and cheery little suburb feel dark and gray. How was she supposed to make light in these situations? She stressed, trying to figure out how she was supposed to act when she met Mr. and Mrs. Lewis for lunch.

“Just relax, it’s going to be fine,” Michael tried soothing her in the car on the way to their house. “You don’t have to impress them. They’ve known you for years. Just act normal.”

Zoey took a deep breath, nodding. He was right. This isn’t her first time spending time with them. But it was her first visit since she’s moved to LA on their dime and she felt pressured to explain or justify all that has been going on in her life since moving there. How do you thank the people responsible for changing your life in so many different ways?

The first thing Zoey noticed when they pulled up to the house was the different flower beds by the front door. They had done some rearranging. Honestly, it was refreshing to see at least a minor change in scenery. Still, her nerves began to grow as they made their way to the front door. She began to contemplate whether she should knock or just go right in, having always done that in the past. But she figured its been too long since she’s been here to just walk in, so she knocked, bouncing anxiously on her toes. Within seconds the door flew open and was instantly being enveloped by Mrs. Lewis’s curly blonde hair. Zoey’s worry eased at the sound of the woman’s delighted laughter, pulling away to take a good look at each other.

“Oh, Zoey, you look beautiful with your hair down,” Mrs. Lewis cooed, smiling adoringly at her, “Come in, Mr. Lewis should be back any minute with the pizza. Hello, Michael, how are you?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Michael grinned as they followed Mrs. Lewis inside, closing the door behind them and making their way to the eat-in kitchen.

Mrs. Lewis looked different than the last time Zoey saw her. She was more put-together, wearing a little bit more makeup and in business-casual clothes, instead of the robes and oversized sweaters that she had gotten used to wearing after the death of her daughter. Her eyes weren’t sunken and dark any longer, instead, they were bright blue and she had a glow about her that radiated through her smile; something she hadn’t seen Mrs. Lewis do in over a year. She seemed to be doing better, and Zoey couldn’t have been happier about that.

“I was so happy to get that phone call from you yesterday, Michael. I didn’t know you were going to be in town,” Mrs. Lewis turned to Zoey, pulling out cups and plates in preparation for her husband’s arrival with their lunch.

“I didn’t either,” Zoey admitted, “It was a last-minute plan to come after hearing about Paul.”

Mrs. Lewis nodded seriously, “Yes, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad, Michael. How are you feeling?”

Mrs. Lewis listened intently as Michael confessed himself to her; something Zoey was surprised by. Michael was never one to delve into his feelings too much, but it seemed that he had so many thoughts pent up, understandably, that when provided with an outlet to express his feelings without the worry of judgment or hurting anyone else’s feelings (like he would have had he expressed these thoughts to his parents, perhaps) he was able to really dig deep to the root of his worry and have a weight lifted off his shoulders from the burden it carried.

Michael wasn’t an emotional person. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him cry. So when she saw a tear trickle down his cheek, Zoey couldn’t help but get emotional and cry along with him. She felt for him. What do you say to a person who is about to lose their father?

She felt guilty for not being there for him sooner. For letting their ties loosen so much that he felt he couldn’t confide in her anymore. It was no wonder he didn’t absolutely hate her for it. He deserved much better than what she’s offered him in the past five months.

When Michael had reached the end of his rant, Zoey felt the urge to hug him, pulling him into the tightest, warmest hug she could muster as she pushed her tears aside. He relaxed into her embrace and felt the shuddering of his body begin to calm until his breathing evened out. She’d never seen him in so much pain before and she couldn’t blame him for breaking down in front of Mrs. Lewis. But if anyone would understand what he’s going through, it was her.

Mrs. Lewis rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Michael, motherly shushing him and gently rocking him back and forth making a grown twenty-eight-year-old man look like a child in her arms. Michael seemed to calm from his uneasiness and cleared his throat, wiping his eyes as Mrs. Lewis sat back down in his seat. He was embarrassed, but neither of them criticized him for it. How could they? He had every right to feel what he was feeling.

Not even a minute later, Mr. Lewis came stumbling through the front door, making his way back and beaming when he saw the two of them sitting at the table.

“You made it!” he exclaimed, plopping the boxes of pizza in the center of the table and reaching out for a quick hug while his wife began serving slices. He noticed Michael’s puffy red eyes and looked as though he was about to say something, but decided not to at the last minute, resorting to, “Dig in, I want to hear all about what you two have been up to.”

They each had a bite of their pizza while Mrs. Lewis eyed them curiously, asking, “So, are you two back together, or…?”

“No,” Zoey hurriedly responded, swallowing down her bite of food, “No, Mikey, here, has found himself a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend yet,” Michael narrowed his eyes at her.

Zoey grinned in amusement, wiggling her eyebrows at Mr. and Mrs. Lewis who laughed, “So how did you meet this girl?”

“She’s a new hire at work. She’s the receptionist.”

“So no dating apps for you, then, huh?” Mr. Lewis joked before turning to Zoey, “What about you? Any boyfriends in LA?”

Zoey shrugged, feeling a little more confident in being more open now that she knew she didn’t have to worry about Michael being hurt. But she didn’t want to get into too much detail. Surely they didn’t need to know about all of her one night stands, friends with benefits, and sleeping with an international celebrity. So she simply said, “I’ve been dipping my toes in the dating scene, but nothing serious so far.”

“No?” Mrs. Lewis asked, expression bordering confusion, “I thought your mom said you had a boyfriend who took you and your sister to Italy for your birthday?”

Zoey’s eyes widened, unsure of what to say. Certainly, no one ever told her mother that Harry and she were a thing. Mrs. Lewis must have misunderstood. At least she was none the wiser on who the supposed ‘boyfriend’ was. She shook her head, laughing in an attempt to conceal her surprise, “No, no, no. I mean, yeah, I went to Italy, but it was with several of my friends. Boy friends, not boyfriend.”

She stared at them fixedly to make sure they believed her. When they nodded and continued to ask her about her trip to Italy, she felt Michael’s suspicious gaze on the side of her face. She ignored it, telling them all about the guided tour, Katie’s crush on a cute Italian boy, shopping in the lanes, pizza making, wine tasting, and all of the dreamy nights spent poolside underneath the stars.

“We’ve only been there once on our honeymoon,” Mrs. Lewis fondly recalled, smiling dewy-eyed, “I’m so glad you were able to meet some nice friends in LA. Jess would be so happy for you.”

Mr. Lewis placed a supportive hand on his wife’s back and Zoey pursed her lips with wide puppy-eyes. She missed Jess and wished, more than anything, she could have experienced all of this with her. She wanted to make new friends in LA with her, immerse themselves in Italian culture, she wanted to go on double dates with Jess, she wanted to go on more beach trips with her and ride on the back of sketchy motorcycles side-by-side, she wanted to tell Jess all about Harry and all the gross, cliche, sappy little moments between them that made the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. She wished Jess were here as a lending ear to hear her rant about the absurdity that came along with stupid boy crushes and as a shoulder to cry on when the unavoidable overwhelming grief took over her when Paul was no longer here.

They’ll be together, she told herself. She’ll be in safe hands with Paul. They’ll be looking down on all of us, proud. They did this. The two of them. Jess and Paul were the light of this town, the reason why so many were compassionate, kind, and happy. And Zoey took solace in knowing that the world was a better place because of those two people. She was a better person because of them. And she will love them until the day she meets them again.

The minor display of emotion caused a group hug between the four of them and when they pulled away, they all laughed. After lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis took the two of them to the poolhouse to check out Jess’s old living space. They hadn’t done much with it. They explained that they had plans to eventually make it into a guest house. They wanted to paint and get new furniture, but they hadn’t had the heart to change it entirely just yet. Most of her things were still there. Framed pictures of her with her friends, books that she was reading, most of her wardrobe still in the closet and dresser drawers. But it looked cleaner and more organized. There weren’t random clothes strewn about the floor or makeup covering the vanity. It felt different.

“Do you mind….can I have this?” Zoey asked, holding up a framed picture of her and Jess sitting on Zoey’s trampoline.

Mrs. Lewis smiled, nodding a yes. They talked a little longer before they decided it was probably time to get going and the couple led them to the front. “I’m so glad you were able to stop by, you guys. Thank you for thinking of us,” Mrs. Lewis sang.

“Thanks for having us. And for the pizza,” Michael smiled, giving them each a hug, followed by Zoey.

As they made their way towards Michael’s car, Zoey suddenly remembered and turned, calling out, “Oh! I almost forgot. My parents are having a BBQ tomorrow around 2. It’ll be my last night here before I catch the red-eye home. Would you two like to come? Michael’s parents will be there, too.”

The two of them smiled, looking at each other briefly before nodding and Mr. Lewis said, “We’ll see you two tomorrow, then.”

She grinned at them before jumping in Michael’s car and heading back to her parents’ house. The journey back was mostly discussions reflecting on Mr. and Mrs. Lewis and how happy they were to see the two of them in a better mental state than the previous year, but by the time they reached Zoey’s house, the conversation had changed to bets on which parent got drunk at the BBQ first. Zoey bet Paul would be first while Michael had bet on Mr. Lewis.

She had assumed that Michael would only be dropping her off at home, saying a quick goodbye to her parents on the way out. But her mom had cornered him, practically forcing him to stay for dinner as she was making her ‘world-famous shepherds pie’, which honestly had no taste to it and had no business being called ‘world-famous’. Not wanting to be rude, Michael accepted and stayed to eat. Throughout dinner Mary subtly hinted at her desire for Zoey to move back home, discussing the office remodel, mentioning little trips they could take as a family, and visits to Katie in college. It was clear that she was suffering from pre-empty nest syndrome, but she was laying it on thick.

After dinner was finished, Zoey had offered to clear the table, and with the help of Michael, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. She dried her hands on a spare dish rag that sat on the countertop, staring at the framed picture of her and Jess that she had placed there right before they ate. Michael looked over at her, then to the yard, and back at her.

“Come on,” he urged, taking the picture and leading the way towards the back door.

Zoey followed him outside, the sun setting and the faint, flickering glow of the lightning bugs hovered and the warm porch lights illuminated the garden. Michael climbed onto the trampoline, bouncing on his knees as she climbed on after him. The lack of netting surrounding the trampoline always terrified her mom, but she and her sister always hated the idea of being confined, so she left it open.

The springs from the trampoline squeaked and creaked as they sat cross-legged, facing each other. Zoey slipped the picture out of Michael’s hands, running a few fingers across Jess’s face. She hadn’t seen her in so long that she was beginning to feel like Jess was a made-up imaginary friend. She needed these pictures and trinkets, like her bracelet, as proof of her existence.

“Can’t believe it’s been a year,” Zoey hushed.

Michael nodded, pausing before wondering, “What do you think we’d be doing right now if she was still here?”

“We’d probably still be together,” Zoey said, laughing and looking up at him, teary-eyed “My life has changed so much in the past year. I’ve experienced more in the last four months than I have my whole entire life and she wasn’t here for any of it.”

“She was there,” Michael placed a reassuring hand on her knee, “you know that.”

“It’s not the same,” she shook her head, laying down on her back to look up at the stars, her hair scattering around her while holding the picture to her stomach.

Michael laid down beside her, sighing. The two of them had been through so much in the past year, and it still wasn’t over. He was glad that someone else understood what he was going through, but the fact that they had to go through this at all was ridiculous. There was a long silence before Zoey finally spoke again, the subject changed.

“So...tell me about this new girl of yours. Has she met the parents yet?”

Michael groaned again, “No because it’s not serious yet.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me. I broke up with you, remember?”

“There’s just not much to say. It’s too new,” Micheal shrugged, turning his attention towards her. “Besides, what about you?”

“What about me?” she asked defensively, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he smirked, “you don’t think I noticed the panic in your voice when Mrs. Lewis mentioned the ‘FRIEND’ who took you and Katie to Italy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she blushed, looking back up at the night’s sky.

“I was with you for over four years. I know when you’re lying.”

Zoey rolled her eyes in annoyance, hating how predictable and easy-to-read she was. Hating the fact that she was about to talk about a man she considered to be her soulmate to a man she thought she would end up marrying. When did her life become this complicated?

“First of all, he was never my boyfriend. Nothing even happened before the trip to Italy,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so things happened in Italy, then?” He sounded cheeky, “Tell me about him. What’s he like?”

Zoey chuckled, trying to connect the dots of the stars above her, seeing what sort of pictures she could make out of them, “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you,” she said under her breath. Sighing, she spoke louder, “It doesn’t matter, though. We kind of got into a fight. I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“A fight about what?”

“Something stupid,” she admitted, “I called him out because he can’t ever make up his mind about what he wants and I basically told him I didn’t want to waste my time. He’s the one that called at dinner last night.”

“Is that why you came inside looking all upset?” Michael turned to look at Zoey, earning a nod in response. Michael slowly turned to look back up at the sky, putting his hands behind his head to elevate it a bit more, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. You deserve to be prioritized. You’re worth it.”

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“No problem.”

The two of them laid there in comfortable silence for what felt like an hour, counting the stars when they heard a crack from the back door opening and closing. She figured it would just be Katie wanting to join in on the conversation. But when a deep, humble, monotone voice sounded her name from behind them, the two of them sat up, surprised by the unexpected visitor.

“Harry?!”

KEEP READING

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Taglist for Somebody To You:

@thurhomish , @stilljosiegrossie , @odetostep , @apples2019 , @stylesmioamore , @inyourhaven

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tortoisesshells · 3 years

Text

Buying Time (2/6, probably, who knows, ~2,800 words, some salty language and more ways to not deal with grief)

Customs and Duties, but make it a modern!fake-dating AU with a severe lack of fake dating and more historical minutiae than any self-respecting modern AU should have; Part the Second, in which neither party has any luck with antique clocks, despite planned and unplanned meetings.

He never did see that coat again. Either someone had taken it, or maybe it had somehow found its way into the water that seemed omnipresent in that place – tidal creeks and ponds, the little river, the sea itself. One of life’s mysteries. There were others, from that day in January, but it was easier to think about the coat he’d lost.

Or why that particular shop: there was a bookstore nearby, and frankly that seemed a better place to finish sobering up before driving on to New York – where he would, in all likelihood, end up maudlin drunk on Andy Gillette’s couch, but at least get the thin satisfaction of someone worrying about him. At any road, he’d looked at the sign for S. J. Treat & E. C. Treat, Antiques – quaint, with a little hour-glass carved next to the names, and found himself inside – where he’d proceeded to make a complete ass of himself before the proprietor, who, contrary to what a sensible person would have done, sat him in a (modern) chair behind the counter and poured coffee from a thermos that might have actually have been an antique, listened to him ramble about Decatur and Barron because he’d been thinking that maybe his ancestors had been onto something, with their elaborate and ritualized pretenses for beating the shit out of each other over “honor” – and, after she was satisfied he was safe to drive, Mrs. Treat made sure he had his keys, wallet, phone, and a water bottle before wishing him well.

When he returned to Boston, he penned a note of thanks, knowing that it was wholly inadequate. Then, after his series of stilted emails with Elizabeth over the disposition of the apartment and everything in it, he’d had the idea.

Mrs. Treat politely insisted he pick the restaurant , since he was paying, and he insisted that she pick the restaurant, as she knew the area better than him. They probably would have stood there in the square batting courtesies back and forth like a deranged game of shuttlecock, before he made a tentative suggestion – which, contrary to her earlier assertions that she wasn’t picky – Mrs. Treat scoffed at as both too trendy and too loud, and steered them off in the direction of an unassuming shingle-sided tavern he hadn’t looked twice at on his initial and inebriated visit.

“It’ll be reasonably quiet,” she said, “And there’s a decent chance they’ve got the Franklin stove going.”

With that ringing endorsement, she ushered him into the bar, waved to the bartender, and pointed to a table that was, indeed, right next to an ancient woodstove – and sat in the chair closest to it.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Treat said, by way of an apology, “I get cold easily.”

“Not at all,” he replied, looking around the low-ceilinged room. “The decoration is …”

“A little idiosyncratic?”

He nodded.

“It’s what the tourists expect, I think.”

“They expect harpoons?”

“They’re not used,” Mrs. Treat said, with an expression that was very nearly a smile, “You’d be able to tell if they were. There’s a lot to be said about common misconceptions regarding 18th and 19th century maritime activity in this neck of the woods – or the coast, as the case may be – but that’s not what we came here to talk about.”

James privately wondered how you went about telling how a harpoon had been used, but missed his chance to ask: Mrs. Treat briskly arranged the tablet, folders, and notepads on the table, pausing only for the waitress to take their lunch order. Mrs. Treat recommended the scallops, and a local brewery with atrociously punned names, but he noted she only ordered a sandwich for herself. He thought of reminding her that he had asked her to find a clock that might very well cost more than a car and he wasn’t going to begrudge her a pint, but just as quickly scrapped the idea as horrifyingly bad-mannered. She might not drink, after all. Or hate seafood.

“I’ll start with the bad news: the sum total of it is, I haven’t found your Williams shelf clock.”

“I assumed so.”

“I would get in touch right away if I had, absolutely. But I haven’t.”

Watching her twist her wedding band, he cleared his throat and asked: “Any good news?”

Mrs. Treat stopped her fidgeting and laughed. “The good news is that I can probably teach a specialist course on clock manufacture to 1850? I found more information on the Boston concern that Williams tended to purchase his clock-faces from, the history of brass rolling mills in New England – mostly Connecticut, by the way, none of your Hub nonsense here – though I don’t know for sure if Williams bought from Abel Porter and Co. or imported from England. You said your clock was early 18-teens, which makes trade with Britain a tad unlikely. There’s more information on the mahogany trade in there, as well. Book review for a monograph creatively titled Mahogany, by a Dr. Anderson – I suppose that’s part of the commodities trend where every other book was titled Cod or Pepper or whatever have you – in case you’re interested. Oh, and did you know that Williams once rented shop-room that had previously been occupied by a silversmith named Zenas Fearing?” She pushed a full manila folder across the table to him.

“If you want it,” she said, quickly, “I have all this in scans and pdfs as well, I can just email it to you. But I prefer hard copies.”

He took the folder and leafed through the pages, her annotations in red standing out against the page. “At this rate, Mrs. Treat, I’ll be able to construct it myself.”

“You might consider it. Shelf clocks are more common by the Federal period, but they’re still rare. If you could find a good source for Honduran mahogany you’d be able to make a pretty close replica to an original. Or just 3D print it, I guess.”

She sat back in her chair and swirled the ice around her glass with an apologetic smile. “I want to be clear, Mr. Norrington. I do believe that David Williams likely made multiple clocks of the type you’re describing, and I do believe that several have survived the last two centuries, and will come up for sale if they’re not already – these things can get misidentified. My failure isn’t an indication that it doesn’t exist, only – hmm. I say this as a professional: I appreciate your business and the trust you’ve put in me, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least tell you to consider going through a specialist. I don’t know clocks as well as I do desks and highboys.”

When he said he had consulted a specialist, Mrs. Treat cocked her head, and frowned. “Well. That’s good.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that – she didn’t seem upset or offended, more puzzled than anything. He hadn’t meant it as an insult to her professional abilities; the dealers he had consulted spoke highly of her, tempered by the recent loss of her husband, who had been the founder of the business. Still, she looked at him cautiously – like she suspected something was afoot. “You care a great deal about this clock, I see.”

“One needs goals in life.”

“A lawyer’s answer,” she shot back. “But I understand, I think. And that really is all I have for you – there’s copies of correspondences with a few auction houses about Williams’ clocks – mostly tall clocks that have come up in the last half-century, some research from Newport Historical Society I called in a favor for – mostly about Williams and his contemporaries. Shockingly, most everyone wants to hear about William Claggett, so this is a bit thin – but if you ever get to Newport – the antiques show really is something! – you really should see the Claggett clock in the Redwood Library; it makes the to-do about him and his workshop seem very, very justified. There’s some auction results for the last few times one of his has come up, too. Just for comparison. Close to the back, yellow tab.”

Well. That was a number of zeroes.

“I appreciate your diligence,” he replied, closing the folder and pushing it to the side, to make way for the two plates the waitress was sweeping up with, and was very grateful for it, because he wasn’t sure what else there was for her or him to say. At least Mrs. Treat seemed to think one shouldn’t talk during the first few bites of a meal, efficiently clearing away half of her turkey club before setting the rest aside, and pushing her chips around her plate, which seemed an oblique signal that she’d welcome conversation, or still had something to say.

He didn’t say anything – a lawyer’s habit, maybe, though God knew it’d never helped him outside of the courtroom; or maybe he was still feeling a little foolish for letting the blind grief and very old scotch go to his head that day, and wasn’t entirely sure who Mrs. Treat was, even after doing some due diligence of his own: she seemed personable, dedicated, and honest – too honest for her own good, if she was encouraging him to look elsewhere. The glasses she wore on a chain gave her the air of a librarian, or slightly eccentric aunt – appropriate enough for her occupation. Still, it was rude to be too quiet for too long, and Mrs. Treat really had done an admirable job given the conditions.

“Will you permit a question, Mrs. Treat?”

“Of course.”

“You needn’t have given me all this information – or anything else that you’ve sent along. I would have been satisfied with an email that was some variant on ‘Not yet.’ Why all this?”

“It’s the slow season for me. Almost no foot traffic between the holidays and Memorial Day weekend – a spike around Valentine’s Day and St. Pat’s, because of the road race – but all in all, winter into early spring’s my designated vacation time. I liked the challenge – and I spent a lot of summers in Newport, when I was a teenager.” She paused, before looking at him curiously. “Will you permit a question?”

He nodded.

“I’ve been assuming you’re looking for a Williams clock because there was one passed down in your family – how did your family come to acquire the original? I’ve had to get very good at family genealogies over the years, but I wouldn’t have to have done so to know you’re not from a Newport family.”

“An antecedent married a woman from Newport; it came with her to the marriage.” If there had been an implicit question in why he did not have that original clock, he ignored it – better leave it as some question or quibbling over inheritance. Old families were fairly notorious for that. His cousins still weren’t speaking, even after fifteen years had passed, over the disposition some porringers. God alone knew what Hell would break loose when Grandmother passed away, and left the Burt silver tea service to one her descendants.

“Good provenance,” was all the reply that Mrs. Treat made on that score – all the reply she could make, because her phone began to ring and, apologetically, she checked the ID before blanching. “It’s my daughter’s school – if you’ll – just a moment – I’ll be right back!”

And she was – dashing back to the table looking like she was either about to break something or cry. “I am sorry, Mr. Norrington – I have to cut this short – my daughter’s been in a fight at school – she bit someone, actually – no blood, thank Christ – and, well –”

“I understand,” he said, rising to his feet belatedly, because he felt he ought to.

“Bless you! Do you want the folder with all the copies? Yes? Great. I’ll be in touch in June. Enjoy the spring up in Boston!”

Mrs. Treat rushed out the door, and he sat back down with the folder. If nothing else, it’d be more interesting that his current caseload.

In his inbox, not a few hours later, was a painstakingly polite email containing more than one apology and several thanks for understanding as he had: Just in case (she wrote) I’ve set up a DropBox with all the info in the folder, find it at this link, I am profoundly sorry for my unprofessional behavior, Best Regards, Elinor Treat.

He replied immediately that there really was no need for her apologies: though personally unable to relate to the experience of managing children alone, his sister’s children were enough of a handful, and – came the sobering thought – they hadn’t just lost their father the year before.

Biting, though. He wanted to ask, but that would be rude.

And as May rolled through into June, Theo reminded him that it had been six months, and there was no time like summer to at least try to start dating again. This struck him as profoundly collegiate, and he said so, which led to a completely fruitless argument over whether or not either of them had dated in college, and why or why not, and how that at all had any bearing on the subject at hand – the only thing worse than arguing with a lawyer, he supposed, was being one yourself and doing it anyway. Like being an electrician and still sticking a fork in a wall socket.

He won a one-month moratorium on the topic, but that seemed pretty pyrrhic, all told. Weatherby Swann still couldn’t look him full in the face – and he didn’t anticipate that starting to date again would at all endear him the senior partner turned Gubenatorial hopeful. Or maybe it would? Swann could breathe a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been so serious as it seemed at first – no broken hearts, no resentment. Just two people who weren’t quite meant to make it.

He was out of his office before he knew it, saying something vague about getting lunch to Ned Jarsdel and he’d be back shortly, etc. etc. – and didn’t even notice he had a shadow until Theo Groves jumped into the elevator behind him with an obviously innocent expression.

“Someone’s got to make sure you eat your greens,” Theo said, airily.

“I’m not six years old,” James replied. He said it petulantly enough that it sounded like he was, and his junior snorted. Decades of incredibly expensive education, and that was the best he could do.

“You eat like you are.”

“And you know many first-graders who survive on scotch and bagels?”

“More in the sense of, ‘You can’t be trusted to eat a nutritionally balanced meal on your own account,’” Theo corrected, following him into the noisy lobby, “Honestly, it’s a marvel you haven’t developed scurvy by now.”

James tried to think of concrete proof he’d eaten something with vitamin C in the last week, but came up short, and settled for sniping that Theo had a job and caseload of his own – which, somehow, turned into another bout of unproductive bickering that lasted up State Street, and James pretended he didn’t notice he was being herded towards Sweetgreen (or however it was spelled). With the vaguest glimmer of self-knowledge, he knew he was bristling from the shame of being seen to be incompetent; it didn’t stop him bristling, but at least he let himself be chivvied along through the crowds and the late-spring sunshine.

This was, of course, the moment he encountered Elinor Treat again.

“Mrs. Treat?”

She was standing on the edge of a group of children, clustered around a tricornered guide at the Old State House – and whirled around at being hailed with a puzzled look, until she spotted him and waved. With a word to another woman, she broke away and jogged over. “Mr. Norrington, hello! Forgive me – I’m here with my daughter’s class – end of year field trip, you know. I hope you’re well?”

Very aware that Theo was suddenly Interested in the proceedings, James was as dry as possible in introducing the two: Theodore Groves, a junior associate; Elinor Treat, antique dealer.

“Allegedly,” she said, with a sort of chagrinned cheerfulness, “I’m afraid I haven’t been very helpful yet.”

“Yet?”

Mrs. Treat looked at him rather than answering Theo’s question outright; he supposed he appreciated her discretion. “She’s investigating a family heirloom for me,” he replied, which was at least partially true.

“An interesting line of work,” said Theo.

“It has its moments. It does put a target on my back for chaperoning these kinds of trips, though – and we’ve still got to make to Charlestown.” She glanced over her shoulder at the school group, anxiously, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to get back. Responsibilities aside, my daughter’s a firecracker and even the Massacre won’t be enough to keep her occupied long. Goodbye! I’ll be in touch!”

Blessedly, Theo said nothing until after they’d gotten their lunches, and sat out in the sun. “So. She seems nice.”

“You have another two weeks before you’re allowed anything on the topic,” James replied, stabbing at his under-dressed spinach bad-temperedly.

#the self-indulgence continues!#god save me from myself [she says not actually intending to stop or be saved]#buying time #customs and duties aus #customs and duties #fic #my fic

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